Chapter 28
15 April, 1943 Slytherin's Secret Chamber, Below Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
"It was that Mudblood Gryffindor."
The words rang in Dorcas's ears with such reverberation that she wasn't certain she'd heard them right.
She stared at Michael Avery who lay in a heap at Tom's feet.
Say a name. Say any name. Just not Cal. Not Cal.
Dorcas tried to shove down the panic that pounded on her ribcage, jailed, begging to be released. She didn't understand fully why it would be the end of the world if Caleb Meadowes was suddenly unmasked before her tonight. Why would her universe unravel if she found out Cal was just like every other boy at this school?
Was it fair to place him on a pedestal above all other boys?
Was she even aware until now that she had?
Dorcas couldn't account for the tears on her cheeks now as she imagined Cal finding that photograph and looking at it in the same way that every other boy had. Suddenly the jibes from the Quidditch pitch that sounded off in time to her feet pounding down the steps of the stands were all in his voice.
"I'm going to choke it to that image of Rowena Ravencunt tonight."
In Cal's voice, it sounded unnatural. Disturbing. Wrong.
Tom's voice pulled her out of her shame spiral and her attention refocused on Avery's lips.
"Which Mudblood, Avery?"
There was a triumph to the way Tom pronounced the words. A bugle call that announced victory on the field of battle. Everything he'd just said to her about Cal was justified.
Avery's lips trembled under the effects of the Cruciatus Curse, his tongue struggling to shape the name she was desperate to hear. And desperate not to hear.
They parted and his tongue came forward.
Dorcas felt her stomach drop as he shaped a hard "C" before stuttering and pulling in a tortured breath. She was on the stone floor of the dais that the Slytherin statue rested on. Her knees collided painfully with stone before her hip and hands caught the rest of her weight. She hadn't even realized that her legs were not holding her up anymore until a jagged stone bit into her palm.
"C-clay," Avery gritted out.
Dorcas strained to hear the name that he was trying to supply as his lungs fought to pull in breath after breath as they eased from the spasms of the curses he'd endured.
"Who was it?" Tom demanded. "Louder. We must have the name."
"Clay Atwood."
Dorcas felt all of the tension drop from her limbs. Not Caleb Meadowes. Her mind couldn't register the name that Avery spoke. She could only register Not Cal.
Her lungs pulled in a gulp of Not Cal. They released a shuddering Not Cal.
The declaration sounded like hope. Gravity still held her to the earth. Winter still melted into Spring. Night still faded into day. Cal was still a good person. A good friend.
"Clay Atwood?" Tom repeated. The toe of his boot came to gently rest on Michael Avery's shoulder, pushing him onto his back so that he had no choice but to stare up at Tom.
"Yes. He's a Third Year."
Tom nodded. "I know him. I've spoken to him before about keeping his hands off of Dorcas."
"What will you do, lord heir?"
Dorcas's gaze hovered somewhere in the space between herself and Avery, but the voice pulled her focus back to Abraxas Malfoy, who still sat back on his heels, cowed following the threats to his sister.
Tom twisted around to glare at Abraxas. His pensive brow pulled together in consideration.
"I don't know, Abraxas. What would you do?"
She watched Abraxas Malfoy straighten, spine and shoulders aligning boldly at the question. His bearing seemed to suggest that it was only natural that Tom should consult with him.
"You say you've spoken to him before about bothering your witch? It seems the message hasn't sunk in, lord heir. Perhaps you should use the weapon your great ancestor left for you. He did create this lair and the monster that inhabits it for that very purpose, did he not?"
Dorcas's eyes flicked to the basilisk that rested quietly on the perimeter of the gathering just as Tom had instructed it to. At one sharp hiss, the beast raised its head and turned toward its master.
She gasped and clamped her eyes shut, fearful of its deadly gaze. Her reaction was mirrored by every other person in the chamber with the exception of Tom.
"Approach, my friend, my faithful servant," Tom hissed.
"Yesss, lord-Slytherin-offspring," the snake replied.
Dorcas felt her skin tingle as the snake moved around the semi-circle. She couldn't keep her eyes closed knowing that the large beast roamed so close. Her eyelids popped open but her head remained bowed to the floor. She could only detect the snake's movements from the corner of her eyes.
The large, undulating stomach muscles of the beast skirted Leander Yaxley, brushing him as it approached. The Slytherin Fifth Year let out a fearful whimper and rolled along the flagstones toward Roman Flint and Felix Mulciber.
Tom continued to beckon the snake forward, circling behind Abraxas Malfoy until the blond was between Tom and the enormous fanged maw. He leaned down until his lips were only centimeters from Malfoy's ear.
"Open your eyes, Malfoy."
Dorcas bit her lip and silently begged Abraxas to obey. It would be better for him not to test Tom's patience.
"The snake's eyes are closed, Abraxas," Tom urged.
The blond fought his own instincts to keep his eyelids locked tight, but like Dorcas had, he kept his head bowed so that he had a limited chance of catching the snake's deadly gaze.
"My lord heir," Abraxas whispered. "I am loyal to you."
Tom shook his head slowly. "That fact is not in question, Abraxas. I'm merely following your suggestion."
Dorcas could see Abraxas's face cloud over with confusion. "My lord heir?"
"You suggested that after talking with a wizard who has harassed my witch, I should threaten him with Slytherin's monster should he repeat his offense."
"Yes, lord heir," Malfoy conceded, relaxing a little with Tom's explanation.
Tom straightened, looming behind Malfoy as the snake's tongue flickered, brushing Abraxas's forehead.
"Well, I've spoken to you before. Wizard to wizard. I've asked you to leave Dorcas alone, have I not?"
The moment between the end of Tom's question and Abraxas's reply dragged out painfully. The silence was enhanced by the noises that the other boys made; shoes scuffing, shifting stances, a barely noticeable chuckle from Evlyn Rosier.
"I've never even touched her, lord heir."
"But you encouraged Flint to. And I asked you, on your honor as a gentleman, to leave my witch alone. Didn't I?"
"And I did leave her alone."
"You helped Michael Avery and Leander Yaxley make a banner for the Quidditch match that was specifically intended to expose and humiliate her. Does that satisfy your definition of leaving her alone?"
