Chapter 47
31 October, 1941 Girls' Lavatory, Second Floor, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
"Show me!" Dorcas demanded, her voice ringing from the empty, tiled surfaces of the lavatory.
All of her previous concerns and frustrations were burned off by her curiosity and sense of collective triumph. Clay's attack, Rubeus's monster, Gemma and her boyfriend's continued insinuations about her loose character, all forgotten.
The only things in the world that mattered stood before her: Tom and the mystery that they'd solved as a team.
Tom mirrored her excitement.
"I kept remembering what you said: It can't be obvious. The sink, the mirror. It gets used dozens of times a day. I began to think that the entrance was only designed to be opened by specific people. Heirs of Slytherin. What can Slytherin descendants do, Birdie?"
Dorcas's mind raced for the solution, not wanting Tom to have to explain it to her.
She remembered a conversation in a meadow, long grasses swaying in a summery gust.
"Hot, isn't it?" the snake had asked a younger Tom.
"Parseltongue," Dorcas whispered.
Tom had never demonstrated this particular skill in front of her before. She'd only ever seen this talent in his memories. And of course, she'd heard his uncle Morfin speaking this language before.
Her eagerness prickled on her skin like static.
Tom nodded, a self-satisfied smile playing on his features.
Dorcas stepped back from the sink, eyes on Tom, transfixed. She felt her breath catch in anticipation.
The hissing sound that was emitted from Tom's mouth set the hairs on the back of her neck on end. She was reminded of Morfin Gaunt, unhinged and dangerous.
There was a pause and then a sudden thrum under Dorcas's feet as the sink and the mirror, in fact the whole wall slid toward them, revealing a gaping black void behind it.
Tom neared the maw and looked in. Dorcas hesitated.
"Do you trust me, Birdie?" Tom asked, holding his hand out to her.
Dorcas felt curiosity replaced by a primal fear. Was there a monster beyond the black opening? If they ventured down into the depths, would they ever resurface again?
Despite these and other fears, Dorcas placed her hand in Tom's.
She did not expect him to pull her forcefully into his arms and lean over the chasm's edge.
"TOOOOOOOOM!" Dorcas screamed as they tumbled into darkness. The plunging feeling in her stomach threatened to bring up her last meal. Her skirts whipped frantically about them.
She heard Tom laughing in her ear as her fingernails dug into his back.
And they continued to fall, the light of the chamber's entrance becoming an ever-fainter pinprick of light until the world above was a mere memory.
"Arresto Momentum!" Tom finally said, taking his wand and pointing it below them.
Dorcas felt their descent slow, but the ground met them more quickly than she'd expected.
She crumpled to her knees, still holding onto Tom, pulling him down with her.
Something sharp bit into her hip as she toppled to the side, causing her to cry out. She feared that whatever monster this secret lair contained had broken her fall and answered the slight with a bite to her backside.
"Ow!" she hissed, releasing Tom and pulling up the skirts of her dress to inspect the wound.
It was dark as pitch down here, fathoms below the earth's surface.
"Lumos!" Tom spoke into the darkness and the space was illuminated from the tip of his wand.
Dorcas could make out clearly what had bitten into her skin. Sharp bones of various species of rodent littered the floor around them. She hopped to her feet and gasped, unable to keep the bleached remains from scratching at her ankles.
"Calm down, Birdie. You're alright!" Tom urged.
Grabbing a fistfull of her black dress and the crinoline beneath it and lifting it, he healed the gash on her hip. His finger stroking the bare flesh that he knitted back together.
"What is all this?" Dorcas managed, drawing in a ragged breath to calm her nerves.
"Well, it's been down here for a millenia. It has to eat, Birdie," Tom said, smoothing her dress back into place.
"It?" she asked, a tremor in her voice. "You mean Slytherin's monster exists? It's real?"
Tom laughed again.
"Yes," he said simply. "Don't worry! It won't come until it's called."
"Called?" Dorcas gulped.
She grabbed onto Tom's arm with both of her hands, squeezing.
Tom patted her trembling hand.
"I can speak to snakes, remember?" He pointed the wand's light ahead of him and began to walk.
Dorcas had to follow or release him. Not wanting to be left in the dark alone, she forced her feet forward.
They walked through a series of tunnels, bones crunching underfoot, threatening to snap Dorcas's ankle as they shifted under her heels.
Sensing her difficulty, Tom slowed his pace.
Coming to stop finally, Dorcas looked up at a circular door with a motif of coiling serpents.
Tom hissed something unintelligible to Dorcas's ears once again and the solid stone vault rattled into rapid motion, the snakes chasing one another into a sequence that opened the door's mechanism.
Dorcas sensed that this was only the beginning of extraordinary things she would witness down here in the depths below the school. But she was already spellbound by Tom's abilities and ingenuity.
She would never tell him this, however. She could just imagine how inflated his sense of self would become under her effusive praise.
When the vault opened, Dorcas stepped forward to duck into the space beyond, but Tom did not move.
He was staring at her.
"This is the most basic and elemental facet of my existence, Dorcas," he said.
Dorcas felt her shoulders straighten at the weight of his tone, his words. He addressed her by name. He didn't use her pet name.
"This is who I am. And you helped me to discover this. I will never forget it. Thank you," he said, kissing her forehead.
Dorcas didn't know what to say in return. She understood that to the boy who never knew his parents, never had a history, never belonged anywhere, this was significant, though she didn't know what the significance was yet.
She'd tried to cut him out of her life this summer.
He wouldn't let her sever their connection. It was a steel tether, she felt it. She knew he did too.
They would never be able to snap the bond they shared.
"You've been the truest friend I've ever had, Birdie."
Dorcas could only nod stupidly.
He squeezed the hand that she'd wrapped around his bicep.
"I'm going to use the spell I invented on you, Birdie," Tom instructed after a long pause. "You know what a basilisk can do. Don't make eye contact. I want you to keep your eyes down. He won't be able to see you."
"He?" Dorcas gasped.
She felt a hopeful spark. Tom's Horcrux plan will be one step closer to realization if they could get its feather.
He smiled. Dorcas was elated. His excitement was contagious. Her blood was filled with the most tantalizing cocktail of endorphins and she was tempted to press her lips to his when he looked at her like that.
I need to get back above ground, Dorcas thought to herself, before I do something I'll regret.
