Chapter 42
22 December, 1958 Graygable, Hatherleigh, Devon
"Mummy! Daddy!" came Ryann's voice.
"One second, baby!" Dorcas called.
Cal stood to answer the door.
"What is it, sweetheart?" he asked.
"Cherry wants you," answered Ryann. "It's Jonas."
Dorcas reached for her robe, scrambling to follow her daughter and her husband downstairs. She was cinching it around her waist with shaking hands when she reached the first floor landing and her cousin came into view.
Her shoulders sagged with relief.
Cherry was planting a kiss on him that Dorcas would rather Ryann not witness.
"Jonas! You're safe!" she said, knowing Jonas would break up the snogging if there was an audience.
Ryann ran out ahead of her parents and hugged Jonas, pulling him down to her level to kiss his cheek.
Dorcas squeezed her cousin tightly and threw an arm around Cherry, too.
"Where are you coming from, mate?" Cal asked, taking Jonas's hand in greeting. "Or are you forbidden from speaking about it to civilians?"
Jonas laughed. "I came straight from the Ministry. Before that, Yugoslavia."
"Yugoslavia?" Cherry repeated.
"Get lost on your way to the Baltic?" Cal teased. Dorcas could tell he was burning with a million questions for Jonas.
Dorcas stepped away so that Cherry could have Jonas all to herself. She tucked herself under Cal's arm feeling buoyant. Seeing Jonas alive and well was just the Christmas present she wanted.
Gemma flitted into her mind like an unwelcome bat through a window that had been left open overnight.
"More like my mission took an unexpected turn after the Baltic," Jonas replied.
"Have you spoken to your sister?" Dorcas asked.
"Gemma? No. I went to the Ministry for a debriefing and Cherry'd left word that she was spending Christmas here." He raised his arms as if to finish his explanation with "So here I am!"
Jonas winced when he raised his right arm.
"Are you hurt?" Dorcas asked.
Cherry fussed, removing his coat, a little roughly by the strain that showed on Jonas's face.
"Just my shoulder. I had a bit of a crash landing in Serbia."
Cherry gasped.
Though she didn't make a sound, Dorcas knew her own face mirrored Cherry's shock and worry.
"Ryann honey, fetch my bag, would you? It's in the office," Cal asked. He gestured toward the south-facing drawing room, leading the group through French doors and flipping a light switch.
This was the room with a massive Reynolds oil painting of Cal's great-great grandmother that looked down over the space in judgement on its inhabitants. It was Dorcas's least favorite room in this house.
Jonas was seated on a sofa, Cherry hovering on his left side.
Dorcas stood with her back to the painted matriarch.
"Why did you crash, Jonas? What happened?" she asked as Cal gently peeled back Jonas's shirt to reveal an ugly purple bruise. The bones of his shoulder stuck up at an odd angel.
Dislocated. From the look of the bruise, the injury was about three to four days old.
"Let's just say Dumbledore may have defeated the darkest wizard of our age, but Grindelwald's got factions positioned inside governments all over Europe."
"Really?" Cal gasped, captivated by the revelation.
Ryann brought the medical bag and Cal set to work on Jonas's arm.
"You should have had this seen to right away. You could have nerve damage," he added as he worked.
Jonas shrugged with his good shoulder. "The Ministry medic would have seen to it. But I said no thanks. The best healers are currently in Devon." He winked at Dorcas.
Dorcas smiled distractedly. She was reading all of the thoughts that Jonas wasn't saying aloud. They were probably classified details that he was not at liberty to share. Classified to everyone but her, that is.
His mission to the Baltic was of a particular type of reconnaissance. He and a small team were to assess the level of magical collusion within the Kremlin and its satellite governments. That connection had unexpectedly led them to Tito's own inner circle in Belgrade.
Dorcas had long wondered about communism's ties to pureblood ideology in the east. The tenets of communism were equality; a building of national unity over ethnicity or religion or language. But so many of those who made up the endless breadlines and the masses of factory workers earning a pittance were Muggles. Where were the magical folk supposed to fit in?
At the top, that's where.
She moved to a mahogany writing desk, locating stationery and a pen. She wrote one short line and signed it, sealing it in an ivory envelope with the Meadowes heraldry embossed on the flap in gold. Gemma may not even open this letter, deciding instead to incinerate it. That was her prerogative.
"Ryann, take this to your owl. Gemma deserves to know her brother is safe."
Cal smiled at her in approval.
"I think you'll mend, Jonas," Cal said. "Take this if you're feeling any pain. You'll have full range of motion in a day or two." He handed Jonas a small bottle with a red liquid inside. A healing potion.
Dorcas suspected that some of his tendons would be a little slower to knit back together having gone so many days neglecting the injury.
"We'll let you two have some time alone," Dorcas said once Ryann had disappeared with the letter for Gemma. "I'm glad you're back, cousin," she added, kissing Jonas's forehead.
"Glad to be back, Dor."
When Dorcas heard the door to her bedroom closing behind her, she shrugged her robe off, letting it fall to the floor.
Her feet were cold and she dreamed of tucking them inside the covers and under Cal.
Cal slipped under the sheets beside her.
"Alright, Clerey! Out with it." Cal turned to her and shoved a pillow under his head.
Dorcas blinked innocently. "Out with what?"
"You went rummaging through Jonas's mind. I know you!"
"Well I like that! No caresses or kisses or anything. Just tell me everything you heard!" she teased. "A girl likes to be romanced into giving up state secrets, you know."
"Forgive me!" Cal said, leaning toward her and kissing her deeply.
His hands moved to the buttons on her shirt and plucked them loose one by one. He slipped one hand underneath the cotton fabric and pulled her to him. His fingers brushed lightly down her breastbone to her navel and traveled lower.
"Would you believe Tito's inner circle are wizards?" Dorcas asked, her voice hitching in reaction to Cal's touch.
"You have the filthiest bedroom talk, Clerey!" Cal said, his voice a low seductive whisper.
:::
29 September, 1941 Arithmancy Classroom, Fifth Floor, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Dorcas sat in the front row waiting for the arrival of her classmates.
