Chapter 4
5 September, 1957 Watermead, Aylesbury
"I want you to go back, as far as you can, to the first time you remember meeting Jim."
Dorcas paused, pen hovering over her notepad, to study her client. With one fingertip, she pushed her white winged reading glasses up the bridge of her nose.
She leaned back a little in her chair, crossing her legs, smoothing her navy wool skirt over her knee. She projected a wave of calm. She was so well versed in exuding a tranquil feeling to the people around her that it came as naturally as breathing. She had been doing this since before she was even aware that it was a peculiar gift of hers.
Her mother used to always say that she was "good with Morty" referring to her uncle who lived with them while she was growing up. He had a multitude of challenges, not the least of which was a nervous condition that caused him to scream uncontrollably at unseen terrors or writhe on the floor in fits of convulsions. She could calm him better than anyone else.
She could see Theresa's chest rise and fall with a steadying breath. She knew that the mood she was projecting had seeped into her client's mind.
Theresa lay on the couch that Dorcas had selected for her private office. All of the furniture was white with little accents of misty purples and blues here and there. The artwork on the walls were watercolor birds of varying species. Behind her desk hung a collage of credentials, all proud accomplishments of Dorcas's. A Doctoral Degree from Columbia's School of Psychology, her Certificate of Clinical and Forensic Psychology Partnership with the New York City Police Department, and her License of Mind Malady Examination from the Magical Congress of the United States of America. Along with other various accolades that filled the space behind her organized, but overburdened desk, they served as reminders to Dorcas that circumstances in her past could have conspired to bury her in doubt and self-pity, but she had defied them and had instead directed her life toward purpose and meaning.
With a shaking voice, so faint that it was almost a whisper, Theresa spoke. "I first saw him in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic…" Dorcas studied her client's face. Theresa was shaking slightly, clutching a velvet pillow of the faintest blue to her chest as if it were a life preserver.
"Keep breathing, Theresa. You are doing superbly," Dorcas said encouragingly.
Theresa nodded in response and took a cleansing breath, audibly blowing out and in until she could continue her description with an even and sure voice. Tears began to leak from the corners of Theresa's eyes and traced trails to the white blonde hair at her temples and she relaxed recumbent on the sofa.
"Focus on that thought," Dorcas continued, setting aside her notepad and pen on the end table next to her. Removing her reading glasses and allowing them to dangle from a pearl chain around her neck, she rose from her seat and collected a wooden stand with six glass phials from her desk.
"Picture every detail that you can remember."
Dorcas set the wooden stand of phials on the coffee table in front of Theresa and bent over her, removing her wand from the inside pocket of her wool blazer. In a clinical voice, Dorcas talked Theresa through her actions so that she would not be surprised by Dorcas's movements. Though, after five sessions, Dorcas was confident that Theresa did not need a talking through anymore. It was a procedure she was very familiar with.
Dorcas placed the tip of her wand to the left temple of Theresa's head and drew it away slowly. Between the wand tip and the woman's temple wound a silky pearlescent thread. When Dorcas's wand was about four inches from Theresa's skin, it broke off and hovered in Dorcas's wand's wake. Quickly unstoppering the last empty phial in the stand, Dorcas gently deposited the memory for safe keeping, tapping the label already taped there. A neat writing began to dance across the label with the patient's name and date of the session. Dorcas replaced the stopper and placed the delicate glass container among its filled and labeled siblings.
Grabbing a box of Kleenex from beside the wooden phial stand, Dorcas turned, handing a few sheets of tissue to her client, helping her to sit upright and perching on the sofa next to her.
Dorcas placed a comforting hand on Theresa's back, rubbing circles between her shoulder blades as Theresa mopped her eyes. "I just miss him so much and I don't understand any of this."
Dorcas nodded understandingly. "It's going to take some time. But you are doing marvelously. We will get the answers you're looking for." She smiled reassuringly.
She stood with Theresa in the entryway of her new home that she and Cal had spent the last three months decorating with all of the personal touches that reminded her of their three bedroom apartment in Manhattan.
"I will see you again next week," Dorcas reminded Theresa as she held the front door open for her.
She watched her client walk down the garden path and to the sidewalk. Waiting for her there was the same man that accompanied her on most of her sessions with Dorcas. He was, as Dorcas always found him as she walked Theresa out, leaning lazily against her front garden fence smoking a cigarette. He had a dark James Dean look about him and he wore too much cologne. Dorcas pushed the judgement down. She would provide support and council to Theresa. This man did not concern her.
