Chapter 12

2 November, 1957 Watermead, Aylesbury

Dorcas stood in the corner of a large and well-kept kitchen. She looked on in silence as Hokey bustled from stove to cupboard and then to the scrubbed wooden prep surface where a silver tray was laid with a linen napkin, china saucer and cup. She placed a pot of chocolate and a sugar bowl precisely on the tray, made a tiny adjustment for symmetry and then lifted it above her head.

Hokey appeared elderly, in this memory, but still energetic and agile. She attested to this in the way she maneuvered around the vast space deftly, never bumping into furniture, never toppling crockery. Dorcas was left with the impression that Hokey was a competent and diligent servant to her mistress.

Dorcas carefully noted every surface, every pot, every jar on the rack of spices to her left. She watched Hokey lay out her mistress's tray, observed everything that the little elf touched. Dorcas was also aware of the light in the room, the smells of cooking, of chocolate, of wood burning in the grate of the fireplace to her right. She studied Hokey's movements. She was looking for anything that suggested alteration. A memory that has been edited or tailored in any way left a mark. Dorcas had experienced these signs countless times in her profession.

Whomever it was that was responsible for this amended memory. They were the most skilled wizard at memory charms that she'd ever encountered. Not a thing seemed out of place.

This would be the sixth time that Dorcas had stood in the corner of Hepzibah Smith's kitchen and watched her house-elf carry out her evening ritual of preparing and serving her mistress's cocoa.

As Hokey moved from the kitchen to the stairs, Dorcas noticed a change in air temperature. This was not out of the ordinary, not necessarily a sign of foul play. The kitchen was stifling with the fire and the oven and the boiling pots. Also, moving from the kitchen to the stairs, Dorcas detected a difference in scents. Drooping lilies with their cloying perfume sat on a table in a Ming vase across the hall from the kitchen's entryway. Perhaps these were a gift from the mysterious visitor, moved out of sight as the blooms became dessicated. Dorcas could still smell the rich scent of the chocolate. Hokey was very close to where Dorcas stood. The chocolate pot was practically under Dorcas's nose. And another scent, something woodsy. Perhaps the bannister and railings had recently been polished.

The tray seemed to bob up the stairs on its own. The little elf was almost entirely hidden underneath it. Dorcas waited until Hokey was about five steps ahead of her on the stairs before pursuing at a slow pace.

At the top of the stairs, Hokey turned right. They were in a large sitting room that was filled with boxes and display cases and glass-fronted cabinets; all filled with glittering treasures. To Dorcas, this place reminded her of a museum that had gotten carried away with its collections. Or, Dorcas thought to herself, very much like the vast room that she and Tom often hid away in at school. Entering behind Hokey, Dorcas could make out dazzling and rare collectibles. The main difference between this place and the mysterious room on the seventh floor of Hogwarts was this: the items in that hidden cavernous space had a decidedly abandoned and neglected air. These pieces were all meticulously maintained. Dorcas could not make out a scrap of dust or one tendril of a cobweb anywhere.

An ample confection of a woman sat in a low chair, her pink robes flowing around her so as to obscure the chair's appearance almost entirely. Her garish made up face was framed by a fuschia turban.

Dorcas could tell that the woman was once very beautiful, but also got an instantaneous impression that she was also very vain. Dorcas guessed that it would not take much in the way of compliments and flattery to get what one wanted from her. Dorcas looked about the room. There was no shortage of unique and sought after items on display here. The room's contents practically screamed motive for murder.

On a gilded golden table at Hepzibah's elbow sat a cut crystal vase (Waterford, maybe?) with a fresher bunch of flowers in them. A riotous pink bouquet of roses. Dorcas guessed that Hepzibah's visitor had given these to her on his last visit. She remembered Hokey saying that visit was two days ago. There was not a hint of wilt or decay in these flowers, a contrast to the lilies downstairs.

Here, Dorcas noted that the light was dim. A few gas lamps and an immense glass chandelier above gave off a soft, flickering glow. Dorcas guessed it was Ms. Smith's way of showing off her trinkets to greatest effect. A lot of highly polished gold and silver shimmered from all around them. The air was thinner and cooler here than in the steamy, smoky kitchen.

Dorcas could still smell the chocolate, a very sickening powdery perfume coming from Hepzibah Smith, and the piney scent identical to that in the stairway below. Dorcas looked around the room again. A lot of wooden cabinets and display tables to be polished. Every smell, every sound, every shadow and source of light seemed accounted for.

Hokey held the tray over her head, level with Hepzibah's right elbow. The elf was a perfect imitation of the spindly table holding the roses. Neither of them moved a centimeter.

Before Hepzibah could reach for the pot of chocolate, Dorcas noticed it.

In her first five visits to this memory, she'd carefully inventoried the sights, smells, sounds, and movements around her. She hadn't noticed this before.

The sugar dish was slightly out of alignment now.

Dorcas had watched Hokey place the items so precisely, so carefully. The cup and saucer, the chocolate pot, the sugar bowl made a perfect right triangle on the cloth napkin. Now, with the sugar bowl pulled out of the pattern slightly, the triangle was obtuse.