She released him, concentrating on pulling each finger individually away from the safety of him.
"Talpaer!" he said, directing the spell in her direction.
Dorcas couldn't see her own hands that were held out in front of her.
"Stay close to me, Birdie," Tom urged.
As if he had to say it. She would not stray in this strange and terrifying place.
It was eerie to walk and to feel the crunching of bones beneath her feet, but look down and see her footfalls but no feet. The sensation threatened to throw her off balance.
"Tom?" she asked shakily, as he turned away from her and stepped through the entrance of the vault.
"Huh?" he asked distractedly, on alert.
"Are you sure the basilisk will do what you say?"
She tried to push down the panic rising in her as she imagined the largest snake she could conjure in her mind. She was having difficulty believing that such a creature would heed the words of a strange boy.
"Yes. Do you think I would risk bringing you down here if I wasn't sure?" he shot impatiently.
Dorcas pressed her lips together. She was always thrown off by how quickly his mood could shift. She supposed he was on edge with her safety in the balance.
She saw thoughts that Tom wanted to project to her. His foray into the chamber earlier in the evening while most of the school was drawn to the first floor and the dance.
Dorcas gasped as the image of the basilisk was pushed into her thoughts by Tom. It was a larger creature than she'd even imagined. Tom was correct in his assessment of the creature's sex. There was a single crimson plume that raised when it had been disturbed by Tom earlier.
His hissing commands seemed to immediately subdue the creature. Bowing its head, Tom was able to climb the beast and retrieve his quarry.
"So you have the feather already?"
Tom nodded, his shoulders straightening with obvious pride at the achievement.
She trailed behind him, fascinated. She didn't know another soul who could do the things that Tom could do. She was reminded of the attraction she felt for him when he'd given her the spell that he'd invented. The very same spell that concealed her right now.
She wanted to pull him close to her and kiss his lips and absorb the exceptional magic that flowed inside of him, to wield it for herself.
Keeping her eyes on the broad expanse of his back, she tried to ignore the growing desire for him that pooled low in her belly.
When they emerged from the low tunnel into a lofty space, Dorcas gasped again.
The chamber was so cavernous that its ceiling could not be detected, but rather faded into a gloomy greenish-black glow.
There were massive pillars that disappeared a hundred feet above her head. At one end of the vaulted expanse was a stone statue. Dorcas had seen portraits of the severe-looking founder, glowering from the halls of the school.
"That's my ancestor, Birdie," Tom pointed out, his voice full of awe and reverence.
Howard Carter at the opening of the tomb of King Tutankhamun. This must be how he felt.
Dorcas rested her hand against Tom's back, noting that he didn't react to her touch. She was reminded about the way she could not sense the bookshelf Tom had Disillusioned in the library when he'd demonstrated the spell for her the first time.
As the realization washed over her, her other hand drifted to his back, and slipped over his collar and into the soft hair at the nape of his neck.
Tom spun around, her hands fluttered inches from him. She wondered if he'd been able to detect her touch in some way.
His face was inches from hers.
"Birdie? Where did you go?"
Dorcas felt the corners of her mouth pull up into a smirk. She lowered one hand lightly to his chest. The other traced a finger delicately against his jaw.
She recognized the shift in the balance of power. It was intoxicating to be the one in control. So many of their interactions were initiated by him. She was always the reactionary party.
If he'd been able to sense her or see her, he would most assuredly become the aggressor. But she was suddenly in control and she was drunk on the power.
She pressed up on her toes, careful not to make a noise, and brushed her lips against his.
He turned once more and called out for her again.
"Here I am!" she whispered close to his ear.
Tom laughed.
"Jesus! Birdie!"
She laughed too.
When they'd both sobered, Tom cleared his throat and asked, "Are you ready?"
"Yes," she replied, stepping behind him once more, and placing him between her and the statue of Salazar Slytherin.
:::
12 February, 1959 Wizengamot Courtroom 9, Ministry of Magic, London
Dorcas was surprised at the size of the crowd when she'd entered the courtroom today.
The last time she'd testified here, it was in the setting of the Wizengamot Family Court. This was a decidedly larger gathering. She recalled very few spectators during her testimony then. She'd only been presenting evidence that would reinstate Theresa Allen's (now Prewett's) parental rights.
The benches in the gallery were full today. Spectators, members of the press, and, Dorcas had to assume, associates of Stephen Muybridge were all assembled to hear her expert interpretation of the evidence she'd gathered of Jim Allen's death.
The trial was scheduled to continue for one to two weeks. Her testimony would be given today as an expert and then the remainder of the proceedings would see Dorcas playing the role of silent victim.
She'd passed her uncle's portrait in the halls of the court before she'd entered. He gave her an encouraging smile. Something else had passed over his face that puzzled Dorcas.
A warm hand rested on the small of her back, causing her to jump slightly.
Cal bore all of her startles, shudders, and spasms at the smallest initiation of contact with sympathy. She wondered how long he could be so understanding before patience turned to impatience, frustration into blame and anger.
Jonas was here as well. In an official capacity. He was seated with his peers of the court just behind and to the left of the presiding judge.
His Lordship Ambrose Skandenberg entered the room and those assembled were bid to rise.
"You may admit the accused," His Lordship said, turning to the bailiff once he was situated on his bench.
Dorcas straightened.
Stephen Muybridge had not been present during introductory statements and speeches the day before. She had not expected him here today. Although Dorcas reminded herself, this was a trial to determine whether he would spend the rest of his life in Azkaban or not. Why shouldn't he be present for it?
Two additional bailiffs walked up the center aisle, removing their wands as the third strode to a side entrance, opening a set of heavy oak doors.
The two cast Patronus Charms that produced first a sleek silvery dolphin and then a lithe and alert Doberman. The Patronuses prowled the space in front of the door as the third bailiff flicked his wand at the door.
Several members of the press jostled to get their cameras into position, each vying for the perfect angle to capture the dominating forms of the Dementors and the dwarfed but no less sinister Muybridge.
There was an immediate chill that was cast about the room as the Dementors entered, flanking a gaunt and gray Stephen Muybridge.
The last time Dorcas had seen this man, he was goading her, trying to get her to act on her desire to extinguish his life. She also remembered how it felt to stand over his prone body, warring with the two parts of herself; the one that wanted blood and the other that wanted justice.
