Author's Note: To Angelina, thank you for the review. I'm sorry to hear that you have not been feeling well. I haven't abandoned the story at all. I am just having a turbulent couple of months, but things should ease up by May. I'm still trying to plug away at my story (sometimes it seems to be the only good thing I've got going). It's reassuring to know that you're still there and reading my tale. So sorry you had to wait so long for this installment. Enjoy the chapter and get well soon!
Warning: Violence in the second scene marked Days in captivity: 234.
Chapter 22
Days in captivity: 234
The way Mauro brushed the wards aside like a shimmering curtain confirmed what Dorcas already knew.
She followed him from the cliff's edge where they Apparated up to the path that led to the house, which was dark.
"The Dark Lord's guests seem to have departed," the Spaniard observed.
Dorcas didn't comment. Good riddance to the lot of them, she thought.
Mauro turned in the path and addressed her. "You can trust me with the memory. I'll deliver it to Tom and you can go straight to your room."
She narrowed her eyes, scoffing at his words. "Trust you?" she repeated. The wind off the channel did little to conceal the disgust in her tone. "No, Mauro. I cannot trust you with anything."
He took an involuntary step backward on the path as Dorcas approached, his face turning downward into a confused frown, eyebrows pulling together as he studied her.
"I do not understand. Why are you angry with me?"
"I'm not angry with you. I'm angry with myself for forgetting for the millionth time that you are not my friend. You are Tom's partner. I don't know why that fact fails to stick in my mind." Her voice was rising with her dawning frustration.
"I'm working with him. This is true. But it does not mean that I support what he believes. I do not agree with his methods. I do not like the way he treats you."
Dorcas exhaled a sharp laugh. "Like the way he treats me? Mauro! You're delusional. Of course you do. Support. Agree. Like. Why work with him if you object to it all?"
"You know why. This is not the place to continue this conversation. The Dark Lord awaits."
Holding her hands up in front of her, she mocked him. "Oh, the Dark Lord awaits!"
Mauro sighed and turned back toward the house. "You are being a child."
"You don't object to any of it. You support what he believes by helping him to carry out his will, Mauro. You agree with his methods when you stand aside and allow him to hurt others. And you like the way he treats me––"
"STOP THIS, DORCAS!" Mauro shouted, closing the distance between them. "NOW. He hears everything."
Tom wouldn't hear what Mauro didn't want him to hear. She was certain of that. She wouldn't be put off simply by his invoking Tom's name. Mauro didn't have a mirror held up to his face nearly enough in her humble opinion. He could be Tom's henchman. Dorcas could accept that. But she couldn't accept his own high opinion of his morals. She couldn't accept the way he thought of himself as imprisoned as she was.
She squared off against him, jutting out her chin and meeting his gaze even as he towered over her. "And you like the way he treats me."
"This is all nonsense. You have had a trying evening. You need rest. Give me the memory and go to bed. I'll deal with the Dark Lord."
"See? You'd like for me to believe you're trying to shield me from him right now. You're giving me the opportunity to hide myself away, offering to speak on my behalf to keep him from coming to me. You want to know what I think?"
Mauro sighed. "You will not stop until you make your thoughts known, so proceed."
"The only reason he has access to me is because of you. You make me available to him. I have nowhere to hide on this island from him and it's all because of you."
She saw anger flash in his eyes even in the dense darkness of the remote island. "You are absurd, Dorcas. It is not as if I hold you down while he does what he pleases."
Dorcas wasn't going to back down now. She knew that he was dangerous when provoked. She'd been on the receiving end of his intense and uncontrollable magic. But she was unwilling to allow him his allusions about his own part in her abduction and captivity.
"Don't you, though?"
"A vile thought! ¡Claro que no!"
"Then let me go. Take me to my daughter and help us to get away from him." There was a wild desperation bubbling in her throat as she dared to suggest what she knew he would have to refuse. But in doing so, there was no way he could deny his role in it all.
"Enough of this! Hand over the memory and go up to bed!"
"So you spare me a bit of rape tonight. What about tomorrow night? The night after that? What about the next night? And the next? And the next?"
She'd exposed a crack in his demeanor. A vein throbbed in his temple and his breathing sharpened with every word she spoke.
"You heard him with his mates tonight. He wants to sell her off. To breed her!" Dorcas pushed past him, knocking him into the seagrass where he stumbled before recovering. "I can't let that happen."
"What would you have me do, Dorcas?" came his desperate reply.
"Help me fight him, Mauro!"
"Is fighting what you did tonight when you stole the Minister's memories?" Mauro came even with her in three long strides, blocking her path once again.
"You're goddamned right it was! And I'll use those memories as bargaining chips. To save my daughter. To save my husband."
Mauro shook his head slowly. "The Dark Lord will not help you with your husband. It suits him to have Healer Meadowes implicated instead of himself."
"Oh, I'm well aware of what suits the Dark Lord. Does it suit you to break into my family's home and gather the evidence of Cal's guilt for Tom?"
Mauro flinched as if he'd been struck by Dorcas's words. "H-how did you know it was me?"
"Our wards are good, Mauro. As good as Tom's. And you walk through them like they're nothing more than mist."
His hands shot out toward her, reflexively wanting to hold her in place as he explained his part. His fingers twitched as she moved out of his grasp. "Dorcas, you know I had to do that. He would expose the memory that would incriminate me. I've told you that I am not free of him. You have to understand!"
"Maybe whatever it is that you've done should be exposed. Maybe you should be in prison for what you've done. You should be in prison for what you're doing to me."
She shoved him aside again, finding him to be as thin and yielding as rice paper. Her words had taken their effect on him.
"Stand aside. The Dark Lord awaits me."
"Dorcas, what can I do?" he murmured in defeat.
"I think you've done enough."
:::
14 February, 1943 Fourth Year Girls' Dormitory, Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Adelaide Johnson answered the door when Dorcas knocked timidly. She was dressed in a Fort Wayne Daisies pinafore and skirt with a baseball cap pinned over her curls.
Dorcas grinned at the nod to their earlier Muggle Studies Club effort, the baseball game that her team had won. "Dottie Wiltse?" she asked.
Nodding in confirmation, Adelaide smiled before scrunching up her nose. "I don't think I know who you're dressed as, though. Sorry."
Dorcas looked down self-consciously at the blue party frock, a cast-off from her neighbor Betty, and smoothed the skirt. "Oh, I'm nobody. I'll just be on stage singing, so I didn't bother coming up with a costume."
"DIDN'T BOTHER?" came a shrill voice from inside the dormitory.
Adelaide stood back to let Dorcas in and then disappeared into the corridor with a Beater's bat in hand, leaving her to Cherry's wrath.