Professor Lin found her midway along the Ravenclaw House table in the Great Hall this morning and requested that she come to the Arithmancy classroom ahead of the other students so that she could be caught up on the books to purchase, the reading and assignments she would be expected to do as well as who she would partner with in the class.
Dorcas picked up a grudging train of thought from the professor. Lin loudly lamented her evenly grouped students; one second level student paired to one first level student. All painstakingly matched by her based on talent, capability, and personality. Dorcas would make an odd number. A second level student would have to accept two first year partners and take her on.
The thoughts surprised Dorcas because she'd not heard any negative opinions about herself expressed by any of her teachers. In fact, she'd come to think of Professor Lin as an ally in her fight to leave Domestic Arts. She'd assumed that the Arithmancy teacher was happy to accept her, but that her hands had been tied by Dippet.
The reason for the teacher's critical thoughts became clear when Dorcas listened while Lin gave her a long list with the class's textbook written at the top. Five chapters of reading and ten assignments needed to be completed by the end of the week. While enumerating for Dorcas the many hurdles on this uphill battle to prove herself, Dorcas also picked up on another illuminating fact.
Tom had already spoken to the professor about making Dorcas his partner. Lin had interpreted this request as the sole motivation for Dorcas's fight to switch schedules. She was disappointed in Dorcas for switching classes to be with a boy. She would also not allow this request because she did not want Dorcas distracting her brightest and most talented student.
Dorcas couldn't help the humiliating coloring of her cheeks as she scanned the list of assignments and heard the conversation between Tom and the professor in her mind.
"Professor," Tom said, standing in the doorway of her office last night. "I wonder if it would be possible to switch partners in Arithmancy."
"Is Mr. Singh deficient in some way, Mr. Riddle?" Lin asked.
"He's capable enough. But I would like to be challenged by my partner in the same way that I challenge. Singh is not an even match. I find myself having to teach what you've already taught. I am no tutor for the remedial. I would like to be paired with Miss Clerey instead."
"Miss Clerey?" Lin asked in surprise.
"Yes, ma'am. I know she is to be joining the class. She is the top of her year in other subjects. I am confident that she will rise to the occasion in this subject as well."
"She is far behind the class, Mr. Riddle. Even Mr. Singh is not as lagging as she is sure to be."
"Singh can partner Meadowes and Atwood. Meadowes already tutors lower levels. He'll be used to Singh's slower pace."
"I see," Lin answered noncommittally.
Dorcas wanted the professor to understand how committed she was to catching up in the class. She wanted a chance to rehabilitate the false impression that Lin had about her.
She was not in this class on account of a boy.
"Professor," Dorcas began. "I will not let you down. I have already purchased the book and have read these chapters. I have also been studying with Caleb Meadowes. I have three of the assignments on this list ready to turn in now."
She rummaged in her school bag and handed the professor her neatly inked numerical charts and an essay on the number seven.
"This is impressive, Miss Clerey."
"I want to be here, ma'am. I'll do whatever it takes to catch up."
"And do you have a preference as to your second level partner?" Professor Lin's eyebrow quirked upward. This was a test.
"Did any other students get to pick their partner?"
Lin leaned back on the edge of her desk. "No, they did not."
Dorcas folded her hands on the wood grain surface of the table before her. "Then I'll leave the selection of my partner to you."
"You will make an odd number, so you will be part of a group of three. I am assigning you to partners Meadowes and Atwood."
"Thank you, professor," Dorcas smiled.
Inside she was cursing Tom for his interference. The annoyance he'd soon feel at having been thwarted by Professor Lin was a just reward for his attempt to control the situation. She hoped Mohit Singh was as slow and dim as Tom made him out to be.
As students began to shuffle in and take their seats, Dorcas arranged her textbook, parchment, and inkwell. She swelled with gratitude for her mother and her uncle's efforts to get her schedule changed. She did not have to camouflage herself and haunt the class any longer. She could sit among these students and take notes and participate with them.
"Clerey!" a voice called from behind her.
Cal's face was bright with surprise. "You're in this class now?"
She turned in her seat and grinned at him, nodding.
"You've got your work cut out for you, Cal. I'm your partner!"
He slid onto the bench beside her. "Easy! You're the smartest person I know. You'll be explaining all of this to me before long."
Clay Atwood came in a moment later and slipped behind the table on her other side, frowning slightly.
Cal introduced them and explained that she was to make a trio.
Dorcas caught Tom's entry into the class. His eyes immediately found her wedged between her new partners.
"What a charming threesome!" he snapped loudly in her mind.
She would like to have whispered waspishly that he only had himself to blame for that.
:::
"Why can't I just use your spell and make myself invisible?"
Dorcas was purposely finding faults with Tom's plan as retribution for his blunder with Professor Lin the evening prior. And he'd found her in a sour mood because Cal had to cancel their tutoring session that evening for an emergency Quidditch practice.
She thought he'd understood how badly she wanted to prove she belonged in the class and he'd deserted her for a foolish game. Now she was taking it out on Tom.
Tom gritted his teeth and dug deep to find the patience not to yell.
The sight gave Dorcas a triumphant feeling.
"Because you could be heard. You could bump into something."
"I'm clumsy. Go on, say it!"
"You're clumsy, Birdie."
They were tucked in Dorcas's makeshift hideout behind the tapestry on the fourth floor. She knew their plotting would be better suited to the secret room. It was larger, far more comfortable, and soundproof. But she still couldn't muster the courage to return to that place despite Tom's constant prodding.
"We have only one shot to get the information from Binns. If he suspects even a hint of what we're after I'll never have another chance at this."
"Doesn't the Boggart say we're going to be successful?" Dorcas crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the stone alcove she shared with Tom.
"Yes, but it can always shift back at the slightest provocation," argued Tom.
That was a fair point.
"You still never told me why you believe the Chamber holds a basilisk. There could be any number of things down there."
Dorcas reached over and tied Tom's shoelace that she'd noticed had come untied as his feet were propped on the bench next to her. She didn't know why she was compelled to do such a simple but intimate thing for him. She guessed it was because she'd grown accustomed to looking out for him and performing little tasks for him that it came without a thought now.