In this moment, she knew that killing him would be to give him the easy way out.
Cal's hand slipped from her back to her waist, pulling her closer to him.
Dorcas remembered hands like his that held her down, pinned her wrists so that she couldn't fight back.
She choked down a wail that threatened to escape her at the memory. It was just the Dementors' presence. She was perfectly safe. Tom was not here.
Caradoc Dearborn was on his feet and speaking to the gallery.
Dorcas hadn't heard a word of what he said. She was trying to shake Tom's voice from her mind.
"Birdie, look at me! Open your eyes!" she heard Tom say. She could practically feel his breath on her face, feel his fingers constricting her throat.
She felt exposed, stripped down, bare. She pulled her navy suit jacket tight over her chest and crossed her arms.
Cal must have misread her and assumed she was feeling the chill cast over the room by Azkaban's wardens. He rubbed her arms, warming her with the friction.
She threw out a hand in a silent appeal for Cal to stop fussing.
He removed his hands. Dorcas closed her eyes in relief.
"You know you shouldn't have come to Gemma's house to challenge me, don't you, Birdie?" She heard the rapid shutter of the cameras. They began to sound like the headboard that beat against the wall, the friction of his body pounding savagely into hers.
She pressed her thighs together until her muscles cramped and burned. She inhaled, striving to slow the rhythm of her pulse.
One of the Dementors slowly turned its hooded face in her direction. She imagined that the hood slipped a little. Tom stared at her from beneath the rough sackcloth. He knew that she was reliving their encounter. A smirk stretched across his face.
"I want you to know that I can get to you anytime, anywhere."
"The court recognizes Dr. Dorcas Clerey-Meadowes," His Lordship said.
"I want you to know that I can get to you anytime, anywhere."
Cal touched her forearm.
"Dorcas."
"The court recognizes Dr. Dorcas Clerey-Meadowes," His Lordship repeated impatiently.
She jumped to her feet, suppressing a wave of nausea and dizziness as she did. Cal stood and grabbed her hand to steady her.
Dorcas cringed. She could only imagine the optics.
Cameras turned to her and she could just see the pictures in her mind, weak, helpless, escorted down the stairs. The opposite of the confident, professional woman she once was.
She took her seat at the front of the court.
Nearer to the Dementors.
Stephen Muybridge looked like a mirror image of how she felt inside.
Yet, in his misery and deprivation, he still managed to unsettle her with a wink.
"Dr. Meadowes," Dearborn began. "The Wizengamot court has already reviewed the memory that you uncovered from Theresa Allen on the afternoon of October Fifth, Nineteen Fifty-Seven."
He paced before her.
"Would you explain the process used to extract the true memory from Theresa Allen's mind?"
Dorcas sat up straighter and turned slightly so that her back was somewhat turned away from Muybridge and toward the peers of the court.
Jonas gave her an encouraging smile, just as his father's portrait had.
Dorcas cleared her throat.
"I used a potion invented by myself and my husband, Healer Caleb Meadowes. The Ex-Nebulae Elixir. It can be guided toward an altered memory, lifting that memory away to reveal the true recollection beneath."
Dearborn nodded. "And how successful has this potion proved in cases of criminal conviction?"
"In the United States I have uncovered four memories linked to felonious acts that have resulted in conviction."
Dearborn turned to the judge.
"I submit the records that Dr. Meadowes references," he said as the bailiff that was not occupied maintaining a Patronus Charm walked over to a bench laid out with arranged documents and other evidence and selected a file to hand to the judge.
There was a pause as His Lordship reviewed the evidence.
He nodded to Dearborn to continue.
"Dr. Meadowes, who was revealed to have killed Jim Allen in the memory you uncovered? Can you point him out to the court?"
Dorcas swallowed. She did not want to turn in his direction.
"He's there. Stephen Muybridge," she said, mustering the courage to face him and his guards.
Caradoc Dearborn nodded and turned to the judge.
"The Ministry has no additional questions for the witness."
Wes Rookwood stood and arranged his black dress robes.
"Hello, Dorcas," he said, addressing her as if they were still students at Hogwarts.
She remembered how he and a fellow Slytherin had conjured a gust of wind in the corridors one day that lifted her skirt. He'd made some idiotic comment about her knickers. The other boy, Oliver Nott had said worse. She recollected how Cal had pummeled him.
She had excused Wes's participation in the incident. It was difficult to have inclinations like those that she saw in his mind. Society didn't accept a person with his proclivities. He masked them by being aggressive with girls instead.
Dorcas wondered if he'd ever struck a balance between what he wanted and what society expected in his adult life.
The chip on his shoulder would suggest not.
"Hello, Wes," Dorcas returned.
He smiled.
"Where did you receive your formal training?"
"My healer's training or my psychiatry training?" Dorcas asked.
Wes looked down at his notes. She could see in his mind that he was unhappy that she was asking questions.
"The Muggle training," he clarified.
"Columbia University. And I completed a residency at Mount Sinai Hospital, New York."
"Ah," Wes said, as if he'd latched onto an admission of guilt from her. "American training."
Dorcas inhaled a calming breath. So this was how it was going to be. Superiority over the colonials. Hail Britannia! Britannia rule the waves!
"New York is in America, that's right," Dorcas agreed, as if she was a grammar school geography teacher and her slowest student had finally made a connection.
She heard Caradoc Dearborn cough pointedly behind her.
"Why did you complete your training in America, Dorcas? Why not at a British Wizarding institution like St. Mungo's?" Wes asked, insisting again on using her Christian name.
"Because my husband and I lived in America at that time. And Columbia is a first-rate school."
"And you moved to America after your seventh year at Hogwarts?" Wes asked.
Prick.
"My sixth," Dorcas corrected.
There was a shift behind Wes's shoulder that caught her attention. The Patronus that was shaped like a dolphin had been sailing languidly through the air in a figure eight. Dorcas's periphery caught a flicker as it dimmed and then disappeared altogether.
The Dementor to Muybridge's right had a clear path to her and Wes.
"No, Tom! Please don't" her own voice pleaded loudly in her mind.
She could feel his hand pressing the side of her face to the hard surface of a table.
Dorcas felt Tom behind her, heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper on trousers being undone.