Abraxas didn't answer.
There was another hissed command and the basilisk inched closer to the kneeling boy, flickering tongue exploring his face and neck curiously.
"I want to taste him, master," the snake begged.
"Not yet, my friend," Tom hissed in reply.
"She's half Mudblood, my lord heir," Malfoy cried frantically as the snake's tongue swiped his cheek. "Salazar Slytherin drew a clear line about the right sort of magical blood."
Tom spoke to the snake again and its jaws opened, fangs resting one each on Abraxas's shoulders.
Dorcas was in awe of Tom's control over the beast.
"The strength of her Rackharrow blood cancels out the taint of non-wizarding blood. Just as exceptional magical traits have passed down to me, Dorcas possesses incomparable magical talents that make her an extraordinary witch. Torture other, less exaulted magical lineages, if you must. But Dorcas is off limits." He raised his voice to address all of the boys gathered. "Is that understood? If your superior upbringings demand that you put down Mudbloods, by all means, put them in their place. But Dorcas Clerey is off limits. Do I make myself clear on that point?"
"Yes, lord heir," the other boys said without hesitation.
Abraxas Malfoy was the lone holdout.
A hissed command to the basilisk, and the snake's jaws constricted slightly, placing weight on the fangs resting on his shoulders.
"Yes, lord heir," Abraxas gritted between his teeth.
Tom smiled down at the cowed Fourth Year. He raised his eyes to Dorcas's on the statue's dais.
"Dorcas, please come here."
She didn't know where she would find the strength to pull herself upright once again, so she slid on her hip to the edge of the dais and slipped off. Her legs wobbled, but held. It felt like someone else was sliding her feet forward, her brain and her limbs having parted ways somewhere in the midst of all of the terror.
Dorcas was standing beside Tom now. His hand found hers and he raised it to his lips.
"I demand your loyalty. It is my right as the Heir of Slytherin."
Her throat was dry and her lips struggled to form words in response to this declaration. Thankfully, she was spared having to make a reply. The collective, "Yes, lord heir," rang out in the cavernous space, telling Dorcas that she was not required to respond.
"Part of that duty extends to Dorcas Clerey. I hold every wizard in this room responsible for her safety and wellbeing. I expect each of you to take on the same role that I do as her protector. If anyone makes a comment that demeans her, looks at her with eyes that do not respect her, touches her without my permission I want you to handle it in the same manner that I would."
"Yes, lord heir."
There was another hissed command and the basilisk retreated from Abraxas Malfoy and disappeared somewhere in the tunnels.
"I require a token," Tom said, glaring down at Abraxas.
"A token, lord heir?"
"A gesture. A display of your loyalty to Dorcas."
Abraxas glared up at her. "Filthy fucking halfblood deserves a Killing Curse straight to the heart," she heard him reply in his mind. She stiffened, thankful that the wards on the school extended even this far down below the school. Tom had not heard him.
"I'll do anything to prove my loyalty to you, lord heir."
"Kiss her foot."
Dorcas felt a noise bubble up her throat, somewhere between a bark of surprised laughter and a cry of shocked incredulity. "Tom. It's really not necessary."
Tom squeezed her hand; a short intense pressure that cut off her protest instantly. It said everything without Tom ever having to open his mouth. I am not to be questioned in front of my men.
Her body tingled unpleasantly as Abraxas Malfoy bent to press his lips to her shoe. Dorcas tried hard not to imagine all of the nasty things her shoe might have picked up from this disgusting cave system. Rat droppings, bone dust, sewer muck.
When Abraxas satisfied Tom with his show of humble solidarity, he was allowed to move back and join the semi-circle of acolytes.
But she was made to stand still and accept the same token of loyalty from the other eleven assembled wizards.
Roman Flint somehow made the innocent kiss lewd by running his hand up her ankle.
And she was disturbed by her own capacity at gloating when Evlyn Rosier's turn came to kneel before her. I wonder what Gemma would think? Her own thoughts surprised her.
"You may return to the school," Tom finally called, dismissing the conclave.
Dorcas was breathless with amazement in the face of Tom's command of the assembly. A weight that she'd carried since her second year at this school seemed to have lifted off of her. The torment was finally at an end.
And she had Tom to thank for that.
"Remember, Birdie," he said, turning to her when they were at last alone in the chamber. "Remember what you promised me."
:::
Days in captivity: 253
Several minutes passed and the rise and fall of Cal's chest beneath her cheek evened out. He no longer pulled in lungfuls of air to compensate for his exertions earlier. The rapid, heaving breaths had given over to the lazy, deep ones that signaled sleep.
Dorcas was at a fork in the road. If she stilled the hand that traced his navel he would soon drift off into satisfied sleep. But if she continued her explorations of his abdomen, she would soon stir him into readiness again. And that would lead to another hour of lovemaking.
As tempted as she was to go another round with her always eager husband, she decided that he needed sleep more than anything else.
The realization that dawn was only a few hours away stunned her. Ryann should be crying for another feeding. But all remained silent and the wards that Cal had placed on the nursery indicated that Ryann was still sound asleep.
She almost exclaimed over the milestone, but thought better of waking Cal.
"I've been wondering about something."
At the low rumble of Cal's voice in her ear she automatically had to stop herself from diving into his mind to get to the question that he was hesitant to ask her. She didn't want to have her ability to fall back on. She wanted him to trust her enough to voice what was on his mind.
She splayed the hand that had been feathering over his skin, sliding it around his waist and pulled herself closer to him. She hoped to communicate her willingness to discuss whatever was keeping him awake. She wanted him to share everything that was in his heart with her.
How much of mine could I share in return?
Dorcas didn't want to explore the answer to her own question just now. She turned her head and pressed her lips into his chest, kissing him lightly. His hand went to her hair and he gently brushed the sweat-dampened strands away from her ear and neck.
"What is it Cal?"
Her head rose and fell with a deep breath that he pulled in beneath her.
"It's a really inappropriate one. One that I have no right to ask you."
"Well, now I have to hear it," she said, grinning as she squeezed his sensitive flank, feeling his ticklish jerk in response. It didn't take much from him and Dorcas was already anticipating taking him in again while moaning his name.