Tom lay on the floor of the small alcove with his feet beside Dorcas on the bench. He was lazily levitating a paper crane, one Morty sent her in a recent letter. He'd found it marking her place in her Arithmancy text and taken it without permission.
He appeared to be trying to rile her in the same fashion that she was him. But she wouldn't let on that this bothered her.
"Not to mention that a monster from the Founders' time would be long dead by now."
"Do you know what Salazar Slytherin's wand was made out of?" Tom asked, sailing the bird close to her, but just out of reach. He was teasing her, goading her into reaching for it.
She would not lift a finger. She wasn't Bing chasing after a feather.
Dorcas shrugged, saying nothing.
"Basilisk horn," said Tom, answering his own question. "What could Slytherin talk to?"
"Snakes," she answered.
Tom moved quickly, darting up off the ground and taking the seat beside her, invading her personal space.
"I think he would want to be able to control whatever creature he'd hidden inside the school. Him and no one else. That way he could direct it to threaten his rivals and carry out his commands. I believe it would have been a serpent of some kind. The serpent he had the most direct connection to was a basilisk."
Dorcas leaned away from him as he spoke. The paper crane flew into the opposite wall and fluttered to the floor.
"Can basilisks live thousands of years?"
"If they have a food source."
Tom's confident smile made Dorcas a believer. It must be a basilisk.
"But it has to be a male, doesn't it? To have a plume?"
"Birdie!" Tom cried dramatically. "We won't know anything for certain until we find the Chamber."
"I guess you're right," Dorcas conceded.
"So we're in agreement? Tomorrow evening, after dinner?" Tom moved closer, hemming Dorcas between him and the wall.
"Yes, Tom. Tomorrow."
He grinned at her in an uncomfortably feral way. "Good. Don't be late!"
With the last barked command, he swept out of the alcove and disappeared behind the tapestry.
Dorcas summoned the little paper crane from the floor and searched for her place in her Arithmancy text.
:::
26 December, 1958 Graygable, Hatherleigh, Devon
Dorcas spent the morning packing her family up in preparation to return to Aylesbury after the holidays.
She felt her resolve growing with every suitcase that was filled. She would tell her husband about the kiss she'd shared with Tom on the night of his birthday. Dorcas realized that she could no longer withhold the truth from Cal. He didn't deserve lies. She couldn't justify her silence because she was afraid of how he would react.
It was his right to react to his wife's betrayal. She couldn't mitigate it, minimize it, or manage it.
She had to trust him. And she realized that she did trust him. With this. With anything.
Once the Christmas gifts and the baggage had been flooed back to her modest suburban home, she'd become certain of her words and her timing.
Jonas and Cherry left ahead of Dorcas and her girls.
Cal would be an hour or so behind them. He'd left to make a house call on Gwen Stanley's mother.
That just left one final task before Dorcas left Devon for the season: the task of saying goodbye to her baby.
It left her hollow and numb to kiss his cold headstone instead of his warm cheek. She didn't think she'd ever be able to leave this place without the feeling that aching tear of her heart.
At home, she busied herself with preparations for the girls' dinner and unpacking luggage.
When those tasks were complete, she sorted the post that had formed a small pile on the rug by the door, bringing the letters and packages addressed to Cal down to his study in the basement laboratory.
Retreating to her office once her girls were asleep, Dorcas tried to fill the rest of her evening by sifting through her box of trinkets she'd retrieved from her school trunk in the attic of Cal's family home.
She thought the necklace would yield some sort of memory, but it prompted nothing. Nor the comb or the earrings. She took the key tied to the black ribbon out last. This was the strangest of all of her collectibles. She knew who'd given her the alabaster bird pendant, the tortoiseshell comb, the sapphire stud earrings. Each item had a story.
This one didn't.
Dorcas paused when she heard the front door open. She dropped the key back into the box.
Her palms began to sweat and her heart raced.
Cal had been gone longer than expected, but she didn't feel anxious about his absence. That all changed now that he was home.
"Cal, can we talk for a minute?" Dorcas asked, opening her office door as he shrugged out of his coat.
He had a vacant look on his face that warned Dorcas something had happened.
"What is it, my love? What's the matter?" Dorcas took his coat from him and hung it on the coat rack.
"Mrs. Stanley died about an hour ago," he informed her in a stiff voice.
He took the loss of a patient hard. It happened on a fairly regular basis, considering he worked in an emergent care ward. But he still took every death as a personal burden onto himself.
"I should call tomorrow and sit with Gwen," Dorcas said to herself. To Cal she added, "Did she take it hard?"
"Yes, she did. But Fabian was there. I think there might be something going on between the two of them. They've gotten pretty close."
Dorcas nodded. Gwen didn't get to see many people. Dorcas and Cal. Fabian and maybe a couple of other Aurors. Behind his professional exterior, Dorcas thought she'd read something akin to regard in Fabian's mind the last time she'd visited to check on Gwen and her mother.
"I'm glad she has someone close. She shouldn't be alone right now."
Cal nodded without seeming to hear her.
"Are you hungry, sweetheart?" Dorcas asked.
"No," he answered. He kicked off his shoes and walked down the hallway with Dorcas in his wake. "Are the girls in bed?"
"Yes, Cal," Dorcas replied. "It's almost eleven."
The absent nod again.
"I think I'll work in the laboratory for a while. You don't have to wait up, my love."
Dorcas knew that she would not be able to have the conversation with him that she'd been waiting all day to have. When he was like this, he needed to process his thoughts and feelings on his own.
"Okay," Dorcas agreed reluctantly. She took his hand and pressed her lips to his knuckles. "I love you. Don't stay up too late."
"I won't," Cal promised, kissing her forehead before turning to the basement door and retreating to his solitude.
:::
27 December, 1958 Watermead, Aylesbury
Dorcas felt Cal's gentle hand lift her right foot and press his lips to the delicate skin on the inside of her ankle. With a feather-light touch, he untied the white ribbon that held her espadrille on her foot. Slipping the shoe off, Cal ran his index finger along the arch.