"What d'you mean, 'you didn't bother', Dorcas? We're trying to make a comeback here!"
Dorcas sighed and sat on Adelaide's bed while Cherry applied thick, dramatic lipstick to compliment her pencil-thin eyebrows and dark kohl lids. With the pearls and the ivory silken, drop-waisted gown she wore, Dorcas gathered that she would have been a paragon of fashion twenty years ago.
"You look lovely! Who're you going as?" Dorcas asked, admiring the beautiful finger waves that Cherry had managed to tame her long red tresses into. "You look like a film star!"
Cherry swiveled in her vanity chair toward Dorcas, glaring. "Daisy Buchanan. And don't change the subject, Dory!"
"Are you cross with me?" Dorcas asked, astonished. "I thought I looked nice."
Deflating somewhat, Cherry looked away and bent to fasten her shoe's strap around her ankle. "No. I'm not mad. But change the frock to red or pink at least. This is a Valentine's Day dance after all."
Wishing she'd just headed down to the Muggle Studies classroom on her own, Dorcas removed her wand and tinted her dress a satiny ruby red. "Better?"
Cherry nodded, standing and enchanting the wrinkles from the front of her dress. Dorcas thought of Darren and knew that the sight of Cherry tonight would have left him speechless. She brushed the image of their absent friend away and pasted a smile on her face.
"You look beautiful, Cherry! Where's your camera? I should take your picture so you can send it in your next letter to Darren."
Cherry brightened. "Oh! That's a good idea!"
She rummaged in the trunk at the foot of her bed until she found a bundle of tangled clothes. She unwrapped her Brownie from its wooly jumper casing and handed it to Dorcas.
"You've fixed it!" Dorcas observed with some surprise.
Cherry sniffed and stuck her nose in the air. "Of course I did! I told you and Anneliese that I didn't break it. I just wanted to take it apart to see how it worked." She handed the device to Dorcas and began posing.
"We can make the development solution so it moves. Blow him a kiss, Cher. He'll love it!"
Cherry dropped her hand from her waist and favored Dorcas with a dubious frown. "We can't. He's with Muggles. I don't want to get him into more trouble with the Ministry than he is already!"
Dorcas shrugged and snapped the shutter. "You can write a password in the letter and then enchant the photograph to only move when the password is given. I've done it before."
Convinced, Cherry began to pose, blow kisses, and wink at the camera as Dorcas snapped away, advancing the film reel with a quick revolution of the side dial.
"How d'you know about enchanting photographs to keep them safe from Muggles, Dory?"
Dorcas dropped her arms when she couldn't immediately summon the answer to Cherry's question. "Oh, I…" She thought for a moment. Where had she gotten the idea to do that before? "I think I sent Morty some photographs before…"
Cherry pulled a disgusted face. "You sent your uncle photographs where you blew him kisses? That's creepy, Dorcas!"
Dorcas rolled her eyes. "No, I just sent him silly faces, I think."
"I'm ready," Cherry announced, tucking her wand down the front of her dress as Dorcas watched on with raised eyebrows. "What?" she challenged Dorcas after catching her staring. "I don't have pockets in this thing and I don't want to carry a handbag."
"I suppose it's as good a place as any," Dorcas decided.
Cherry picked up the camera where Dorcas had laid it gently on her folded quilt at the foot of her bed. "We'll take this with us. Darren will probably like photographs of the gang as well."
Dorcas touched up her lipstick in Cherry's mirror before turning to follow her friend out of the dormitory. "Where's Anne?"
"She said Beau wanted to add some finishing touches to their costumes," Cherry explained.
Dorcas snorted, remembering the deal Anneliese had with her boyfriend. She couldn't wait to see what Beau had come up with. She dabbed the corner of her mouth and nodded approvingly at the job she'd done. Good enough for the stage at any rate.
"Just curious," Cherry chimed as Dorcas turned to follow her out. "Where d'you keep your wand? You're not carrying a handbag."
Dorcas lifted her skirts and flashed Cherry a glimpse of her thigh and garterbelt, wand securely fastened within. As she did, she heard the click of the shutter.
"Cherry Weasley! You pervy little witch! You're NOT sending that one to Darren!"
Dorcas lunged for the camera, but Cherry was already in the corridor heading for the stairs, the camera held aloft in her right hand.
"Are you insane?" Cherry called behind her as Dorcas pursued. "I'm not going to send him nudies of another girl!"
"Then what are you going to do with it?" Dorcas huffed as she took the stairs two at a time to catch her traitorous friend.
Cherry burst into the red and gold adorned common room and into Cal's surprised arms. "Home base!" Cherry declared. "I'm safe!"
"For now!" Dorcas growled, pushing a stray curl out of her eyes and bending to catch her breath.
"What's all this?" Cal chuckled, looking confusedly between Cherry and Dorcas.
Dorcas hadn't registered Cal's presence until he'd spoken. She wondered if he'd heard their shouted conversation on the stairs about pervy witches and nudies. She ducked her head to hide the furious blush that rose from her chest and terminated in her cheeks, painting her the same shade as her dress.
"Dorcas doesn't like having her picture taken. She's shy," Cherry lied. "Here, take one of us," she said, shoving the Brownie into the hands of a Gryffindor bystander with padding in the front of his waistcoat to give him Winston Churchill's paunch.
Dorcas straightened and watched Cherry and Cal pose for the camera. Her breath caught in her chest at the sight of Cal in a tuxedo. She supposed he was going as Gatsby to compliment Cherry's Daisy. A twinge of something uncomfortable tightened her chest and she wished that Tom would have agreed to come with her tonight.
She cleared her throat and smiled up at Cal. "You look smart."
"Thank you," he replied. "You look as beautiful as always."
He offered her an arm as Cherry retrieved her camera. She had a fleeting jealous thought as Cherry took his other arm. She didn't want to share him with her friend. He'd asked her first, after all.
That's a mean thought, Dorcas Clerey. Selfish cow!
:::
Days in captivity: 234
Dorcas found Tom in the dinning room where she'd left him with a dozen of his thugs earlier. She wondered how long ago they'd departed. The leavings of their meal and night of drinking and rallying against the dark forces of the Muggle Threat were still strewn across the mahogany table that Tom loved to bend her over.
Her memory of their last time in this room came back to her in intimate detail. It was so humiliating to have no say in the matter of when or where he took her. But the humiliation dulled slightly when her own prone form was replaced by his. She reveled in the idea of standing over him. She longed for the day that he would take the fucking instead of her. Metaphorically, of course.
She smiled at the thought.
