Chapter 11
2 February, 1940, Charms Corridor outside of Trophy Room, Third Floor, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Dorcas was on her way to breakfast and then to meet Cherry, Anneliese, and the rest of the gang for the outing to Hogsmeade. Unable to contain her excitement, Dorcas had jumped out of bed and dressed warmly hours before she was expected to meet her friends. To kill time, she decided to stroll the mostly deserted corridors. She had anxiously awaited this trip for a week. Of course, she'd seen some of Hogsmeade's darkened streets and properties by night last Friday with Tom. But she was very interested to see it in daytime without fear of being caught and reprimanded.
Tom had been avoiding her for the last seven days. Or, she had been avoiding him. Or, she reasoned, the avoidance may be mutual. It reminded Dorcas of the time that Tom had pressed her to read his mind in the library and she'd refused. That time, she had been the one hiding from him.
But she'd given in to him this time. She'd done what he wanted. His avoidance confused her. Was he cross with her because the experiment had failed and she hadn't been able to guide him into seeing her thoughts? Had it been about the kiss? Was he regretting the turn toward the physical that their relationship had taken? She wished that she was bold like Cherry. If she had half of her friend's nerve, she would corner Tom and demand that he get it all out in the open, no matter what it was that was bothering him.
But Dorcas had the nerve of a dormouse.
She happened to look up as she was passing a plaque outside of the Trophy Room. She sometimes stared at this shiny bronze list of names. There were no Clereys or Rackharrows named on it. But, then again, Dorcas thought, there wouldn't be. This was a long list of engraved names of students from Hogwarts who'd died in conflict. The most recent names carried dates from the Great War. Dorcas knew very little of her father, but one thing she'd learned was that he was the first magical member of his family and too young to have fallen in the trenches. And the Rackharrows seemed to be the kind of family that did not sacrifice its members to battles. Especially ones that supported the goals of Muggles.
There was a new name there that Dorcas hadn't seen before.
John-Robert McEnroy 4 January, 1940
Seeing the list continue with a new addition caused a sense of foreboding to settle into Dorcas's bones. The names above it carried dates from before she was born. In a way, this had separated the horrible events of the past from her life completely. The addition of McEnroy to the list now acted as a tether to Dorcas. The war raging in Europe was a reality now in a way it hadn't been before. Then, it was just newsprint stories separated by hundreds of miles and bodies of water.
She wondered who he was.
"He was the Keeper that Cal replaced," came a lilting voice over Dorcas's shoulder. It made her jump.
"Darren!" Dorcas turned to the speaker. She was breathing rapidly from the surprise. She'd mistakenly thought she was alone.
Cherry's dark-haired Irish paramour came to stand next to Dorcas, his eyes fixed on the name that she'd been studying.
"He was in Gryffindor?" she asked.
Darren nodded. "JR was captain of the team last year. He must have been just eighteen or nineteen when he died last month."
Dorcas thought about that for a moment. He was no more than six years older than her. Practically a child himself.
"C'mon," Darren said, nudging Dorcas. "Let's get down to breakfast. Everyone's probably waiting for us."
:::
31 October, 1957 Watermead, Aylesbury
Dorcas refilled the decanter with scotch and replenished the ice bucket from the freezer in the kitchen. She arranged some glasses on a tray.
She could hear Anneliese playing 'ShBoom (Life Could Be A Dream)' on the piano in the sitting room.
Cherry bustled into the kitchen and placed some empty glasses into the sink.
Dorcas deposited the tray on the bar beside the piano along with the scotch and ice. She took the empty gin bottle back into the kitchen with her.
The sight of Cherry on her knees in a party dress, her upper half buried deep inside Dorcas's refrigerator made her gasp in panic.
"Cherry!" Dorcas commanded. "Step away from my Frigidaire!"
"But the light blob is loose," Cherry said confidently. "I can fix it."
Dorcas knew it was futile to argue about appliances and gadgets with Cherry. She needed a distraction. A bait-and-switch to spare her poor icebox.