Her arms were immobilized by an unknown force. She could see her left hand lying impotently on the table that she was bent over.
"You never learn, Birdie!" he growled. "You must learn! You must obey!"
Dorcas felt the force of him as he drove into her, hard enough to shift the table she was trapped against. She heard the screams erupt from her own throat.
"Dorcas?" Wes asked.
"MOVE!" Cal shouted.
Her husband's face was the last image that Dorcas saw before everything went black.
:::
31 October, 1941 The Chamber of Secrets, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
"Remember Birdie, keep your eyes down. Don't look at the basilisk. He can't see you. You're perfectly safe."
Dorcas placed her hand on his shoulder, knowing he couldn't feel the connection, but it steadied her to feel his solid presence.
Her eyes were fixed on the broad expanse of his back.
She heard Tom string several hissed syllables together.
The ground beneath her began to rumble just as the bathroom had when he opened the chamber's entrance.
This time, it was the statue of Salazar Slytherin that moved.
His jaw seemed to be hinged and opened wide when commanded by Tom. There was movement beyond the opening and Dorcas remembered Tom's warning not to look at the creature.
She knew that its glance was deadly. Though she was invisible to the monster, the chance that their eyes could meet was still an ever-present danger.
"Be careful, Tom," she urged.
"It's okay, Birdie. Trust me," Tom replied.
She did.
Dorcas could see the snake in her periphery, slithering from the opening in the statue's mouth. She smirked a little through her fear at the overwhelmingly obvious symbolism that Slytherin had employed. The creature spilling forth from his mouth like the snake language that he was famous for speaking.
"He's not subtle, Slytherin. Is he?" Dorcas asked.
She felt Tom's shoulder shrug under her hand.
"Why should he be? He had no equal on earth."
He turned to face her. Her hand slipped from his shoulder to his chest.
"I have no equal. And I will push the very limits of magic farther than any wizard ever has. Farther than even my great ancestor did. No pureblood will deny my power. No Muggleborn will dare to cross me. You could share that power with me, Birdie."
Dorcas stepped back, staggering beneath his intensity. Her hand against his chest felt scalded, as if she'd dared to touch a flickering flame.
She swallowed around a knot in her throat.
"I've never wanted power, Tom," Dorcas finally answered.
Tom's brow furrowed. "What do you want? I will give it to you. You've given me this," he flung his arms wide, indicating the chamber. "I owe you the entire universe in exchange."
A movement behind Tom drew Dorcas's attention from his impassioned expression.
"I don't want the universe," she said, dropping her gaze to her feet.
Looking where her voice indicated, Tom took a step toward her. Dorcas could hear the movements of the enormous creature behind him. Every nerve in her body was alert, every muscle trembled in fear.
"Then my complete adoration will have to suffice," Tom said.
He didn't wait for a response, but turned and faced Slytherin's monster and hissed commands.
The monster responded without hesitation. Dorcas heard the directions that Tom spoke in his mind, though they were unintelligible in her ears.
The basilisk fetched bones and laid them at Tom's feet. He coiled into a massive cone, head peeking from the top. He lowered his head and Dorcas felt suddenly exposed when Tom stepped away from her and climbed onto the great beast's scales.
As Dorcas stood trembling in the middle of the vast chamber, eyes cast to the floor for fear of instant death, she couldn't help the dichotomy of feelings within her. Awe and triumph at helping Tom to discover this elemental facet of his identity and terror at the person she was helping to shape him into becoming.
:::
13 February, 1959 Watermead, Aylesbury
Dorcas felt the subtle shift in light behind her eyelids. It confused her.
Opening her eyes, Dorcas realized slowly that she was not in the courtroom anymore.
She tried to remember all that she could leading up to this moment. She'd lost time.
That feeling that she couldn't account for minutes, maybe hours gave her a nauseous sensation.
Wes had been questioning her. He was about to lead her through facts related to her leaving Hogwarts after her sixth year. He was going to publicly humiliate her for her teenage pregnancy.
But he never got the chance.
She recalled the Patronus that dimmed before guttering out.
Dorcas sat up in a rush.
Remembering the massive black-cloaked figures, one peeling away from Muybridge and drifting closer to Wes and to her, brought back the memories that their presence had dredged from the murky river bottom of her past.
The sensation was an odd one. She recalled snippets of dialogue, long-buried feelings of pain and humiliation, the raw tearing in her throat at the scream that clawed its way out. And, even though she remembered these disembodied fragments of memory, she didn't feel as if she owned them. It wasn't her past. It was as if she was remembering pieces of a movie, one film still, one isolated shard of dialogue.
But the experiences of the actors on the screen were ones she could identify with even if she couldn't reference that exact scene in her own life.
She let a hand glide out and stroke the sheets to either side of her. Familiar feelings under her fingertips, and frightening in their familiarity at the same time.
Dorcas sat up so quickly that her brain jostled painfully in her skull, creating a dizzying effect and blurring her vision.
She was in her bedroom, in her bed.
"Don't move, Dorcas," she heard Cal say. "Lay back and rest. Do you want anything? Let me get it for you."
"I can't be here," she heard herself croak. How long had it been since she'd spoken? Her voice felt scratchy and hoarse.
Cal laid an arm across her chest, gently pushing her back to the pillow.
"Don't move, my love. You had a pretty hard fall. I'm worried you might have a concuss–"
His explanation was cut off by an involuntary cry that bubbled up from the pit of Dorcas's stomach.
Dorcas pushed against him, screaming. "DON'T TOUCH ME!"
Cal stood back from the bedside and stared at her. His hands were held in front of him, a conciliatory gesture.
Throwing the covers off of her, Dorcas scrabbled toward Cal's side of the bed and then to her feet.
"STAY AWAY!" she shouted when Cal began to move.
He froze, watching her.
Dorcas struggled to clear her mind and come up with a question that only the real Cal would know the answer to. She felt her mouth open and close as she thought about potential challenges she could fire at him.
Before she could settle on something that only Cal would know, she felt a sudden surge of bile climbing toward her throat.
She turned quickly and raced for the toilet.
There wasn't much in her stomach to bring up. The sting of vomit in her nose made her eyes water.
Cal's hand was on her back, a cool cloth pressed to her neck.
Dorcas felt an explosive rage within her at his touch.