"Does that smile mean success?" His voice wiped the vision of revenge from her mind and she found him sitting at the head of the table; the lighting had been dimmed and there were several empty champagne bottles in front of him.
He was drunk.
Perfect.
"It does."
"The memory?"
"I have it."
She moved into the room, placing the table between them. Her hand in the pocket of her heavy traveling cloak clutched a phial and she removed it, allowing the silvery mist to wink in the light of the chandelier.
"Give it to me, Birdie."
Dorcas pocketed it again, shaking her head slowly. She watched Tom sit up straighter in his seat, eyes trained on her, the brown of them fading into a murky sienna near the pupils.
"I need a favor from you first."
"A favor?"
She inhaled. Here's where her plan would either result in Cal's rescue or go horribly wrong. From the inside breast pocket of her cloak, Dorcas removed the evening's Prophet and laid it on the table.
"Stop this attack on Cal."
"Attack on Cal?" Tom's brow furrowed and he frowned deeply. "What's Meadowes done now?"
"Let's speak plainly for once. If you want the pliant, obedient, adoring Birdie back, then this is what I need from you."
Tom's frown turned slowly into a feral grin. "What makes you think I can do anything to help your Mudblood ex?"
"Call off your dogs. I know it was you. Telling the DMLE what memories to look for. They have the one that I pulled of you posing as Cal."
Tom crossed his arms obstinately in front of him and leaned back in his chair. "I do not know which memory you're referring to. I never impersonated Caleb Meadowes."
Dorcas held his gaze, challenging him, but trying with all her might not to let him get a rise out of her. The escalation of his temper was in her hands. As always, she needed to tread carefully.
Remember who it is you're talking to, Dorcas. Tom is the world's most talented liar. There's no point in arguing with him. You're here to bargain for Cal.
"Nevertheless, they have the memory and I know Mauro got it for them. He did it at your request."
She watched as Tom straightened slightly in his chair. He'd expected her to argue. She put him off balance. That was a good sign.
"That's not the memory that I'm interested in," he said with a dismissive wave.
He was trying to gain back the high ground. Brushing aside the time he'd violated her in her own home, using her husband's identity was triggering. He knew it.
"Give me the Minister's memory, Birdie. We can reminisce another time."
Bile rose in the back of her throat, burning away her tenuous hold on her calm.
"No."
There was a flash of red in his eyes when he broke his hold on Dorcas to search the table's surface before him. He was looking for something. She could see his annoyance mounting when he wasn't able to find it.
He padded his palms down both sides of his trousers as he stood, shoving the chair he'd occupied angrily away from him.
"Give it to me!" Tom snarled in a low warning, eyes frantically running over the carpeted space around his toppled chair.
Dorcas saw what he was hunting and a wild laugh fought to make its way out of her throat. She clamped her lips tightly closed and said nothing. It was sitting beside a half-empty glass of champagne.
His wand.
She let a large dose of incredulity creep into her voice as she asked, "What are you looking for? Are you drunk, my lord?"
Tom shoved his hands into his pockets for the second time, bringing them out empty.
"Hand me the memory, Birdie," ordered Tom, ignoring her questions.
Dorcas tore her eyes from the wand, laying in plain sight before him on the table. She didn't want her gaze to give away its location, though he seemed to be blind to it. She wanted to believe that her plan was fully coming to fruition, but she dared not hope. He could still conjure without a wand. She'd have to test him.
"Why don't you just take it from me?" She infused a playfulness into her tone and the corners of her mouth pulled up into an alluring smile.
Tom's hand was extended and she could see a vein protruding in his neck from the effort of silently casting the Summoning Charm. But the phial remained fixed within her grasp.
A bubbly triumph fizzed in her chest. He was completely without magic. They were evenly matched for once.
"Maybe you should sleep it off, my lord. We can resume this conversation in the morning when you're feeling more like yourself."
Tom's chest was rising and falling rapidly with ragged, angry breaths as he glared at her across the long table.
"I don't know what you've done, you fucking bitch. But when I find my wand––"
"Nevermind, my lord. We don't need magic," Dorcas interrupted. "Here. Catch!"
She tossed the memory phial across the table to him, her weak overhand throw going wonky. Tom's eyes flew wide and a cry stifled in his chest as he dove for the fragile glass container. He was as coordinated at catching as she was at throwing.
There was a satisfying tinkle of shattering glass, prompting Dorcas to lean around the table. Tom was splayed on the rug, one palm resting in a mess of broken glass and memory fluid.
"Why would you be so careless, Birdie? What has gotten into you? I swear you'll pay for this!" His voice pitched higher as his eyes blazed, holding her paralyzed in his gaze. He lifted his hand, dripping with silvery, misty liquid and cried, "Crucio!"
She braced herself for the whitehot searing pain that she knew would pulsate through her veins and claw at her nerve endings. But it never came.
Tom was stunned when Dorcas remained on her feet.
"What have you done to me?" he hissed, face contorted in rage as he picked himself up off the floor.
Dorcas knew he'd carry out every single threat he made. She just needed to ensure that his rage was aimed only at her and not at Ryann.
"Done?" Dorcas asked as she dipped her hand into her inside cloak pocket once again. She produced another filled phial and held it out to him. "I haven't done anything to you. Has this happened before after a night of heavy drinking?" she asked with concern. "Have you ever had an inability to perform before?"
Tom straightened his shirt and brushed his wavy fringe back from his eyes, endeavoring to calm himself. "You joke now. But you'll be begging for mercy when I'm done with you."
"Here is the memory, my lord. The one I threw was a fake. I'll give you this one if you promise to leave Cal alone. That's all I want."
Tom drew in a steadying breath, placing his hands on his hips. "So I promise to call off the DMLE and leave your Mudblood husband alone? And I get the memory?"
"You summarized that quite nicely," Dorcas agreed. "Though I don't care for the name calling."
"What makes you think I won't go after him again later?"
This was Dorcas's fear. She really had no way of ensuring that Cal could remain free of suspicion. She could only offer a different narrative. One that was more palatable to Tom than Cal ending up in Azkaban.
"You already have me and our daughter," Dorcas explained, taking two steps to her right as Tom inched around the opposite corner of the long mahogany table. "Why do anything to Cal?"
Tom's gaze remained fixed on the memory phial in Dorcas's left palm. "Because he won't stop causing a problem for me. As long as you're gone, he'll keep pursuing me."
Dorcas was taken aback by the directness of the declaration. Tom was afraid of Cal's relentlessness.
"Tom." Dorcas spoke his name gently, waiting for him to lift his eyes to meet hers. When he refused, she said it again. "Tom, look at me."
After a moment, Tom slowly drew his eyes away from the memory and up to Dorcas.
