Mildred Hubble

It's actually kind of remarkable how central Mildred is while so rarely being the 'best' at anything in a conventional sense. In 'The Worst Witch', she's the clumsy, perpetually ink-stained student at Miss Cackle's Academy who can't seem to get a spell right or keep her broomstick under control. But that's the whole point, isn't it? She's the eternal underdog, the one who muddles through not on prodigious talent but on sheer stubborn kindness and a good heart. Her loyalty to her friends Maud and Enid, and even her sometimes-rival Ethel Hallow, defines her more than any magical feat.

What I always found interesting is how the series lets her grow without losing that core identity. She never becomes a flawless top student, but she earns respect through her actions, like saving the school multiple times through pure, inventive courage. It's a quieter, more relatable arc than the 'chosen one' narrative. You root for her because she feels real—the girl who trips over her own feet but will stand up to a witch-hating mob without a second thought.

Mildred's first year at Miss Cackle's was rough. It wasn't just that her spells kept exploding or that she was messy—though she was spectacularly messy. The real friction came from being the odd one out in a system that prized tradition and pedigree. She had to sit through potions class with Maud's awful cat tabby slinking around her ankles, and Ethel Hallow's constant, gleeful reminders that Mildred didn't belong. The teachers mostly saw a problem to be solved, not a girl trying her best. I think her biggest hurdle was that initial loneliness, the sinking feeling that everyone, from the strictest teacher to the snootiest classmate, had already decided she'd fail.

Her broomstick issues were legendary, obviously. Couldn't take off, couldn't land, couldn't steer. But that was just the visible symptom. Underneath, she was battling this deep-seated fear that her non-magical background meant she had no right to be there at all. The constant comparisons to Ethel, who had perfect lineage and near-perfect spellwork, wore her down. She faced challenges that weren't on any syllabus: proving her worth, keeping her friends when she kept accidentally turning them into snails, and just holding onto the belief that 'different' didn't have to mean 'wrong.' She triumphed, but man, she earned every bit of it.

The thing about Mildred's arc that hit me sideways wasn't the big magic moments, but the quiet shift in how she sees her own flaws. At the start of 'The Worst Witch', she's pure, uncontainable chaos – tripping over her own robes, getting spells spectacularly wrong, and feeling like a permanent outsider at Miss Cackle's Academy. You watch her internalize that 'worst' label so completely. Her evolution isn't really about becoming the 'best' witch. It's about learning to channel that chaotic energy into something creative. By the later books, her 'mistakes' often become unconventional solutions. She stops trying to perfectly mimic Ethel Hallow and starts leaning into her own stubborn, compassionate, and oddly resourceful instincts. The character growth is in the self-acceptance, not the grade improvements. Her loyalty to Maud and Enid stays the constant core, but she becomes their anchor as much as they are hers. The final book gives you this witch who's still messy, but now understands her messiness is part of her strength, not a disqualification from it.

I keep thinking about her relationship with authority, too. She never becomes a rule-follower, but she learns which rules are worth bending and which structures actually keep people safe. It’s a subtle maturation you only notice looking back.

Oh, absolutely, the BBC 'Worst Witch' series from the late 90s is a total comfort watch. It nails that cozy, slightly dated British boarding school vibe in a way the later shows don't. The special effects are hilariously bad – think flying broomsticks held up by visible wires – but that's part of the charm. The actress who plays Mildred, I can never remember her name, really captures that endearing, clumsy desperation.

There's also the 1986 movie, which is darker and weirder. Tim Curry as the Grand Wizard is a performance you can't unsee, all campy menace. It deviates a lot from the books, but it has its own cult following. I wouldn't start there, though; it's more for completists after they've soaked in the main series.