Author's Note (Please read):This chapter contains descriptions of a non-consensual sexual encounter that some readers may find disturbing. If you would like to skip that particular scene, please begin reading at 18 October, 1941 Trophy Room, Third Floor, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Chapter 45
20 January, 1959 Watermead, Aylesbury
"Tom?"
Dorcas struggled to free her hands. He held her in place firmly, easily overpowering her.
A smile spread across his face–Cal's face–that made Dorcas shudder.
She kicked out with her feet ineffectually, unable to land a blow anywhere significant.
His eyes flashed red for a moment, causing a guttural scream to claw its way out of Dorcas's throat.
Her mind raced, recalling the night he'd sent her after Muybridge and into an ambush. She'd wondered then if he'd wanted to kill her.
She wondered the same now.
Her distress seemed to excite him further, his thrusts becoming wilder and more violent as she fought him.
She couldn't think how else to thwart him, so she did the opposite. She ceased her thrashing and went limp beneath him. The sight of Cal's features contorted in a horrible mask of cruelty looking down on her made her convulse. She squeezed her eyes shut and turned her face away from him.
She wished she could drown out the noise of the headboard beating out the rhythm of his violation of her body, the moans that escaped him as he used her to push himself over the summit.
One hand released her wrist. For the briefest moment, she felt a hope that her refusal to fight back had caused him to lose interest in her pain.
But she realized she was wrong when the other hand clamped down on her freed wrist, grinding the bones into those of her other wrist. He'd just needed to free one hand so that he could wrap his fingers around her throat.
She panicked as her airway was terminated for a moment.
"Birdie," Tom encouraged, squeezing tighter, driving into her. "Look at me!"
Dorcas whimpered.
"Open your eyes!" he demanded, his fingers constricting tighter still.
Dorcas knew he would squeeze the life out of her if she didn't comply. Her mind suddenly saw the faces of her girls. She would never see them again. And Cal. He would be the one to find her body.
Tom would make sure of it.
Dorcas would endure what she had to in order to keep that from happening.
She opened her eyes and forced herself to meet his gaze.
The terrifying smile that was more like a grimace spread across his face once more as he regained his control over her. But his fingers loosened around her throat, allowing her to draw in a ragged, coughing breath.
"You know you shouldn't have come to Gemma's house to challenge me, don't you, Birdie?"
Tell him what he wants. Stroke his ego. Live.
"Yes," she croaked, her crushed throat painful and tight.
"Have I made you regret that decision?"
"Yes."
He covered her lips with his own, his tongue slithering into her mouth. She should bite him.
Dorcas resisted the impulse.
She was a fool to let him disarm her. More the fool for not realizing he'd done it in the first place. She could envision her wand laying impotent on the wooden floor next to the shattered picture frame.
He shuddered. Pulling back to fix her with a cold, stern gaze.
Dorcas knew he was close to finishing.
"I want you to know that I can get to you anytime, anywhere. You are in no position to threaten me. No position to deny me anything."
He gasped her pet name once more, collapsing into her.
Dorcas stared at the ceiling, completely still as he planted kisses on her chest and neck.
"I'll leave you to get cleaned up. Don't want to make you late picking up your daughter."
Dorcas was chilled at the mention of Wren.
He released her and rolled over with a contented sigh.
When he finally moved from the bed to collect his clothes from the floor, Dorcas curled into a ball, hugging her knees to her chest.
The door closed behind her and he was gone.
She didn't know how long she laid there. But his last words to her finally spurred her into action. She needed to get cleaned up, to scrub every molecule of him from her body. Then she needed to go and get her daughter.
Dorcas pushed herself into a sitting position. She sat a moment inventorying her injuries.
Her throat burned from the pressure of his fingers. Her wrists were stiff and bruised.
Everything else felt completely numb.
She stood and glanced back at the covers crumpled and creased on her marriage bed. There was a smear of blood and other fluids that turned her stomach to look at. Collecting the blanket and sheets, she left them in a heap by her bedroom door. She would either wash them or burn them later.
In the bathroom, Dorcas reached behind the shower curtain and turned the tap on as hot as it would go.
She stood under the scalding stream, letting the water burn Tom from every pore of her skin.
Dorcas thought through every moment of her encounter with Tom wondering how she never detected that it was him masquerading as her husband.
Could she honestly not tell the difference between the reverential touch of Cal's hands on her body, and Tom's manipulative, possessive grasp?
Cal could never do to her what Tom had done.
She thought about their last fight. When she'd told him that Tom demanded to see Ryann. He said she couldn't help herself. She would always go running back to Tom.