He looked away from her finally, turned with a flick of his spent cigarette into her immaculate garden and threw a possessive arm around Theresa. Rebel without a cause? Hardly! More like prick without a clue.
Her daughter, Wren, and their neighbor Mrs. Peake came up the walk just as she was about to close the door.
"Mama!" Wren said, releasing the neighbor's hand and rushing past Dorcas into the house.
"We made this," Mrs. Peake was holding out a watercolor painting of Howdy Doody the owl. Dorcas took the artwork, instantly cheered.
"Thank you for watching her again!" Dorcas said heartily to her neighbor.
"You're welcome," Mrs. Peake replied. "Must go. Dinner in the oven." She turned and retreated, waving a genial goodbye to Dorcas as she crossed the street to her own home.
"Daddy's downstairs," Dorcas called to Wren, setting the painting on the table by the door, vowing to find a prominent spot in her office for it. "Go and play, darling. Mama's going to get ready to meet her friends."
:::
5 September, 1957 Charing Cross Road, London
Dorcas tucked her black silk bag under her left elbow, freeing her right, maroon gloved hand to pull on the brass railing of the door. She was brought up short by a man passing on the sidewalk who insisted on opening the door for her.
"Thank you," she said, blushing slightly. She was not used to this kind of gallantry from strangers. These were the kinds of fawning actions of men struck dumb by her stunning friends Cherry and Anneliese. Dorcas was always satisfied to feel the secondhand glow of her beautiful schoolmates, rather than have the spotlight shine on her directly.
Speaking of her beautiful schoolmates…
She scanned the club's bar and scattered tables for their familiar faces and did not see either one. Was she early? Did she have the wrong place? She checked the handwritten note she found stuffed in her bag from Anneliese.
She was on time and in the right place. They must be late.
Dorcas found a seat at the bar. The place was only half full, mostly men.
She tried not to fidget. She felt so out of place in a scene like this. She usually had Cal with her on an evening outing. She felt very unlike herself, alone at a bar.
Dorcas caught the bartender's eye. He came over with a drink before she'd had a chance to order.
"Gin and tonic for the lady," the bartender said, setting the drink down on a cocktail napkin in front of her.
"Oh," Dorcas exclaimed, surprised. "But I didn't…"
The bartender pointed to the opposite end of the bar. Dorcas followed his indication and found Tom sitting there smiling at her. He picked up the hat that sat next to his drink, gathered his coat from the back of his stool and took his drink down to her end.
"Hey, Birdie," he said. Instantly a familiar and comfortable feeling replaced Dorcas's sense of being out of place and awkward.
The comfort of a familiar face was instantly replaced by that curious battle of feelings that Dorcas had experienced over a week ago when she and Tom had unexpectedly met in Diagon Alley, not far from here.
"Hello, Tom," Dorcas said brightly. She was determined to keep her warring emotions in check. "Thank you for the drink." She gestured to the empty seat next to her and Tom took it.
She thought about the choice of drink for a moment. Usually, men tried to impress women they wanted to pick up at bars with ridiculously frou frou cocktails. She smiled. Whatever her confusing feelings for Tom were, she had to admit, he knew her well.
"Are you here alone, or meeting someone?" Tom asked, sipping something amber colored on the rocks.
"Cherry Weasley and Anneliese Epping," Dorcas said and then corrected herself. "Anneliese Haywood."
"Twenty minutes late to everything," Tom said, chuckling a little as he sipped his drink. "Cherry Weasley's signature move."
Dorcas genuinely smiled and laughed at this remark. It was true.
"You look beautiful tonight, Birdie," Tom said, studying her.
She looked at her glass, knowing that if she met his eyes, that involuntary blush would give her away as it always had. And she knew he loved it. She traced the rim with a gloved finger. She could feel his eyes taking in every detail of her profile, her carefully styled and pinned black hair, the pearl teardrop earring, the black cocktail dress and maroon damask evening coat she wore.
When she could take the scrutiny and the silence no longer, she cleared her throat and asked, "Do you come here often?" she waved a hand to reference the general area.
"Not often," Tom said dismissively. "I was just meeting with a client."
She nodded companionably and sipped.
"Do you still sing, Birdie?" He glanced in her direction again. His head nodded in the direction of the low stage at the other end of the darkened and smoky room where a jazz trio was improvising.
She met his eyes momentarily and shook her head. "Goodness, that was a long time ago. I've got no time for that now."