"I'm with you now. Cal and I are done. But he's all my youngest has. He can't go to prison. If he does, then she'll have no one." The statement knotted up Dorcas's throat and she felt as if she would choke on a sob.
"Cherry and Jonas would look after her. I know you made them godparents to both of your daughters."
A tear slipped out of the corner of Dorcas's eye, following the crease of her nose before settling into the corner of her mouth. She knew that an appeal for the sake of her daughter would fall on deaf ears. It was a stall tactic, really. The only way she could save Cal was to cut him deeply and publicly. It was the only alternative that Tom would accept.
"She's already lost her mother, Tom. Please don't take her father away."
Tom moved two more paces down the length of the table. Dorcas took two steps away, keeping the furniture between them. She had nothing to fear from him as long as she could keep her distance. And even that was only a temporary condition, she knew. He would get his powers back eventually. And she would pay for her insolence.
Tom snorted. "Did you really think you could move me by talking about your mudbaby? Do you know me at all, Birdie?"
Perhaps it was the filthy term he'd used to describe her child. Or, perhaps it was the way he sneered at her tears. Dorcas couldn't be certain why she hurled the memory phial at Tom's face. But she threw it with all of her might, the glass shattering on the wall behind Tom just a fraction of a second after he'd ducked.
"Fucking hell, Birdie!" he growled.
She plunged her hand back into her cloak and brought out another phial.
"What if we could resolve my missing persons case and take the heat off of Wren's father at the same time?" She licked her lips, tasting her own desperate tears. She prayed that he would accept her next offer. It was all she had left.
"Accio Memory!" Tom shouted as he reached across the table for the phial in her tight grasp. He growled in frustration when his magic refused to obey him. "Why would I want to take the heat off Mudblood Meadowes? He was always such a squeaky clean saint. I'm enjoying his disgrace."
Dorcas brought her left hand down in a powerful arch and let the phial smash at her own feet. She held Tom's glare and watched as he seethed.
"I don't remember how many of these I made…was it four? Five? Are you going to let me smash them all?" She brought out another one.
"Birdie, STOP THIS NOW!" Tom raged. He brought his hands down onto the polished surface of the table. The candelabra and the discarded goblets trembled in the face of his anger, but Dorcas didn't falter.
"Agree to my terms and this memory is all yours. Shall I tell you what's on it?"
Tom's jaw worked as he ground his teeth and his knuckles turned white as he clenched his fists on the table.
"It went down exactly as we thought. Tuft slipped alihotsy to his mother in the fudge. It would be a shame for such a prize to be won for you only to be lost in the next instant, wouldn't it? The Minister's puppet strings slipping right out of your fingertips?"
Tom bared his teeth and looked up at her through his fringe as he bent over the table. "I'll let Greyback tear your little brat limb from limb. Birdie, d'you hear me? She will meet a slow and agonizing end. And I'll let Meadowes watch before I kill him personally. I'll make sure to preserve the memory for you to enjoy later. How does that sound?"
The phial came down hard against the wooden floor, tiny shards bit at Dorcas's ankles, but she held on to Tom's gaze fiercely. "No more threats, Tom!"
He drew in a sharp breath through his nose and pushed back from the table, standing tall. "What do you propose, Birdie?"
"Get that bitch reporter, Nott in here to interview me. I'll give her an exclusive telling her that I left with my daughter. I'll confess that she's yours. There won't be a case for Cal to pursue. And you'll leave him and our daughter Wren in peace."
She held her breath while Tom considered the plan. He tilted his head to one side and then slowly shifted to the other side as he thought through the options.
"You'll do this? You'll sever all connections to Meadowes publicly?"
Dorcas lifted her chin and nodded. "Yes."
"That'll destroy him, Birdie. You've had him by the cock for forever. He won't give you up that easily."
"I know what to say to get him to leave us in peace."
Dorcas watched Tom's eyes slowly return to their indifferent brown as his breathing began to even and slow. "I agree. Give me the memory."
He held out a hand expectantly and waved her forward.
Squaring her shoulders, Dorcas clutched the final phial in the pocket of her cloak and slowly stepped around the table. She knew that when she was within reach, she would have to take a beating for the insolence she'd shown tonight. But it was better that he get his anger out on her than to summon Ryann for the punishment.
When she came to a stop about two arms' length from Tom, she held out the memory. "Thank you for agreeing to this. I just want to protect my––"
Tom was quick to close the distance, bringing his hand across her face so fast that her neck cracked with the impact. She held the edge of the table to steady herself, even as he used the momentum of the first swing to bring the back of his fist into stinging contact with her right ear.
Dorcas tried to remain upright, but was knocked off balance by the concussive strike against the side of her head, doubling her vision. The memory skidded out of reach under the table.
"You dare to threaten me?" Tom hissed as he bent over Dorcas's curled form on the rug. "Dare to tamper with my magic?"
"The true memory's hidden. You won't find it if you kill me."
"Oh, I don't intend to kill you, pet. But that doesn't mean you won't wish for death before I'm through with you." He raised his right foot and brought it down hard on her side.
Dorcas felt an explosion of pain in her ribs. Her spine stiffened with the blow, pulling her knees away from her chest long enough for Tom to bury the toe of his boot in the soft flesh of Dorcas's stomach.
She struggled to draw in breath as her diaphragm was stunned by the sharp impact. Lights began to burst behind her eyelids and she feared she might lose consciousness. It frightened her to imagine what he would do to her once she had passed out. She did the only thing she could think of.
Gasping loudly to fill her lungs, ribs protesting as she did, Dorcas threw her hands in front of her abdomen and rasped, "Don't! I'm pregnant!"
She hadn't planned to stage a pregnancy and miscarriage so soon. But his eyes betrayed a cold satisfaction at bringing her pain and she was afraid of how far he might take this retribution.
The declaration was enough to stay Tom's fury for the moment. He'd brought his foot back once again to strike at her vulnerable belly, but stopped with her announcement. She watched him stagger backward one step before calling for Gilly.
Dorcas closed her eyes and pulled in another painful, shallow breath. Gilly would confirm that Dorcas was not pregnant and the beating would resume. Her words would only delay the inevitable. She concentrated on pushing herself as deep down within her own mind as she could. She tried to cut herself off from feeling the assault on her body and prayed that Tom would stop before he killed her.
"My lord?" a voice called. Dorcas watched the doors to the dining room open before she lost her grip on the present and retreated behind the black curtain of oblivion.
:::
14 February, 1943 Muggle Studies Classroom, First Floor, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
"The very thought of you," Dorcas sang as her fingers glided across the keys of the borrowed instrument before her. It didn't feel like her piano at home, or even like the one Tom had given her. But it was nice to play before an appreciative audience once again.