She thought about the memory she'd uncovered of her and Tom as children on the Astronomy Tower. Maybe Tom was always there with her. In every healed fracture, in every bruise and scar. The pain that Tom orchestrated just for her was a familiar tune that her body would always remember how to hum.
Dorcas pressed her palm to her lips and felt her skin burn under the steaming deluge; not hot enough to scorch the feeling of shame that Tom left inside her.
Collapsing in on herself, she huddled on the floor of the shower and sobbed.
:::
18 October, 1941 Trophy Room, Third Floor, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Dorcas sat in front of the case that held the Wizengamot Youth Council Notable Delegate award with Corvinus Gaunt's name on it.
She was not satisfied with Tom's tepid reaction to her discovery of the name. He'd been so disappointed in her that she'd missed a portion of his conversation with Binns that he'd let that disappointment cloud his ability to see this connection.
There was a connection, she was sure of it. This was a thread that was tied to the name she'd heard in Binns's mind. And that thread would lead her to another, and another, and another. And eventually, it would lead her to the chamber that reportedly held Slytherin's monster.
She shuddered at the thought that such a creature could exist.
Dorcas had looked up basilisks in the library when Tom voiced his hope that one was still hidden away below the school somewhere. They seemed to be among the deadliest creatures known to wizardkind. Once they found the chamber, there was no way to know how the creature would react to them.
Tom had such brazen confidence that the serpent would somehow intuit that he was a Slytherin descendant. Parseltongue would certainly come in handy, but just because the snake could understand him, it didn't mean it would obey him.
To Tom, it was inconceivable that the basilisk might not heed his hissed commands.
But Dorcas wondered why a creature that had been of its own mind for a thousand years would suddenly listen to a neonate?
What if they located the chamber and risked their necks only to find out a larger and more deadly female occupied the lair? They'd awaken a vicious beast that didn't even have the red plume they were after.
Whatever the outcome of this hairbrained pursuit of Slytherin's monster, Dorcas felt as if she owed Tom concrete evidence of the chamber.
She brought out a piece of parchment that she'd previously written Corvinus Gaunt's name on. To it she added Wizengamot Youth Council Notable Delegate, 1795. She also jotted the dates 1788-1802. These were possible dates that Corvinus could also have been at Hogwarts.
Standing and stretching her legs, Dorcas made a careful circuit of the Trophy Room to gather what she could of other events that happened around the same time that Corvinus could have been at school.
Various plates, medals, shields, cups, and plaques glittered from their places behind the crystal of the trophy cabinets.
A row of cut diamond and silver cups winked at her from a display case that ran the length of one long wall. These were the 63 identical Triwizard Trophies that Hogwarts has won since the tournament began. The line of cups stood proudly rank and file, the last one dating from 1792. Each cup had a name carved into the gleaming diamond surface. All except the last cup. This one had a bronze plaque beside it giving the date it was won and the name of the champion who took the prize.
The champion who won the cup was named Reginald Greengrass. She didn't know how relevant Reg might be to her search, but she added his name to the list anyway.
As Dorcas scanned the display cases and wrote down anything that was dated 1788-1802 a stray thought came into her head.
She'd once joked with Tom that the Horcrux he chose should be an item in a museum. That way it would be guarded always. As she looked around this vast space, she realized there must be thousands of trophies in here. Any one of them would suit as a host for a piece of Tom's soul. Some of them had dates that went back to the school's founding. How many more centuries would this school stand? And these tokens with it?
She wrote down H= trophy?
Vowing to research Triwizard Tournaments after Arithmancy tutoring tomorrow, Dorcas folded the sheet of notes and stuffed it back into the pocket of her robes.
It was late and she was tired. She prayed that by the time she reached her dormitory all of the other third year girls were asleep.
:::
19 October, 1941 History of Magic Classroom, Second Floor, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Dorcas waited for the other students to shuffle out of the classroom. She was packing up her things but went about it rather slowly.
She lectured herself once more that this was not disobeying Tom's wishes (not technically). He never told her that she couldn't speak to Professor Binns about other topics. He'd only forbidden her from discussing the chamber with him.
This was not going to be a conversation about the chamber at all. It was the thread of a thread of a thread connected to the chamber.
"Sir?" Dorcas said as she approached his desk.
Professor Binns wore an eclectic combination of navy blue robes, tweed jacket, and house slippers.
Binns adjusted his thick glasses until Dorcas came into focus.
"Miss Clerey," he returned absently. He shuffled through the homework collected at the beginning of the class period. "How can I help you?"
She could see his mind's inner smirk as he looked at her. She reminded him of a female Tom Riddle, tenacious and curious.
