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Witch's Apprentice	By : TheTVJunkie Category: 1 through F > 1-800-MISSING Views: 821 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own 'Hocus Pocus' or anything related to it. There's no money made off of my stories; no copyright infringement intended!

Chapter List
- 1-Witch's Apprentice
- 1
A/N: This fic is dedicated to "yoursweetdenial" on tumblr. She sparked the making of this little tale, thanks to our interesting conversation. :) I'm not good with the whole pronouns and sexual labeling thingy, but I've been told this OC would be considered "Panromantic/Demisexual". Also, in case you have read my other fics you might know that I'm not a big fan of OCs, but in this case it couldn't be avoided for the sake of storytelling. Anyway, enjoy and thanks for reading!
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created by Disney and owned by whoever may hold the rights in this very moment you're reading this, various publishers and their corporate affiliates. All recognisable characters/situations/events happening are copyrighted by their respective owners. No money is being made from this fic and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Nora smiled to herself as she stepped away from the big, bubbling copper pot. Humming absent-mindedly, she tucked a loose strand of brunette locks behind her ear, for the steam of the small cooking area always made her hair go wild and unruly.
"Dinner's ready," the girl then chirped, ladled the hot stew into two chipped plates and carried it over to the small wooden table by the fireplace. The flames crackled and sputtered, casting eerie, flickering shadows all over the cramped room, but bathed it in a cosy, warm atmosphere all the same.
A woman sat at the table, engrossed in some heavy tome. The fitful glow from the hearth made her curled hair, worn in distinctive bouffant fashion, gleam in an impossibly brighter shade of fiery red.
"Mistress," Nora nudged her softly as she sat down on the rickety bench next to her. "Quit reading for tonight or it'll ruin your eyes. Eat."
Winifred shot Nora a disapproving look but yielded when the delicious smell of homemade food reached her nostrils. Ever so carefully, she removed her precious book from the table, placing it next to her.
"We're out of mugwort and plantain. You're going to stock up on it by dusk." the witch instructed Nora curtly, an air of authority surrounding the red-head that brooked no room for argument.
The girl nodded dutifully, "It'll be the first thing on my agenda in the morning."
Mood lifting a little at her apprentice's willingness to obey without opposition, Winifred accepted the proffered plate and cutlery.
"Any actual meat in this stew?" she inquired, picking at her food.
"Oh yes," the girl assured, "The remnants of Sarah's latest prey."
"The rabbit or that Thompson boy?" Winnie asked, interest piquing.
"The latter," Nora confirmed, content to see her mistress clapping her hands and giving a delighted, little squeak in response.
"Good, good, still fresh and tender then, that little shit." Winifred let out a sharp laugh a the first bite, a laugh that would give every regular person a chill.
"Deliiiiciooous indeed," the younger woman agreed, entirely unperturbed by the human cannibalism they practised.
For a good while, mistress and apprentice sat in mutual silence as they dug in their ungodly meal.
Sarah and Mary were out that night, the youngest Sanderson sister probably having a romp in the hay with some needy poor bastard while Mary, the middle sister, was busy with collecting a couple of rare ingredients which only bloomed in the bright, silvery moonlight. Finding those fickle plants and fungi was an art form that Mary truly excelled in, her hellhound genes coming in pretty handy for such a task. Also, they were out of several dead man's body parts. As usual, Mary was reliably going to take care of that little problem, too.
The girl cleared the table without any prompting, household chores being a mandatory part of her apprenticeship which she hadn't been too happy about at the beginning. Nevertheless, as boring and as repetitive those chores were, Nora soon learned that it gave her lots of opportunities to secretly watch her mistress, sometimes for hours on end.
Winifred was usually brooding over her beloved booook, concocting some devilish brew or testing curses and hexes on not-so-willing participants. Sarah always made dead sure that nobody would miss any of them; she often brought home strays, animals and humans alike. Maybe the blonde vixen wasn't as ditzy as she let on, after all.