"I SAID STAY AWAY! I DON'T WANT YOUR HELP!"
Cal turned patiently to the sink and filled a glass with water, handing it to her.
"Where's my wand?" Dorcas asked, lowering her voice, but feeling all the more trapped with Cal between her and the bathroom door.
"On your bedside table," Cal replied, holding the glass of water out to her.
Dorcas stood, pulling the wet cloth from her neck and wiping her mouth with it. She took the water from Cal and gulped it down.
Pushing past him, she hurried around the bed, keeping her eyes from looking at the sheets and the counterpane that felt incriminating to her.
She grabbed up her wand and darted from the room as Cal watched from the bathroom's doorway.
"Where's Wren?" Dorcas asked, over her shoulder. "When are we leaving for the wedding?"
"I called Cherry and explained that we won't be able to attend. Jonas had already told her about court today."
Dorcas stopped halfway between her bedroom and her office, Cal following her at a careful distance.
"Nonsense," she said, dismissing Cal's comment. "I fell. It's not a big deal, Cal. I'm going to the wedding."
"Dorcas, I think–" Cal began.
Dorcas would not hear of laying about her house wallowing in past misery. The past couldn't be changed. She wanted to be a part of the present. That meant seeing two people she loved very much become husband and wife.
"I'm not interested in what you think, Cal. I'm a healer too. I release myself to go to the wedding. I'm perfectly fine."
She pushed open the door to Wren's room and found it empty.
"She's with Anneliese."
Dorcas nodded. "We can stop and get her on the way to Yorkshire. I've already arranged for Dumbledore to see Ryann off from Hogwarts via floo."
"I told Dumbledore to keep her at school. We're not going, Dorcas!"
Dorcas could feel her blood pressure rising.
"Well, tell him you made a mistake. We are going. Be ready in an hour. Or stay here."
:::
1 November, 1941 Secret Room, Seventh Floor, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Dorcas begged Jack to stay with her that night. She couldn't bear the thought of parting with him following his declaration of affection. She wanted more time with him. She wanted forever.
But they only had five hours.
She offered Morty's vacant room and promised that she would behave like a proper lady and keep to her own room. Just the thought of him sleeping under the same roof as her calmed her fears about saying goodbye tomorrow.
But she couldn't find sleep knowing that he was just down the hall from her. Her fingers were restless to touch him. She couldn't be comfortable if he wasn't next to her.
She did what she promised she wouldn't do. She crept barefooted down the hall to her uncle's room and turned the doorknob slowly and gently, knowing that the door would creak if opened too suddenly.
The sounds of his breathing, deep and peaceful told Dorcas that he was asleep. He was partially covered by a sheet, revealing his muscled torso and arms; one was flung over his face, shielding his eyes from the ambient light of the city. Light blue boxers peeked out of the sheet, riding high on his left thigh.
Dorcas carefully spread herself out beside him, watching in the dim light for any reaction from him as she slipped her hand under the sheet and across his stomach.
Her fingertips thrummed with a curious electricity, recognizing a need within her that they were itching to realize.
She studied his face in the dim glow of the moon, or the streetlights. She wondered if he wanted her just as much.
A brief glimpse into his mind told her the answer: yes.
He was dreaming about her.
Slipping her fingers lower, beneath the waistband of his underwear confirmed the fact. She found him as stiff as a ridgepole. The knowledge did something strange within her own body, sending a pulsing current throughout her nerve endings. Creating an aching tension between her legs.
She touched him lightly, alert for any movement that would tell her he'd been roused from slumber.
His hips bucked against her palm once and then he spoke her name.
"Dorcas," he murmured sleepily.
She withdrew her hand quickly and froze next to him.
"You're not just a dream," he said, looking down at her.
Dorcas couldn't think of anything to say in reply. She shook her head rapidly.
Jack laughed and wound his fingers into her hair, pulling her face down to meet his. He kissed her deeply.
His other hand traced a fiery trail up her arm, finding the low collar of her nightgown and tugging it down her shoulder.
Dorcas leaned back to study his face. She could tell that he wanted more. And so did she. Even if she didn't fully understand what more exactly meant.
Sitting up, feeling his fingers reluctantly release their grip in her hair, gliding down her neck, over her rapidly beating heart, before resting on her thigh. His fingers began to inch her nightgown higher up.
Dorcas's fingers moved to the buttons down the front of the thin cotton. She hesitated and looked to him for guidance.
"Only if you want to, angel," Jack said, stroking her bare thigh.
Her fingers worked quickly, exposing her collarbone and her sternum.
Jack's eyes followed her fingers to the hemline at her collar as she tugged the garment down. The cotton pooled around her waist.
His eyes flicked back to hers.
There was a warm mark on her thigh where his hand had been; the hand that now covered her right breast.
She thought she would have been embarrassed to have exposed herself to a boy like this, but she was surprised to find that she wasn't embarrassed at all.
Dorcas found his right hand tangled in the cotton of her nightgown at her hip and brought it to her lips, brushing his palm against them before placing it on her left breast.
With his hands occupied, she wasn't sure what to do with hers. She tentatively traced her index finger down his stomach.
Jack sighed and closed his eyes.
"Get on top of me," he instructed, throwing the sheet off of him.
His hands left warm marks on her breasts when he removed them, leaving her nipples to react to the cool night air.
Jack grabbed her hips and settled her over him, lifting his hips to buck at the warming ache between her legs.
She leaned down to meet his lips with her own. His hands stroked her bare back before settling on her backside.
Dorcas leaned back into his hands, and found him again with her own, straining against the cotton of his underwear.
"My god, you're exquisite, Dorcas," Jack declared, the end of her name becoming an abbreviated moan.
Dorcas loved the sound of her name in the back of his throat like that and wanted to make him say it over and over again.
When she woke up from the dream, she felt stiff and achy. Unsatisfied as usual.
But this time was different.
She did not see the darkened inside of her bed with deep blue curtains drawn like she normally did.
Instead, she found herself lying in the furniture and blanket structure that she and Tom had spent so much time in. That felt like another lifetime.
Her leg was thrown over him, head resting on his chest. She felt his hand as it rested on her thigh where her stockings met the fastenings of her garter belt.
There was an unmistakable stiffness against the inside of her thigh.
Dorcas stifled a gasp.