Dorcas wasn't sure if she should take it as a compliment or a terrible mischaracterization.
"I was in the Trophy Room the other day having a look around and I was curious about something."
Binns's eyes twinkled. He loved being sought out for extra historical tidbits. Dorcas was sad to note in his mind how seldom this actually happened to him.
"Well, I was captivated by a beautiful row of Triwizard Tournament trophies."
Nodding, Binns set aside the essays.
"Cut diamond, a real work of art." He paused, wistfully looking off over Dorcas's shoulder. "But I'll let you in on a secret," he leaned toward her and whispered.
Dorcas leaned in. Was she on the verge of finding the connection she sought?
"What is it, sir?" she asked eagerly.
The thrill of one historian finding another enthusiast to converse with painted his features.
"The last one in the row is priceless!"
Dorcas's eyes were wide with genuine curiosity. "Priceless?"
"Without equal! It is the Triwizard Cup."
She was confused. "I thought they all were, sir."
Binns shook his head patiently.
"No, my girl! The one dated 1792 is the one and only Triwizard Cup. When a Hogwarts Champion brings home the prize, a replica is made and the winner's name is emblazoned on it for posterity's sake," he explained, waving a hand. "But the Tournament was discontinued after the 1792 competition. The trophy never got passed on to the next winner. Hogwarts has been in possession of it ever since."
Dorcas nodded distractedly, thinking back to the bronze plaque that had Greengrass's name written on it instead of etched into the cup's diamond surface.
"But why was it discontinued, sir?"
Binns shrugged as if this should be obvious to her. "Well, it was doomed from the start, dear child."
"Doomed?"
"Canceled after a deadly incident with a cockatrice."
Dorcas's posture straightened, her ears perked, and her eyebrows raised. A cockatrice, she remembered, was a look alike to a basilisk. Less dangerous, although to the Tournament champions, clearly it wasn't that innocuous.
"But why was it doomed from the start?" Dorcas persisted.
"Beauxbaton was to host that year. But they declined."
"Why?" asked Dorcas.
"Can you not think why Beauxbaton would be unable to host at that time?"
Dorcas remembered her history–non-magical history, that is. "The Revolution."
"Precisely!" Binns encouraged with a wink.
"1792…" Dorcas mused. "Had the king and queen been executed yet?"
"Arrested, sadly. Awaiting a fate that many others shared. With Prussia and Austria closing in, war all but certain, the Terror mere months away, Beauxbaton pulled out of the Tournament."
"And Hogwarts stepped in to host?"
"It was that or cancel the competition altogether. Durmstrang hosted the previous tournament. Rules state that a school cannot host twice in a row. No one was eager to see Durmstrang with a home-turf advantage ten years running in any case!"
"But why was Hogwarts reluctant to host?" Dorcas scanned her memories of Muggle history once more. Nothing significant jumped out at her like the French Revolution that would have kept Wizarding Britain from hosting.
"That was the year the plumbing went into the school. The construction, the mess! Hogwarts almost declined until the committee came up with a plan to host the entire event, balls, ceremonies, competitions and all out of doors."
Dorcas found herself genuinely interested in the fascinating topic and was regretful that the competition had ceased over 150 years ago.
"Sir, do you ever think the Tournament will be revived?"
Binns seemed to consider this question.
"There have been many efforts to do just that. But none have succeeded thus far."
"And if the competition never resumes, will Hogwarts get to keep the original trophy?"
"We have done for a century and a half. I don't see why that would ever change, my dear."
:::
21 January, 1959 Watermead, Aylesbury
Dorcas dressed Wren warmly in thick wool trousers and a heavy blue jumper.
Taking out her wand, Dorcas looked her little girl over. "I have something for you, my darling!" she said, smiling.
Though the smile did not reach her eyes, she knew that Wren was never discerning enough to tell the difference.
Wren gasped. "A present?"
"That's right! A present, baby!"
With her wand, she summoned the scarf that lay on the dining room table. She'd located the relic earlier this morning, thinking Wren might like to have it.
When the blue and bronze colored woolen garment sailed into the room, Pippa pounced on it. Wren's peel of laughter startled Dorcas for a moment before her mask of pleasant calm fell back over her features.
"Do you like it?" Dorcas asked. "It was Mummy's from school."
"And now it's mine?"
"Yes," Dorcas replied, winding it several times around Wren's neck and shoulders. "Hmm. It's a bit long," she added, tying the length up in a knot.
"Just like Ryann's!" Wren squealed.
"Yes, darling!" Dorcas agreed, standing and catching her reflection in the mirror above the bureau.
