Chapter 39

30 November, 1958 Rackharrow Hall, Berkeley Gardens, Kensington

"Hey, Girlfriends! How can I help?" Gemma asked with a plastic smile fixed to her face.

Dorcas could feel the loathing pouring off of her.

"If you'd answer your letters, we wouldn't have had to come here," Dorcas replied, her jaw twitching with the urge to grind her teeth.

"Oh, I'm not much of a letter writer."

Gemma stepped aside to let Dorcas in.

"Cherry, are you coming?" Dorcas called over her shoulder a little more harshly than she'd meant.

Cherry looked pale and nervous. The awkward encounter with Tom on the heels of Dorcas's confessed lip lock with him had the combined effect of undoing Cherry's considerable reserves of composure and rendering her mute.

Dorcas regretted unburdening onto her friend. Her motive was a selfish one. She didn't want to carry her weighty mistake around all on her own. But what could Cherry do about it?

Cherry's words on the park bench came back to her:

"It could have been anyone else, Dorcas. Cal would have tried his hardest to get past it. But not Tom."

Dorcas knew she was right. The kiss was betrayal enough. That it was Tom she sought comfort with was what made the crime unforgivable.

Dorcas followed Gemma to an immaculate white sitting room.

Gemma appeared cool and unfazed by the unexpected visit. Her dark hair was casually thrown into a high ponytail. Her slim legs clad in black cigarette pants, terminating in the kind of flat black slippers that Audrey Hepburn had made her signature. She wore a green jumper that drew out the green of her eyes.

Dorcas hated that Gemma could appear casual and stunningly beautiful all at once. Whereas, the chance encounter with Tom had made Dorcas break out in a nervous sweat despite the wintry weather outside.

She unbuttoned her coat and tore it off of her arms in an attempt to cool herself off.

"Oh! I'd offer to take your coat, but I don't want you to stay," Gemma sneered.

"No matter," Dorcas said, throwing her coat over the back of the white velvet loveseat.

"What's wrong with her? I get that Weasleys aren't gifted with an overabundance of intelligence, but this one seems subhuman," Gemma dug.

Cherry was trailing Dorcas, clutching her side like she'd just run the length of Kensington Gardens. Dorcas gave her a look that she hoped would communicate that Cherry needed to pull herself together.

"Well, how would you feel if the man you were just months away from marrying fell out of communication with you?" Dorcas asked, taking Cherry's hand and leading her to the sofa.

Gemma sat in a high back white chair and shrugged as she crossed her legs.

"I would probably face the writing on the wall that the man didn't want to marry me after all," Gemma replied in her best attempt at trusted confidante.

Cherry opened her mouth to speak, but found that no words would come out.

"Gemma, you must be worried as well," Dorcas tried to appeal to her love of her brother. "Jonas was in regular communication with Cherry up until about ten days ago."

Gemma examined her nails in a pantomime of boredom.

"Serves him right, interfering in Muggle affairs. Our kind are supposed to remain wholly separate from the mess of the non-magical world."

Dorcas sighed. "Gemma, I know you don't mean that!–Well, I know you mean the Muggle-hating stuff, but the part where you don't care if your brother is alive or dead. You don't mean that!"

Gemma looked up from her study of her fingertips.

"And if I had heard from him? Do you think I'd tell you?"

She was being evasive for no reason.

Dorcas tried to push past her mental walls to get the information she sought. Either Gemma had heard something about Jonas, or she hadn't. Dorcas was tired of the cat-and-mouse routine.

She met a blockage in Gemma's mind, like a barrier. It was the same sensation she met when she'd tried to read Cal's mind after he'd learned Occlumency.

Tom must have been teaching her.

Dorcas was curious. Just what did Gemma know that Tom wanted to keep shielded from those who practiced the art of reading minds?

She pushed the curiosity to the side, making a mental note. She would mention this to Dumbledore the next time she saw him. But she was here to get information on Jonas. Gemma's plans with Tom were not her immediate concern.

"She's his fiance, Gemma. She deserves to know if he's safe or not. There's not much that unites us three in this room, just our love for Jonas. Please tell us what you know."

"He'll see reason. He won't go through with that marriage. Even Jonas isn't capable of embarrassing our family so completely by marrying a blood traitor like her," Gemma said, standing.

She crossed the sitting room, snatching up Dorcas's coat from the back of the loveseat, throwing it at her.

"If you don't mind," Gemma snarled, "I'd like for you to leave. I've answered all of your questions."

Dorcas stood, letting her coat drop to the floor. If she could but push past the Occlumency and into Gemma's mind, she'd leave gladly knowing once and for all if Gemma had any news about her brother. It wasn't a solid barrier, it was pliable. She just needed to get Gemma's guard down.

Her mind flickered over the scene in the entrance hall of Blackpool Abbey. Tom had goaded Cal into throwing a punch. Dorcas remembered how furious she'd been at both of them for behaving like children. She also remembered that Tom was after information. He'd taunted Cal into the fight so that he'd drop his mental guard.

"Please, Gemma. He's my family too," Dorcas pleaded, luring her cousin into a false sense of control in the situation.

Gemma took the bait. She got in Dorcas's face.

"He's not your family. You are NOT a Rackharrow!" She turned to Cherry. "And you'll never be one either!"

To Dorcas, she spat, "Jonas doesn't care about you. My father only took you in because he had to. Because you were an orphan. You're pathetic, Dorcas!"

This was going to feel so good.

Dorcas dropped her shoulder and put as much force behind her right fist as she could. The satisfying crack across Gemma's jaw was loud.

Dorcas's hand exploded in pain. But she'd accomplished her goal.

Gemma's mental defenses dropped immediately in her blind rage.