She lifted the covers to make sure that she and Tom were still dressed.
Relief washed over her when she realized they were.
The hand resting on her thigh stirred.
She made nearly imperceptible movements, trying to peel herself off of Tom without waking him.
In his mind he replayed the moment in the chamber when he'd lifted her skirt to heal the cut on her hip. The stockings and garter belt had apparently made an impression on him.
Dorcas tried to ignore the dream as more clothing seemed to be removed, except for the garments that were the object of the fantasy.
She admonished herself. It was ghastly to peek into Tom's private thoughts like that, even if they featured her very prominently. How humiliated would she be if someone else had been privy to her private dreams about Jack?
"Birdie?" Tom said sluggishly.
She froze against him.
Tom blinked and looked down at her.
Dorcas had no idea what expression her face wore, but Tom seemed to read alarm there.
In the next moment he seemed to register the leg she'd tried to remove slowly, his hand on her thigh, and his own erection.
There was no need to slip away slowly now that the embarrassing truth was acknowledged between them.
They hurried to occupy opposite corners of the cave like identical poles of two magnets that jump away from one another.
Tom cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Birdie. It just happens sometimes," he apologized.
Dorcas began to shake her head dismissively the moment he began. "You don't need to apologize, Tom," she excused, pulling covers up to her chin even though she was fully clothed.
"It doesn't mean anything," he added.
"Of course," she agreed. "What time is it?" she asked, changing the subject.
Tom seemed grateful for a reason to look away from her and at his wrist.
"It's almost half eight," he answered.
"Oh no!" Dorcas replied, scuttling out of the cave and locating her shoes and her wand at its entrance.
Tom was right behind her.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
Dorcas inhaled to calm herself. "This is why I have a reputation at this school!"
"Reputation?"
Dorcas pushed her hair out of her face. "Yeah, everyone thinks I'm a slag."
Tom shoved his hands into his pockets.
Dorcas tried not to look in his direction, but glanced at the front of his trousers once to confirm that all had returned to normal.
"And this isn't going to help prove anyone wrong," Dorcas continued.
"What isn't?" Tom asked.
Dorcas gestured to her dress and stockings. "Sneaking back to my dorm looking like this."
"You look beautiful."
"Not the point."
She was trying to wipe the smudged makeup from her face in a cracked mirror. She stopped to look at him.
"Clay Atwood pulled me into a dark alcove last night and…"
Tom's shoulders straightened and his expression became stern and alert. "And what, Birdie?"
Dorcas shrugged. She shouldn't have said Clay's name.
"Forget it," she dismissed.
"What did he do?"
"I need to transform this dress," Dorcas said to her own reflection, determined to ignore him. She was not going to describe every salacious detail of what happened to Tom. It was bad enough that Cal had witnessed the final moments of it.
Tom picked his wand up from the mouth of the cave and pointed it lazily at her.
Dorcas saw the black cocktail dress become a simple green and blue plaid cotton dress. The one she'd worn to Little Hangleton on her first visit.
"Thanks," she said, absently sitting in a chair whose upholstery was slashed, leaking stuffing.
She unhooked her stockings and slipped them off her legs while Tom watched.
"What did he do, Birdie?" Tom repeated, his voice becoming dangerous.
Dorcas exhaled and closed her eyes.
"Drop it, Tom," she insisted.
She transfigured her shoes into simple flats and gathered the sheer black stockings, stuffing them into her pockets. She felt the dangling clasps of the garter belt that secured them into place. She would take the undergarments off when she was back in her dorm room, where she didn't have an excitable audience.
:::
She used the secret passage that Tom had shown her during her first year when they wandered the corridors almost every weekend at midnight. It let out in the Trophy Room which was mercifully empty this early on a Sunday.
Climbing the spiral staircase two flights, she was greeted by the sight of Cal Meadowes loitering outside of the entrance to Ravenclaw Tower.
Dorcas tried to disguise the slump of her shoulders. She pasted a smile to her face and said hello.
"I've been waiting for you," Cal admitted.
"I was just about to go and collect my things. I have homework," Dorcas lied. She really wanted to take a shower and change into something that wasn't transfigured to hide the shameful truth.
Cal nodded. "I just wanted to check on you. See how you're doing. You didn't come back to the dance last night. I was worried."
Dorcas felt as if everyone who passed them in this very busy and public thoroughfare was staring at them and listening to their conversation.
"Do you want to go for a walk?" Dorcas blurted.
"Okay," Cal agreed.
They reached the bottom of the staircase and departed the school for the Black Lake. The stormy sky was reflected on its surface, casting the whole landscape in gray.
Cal removed his jacket and arranged it over Dorcas's shoulders.
"You don't have to be worried for me," Dorcas said finally.
"I know I don't have to. But I am anyway," Cal replied. "I can't shake the image of him hurting you. It makes me so angry."
Dorcas didn't like seeing the sordid scene playing out again in Cal's mind. She always thought of Cal as a safe haven, his mind a refuge from the thoughts that other boys had about her.
She was reminded that this was not the first time he'd flown to her defense when she was treated in this manner.
Wes Rookwood and Oliver Nott had once found it funny to prank her with a gust of wind that raised her skirt and exposed her knickers. Oliver refused to apologize at Cal's insistence, instead calling her a whore.
It was an embarrassing theme that could be traced all the way back to the Christmas party last year at her uncle's house when Evlyn Rosier had been drunk and tried to take advantage of her. He'd told his girlfriend, her cousin Gemma, a different story. One where Dorcas was the aggressor and he was the innocent party.
Since then, there had been many awkward encounters, inappropriate comments, and more fantasies that featured her than she'd care to admit to anyone.
The instance with Clay had just been the latest and most terrifying of these events.
"It seems to me like the boys at this school treat you differently than they do other girls," observed Cal.
He was thinking of the Oliver Nott antics from last spring.
"Why is that?" he asked. "It seems very pointed, directed at you somehow."
"Don't tell me you haven't heard the rumors?" Dorcas asked before she could stop herself.
She was surprised that Gemma's and Evlyn's character assassination hadn't reached him. It'd certainly circulated around the school enough by now.
"I hear rumors. But I dismiss them. I know they have no merit."
"Well, it's an elaborate scheme to get every student at this school to believe I have an easy virtue. Gemma began it to get back at me for something."