She pulled at the front of her own jumper, not satisfied with how clingy the material felt. This too was an artifact from her school trunk. She seemed not to have grown in the arms or expanded around the middle, but the way it clung to her bosom was a little unseemly.
Dorcas sighed, wondering if she should change.
She closed her eyes for a moment. They stung from being awake for too long. She had foregone sleep last night in order to sit sentry in the corner of Wren's room, wand in hand, as her daughter slept. She'd cast every ward and security spell she knew, and even then she felt too exposed.
The floo had been blocked and the four doors and several windows into her home had been sealed with magic.
Still, Dorcas remained awake, watching the gentle rise and fall of Wren's chest as she slept. Closing her own eyes would bring back images that she would rather not relive.
"Shoes and coat, young lady. And then we're off."
Dorcas found that doing things, keeping busy gave her little time to dwell on the events of yesterday afternoon.
Today was Ryann's big match against Gryffindor. That ought to keep her sufficiently occupied. Then she could tackle the garage once she returned home this afternoon.
She stowed her wand and left Wren playing with Pippa on her bedroom floor to retrieve her daughter's shoes.
No sooner had she reached the entryway than an aggressive knocking caused her to freeze, a gasp on her lips.
Dorcas squeezed her wand in her right hand and clapped her left hand over her mouth.
"Dorcas!" Cal's voice called from the other side of the door.
She felt the unmistakable sensation of wetness running down her trousers, her bladder having let loose when she panicked at the sound of her husband's shouts.
Her utter humiliation at having lost her water, caused her shoulders to sag and her determination to waver. How was she going to go to Ryann's game and act as if everything was normal when even the sound of her husband's voice caused her to piss herself?
The banging continued.
"Dorcas! Open the bloody door!" he demanded.
She willed herself to move. Thankful that she hadn't put her own shoes on yet, she looked down at the puddle at her feet.
"Scourgify!" she whispered, cleaning herself and the mess she'd been standing in.
She inhaled a fortifying breath and waved her wand at the door, lifting the enchantments she'd placed on them.
Clearing her throat, she adopted a casual tone.
"Sorry, Cal!"
Until now, Dorcas had been able to make a mental distinction between Tom posing as Cal, assaulting her, and the man she'd loved and married. But seeing Cal walk through her door when less than eighteen hours ago, she'd seen the very same face sneering at her pain and degradation, threatened to unhinge her fragile composure.
"So you thought you'd lock me out of my own house?" he asked, annoyed as he closed the door behind him.
Dorcas cringed, her muscles tensing at the sound.
Cal looked at her and waited for a response. He wore a rugby style shirt in Ravenclaw colors.
Dorcas swallowed her panic down. "No. I didn't. That is, I didn't mean to lock you out," she said in a small voice. "I didn't know you were coming by. I thought you'd head straight to the school."
"Daddy!" Wren called, running past Dorcas and into Cal's arms.
He bent to scoop her up before Dorcas had even registered the movement. Panic leapt into her throat once more. Her daughter in his arms. How could she even be certain that this was Cal? She searched her mind for some sort of challenge question to ask him. Struggling to will her right hand to place her wand back into her pocket, when she wanted to send a Stinging Jinx at him to make him release Wren.
"You've even disconnected the floo?" he said, moderating his tone with Wren present.
Dorcas stowed her wand and clasped her hands together to keep them from trembling.
"It wasn't because I wanted to lock you out," she said quietly. "I just didn't feel safe alone so I put up wards. The floo's only blocked. Not disconnected."
Cal's eyes narrowed and he took two steps toward her. Wren swished her scarf in his face, trying to get him to take notice of her new accessory. Absently, he placed a hand over Wren's to stop her.
"Did something happen, Dorcas?" Cal asked in a low, concerned voice.
Dorcas shook her head, unable to make the lie come out of her mouth.
"Did Cherry talk to you?" she asked instead, changing the subject. The challenge question came to her out of the fog of her distress.
"About the wedding? Yes, I told her I would."
A small amount of pressure released in her chest knowing that she was staring at the genuine article.
"I never thought I'd see the day when you wore rival colors," she added, deciding to try a little levity.
Cal looked down at his shirt. "Neither did I." He smiled. All anger at being locked out of his own home forgotten for the moment.
Dorcas realized that Cal had rested his gaze on her, darting to her chest, confirming her fears about the jumper.
"It's obscene, isn't it? I should go and change," she said, wanting to be out of his presence, feeling disconcerted by the tense fluttering in her ribcage, the knots in her muscles that expected battle.
"No!" Cal said quickly, his hand darting out to catch her elbow.
Dorcas choked down a reflexive scream that bubbled in her throat.