She giggled and squirmed a little at his touch.
As he ran a hand from her foot to her hip, slipping under the hem of her ivory colored dress with a bird design, Dorcas felt a heated anticipation building in her.
That same anticipation was plain on Cal's face.
His fingertips traced the waistband of her knickers before hooking a finger beneath the silky material and tugging downward.
Dorcas reached out with a frantic hand toward her husband's pillow, needing to feel his warmth beneath her palm. Needing him.
She woke from the dream with her hand resting on his cold pillow. His side of the bed was still made. He hadn't slept there all night it seemed.
Throwing her robe over her nightgown, she went in search of him. She didn't know what time it was, but the amount of light streaming through the windows suggested midmorning.
"Cal?" she called.
Had he spent the entire night in the laboratory? It was unlike him to take this long to shake off the loss of a patient. Especially since the patient had late-stage cancer and was on her deathbed before he began her care.
She would take him some coffee and breakfast. He was probably starving.
When she stepped from the hall into the kitchen, Ryann and Wren were already seated at the table. Cal had made breakfast.
"Cal?" she asked again, coming to stand beside him at the sink as he washed the frying pan. "Did you sleep at all?"
"No," he answered. "Do you want coffee? Eggs?"
"Have you eaten anything?"
"Not hungry," he said dismissively.
"But you didn't have anything last night either," she pointed out. "You must be hungry."
She placed a hand on his arm to get him to stop scrubbing and turn toward her.
The movement was minimal, but he made a motion to shake her off.
Stepping back to give him the space he so obviously wanted from her, Dorcas turned instead to her girls, kissing both on the crowns of their heads.
"Morning, my loves!"
"Ryann," said Cal abruptly. "Would you watch your sister for a few minutes while your mum and I talk?"
"Sure," Ryann complied, looking between the two of them.
Dorcas followed Cal into her office. She watched him shut the door behind her and take his wand out to cast a muffling charm so they wouldn't be overheard.
"Cal, you're scaring me," Dorcas whispered. "What's happened?"
Cal's only answer was to point to her Pensieve sitting on her desk, a memory swirling on its surface. The image that the memory was casting on the surface was of her and Tom locked in an embrace. She was wearing the pink nightgown she'd bought for Cal's birthday.
"Jesus!" Dorcas breathed the exclamation on an exhale. "Cal, that's what I wanted to talk to you about last night. I didn't want to ruin the holiday. It meant nothing. I'd had too much wine and I was upset that you didn't show up and–"
"So, that was my fault because I didn't come home for dinner?"
Cal didn't raise his voice. He was quite calm.
"No, Cal, of course not. It's my fault. I..I…" Dorcas couldn't finish her explanation because there were no words that could make what she did excusable in any way.
She found that her resolve she'd built up yesterday to tell him all hinged on him never seeing the lurid memory for himself. It all depended on her framing the kiss as a passing indiscretion. Instead of what it really was, a desperate woman clinging to her ex-lover to cover over her own insecurities.
The scene played back in her mind in horrific slow motion. She remembered the lip biting, Tom's quick fingers slipping beneath the low neckline of the nightgown, the way he trailed his tongue between her breasts. He couldn't have staged the scene any better for those optics to play to their audience in a more spectacular way.
"Dorcas, how much more of this am I supposed to take?"
"Cal, it was nothing. It didn't mean anything. I love you. I don't love Tom!"
"How could you let him touch you after that memory you uncovered? Dorcas, what is this hold he's got on you? I don't understand it."
"I wasn't thinking about any of that at the moment. I just didn't want to feel rejected by you anymore!"
"Rejected by me?" Cal laughed bitterly. "How many times did you pull away from me when I tried to initiate anything physical?"
Dorcas opened her mouth to speak, but Cal held a hand up to stop her.
"I thought at first you were not ready for intimacy because Ben's death was still too fresh. But after a while, it started to feel spiteful."
Dorcas fought to keep the tears back, to speak around the knot in her throat.
"It wasn't spite. It was self-preservation, Cal. I couldn't stop thinking about where you were going when you didn't come home. I imagined you with another woman when you touched me and I couldn't go through with it."
"But you were completely fine letting Tom put his hands on you?"
Cal didn't know how manipulative Tom could be. She wanted to show him the conversation that led to the kiss and all the rest, but she didn't think it would help her case.
"The thought of Tom kissing me, touching me makes me ill. I have no excuse for what happened that night except that I wish I'd made a different choice because I hurt you and I hurt our marriage. I'm sorry, Cal."
"I'm late for work. I'm going to get ready. I don't want you to follow me. I'm going to pack a bag and stay in London–"
"Cal, no!" Dorcas gasped, placing herself between Cal and the door.
Cal's voice remained calm and even. It alarmed Dorcas far more than shouting would have.
"I'm going to stay in London. Tell the girls I've got extra shifts at the hospital and won't be home for a few days."
"But you will be home, right? In a few days?"
Dorcas could hear the frightened edge of her voice. Part of her wanted to block the door and fight to keep him from leaving. The other part of her wanted to throw herself on the floor at his feet and beg.
"I'll be back, yes," he replied. "Please move aside."
Her lower lip trembled. She didn't believe him. If she let him leave, then he'd leave for good. If she was honest with herself, she'd admit that she always knew this day would come. He'd come to his senses and cut the tether he'd unwisely tied to her.
"Dorcas."
He reached around her and turned the doorknob.
"Please don't go, Cal. I'll do anything," she pleaded, swiping tears from her cheeks.
Cal wrapped his arms around her.
Dorcas relaxed a little, hoping that she'd somehow said the right thing. Convinced him to stay.
He pressed his lips to her forehead. He gently moved her aside and opened the door.
Dorcas clasped a hand over her mouth so that her girls couldn't hear her sobs as the man she loved walked away from her.
:::
30 September, 1941 History of Magic Classroom, Second Floor, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
"Ready?" Tom asked, meeting Dorcas around the corner from Binns's classroom and office.
Dorcas had pulled far more dangerous, daring stunts with Tom than this. But for some reason, involving a teacher made her extremely uncomfortable.