Trying to keep the clattering to a minimum whilst she did the dishes, Nora once more caught herself secretly watching Winifred from the other side of the room, and her heart grew heavy. Her mistress stared into the flames in abstraction, probably mulling over some of the many problems she was supposed to solve all on her own. Her trademark scowl still creased the witch's forehead, but it seemed to stem rather from worry, than anger. The obsessively maintained mask of disdain and hot-headed fury had cracked and fled her face, leaving behind a forlorn expression of sadness, unspoken defeat, and exhaustion.
In the beginning, Nora had simply felt pity for the older witch. Yet, as the months passed, the moon waxing and waning a couple of times, the apprentice had to concede that her initial feeling of mere compassion had grown into something more profound.
Nora was smitten with Winifred.
And she had no idea what to do about it. Truth be told, Nora's questionable moral conduct had some deviant experiences in the sack bestowed on her, including some experimental liaisons with women, but it's always just been a pastime. Or a quick possibility to get her hands on a coin or two; lovers in post-orgasmic bliss rarely paid much attention to their shed clothes and the money those carried.
Though harbouring romantic emotions that had bloomed from pure and innocent admiration, and for a female at that, was a baffling first and for a good while, Nora had tried to shoo those feelings away.
To no avail.
Dozen of times, the girl had apprehensively pictured herself on the receiving end of Winifred Sanderson's wrath if she ever dared to voice her foolish infatuation. – It didn't seem a clever move at all. Nora didn't want to end up as a salamander. Or hog. Or roasted hog, for that matter. Logic dictated that discretion was the better part of valour, but her heart yearningly begged to differ.
The girl found herself overtly staring once again, the picture of misery gut-wrenching.
Thus, after being on the fence for so long, she put herself together, defied her sense of self-preservation and gingerly tip-toed over to the fireplace, absurdly anxious that the wooden, creaking floorboards might give away her intentions or make her stop dead in her tracks and back-pedal.
However, her worries were unfounded as she strode over bravely, plucking up all her courage and sitting down next to Winnie who, obviously deep in thought, didn't even acknowledge her presence as she kept staring into the sizzling flames, zoning out.
Where to start? Wisely, that is? Maybe a little compliment would do just fine…
"You know, you have beautiful hands, Mistress," Nora whispered sheepishly whilst tracing her fingers tenderly over Winifred's slim wrist, along the back of her hand, up to her long, pointy fingernails.
The red-head was taken aback by the unexpected gesture, so it took her a second to flinch.
"Ha," she then snorted, sarcastic defensive attitude firmly back in place, "Beautiful is none of the words that comes to mind of most people I cross paths with,"
"Well…beauty lies in the eye of the beholder," Nora countered, instantly hating how hackneyed that phrase sounded. She nervously repeated her affectionate gesture but felt Winifred stiffen under her gentle touch.
"Oh, enough of that," the older woman hissed, hastily trying to rise from the little bench. She would never have anyone mock her ever again, let alone under her roof, "Guard your tongue or I shall have it for breakfast, wench!"
"Mistress, please," the brunette replied calmly, not letting go of the spooked witch. Nora seized her firmly by the wrist while boldly putting her other arm around Winnie's waist, effectively preventing her from standing, "Do you think me a villager imbecile, eager to jeer you? Please hear me out."
For a moment Winifred kept struggling in Nora's grip but then relented with an annoyed huff. She impatiently began tapping the claw-like fingers of her other hand on the table in irritation, "Well?"
"Beauty is more than just looks," the apprentice offered lamely, although she smiled at the older woman sincerely, "You are the smartest person I've ever had the privilege to meet, so well-read, audacious, and resilient, no matter what life throws at you. And…it does throw a lot at you, doesn't it?"
Winifred tilted her head, her frown a little less severe.
"Isn't it an immense burden to always have to be the one in charge, never able to let go of your iron control for everything would be in shambles if you did?"