"How dare you!" she screamed, her bloody mouth contorted in an ungly grimace.

Dorcas discovered immediately that Gemma had not been contacted by anyone in the Ministry about Jonas. Jonas also had not reached out to his sister. Despite the front she was throwing up for Dorcas and Cherry, Gemma was worried for her brother.

Gemma reached for her wand with one hand and covered her busted lip with the other.

"STUPIFY!" Cherry shouted, wand drawn.

She caught Gemma's wand easily.

With her now free wand hand, Gemma slapped Dorcas across the face. The force of the slap caused Dorcas to spin, catching herself on the sofa.

Dorcas gave herself over to instinct and grabbed Gemma's ponytail, jerking her head backward.

Gemma's hands flew wide, catching Dorcas in the left eye with her knuckles.

Dorcas landed a punch to Gemma's stomach.

Gemma gasped as the wind was knocked out of her.

"Okay, Brando!" Cherry said, hauling Dorcas off of Gemma. "Enough!"

"GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" Gemma roared.

Dorcas dabbed at her cut eyebrow. She bent and retrieved her coat.

"She hasn't heard from him," she informed Cherry. "Let's go."

Dorcas and Cherry turned to leave, Cherry throwing Gemma's wand across the entryway but in the opposite direction from where Gemma stood with her arms crossed, glaring at them.

"Fetch, bitch!" Cherry taunted.

"We'll be sure to let you know if we hear anything, Gem," Dorcas promised sweetly.

:::

11 August, 1941 Number 19 Strattondale, Poplar

Dorcas never put much stock in her looks. Most girls at Hogwarts took great care with the way they arranged their hair, or how to match the shade of their lipstick to their dress.

She couldn't help but to think that she must have missed some crucial lesson of girlhood which would endow her with these instincts. Or maybe it was an inborn trait that she lacked.

Whatever the case was, she studied the photograph that she'd posed for and wished she was prettier. She wore her hair down, with just a ribbon holding the locks around her face back. She'd worn her new dress, the one she bought for Cherry's party.

Still, she hoped for a breathtaking affect. Imagining that Jack would look at this photograph over and over, she wanted it to show her in her best light, better than reality.

His feelings for you go well beyond your physical appearance, Dorcas told herself.

He would be glad of the token, even if Dorcas was less than pleased with the result.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she stuffed the photograph into an envelope along with a letter she'd written to him. The letter mostly described how she'd been spending her time. She gave an account of Cherry's party and her reaction to her presents, her excitement at riding in an automobile for the first time, seeing a film. Cherry's elation at being immersed in the Muggle world was the same as Jack's to the magical world. She hoped he found the events amusing and distracting.

She'd wanted to tell him more. She wanted to tell him that she hoped for a future with him. But she kept the tone light and friendly and neutral. Placing all of her hopes into a letter seemed like tempting fate.

Sealing the envelope before she could take the photograph out and burn it, Dorcas went down to the street to drop it into the letter box.

Dorcas saw Betty on the stairs as she reentered her building.

"Off to the club, then?" Dorcas asked.

Betty was dressed in a black sequined evening gown, her hair pinned and makeup applied expertly.

"Yes," Betty replied. "What are your plans this evening?"

Dorcas shrugged.

Most nights when her mother worked late, Dorcas would read her textbooks or play the piano. Her existence had become a sad and solitary one since Morty had left for his new home and she'd banished Tom from her life.

Betty took her hand, the spark of an idea illuminating her features.

"Come with me," she said, turning on the stairs and pulling Dorcas back up to the third floor and into Betty's apartment.

Dorcas followed with confusion. Betty's idea burst from her mind, almost making Dorcas pull away from her in refusal.

"Let's pick something for you to wear. You're going to the club with me tonight," Betty trilled.

"Betty," Dorcas objected. "I'm not allowed in."

"Nonsense!" Betty argued. "Marvin loves you!" She was referring to the Black Dahlia's manager. She'd met him, the doorman, and most of Betty's bandmates on the night she'd gone with Jack. "Plus, I've been pulling double duty as singer and pianist. You're doing me a favor."

"Betty, no. I can't perform."

Betty drew her into her bedroom. It reminded Dorcas of the excitement and nervous anticipation she'd felt at Jack's promise of a date. The remembrance caused her stomach to plummet a little with longing.

"Yes, you can! You know all of the songs by heart. It'll be a good distraction from sitting in your flat night after night pining for your young man."

Betty selected a black silk cocktail dress for her and began pinning her hair.

Dorcas was curious at how she would fare playing for an audience. She wondered if she'd have stage fright, or love the attention. Undoing the buttons down the front of her dress, she decided that she'd like to find out.

30 November, 1958 Watermead, Aylesbury

Dorcas weathered Cherry's outrage until they'd left Kensington Gardens before she could Apparate home. Her admonishment of Dorcas was severe.

"You don't want to referee round two?" Cherry shouted at her the moment the doors of Rackharrow Hall slammed behind them. "Dorcas, I nearly had to pull you off of her!"

"Jonas hasn't contacted her. That's all we needed to find out," Dorcas explained, massaging her right hand. There might be broken bones, she surmised.

"Was that all?" Cherry continued. "You seemed to have gone there with the express purpose of knocking Gemma's teeth out!"

"Are you coming back to my place? Or are you going home?" Dorcas asked, ignoring Cherry. She slipped her left glove on and then gingerly eased her right glove over her bruised knuckles.

"Home," Cherry announced, Apparating the second they'd reached the seclusion of a back alley.

"Fine." Dorcas Apparated moments later.

She hesitated on the stoop of her home. She checked her watch. She would have to pick Wren up in thirty minutes. At least Cal had gone to the hospital this morning, so she wouldn't have to explain herself to him.