Placing the empty gin bottle on the counter, she looked for its replacement in the liquor shelves above the stove. Among the vodka, scotch, rum, and various other bottles, Dorcas could not find more gin.
Cal walked into the kitchen and admonished Cherry as well, to no effect.
"Cal," Dorcas interrupted. "We're out of gin." It was shameless. She knew Cal would jump on an opportunity to drive his sports car to the store. She also knew that a ride in a fast automobile would be a temptation that was too great for Cherry to resist.
"No problem," Cal said genially, taking his keys from his pocket and tossing them in the air once before catching them.
The jingle of keys was a siren call. Cherry shot out of the fridge and closed its door. "Can I come along, Cal?"
Dorcas turned back to the liquor cupboard and smiled. Too easy.
"Sure, Red!" Cal replied. He crossed the room and kissed Dorcas's neck, whispering so low that only she could hear. "Well played."
Dorcas turned a radiant smile on him.
"Can I drive?" Cherry asked, batting her lashes and turning on her considerable charm.
Cal laughed, "Not a chance, Weasley!" He held an arm out gallantly for her to take and they headed for the door.
"Dory," Cherry called behind her. "I'm driving off with your husband and never coming back!"
This earned a laugh from Dorcas as she headed back into the sitting room with plates and napkins.
If you would tell me I'm the only one that you love,
Life could be a dream sweetheart…
Dorcas sang to herself as she fulfilled little hostess tasks around her sitting room. She missed the tapping on the glass slider to the backyard completely.
"What was that?" Anneliese stopped playing and looked in the direction of the veranda.
Dorcas followed her gaze. There was nothing there.
"I didn't hear anything."
They both jumped when the front door opened.
"We're back!" Theresa Allen called, toting a miniature cowboy in one hand and a black kitten in the other. Billy and Wren both carried bulging sacks of candy. Behind Theresa, Beau and Jonas also had small costumed charges. Trevor, Beau and Anneliese's seven year old was dressed as a clown. He towered above them all on Jonas's shoulders, laughing maniacally with a lollipop in one hand. Beau had a sleeping lamb in his arms; their three year old, Joy.
An intruder sailed in with the Trick-or-Treating party. A disgruntled gray owl that promptly dropped a letter on the floor and retreated out of the door before Beau could close it.
Theresa dropped the hands of the cowboy and the kitten and picked up the letter.
"For you, Dorcas."
"That explains the tapping," Anneliese said as the clown ran over and sat on the piano bench beside her.
Taking the letter from Theresa, Dorcas opened it. There was no address.
Dr. Meadowes,
Do you remember the house-elf I told you about? Are you free to meet her tomorrow?
Gideon
Dorcas dropped the letter in her apron pocket and poured drinks for the thirsty crowd. She would respond to Gideon later.
"Was it a good haul?" she asked Jonas, handing him a scotch and soda.
Jonas nodded, sipping. "I think they've emptied the neighborhood." He looked around the room. "Where's Cherry?"
Dorcas shrugged. "Your woman ran off with my man."
:::
2 February, 1940 Avenue from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade Village
Dorcas, Cherry, and Anneliese walked slowly, their arms linked with one another. Cherry purposefully set a leisurely pace to put some distance between them and the boys, who'd been talking Quidditch non-stop since descending the steps of the school. Dorcas was interested in what the boys were saying. The impending match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff was a hot topic among most students in the school just now.
Dorcas was still woefully ignorant of the intricacies of the game, but she enjoyed the opportunities she got to observe the players in action. The Gryffindor team was unquestionably superior to the other house teams in skill as well as speed. But Beau argued Hufflepuff's chances at unseating the current Quidditch Cup favorites were good. A belief that was bolstered enthusiastically by the only other Hufflepuff of their party, Anneliese.
As the distance grew between the boys and the girls, Dorcas could only hear snatches of their sports talk.