At the word appreciative, her eyes darted involuntarily to the most alarmingly appreciative admirer in the crowd, Roman Flint. She'd been trying to ignore him all evening. But with each wink and wolf-whistle her eyes would pull back to him. He would inevitably do something disgusting like lick his lips or adjust himself by tugging at the front of his trousers. It would seem he'd come here tonight not to support Cherry's efforts with the Muggle Studies Club, but to get a rise out of her by tormenting her all evening.
She was beginning to understand Tom's objection to her performance tonight. She did seem to invite trouble when she was on the stage. After an hour and a half of his violating gaze on her, she was willing to concede that Tom was right.
Her eyes found a more wholesome sight among the partygoers instead, settling on Beau and Anneliese. She smiled recalling their entrance earlier that night. Beau holding fake bags of money and grinning under a cockeyed fedora while Anneliese scowled. She wore an adorable cloche hat and finger waved hair to compliment a sweet traveling suit in a flattering blue. Less flattering were the bloody stains riddling her costume.
When the two entered the classroom-made-dancehall, Professor Hill descended on them immediately, pulling a pistol from Anneliese's waistband and a shotgun from under Beau's left arm with a succinct, "NO!"
"They're fake, sweetheart," Beau admitted in his best American drawl to the scowling Muggle Studies professor who became a violent shade of puce at the name-calling.
"I'll bash ye about the side of the head with one te test that theory, shall I?" Hill replied, lifting the shotgun threateningly, her Irish accent thickening with her ire. "Call me sweetheart again, degenerate!"
Divested of their weapons, Beau continued to make a show of his money and the cigar protruding from his lips while Anneliese pouted.
Cal laughed as he counted the bullet holes in Beau's costume. "Twelve! You did your research, mate!"
"I'm dedicated to the faithful representation of my Muggle admiration!" Beau admitted around the cigar, throwing his hands wide in order to give the full effect of his costume. He was a walking Cagney film. "Bonnie here's got twenty-six," he added, nudging an unhappy Anneliese.
"He counted them twice," Anneliese chimed, crossing her arms over her bloody bosom. "We're going to give everyone the impression that we're reprobates, Beau. I'm a nice girl!" She added a sharp stomp of her foot in protest of his costume choice.
"Merlin!" Jonas swore, pausing to study the pair. "You look like the Bloody Baron. Who are you two supposed to be?"
"Bonnie and Clyde, mate," Beau informed the bewildered Slytherin, who looked to Cal and Dorcas for a translation.
Dorcas shook her head and shrugged at her cousin. It was Cal who'd answered, explaining that they were famous American Muggle bank robbers from the last decade.
Beau, taking his cigar out of his mouth, thrusting it at Cal, argued, "Who're you calling a Muggle, pal? We're NoMajs in America."
Cal laughed. "Brilliant, mate!"
"Sure, Barrymore! Save the performance for Hollywood and get me a drink. Everyone's staring," Anneliese chided, pushing her fella away from the assembled crowd.
"NoMaj," Jonas repeated to himself. "I'll have to remember that! I'm supposed to be American too!" He straightened his brown leather jacket and adjusted the goggles on his head.
"I haven't a clue who you are, honey," Cherry admitted.
Dorcas watched as Jonas's smile faltered and his shoulders fell, disappointed.
"What?" Cal cried, fixing Cherry with a disbelieving look. "Lucky Lindy? Are you telling me you don't know him?"
Dorcas kissed Jonas's cheek and straightened the silver wings on his lapel. "You look brilliant, Jonas!"
Cherry looked between Cal and Jonas. "Is someone going to tell me who Rackharrow is, or am I meant to guess?"
"I'm Charles Lindbergh, Cherry," Jonas explained. "An American aviator. The first man to fly an aeroplane across the Atlantic."
"He did! Ooh! That's fantastic!" Cherry enthused. She moved from Cal's side to stand next to Jonas, taking his arm. "I need to take your picture. Let's find Beau and Anne."
Jonas was dragged off, leaving Dorcas and Cal to greet the rest of the guests as they entered under Professor Hill's appraising gaze.
"Jay and Daisy. Bonnie and Clyde. Lindbergh. Has everyone chosen an American Muggle?" Dorcas laughed, feeling out of the loop.
Cal inhaled sharply beside her. "Not everyone, it seems."
Dorcas looked up and followed Cal's gaze to the door. Before she could comment a black and gray blur jostled her to the side, causing her to stumble into Cal. He reached for her elbow to steady her.
It was Myrtle Warren, Dorcas realized, who'd shoved her to the side. The little Ravenclaw had charged a couple of newcomers in a rage. Her black cape and sagging gray tights made her a comical sight. The theatrics were compounded by her large glasses that she'd shoved over the bat mask she wore, making her look bug eyed.
"You don't belong here!" Dorcas heard her shouting.
Professor Hill was flapping her arms like a disgruntled pigeon at the same couple that had drawn Myrtle's bat-vengeance. As the crowd parted, Dorcas finally saw what the commotion was.
Evlyn Rosier had come to the dance with Gemma Rackharrow on his arm. But the controversy didn't stop with their surprise attendance at the function. They were dressed as a couple that needed no translation for the magical attendees.
Gemma's light pink satin ball gown was fashionable, if a little low cut, and her hair had been lightened several shades until it was almost a tawny blonde. The left side of her curls were swept into an elaborate rose barrette the same shade as her dress. She resembled a magazine's front cover, but Dorcas couldn't place her costume until she'd seen Evlyn's.
"Jesus!" Dorcas exhaled.
Evlyn's dark hair was combed in a severe part and he'd enchanted the smallest toothbrush moustache above his upper lip. His crisp brown military regalia had him walking stiffly upright. His gaze rested on Dorcas and he winked.
She was blocked from the rest of the exchange by Cal's broad back. He'd stepped in front of her and pulled her behind him as if the innocuous wink she'd received could harm her.
"What are you playing at, Rosier?" Cal shouted over Myrtle's loud protests.
"You don't belong here!" Myrtle was screaming. "Remember what you did last time? How could you show up here looking like that?"
"MISS WARREN!" came Professor Hill's shouts. "Desist from your antics or you will be ejected from the dance."
There was an enraged cry. "I'LL BE EJECTED? But not Hitler and his loose-legged trollop?"
"Don't you call me a trollop, muff muncher!" Gemma sneered.
Dorcas covered her face with her hands and buried her head in the back of Cal's tuxedo jacket. Myrtle was going to get herself into trouble and Evlyn and Gemma were not worth it.