The mention of her young and foolish singing ambitions unsettled her. She felt his eyes on her again and knew instinctively that he was studying her once more. He seemed to be noting her reaction to his question.
She felt apprehension bubbling up in her. Memories that only the two of them shared began to resurface from a depth within her that she rarely dared to acknowledge. She heard a familiar piano riff, muffled at first and then louder, a spotlight, the feeling of complete elation that she felt standing in front of a microphone. And then a dark alley, a cold brick wall against her back, someone else's hands on her, pushing her, restraining her. And the body of a stranger lying at her feet. At Tom's feet.
Dorcas felt her throat tighten. She had forgotten how to swallow. Stars danced momentarily before her eyes. Shaking her head to dislodge the stars and the music and the memory, she took a steadying drink.
"Easy, Birdie," Tom said with a smirk.
Dorcas knew that he had been calculated in the words he'd used. The questions he'd asked. He wanted to remind her of the times that they shared; the secrets they shared.
As if she could ever forget.
"Paging Dr. Dorcas Clerey-Meadowes," a boisterous voice said behind her, laughing.
Dorcas spilled her drink on the bar as she jumped, jolted back to the moment at the sound of her own professional monicher. Tom passed her a napkin deftly.
She turned and saw Cherry and Anneliese behind her. Cherry looked like a Christmas bauble in emerald with her auburn curls. The effect was charming. Anneliese, a cool blonde in a silver cocktail dress and matching heels.
"You remember Tom?" Dorcas asked standing and tossing the sodden napkin on the bar top. Tom had already risen and pulled her barstool back for her. She breathed deeply, valiantly trying to slow her heartbeat.
"Yes, I do," Cherry said, eyes only for Tom. "Tom Riddle you are as handsome as I remember." She cut across Anneliese and held her hand out to Tom.
He took it and kissed it. Ever the charmer, Dorcas thought.
"Hello, Tom," Anneliese said, always more reserved than Cherry, a perfect counterpoint.
"Cherry. Anneliese," Tom returned, placing his hat on his dark curls and bowing slightly to the ladies as he did. He gathered his coat and tossed some Muggle money on the bartop. "Lovely to see you ladies." Turning to Dorcas he added, "I'll leave you to your friends. Have a nice night."
Still feeling a bit dizzy in the after effects of the images that he had recalled to her mind, she struggled to steady herself and muttered a goodbye as she was engulfed in Cherry's hug.
"That man could be in the pictures," Cherry said. "Cary Grant, watch out!" She laughed. "Are you cheating on Cal with Tom, Dorcas?" She dramatically fanned herself. "I'll be mad if you're not!"
Dorcas watched him exit the club, pausing to hold the door open for two ladies who were entering. And then he was gone.
:::
5-6 September, 1957 Watermead, Aylesbury
Dorcas unlocked her front door as quietly as she could. The house was dark, except for the light in the entryway that Cal had left on for her. She kicked her heels off and left them beside the rug. Her purse and evening coat she discarded on the entryway table next to a vase of flowers and Wren's watercolor owl. She extracted her wand from the silk handbag and stuck it behind her ear.
She had spent a pleasant night with her old chums. Since she had moved back from the states, she and her girlfriends had become as thick as thieves again.
But throughout the floor show and the drinks and the laughs, she could not shake Tom's last question, and its implication.
Instead of turning left toward the hallway and the room she shared with Cal, she turned right and into her home office.
She found the notepad she had laid aside during her afternoon session with Theresa Allen. Picking it up, along with her reading glasses, she crossed to her desk and sat down. Rummaging in a file system behind her desk with one hand, she slipped on her reading glasses with the other. Things came into focus a little better, but the gin and tonics made perfect vision unattainable at the moment.
Dorcas was not a drinker. She reckoned that tonight's overindulgence had been all thanks to Tom.
She located Theresa's file and scanned through the notes from the past five sessions they'd had together. In the margins of each of these sheets were notes scribbled later, once Dorcas had had a chance to analyze her patient's memories at length. She had begun to notice a pattern emerging. This last memory, discussed and then collected earlier today should confirm or cancel that notion.
"I want you to go back, as far as you can, to the first time you remember meeting Jim," Dorcas had prompted Theresa.
The first time you remembered meeting him.