The silence made it especially difficult to stay out of his mind. She needed a distraction or she would have the question he was too afraid to ask before he'd chosen to give it to her.
She moved before she could change her mind, swinging a leg over him and pinning his hips to the mattress. Her hands pressed into his shoulders. "Am I going to have to wrestle it out of you?"
The room was dim, but not so dark that Dorcas couldn't see Cal's hungry eyes taking in the sight of her perched on top of him. Even if the room had been pitch black, Dorcas was sure she could feel those eyes raking over every inch of her exposed skin. It stoked a flame in her core and she cared less about the number of hours until dawn, or the number of times he'd already had her in the last twenty-four hours, or even how unwise they'd been about forgoing any form of contraceptive since they'd started indulging in a physical side to their relationship. She was determined to make him delirious with pleasure at least once more before the sun rose.
"I sure am going to enjoy you trying to." His hands came to rest on her hips and began to grip her tightly.
Dorcas leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss against his smile, reveling in the warmth of his chest as it met hers. She loved when there was not even so much space between them that a molecule of air could pass through. When she was pressed against him and he was inside of her, she felt like her truest self. Like a piece of her soul that had been created in him connected with a piece of his soul that had always been inside of her.
She remembered the first time they made love. More than the sensations or the sounds or the emotions that he was able to pull out of her, she recalled the thought that she never truly understood what love was until they'd finally come together in that final and fundamental way.
Cal had redefined the meaning of the word for her.
"You don't fight fair," Cal said, laughing against her lips.
Dorcas shrugged off his claim. "You're the one that brought it up. Spill it, Meadowes."
"Well…"
She waited as his hands slid from her hips to her back, resting on her shoulder blades. Her head dropped to his shoulder and she lay in his embrace, allowing him the space to frame his thoughts. She tried to push away the worry that he might be trying to word his question so that it would be easier for her to hear. Dorcas stiffened against him in anxious anticipation.
"I guess, what I was curious to know is…Am I any good at it?"
Dorcas's head shot off of his shoulder, her mouth agape. It wasn't what she was expecting at all.
"Any good at what? At sex?"
Cal nodded. "Yeah, I guess I want to know how I compare." He rushed on, clearly embarrassed to have finally voiced the query aloud. "I did say it was a completely inappropriate one."
"How you compare…? Like…to Tom?"
He nodded once again, but didn't give Dorcas a chance to respond. "You're incredible. And you don't have to do a single thing to make me want you. I just do. I've never been with anyone else so I don't have anyone to compare you to. But I think if I had been with other girls, they couldn't compare to you. Because you're the only one I ever wanted. I never looked at other girls."
His ramblings deflated Dorcas somewhat. She knew Cal meant everything he said as a compliment to her. What girl wouldn't want to hear the man she loves tell her that she was the only one he ever wanted? But also, in comparing his lack of experience to her more experienced past, he was reminding her that he wasn't the only one she ever wanted.
"It's okay," Cal said, reaching his right hand around to her face, tucking her hair behind her ear in order to get a better look at her downcast expression. "I don't expect you to say me right away. I know I probably have more to learn. Girls are…confounding. But I love that you're a mystery to me. Because I can't believe I get to spend the rest of my life trying to figure you out. I guess I just want you to know that I'm willing to…try. And I…I want you to tell me what you like and what you want from me."
Dorcas didn't feel like she could hear all of this and really think it through with him between her legs, which felt more like jelly with every word he'd uttered. She slid to her left hip and pulled herself to the side, tucking herself back beneath the covers.
The silence that followed could have been personified, taking on the characteristics of a living, breathing being. It became a person wedged between them instead of the absence of space that not even a molecule of air could penetrate.
"What a stupid thing to say, Cal. What kind of idiot brings up the person she used to love––probably still loves––after we just…?"
Cal didn't finish the thought. He ended it by bringing his hands up to his face, scrubbing it in frustration before clasping them behind his head.
"I wasn't thinking, Dorcas. I'm sor––"
"You're not the same at all, Cal."
She rushed the words out of her mouth, refusing to let him apologize for being honest with her. She wanted to know what he was thinking. She wanted his true feelings. He wasn't responsible for how they made her feel.
"You and Tom are completely different. The expression 'night and day' doesn't even express how far apart the two of you are. You're like the sun and he's the moon…Not even the moon, more like a moon orbiting some distant planet."
That still didn't come to the point she was trying to make. That made it sound like she was with Cal because he was here and Tom was not. That wasn't it at all.
Silence was worming its way in between them again, stealing her blankets and taking up space on his pillow.
Dorcas decided to push on. She needed to be brave. She couldn't have Cal thinking that Tom had the upper hand when it came to her in any way. She needed Cal to know that Tom was her past, but he was her future.
"When I think about the times Tom and I were together, I can remember the things we did and I have a general feeling that I liked what we did. I liked being with him. But I haven't been able to remember what I loved about him or what I loved about being with him. But the first time you and I…were together. It felt real. Every time since then has only reinforced for me that I didn't know what it felt like to be with someone who loved me. I may have loved Tom once, but now I know that it wasn't reciprocated. If it had been, I would have felt for him what I feel for you."
When Dorcas opened her eyes, it was Cal she saw, looking down on her, head propped up on his hand with his elbow pressed into the pillow. Silence had ceded his place between them.
"What do you feel when you're with me?"
Dorcas searched for words. It was a difficult thing to frame with something as inadequate as the English language. She felt limited in the tools she had to perfectly express the perfect perfection of what it was like to be loved by Cal.
"I feel like the rays of the sun have finally warmed my skin after years of being fooled by the pale glow of an artful moon. And I never want that sun to set again."
Cal shifted his weight, bringing his knee to her thighs, gently parting them while his hands pressed down the pillow on either side of her head.
Dorcas didn't want him to return to his side of the bed, but she didn't want to be the selfish thief of his sleep either. "Dawn's not too far off. Are you sure you don't want to get some sleep before the sun comes up?"
"Dawn's already here, my love. And its rays can't wait to kiss that beautiful skin. Every inch of it." His lips met her collarbone, releasing an impatient sigh from her throat.