She cast off her bag, overcoat, and boots. She wanted to attend to the gash above her eye before anyone could see her like this.

In the bathroom, Dorcas wet a cloth and began to clean the cut. She reached for her wand and cursed under her breath because it was in her coat pocket instead of the pocket on her hip.

Pressing the cloth to her brow, Dorcas raced back down the hall to her bag and coat in a pile in the floor.

The door to the basement laboratory opened.

"Dorcas?" Cal called. "Are you home?"

Dorcas cringed, digging through her coat pockets as quickly as she could to locate her wand.

"Yes, I'm home," she answered. She tried to sound casual. But if she couldn't heal herself quickly and Cal saw her face, she feared he would overreact.

"Hey!" he said from right behind her. "Lose something?"

It was as if her gloved hands didn't know how to search the yards of wool that was her coat. She stripped the gloves off, her right hand smarting when she did.

"Dorcas?" Cal said, kneeling beside her. "Do you need help?"

As he asked, he noticed her bruised knuckles.

"What happened?" he asked, his tone becoming worried.

Dorcas's shoulders slumped. It was no use trying to hide her irresponsible actions from him.

"Piss it!" she breathed, staring up at him. "I can't find my wand."

He inhaled sharply.

"Who did this, Dorcas? Did Tom–"

Dorcas laughed. "No! Do you think he's lurking around every corner, just waiting to beat me up again?"

Cal did not answer. He tilted her face to the light and prodded the cut over her eye.

"It was Gemma. Her bloody ring, I think. But I gave as good as I got!"

Placing firm hands beneath Dorcas's elbows, Cal stood her up and led her back to the bathroom. He'd taken the cloth from her so that he could clean the wound.

"Why did you hit Gemma?" Cal asked.

To his credit, Cal was being rather calm about the situation. Dorcas was surprised.

"Cherry and I went to her place in London because she wasn't answering any of my owls about Jonas."

"So you went there to what? Pick a fight with her?"

Cal's hands moved to her hips, lifting her onto the bathroom countertop. He reached for some antiseptic and a fresh cloth.

Dorcas winced as the chemicals bit into her lacerated skin.

"Sorry!" Cal said, blowing on the cut.

"Well, I didn't intend to pick a fight. I went there to ask her flat out if she'd heard about Jonas. She was being an evasive tw–OW!" Dorcas inhaled as Cal pinched the wound closed and healed it with magic.

"All better!" Cal said, winking at her as she cast a dark look at him.

Dorcas held her bruised hand up to him. "It might be broken," she informed him.

He examined her hand with gentle pressure from his fingers.

"So she was being an evasive…" Cal prompted.

"Twat," Dorcas supplied. "So I goaded her."

"Why did you goad her?" he asked, busy scanning and healing her broken bones and bruises.

Dorcas shrugged. "She's using Occlumency to shield her mind. I needed in."

Cal nodded. He understood how and why the fistfight had broken out now.

"Should I call round at Gemma's and fix her face?" he joked.

"She should be so lucky!" Dorcas scoffed.

Cal kissed her healed hand. "Any other injuries I can heal for you, dearest?"

Dorcas shook her head. "I just have a mild headache. She clocked me pretty good when I pulled her hair."

Shaking his head, her husband replied, "Girls are vicious!" He helped her down from the countertop. "Why don't you have a lie down and close your eyes for a few minutes?"

"No, I can't. I have to pick up Wren," Dorcas argued.

"I can do that." Cal led her to the bed and pulled back the covers for her. "I order you to rest."

:::

Dorcas barely registered the chime of the doorbell. She lay in the darkened bedroom, her head pounding.

She wished Cal would answer the door and send the offending party away.

"Cal?" she croaked, before she remembered that he'd gone to pick up Wren.

It seemed to take a tremendous amount of effort to place her feet on the floor and to stand. When she was upright, she felt a wave of nausea and dizziness. She reached for the bedpost to steady herself.

She shuffled in her socked feet down the hallway.

"Coming!" she called as the door's bell chimed again.

Dorcas scanned her reflection in the mirror above the entryway table and straightened her hair.

She opened the door and saw Gideon and Fabian Prewett standing on her doorstep.

The last time Fabian Prewett was here, he'd dropped the rather upsetting news that Stephen Muybridge would only stand trial for the murder of Theresa's husband, Jim Allen. Not for her son. She couldn't help the disappointment that crept into her voice as he appeared in her doorway once more.

"Hello," she answered woodenly.

"Dorcas," Gideon said, removing his hat. His brother did the same. "May we come in?"

Dorcas stepped back and waved them through her entryway. She felt so rotten at the moment, she couldn't manage to muster the appropriate manners.

After ushering the brothers into her sitting room, Dorcas asked if either would like coffee or tea. They mercifully declined. Dorcas didn't feel like making any.

"We won't take much of your time," Fabian said. "Is Cal home?"

"He will be shortly. He just went to pick up our daughter from school."

As if he'd been summoned, Cal and Wren came through the door, singing. Badly.

"Cal, honey," Dorcas called, the effort rattling something painful in her brain. "We have company."

Cal crossed the entryway into the sitting room, Wren following.

He removed his coat and shook hands with Gideon and Fabian while Dorcas unbuttoned Wren's coat.

"Counselor and Auror Prewett have something to share with us," Dorcas summarized.

"Okay," Cal said, taking a seat next to Dorcas. "Wren, sweetheart. Pippa's looking for you. She's in your room."

Everyone was silent until the little girl ran off down the hallway in search of her kitten.

"You are aware that we've been looking for your assistant, Dorcas?" Fabian began.

"Yes?" Dorcas replied, sitting up a little straighter and reaching for Cal's hand.