Dorcas stood up, removing her glasses and letting them dangle on their chain. She went to the cabinet standing in the corner of the room. Opening the doors, she was bathed in the soft glow of several rows of memories stored in neatly labeled phials. Dorcas began to reach for Theresa's wooden container of collected and labeled memories. Then, her hand paused just before taking out the final phial she had stoppered just that afternoon. Before she realized what she was doing, she had lifted a jar from the bottom shelf of the cabinet instead, its mercurial substance lazily floating inside the container.
A shallow ceramic basin painted with indigo runes sat on a mahogany table next to the cabinet. Dorcas carefully closed the cabinet doors, jar of silvery mist in hand and turned to the basin. She gingerly sat the jar in the basin, picking up both carefully and returning to her desk.
Opening the jar of silver mist, Dorcas poured it into the basin.
She sat back in her desk chair and closed her eyes. She slowed her breathing and set her intention. The first time she had met Tom Riddle.
When Dorcas could picture the room, picture herself, picture Tom; when she was confident that she could see every detail of their first encounter she reached for the wand tucked behind her ear and touched its tip to her temple.
:::
20 October, 1939 Library, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Happy days are here again, the skies above are clear again
Dorcas could not help humming the tune softly to herself. She was blissfully happy.
Sure, she had felt wrong-footed from the moment she stepped onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters over a month ago, but she had finally started feeling like a native here and not a tourist in a country whose language she could not speak.
She'd had a momentary disappointment during the Sorting Ceremony when first she was sorted into Ravenclaw, and then Anneliese into Hufflepuff, and finally Cherry had been sorted into Gryffindor. But she soon realized that this was not a permanent separation among new friends, only an expanding of friendships as she'd gotten to know her new roommates. Glynnis Howard, June Riley, Zelda Weston, and Charys Fletcher were all lovely girls. Dorcas nurtured a fond hope that they could someday be like sisters.
She also found out during her first week of classes two very exciting things: number one, she shared Herbology with her fellow first year Hufflepuffs, meaning she had a class with Anneliese. And number two, she shared Potions with her fellow first year Gryffindors, which meant Cherry had a seat saved for her when she entered the dungeon classroom.
She also had proved a deft touch at Charms and Transfiguration. She was hungry to know more and always felt an antsy anticipation for the weekend to end so that she could be in the classroom again. She found the library to be a kind of sanctuary to calm her jumpy excitement when she couldn't be with her teachers sponging up knowledge and technique.
She made good on her vow to herself on the Hogwarts express and sought the library and all of its answers the very next day during her morning break. She now felt confident that she could hold a conversation about Muggles, Squibs, and Aurors with any student raised in the Wizarding world without embarrassment.
Dorcas was found to be in the library so often, humming to herself softly and flipping page after page, pulling vast armfulls of books from the shelves, consuming them and returning them to their rightful place that her peers had christened her Little Librarian.
To some, she suspected the name was meant to be taunting, but she didn't mind. She felt sorry for them. Their fingertips never tingled as they turned the page of a dusty old tome, eager to absorb its secrets. They would never know the joy of catching a tantalizing title that drew her to slip the book from the shelf and listen to its whispered wisdom.
"Red Caps, Red Caps," one boy was chanting to himself, wandering the aisle behind her. She recognized the voice. It belonged to a Hufflepuff in her year, Kelley McKinnon. They were in Herbology together.
Dorcas continued to hum and scan. She was in the middle of a deep dive on Squibs. She was curious about her Uncle Morty; why was he non magical? She had always supposed that his medical condition had prohibited him from performing magic or going to school to learn. The more she studied this curiosity among the Wizarding community, she began to see that an inability to perform magic was understood to be a birth defect.
"Ask her," said another voice that she was becoming familiar with. Mohit Singh was a fellow Ravenclaw in her year. He was talking to Kelley McKinnon. "The Little Librarian will know."
Dorcas swiveled in her seat at the sound of her pet name. She looked behind her. Mohit and Kelley blinked back at her expectantly. Dorcas returned their stare, waiting for a lead. She saw in his mind what he was looking for: information on Red Caps. But she tried to be careful about presuming. She had learned quickly that not many students around her could hear and see thoughts like she could. If anyone had this ability, they were keeping it under wraps for some reason and, Dorcas reckoned, she would be prudent to do so as well. She waited for him to ask out loud.
"Red Caps," Kelley prompted.
Nodding once, Dorcas pointed him in the direction of Magical Creatures references and indicated the shelves that held his quarry. She knew exactly where to find this information. Two days ago she had eagerly devoured books on the subject and then excitedly composed an essay for Professor Merrythought. It was due tomorrow.