She parted her legs as her hands found his hips beneath the covers, pulling him to her. Not even one molecule of air was welcome between her and her beloved Cal.
:::
Dorcas moaned groggily, her sleepy mouth attempting to form words, but only succeeding in vague sounds.
There was pressure everywhere. On her chest. Pressing her hips into the mattress. Pinning her wrists on either side of her pillow. The weight of his body pressing into her rhythmically caused her head to meet the wood of the headboard.
She attempted to squeeze her legs closed.
"No."
It came out of her throat with no substance, as if the word knew it would have no life and no shape beyond its conception.
She was waking up. And she didn't want to.
The moment she opened her eyes, the night she'd spent in Cal's arms would dissolve into a harsh morning with Tom on top of her.
More than the feeling of the cold morning air on her bare skin, or the way her nightgown bunched around her shoulders and neck, strangling her; more than the burning friction of Tom moving between her legs, she resented being pulled out of the dream the most.
"No, Tom. Get off."
Those words had life and substance to them. But they were stillborn. They would never have a purpose beyond tepid rejection. Tom wouldn't listen to them. She had no action to back them up.
She attempted to pull her hands free, but was met with stubborn refusal. A reminder that she was nothing more than a prisoner in her own bed.
"Shh, Birdie. I'm nearly finished," he whispered into her neck before stamping a kiss to her skin.
Dorcas kept her eyes closed.
The memory might have been crushed out of her under the weight of Tom's intrusive body, but she still heard Cal's words in her mind.
"Dawn's already here, my love…"
But she couldn't feel the rays of the sun on her skin anymore. The sun was far too distant and the harsh wind of the North Channel slapped any hint of it away before she could sense it.
She was too far away. And the sun could not reach her.
Tom lifted her right leg, hooking his elbow beneath it to allow him to push even deeper.
The pressure intensified and she clamped her eyelids shut.
He will finish soon. She knew his motions. She knew that when he picked up speed and became reckless with his thrusts that he was close to coming.
She always helped him along by constricting the muscles of her core around him. She did it now.
Tom groaned at the change in her response to him.
"That's it, Birdie. Just a little…more."
She hated how much she looked forward to his release. The warm, fluid climax of his efforts signaled his immediate departure from her presence. Most days, anyway.
"Fuck, Birdie!" he groaned, filling her with the warm flood of hope that he would dress and depart.
But the pressure remained on her wrists and hips and chest as he collapsed on top of her, panting heavily. Another reminder that her body was at his disposal. Always.
He was still holding her captive after she'd done her part. What else did he want?
"Open your eyes, Birdie."
She didn't want to.
His lips brushed hers.
As much as she didn't want to obey him and open her eyes, she disliked the vulnerable position of not seeing him or being aware of what he was doing. Her skin tingled and her instinct to protect herself won out. She looked up into his face.
"I've decided to let Merry come for a visit."
Dorcas felt herself come alive at the sound of the name. Ryann. He was going to let her see Ryann.
Her face must have become expressive, because Tom smiled before retreating from her bed, stooping to grab his clothes from the floor.
"When?"
"Tonight," Tom said as he buttoned the middle button on the shirt he'd just shrugged on.
Dorcas sat up, letting the nightgown flutter down to cover her to the waist once again. Her mind was instantly filled with the things she wanted to help Gilly prepare and did a quick inventory of her closet to decide what she would wear.
Tom's hand was on her shoulder in an instant, pushing her back down to the pillow.
"Birdie, I'm letting you see our daughter as a show of trust. I'm showing you that I trust you to be obedient."
Dorcas allowed herself to be coaxed onto her back once again.
She wondered if he was about to climb back on top of her. Her head nodded eagerly, ready to hear what he wanted from her. She would do anything in order to secure the visit that he was dangling before her like a carrot.
If he wanted another go, she would be responsive this time. She would make sure he enjoyed it.
Name it already. What do you want from me?
"I'll have no more insubordination. That's what lost you visitation privileges before."
Dorcas reached for the hand that rested on her shoulder. She held it in both of hers, eager to hear him out.
"Please," she begged. "I'll never go against you again, my lord. Please tell me what I can do."
The palm of Tom's free hand flattened against her abdomen. She was aware that her nightgown was still hitched up to her waist because two of his fingers met her bare skin.
"I believe you, Birdie. And I believe you didn't do anything to intentionally harm the child we made. But if we're to make another one, I need you to stay here and be still."
Dorcas felt her head bobbing against the pillow. Her fingers squeezed the hand that was still grasped in both of hers.
"I will. I promise. I won't move."
The hand was removed from her abdomen and went to his trousers pocket, retrieving his wand.
"I believe you, Birdie," he repeated. "But, in case you're tempted, I'm going to secure you to the bed."
Dorcas flinched at the idea of being tied in a prone position. But she didn't want to anger Tom. He could take away Ryann's visitation in a blink.
She couldn't allow it.
Her mouth was dry at the thought of being restrained. "H-how long will I have to stay like this?" Why didn't he ask her to stand on her head for an hour? For crying out loud! He had about as much grasp on reproductive medicine as a Neanderthal.
Her left wrist pulled away from his hand, suspended by a magical cord against the bedpost. Then her right hand was bound. The moment he'd retreated from her and she was able to press her thighs closed, she had done it. Now they were pulled apart as her ankles stretched to the two posts at the foot of the bed.
She could feel the cool air as the restraints exposed her, Tom's come slowly drying on her skin and on the sheets beneath her.
"How does that feel?" he solicited as he brushed her hair away from her forehead.
"They're a little tight," she replied, tugging at her right wrist.
"They're meant to be, pet. I don't want you to move for a couple of hours. I can't stay here to watch you. I have work to do."
He stood and began to walk away from her.
"Tom!"
She hadn't meant to make the outburst, but she was too busy fighting her indignant rage and her need to appease him for the reward of time spent with Ryann to temper the impulse.
He turned and looked at her.
"At least cover me up before leaving me like this!"
His eyes raked down to her nightgown bunched around her waist. He returned to her side and dragged it down to mid thigh. She wanted him to make the effort to slip it all the way down, but she supposed the necessary bits were covered now, at least.
"Gilly will untie you and give you a bath in two hours."