She nodded, swallowing down all of the objections she'd voiced to Tom over the past week as they'd planned this venture.
"You and I aren't doing anything wrong, Birdie. I'm just having a conversation with a professor and you're just sitting on a bench waiting for me. There's nothing to be nervous about."
Tom telling her there was nothing to be nervous about had the opposite effect of calming her nerves.
"Okay, Tom!" she said, eyes wide as if to say she'd heard enough of his pep talk.
Taking her elbow, Tom guided her around the corner and sat her down on the marble bench beside the door to Binns's class, as if she couldn't find her way to her designated place without his management.
She placed her school bag on the bench beside her and drew out her Transfiguration text.
Tom squeezed her shoulder in gratitude. "Thanks for doing this, Birdie."
Dorcas felt somehow as if she'd had little choice in the matter, but didn't argue.
Pushing the classroom door open, Tom disappeared beyond her line of sight.
His voice rang in her head, however.
"There's a light on in his office. He's here, just as we assumed he would be."
Dorcas wasn't surprised. Binn's was a creature of habit. He was always in his office after dinner, reading essays.
She could see in Tom's mind the classroom, dimly lit except for the glow of the fireplace from beyond the door that stood ajar, leading into Binns's office. Tom rapped lightly on the door with his knuckles.
"Sir? May I have a moment of your time?"
Dorcas rolled her eyes at the open page of her book. He had a particular voice he used for teachers. A highly deferential tone that flattered the hearer but also coddled him.
"Tom, my boy! Why yes, yes! Come in!"
She saw through Tom's mind, the old man sitting behind his desk, quill in hand marking essays. He had a thick wool jumper pulled on over his robes, making him appear as if he was wearing a long skirt.
Dorcas smiled to herself. She liked the old eccentric.
She concentrated on extending her consciousness beyond Tom and into the professor's mind. Locating an image of Tom standing in Binns's office she concentrated on his face, the emblem on his uniform robe, opened to reveal his gray jumper and green striped tie.
Binns had a highly favorable impression of Tom. Most teachers did, Dorcas had gathered.
"What can I help you with? Another debate on Ministry-Parliamentary cooperation?"
Tom shook his head, a smirk playing on his features. "I believe I won that one, sir."
"So you did, so you did!"
"I have been completing a little independent research project on magical educational institutions. In particular, I have been looking into the connections between Hogwarts and Ilvermorny."
"An interesting connection, indeed! And I can see why it would interest you in particular, Tom!"
Tom smiled a little sheepishly. It was a put on act.
"You know I am always interested in learning more about the founder of my house."
Binns nodded. He was thinking about numerous conversations that he'd had with Tom about various topics related to Salazar Slytherin.
"So then, your research has no doubt led you to offshoots of that illustrious founder's line?"
"Yes, sir. The Gaunts and the Sayres are surviving subbranches of the Slytherin line," Tom supplied.
"So they are," Binns agreed. "One line became the headmasters of the American school."
"The other became headmasters of the British," added Tom.
Dorcas became aware of an intense interest that was sparked in Tom's mind about the handful of Gaunt headmasters that ran Hogwarts intermittently through the long years since its founding. He had considered this among other paths for his own future.
She wondered if she'd ever have the opportunity to ask him about this. No doubt he'd probably scowl at her and tell her to stay out of his mind.
A name leapt out at Dorcas that Binns didn't speak. As he cheerfully discussed obscure wizarding connections, he debated sharing a bit of lore that he was sure Tom hadn't encountered in his research.
Corvinus Gaunt.
"Dorcas."
Dorcas jumped at the sound of her name. She was so startled that the connection she'd had to Professor Binns and Tom's consciousnesses almost snapped. She held onto them, but they dimmed somewhat as Dorcas's mind was pulled away from the back and forth happening beyond the classroom door.
Anneliese was walking toward her. A tentative smile played on her features and she seemed to be looking for confirmation of some positive sign from Dorcas.
Dorcas smiled. "Anneliese."
"I was just on my way to the library. I haven't quite finished that translation of Ancient Runes yet. I'm surprised to find you anywhere but the library right now. Cherry told me you have a mountain of assignments to finish in Arithmancy. Congratulations on getting the class you wanted, by the way."
There was a quick, rambling quality to Anneliese's words that caused Binns and Tom's conversation to dim further in her mind. Dorcas suppressed the alarm she felt at missing the exchange, concentrating on getting rid of Anneliese as soon as she could.
"Just looking for a quiet place to read Transfiguration." Dorcas emphasized "quiet", looking pointedly at her book as she did.
Anneliese sat on the bench beside her. Dorcas felt the panic rise in her.
"–wondered if there was the possibility that Ilvermorny had a legend like the one here, about the chamber that holds Slytherin's monster." Tom had taken a seat, appearing at home in Binns's office. He'd probably had many sincere conversations like this one with the History of Magic professor.
"I think it unlikely. Bear in mind that the Sayre branch had very different views to the Slytherin-Gaunt way of thinking. One of the Ilvermorny founders was a Muggle, after all!"
"That is a fair point, professor."
"Dorcas?"
Anneliese stared at her, looking crestfallen.
"Hmm? I'm sorry, Anneliese. I just remembered I have to ask Professor Dumbledore a question about this afternoon's lecture," lied Dorcas.
"Does that mean you don't accept my apology?"
Anneliese's eyes were glassy. She squeezed her hands together in her lap.
"Oh! Anneliese, I'm the one who should apologize. I was so wrapped up in getting my schedule changed and staying on track with my classes. I want to become a healer so much. I was angry that the Domestic Arts class got in my way."
Anneliese brightened. "Really?"
"I should have realized that my opinions would be hurtful to you. I was being incredibly stuck up about it. But I didn't mean to mock your interest in the class. It's great that you like it and that you want to learn how to be a good wife and mother."
"Oh, Dorcas! I'm so relieved!" Anneliese threw her arms around Dorcas's neck, causing the Transfiguration text to fall from her lap as she hugged Anneliese back.