Fabian and Gideon exchanged looks.

"We've found her. When you told us that she cares for her ill mother, we began to watch apothecaries and shops that sell potions ingredients. She would need to fill her mother's medications," Fabian explained.

"Or make them herself," Dorcas filled in.

"Exactly," Fabian continued. "She entered a shop in Knockturn Alley that we've been surveilling. One of my men followed her to a small place she's renting in a Muggle area."

"Have you arrested her?" Cal asked, he moved to the edge of his seat as if readying himself to stand and fight.

Gideon put a hand out toward Cal. "No. We don't want to scare her," he cautioned.

"Cal, I want to talk to her. I want to figure out why she would betray me like she did. I don't think she ever wanted to hurt me."

"Well, she did. Whether she intended to or not is immaterial!" Cal spat.

Dorcas placed a hand on his thigh and squeezed lightly to calm him.

"Do you have an address?" she asked.

Fabian tore a piece of paper out of his notebook and handed it to Dorcas.

"Thank you both for your help," she offered, cutting off Cal who looked as if he wanted to demand more.

The four of them stood.

"That's it?" Cal asked. "You're just going to have a conversation with her?"

Dorcas's vision swam as she blinked Cal into focus. "I want to hear her out. I want to see if I can encourage her to testify against Muybridge. After all, it's him we want. Not some scared young woman that he threatened into being his pawn."

Cal bit back an argument, holding onto Dorcas's arm as she reached out to him to support herself.

"Thank you," he said to the Prewetts, while studying Dorcas's face.

"We'll see ourselves out," Gideon offered.

Fabian turned to Dorcas. "Please keep us informed. We'll apply pressure to Gwen Stanley if you require."

"Of course," Dorcas answered with a smile.

Cal waited for the door to close behind their guests.

"Dorcas, you don't look well," he observed.

Dorcas rubbed her eyes. "It's this headache. It's getting worse."

"Go and lie down. I'll look after Wren and see to dinner."

She handed the sheet of paper with Gwen's new address to Cal and shuffled back to the bedroom.

:::

2 September, 1941 Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Dorcas was glad to be back at Hogwarts. There was no shortage of lessons and books and friends to divert her.

She remembered her elation at learning that her mother was allowing her to return home to London for the summer as she sat right here at her spot about midway down the Ravenclaw House table. The summer had been filled with such promise.

But it had gone downhill almost the moment she'd stepped on the Hogwarts Express bound for home.

Thinking once more about her frightening encounter with Tom, her eyes found his across the hall as if pulled by a magnetic force. She returned to that memory over and over, still unable to understand what had come over him.

And then he'd apologized and she thought they would be able to navigate through it and into a friendship. But then he'd destroyed any hope of amiability between them when he'd basically encouraged her Uncle Lysander to have Morty committed.

She couldn't reconcile the mixed emotions she had toward Tom. But she still missed him. And she wished mightily that she didn't.

He looked away first, a smirk pulling up one corner of his mouth as Roman Flint turned to speak to him.

Dorcas returned her eyes to her plate of buttered toast.

One bright spot in an otherwise terrible summer was Jack Hardin. Tom's half-brother had unexpectedly shown up on her doorstep to confess that he had feelings for her. He'd also revealed, to Dorcas's horror, that he'd enlisted in the military. Dorcas felt as if she'd won some prestigious prize, only to have it snatched away from her.

She wished that she was able to pull his letters out of her trunk and reread the sweet and simple words he'd written. Or stare at his photograph. But she didn't dare read Jack's letters in the open. Or take his picture out of the breast pocket of her jumper where she kept it. To have to explain Jack to her friends would be an epic undertaking. She didn't want to even think about how Tom would take the news.

Owls entered with the post. Dorcas didn't bother to look up as she wasn't expecting anything. It was only the first day of classes and she'd not been gone from home long enough to warrant a letter from her mother.

When a letter dropped onto her toast anyway, Dorcas sat up a little straighter.

"How was your summer, Clerey?" Mohit Singh asked over his cereal as he scanned the Prophet's headlines.

Dorcas was smiling at the envelope. It was from Morty. That was an unexpected, but uplifting surprise, indeed.

"Clerey?" Mohit nudged her and laid his paper aside.

"Huh?" Dorcas grunted. She hadn't realized anyone was talking to her.

Mohit repeated his question.

"Oh! It was nice," she lied. "I got a paying gig playing piano," she added, picking out one of the few positive things that had happened in the last two months.

"Piano, eh?" Mohit nodded. "That doesn't surprise me. You seem to be the musical sort."

"She hums in the common room while she's reading," Charys Fletcher chimed in.

Mohit laughed. "Yeah! You do!"

Dorcas didn't comment on the odd habits that her housemates picked out about her. She turned her attention to Morty's letter.

"Oh, my summer, you ask?" Mohit prompted when Dorcas didn't show any interest in reciprocating the small talk. "I got an internship with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for the summer."

Dorcas looked up from the letter, authentically impressed. "Well, that sounds interesting," she replied. She opened her mouth to inquire about the experience but Charys cut her off.

"It wasn't, " Charys said. "He only filed paperwork. He just tells it like that so that girls will be impressed. She's not impressed, by the way," Charys informed Mohit.

"What did you do, Charys?" Dorcas asked, returning her eyes to Morty's words.

His writing was very clear and precise, which told Dorcas that he must have dictated what he wanted to say to a nurse or an aid. His right hand had a slight tremor in it which made his fine motor skills a bit dodgy.

He'd also included a watercolor painting of a toy biplane (his most prized possession) flying with a flock of multicolor paper cranes.

She was thinking of the best place to hang it in her dormitory.

"I spent the summer in Brazil with my mother and father. You know, they're renowned magi-botanists, and are working on their fourth volume of the Magical Fungi series."