"Dorcas, you're beautiful. Perfect, actually," he said, a little breathlessly.
Dorcas didn't know how to respond, clearing her throat and slowly taking her arm back from his grasp. It took all of her concentration and control not to jerk away from his touch.
:::
The wind was biting and became even more gnashing as they ascended the Quidditch stands.
Cal was carrying Wren in one arm and had Dorcas's upper arm in his other hand. Dorcas found herself both triggered by the touch and encouraged by it.
She reflexively wanted to pull away. Bearing any contact at the moment seemed to send her heart into uncomfortable palpitations. At the same moment, she wondered if Cal was coming around to the idea of forgiveness and reconciliation.
She stuffed both reactions down. He'd always taken her arm and guided her steadily when the footing was unsure. It was just an old habit. It didn't mean anything.
She seated herself on a bench in the teacher's section, Cal and Wren taking up spaces next to her.
Dumbledore had extended an invitation to sit in the teacher's box when Dorcas had dropped Ryann off at school earlier that month. She knew the favor was rare. Governors, notable Ministry officials, and Hogwarts staff were the only ones who sat in this exclusive section. The sneaky old professor had been buttering her up for a request. He wanted to speak to her and Cal about their ongoing mission to collect memories once the match was over.
"Why Dr. and Healer Meadowes! My word! It's been an age, an absolute age!" came a simpering voice behind Dorcas.
She turned and came face to face with her old Potions Master, Horace Slughorn. His straw colored hair was graying at the edges and his ample middle seemed to have expanded since she'd last seen him, his waistcoat buttons straining to hold the garment over his gut.
"Professor," Dorcas greeted, plastering a wooden smile to her face. "It has been an age!"
"Professor Slughorn," Cal turned and offered the old teacher his hand.
"Well this is a tragedy!" Slughorn replied dramatically.
Cal looked at Dorcas curiously.
"In what way, sir?" he asked, taking his hand back from Slughorn's incessant grip.
"I left my copy of Modern Potioner in my office. The one with the two of you on it. I would like to get you both to sign it." He licked his lips a little greedily. "But I was heartbroken to read about your loss. Your poor son."
Cal's hand shot out and rested against Dorcas's back, between her shoulder blades at the mention of their son. She wondered if the competing sensations to flee from his touch and lean into it would ever go away.
But that was the true genius of Tom's plan, wasn't it? He never set out to accomplish a single goal when a multi-pronged resolution could be achieved. He'd wanted to remind Dorcas who held the power in their relationship, punish her for being too bold and threatening him, and ruin the comfortable familiarity that she shared with her husband at the same time.
She felt tears prickling the corners of her bleary eyes.
"Thank you, sir. Perhaps I can send you a signed copy instead," Cal compromised.
"Horace," came Dumbledore's subtly commanding tone. "Trying to collect a token from your Potions prodigies?"
Slughorn laughed, turning to Dumbledore. "Albus, I would love to have a token to show my students. Here's what's possible when you work hard!"
Dorcas took the opportunity of Dumbledore's arrival to swipe a gloved hand at her eyes to clear away the emotion. She inwardly scoffed at Slughorn's categorization of her as a proud achievement of his. As she recalled, he'd dismissed her talent and capabilities the moment he'd learned of her compromised situation. He never spoke his disappointment aloud to her. He was not a cruel man. But she remembered how his inner tone changed when he thought of her, pregnant, foolish, a tragic waste of potential.
Well, maybe he'd gotten it right in the end.
"There you are!" Cherry called, barging in on the conversation, Jonas in her wake.
"Cherry. Hi." Dorcas said as she was pulled into an embrace.
Cherry kissed her cheek and then rubbed her red and gold mitten over the place where her lipstick left a mark.
Cherry gasped when she caught sight of Cal. "TRAITOR!"
Dorcas moved out of the line of fire, coming to stand beside her cousin. They watched as Cherry pulled at Cal's blue and bronze shirt.
"Just what do you think you're doing, Meadowes?"
"Supporting my darling girl!"
Dorcas chanced a glance at Dumbledore and saw that he was watching the exchange. The look on his face was one of fatherly pride for Cal. No one else knew that the darling girl in question was not Cal's own, except the professor and Jonas.
Wren had climbed over two rows of benches to get to the kindly, grandfatherly Dumbledore. And was scaling his silver robes to claim a seat on his lap.
Dumbledore's eyes found Dorcas's and crinkled with laughter. He looked so happy with Wren twirling his beard, watching his former students and the lives they'd created.
Dorcas wondered if she'd ever reach that level of contentment.
"Too right, you are!" Cherry agreed amiably, pulling Cal into a bear hug. "As long as it's not Slytherin colors. I think I'd die!"