"Thank you, Professor. Always an interesting chat!" Tom simpered, leaving the classroom and stepping into the hall.
"Consider what I said. You'd make a fine educator. A mind as sharp as yours, Mr. Riddle," Binns encouraged as he departed.
"Anneliese," Tom said, just to the left of Dorcas. "What a surprise."
He was smiling, but when Dorcas turned in Anneliese's embrace, his eyes narrowed on her with a thunderous threat.
"Hello, Tom," Anneliese replied, releasing Dorcas.
"May I speak to you, Dorcas?" Tom asked, his teeth flashed again in a smile that seemed dangerous.
Anneliese hopped up and shouldered her bag once more.
"I'm on my way to the library anyway. I'm glad we had the chance to clear the air, Dorcas!"
"Me too!" Dorcas said, stooping to retrieve her fallen textbook. She avoided Tom's stare as she gathered her things.
She watched Anneliese round the corner with an apology on her lips for Tom. When she turned to speak, Tom's wand was in her face.
"Imperio!" he whispered.
Dorcas felt her resolve vanishing and the apology melting from her tongue.
"Follow me, Birdie," Tom commanded, walking away down the hall.
Dorcas's feet followed as Tom commanded, her body completely independent of her mind's ability to control it.
:::
Dorcas found herself in the last place she'd wanted to be alone with Tom.
The secret room on the seventh floor was as cluttered, filled to capacity with the excess stuff that students and teachers alike had cast off throughout the centuries. Just the way she remembered it.
"Finite!" Tom spat, shoving her roughly into the room ahead of him.
He was stowing his wand in his trousers pocket when Dorcas turned with a frantic plea for Tom to forgive her for messing up the plan.
His name had barely escaped her lips before his hand flew out, catching her across the jaw, forcing her head to the side in one jarring motion. The crack that sounded as his palm made contact with her face was loud in her ears.
"YOU DO NOT SPEAK!" Tom raged at her. "YOU LISTEN!"
Dorcas's limbs responded with a curious muscle memory. They trembled at the sound of his anger. Every sinew of her extremities remembered the threat of his voice even when her mind could not recall.
She pressed her lips together to silence a sob that fought to escape her chest. The metallic tang of blood sat sickeningly on her tongue.
"I warned you that this was important." Tom's voice became low, almost a whisper as he approached her. "I warned you that we would only have one chance to gain the information I sought."
Dorcas's mind was overwhelmed with the disgust he felt as he looked at her. He was sickened by his reliance on her. He hated that he depended on her to carry out his most sacred aim. He wanted to strike at her, to break her.
And reshape her to be his pliant, biddable acolyte.
Dorcas, hand shaking, tried to reach for her wand in the pocket of her robe. She knew it was hopeless. She'd never be able to move fast enough to beat Tom to his own wand. She was not confident that if it came down to a duel things would go any better for her than they did now. She would only succeed in making him angrier.
"But you allowed that Mudblood to distract you. Are you that ignorant, Dorcas? Why do I have to explain things to you over and over?"
His face was inches from hers.
Dorcas took a step back.
Tom's hand darted out quickly and grabbed a fistfull of her robes and the jumper she wore underneath.
He pulled her close to him. Staring her down. Waiting for an answer.
Dorcas closed her eyes. She couldn't hold his gaze full of loathing.
She startled when she felt his tongue swipe at the bloody corner of her lip. Her hand dared to search the folds of her robe. She had to at least try to defend herself.
A whimper escaped her as she squeezed her eyes shut, concentrating on feeling for her wand. Trying not to concentrate on Tom's train of thought.
As disgusted as he was with her, he found her fear and suffering alluring.
Dorcas was suddenly reminded of the last time she tried to defend herself against Tom. He had her cornered in the very same way she was now. His hands were insistent upon her body. His ears ignoring her objections. She'd been frightened of him then. What she felt now was beyond her recollections of the train ride home last summer.
But she'd fought him off in that instance. Could she do it again?
Her fingertips felt the sharp point of wood beneath the fabric of her robe and she gripped her wand. She opened her eyes.
Tom's right hand was free, he took his wand out in response.
"Give it here," he insisted, a little playfully.
Dorcas squeezed tightly to the thin conduit of magic in her right hand. She could push him away as she'd done months ago. Hold her wand between them and keep him at bay until she reached the way out.
He hadn't fought her then.
On the train there had been a student knocking on the compartment door. Cal. He was asking after her, asking if she was alright.
No one was coming to the secret room on the seventh floor tonight.
She was on her own.
But still, she had to try.
When she pushed against him, he was ready for it.
His fingers still gripped her robes, holding her to him. Wand in hand, he threw her sideways into a bureau stacked with books and dusty glass beakers arranged on a silver tray.
Her ribs caught the wooden corner of the piece of furniture and she felt the air rush from her lungs. Flinging her arm out to break her fall, she shattered the tray of glassware before collapsing into it, heaving. Her lungs would not expand to allow more air in.
Dorcas felt her wand leave her hand. Fighting back was a mistake.
"Stand up," he said. His tone suggested that Dorcas was playacting. He was impatient for her to dispense with the hysterics. "Stand up," he ordered once more.
Dorcas blinked to clear the stars from the corners of her vision. Whatever Tom was planning to do to her, she wanted to be able to face him on her feet. She had no wand to defend herself. But she would not cower on the ground, no matter how defenseless she was.
Tom stood back and watched with a passive expression as Dorcas pushed herself to her knees. Glass bit into the palms of her hands and her knees, but she barely noticed. She was concentrating on holding his stare, challenging him.
She used the bureau to steady herself as she got to her feet, then she wiped away the blood that was trailing from her lip.
"Did you hear anything useful at all?"
Dorcas couldn't remember anything about the conversation between Tom and Professor Binns.
He crossed the small path between piles of old objects and stood close to her once again.
This time she didn't close her eyes.
Dorcas shook her head in answer.
Quicker than she could react to block him, Tom planted his right fist in Dorcas's stomach.
She doubled over, wheezing as the air was knocked out of her once again. A stabbing pain in her side intensified.
"Think harder."
