The Wicked Witch of the South East - Part 1: Deception

PART ONE — DECEPTION

Once upon a time, in a kingdom not so very far away, there lived a witch of a most peculiar sort.

She was proud, spiteful and thoroughly unpleasant. Those who crossed her path wondered what terrible enchantment had taken hold of her heart. Had some dreadful misfortune befallen her in youth? Had a wicked curse been cast upon her? Or, as some whispered behind firmly closed doors, had she simply been born with a swinging brick where a heart ought to be?

Whatever the truth, the witch grew older and more ambitious. She set her sights on becoming Head Witch at one of the kingdom’s most respected schools of magic, nestled among the leafy hills of the south-east, close to the great capital.

It was no small undertaking. She had already travelled from school to school, leaving behind quarrels, broken spirits and considerable destruction. But she was not one to let her history stand in the way of ambition.

Armed with a cunning disguise, a silver tongue and no small amount of trickery, she deceived the local Ministry of Magic, which somehow failed to notice the warning signs fluttering in the breeze, and persuaded the school’s governors that she was precisely the person they had been seeking.

And so, through guile and deceit, she succeeded.

The wise and much-loved Head Wizard, who had served the school faithfully for many years, retired, leaving behind happy pupils, devoted staff and hopeful governors. Before long, the new witch swept through the gates, robes billowing, and took possession of the castle.

Thus began her troubling reign.

For generations, the school had been a place of learning, friendship and shared endeavour. Its witches and wizards had helped hundreds of children find their way through the enchanted forest of knowledge, their achievements resting not on magic alone, but on the skill and dedication of people working patiently together.

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THE SADDEST CHANGE

Within months, the school had changed almost beyond recognition. Its welcoming halls grew colder, and the spirit that had bound its people together began to wither.

The Head Witch arrived with grand ambitions and an appetite for transformation. She set about remaking the school according to her own designs, moving at great speed and giving little thought to the consequences. What she called progress brought anxiety, distress and, for some, profound suffering.

Staff had been assured that their views would be heard, their professional judgement respected and the school’s established values preserved. Instead, one reform followed another, sweeping through the school like a storm. There was little time for reflection and scarcely any meaningful consultation.

The staff were left with the painful impression that the children—the very reason the school existed, each with their own hopes, fears, gifts and difficulties—were being overlooked.

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THE WITCH WHO WOULD NOT LISTEN

A wise ruler does not impose change simply for the pleasure of rearranging the world. A wise ruler listens, explains and recognises that those who work closest to children possess knowledge worth hearing. People need not share every opinion to work towards the same purpose: the welfare of the pupils.

But the Head Witch appeared unable to tolerate disagreement. She seemed to believe that wisdom belonged almost exclusively to her, and that differing views were obstacles rather than contributions.

Staff struggled to understand her reluctance to acknowledge the school’s existing strengths or the work of those who had served it before her. Rather than learning from the past and inviting others to shape the future, she seemed determined to embody change itself.

The school was transformed not through a shared vision, but by the force of one person’s will.

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THE GUILD OF WIZARDS

In those troubled times, the National Witches’ and Wizards’ Guild played an important part in school life. Established to protect those who taught and help ensure that schools served their communities fairly, it encouraged collaboration, defended shared values and gave staff a voice in matters affecting their professional lives.

The Head Witch viewed the Guild with suspicion and seemed dismissive of its role. When the Guild’s school representatives spoke up for their colleagues, they met not gratitude but mounting pressure. Gradually, those who might have helped the school flourish were discouraged from speaking.

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A KINGDOM OF SILENCE

Witches and wizards had once been drawn to the school because they believed in what they could achieve together. They cared about the children, took pride in their work and valued their place in a shared community. That sense of belonging had been one of the school’s greatest treasures. Now it was all but gone.

At a training day, the Head Witch had encouraged everyone to take risks and throw their wands into the air, as though the future were theirs to shape. In practice, the opposite happened. Rules and restrictions multiplied, professional judgement was curtailed, and decisions flowed from her chambers with little meaningful consultation.

There seemed, too, to be one law for the Head Witch and her cronies, and another for everyone else. She appeared to stand beyond accountability.

The consequences could be seen in the steady stream of departures. During her first two years in charge, close to twenty members of staff left, including eight witches and wizards. Each departure had its own circumstances, but almost all those who left shared deep unhappiness about their treatment and serious concerns about the school’s direction.

Losing so many experienced people was no passing inconvenience. It was a stark measure of the damage being done and a sign that the school had ceased to be a rewarding place to work.

Nor was the harm confined to staff. Relationships frayed between teachers and pupils, between the school and parents, and across the wider community. In remarkably little time, the kingdom had become a very different place.

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THE LAST APPEAL TO THE COUNCIL

Before leaving, one wizard decided that the governing council had to know what had happened. It had been entrusted with overseeing the school, ensuring that its ruler acted responsibly and protecting the interests of those who lived and worked within its walls.

He wrote a long and earnest letter describing the school’s achievements, the decline in its culture, the Head Witch’s leadership, the pressure placed on staff and the fear that speaking out might bring further trouble.

He did not write lightly. He had loved the school, taught wonderful children, forged lasting friendships and taken pride in what he and his colleagues had accomplished. Leaving under these circumstances filled him with profound sadness. But silence, he believed, would betray everything he had valued.

He offered to provide further details and urged the council to investigate, ask difficult questions and fulfil its responsibilities.

The letter was acknowledged. Then, as far as the wizard could tell, nothing happened.

There was no visible sign that the concerns had been meaningfully investigated, that the Head Witch had been held to account or that the treatment of staff had prompted any reckoning. The council had been told; the duty to act rested with those who governed. Yet the kingdom remained silent.