Dorcas stared at the ceiling. The door closed behind Tom.
She had to pee. Bugger!
:::
19 April, 1943 Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
"I'm glad you're joining us for a change instead of stealing my only dinner companion away all the time." Myrtle speared a roasted potato and popped it into her mouth before lifting her eyes to Jonas.
Jonas's glance darted between Dorcas and Myrtle. "What's this about stealing companions? I never stole Dorcas."
"He didn't," Dorcas informed her. "I joined the Slytherins at Tom's invitation." Realizing that she never received invitations from Jonas caused her to frown. "But it'd be nice to be invited by you once in a while."
"Why does Tom Riddle want to eat dinner with you?" Myrtle's nose scrunched as she sneered Tom's name. She clearly still harbored animosity toward him. It made Dorcas uncomfortable that her boyfriend and one of her best friends would never be on good terms.
She bristled. "Is there a reason that he shouldn't want to?"
Myrtle waved her fork dismissively.
"You know what I mean. He's a phony. He acts polite and proper, but he's an asshole. Have you forgotten that he pushed me at the skate party in the fall?"
Dorcas fought the urge to roll her eyes. She thought she'd heard the last of that old grudge. Tom should not have pushed Myrtle, but he was reacting to the shock of Dorcas's betrayal. So, in a roundabout way, it was really her fault that Myrtle got hurt. She was the one who'd offered the Secret Room as the location for the Muggle Studies Club kick-off event without telling him.
"A lot of people pushed, and slapped, and punched, and kicked, Myrtle," Jonas pointed out. "It was a proper brawl. Don't you think it's time to let it go?"
Myrtle shrugged. "Why should I have to? I didn't push anyone. I wasn't raised by wolves."
"Can you forgive him for my sake, then?" Dorcas pleaded, pushing her plate away. She supposed she would have to have this conversation with Myrtle sooner or later. At least Jonas was present to referee.
Myrtle's stare was intense, magnified by the lenses of her thick glasses. She blinked three times. "For your sake? I don't understand what you're trying to say, Dorcas."
"We're sort of…dating, I guess," Dorcas admitted. She dropped her gaze to her half-eaten dinner and picked up her fork to shift the contents of her plate while Myrtle processed her words. "And it would be nice if my friends could get along with him."
She thought about that last statement. Some friends had been counted out by Tom before they'd been given a chance to prove that they didn't pose a threat. She didn't want Tom to add Myrtle's name to the list of people she was no longer allowed to associate with alongside Cal's.
"Is this a joke?" Myrtle's voice pitched higher. "Because it's not funny."
Dorcas shook her head and slowly lifted her eyes to meet Myrtle's. "It's not a joke. We were together a couple of years ago and then we weren't. Now we are again."
Her friend's enlarged eyes blinked again. "Don't you think you should give yourself more time?"
She could feel her mouth gaping as she thought about this odd objection. She and Tom hadn't been a couple in almost a year and a half. That seemed like plenty of time to consider whether it was a relationship she wanted to continue again––
"I need to do this now, Cal. I don't care about spectators. Where's Dory?"
The loud mental outburst jarred her out of her thoughts. It was a brash, self-possessed voice that could only belong to Cherry Weasley. She was mentally shouting Cal down as well as audibly doing it at the same time.
Dorcas followed the sound of the voice that had cut through the din of her mind and the Great Hall at capacity. She spotted the redhead approaching the Ravenclaw table, with Cal's hands fisting her robes trying to pull her back.
"You might not care about spectators, but Dorcas probably does. Don't you think she's been humiliated enough?"
Cherry and Cal were headed toward the center of the long table where she sat with Jonas and Myrtle.
She was suddenly nervous. But not to have the boisterous redhead attempting a very public apology for losing the incriminating photograph. It was having Cal join her at the table in front of Tom and his friends that had her nerves buzzing with fear.
Twisting around in her seat, Dorcas scanned the Slytherin table looking for Tom. He wasn't there. Many of the boys who'd been with him in the secret chamber were also missing. Evlyn Rosier and Callum Sayre were the only two among the group that were present now. But their backs were to the Ravenclaw table.
Cal and Cherry approached; Cal wearing an expression of abashed apology and Cherry wearing a determined grin.
"Hi gang. Are we interrupting something?" Cherry said.
Myrtle pushed away her plate with force. "Just Dorcas ruining my appetite."
"No," Dorcas rushed over Myrtle's irritation. "What's going on?" She felt as if her words were hurried. She wanted to hear the apology, tell Cherry whatever would appease her, and get the two of them to leave before the exchange could be recounted to Tom.
"Would it be alright if we sat?" Cal asked, nervously worrying the edge of an open letter with his thumbnail.
Cherry wasn't standing on manners and shouted over Cal. "Move, Weston! Make a hole for Merlin's sake!"
Zelda Weston turned toward the intruder with a heated look, which morphed into a smile the moment she saw Cal standing beside Cherry. She slid down the bench creating room between her and Myrtle, shoving June Riley further along the bench with her elbow.
"I'm sorry," she said, her words dripping honey. "I can only make room for one here. Miss Weasley, why don't you take that space between Mr. Rackharrow and Miss Clerey on the other side?"
Cal answered before Cherry could draw a large enough breath to begin berating the blonde Ravenclaw. "Cherry, you can sit here," he said, taking her hand and helping her onto the bench beside Myrtle.
Dorcas swallowed a large gulp of her pumpkin juice, glancing nervously at the space beside her. He's going to come round and sit next to me. When Tom hears about this, he'll hit the enchanted ceiling!
"We can make room here, Cal," Jonas said, taking his plate and inching further along. Next to him, Charys Fletcher did the same to open a space beside Dorcas.
Cal shook his head. "Don't trouble yourselves. I have to reply to this anyway." He waved the letter between his thumb and forefinger before slapping it against the opposite palm. He leaned down close to Cherry's ear. "Patience, yeah? And listen more than you talk."
"O-kay!" Cherry hissed. "I've got this. Sod off!"
They watched Cal's retreating back awkwardly, knowing that when their attention was on their table once again, a large amount of groveling would likely take place.
When he'd disappeared through the great oak doors, it was Myrtle that broke the silence. "What urgent business couldn't wait until after dinner? Prefect badge need polishing? National shortage on his favorite pomade?"