Cherry seemed to be orchestrating a plot to separate Dorcas and Anneliese from the herd. This was confirmed when she tightened her grip on Dorcas's arm and whispered conspiratorially.
"What's going on with you and Tom?"
Surprised, Dorcas looked at her friend, her eyebrows raised. Cherry stared back determinedly. Anneliese was looking at her too. Though her interest seemed more polite than pushy.
"What's going on?" Dorcas repeated. "Nothing."
"Rubbish," Cherry said, shaking her head, unwilling to be put off so easily.
Anneliese opened her mouth to speak, probably in an attempt to redirect Cherry. But she was preempted.
"You spend a lot of time with him," Cherry argued.
"We study together," Dorcas replied with a shrug. She reached her free hand up to the braid that hung over her left shoulder and tugged on it with her mittened fingers.
"Ha!" Cherry shouted triumphantly. "That's your tell!"
"My what?" Dorcas asked, confused.
Anneliese shushed Cherry. "Keep your voice down, for God's sake, Cherry."
"Your tell. The little things you do when you're being evasive. You fiddle with your plait."
Dorcas dropped her hand and Cherry made another triumphant noise. The boys looked back at them curiously. This made Dorcas extremely uncomfortable. She knew without a doubt that Tom would not like being the object of gossip between her and her girlfriends. She did not much like being the subject of it herself.
"Not everyone has to pair off. Boys and girls can be completely platonic friends, you know," Anneliese argued on Dorcas's behalf, in hushed tones.
The boys had stopped walking and were waiting at the high street for them to catch up.
"And Dorcas said nothing's going on. I think he's a nice boy and a good friend to Dory. So leave it alone, Cherry."
Cherry seemed to accept this for the moment. At least, she couldn't argue her point further because they were almost level with the boys.
Cherry broke her hold on Dorcas and Anneliese and skipped over to Darren, taking his hand. "Let's go to the Three Broomsticks," she suggested.
Anneliese pulled Dorcas to her side with an arm around her waist. "Sorry. I did ask Cherry not to parade her theories around."
Dorcas nodded, trying to tuck her flaming cheeks into the scarf that wrapped around her neck. She didn't know what to say to that.
:::
They did pair off sometime later that afternoon.
Cherry and Darren were the first to disappear. This was unsurprising to Dorcas, as they looked like they wanted to find a dark corner somewhere private since they'd arrived in Hogsmeade. Leaving the Three Broomsticks, the couple turned the opposite direction of the rest of their party, hand in hand.
Cal and Beau laughed about it all the way to Honeydukes.
The candy store was as vibrant and splendid as Dorcas knew it would be in the light of day.
Beau held some Cockroach Clusters to Anneliese's face, eliciting a scream from her as she jumped back and nearly knocked over a display of candied fruits. Cal and Dorcas laughed.
Dorcas felt lighter. A Butterbeer had helped her to shake off the mortifying interrogation from earlier.
The store was crowded with students and they were all jostled along from one display to another.
Cal bought some Pepper Imps and shared them around with the other three. They left the shop.
Dorcas turned right, saying she wanted to visit the bookstore.
Beau and Anneliese turned left and intended to visit Dervish and Bang's.
Cal waved off Beau and Anneliese, declaring that he was interested in the bookstore as well. He caught up to Dorcas saying, "Clerey, wait up."
The shop was warm and cozy with rows of books and squashy armchairs and a roaring fire. The heat was welcome after the cold of the street. Dorcas and Cal wandered to opposite ends of the store, scanning titles.
Dorcas found a robust Spells and Enchantments section. There were also quite a few biographies of witches and wizards that looked worthwhile. She picked up a book about Rowena Ravenclaw and flipped through the pages. The quiet of the shop stood in stark contrast to Honeydukes. Dorcas removed her scarf and moved to the end of the shelf with the book open in the other hand, reading as she walked. She'd like to find a seat in the corner somewhere and look through a stack of books for the remainder of the afternoon. Looking up as she approached a secluded corner, her eyes met Tom's.