"Tom, I'm sorry. I–"
Whatever Dorcas had planned to say was seared from her mind by a whitehot burning. Every nerve in her body was aflame and she felt a crack across her knees as she collided with the stone floor once again; the muscles in her legs spasmed and refused to support her weight any longer.
Dorcas writhed on the ground, barely aware of the glass tearing her robe and jumper; grinding into the skin of her arm and her hip. The burning fire in her veins was her world. Nothing existed beyond the exquisite pain that exploded within her.
"I want no apologies, Birdie. I want loyalty. I want service. I want sacrifice."
Dorcas heard words, but could not organize them. Could not wring any meaning from their tone.
The pain stopped suddenly, leaving her muscles to spasm and jerk.
"What do you remember, Birdie?"
Dorcas knew if she didn't say something the pain would begin again.
Her mind latched onto a memory of Professor Binns's inner voice. A name.
Gaunt.
"Do you want me to hurt you, Birdie?"
His voice suggested that he was weary of this game. His thoughts told Dorcas how much he thrilled at the sight of her huddled on the ground at his feet; how it excited him to stand over her.
"No," she panted. "Please."
"You have to give me something."
"Gaunt," Dorcas gasped.
Tom had to lean forward to hear her.
"Gaunt?" he clarified. "There were three headmasters with that name. What did Binns say about them? Which Gaunt did he think of? Marcellus Gaunt? Cassia Gaunt? Vitus Gaunt?"
Dorcas had little energy to speak or move. But she rolled her head to the side. An attempt to communicate that a headmaster was not mentioned in Binns's thoughts.
"Corvinus," she breathed. Her lungs shuddered with the effort to speak.
Tom's eyes were hungry, but his face was blank. He didn't know the name.
He would have to be satisfied with that item of information alone. It was all she had.
Her vision swam when she made the effort to pull air in. Her chest was heavy as if a great weight sat on it. Tom blurred around the edges until he faded from view altogether.
:::
27 December, 1958 Rackharrow Hall, Berkeley Gardens, Kensington
Dorcas didn't knock. She didn't ring the doorbell.
She cast an indifferent glance over her shoulder at the street and, once satisfied that there were no witnesses, she took out her wand.
"Bombardia!" she said.
The green painted door was knocked inward off its hinges as if hit by something large and solid. The noise it made was fantastic.
Dorcas filled her lungs with air and shouted.
"GEMMA? WHERE IS YOUR PIECE OF SHIT BOYFRIEND HIDING?"
It didn't take long for Gemma to follow the sound of her echoing shouts to the parquet-floored entryway. Her front door lay crumpled between them.
"Dorcas! Have you lost your mind completely?" Gemma raged, surveying the destruction of Dorcas's unannounced visit.
Gemma, as always, looked put together. She was wearing a green cotton dress and a string of pearls. In contrast, Dorcas couldn't be sure how she looked at this moment. She'd not bothered to check her appearance in the mirror before leaving. She wasn't at all confident that the shoes on her feet even matched one another. She was in such a hurry to make Tom Riddle pay for breaking up her marriage she'd dressed in a blur.
When Cal left this morning, Dorcas returned to her office and studied the memory swirling in the Pensieve, the phial, and the packaging it had been sent in. She remembered sorting the post yesterday after she'd returned home and placed all of the items addressed to Cal on his desk in the basement laboratory.
At the time, she thought the brown paper wrapped box was some ingredient or other that was meant for a potion. Had she known what it contained…
She recognized the handwriting on the package once she paused to look at it properly. It was Gemma's. Tom must have known Dorcas would recognize his distinctive and careful script right away and instead asked her to write Cal's name and their home address.
Dorcas immediately sent her Patronus to Jonas asking him to watch her girls while she ran some quick errands. Of course, she hadn't disclosed the nature of her errands or the fact that she was planning to kick his sister's ass along with that of his sister's lover.
And here she was, ready to make the two of them answer for what they'd done.
"He's not here. Get the hell out of my house!"
Gemma crossed her arms to emphasize her unwillingness to fetch Tom.
Tom's voice cut through her words, negating them. "I'm here, Birdie. How can I help you?"
His tone made it sound as if she'd dropped by unexpectedly for a friendly social call. If he was alarmed by the manner of her arrival, he didn't let on.
Dorcas's eyes found him a moment later, coming down the white marble staircase to stand beside Gemma. Expression blank, he looked over Dorcas, the crumpled door, and Gemma.
Her absolute loathing for him boiled to the surface the instant she saw him and she reached for the item that was closest to her, hurling a (probably priceless) Wedgewood vase that originally rested on a mahogany console beside the door.
"YOU SON OF A BITCH!" Dorcas screamed, punctuating her rage by shattering the vase on the wall behind him.
Tom only ducked the flying heirloom slightly before returning his gaze to her.
"Will you stop destroying my house!" Gemma yelled.
"What's the matter? What's happened?" Tom asked calmly.
Feeling the crack of her knuckles as she clutched her wand tighter, Dorcas stepped five paces closer to the two of them, making an arc around the destroyed door. Gemma retreated one pace, putting her slightly behind Tom now. Dorcas thrilled a little as the miserable bitch gave ground.
"Don't stand there and pretend that you have no idea what you've just done!"
Tom shook his head slightly. "What have I done?"
"You pulled that memory and mailed it to my husband, you bastard!" Dorcas explained. Her voice dropped slightly in volume and pitch, but her blood still boiled in her veins.
Tom turned to Gemma. The glare he fixed on her made Gemma shrink slightly.
"I didn't send it," Tom replied to Dorcas, while he continued to stare at Gemma.
Gemma lifted her chin slightly in defiance of Tom.
"I did it!" she admitted. "Your husband deserves to know what sort of whore he's married to!"
"Gemma!" Tom barked.
The effect was immediate. Gemma's shoulders hunched only slightly and her head bowed in submission.
Dorcas hadn't picked up on her thoughts or Tom's since she'd entered Rackharrow Hall. But she could feel the barrier of Occlumency slip from Gemma's consciousness slightly in reaction to his voice. The fear her cousin felt was palpable.