"Hey!" Jonas objected.
Cherry slyly changed the subject. "I am thrilled that you're both going to be with us in the wedding!"
"You know my conditions, Red," Cal replied. "I get to choose my own bridesmaid dress."
"Fair enough," Cherry conceded, laughing. "But it must be blush pink."
"Agreed," Cal said.
When the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor teams took to the pitch the cheers were deafening.
Dorcas wanted to add her voice to the din, but felt the little energy she had draining from her due to the social exchanges she'd had to participate in. She pushed down a dizzying wave of exhaustion and stood with her gloved hands grasped together in front of her, a clap suspended in time.
She stared blankly at the pitch. Eyes unfocused as she imagined how any one of the spectators in the stands could be Tom in another disguise.
"You're in no position to deny me anything" Tom had told her.
Including Ryann.
Suddenly, Dorcas gave a shudder and looked around for Wren. She was still with Professor Dumbledore. Pushing the rising panic down, Dorcas reminded herself that the headmaster had pledged to protect Ryann while she was at school. Tom surely would not dare to threaten her or her family under his watch.
He'd always been careful around Dumbledore. Though he would never admit it to anyone, Dorcas had always thought him a little afraid of the formidable wizard.
"She's a perfect flyer!" Cal was telling her. "Look at the way she sits the broom. Completely in control."
Dorcas wanted to add to the discussion, but couldn't think of a single response to this.
He cheered in the next moment, making any comment unnecessary. Maybe Ravenclaw had scored?
She redoubled her efforts to concentrate on the game, but couldn't get her eyes to focus on the action. She found her eyes resting just ahead of the players on the field, mesmerized by the blue and red streaks that passed before her vision. She couldn't reach the excitement of the spectators around her. She was contained behind a wall of bland indifference.
"YES! That's my girl!" Cal shouted once again. He looked to Dorcas, expecting to see his pride mirrored in her features.
His expression fell when he didn't.
"She's perfectly safe, Dorcas! Do lighten up!"
Dorcas nodded and hung a smile from her cheeks.
:::
23 October, 1941 Ancient Runes Classroom, Second Floor, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
"Have you been asked to join Cherry's club?" Anneliese asked her.
"Muggle Studies Club?" Dorcas responded. "Yes, I'll join. But I pointed out to her that it won't be that exciting if everyone she ropes into it is Muggleborn or, in my case, raised like one."
"I said I'd join," Jonas chimed from her other side. "I'm not Muggleborn."
Anneliese snorted. "You'll be the only Slytherin of the whole lot, I think."
"She said I could speak to the group about aeroplanes."
"I'd be interested in that lecture," Anneliese smiled kindly.
"Aren't you afraid of being ridiculed by your housemates?" Dorcas asked him.
She knew the answer. He'd do anything Cherry asked him to, consequences be damned.
Jonas shrugged. "I catch hell from them for just talking to you lot. Don't you know, Muggleborns are a scourge upon the Wizarding world?"
"You joke about it, Rackharrow!" Anneliese returned, throwing her blonde hair over her shoulder. "But it's a real discrimination. Your sister won't use the same lavatory as a Muggleborn."
"My sister's stupid," Jonas said in an offhand reply.
Dorcas nodded in agreement. "I think we should do what we can to encourage other purebloods to join. You know, bridge the cultural gap?"
Anneliese slid off the bench as they were dismissed and packed her belongings. Dorcas and Jonas followed.
"We should focus on encouraging those in our houses to join up. I'll talk to the Hufflepuffs, Dorcas you take Ravenclaw. Cherry will recruit for Gryffindor." She gave Jonas a considering look. "Maybe we should focus our efforts there first and save the Slytherins for later. Rome wasn't built in a day."
They walked out of the classroom, Dorcas's head full of ideas. She was eager to get to Herbology where she could enlighten Cherry about how they had taken her pet project and expanded it into a full-on cause.
They waved goodbye to Jonas, who turned down the opposite corridor to Potions class. Anneliese and Dorcas turned toward the girls' lavatory instead.
"That's awful about Gemma," Dorcas said to Anneliese in the adjoining cubicle. "Does she really do that?"
Anneliese made a noise of agreement. "But she's only punishing herself. She has to wait until she's back in the dungeons to use the lav."
Dorcas smiled, imagining her cousin's prejudice rendering her unable to use the closest restroom to relieve herself. Gemma doing a frantic dance and racing for the Slytherin common room made her smile widen.
When they were washing their hands, Dorcas again noticed the curious snake marking on the faucet.
"Ever notice this before?" she asked Anneliese. "Do the Hufflepuff sinks have badgers on them?"