He was sitting in the corner, doing exactly as she'd liked to have done: flipping through book after book in solitude.
Dorcas moved closer. She wanted to say something. He looked at her expectantly.
"Clerey," she heard Cal call from a shelf or two away.
Dorcas considered asking Tom to meet her somewhere so that she could finally clear the air. Instead, she broke eye contact and looked over her shoulder.
"Here, Cal." She answered back and turned to see what he wanted. She closed the biography and replaced it exactly where she had taken it from the shelf.
Cal turned the corner. "Look at this." He handed her a thin book. The title of the navy cover said 'A Hiding Place: Lost Children of Wingate' in embossed silver script.
Dorcas was immediately interested in the contents of its pages. She looked at the author's picture, a stern female journalist with a classic chignon hairstyle framing very patrician features. Her name was Harriet Finnigan. The book was published in 1936. Recent.
Cal moved down the row a little further, scanning the titles on the shelves. She knew that he was just giving her space. She could tell that he was becoming just as engaged in her investigation of Wingate as she was. She flipped through the pages.
Her eyes caught a flickering picture and Dorcas stopped flipping and turned back one page. There in black and white, the hospital was engulfed in a fearsome conflagration. The flames in the picture climbed high over the walls of the stone structure. The caption read: "Wingate Institution was destroyed by fire on 26 October, 1926. It never reopened."
The book's publication, Dorcas guessed, was coordinated with the anniversary of the fire that destroyed the hospital in 1926.
"It burned down." Dorcas's heart was racing. She wanted to know more. Her impulses to research were stifled in this commercial establishment. She had a powerful desire to be back at the school's library.
Cal returned to her side, smiling appreciatively. "You want to return to school, don't you?" He shook his head. "Nerd," he added, affectionately.
"Sorry, Cal," Dorcas said, digging in her pocket for her money. "I'm sure that you can catch up with Beau and Anneliese."
"Put away your money, Clerey." Cal winked. "I already bought it for you. Let's go."
Dorcas protested. "Cal, you didn't have to do that. And I don't want you to have to cut your visit short on my account."
Cal opened the shop's door. The bell above it tinkled. He placed a hand on the small of her back and ushered her out. "Nonsense," he countered. "I wanted to buy it for you. So I did."
He took his gloves out of his coat pocket and put them on. Dorcas tucked the book under one arm and fished her own mittens out.
"I want to walk you back to school, too," Cal said with a shrug.
"Okay." Dorcas buttoned her coat all the way up to her neck.
They walked in silence down the high street and turned onto the lane that led back to school. The sky was darkening and the clouds looked like they were ready to dump snow.
"There's a new name on that plaque on the third floor," Dorcas said after a while.
Cal nodded, looking at his shoes as they crunched the snow and gravel underfoot. He walked a few steps before answering.
"Yeah," he said, hands in his pocket. "Gryffindor Tower was buzzing with the news this week."
He looked at Dorcas. She held her book to her chest and crossed her arms against the freezing wind.
"There will be many more names on it before this is all over." Cal stopped. Dorcas stopped too. "Where's your scarf? It's really cold out here."
Dorcas's mittened hand went to her throat. She knew she'd had one on earlier.
"I-" she started to answer, but couldn't remember what she'd done with it.
Cal was unwinding his own scarf from around his neck. Smiling, he wrapped it around Dorcas, tucking her braids into the coils and arranging it so that it covered her ears.
"Thanks," was Dorcas's muffled response beneath the warm woolen garment.
Cal laughed and threw his arm around her shoulders. "Don't mention it, Clerey."
:::
1 November, 1957 Ministry of Magic Atrium, London
Dorcas's heels echoed as she crossed the highly polished black stone floor of the Ministry atrium. She drew some notice, as she often did in the Wizarding parts of London. She wore a smart wool suit in a muted mushroom color with a gray silk top. Most of the Ministry workers and officials around her wore robes. She could also be gaining some notoriety for other reasons, Dorcas guessed.