Pushing her luck further, the apprentice embraced the eldest Sanderson sister fondly, resting her head on the witch's shoulder, "You're always so tense," Nora felt the velvety fabric of Winifred's gown on her cheek, a curly strand of red hair tickling the brunette as she kept holding the grumpy witch tight.
Never before had Nora been at such close physical proximity to Winifred as she was in that very moment; so the girl closed her eyes reverentially when she came to inhale the other's scent. Sandlewood, maybe vetiver, and earthy moss, from what Nora could tell and also something….that was intrinsically Winifred Sanderson.
"When has been the last time you've relaxed? Have somebody do something for your sake and yours alone?" the young apprentice continued softly, starting to gently rock her mistress. Nora was overjoyed when she felt Winifred slowly relax in her arms.
The girl was very much aware of the red-headed witch not having an easy life. – Shunned by society and having to take permanent care of her dimwitted sisters must have been like a millstone around her neck for years and years on end.
Her sharp intellect and brilliancy were practically starving, an exchange of ideas was close to impossible with her stupid kinfolk. Also, the lack of money and thereby making ends meet had proven to be an ongoing nuisance. After all, a witch couldn't just walk into town and borrow like, a book from the library, or get any other goods for that matter without risking being caught, humiliated, tortured – the 'pear of anguish' had become very fashionable lately - perhaps tarred and feathered, and eventually burned at the stake, drowned, or hanged. God-fearing bigots were ironically deviously inventive in coming up with all sorts of perverse punishment for those they considered wandering astray.
Henceforth, Winifred and her sisters were limited to the woods, at the outskirts of Salem, living a life of sheer endless hardship.
Beaus weren't exactly lining up for courting Winnie either, and that Billy/Sarah-incident Nora had heard of from Mary on the quiet must have hurt the cantankerous witch deeply. Looks…well, despite her put-on vanity, the eldest Sanderson was probably begrudgingly aware that she was not a classical beauty. All flaming red hair and overbite. Sympathetically, Nora figured it must have been like a punch in the guts every time some random, nasty moron called Winnie ugly. Especially children were known for being exceptionally cruel when it came to such superficial matters.
At least, the witch got her revenge on many of the little rats. In spades.
The world saw Winifred Sanderson as a grouchy crone, a bickering, recalcitrant, downright evil, and hideous monster; cold-hearted and blasphemous, wickedly stealing townspeople's children from their beds for them to meet their untimely demise at the hands of the Sanderson matriarch. Nobody realised, nor cared, that, in many ways, Winnie was very much a product of her environment.
Which is why, or so Nora came to believe, her mistress had eventually accepted her wish of becoming the feared witch's apprentice – misunderstood and underappreciated as Winifred was, Nora's request must have flattered her on some level.
However, when the girl had first come to the Sanderson house four months ago and expressed her ambition, she had been chased away and told to decidedly not return.
On the second day, Nora had brought a huge basket full of perishables, venison, a couple of sewing supplies, and an assortment of fabrics from town. Descending from a long line of frauds and pickpockets she had been blessed with a certain street-smart and criminal skill from an early age on; thus to relieve a few drunken braggarts from their money, a pocketwatch or two, and some trinkets had been a piece of cake. Nobody in town knew her, so her stocking up on goods did not have the townfolks alarmed.
The day before, sly as she was, the vigilant brunette had spotted that the sisters' clothes, and especially Winifred's robes, were in desperate need of mending; her fancy green dress tattered and torn in some parts. Gold thread was hard to get hold of, and costly too, so adding it to the pack of goodies as an additional treat seemed like a good idea.
That time, Nora had not been chased away at an instant. She had even been thanked for her generous gifts by Mary and Sarah who must have been starving if their digging in the food, directly out of the basket, was anything to go by. Nonetheless, Nora was then sent off with Winifred's clipped reply that her application might maybe be taken into consideration, given she brought the sisters something "of higher and more long-lasting value".