Dorcas was sorry she'd asked.

Hoping she'd done enough "catching up" with her housemates, she returned to Morty's letter. He spoke of two friends he'd made: Eloise and Matthew and gave the hospital's food a rave review. He wrote about the classes that he was taking and that the one he looked forward to most was art class.

"A letter from your kid brother, or something?" Mohit asked, pulling the painting closer to him for inspection.

"My Uncle Morty, actually," answered Dorcas, looking up from the page.

Mohit's forehead wrinkled as he stared at the plane and birds.

"Is he barmy, or something?" Mohit asked.

Charys chuckled.

Dorcas snatched the painting back as the Ravenclaw head of house made her way to their group with third year schedules. Dorcas was eager to see the order of her classes, hoping that the newer and more challenging classes were scheduled for morning sessions when she was sharpest and most focused.

Professor Lin handed a sheet of parchment to Dorcas.

"Oh, I can't wait! I have Care of Magical Creatures during the second session today!" Charys enthused.

"I have Arithmancy first," Mohit replied.

Dorcas shook her head, scanning her schedule in disbelief.

"What do you have today, Dorcas?" Charys asked.

"I have Domestic Arts first, but it must be a mistake. I didn't sign up for that one!"

Dorcas read through her schedule once more, slowly. She was sure she'd misread it. She'd left school in June under the impression that she and Professor Lin had sorted this matter out.

"We all do, Dorcas," Charys pointed out as if Dorcas was dim. "Well, all of the girls do, at any rate."

"It's mandated," Mohit confirmed.

Dorcas wanted to shout at Mohit to stay out of it! It was completely unfair that Mohit and all of the other third year boys got to pick two new class offerings while Dorcas and all of the third year girls had to take this ridiculous janitorial class.

Dorcas popped up off of the bench, as if hoisted by an invisible rope. Her eyes scanned the Ravenclaw table for Professor Lin.

"Professor," Dorcas called, charging up to the Arithmancy teacher as she engaged in a conversation with a seventh year girl. "I think there's a mistake with my schedule."

"Oh?" Professor Lin turned a cool expression on Dorcas. "What seems to be the problem?"

Dorcas pointed to the first period class. "I'm supposed to be in Arithmancy this hour. But I'm marked down for Domestic Arts."

"All female students must take Domestic Arts, Miss Clerey," Professor Lin informed her.

Dorcas rocked back on her heels in disappointment. It was like Professor Lin had forgotten their conversation at the end of last year.

"But, Professor," Dorcas began, licking her dry lips as realization swept over her. Dippet had refused to make an exception for her. "We discussed my taking Ancient Runes and Arithmancy in place of Domestic Arts. I already know how to keep a home. And what I don't know, I can look up in a book."

Dorcas's heart was pounding. She felt the weight of this error like a millstone around her neck. If she wanted to be a healer, she needed to be in the most challenging classes, not a class for creating perfect creases when ironing trousers.

Students began to gather their books and schedules and scatter in different directions before the start of the first class of the new school year.

"I argued your case before Professor Dippet, Miss Clerey," Professor Lin explained. "He thinks it unwise to make an exception in your case. Young ladies must be turned out from Hogwarts with the necessary skills in order to be productive citizens in the Wizarding World."

"If the skills in Domestic Arts create such productive citizens then why don't the boys have to take the class?" Dorcas asked. She felt a petulant streak coming on and knew that her smart mouth would land her in detention if she didn't tread carefully.

Professor Lin exhaled loudly. "Dorcas, please accept that I have done everything possible on your behalf to get you the schedule you asked for. You will have to take Domestic Arts. You should view this as an opportunity to ready yourself for life beyond this school; life beyond studying and books."

Life as a drudge for some great wizard husband I'm supposed to marry one day, Dorcas thought to herself.

Professor Lin did not wait for Dorcas to respond, but turned on her heel without another word. After all, she had a first hour Arithmancy class to teach–one that Dorcas was supposed to be in.

Instead, she was going to be late for Hexes for Homemakers.

:::

Dorcas ran to the second floor classroom as most of the girls had already taken their seats. In the front row, Cherry and Anneliese had saved her a seat.

The two girls' heads were bent together over the class assigned text. There was one on the empty desk that Dorcas slid into.

If Dorcas wasn't already in a sour mood after Professor Lin's denial of her schedule request, the book staring up at her from the desktop would have done the trick.

A slender, blonde witch in a snug-fitting pink robe that flared out impossibly wide in the skirt teetered on the tiniest pink heel Dorcas had ever seen. In her right hand she held her wand aloft. From its tip sprouted the feathers of a magical duster. In an arc over the witch's head floated a mop, broom, frying pan, and lipstick and compact mirror. For good measure, the "balancing act" metaphor was driven home with the witch's left foot kicked out adorably behind her with a swaddled infant propped on it.

Dorcas studied the cover with a seething annoyance. She watched the perfectly poised cartoon witch juggling all of these items, wishing just once that the frying pan would fall out of the sky and knock the winking, blue-eyed housewife unconscious.

"Hello, ladies!" A witch in pink robes and pink heels strode quickly to the front of the class.

When she turned to face the class with a wink and a smile, Dorcas made the sickening realization that the obsequious cartoon witch on the cover was the very same woman made flesh-and-blood in front of her.

"My name is Professor Swyryn," the teacher introduced herself

"Dory! Hey!" Cherry whispered, belatedly noticing Dorcas sitting beside her. "Isn't that cover darling?"

Dorcas didn't answer. She looked at the author's name at the bottom of the cover for confirmation of her feared assumption.

The Witch's Workaday Wonderbook

By Dorthea Swyryn

Flipping through the pages of the book, Dorcas prejudged the work as a wasteful load of nonsense.