The Daily Prophet had mentioned her role in exonerating Theresa Allen, focusing on her techniques with Memory Charms. The front stoop of her home had never had so many letters. All of them from crackpots hoping to game the system by claiming foul play on their minds. Begging her to prove all manner of conspiracies for them.
She spotted Gideon Prewett leaning against the wall near a bank of busy lifts, shooting up and down with witches and wizards hurrying off to this meeting or that one. She held her hand out as she approached.
"Counselor," she greeted him.
"Dr. Meadowes," Gideon replied. "Thank you for coming. I really appreciate your time."
"Of course. I must admit, it's a little mercenary. I'm curious about the case. I've never studied the memories of house-elves."
Gideon gave her a weak smile. Dorcas could tell that something was weighing on him.
She followed him into a lift with three others.
"Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures," Gideon said to the lift attendant.
"Fourth Floor," the attendant announced, pulling a lever.
They shot upward.
"Dorcas," Gideon said, turning to her and speaking in a hushed tone. "I should warn you. This is not a nice part of the Ministry that we'll be going to."
Dorcas set her shoulders and gripped her handbag tighter. "I will be perfectly fine. Gideon."
"Fourth Floor," the attendant announced only seconds later.
Gideon, Dorcas, and a frazzled witch all got out.
The witch disappeared behind a door labeled Beast Division.
"This way," Gideon said. His tone deflated further.
Dorcas followed Gideon down a long stone corridor. It had none of the polish and decoration of the atrium. It was drab and utilitarian. They passed doors identifying the departments behind them. Being Division, Spirit Division, Goblin Liaison Office, Centaur Liaison Office, and finally a door that simply said CONTAINMENT.
Gideon opened the door and Dorcas followed him in.
The smell and noise was overwhelming.
"Heavens!" Dorcas's hand shot up to her nose.
"Yes," Gideon said, handing her a handkerchief from his jacket pocket. "You don't get used to that."
A stony-faced attendant looked up as they neared. "Names?"
"Gideon Prewett, Ministry Defense Counsel for Hokey the House-Elf. And Dorcas Meadowes, Healer and Muggle Psychiatrist."
The wizard eyed Dorcas. "Syko-what?"
Gideon tried to translate. "Mind...healer."
The wizard shrugged. "Wands."
Gideon took out his wand and handed it to the attendant. He nodded to Dorcas to do the same. She complied. Her apprehension was growing. Why was she unable to keep her wand with her?
The attendant stowed their wands in a metal box and tapped it with his own wand. Dorcas felt very vulnerable seeing her wand locked away where she couldn't access it. Then he pointed his wand at a door beyond his station and it clicked open to admit them.
As she entered the room behind Gideon, the smell and sound intensified. Dorcas couldn't identify precisely what it was, but the combination made her eyes water. She held the cloth that Gideon had given her to her nose. There was no solution for the barking and snarling that assailed her ears.
As they moved deeper into the room, Dorcas could make out cages with thick iron bars. A sign hung on each of these cages. One cage read XXX. The one next to it XX. And another XXXX.
"What does that mean?" Dorcas asked, her voice muffled by the handkerchief she held to her face and the cacophonous din that she had to shout over.
"It's a danger classification," Gideon explained. "XX is the label for a creature that most wizards should be able to fend off if they're competent. And it goes up from there."
Gideon and Dorcas stopped in front of the cage of a tiny house-elf with a danger classification of XXXXX.
"What is 5 Xs again?" Dorcas inquired.
"Known Wizard-Killer," Gideon responded.
It was in a secluded, quieter corner of the room.
"Hokey," Gideon said gently, kneeling by the cage.
The house-elf, Hokey, was the smallest house-elf Dorcas had ever seen. She was reminded of the only two house-elves she knew; the Rackharrow's servants, Tooey and Gimlet. Both were larger and far better cared for than this pathetic creature.