The girl had turned that ominous request over in her mind for the umpteenth time before the penny had dropped later that night. – It wasn't gold or riches Winifred had spoken of, for, while it was certainly of higher value, it was not long-lasting as it had to be spent at some point. In the Sanderson case rather sooner than later. A different kind of food, perhaps non-perishables this time, was certainly of a more long-lasting, but not necessarily higher value, so that couldn't be the answer either.
The moment of enlightenment came to Nora while she sat on her tree, her impromptu place of sleep, lazily listening to the grunting of the wild boars ploughing the ground in search of acorns in the semi-darkness of the imminent dawn.
At her sudden epiphany, a smug smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, "So the rumours are true, after all."
^***
In the afternoon of that day, the third day, the young woman brought the Sanderson family not one, but two children. The siblings had been playing carelessly at a nearby fishpond, never any the wiser what hit them when they foolishly paid the harmless-looking stranger approaching them no heed.
They were now unconscious, knocked over the head, but still breathing.
And that got Nora in already.
The girl had proven to be tenacious, observant to detail, cunning, practical, clever, and, most importantly, ruthless. All qualities that came in useful for an aspiring witch. While, or so legend had it, Sarah Sanderson could easily lure children to the Sanderson cottage, her siren-like song making them follow her in a stupor, Nora bringing the young ones showed that she might not have Sarah's magical skill, but the guts to seal the fate of the little ones without batting an eye.
"I…don't even remember," Nora was abruptly roused from her musings as the melancholy and regret in Winnie's voice sounded in her ear, "I…really can't recall, not even vaguely."
Winifred had allowed herself to close her eyes, the rocking was pleasantly soothing and, while she would never openly admit it, her natural craving for human touch had not been quenched in a long, long, long time, so this felt quite nice. The red-head knew she could easily overpower the girl if she wanted to, as did Nora know, Winnie figured. The witch's effortless usage of her electrokinesis ability was flawless and would have her naughty little apprentice thrash around on the floor like a fish out of water in no time.
Admittedly, the brunette had turned out smarter and more inquisitive than Winnie had first thought. The witch had to concede that, not only did she come to enjoy their occasional casual conversations, but also, little by little, did she take pride in successfully teaching somebody, who wasn't a blithering dunderhead, the wicked art of witchcraft. Nora's skills were effectively honed by Winifred's strict tutoring, the girl was attentive and had a good sense to know when she better just shut up. Which was, thanks to Winifred's infamous temperament, more often the case than not.
Truth be told, Nora sometimes was a little lax regarding the housework, but all in all, she had not been the pain in the neck Winifred had expected her to be. The young woman hadn't even complained about her makeshift bed, which only consisted of a scratchy sack of hay and a bunch of old, worn blankets, placed next to the hearth on the ground floor, the very same they were currently sitting in front of. Mary and Sarah shared a room, only the eldest Sanderson sister had her quarters and four-poster bed upstairs all to herself.
Nora continued the rocking, enjoying the emanating warmth and body contact immensely. Then, on a presumably risky whim, she squeezed her eyes shut and gave Winnie a chaste peck on the cheek, simply feeling it was the right thing to do. She was desperate to express her affection and devotion to her mistress, decency be damned. For a long second the girl expected to be zapped, and rightfully so, but much to her surprise, the painful bolts never came.
Still holding her breath, Nora cracked an eye open, relieved to find Winifred not yelling bloody murder. The witch had turned her head towards her, their faces mere centimetres apart, the air around them suddenly bristling with papable, unresolved tension.
"What. Do you think. You're doing?" came Winifred's imperious drawl.
Nora blushed crimson, seeing herself reflected in the almost black eyes of her mistress. Pupils dilated widely, the witch's natural green eye colour was scarcely visible.
The girl was simply too entranced to answer the question, so her lips came crashing down on Winnie's in a silencing, searing kiss.
The witch jerked back a little, gasping when Nora stopped the tender exploration of Winifred's mouth, the older woman's eyes wide as saucers, shock written all over her face.