Dorcas looked at the girls to her right, left, and even behind her. No one else seemed to be annoyed by this class or this woman. All of the girls, including Cherry and Anneliese–especially Cherry and Anneliese–seemed to be listening to her with rapt attention.

"For the next four to five years, I will be your guide to the feminine art of making a home and caring for a family with magic. Your time with me will be fleeting but full of lessons on how to make a happy haven for your hard-working husband to come home to."

Dorcas tuned out most of the unicorn dung the woman was spewing, but she did wonder at some students only requiring four years for these crucial lessons.

Anneliese reminded her that some girls chose to leave school early if they secured a marriage proposal before their final term. The thought of leaving school before she'd had the opportunity to learn all that Hogwarts had to offer alarmed Dorcas and made her palms sweat.

"You have all been provided with a copy of my seminal work, 'The Witch's Workaday Wonderbook'. In it you will find critical instruction, moral guidelines, helpful tips, and a wealth of wisdom for a blissful married and homelife."

"My life with Darren will be very blissful," Cherry determined in a wistful voice.

Dorcas felt herself frowning at the prospect of the blissful married and homelife that Professor Swyryn described. Even as she dreamed about a future with Jack, she couldn't see herself as this archetype woman juggling husband, babies, chores, and a perfect appearance all at once. The ideal seemed unrealistic to her.

"Would you all turn to page 2 and read along with me as I read the introduction aloud," Professor Swyryn instructed.

Dorcas turned to page 2 and stifled a groan as the same witch stared up at her in her pink robes. Her wand ticked down a list of bullet points with a gleaming white smile pinned to her face.

Professor Swyryn began to read:

"HALLMARKS OF THE HAPPY HOUSEWIFE

The housewife is happiest when those around her are made happy by her efforts. The home is a wizard's haven and the witch's primary responsibility is to take every opportunity to make this so. The happy witch always considers the following advice:

Have dinner prepared and on the table when your husband arrives home. A well-prepared meal will let your husband know that you have been thinking about him while he was away and are always concerned with meeting his needs. Hard-working wizards deserve to come home to a hot, delicious meal served by the loving hands of their wives.

Don't neglect your appearance or pleasant demeanor. Take fifteen minutes to rest before your husband's arrival home. Touch up your makeup, put a ribbon in your hair, change into a fresh robe in his favorite color. Always appear soft and gay. He's just spent the workday with a bunch of dreary stiffs. Be uplifting and a little interesting. Find opportunities to praise him.

Straighten the main living area one final time before his arrival home. Swish your wand over any dusty surfaces and banish unsightly toys and school books so that your husband can rest and relax in a home that is free of clutter.

Prepare the children. Take a moment to wash the children's hands and faces, comb their hair, and dress them in clean clothes. They are his little treasures and he would like to see them playing the part.

Take care to minimize noise. The home should be a place of respite. Put on some soothing music, encourage the children to be quiet, and talk to him in calm tones.

Don't greet him with problems. While your husband appreciates that you defer decision-making to him, allow him time to relax before bringing mundane household issues to his attention. He's had to make thousands of choices during the workday. At home, give him a well-deserved break.

Don't complain that he's late for dinner. Count his tardiness as a minor issue compared with all that he has had to deal with during his day.

Make him comfortable. Greet him with a drink and soft, kind praise. Let him know that you've missed him while he was away. Fluff a pillow for him as he rests on the sofa. Offer to take his shoes for him. Allow him to relax and unwind.

Listen to him. You may have a dozen things on your mind and you've waited all day to talk to him, but your husband deserves a moment of peace and quiet to reflect on his day. He may wish to tell you how his day went. Be silent and supportive.

Make the evening his. Never complain that he doesn't pay attention to you, or that he doesn't take you out on the town. Instead, try to understand his world of strain and pressure. Think about his needs and meet them to the best of your ability. After all, this is your one goal and purpose."

"Jesus Christ!" Dorcas cursed, snapping the book's cover closed.

"Something you'd like to share with the class, Miss?" Professor Swyryn asked, coming to stand before Dorcas's desk.

"Clerey," Dorcas supplied for her, feeling her cheeks burn and wishing she'd controlled her outburst better. "I do have a question, actually," she continued, sitting up straighter. "There are tips in here about how to make your husband happy, how to keep your kids clean and quiet, and how to set a good table for your family."

"Very astute summary, Miss Clerey," Swyryn commented, the smile never slipping from her face, but Dorcas could hear her inner tirade at Dorcas for interrupting her and finding fault with her book.

"But what about a career?" Dorcas asked. "The witch you're describing doesn't have an occupation."

Professor Swyryn blinked. "Of course she has," the teacher argued. "To make a happy home."

Dorcas looked around again at the girls seated in the classroom with her. All of the faces staring back at her suggested that there was no problem with this scenario. She persisted anyway.

"But my goal is not to be a homemaker. I don't even know if I'll ever get married. What I want is to be a healer," Dorcas said. She immediately regretted being honest about her dream when several girls grinned and even laughed.

Professor Swyryn chuckled a little too.

"But to marry and have a family is the highest achievement a witch can aspire to, Miss Clerey."

Anneliese made a derisive noise beside Dorcas. Turning in her friend's direction, Dorcas saw twin looks of confusion and annoyance on Cherry's and Anneliese's faces.

"I don't mean to belittle anyone else for wanting those things. But not everyone aspires to this," Dorcas explained, pointing to the perfect witch juggling household and family responsibilities.

Professor Swyryn looked as if she wanted to reply, but her eyes flicked to someone behind Dorcas instead.

"Miss?" the professor asked, calling on a student behind Dorcas with her hand raised.