Dorcas's shoulders sagged with relief that he wouldn't be joining them, whatever the excuse.
Cherry giggled. "His mother's making him do this ghastly ball that his brother was supposed to go to with some hag. Apparently, Muggles give their daughters to the king as presents. And then there's all sorts of dancing, and parties, and horse races to attend."
"What the hell is she yammering about?" Myrtle asked, bewildered by the Gryffindor's nonsensical explanation. "This is exactly the type of insane shit that makes us appear so other in the wizarding community.
"I don't think they're given to the king as presents, Cherry," Dorcas explained calmly. "They are presented to the king. It's a society thing."
Cherry nodded, soaking in the information. Then she looked between Myrtle and Dorcas. "So will you two be there too? You're being presented to the king?"
Dorcas and Myrtle exchanged stunned laughter.
"Er, no. My father's missing quite a few zeros at the end of his bank balance," Myrtle chuckled. "Any long-lost earls or dukes that you want to tell us about, Dorcas?"
Dorcas shrugged. "Fresh out of peerage in the Clerey Clan, I'm afraid."
"It seems very similar to a witch's debut, Cherry," Jonas explained helpfully. "But there's no king and no presentation," he added to Myrtle and Dorcas.
"Sounds equally as dull," Myrtle replied.
But Dorcas was curious. This was one of those moments where she felt as if she teetered on the edge of two worlds, not fully inhabiting either one. A witch's debut seemed just as foreign a concept to her as a court presentation did.
She asked, "What does a witch's debut entail?"
Here, Cherry was clearly the expert ready to launch into copious details on a very beloved subject. "Only pureblood families do it, really. When a witch turns seventeen, she's presented as a candidate for marriage. The fathers of wizards who are near the same age put their sons forward as eligible matches for the witch. I'm having one, of course. July after next. You'll all be invited."
"They're exceedingly dull events," Jonas agreed with Myrtle, rolling his eyes at Cherry's enthusiasm.
Zelda had been on the periphery of the conversation, but couldn't help butting in on the topic of the debut. "Well, it's just a display, really. Most families have already made informal agreements for their children long before they turn seventeen."
Dorcas thought back to her Uncle Lysander's statements about Evlyn Rosier's suitability as a match for Gemma. She guessed that some sort of agreement between the Rackharrows and the Rosiers had been struck and then broken when he learned about Evlyn's actions toward Dorcas at the Christmas Eve party a few years back.
What would that do to Gemma's prospects now? She fought the urge to turn in her seat and find her cousin among the Slytherins.
"What about you, Rackharrow? Got some contract with an inbred second cousin we don't know about?" Myrtle sniggered.
Zelda scoffed. "You get mad when Weasley says idiotic things about Muggles, but you call us inbred."
Myrtle's fingers tightened around her dinner knife as she gritted out a response to Zelda. "I said he may have an inbred second cousin. I didn't say you were all inbred. Although, your inability to grasp the meaning of my very simple statements in the English language could prove that point for me."
There was a burst of laughter from Cherry. "Think you might need to visit Madam Higgins and see about that vicious cut, Weston. That was brutal!"
Zelda narrowed her eyes on Cherry. "She's insulting you too, brainless!"
Cherry silently fumed as she tried to figure out if Myrtle or Zelda had insulted her the most.
To cut the tension, Jonas directed the attention onto him. "No females among my cousins, inbred or otherwise," he pointed out and shrugged solemnly.
"Except that one," Myrtle argued, pointing to Dorcas.
Jonas gave a theatrical start. "Oh, yeah. Dorcas, will you marry me?"
Dorcas snorted a gulp of pumpkin juice and sputtered.
"Apparently, she's taken," Myrtle answered for her, raising her eyebrows and leveling a challenging look at Dorcas.
Cherry gasped. "Taken? By who?" Gossip being the most enticing prod to push her out of her silent insult calculus, she cried, "Dory! You never told me you were dating someone!"
"I'm back together with Tom. It hasn't been going on long," she added guiltily.
Cherry looked hurt to have been only lately informed of the development. She pulled in a breath and Dorcas knew she was about to hear a lecture on friendship. She braced herself to weather the rebuke.
But then the wind went out of Cherry's sails and she deflated, shoulders slumping.
"I guess you would have told me if you hadn't been so hacked off at me."
Dorcas closed her eyes and breathed a heavy sigh. It was time to lay her own grudge to rest. She wondered if Myrtle could follow her example and forgive Tom for hurting her. The real impediment to that plan might actually be getting Tom to apologize in the first place.
Her eyes opened determinedly. "I'm not hacked off anymore, Cherry. It was a mistake. I know you didn't mean for anything to happen with that photo you took."
"I didn't. Honest," Cherry replied with wide-eyed sincerity. "I'm so sorry that I was careless with it. I shouldn't have taken it in the first place."
"It's okay, Cher. I forgive you. Let's forget about it."
Cherry's eyes went wide and she squealed. "Cal made it seem like that was going to be a lot harder than it actually was. Oh, I want to hug you but I'm too lazy to go all the way round this bloody long table!"
Cherry threw her arms around Myrtle instead, squeezing the unsuspecting Ravenclaw and spilling her pumpkin juice down her front.
"Geroff, you barmy bat! I'm not Dorcas's proxy!"
The more Myrtle protested, the more Cherry laid on the affection, kissing Myrtle's spotty cheek and knocking her glasses askew.
There was a gasp a couple of students down from Dorcas. She couldn't see where the sound had come from without looking obvious, but she didn't need to.
"Why is Weasley all over Myrtle?" The mental voice sounded jealous with a hint of anguish mixed in. It was Olive Hornby's mental voice.
To cover the gasp, Olive turned it into a groan. "Weasley, don't get too close to crater face. Dragon Pox is supposedly very contagious."
Cherry cuddled a disgruntled Myrtle closer, eyes closed and making exaggerated sighs of affection. She didn't even open her eyes to address Olive's hateful comment. "Get buggered by an erumpent, Horny Hornby!"
Who could stay mad at Cherry Weasley?