"I don't know what I'm doing," Nora admitted in all honesty, for she herself was confused as to where instinct was leading her to. This was no lust-driven encounter, no animal attraction that made her initiate this crazy adventure. Nora couldn't quite put a finger on it; all she knew was that, with every fibre of her being, she wanted to see her mistress happy, carefree, and relaxed. Even if it were only for a limited time.
If this took a sexual favour to achieve, then so be it.
Nora's motivation was not born from mere lecherousness, but rather deep-felt care and a strong desire to give Winifred a brief reprieve from arduous reality, "I just want you to feel good, Mistress,"
Winifred seemed at a lack for words (another first), her lips quivering, but no words came out, just gasps of astonishment.
"Please allow me to make you feel good, will you?" the young woman implored, her mouth delicately grazing the shell of the witch's ear as her breath halted in anticipation of Winifred's reply. Nora's words were full of lecherous promise and, despite her usually straight orientation, a flabbergasted Winnie found herself neither rejecting nor hindering her apprentice's advances when her daring little apprentice gently ran her hands over the witch's ample breasts, down her sides and over her hips.
Gracefully, Nora sank to her knees on the floor in front of her mistress, shoving the little table out of the way as she went. With shivering hands and ever so reverently she peeled away the many layers of green and purple skirts and underskirts, their loud rustle leaving a trail of goosebumps on Nora's heated skin.
A frisson of exhilaration ran swiftly up the apprentice's spine when she began to lovingly trace her hands along Winifred's slender legs, from the dainty ankles up to her shapely thighs, leaving the green and black striped stockings attached to their garters - a true sight to behold.
Last, she unbuttoned the front flap of the fringed, red bloomers.
Nora gazed up at Winifred, eyes hazy with lust, finding the witch flustered, her bosom heaving as she sat leaning against the backrest for support. The witch had blushed prettily, still somewhat dumbfounded, but clearly in curious anticipation of what was to come. Nora could not make out any repulsion, so her mouth curled into a wanton smile as she slowly parted Winifred's legs.
Never averting her gaze, Nora closed the small distance between them, her warm tongue darting out to taste her mistress, trailing her nether lips, all pink and plump, painstakingly sweeping its every contour and crevice.
Winnie could only watch, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the edge of the bench with both hands in a futile attempt of self-control. Unforeseen arousal clouded her mind quickly, as this thrill of excitement had lain dormant for many a day.
Nora showered her with butterfly kisses all over her sex, which elicited an unrestrained moan from the red-head. The girl then let a stream of air tickle over the witch's sensitive nub, teasingly flicking the tip of her tongue over it and back over Winifred's increasingly wettening folds.
Before long, Nora felt a tuft of her hair yanked, fingers entangled in it, the sharp tips of Winifred's nails painfully digging into her scalp, holding her steady. The girl quickly looked up to find her mistress murmuring incoherently, eyelids aflutter in rapture, the grip on Nora's hair presumably a try at regaining at least a modicum of precious control over the current situation.
The young woman took that as a hint to up the notch; so she licked her with renewed vigour, tongue dipping into Winnie as Nora sealed her lips over her pulsing clit, engulfing it in warm, wet heat while she kept sucking frantically, expertly whipping her muscle in all the right places.
Soon, Nora could feel the tell-tale, hungry clench on her tongue, the first waves of orgasm about to rip through her mistress. Shuddering and bucking, Winifred's breathing came in ragged gasps before she let out a high-pitched yelp, her overworked brain shortening out for one glorious, blinding moment.
That roaring climax involuntarily triggered a violent discharge of electricity that erupted from her fingers, threatening to sear through poor Nora. If it hadn't been for Winifred's quick-wittedness to release the vice-like grip she had on the girl and push her away, she might as well have grilled her.
Stupefied briefly, Nora felt a minor electrical jolt rush through her, painful at first, but then descending to a mere tingling sensation. Still, it was enough to let some strands of her hair stand on end comically.
All of a sudden, the door banged open, sending the hinges rattling and Nora backing further away from Winifred reflexively, hitting her head on the table as she did so.