Dorcas reminded herself to see if Kelley needed help on her way down to dinner. She was worried that he'd left the assignment too late.
"She's got this place memorized," Mohit explained to Kelley as they disappeared behind the stacks. "A mini-Poole."
Dorcas was contemplating this last part. Madam Poole was the Librarian. She was helpful and knowledgeable. She also had dark hair like Dorcas's. She reached a hand absently to her own dark hair, which at this moment, was plaited in milkmaid braids. She conceded the point with a shrug and returned to her book.
There was an amused chuckle beside her.
She turned in surprise and looked at her lone companion in this study corner. She had never heard a word, or even a sound, out of him. She had come to this secluded little spot for about two and a half weeks, she reckoned. He was always there like a fixture. Lazily thumbing through books.
She could see under his reading light that the latest book to hold his attention was a hefty reference that listed name after name. Some sort of wizard's genealogy, maybe.
She had come to regard this boy as a comforting presence. A kindred spirit. Here was someone who had a true appreciation for the wealth of knowledge waiting to spill out of the cardboard and leather and parchment that filled this space.
Dorcas had never spoken to the boy, had never acknowledged him. They always sat in companionable silence. He would turn a page. She would turn a page.
He was staring at her openly. His brown eyes were appraising her.
She felt her cheeks heat.
He was handsome and self-assured.
She noted the color of the tie that was draped lazily around his neck, untied. He was a Slytherin, but not in her year. She had Defense Against the Dark Arts with Slytherin House and he was not in her class.
"You are a mini-Poole," he decided in the next moment.
She managed a small smile and thought about what to say to this.
"You know a lot of songs," the boy continued conversationally.
"Huh?" said Dorcas stupidly. She knew her cheeks were a bright shade of pink now. The boy didn't look away. He seemed to stare deeper, as if he could look inside of her and read all there was to know about her.
"The humming," he prompted. "Begin the Beguine, Embraceable You, Pennies From Heaven."
He rattled off songs that, to Dorcas's utter mortification, she could remember rolling around in her head as she flipped through books, wrote essays, took notes…
"Beer Barrel Polka," he continued. "My favorite because you hum different variations, one for each of the Andrews Sisters' parts." He laughed again, leaning back in his chair.
"I was going to ask if you do requests," he continued to tease.
She stared in wide-eyed humiliation. She couldn't think what to say in response. "I'm sorry. I'll stop doing that." It came out in a hoarse whisper.
"Antidotes. Antidotes…" Another student passed behind her searching for something.
She seized on the change of subject. She turned and looked at a fourth year girl that she'd seen about the Ravenclaw common room.
"The shelves just there. You've just passed them."
The girl jumped and turned from the books whose spines she was reading to stare at Dorcas.
"Thanks," she said automatically, turning and leaving the shelves without making a single selection.
Dorcas turned back to the smirking boy beside her. The look on his face was bemused.
"I'm Tom," he said, gathering the large book he'd been scanning. Shouldering his bag, he held out a hand to her. "Tom Riddle."
"Dorcas Clerey." She'd made it sound like a question unintentionally, as if she sought his confirmation of her identity.
He took her hand and shook it. "You don't have to stop the humming. If I didn't like it I would have moved."
He released her hand and swept past her with the dusty genealogy book under one arm. A whistled tune floated in his wake: Happy days are here again.
Dorcas collected her own things and, as the red faded from her cheeks, she went to go find Kelley to offer him her help with his essay.
Hours later Dorcas stepped out through the door marking the Ravenclaw common room, she looked left down the fifth floor corridor and right toward the spiral staircase.
She was anxious to find her cat and get back to her bed. She was not a rule breaker. She did not want to be caught out of bounds and lose points for her house.
She quietly padded in her socked feet to the left along the corridor.
"Bing," she whispered. She dared not speak louder. She was afraid that her voice would echo along all of this silent stone.
She tiptoed further and called again.
She had turned one corner and then another.
Dorcas became caught between two troubling scenarios: that she had wandered too far in the dark to find her way back to her common room; the other that her cat had wandered off and had gotten lost.
The last thought made her redouble her efforts. She thought of all of the horrible creatures she'd read about in the library. Which, if any, could be lurking in the castle to prey on her kitten?
"Bing?" she called a little louder, a little more frantically. "Bing, where are you?"
"America maybe."
The answer made Dorcas jump and give a little scream, which she stifled quickly behind her hand.