Hokey turned her bulging eyes in Gideon's direction. Dorcas moved closer and noticed that the lenses of the elf's large eyes were clouded over with cataracts. She was more or less blind. Dorcas noticed an angry gash that split her brow and various bruises on the paper thin skin of Hokey's arms and legs. Great iron cuffs around Hokey's wrists made it difficult for the elf to lift her hands. Dorcas recognized these from her time assisting in criminal cases in America. These were Admonitors. They could be used to keep tabs on the magic that a wizard performed while wearing them, or they could keep one from performing magic altogether.
Dorcas knelt on the filthy floor next to Gideon. Her healer instincts were to mend the physical wounds that were presented to her. But she had no wand and no potions. Not even a scrap of Muggle medicine. She mentally kicked herself. She could have smuggled in a little mercurochrome.
"That gash looks nasty. She needs medical attention."
Gideon spoke as gently to Dorcas as he had to Hokey. "She receives care, I am assured. But these injuries... She does this to herself."
Dorcas wrung her hands in her lap, ineffectively.
"Hokey," Gideon addressed the elf again. "I hope you don't mind. I've brought a friend to visit you. This is Dorcas. She wanted to meet you."
Dorcas swallowed. "Hello, Hokey." Her voice quavered. She struggled to keep her tone friendly but clinical.
"Hello," the tiny elf squeaked. Her milky eyes gazed in the direction of Dorcas's voice.
"Can you tell Dorcas why you are in this cage, Hokey?" Gideon prompted the house-elf.
Hokey nodded, the movement afforded Dorcas a better look at other injuries to Hokey's face and ears. She guessed the elf used the massive iron cuffs to beat herself around the forehead and the ears, and on her legs.
"Hokey killed madam." The house-elf's eyes leaked and her voice hitched. "Hokey didn't mean to do it. She made a mistake."
"We know it was an accident, Hokey. And we don't blame you for madam's death." Gideon reached a hand into the cage and took her little fingers in his hand lightly.
This struck Dorcas as an incredibly kind and tender gesture. But she soon realized that Gideon was keeping Hokey from using the Admonitor on her wrist as a weapon while she recounted her story.
Gideon continued. "Your family doesn't blame you either. You know that's why I'm here. They've asked me to help you. They want you to be free so that you can come and live with them."
"Hokey doesn't deserve her family. Hokey doesn't deserve kindness. Hokey is a murderer. Hokey should be given clothes and dismissed."
Her arms shook as she said this. But she didn't have the strength to lift her hands to punish herself. She coughed and Dorcas could hear fluid in her lungs. The sound worried her.
"Gideon," she began.
He interrupted her. "I know." He rushed on. "That's not why we're here, Dorcas." There was a distinct note of distress in his voice.
"Hokey," Gideon continued, rubbing his thumb along the back of the tiny, papery hand. "Tell Dorcas what you can remember about the night your mistress died."
More tears leaked from Hokey's eyes and she coughed again. "Hokey made madam her evening cocoa like she always does. Madam likes to have three spoonfuls of sugar in her cocoa. Hokey," the house-elf coughed and shuddered. "Hokey made a mistake and switched the sugar. She put something else in instead of sugar. Hokey can't see very well"
Hokey's eyes leaked more and she tried to move her hands again to punish herself.
Dorcas opened the handbag that she'd placed beside her and pulled out a phail that she'd packed away to collect the elf's memory.
"Don't you need a wand?" Gideon looked on with hopeful interest.
"Sometimes, yes," Dorcas explained, busying herself with the cork stopper. "But strong memories can be collected in this manner." She demonstrated by extending her arm into the cage as Gideon had and holding the phial up to the thin skin of the elf's cheek. She collected several tears easily and stoppered the glass bottle carefully. She took the handkerchief that Gideon had loaned her, forgotten in her lap until then, and wrapped the memory carefully, reverently in it.