"Ouch, dammit!" she cursed.
Sarah stood at the threshold, a concerned expression on her pretty face.
"Winnie, are you alright?" the blonde asked, clearly upset. "I thought I heard you screaming!"
"Ummm…yes, I'm fine, I'm fine," Winifred stuttered breathlessly, basking in the pleasurable aftershocks of orgasm. The witch was now so preoccupied that she didn't even attempt to re-adjust her skirts.
"What are you doing down there, Nora?" the youngest Sanderson sister asked, curiously.
"I…I….was just tending to a ladder in Winifred's stockings," Nora offered, hoping that Sarah's childlike mind would buy the blatant lie.
"Oh," the blonde said, smiling cheerfully, "Let me help you with that, I quickly get my sewing kit and then I…."
"NO!" came Winifred's and Nora's unified and horrified reply.
Sarah had come to be surprisingly adept at sewing and needlework, so fixing garments was another of her unexpected talents. Still, it would take some unpleasant explanation as to why her sister was sitting in front of their apprentice, trouser flap open and pussy exposed.
"No?" Sarah asked, confused, "Why not?"
"What's going on here?" a grittier voice sounded, "I heard Winifred screaming?"
An anxious Mary had entered the cottage, a large sack full of all sorts of herbs, plants, fungi and whatnot on her back.
"Oh, she's alright," Sarah babbled, before idiotically parroting, "Nora was just fixing a ladder on Winnie's stockings. I guess she must have stung her." she waddled over to the kitchen area, "Anything left of the chicken you made? I'm starving."
"Chicken?" Nora asked perplexedly, not following Sarah's drift.
"There's only Thompson stew left, we didn't have chicken today." Winifred chimed in, face remarkably straight as eventually had the presence of mind to re-arrange her gown innocently.
"Weird," Sarah concluded, filling a bowl for herself, "I could have sworn I smelled chicken when I came in."
And then it dawned on Nora. – SHE was the one smelling like "chicken" to the blonde simpleton; probably due to the harmless superficial burns from the accidental split-second Winifred's sizzling electricity had struck her scalp.
It took the girl all of her willpower not to burst into laughter. This whole endeavour had turned out to be unintentionally hilarious!
Mary, however, shot her big sister and Nora a doubtful glance, sniffing the air thoroughly. She was picking up another scent, something all too familiar.
She sniffed the air again.
She would recognise it everywhere.
She had smelt it on Sarah far more often than she cared to admit.
This was the reek of sex permeating the air. No doubt about it.
Mary blinked a few times, looking at Winifred with a questioning eyebrow. Luckily, the way her older sister's eyes bore into hers was enough to cow her docile sister.
Hence, the black-haired witch shrugged, "Alright then, I'm off to bed," Mary said, climbing the stairs to their bedrooms after leaving the sack by the door. "Good night everyone."
"Me too," Sarah agreed with her as she had finished her supper, "Are you coming, Winnie?"
"Yes, yes, I'm coming," Winifred concurred, as she followed Sarah and Mary up the stairs.
She turned around on the landing, though.
"Good night, Nora," she gave the young woman one of those rare, genuine, buck-toothed smiles," And don't forget about the ingredients."
"I won't, Mistress," Nora replied softly, her heart skipping a beat at the way her name sounded on her mistress' lips. So far she's only been referred to as "apprentice".
Nora rejoiced, quickly wrapping herself in the blankets of her humble bed. A small bead of blood ran down her temple, courtesy of Winifred's razor-sharp fingernails, but she didn't mind. No pain, no gain, right? An all-encompassing surge of satisfaction swept through her, a satisfaction that her body could never give her. Wearily, she watched the logs snapping and tinder popping, before letting sated sleep finally claim her.
Meanwhile, upstairs, Winnie had fallen into the blackness of slumber the very moment her head had made contact with the pillow; exhausted, but incredibly content.
For the first time in a long time, Winifred Sanderson was not haunted by nightmares.
- 1
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Witch's Apprentice