"Cal," she said, touching his bicep to get his attention. "Get her away from here before she does something she'll regret, please."
Cal turned to her and nodded. "Sure thing, Clerey."
He moved away from her and the despicable Muggle impersonators came back into view. Dorcas tried to ignore them and focus on Myrtle when Cal had shuffled her to the side of the commotion.
"You need to calm down, Myrtle. Let Hill take care of it," Dorcas said, pinning the comic book hero to her side with a powerful grip on her arm. Myrtle struggled ineffectually.
"Did you hear what she just called me?" an enraged Myrtle asked under her breath.
Dorcas's eyes cut over to Cal. If he heard their conversation, he didn't let on. "Yes, I did. You shouldn't antagonize her. We don't want her firing off about the thing she knows." Dorcas raised her eyebrows to remind Myrtle of the compromising secrets Gemma and her gang knew.
"You will come dressed only as yourselves, or you may not enter at all. Those are your options," came Professor Hill's ultimatum.
"It's not fair for you to discriminate against purebloods," Evlyn argued.
Professor Hill seemed unperturbed by the accusation. "There are plenty of purebloods here enjoying themselves. You're welcome to join them. But only if you take off those ridiculous costumes."
"Ridiculous?" Gemma scoffed, eyes falling on Myrtle's sagging rendition of the Caped Crusader.
Evlyn shifted his weight impatiently from foot to foot. "The assignment was a Muggle you admire." He gestured to his outfit and shrugged, suggesting that he didn't understand the objection.
Professor Hill had come armed for this very showdown it seemed. She held up the handbill that Anneliese had designed. Dorcas knew what the fine print said before Hill even had a chance to repeat it to the irate guests. Cherry had put up a fight with Hill over the language, calling it unfair censorship.
"Come as the Muggle you admire the most. Costumes will be voted on and a prize will be given to the most creative partygoer at the end of the evening. Costumes are subject to approval by Hogwarts staff." Hill dropped the handbill to her side and peered owlishly at the Slytherin couple. "I do NOT approve. Change or be gone with you!"
Dorcas was glad that the evening had proceeded with no further incident.
"And I forget to do, the little ordinary things that everyone ought to do," she continued to sing, her eyes sliding back to Flint in the hopes that he'd gotten bored with his antagonizing her and left. But he was still there. His tongue darted from between his lips to wet them suggestively.
She rolled her eyes, searching the crowd for another, more pleasant tableau. She found Cal with Cherry's Brownie pointed at Jonas and the fiery Gryffindor staging a photograph. Just before the shutter clicked, Cherry pecked Jonas's cheek.
Dorcas hoped that Cherry was not foolish enough to include that one with the rest in the letter she planned to write Darren later.
Roman was still planted to the right of the stage, winking at her.
"Your stare is so unnerving, your relentless, ceaseless creeping," she shifted, singing her own lyrical message to her stalker. "And ghoulish as you seem, to me you are a shadow, please end this pointless haunting."
Cherry was parting the crowd, scowling at Dorcas.
"What are you doing?" she stage-whispered as dancing couples chuckled at the performance.
"Improvising," Dorcas stage-whispered back. "I was inspired!"
"Maybe it's time for a break, yeah?" Cherry insisted, shuffling through Dorcas's records to cue up on her turntable. "Maybe the lights have made your brain a little mushy."
"Yeah, maybe," Dorcas admitted, keeping Roman Flint in her periphery as she closed the piano's lid and departed the stage. There was polite applause for her performance and she dipped her head in a quick bow before scurrying off and grabbing the first male she'd encountered, enlisting him in an involuntary dance.
Mohit Singh, wrapped in a white dhoti and shawl, looked stunned to be in Dorcas's arms. His rounded costume spectacles slipped down the bridge of his nose making his wide-eyed expression more comical.
"Dorcas! Who're you supposed to be?"
"No one," Dorcas said, spinning them so that Flint was in her line of sight once again. He caught her eyes once more and began making his way slowly across the dance floor.
"Well, you look like a very beautiful no one," Mohit said, giving her a charming smile. "Hey," he frowned the next instant. "Don't you know it's the man who leads?"
Dorcas was foxtrotting them backward away from Flint, bumping into dancers clumsily as she went. "Show me a man and I'll let him lead," Dorcas fired back impatiently.
"Well, don't be rude! I didn't ask you to dance in the first place," Mohit replied, dropping his arms and planting his feet.
Dorcas grabbed his limp arms and squeaked an apology. "No! Mohit! I didn't mean that. You can lead. I wanted to dance with you. Please!"
"Well, alright," the young Gandhi agreed, taking the lead for only a moment before he collided with Flint.
"May I cut in?" Roman asked, smiling over Mohit's head at Dorcas.
Mohit turned, refusing to be intimidated by the barrel chested Slytherin Keeper. "Piss off, Flint. You can wait for the next s––." His last word terminated in a strangled, high-pitched squeal as Roman yanked him hard by the back of the dhoti, throwing him to the side.
"I'm not waiting a moment longer," Roman said as he grinned down at Dorcas. "I've been biding my time all night while you've been up there making eyes at me."
Dorcas clicked her tongue in protest as Flint's hand wrapped possessively around her waist and pulled her flush against him. The contact prompted Dorcas's memories to call up the feeling of being trapped, bent over a table in the trophy room. All of the air seemed to rush out of her lungs, snatching away her protests as Flint took her hand and bent his lips close to her ear.
"We could get out of here and find someplace to pick up where we left off," Flint entreated.
Dorcas felt her stomach knot and her mouth opened and closed. No words were forming to rebuff his offer.
"You do remember where we left off, yeah?" He leaned away from her in order to observe her reaction. "Look at you. Flushed and breathless in my arms. I'm flattered, kitten."
"Flint," a cold voice sounded from just behind Dorcas. "I'd like to dance with my girl, if you don't mind."
Dorcas closed her eyes in relief and gratitude. He came after all.
"Tom!" came her whispered response as she attempted to turn in Roman's grip.
He held her tightly against him.
"Let her go now, Roman. Please." The last word was uttered in the coldest voice Dorcas could imagine, causing her to shift in Roman's arms to give Tom a pleading look.
Dorcas watched as Tom's right hand removed his wand from his trousers pocket. Roman must have seen the gesture as well because his hand on Dorcas's waist and the other clutching her left hand loosened before dropping away from her altogether.
"Thank you," Tom said politely, holding Roman's stare until the taller boy moved away, disappearing into the crowd of dancers.
When Dorcas was secure in Tom's arms and her breathing returned to normal, she ventured a tentative, "Did you mean that, Tom?"