:::
Days in captivity: 253
Dorcas spent more time in front of the mirror than she'd care to admit. Especially to Ryann. She fussed over her outfit. Smart, but not too formal. Muggle trousers and a nice, plum-colored blouse. Nothing too witchy, too Pureblood.
She wouldn't want Ryann to see her being so caught up in physical appearance. She'd always been conscious of setting a good example of a strong, smart, capable woman for her daughters. Fixating on outward appearance was always a low priority in the Meadowes household.
But no matter how she'd arranged her hair, applied her makeup, or chosen her outfit, she only saw a victim. Scared, broken, desperate. She searched her reflection for strong, smart, and capable. But she couldn't find the Dorcas that she was proud to show her daughter.
Judging by the way that Ryann mostly avoided eye contact with her across the dinner table, her daughter couldn't find that Dorcas either.
She looked well. She appeared healthy, well-fed, and cared for. But there was a distance in her eyes that Dorcas couldn't quite account for. Something was wrong and Ryann was trying to keep Dorcas from noticing.
It was her fault that Ryann had been kept away for over a month. It was punishment for the way she'd held the Minister's memory over Tom in order to save Cal. Whatever it was that was troubling her daughter, she had no one to blame for it but herself.
"Tell your mother what you're studying now, Merry," prompted Tom from Dorcas's left at the head of the table.
Ryann's eyes flicked from Tom to Dorcas then settled back on her plate. "Defensive spells," she said. There was a hollow quality to her voice that Dorcas was working hard to convince herself was just a manifestation of her own fear and guilt.
"Oh?" she replied, swallowing around a tight knot in her throat. "That's important magic to know. What kind of spells?"
"I'm learning the theory behind Compulsory Operational Curses," informed Ryann. She said no more on the subject.
Dorcas looked to Tom, knowing that her face wore a stern and challenging expression that she would likely have to pay for later.
"Unforgivable Curses? Memory Charms? These are not Defense Against the Dark Arts Curriculum, Tom. They strip away a person's autonomy. They're among the most heinous––"
Tom cut her off.
"My lord, Birdie."
Dorcas blinked in confusion. "What?"
"You slipped up and called me Tom. You know how I wish to be addressed."
Her head bobbed rapidly up and down, conceding her mistake. "I apologize, my lord. I was momentarily shocked. I don't think COCs are a proper lesson to be teaching a fourteen year old."
Tom slowly nodded once to accept Dorcas's apology.
"I am Merry's father, am I not?"
Dorcas felt an objection bubbling within her on a wave of bile. She fought to choke it down.
Tom raised his eyebrows in challenge. He was expecting a response.
Though her eyes wanted to pull back to Ryann's, she resisted the magnetic force. She didn't want to anger Tom further. He could easily end the dinner and send her daughter away. Who knows when she would get to see her again.
"Yes, my lord. She is your daughter."
"And as her father, it is my right to direct her education and train her in the magical arts as I see fit. Do you agree that I have that right?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Is it your place to question the choices that I make to secure Merry's best future happiness?"
"No, my lord."
Silence hung like a blanket over the table. Though Dorcas couldn't hear the thoughts in Tom's mind, she could tell by the way he looked at her that he was not yet ready to let her insubordination go. She'd promised him earlier, as he was tying her to her bed that she would be obedient.
She failed.
The others gathered here for dinner tonight had silent minds as well. Ryann's mind would always be closed to her. It was an effect of the gift that she shared with her mother. Likewise, Mauro's mind was guarded by his own mysterious magic. She had long ago stopped beating herself against that impenetrable wall. But Tamsen Podmore––Nott, she reminded herself––had never been one to keep her thoughts shuttered from Dorcas.
But there were no witty mental observations or cutting jabs in her mind tonight. She was as silent as everyone else seated at this table.
"We are not equals in the decisions we make concerning Merry. You've had free reign to make decisions for her since her birth. You and that impostor father you raised her with. It is now my turn to raise our daughter up the rest of the way. I want to hear you say it."
Dorcas turned her gaze on Tom. Sometimes, when he was very angry, she could swear his eyes flashed red. She imagined that her eyes were a bloody, murderous crimson as they held his now.
"Say what, my lord?"
"That we are not equals. I am above you in this as in all things."
Dorcas would say whatever she had to say to have Ryann's regular visitation reinstated.
"I am not your equal, my lord. You are above me."
"In all things," Tom directed, his glare intensifying on her.
"You are above me in all things."
He regarded her for several moments as her submissive manifesto hung in the air around them.
"I am not satisfied that you grasp the importance of the concept," he snapped. "Stand up."
She couldn't help her eyes darting from Tom to Ryann. There was a look on her daughter's face that cut right through her ribs and shredded her heart. She was ashamed of her mother. Ashamed that she was not the strong, smart, capable woman that she always pretended to be.
Slowly, Dorcas pushed herself back from the table and rose on wobbly knees.
"Mauro, help her," demanded Tom.
She heard Mauro slide his own chair back before removing her chair, its pressure disappearing from the back of her knees.
"Come here."
Dorcas obeyed, approaching Tom. Keeping her eyes trained on him, she'd rather see the gloating triumph on his face than the shattered faith that was written all over Ryann's. She stood at his right elbow pliant, waiting to carry out his next instruction.
"Kneel."
The broken cry that escaped her throat was covered by Mauro's voice as he spoke an objection. "My lord. Not in front of the child!"
It was clear that Mauro, like Dorcas, recalled the last time Tom had ordered Dorcas onto her knees. She had to reach out and grasp the armrest on Tom's chair in order to keep from collapsing entirely. Her fingers curled around his sleeve, his cufflink biting into the skin of her palm.
"My lord, I beg your pardon. I was weak and stupid," she groveled. She had to dismiss Ryann from her mind completely in order to humble herself enough to say the words. "Please don't do this. Not in front of her. I beg you to take me out of the room first."
Her hope rested with Mauro. Maybe he could somehow block Ryann from witnessing what Tom was about to do. He'd confounded Tom in a similar way the night Dorcas provoked him with the Minister's memory. But she was too afraid to look in Mauro's direction to communicate her desperate hope to him.
Tom looked perplexed. His eyes moved over Dorcas's face and down to her hands, wrinkling his sleeve. Then they shot to Mauro before returning to her. His lips curled into a cruel smile.