"Hokey," Dorcas said more confidently. She was bolstered by the act of completing tasks familiar to her. She was back in her element. The smell, the earsplitting sonance, the cold stone, the grime faded away and she was left with a patient who needed help desperately. "Was there anyone in the house that night besides you and your mistress?"
Hokey shook her head. "No one, ma'am."
"When was the last time you remember your mistress receiving a visitor?" Dorcas pushed, but she could see the house-elf's already diminished strength flagging.
"Two days before…" Her sobs renewed, she made a small movement with the hand that Gideon held.
Dorcas persisted. She feared if she didn't get the information from Hokey now, the little elf could very well perish before they'd had the chance to free her.
"Can you remember who it was?"
"A young man that mistress very much enjoyed the company of. He always brought her flowers," Hokey squeaked.
"We haven't been able to track him down." Gideon supplied. "Hokey doesn't remember his name or the way the man looked."
"What did he want, Hokey?" Dorcas pressed.
Hokey was tired. She feebly shook her head.
"She doesn't remember that either." Gideon must have sensed that they wouldn't get anything more out of her. "Hokey, you've done a very good job. I'm going to tell your family how well you've served me today. They will be very pleased."
"Hokey thanks sir."
Gideon stood and helped Dorcas to her feet. She followed Gideon out of the dark room full of cages, sparing a look back at Hokey. She seemed to be asleep on the little straw bed.
"The house-elf needs tending to," Gideon said firmly to the attendant who was returning their wands to them. "There is a gash above her eye that looks infected."
"We do mend her, sir," the wizard argued blandly. "But she keeps opening the wounds back up."
"I didn't ask for excuses," Gideon countered testily, ripping his wand from the wizard's hand.
Dorcas took hers more graciously and stowed it in her handbag with the wrapped phial. She placed a hand on Gideon's forearm and projected a calming feeling outward. Doing this always gave her a pang of longing for her Uncle Morty who has been her best friend and was so dearly missed.
Gideon relaxed by degrees. He was not fully himself again until they were in the lift and soaring back down to the atrium.
"Her family doesn't want her in there. They want me to get her out. But the Ministry's so damned prejudiced," Gideon said loudly, raking a hand through his wavy strawberry blond hair.
Dorcas tightened her grip on Gideon's arm. Criticizing the Ministry loudly while standing inside the Ministry atrium was not wise. "Come on. Let's get something to drink."
They exited the Ministry and found a pub not too far from the visitor's entrance.
Dorcas ordered two gin and tonics and sat across from Gideon, projecting another wave of calm for good measure.
"The family must know how hard you're working to get her out of there. They'd have to be fools or blind not to see how much you care."
Gideon's answer was to drain his drink in one go. Dorcas slid hers across the table to him.
"But I think your instincts are dead on when it comes to the Memory Charm." Dorcas held her bag protectively in her lap, aware of the precious phial inside.
"I'm glad you think so," Gideon said and gulped down the second drink. "Enlighten me."
"He always brought her flowers."
Gideon blinked at her.
"The young man that Hokey's mistress was so fond of. He always brought her flowers, but Hokey can't remember his name or what he looks like."
Gideon sat back in his seat and twirled the glass between his fingers on the tabletop. "Dorcas, you need to look at that memory as soon as you can. We need to appeal to the DRCMC for a dispensation to bring in wands and potions. You've got to use the Ex-Nebulae. We've gotta get that poor creature out of there."
Gideon was speaking quickly and loudly. Drawing attention from nearby drinkers.
Dorcas exuded calm again, breathing in and out in tranquil waves.
"Gideon, I don't know if Hokey can handle the Ex-Nebulae Elixir. She's in a very fragile state. To be frank, I don't know how many weeks she's got left. The pneumonia sounded bad. And she looks ancient."
Gideon's eyes were glassy and he looked stricken but determined. "No, it's going to work."
"I think the best we can hope for is an appeal for compassionate release."
A/N: Reviews are welcome and appreciated.