And she knew immediately the circumstances that led to Cal discovering the kiss she'd shared with Tom.
Gemma found the phial, probably without Tom being aware, and viewed its contents. Gemma never could resist the opportunity to shame Dorcas for any indiscretion, perceived or real. She took it upon herself to send the incriminating memory to Cal.
Tom didn't know of Gemma's actions.
"Keep your bitch on her lead, Tom!" Dorcas seethed, brandishing her wand at them.
Tom put a hand out in a gesture of calm.
"I will handle it, Birdie," he assured her.
Gemma seemed to diminish herself further at his words, causing Dorcas to lower her wand in a rare moment of sympathy for her cousin. Gemma looked terrified.
To Gemma he commanded, "I am displeased, Gemma. Leave us!"
"Yes, My Lord," Gemma murmured, disappearing around the ornate banister of the staircase and into a nearby room, likely to a place close enough to eavesdrop.
"I apologize, Birdie. It was not my intention for your husband to become aware of the moment we shared that night," he began.
Dorcas raised her eyebrows. She didn't believe a word of it.
"No? Then why pull the memory and keep it?"
Tom shrugged. "I have my reasons."
Dorcas's stomach turned when she imagined what those reasons might be.
"Birdie, I have no animosity toward you. I am sorry to have had any part in your marital discord."
She stepped closer to Tom. Only about two paces separated them now.
"I don't believe you."
"Birdie, I care about you. I want you to be happy." Tom stepped one pace closer to her.
Dorcas's jaw clenched at these words. Since he'd come back into her life he'd brought her the opposite of happiness.
"I want nothing from you. I want you out of my life," she said, speaking through gritted teeth.
Tom shook his head slowly, a show of great forbearance and patience.
"I can't do that, Birdie."
"Why not?" Dorcas challenged.
"Because we share a child. And I deserve to be part of that child's life."
Dorcas was careful with her features, her bearing, her words. Tom would seize on the smallest indication that there was truth to what he spoke.
"What are you talking about?"
Tom's gaze was direct, penetrating. He looked through her and she was afraid he saw the truth.
"Ryann is mine, isn't she?"
Dorcas inhaled her fear. She exhaled a steely resolve. She knew exactly what Tom was capable of. He was only thirteen years old when he beat her violently on top of the Astronomy Tower and broke her wrist. Dorcas would take a hundred beatings like that one before allowing Tom to so much as speak to Ryann.
"You will stay the hell away from my children, Tom. Do you hear me?" Her voice was low and threatening. She felt as if she were a large predatory cat, ready to defend her cubs against some feral beast. She wanted to claw at his face. She wanted to draw blood.
"I want to know my daughter, Birdie. You've kept her from me for thirteen years."
Tom knew the effect his words would have on her. He didn't expect for her to arrange a meeting with Ryann. He expected to unsettle her.
And he was succeeding.
"She's not yours."
Tom smiled indulgently. "Yes, she is."
"Prove it!"
The smile remained on his face.
"Gemma," Tom called.
His challenging gaze remained on Dorcas's face as she struggled to keep her composure.
Gemma emerged from the sitting room beyond the staircase. She had regained her regal bearing, but her face still held a hint of desperate anticipation of the consequences Tom had promised for her defiance.
"Show our guest to the door and then join me upstairs," Tom said, turning and making his ascent without another glance at the two women.
"Out!" Gemma said, gesturing to the door. Her voice was harsh, but it lacked that haughty quality that Dorcas was used to hearing when her cousin spoke to her.
"Gemma," Dorcas whispered when Tom had disappeared somewhere on the second level. "You don't have to stay here with him. Come with me. You can stay at my house. Or with Jonas."
A sneer played across Gemma's features.
"I'm not going anywhere with you. Leave my house!"
Shoving Dorcas back out onto the stoop, Gemma removed her wand from her belt and jerked it at the door, flinging it back into place on its hinges with magic.
Dorcas wondered what sort of hell Tom had planned for Gemma.
:::
30 September, 1941 Secret Room, Seventh Floor, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Dorcas woke warm but stiff under a quilt. Her cheek rested on something solid yet a little yielding. When she opened her eyes, she saw the familiar sight of the furniture and blanket cave that had become their habitat for most of last year.
Her hand rested on Tom's knee and her head was pillowed on his thigh.
His fingertips lightly stroked the hair at her temple.
She pushed herself to a sitting position, her eyes finding Tom's in the dim candlelight.
"What happened?"
Tom raised his hand and tucked her hair behind her ear in a familiar and tender gesture.
"When we finished up with Binns, you and I came up here to talk. You tripped over some statue or something and brought a whole pile of books and glass and stuff down on top of you. I wasn't close enough to stop your fall."
Dorcas looked down at her lap. The quilt had fallen back to reveal her body, not injured as she remembered it before losing consciousness. All of her cuts and bruises had been healed.
She wore only a silk camisole trimmed with lace and a pair of knickers. The arm that was not propping her up crossed her chest immediately in a vain effort at being modest.
"Where are my clothes, Tom?" Dorcas asked, alarm rising in her.
Tom pointed to a neat pile of folded black and blue and white fabric with her wand laying on top.
"I'm sorry to violate your modesty, Birdie. I had to make sure I didn't miss any injuries. You had cuts all over from the broken glass. You somehow broke a rib and punctured a lung."
Dorcas's eyes were wide.
"And you healed it, Tom?"
He smiled at her awe. "Yeah. I was worried for a moment that I didn't get it right. How do you feel?"
Dorcas's hand moved from her chest to the back of her neck. She winced and rolled her head from side to side. She ached in every muscle and joint.
"I still hurt a bit."
"Sorry," Tom replied sheepishly. "I guess I didn't do a great job."
She felt so weary. Her eyelids were heavy.
"I'm tired," she told him.
"Here." Tom pulled the covers back up to her shoulders, urging her with one gentle hand to recline against him.
"Lie back and rest. I've got you."
"Thank you, Tom," Dorcas yawned. She leaned her head back on Tom's chest feeling warm and protected.
It felt like the way things used to be.