"Mean what?" he asked absently as his fingertips glided over her bare spine.
Dorcas shivered, but suppressed the sensation when Tom's eyes flashed menacingly, studying her.
"Am I still your girl?"
His mouth set in a firm line and he dropped the hand holding hers, the one that he still clutched his wand in. "I haven't decided yet."
She felt the fabric of her dress constrict briefly as the plunging back closed up along a new seam. Dorcas looked down to see the neckline grow closer to her collarbone as well.
"I can't be sure that you're just my girl. That makes me angry, if I'm being honest."
"I'm sorry, Tom. Roman was just being a creep. I promise that I didn't do anything to encourage him."
Tom's eyes flashed again as he retrieved her hand and held it in a vice grip. "You did something. That's the part I can't stomach, Birdie. You have no idea the effect you have on men. You get up on stage and parade around in your low cut dresses, getting them all thinking they have a chance with you."
"Tom, that's not true!"
He inhaled and narrowed his eyes at her. "It's not? So what do you imagine would have happened if I hadn't cut in? Hmm? Roman would have taken you off somewhere and diddled you again. Which is more than you'll let me do, I'll remind you."
"Tom," came Dorcas's frantic, shaking reply. "I never want Roman Flint to touch me ever again." An involuntary shudder added to her protests. "I only want you. Just you, Tom. But I'm not ready to do everything you want to do. I'm sorry! I just need a bit more time. That doesn't mean I don't love you!"
"It sure doesn't seem that way to me, Birdie. Come up to the Secret Room with me. I hate these kinds of things."
Dorcas stepped out of Tom's grasp. "I think I'd just like to go to sleep."
"You don't want to spend the night with me?" Tom stood there with his hands at his sides fixing her with a challenging stare.
"I do, Tom. But not tonight. Not just because you're jealous. I want our first time to be special. I don't want it to be just some way I can prove to you that you have nothing to worry about. And you're angry with me. Do you really want this to be how you remember it?"
"No. You're right. I am angry. I probably don't want to be with you anyway."
Dorcas staggered back a half-step, wounded by his words. She nodded slowly in understanding. She'd been so relieved to see him just moments ago and now she wished that she'd still been fighting off Roman Flint instead of fighting with Tom. His moods could change so quickly that it left her ill and confused.
"Goodnight then, Tom," Dorcas said, her voice wobbling as she tried to hold back a sob.
She left him on the dance floor. But instead of retreating to the safety and security of her bed in Ravenclaw Tower, she needed to take care of a chore first. She headed off in the direction of the Owlery, swiping hot, angry tears from her cheeks.
:::
Days in captivity: 235
Apricot light shone from behind her eyelids as Dorcas came slowly back to consciousness. She could tell by the textures against her skin that she was no longer lying on the wool and silk rug on the dining room floor. She was covered.
The sight that greeted her when she opened her eyes was of Mauro reclining in a green tufted chair, legs crossed and a book opened on his lap. He turned the page slowly and continued to read.
She surveyed all that she was able without stirring and alerting Mauro to her awakened state. Green drapes, the sea on the other side of the windowpane, the crisp white sheets of her own bed.
Her memory was hazy. She remembered striking her bargain with Tom and she remembered the pain of his retaliation, but she didn't remember much after the first blow.
"¡Felicidades, Dorcas!"
Lifting her eyes from the green counterpane on her bed, she saw Mauro's steady gaze on her.
"Huh?"
"Congratulations. You're pregnant," Mauro elaborated woodenly, snapping the book he was reading closed.
Pride and Prejudice glinted in gold foil in the sunlight before Mauro tucked it away beside the chair's cushion.
"No, I'm not," she grunted as she pushed herself up onto her pillows.
"No, you're not," Mauro agreed. "But I lied for you anyway."
"I suspect that's not all you did for me last night."
Mauro snorted derisively. "No, that's not all. You have a death wish, Dorcas. Provoking him was not wise."
"I didn't have a choice."
"Yes, you did. I said I would help you."
It was Dorcas's turn to snort. "Your idea of helping was to break into my family's home and find evidence that Tom could use to frame my husband."
"He's very angry with you. Where did you hide the true memory?"
At least he wasn't planning on insulting her by refuting what she knew of his part in Cal's legal troubles. He'd rather change the subject. The coward.
"I've no intention of telling him before he holds up his end of the bargain. If he's so angry, why am I still alive?"
"The baby, of course."
Dorcas couldn't help the smile that crept onto her face at the mention of the wild lie she'd told last night.
"He's terrified that he might have killed it."
"Yeah, I'd say so. The bastard kicked me in the gut. He didn't like that I wouldn't give up the memory. Where is Prince Charming anyway?"
"Left the island."
"Left the island?" Dorcas repeated. "I hope he's gone to track down that reporter."
Mauro steepled his fingers over his knee. "I believe that is one of his errands."
"That was you last night, wasn't it?" Dorcas narrowed her eyes at Mauro. He was playing this way too cool. She knew he was furious with her for stirring up Tom's ire, but he was holding it back.
"You didn't give me much of a choice, Dorcas."
She leaned back and tried to stifle a grimace. "You had a choice. You could have left me to deal with Tom and all of the force of his magic alone."
"It would not have been a fair fight. It was hardlya fair fight without his abilities––Are you in pain, cariña?" He was now on the edge of his chair, leaning toward her. The aloof persona had been abandoned. "I healed all the injuries that I saw. Internally, I detected a ruptured spleen. I made Tom believe that it was take-and-go with the pregnancy, just to torture the gilipollas."
Dorcas suppressed a chuckle at Mauro's clumsy use of colloquialisms. "You mean touch-and-go. I'll let him wallow in regret for a few days and then I'll fake a miscarriage. He need not suspect you of colluding with me. Your secret is safe."
"I know it is. I am not worried about that. Tell me where it hurts, Dorcas."
Mauro stood over her and pulled back the bedcovers. She wondered momentarily who had dressed her in her nightgown before stammering out an answer. "It hurts when I breathe. I think he broke a rib or two."
Mauro leaned over her and made to place his fingertips along her flank, but paused just before he touched her. "May I?"
Dorcas nodded and exhaled easier when Mauro's palm relaxed a sharp pain in her side, dulling it until it disappeared. As he worked, Dorcas considered some illuminating information she'd learned about Mauro during last night's adventure.
Despite his refusal to help her keep Cal out of prison, he'd ultimately done just that by backing her up when she confronted Tom. Tom's inability to locate his wand and his impotence with noverbal and wandless incantations was proof of that. The fact that Mauro was willing to corroborate her fib about the pregnancy was also indisputable evidence. Though she wasn't willing to place complete trust in him, she felt more confident now that he could be enlisted to help her with other challenges that might arise. For instance, this was not the only pregnancy and micarriage that she would have to carry off in her efforts to fool Tom and keep him from discarding her. Perhaps, if she could keep on him, she might even convince him to help her and Ryann escape.