She felt her face heat despite the cold breeze that kicked up off the water.
"For what?" Cal asked, adding, "If you don't mind me asking. I'd like to understand so that I can help. I want to help."
Dorcas shoved her freezing hands into the pockets of her dress, feeling the silk stockings hidden there. Maybe, she conceded, there was a bit of truth to the rumors. Only a trollop would have last night's underwear concealed in her pocket. She recalled the way she'd woken, sprawled over Tom and the preceding dreams she'd had about Jack.
She'd only ever told Tom about what happened in the hedgerow maze at Christmas. She did not relish the rehashing of it in lurid detail for Cal.
"Her boyfriend tried...something. I resisted and stunned him with his own wand."
Cal was remembering Clay's screams as he crumpled to the ground at Dorcas's feet. He recalled how she tossed his wand down the corridor.
"Thank God for your resourcefulness, Clerey!" he commented with awe. "Why don't you tell someone?"
Dorcas shrugged her shoulders beneath the oversized jacket.
"And say what? Gemma's spreading rumors about me because I hurt her boyfriend's pride by refusing to let him have it on with me?"
Cal rubbed the back of his neck.
"When you put it like that..."
"Please don't say anything to anyone, Cal. If you want to help me, you'll leave it alone."
Cal bit his lip and studied her.
Dorcas felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
"Well, I've already asked Professor Lin to assign Clay to another partner."
"You didn't?" Dorcas asked, her expression frantic.
Cal rushed to explain. "I didn't tell her anything. I just explained that there was a conflict of personalities. I let her believe that Clay and I were the issue. Your name didn't come up at all."
Dorcas nodded, but didn't feel relieved. She felt as if the problem with Clay was only beginning.
"Will you promise me not to walk anywhere alone?" asked Cal after a brief pause in the conversation. "Make Cherry or Anneliese go with you."
She wanted to tell him he was overreacting, but she couldn't quite make herself believe that. She was beginning to see his point.
Dorcas nodded.
"If they're busy, come and find me. I will drop what I'm doing, I promise."
She gasped. "Even Quidditch practice?" she asked, trying to make light of the situation.
"Even Quidditch practice. Hell, the middle of a bloody match. Just to walk you to the library. I'll do it."
He laughed, but his tone was earnest.
:::
13 February, 1959 Blackpool Abbey, Upper Flagley, Yorkshire
Dorcas stepped through the fireplace and into the sitting room that was draped in blue damask wallpaper. This was a particular haunt of her Aunt Eden when she was alive and so Dorcas had no real love for the space.
Cal stepped through behind her with Wren in his arms, Pippa clutched in hers.
Jonas was awaiting their arrival because Dorcas had sent her Patronus ahead of them.
She was pleased to see him and dropped her bags where she stood to wrap him in a tight hug.
"How are you feeling?" Jonas asked her.
It was an innocent enough question. But Dorcas felt the weight of it.
Miserable.
That was the answer.
She knew she was trembling. Could Jonas tell? A moment later she felt her eyes sting with threatened tears.
Jonas held her tighter.
"Where's Cherry?" Cal asked.
Dorcas knew it was a pretext to take Wren away before her mother lost it in front of her.
She appreciated how Cal had given her space after she'd blown up at him. But she knew even he had his limits.
"Ballroom. She could use your help," Jonas answered.
Dorcas buried her face in her cousin's shoulder, feeling for once as if she didn't want to claw her own skin off.
"Dorcas," Jonas soothed, rubbing her back comfortingly. "What's going on?"
Her throat felt thick with tears and she couldn't speak around them.
"Won't you tell me?" he prodded. "Is something the matter between you and Cal?"
She sobbed harder.
The fireplace roared to life behind her and Ryann stepped out.
Dorcas immediately began to dry her eyes, embarrassed by the scene she'd just made.
"Mama!" Ryann said, dropping her bag as Dorcas turned to face her daughter. "Are you okay?"
"Your mother is just being weepy because she's so excited about my big day tomorrow!" Jonas supplied, sparing Dorcas from making excuses to her daughter.
Ryann studied her mother, but decided not to contradict Jonas.
"I'm happy for you too! But I'm not going to cry about it!"
"Your father and sister are in the ballroom," Dorcas said, kissing her oldest on the crown of her head before sending her off in pursuit of something to occupy her.
Jonas dropped his voice low when Ryann was well out of earshot.
"Cherry told me about the thing with Tom."
Dorcas nodded.
"He says he's forgiven me, but I don't know how to move past it," Dorcas said. "I don't think he does either."
"Maybe he just needs time and reassurance that Tom is in the past," Jonas encouraged.
"Speaking of the past staying in the past," Dorcas sniffed, running a finger under her lash and catching a few remaining tears. "Gemma's not bringing him tomorrow, is she?"
Jonas furrowed his brow and thought.
"I don't think she's coming to the wedding. So you're probably good on that score."
Her cousin moved past her, squeezing her shoulder. He bent to retrieve the luggage.
"Do you want to go upstairs and rest for a little while?" he asked. "You look dead on your feet."
She nodded. A nap in her childhood room sounded wonderful.
:::
Dorcas opened her eyes again to a change in light.
By her reckoning she'd slept through most of the past two days.
From the moment she'd collapsed in the courtroom–a memory that made her cringe–to the time she'd woken up in her own bed at home the next morning. Then she'd insisted on packing and coming up to Yorkshire for the wedding, became a sobbing mess in Jonas's arms, and then...more lost time.
She supposed she should be grateful for all of the hours lost to sleep. There were no dreams, no memories of Tom (distant or recent).
But she knew it couldn't be sustained. Her body would recover from the deprivation soon enough and insist on being awake.
She could induce sleep with potions. But she didn't want to sleep through her life. As such, she didn't want to live it either.
The gentle rhythm of Cal's breathing soothed her.
She realized that she was not irked by his presence the way she was in her own house, especially in her own bedroom.
Perhaps, she allowed that in sleep, she was automatically assured that this was Cal. His mental shield was down and she had free reign over his subconscious mind.
At this moment he was replaying their wedding day in his dreams.
She saw herself in his mind's eye in a simple cream colored blouse and skirt. They'd had a very informal ceremony in front of a justice of the peace. She was already nearly six months pregnant by the time she'd taken her vows with Cal.