"You noticed the strangest details, Dory," Anneliese said, bending to stare at the design. "I can't remember what the Hufflepuff sinks look like. Are there little eagles on the Ravenclaws' faucets?"
Dorcas shrugged. "This is the only sink in the school that I've noticed with a different marking."
"Huh," Anneliese shrugged dismissively, taking a towel and drying her hands. "Just graffiti. Slytherins marking their territory. They think they own the whole school anyway."
Dorcas was brought back to the conversation at the end of class. Trying to bridge the cultural divide among the students.
"How about a dance?" Dorcas blurted.
"A dance?" Anneliese repeated.
"Yeah, a Muggle dance. You know, like in the music halls in London? If the pureblood students are introduced to the fun bits of Muggle culture; dancing, films, radio; maybe they'll be more inclined to join. A way to get them in the door before they even know they're interested."
Anneliese's eyes went wide. "Dorcas! That's genius!"
"I have to dash to the greenhouses," Dorcas said regretfully. "I'll talk to Cherry about the idea and see if she'll go for it."
"Brilliant!"
:::
21 January, 1959 Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
"She was spectacular out there today!" cheered Cal as he held the door open for Dumbledore and Dorcas to enter.
"I am headmaster of this school and as such, I must remain impartial in these matters," Dumbledore replied stiffly. "But as an average Quidditch enthusiast, I'm inclined to agree with you, Cal. She is something special!"
Jonas and Cherry had taken Wren with them back to Blackpool Abbey for the night to give Dorcas and Cal time to talk to Dumbledore. But also, Cherry had hinted, alone time for themselves.
Dorcas took a seat in front of Dumbledore's imposing mahogany desk without waiting for an invitation, exhausted from climbing all of those stairs, and emotionally taxed from the paltry performance she'd had to give. Her head began to pound.
Cal took the seat beside her as Dumbledore sat himself behind his desk.
"What is it you wanted to talk about, Professor?" asked Cal.
"Well, I'll come right to the point," the old man replied.
Dorcas knew it was a vain hope that Dumbledore's request to meet had to do with anything else but Tom Riddle. The name made her nauseous. The thought of doing anything to cross him after the warning she'd received made her break into a nervous sweat.
Her jumper was again too tight. The collar cut into her neck and reminded her of the terrifying moment that Tom had wound his hand around her throat.
Her chest constricted and she found it hard to breathe.
"Dorcas, I need your help to obtain another memory. This one might prove a bit tricky–"
"NO."
Dorcas heard the objection before she realized she'd voiced it.
Both Cal and Dumbledore stared at her.
"I beg your pardon?" Dumbledore blinked.
Cal turned to Dorcas. "Dorcas, only you are in the position to help the Professor with–"
She cut the two off once more.
"No. I'm not doing that anymore. You'll have to be satisfied with what I've already given you, Professor. I'm sorry."
Dorcas clutched her handbag to her chest like a shield to stop her from trembling. The very idea of gathering information on Tom unraveled her.
"Has something happened, Dr. Meadowes?" Dumbledore asked, his gaze on Dorcas threatened to peel back her layers to get at the core of her refusal.
Cal leaned closer to her, inspecting her as well.
"Nothing has happened!" Dorcas insisted. "I just don't want to be a part of it anymore."
"You've agreed to–" Dumbledore began.
Dorcas held a hand up.
"I know what I agreed to. I asked for your help to protect Ryann from Cal's thoughts. He's very good at Occlumency now, thanks to you. And I have repaid you by retrieving Bob Ogden's memory of Morfin Gaunt. Agreement kept."
Cal reached for her knee.
Dorcas pulled away.
His hand settled instead on the arm of her chair.
"My love," he began, pleading with his eyes.
Dorcas wouldn't be baited by sentiment. How long has it been since he's called her that? Or spoken to her in that tone?
"You know that he is a dangerous man," Cal continued.
I'm more aware of that than most, Dorcas wanted to respond.
"You know that he's up to something. You remember what he did to you at school. Do you want to let him keep getting away with it?"
If it means keeping my family safe, Dorcas thought, I'd let him get away with anything.
"I'm sorry! I've said I won't do it. That's it. I'm sorry!" She stood to leave.
"Dorcas, just wait a minute!" Cal shouted after her.
She heard Dumbledore cautioning Cal to let her go. Dorcas walked over to the fireplace, grabbed some Floo Powder and stalked into the green flames.
At home, she tossed her handbag and coat on the sofa in her sitting room and ran into the bathroom Wren and Ryann shared.