But she dared not rest on that hope too dearly. It was a long shot by any definition.
"Is that better?"
The warm weight of his palm lifted from her side.
"Much better."
As Mauro stepped away from her bedside, he asked, "Tell me where else it hurts, Dorcas."
She settled back against her pillows and thought quickly of a way to make him stay. She'd thought that trying to build a relationship with him was pointless after he'd rejected her offer to exchange sex for help with Cal. Now, she thought she might get somewhere with him. But she knew she'd have to be more subtle and a lot more patient with him.
"You've healed me physically, Mauro. I'm just lonely. Will you read to me? What book have you got there?"
Mauro returned to his chair, lifting the leatherbound volume that he'd been reading as she slept. She'd just finished rereading this particular story about a week ago. She'd seen him pick up a couple of her other cast-off books before that as well. She was tempted to ask if he was trying to sketch her character from her reading list, but supposed she would only embarrass him.
He held the book up between them as he sat. "Pride and Prejudice. This is advanced English, I think. It is very slow-going for me. I struggle with it."
Dorcas smiled. "That's the best way to learn, isn't it? Try reading it aloud. I'll help you with the harder words. And I can explain the ones you don't know. Perhaps we could switch off. I'd love to read something in Spanish."
Mauro gave her a humoring smile and settled back against the cushions. "Very well." He cleared his throat and began. "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife."
:::
14 February, 1943 Deserted Classroom, First Floor, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Dorcas was eager to release her freezing burden so that she could plunge her hands into the folds of her party frock for warmth. She hadn't planned ahead when she'd stormed away from Tom on the dance floor. She only realized that Aragog hadn't been fed yet today when she was already on her way to the stairs leading up to her dormitory.
It had taken her about ten minutes of digging through the snowbank at the base of the Owlery's staircase to find a ferret. The snow had piled higher since her previous evening's visit even as the pile of ferrets dwindled.
Rubeus Hagrid better come back soon, Dorcas thought irritably.
"Aragog," she whispered when she entered the darkened classroom at the end of the hall. She picked her way delicately around piled up desks and stacks of unused chairs. "Sorry I'm late."
"It's alright, Hagrid's friend Dory," came a raspy reply from the other side of the door belonging to a wobbly cupboard. "In truth, I am only a little famished."
Dorcas moved the door aside and cringed as it creaked on its hinges loudly. She tucked her feet under her skirts and sat before Hagrid's giant talking spider. Its jet eyes studied her in a glittering kaleidoscope.
"Shall I warm it for you?" she asked, her voice pitching low with exhaustion from the evening's earlier events.
"I prefer that, yes. Thank you," the spider replied.
When she'd finished placing a warming spell on the frozen rodent, she handed it into the arachnid's cloth and straw nest trying to avoid its pincers.
She winced and looked away as the Acromantula began draining the ferret of its now warm juices.
"Something is troubling you, hatchling," the spider observed.
She tried to ignore the ghastly slurping and crunching noises that meant the ferret was being slowly and messily consumed. She'd rather not have to participate in dinner conversation with the furry, leggy creature. But it was what Hagrid would do in her place. She didn't know why, but she feared Rubeus hearing a bad report of her spider-minding services.
"My boyfriend was being mean to me."
A bone cracked, punctuating her confession. More slurping followed. Dorcas suppressed a gag and tucked her stinging hands between her knees.
"What is a boyfriend, if you don't mind elaborating? I'd like to be a sympathetic ear, but I haven't a lot of life experience to draw from. I've lived a rather sheltered life."
"Well, it's the first step, I suppose, to eventually pairing off to have children," Dorcas replied, scrunching up her nose at the description. Trying to reduce her dating history to the terms a cupboard monster could understand was difficult and humiliating.
She hazarded a glance at the spider to see if there was any hint that her description had approached a level of understanding for him. Aragog was draining what appeared to be a femur bone of its marrow, listening politely.
"Did your mate refuse to construct a suitable web for you?"
Dorcas looked down at her hands and stifled a smile as she imagined Tom's efforts at weaving a web. "Not exactly. He's jealous. He believes that I've…taken a liking to another male."
"Well, there's only one thing to do."
Dorcas raised her head hopefully. "There is? What?"
"He will have to kill this rival. It is a matter of dominance. It is a matter of territory."
"No," Dorcas hurriedly corrected Aragog. "I don't want him to kill the other boy!"
"Then he will be killed, Dory," Aragog explained simply. "The challenge seems to have already begun. Only one of them can claim you as his mate. I'm not a worldly creature. But I know this much. This is the way."
"With spiders, maybe, Aragog. Humans are a trifle more complicated."
The eyes glittered down at her once again. "I don't think so, hatchling. Let your males sort it out among them and mate with the victor."
Dorcas snorted and quickly brought her hand up to cover her mouth. "Heavens! That would be a dreadful scenario!"
As Dorcas stifled her laughter the classroom's door quaked before being slammed open. It shuddered on its hinges. Dorcas jumped, her breath catching in her throat at the sound. She was concealed by stacked desks and chairs. She might not be noticed. But she had to hide Hagrid's spider companion.
Her blood cooled in her veins when she thought about Roman Flint leering at her all night. Had he followed her here?
She held up a finger to her lips and cut her glance to Aragog. "Not a word. I'm going to try to close your door and sneak out on the other side."
"Be careful, Dory. Hagrid tells me there are some vicious creatures in this castle."
You don't say, giant Acromantula!
Dorcas slowly swung the cupboard's door closed, but caught the rusty hinges once again. The noise gave away her location and she cowered in front of the cupboard, back to its closed doors, imagining a way to draw the intruder out so as not to give away Aragog's location or existence.
"Birdie," came Tom's low voice. "I thought I might find you here. When I didn't see Flint anywhere at the dance, I knew you'd snuck off to find him, filthy bint!"
"No, Tom. Roman's not here. I told––"
Tom charged her, frightening her. She trembled under his rage. Her shoulder blades beating out a frantic rhythm on the crooked door of the cupboard, drawing Tom's attention to it.
"Shut your mouth! Is he in there? COME OUT, FLINT! COWARD!"
Tom drew his wand and shoved Dorcas to the side.
"COME OUT AND FACE ME!"
When the cupboard door was blasted from its hinges, Dorcas heard Tom scream in surprise, as Aragog skittered from his nest and drew himself up to his full height.