Heart beating wildly and eyes wide as saucers, she turned and saw the boy she had talked to earlier in the library. He was reclining in an alcove a little way beyond her in the corridor. She never would have seen him had he not called attention to himself.
"Somewhere like New York or Hollywood," he continued, standing.
Dorcas gave a sigh of relief that was so complete it made her shoulders sag. "My cat!" She ran over to Tom and gratefully took the bundle of fur that he had been stroking, nestled in the crook of his arm.
"Your cat? Bing?" Tom smiled.
"You shouldn't be out here, Birdie," Tom continued, turning and strolling back up the corridor the way Dorcas had just come.
Dorcas cradled Bing against her chest. He was contentedly purring, apparently spending a pleasant night in Tom's company.
"You're out here," was Dorcas's retort.
"Yes, but I know the school a little better than you do," he said, slowing so that Dorcas could catch him up.
"How much better?" Dorcas thought there was a ring of a challenge in his voice. She wanted to know everything there was to know about this magical place.
He walked in companionable silence for a time with Dorcas. She realized that she no longer had the frightening feeling that a teacher was going to leap out of a dark corner and give her a detention.
She was rubbing the top of Bing's head with her forefinger. She spared a glance at Tom. He walked with a casual and effortless gait, hands in his pockets. He seemed to be giving a lot of thought to her question.
"There are a lot of secrets in these walls, Birdie. Sleep is a waste of time. We only get seven precious years here."
"So are there, like," she cast around for fantastic magical attributes. "Secret passages and mysterious chambers with no doors or windows?"
"Maybe," he shrugged. "You'll never know if you're sleeping soundly in your bed."
She considered this for a moment. She supposed Tom had made a fair point. Sleep was important. She thought longingly about the warm blankets and soft pillows that awaited her in her dormitory. Dorcas felt the chill of the stone floor through her socks and the drafty corridor seemed to cut through her nightgown. But what creature comforts would she be willing to give up in the name of exploration?
"What were you reading in the library earlier?" Tom asked, pulling Dorcas back from her musings.
"What?" Dorcas cast about in her mind for a memory from hours before, sitting in the study corner that she had claimed as her own. "A book about how magic can affect the brain."
Tom nodded. He seemed to be considering something.
They turned a corner.
"What were you reading? It looked heavy?"
Dorcas looked around. It was funny how the dark had rendered what had once been completely benign hallways and classrooms in daylight into a total labyrinth at night. Getting back was going to be hopeless.
"Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy," Tom recited.
"Are you researching an ancient wizarding family?" Dorcas probed out of interest.
She had been tempted to dig up information on her own lineage. Rackharrow was a name that came up with troubling regularity in connection with Dark Magic. This impulse was only checked by Dorcas's fear that whatever she uncovered was probably worse than what she could imagine on her own.
They rounded another corner, each footfall of Tom's matched by hers.
"I don't have any idea about ancient, but yes, I'm researching my own wizarding line."
"Do you have any famous relatives?" Dorcas asked. After the words had come out, she wished she hadn't said anything.
His mood became momentarily somber. "I don't know. I've never met any of my relations."
"Oh," came Dorcas's inadequate response.
They walked on in silence. But it was not a tense silence.
Dorcas became aware of how far she had walked with him and stopped, looking back the way they had come. She was sure she would not be able to retrace her steps. She wondered if she would have to curl up in a corner somewhere and wait for daylight in order to find her way back.
"What's wrong?" Tom had stopped next to her, alert for voices along their path.
"I just realized that I'm hopelessly lost. I don't know where I am."
Tom laughed. "You're funny, Birdie."
He gestured to the door to their right. It had a bronze eagle knocker and no doorknob. It was the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room.
Dorcas felt foolish and relieved at the same time. She smiled a faint smile at herself.
"Why do you keep calling me Birdie?" she asked, scratching Bing's ear.
"Because I like to sit under the branches of your tree and listen to your birdsong," he answered simply, shrugging his shoulders.
Her cheeks colored again at the reminder of their earlier conversation in the library.
"Goodnight, Birdie."
He walked toward the spiral staircase and gave a comical salute before disappearing down the stairs, a whistled tune following his descent.
She recognized the tune and blushed more furiously. The Way You Look Tonight, by Fred Astaire from 'Swing Time'.
Dorcas turned to the eagle door knocker and listened to the riddle it recited to her. She answered quickly and hurried with her cat into the warmth of the common room.
A/N: Reviews are welcome and appreciated.