Cal looked past her Uncle Lysander and Jonas, the only two witnesses present. His eyes found hers and he was mesmerized.
The emotion that accompanied the sight overwhelmed Dorcas.
In his mind, Cal kept repeating one line: "I can't believe she's mine!"
Dorcas wanted to shake her husband awake and reassure him that she was still his. She always would be. But she hesitated.
If she woke him, they'd have to hash out all that had happened. Dorcas couldn't do that. She would have to hold onto her secret and bear the load on her own.
To tell Cal would mean to send him off after Tom, who was powerful and immortal. Cal would be killed.
Hanging on to her secret felt like a slow and agonizing death. But, better her death, she reasoned, than Cal's.
She threw off her covers and reached for her robe. Tucking her feet into slippers, she shuffled to the door and turned its handle slowly to keep it from creaking.
The library was always her favorite room in the house.
She climbed up to her balcony perch below the portrait of Tytos and his horse Capricorn.
"Where has he gone to, Capricorn?"
"He's gone most nights. Prefers to haunt the school instead," answered another voice.
Dorcas smiled and moved along the balcony.
"Hello, Uncle."
"Hello, pet."
Her uncle's portrait had comforted her the last time she was here, still reeling from the recent death of her son.
It was still a raw wound, but overlapped by so many new injuries that she couldn't distinguish one from another now.
He frowned as he studied her. "I confess I'm dismayed, Dorcas. Are you ill?"
Dorcas shook her head. "Not ill."
"Your tumble in court the other day was the talk of the Ministry. I'm worried about you."
She didn't have an answer to this. She couldn't shrug it off and say she was fine. It was plain to anyone who knew her that she was tormented.
"Who would have guessed that Dementors would affect me like that?"
Lysander raised his eyebrows.
"Anyone who knows you. Knows the trials you've had in your life. The struggles with your Uncle Mortimer, his death along with your mother's, the loss of your son. These are the kinds of experiences that those creatures bring out in us. You happen to have had more than your fair share of sadness. If I were still corporeal I would have marched into that courtroom and struck that inept bailiff."
Dorcas let him speak. His tirades were famous wherever he went. There was no use in trying to cut him off when he worked himself up.
"It wasn't the bailiff's fault," Dorcas muttered under her breath.
"You're right! It's a basic requirement for the job that one can maintain a Patronus Charm. Those in charge of staffing are the true guilty party here."
Dorcas sat, leaning against the railing of the balcony.
Lysander finished his bluster and fixed her with a doting gaze.
"I looked in on your girls this evening while they slept. Perfect, each in their own way. Your mother would be so proud of you. I am proud of you!"
"Thank you, Uncle," Dorcas said, blushing a little at his praise of her girls.
"Promise me you'll bring them to see me tomorrow! I haven't seen Ryann since she was a wee one. And I've never met Wren."
Dorcas felt a twinge of guilt at this. She should have taken them to see his portrait this afternoon–would have done, if she hadn't fallen asleep.
"How's Caleb? Jonas read me an article from Modern Potioner about the two of you. You make quite the team!"
At that statement, Dorcas struggled to meet her uncle's eyes.
"Look at me, Dorcas," he commanded. "Tell me what has happened."
His voice always had the ring of authority that came with a lifetime of telling others what to do. It was hard to give anything less than strict obedience.
"We did make quite the team. I'm afraid we're adrift at the moment. I have no idea how to fix it."
Lysander steepled his fingers and seemed to consider her words for a moment.
"Did I ever tell you about the time that young man came to me to ask for your hand in marriage?"
Dorcas leaned forward. She'd heard from Cal a little bit of the story. Dorcas had never been so angry with him in all of their friendship for his interference.
"No."
Lysander leaned back in the chair that he was painted in, settling into the story.
"I'd only met the young man maybe once or twice when he attended gatherings here with your other friends. He'd harbored a longstanding regard for you. That much was obvious to anyone who saw the boy around you. But you never seemed to pay him any attention beyond polite friendship."
Dorcas sighed. She knew that her blindness toward Cal was truly unforgivable. Why he'd persisted in the resolute face of her indifference, she would never understand. She marveled at his ability to set aside his pride.
"When he came to me and confessed that you were in a difficulty, I could have hexed him into the great beyond. I was furious at the upstart Muggleborn who had debauched my niece. But it wasn't an easy thing, what he did. To come to me and admit his mistake took true courage. Courage that I would not have expected in one so young as he.
Caleb fell upon his sword honorably. He told me that he did not know if you would return his affection or even if you would accept his offer of marriage, but that he hoped that I would intervene with the school and use my influence to persuade Dippet to allow you to take your exams early. He said that his only thought was to secure the future that you had always wished for.
I could tell that his deepest desire was to ensure your future happiness. And that is why I consented to his request for my blessing. There was not an ounce of selfish motivation in the proposal at all. I knew that he would be wholly devoted to you and to your child. I still believe that, Dorcas."
Dorcas had never heard her uncle's perspective on this topic. She'd only heard from Cal that the experience was as scary as being led from the tumbril to the guillotine only to be reprieved at the last moment.
"He is wholly devoted to me, Uncle. But I've hurt him and I don't know how to make it right."
Lysander furrowed his brow.
"Have you been listening, child?"
Dorcas blinked. She wasn't sure what she'd missed.
"A man who was willing to risk any manner of retribution from an indomitable guardian such as I, to ask for my blessing to marry you is never going to abandon you, my dear. You make it right by showing him that you are just as steadfast in your love and devotion to him."
She nodded her head slowly. She understood what he meant. There was no single act or word that would undo the damage she'd done to their marriage. She could only repair the rift by being present, by showing him that she was devoted to him and no other.
"Thank you, Uncle. I know you are right."
"So why are you still here talking to me, when the man you love is upstairs?"
Dorcas smiled and blew him a kiss before standing and descending the steps to the lower level of the library.
She entered her bedroom in the same careful and quiet manner in which she'd left it.
Cal was still breathing in the deep and even way that indicated sleep.
Slipping under the covers as gently as she could, she stretched herself along the length of his side, placing her head upon his chest. He was warm and solid and familiar.
When he adjusted his position to wrap her up in his arms subconsciously, Dorcas knew this was what she needed in order to begin to heal.
She needed him. He was her home.