"Weston," Zelda, her roommate, responded. "My family has three house elves. I don't have to prepare meals and clean children."

The teacher nodded, accustomed to this caveat from students each year. "Do you happen to know how many house elves your future husband's family will have?"

Zelda seemed taken aback by the question. "I don't know who my future husband will be."

Professor Swyryn smiled sweetly. "So no, then?"

"No," Zelda conceded.

"Well, let's prepare for a future where most of the household burdens will fall to you, shall we? And it will be the most pleasant surprise if you find out that your husband's family has servants to take those burdens from you!"

Dorcas slumped back in her seat, tuning the remainder of the lecture out as she searched for a way to correct this error in her coursework.

:::

1 December, 1958 Watermead, Aylesbury

"How are you feeling?" Cal asked, placing a plate of fruit and toast in front of her.

"Better," Dorcas reassured him. "Shouldn't you be at work?"

Cal tipped eggs from the frying pan onto a plate and set them in front of Dorcas along with coffee.

"I took the morning off. Thought we could pay Gwen Stanley a visit." He sat across from her and watched her carefully.

"Cal," Dorcas said, mindful of his assessing stare. "I think I should go alone."

"What if she's deeper in with Muybridge's people than you think? What if she's dangerous? I still think the DMLE should have arrested her already."

Dorcas rubbed her forehead, a residual ache lingering from the night before. She instantly regretted the gesture, noting Cal's narrowed clinical look.

"Do you still have a headache?" he asked.

Dorcas sipped her coffee. "Just the faint trace of one. Gemma must have hit me harder than I thought."

"Or it could be all of that spell damage in your brain, Dorcas," Cal offered.

Dorcas sighed and speared some fruit. "Don't be dramatic, Cal."

"If it's not completely gone by noon, I'm taking you to the hospital for another scan," he insisted.

Shrugging her shoulders, Dorcas bit into the toast. "Fine."

"I'm going with you to Gwen's," Cal added, crossing his arms.

Dorcas ate a bit more to placate him.

"You can wait somewhere close by, but I think your presence will set her on edge. Make her less willing to talk."

"Why?" Cal asked. "I'm not an intimidating person."

Dorcas pointed her fork at him. With his arms crossed, his demanding tone, and his furrowed brow, he made her point for her.

She decided to take another approach. "Please let me do this, Cal. We need closure. For Ben. I don't want to scare her off when we need her to get the charges on Muybridge to stick."

"Fine," Cal agreed. "But if anything happens–" Cal began.

"You'll storm in, guns blazing like a typical Gryffindor," Dorcas finished, popping a honeydew cube into her mouth.

:::

Dorcas looked from the address in her hand to the number on the bronze plaque on the brick facade. The building was a shabby three-floor structure, with rusted railings on the second and third levels.

This part of town was not the worst neighborhood, but not the best either.

What did Gwen have to fear with Muybridge captured? Why had she gone into hiding?

Dorcas looked back down the street the way she'd come to be sure her husband had not followed her. She'd left him in a cafe a block and a half away under strict orders to stay put and wait for her to contact him if she needed help.

She was alone on the street.

Approaching the ground floor flat, Dorcas raised a gloved hand and knocked.

There was a movement behind the curtains that caught Dorcas's eye. A moment later, the door opened a crack.

"Gwen?" Dorcas asked.

"I was expecting Aurors," Gwen Stanley said.

Dorcas smiled. She surprised herself that it wasn't an act, but a genuine smile of empathy. Gwen must have lived in fear of being arrested or of retaliation from Muybridge's men for months.

Dorcas held her hands out for Gwen to survey her. "Not an Auror! May I have a word?"

"How did you find me?" Gwen asked, standing back and allowing Dorcas to pass through the doorway.

Dorcas caught Gwen glancing up and down the street before closing the door behind her.

"That doesn't really matter, does it?" Dorcas replied, sensing that to mention Aurors might spook Gwen. "I just want to talk. No one is coming for you."

"Can I offer you tea? Coffee? Something stronger?" Gwen asked as she led Dorcas into a small drawing room.

Dorcas shook her head. "Don't go to any trouble."

Gwen nodded and then retreated to the adjoining kitchen to pour herself a small glass of firewhisky. Throwing it back like medicine, Gwen took a deep breath and turned to Dorcas.

"I've wanted to say something to you for a long time. To apologize somehow," Gwen started in a shaky voice.

"Gwen, honey? Who is it? Who are you talking to?" came a voice from beyond the drawing room where Dorcas sat.

Gwen and Dorcas stared at one another for a moment.

"I'm sorry," Gwen apologized. "I'll only be a moment."

Dorcas nodded as Gwen rose, went into the kitchen and ladled something from a simmering pot on the stovetop into a mug.

"What is she suffering from, Gwen?" Dorcas asked.

"A brain tumor," Gwen replied, taking the steaming mug into a room off of the kitchen and closing the door behind her.

Dorcas would ordinarily never dream of listening in on a private moment as a guest in someone's home. But in this case, Dorcas felt that the eavesdropping was warranted. After all, if she could not get Gwen to testify against Muybridge, Fabian Prewett was planning on arresting her. Dorcas only had one shot to do this her way.

Looking at the scene in Gwen's mind, she noticed that the room had one small window. Escape for both her and her mother seemed unlikely.

Gwen's mother, a small woman in a blue housecoat lay underneath a fluffy comforter and a quilt. Her hair was wrapped in a scarf and she had large purple smudges under her eyes. Dorcas guessed she'd been suffering from cancer for years.

"Here, mum," Gwen said, approaching the bed and blowing on the mug's steaming contents.