She locked the door with her wand, cast the Muffliato Charm, then curled into a ball on the bathroom floor, relieved to finally be able to let the pieces of her frail composure shatter.
It was too depleting to keep a constant hold over her tone, expression, gestures, glances, words.
She couldn't keep it up a moment longer.
Lying on the floor, head minimally cushioned by a pink pile rug, she wept until sleep claimed her.
:::
22 January, 1959 Watermead, Aylesbury
Dorcas didn't wake up on the floor of her girls' bathroom.
She expected to pick herself up, stiff and cold from the tile. But she felt much more comfortable.
Opening her eyes, she found herself in her bed, laying on top of the counterpane, a blanket draped over her.
Dorcas shot up, her heart leaping into her throat.
She could hear the sound of Tom's voice as he threatened her, the sound of the headboard beating the wall, the sound of his body moving against hers. Feeling herself become light headed, Dorcas grabbed for the chair at her dressing table for support.
"Dorcas?" Cal called to her from the hallway, approaching.
She felt that same panicked feeling she had when she heard him call her earlier. And then she'd pissed herself.
This time, she clenched her bladder muscles and concentrated on controlling herself.
Was this what her life was going to be from now on? Struggling not to wee like a toddler when her husband called her name?
She shook her head in defeat.
That was best case scenario. Worst case was Cal getting fed up with all of this, taking her girls and getting clean away. Once and for all.
And who could blame him?
"Dorcas?" Cal asked, rushing over with a cup of coffee for her, setting it on the dressing table when he noticed her distress. "What is it?"
She blew out a breath and closed her eyes. "It's nothing."
His hand was on her back, rubbing circles.
"It's not nothing. Talk to me, please!"
Dorcas didn't say anything.
"I found you on the floor of the girls' bathroom. What happened?"
She had to get out of this room. The walls felt as though they were closing in on her and she couldn't look at that bed a moment longer.
Dorcas shrugged. "I was really tired, that's all. I must have passed out."
She knew it was a lame excuse. But she wouldn't be telling the truth under any circumstances. She couldn't have Cal going off half-cocked after Tom Riddle–who was goddamned immortal, let's remember!–and getting himself killed.
She was tired of playing into Tom's plans. Cal was right to chastise her for not leaving Tom alone. At Jonas and Cherry's engagement party, she'd flirted and bartered for him to locate Muybridge. When he'd delivered on that request, they'd snogged in her own dining room. The memory of that tryst was sent right to Cal. And once more, she'd gone to Tom and goaded him.
Well, we knew where that had led.
She swallowed the bile down and pushed past Cal. She couldn't be in this room.
"Dorcas, we're going to St. Mungo's. You're going to have another scan."
"No," Dorcas said. She didn't know where she would go or what she would do. She felt so fucking uncomfortable in her own skin. She wanted to escape herself.
She wanted out.
Calmer. "I just need some air."
Dorcas walked down the hall, through the dining room and out onto the veranda.
It had snowed overnight. A fact she didn't register until she was ankle deep in it, her toes going numb. She inhaled the crisp air, folding her arms over the jumper she remembered donning for Ryann's game yesterday. She'd slept in her clothes. Cal must have found her and carried her into the bedroom.
He must have stayed here last night as well.
She heard him approaching behind her.
"Where's Wren?" she asked, speaking to him without turning to acknowledge him.
"Still at Blackpool. I've asked them to keep her for the day. Cherry's taking her dress shopping. She's excited to be a flower girl."
He handed her the coffee he'd tried to serve her in the bedroom.
She took it.
There was silence.
Then Cal took out his wand and cast a Warming Charm over her.
It was such a simple thing, but the warmth her toes experienced as they became insulated from the snow, thawed her demeanor somewhat too.
"Dorcas," Cal ventured, speaking slowly, as if to coax a skittish animal toward him. "I'm worried about you."
She nodded her head. She knew she'd given him cause to be.
"Cal, I'm fine."
"I'm sorry I yelled at you yesterday," he continued. "I was annoyed at being locked out of the house. And, honestly, a little worried that you'd decided to lock me out of your life as well."
Dorcas's shoulders lost a little of their defensiveness.
"No, Cal. I didn't know you would be coming by. I'd forgotten I'd set all of those wards. I just didn't want to be alone in the house without securing it properly."
Cal sighed. "I'm sorry for leaving you alone and unprotected."
She sipped from the steaming mug.
"You needed space. I understand."
Cal cast a look at her. Dorcas kept her eyes on the fence, but she saw his glance from her periphery.
"Do you think it'd be alright if I moved back in?"
She paused. Then nodded.
She'd have to brainstorm challenge questions to make sure the right Cal came home to her every night.