"Mauro, remove her chair." His eyes returned to hers when Mauro moved to carry out his command. "To better know your place, Birdie, you will not have a seat at my table. Your place is here. Kneeling beside me. Below me. Until you fully grasp that concept, this is where you'll stay."
Dorcas's shoulders sagged in relief as realization spread over her. He was not going to force her to fellate him before an audience like he'd done last week. The sting of gratitude in the tears that pricked her eyes galled her, but she pushed the feeling to one side and leaned forward to kiss the back of his hand where it gripped the wooden armrest.
"Thank you, my lord," she whispered.
Mauro silently took his seat again.
Tom shook off her hands and her lips and lifted his fork and knife, cutting into his meat.
Dorcas watched silently, her eyes barely cresting the top of the table from where she knelt. Everyone studiously avoided her and turned their attention to their own plates.
"I have great hopes for the future of our magical race," Tom said finally. "Having you all seated before me is an inspiration. Each one of us has such exceptional magical abilities. Birdie with your gifts for laying bare the minds of absolutely everyone." He dropped his knife and raised his hand to the top of her head, petting her. "And gifting me with an equally talented daughter. No doubt, countless other talented children will follow."
He turned to Mauro. "And you, my friend. You are a marvel. Untethered from the natural laws of magic. Tell me. Does your gift transfer genetically?"
Though Dorcas didn't dare to turn her head to see how Mauro reacted to the question, she could detect his movements out of the corner of her eye. He stiffened as the conversation suddenly shifted its focus onto him.
"I have heard of ancestors with my gift."
Out of the corner of her other eye, she saw Tom nod interestedly.
"And how many generations apart does the gift manifest?"
Mauro started, his hand suspended halfway to his wine glass. "I don't know, my lord. I don't know if the gift follows a pattern."
He nodded slowly, taking in the information. "My gifts were transferred from my mother. Her gifts came from her father. His gifts came from his father…"
Mauro dipped his head and brought his wine to his lips. "Every generation. Very impressive."
Tom's hand stroked Dorcas's hair again before lifting her chin so that her eyes met his.
"Think of that, Birdie. The gift you possess and the gift that Mauro possesses in one extraordinary individual."
Dorcas felt her expression go slack. Was he really suggesting that Dorcas breed with Mauro in addition to him? The suggestion churned her stomach. Added to the fact that her daughter was a party to the discussion, and she would have spilled her undigested dinner on the rug at Tom's feet if she'd eaten anything to begin with.
"You find Mauro to be a handsome man, don't you?"
Dorcas knew not to answer that. She swallowed her fear past the knot that now felt like a stone in her throat.
Tom cut his eyes away from her to address the others assembled. "Ladies, your objective opinion. Is Mauro Galarza a handsome man?"
Tamsen leaned back in her chair and placed her hand on her growing belly. "Objectively speaking, my lord, yes."
Tom chuckled at Tamsen's reply and winked at her. "I'm sure you would trade him for your husband in a blink."
Tamsen smiled back. "I think I would."
"A shame that child in your belly is not his." Tom and Tamsen shared more amused laughter.
"Merry," Tom chimed, his glance sliding toward Ryann. "You're old enough to have an opinion on such matters. Is Mauro a handsome man?"
Dorcas took the opportunity to slip her glance in Mauro's direction since Tom was engaged with Ryann. He squirmed under the scrutiny of the assembled guests.
Ryann cocked her head to the side, studying the Spaniard boldly.
"He's old. And not as handsome as you, lord father."
Mauro exhaled a small sound of relieved amusement at the response. "A very diplomatic response. You have a promising career in politics, young lady."
"She could be Minister," Tom agreed. "Many of my teachers saw the same in me, you know?" he added jovially to Ryann.
Tom speared a chunk of beef on his fork as he laughed at the exchange, but instead of raising it to his own mouth, he lowered it to Dorcas beside him. His left hand hovered below the fork in the fashion one would feed a toddler.
Not wishing to anger Tom further tonight, she leaned forward and took the offered bite. The beef worked between her jaws like a ball of rubber, refusing to become tender enough to swallow.
But swallow, she must. Everything Tom put in front of her must be swallowed.
:::
19 April, 1943 Stairs between the First and Second Floors, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Dorcas shuffled awkwardly up the flight of stairs glued to Cherry's hip, the Gryffindor's arm around her waist affectionately squeezing her.
Forgiving her friend lightened an emotional burden that she hadn't noticed that she'd been carrying.
Myrtle followed quietly on her opposite side. Dorcas knew that she was troubled by Dorcas's announcement at dinner that she was dating Tom.
She hoped to lighten that burden as well. But it would take some convincing on her part. She needed to talk to Tom before she could begin to shift Myrtle's attitude, though.
"I think you and Tom Riddle make a nice couple."
The proclamation came from Cherry's right, where Zelda Weston had pushed her way through the crowd and came level to them.
At least someone was on the side of her fledgeling relationship.
"Thanks, Zelda."
"That's because you want Cal all for yourself," Cherry argued, punctuating the statement by sticking her tongue out at Zelda.
Dorcas kept silent. She didn't want to take up Zelda's cause against Cherry after just having cleared the air with her. But she wanted to say that Cherry's preoccupation with matchmaking Cal and Dorcas was silly.
Zelda's enraged retort was swallowed by Clementine Frawley and Ines Santiago blocking their path to the second floor landing.
"Go back to the Great Hall everyone," Clementine shouted above the clog of students on the stairs.
The press of bodies that created a logjam on the stairs grew as the two Prefects held their arms across the landing. "Everyone must turn around and go back. The second floor corridor is off limits."
"Since when?" Cherry shouted. But she couldn't make herself heard above the other cries of confusion and frustration stacking up behind them.
Dorcas dove into Clementine's mind to find the reason for the closed corridor. There was a body. A boy. In black school robes. He had blond hair and a Gryffindor necktie. He was stiff and lifeless.
She gasped and pressed her hand to her lips to cover the word that burst from her throat. If the throng of students hadn't been calling out their own questions as the Prefects corralled them back down the stairs, Cherry might have heard her cry a name.
Cal.