Dorcas moved to the stovetop to inspect the potion that Gwen was now giving her mother. She stirred the liquid, noting the color. An iridescent, sage green color meant that dittany was the main ingredient. But there was a curious oil slick sheen to the liquid, telling Dorcas that it wasn't just essence of dittany. There was something else in this mixture.

Dorcas watched in Gwen's anxious mind as her mother sipped the liquid. Dorcas grabbed a juice glass from the cupboard and spooned a small amount of the potion into it. The taste was bright and sharp. Dorcas had an overwhelming feeling of hope and positivity as the warm contents slipped down her throat.

Unicorn horn.

This was the price of Gwen's loyalty. Dorcas knew instantly that this was how Muybridge had lured her into his service.

"It's a work colleague, mum," Gwen replied to her mother's earlier question. "You remember the healer I told you about? The one I worked for?"

"The brilliant woman healer?" Gwen's mother asked. "I'd like to meet her."

Gwen adjusted her mother's blankets while she finished the brew and set the mug down on the bedside table.

"Not today, mum. You're still too weak from the move," Gwen argued.

Her mother lifted her left hand as if to swat away the excuse, but could only lift it a few inches before settling it back on the quilt.

"We didn't have to move. Our flat was just as good as this place," Gwen's mum countered.

Gwen didn't have an answer for this. It seemed to be the continuation of an argument that the two women had on numerous occasions.

So Gwen's mother was unaware that the need to change flats was because Gwen was going into hiding. She didn't know what Gwen was mixed up in.

Picking up the mug, Gwen crossed the room to the curtained window and adjusted the sash so that the smallest thread of light was stifled.

Dorcas rinsed the juice glass and placed it in the sink, returning to her seat on the sofa.

Gwen closed the bedroom door behind her with a tentative smile.

"What did Muybridge offer you to play your part, Gwen?"

Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, Gwen opened her mouth and then closed it again.

Dorcas decided to treat Gwen like one of her psychiatry patients. Ask the direct question and wait quietly for the patient to work out their answer in their own time.

Gwen fixed her with an intense stare and sat on the sofa next to her. Her hand twitched as if she wanted to reach for Dorcas's hand and then thought better of it.

"I idolized you, Dr. Meadowes. I didn't want to hurt you," Gwen stammered.

Dorcas took three deep breaths, with each one she detached herself from the personal consequences they were discussing. It was someone else's poisoning. Someone else's child that was killed.

"But you did, Gwen. You hurt someone. You killed someone," Dorcas replied.

Gwen hung her head.

"I know. I didn't think about it that way at the time. I only thought about the task that I was asked to do. Placing an envelope on your desk, showing up late to work. That was all I had to do."

Dorcas listened to Gwen's thoughts as she talked. There was a man, one Dorcas didn't recognize. It wasn't Stephen Muybridge. He was Gwen's handler, Dorcas guessed. Someone tasked by Muybrdige to find a link to Dorcas at the hospital and prime that link for Muybridge's plan.

"All you had to do in exchange for what?" Dorcas prompted.

She bit back the desire to remind Gwen that they were not talking about placing an innocuous envelope on her desk. They were talking about murder. About the murder of an innocent baby.

"He knew a lot about me. He knew that my mother was sick. He knew that the ingredients I needed to obtain for a potion to help her were too dear for me," Gwen responded. Tears were forming on her bottom lashes.

Dorcas empathized, trying to place herself in Gwen's untenable position.

"Unicorn horn?" Dorcas asked.

Gwen nodded, closing her eyes, swiping at her tears.

The price of her baby's life was a few grams of unicorn horn. It wouldn't even save her mother, just prolong her life.

Dorcas reminded herself that her mother was all Gwen had. There seemed to be no one else. What would Dorcas do if she could have her own mother back, even for a few hours?

"He threatened me. Described exactly where I lived and said that I could either help my mother by doing what he asked. Or I could watch her die. He said he would kill her."

"Gwen, can I have that memory? The memory of the man who spoke to you and threatened your mother?" Dorcas requested.

Gwen slid down the sofa a few inches away from Dorcas, frantically shaking her head.

"Dr. Meadowes, he'll kill me and my mother. That's why we moved. I have to keep moving so he won't find us."

"Gwen, if you give me that memory, then I can get the DMLE on it. They can look for him," Dorcas encouraged.

She continued to shake her head. "They'll arrest me. That memory will only prove that I planted the poison that killed your son. No one else. If I go to prison–and I fully understand that I should–what will happen to my mother? She'll die all alone."

Dorcas opened her handbag that she'd placed beside her.

"Shall I show you how my son died, Gwen?" Dorcas bluffed.

She'd brought empty phials and her Pensieve with her just in case she was able to pry memories from Gwen. But she hadn't brought Cal's memory of their son's final moments. However, looking into Gwen's thoughts, Dorcas could tell the bluff was working.

"I'm so sorry! Dr. Meadowes, I'm so sorry!" Gwen cried.

"He suffered for three days before he died. I never knew him because that poison kept me unconscious for a month, Gwen," Dorcas persisted.

"He's going to kill me and my mother!"

"Not if the DMLE finds a safe house for you both. They don't want you, Gwen. They want the real bad guys. Muybridge is already in custody. But he won't stand trial for my son's death without your testimony. The man who threatened you could also be in custody once the Aurors know who they're supposed to be searching for."

Gwen heaved a sigh and wiped her eyes.

"You promise they'll hide me and my mother?"

"Yes, I do," Dorcas returned with a confident ring.

Gwen nodded.

Dorcas reached into her bag and pulled out an empty phial. Moving closer to Gwen on the couch, she touched the tip of her wand to Gwen's temple.

"Think about the encounter with Muybridge's man. Can you picture him? Can you hear the words he's speaking?"

Gwen nodded again.