Just as she'd explained to Gideon yesterday at the pub, she was as sure as he had been about Hokey's memory being tampered with. The statement regarding the flowers was confirmation of this.

Now Dorcas was convinced beyond a doubt. If Hokey had been a healthy human adult patient of hers, she would not hesitate to use the elixir on her and uncover the truth. But Hokey was old and frail, she was sick and probably very close to death. The potion and the process used to peel back a memory that had been superimposed over another one sapped a lot of energy and strength from the patient. It was clear in visiting Hokey yesterday that the poor elf had neither of these in large measure.

Unsure what to do with the knowledge that she'd uncovered, she did not wait for the rest of the memory to play out. Instead, she looked up and returned to the surface of the Pensieve and back to her office.

:::

4 February, 1940 Library, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Dorcas was no longer avoiding her prized study corner in the library. She'd decided that Tom could dodge her if he'd prefer not to talk about what happened in Hogsmeade more than a week ago now, but she would no longer stew in it.

She had spent the balance of her weekend reading and rereading the book Cal had found in the little bookshop on the high street. Cal had turned up for an hour to help her follow up on some leads, like the name of the Head Healer she'd made note of. Nothing on that front, he'd left the hospital for a promotion at St. Mungo's (Head of the Spell Damages ward).

Cal had limited time to devote to assisting Dorcas, even though his interest seemed boundless. With the upcoming match against Hufflepuff, the Gryffindor team was monopolizing free time and the practice pitch, sleet and snow be damned.

Dorcas had laughed off Cal's invitation to watch this afternoon's practice. There was no chance she would sit in the freezing wind to watch the Gryffindor captain, Stafford Carson, yell at his teammates for two hours.

She closed the book and laid it on the tabletop in front of her, about to push her chair back and head to the periodicals to see if she could find anything on the 1926 fire at Wingate.

Dorcas was startled when something wooly and dark blue fell onto the tabletop and covered her book.

Her scarf. The one she'd lost in Hogsmeade was deposited in front of her. Dorcas spun in her chair to see who'd found it.

"You dropped it in the bookshop," Tom said in answer to her unspoken question. He took the seat next to her casually, as if he hadn't just spent a week hiding from her.

"So you're talking to me again?" Dorcas picked up the scarf and tucked it into her bag.

Tom's brow furrowed. "I wasn't ignoring you."

"Right," Dorcas responded, unconvinced. She pushed away from the table and walked the three shelves behind them to where the large sheets of newsprint were pasted into tall bound books marked with the publication's title and dates.

Dorcas returned with three volumes of the Daily Prophet all dating from the Fall of 1926. The books were large and cumbersome. Tom darted out of his seat to take them from her.

"What are you researching now?" he asked with interest. Laying the books out between Dorcas and himself, he scanned the first few pages of the one on top.

She slid the thin book about Wingate over to him wordlessly as she arranged the newsprint volumes in chronological order. She silently scanned through page after page. She could hear Tom turning pages beside her, reading about the horrible hospital that had become a bit of an obsession for her.

"This is properly creepy, isn't it?" he commented, finally.

"Yeah," Dorcas conceded.

Tom closed the book with an audible snap. "Birdie," he said. There was a faint imploring note to his voice.

Dorcas sensed that he was trying to put things right between them. But, stubbornly, she didn't want to make it easy for him to do so.

"Birdie, look at me," he commanded.

Dorcas closed her large periodical with a much louder bang and leveled her best attempt at an indifferent stare in his direction.

Tom looked around, clearly unsettled by the sound that Dorcas's book had made. He didn't want to draw attention to them. When he was satisfied that there were no eyes looking in their direction, he continued.

"I'm sorry," Tom apologized, his voice low.

Dorcas blinked, but didn't respond.

Tom paused, waiting for a word from Dorcas. When he realized that she was not going to speak, he carried on in a voice that was almost a whisper.

"I apologize for getting carried away. Had I known that you were with someone, I-"

Dorcas cut him off. He wasn't making any sense to her.

"With someone?" Her brow creased in confusion.

"I realize now that you are with Caleb Meadowes," he rushed to explain. "But I didn't know that when I-"

Dorcas interrupted again. "What are you talking about?"

"I've seen you two together, holding hands, sneaking around, spending time together. I didn't know it when I kissed you, though."

Dorcas blushed. She did not realize that was what she and Cal looked like to a casual observer.

"We're not together," Dorcas said with certainty. "We're friends."

"You two don't act like friends," Tom argued.

Was he jealous? She couldn't tell. She was woefully inexperienced in the way the male mind functioned. Dorcas was aghast at this version of Tom that was sitting in front of her. Where was his confidence, his self-assured bearing? It was unnerving to her.

Dorcas took a steadying breath. She tried to organize an explanation in her mind, still not sure why he'd been so irked by her that he'd ignored her for a week.

"Tom," she explained carefully. "We hold hands, we sneak around, we spend time together." She turned his own words back on him to show him how silly they sounded. "Does that make us a couple?"

Only just then, she was reminded of Cherry's inquiry into her and Tom's relationship status. She could see now what Cherry was talking about.

Tom didn't answer.

"Does it bother you that I spend time with Cal?"

She could see a muscle working in his jaw, like he was grinding his teeth.

Dorcas sat back in her chair and stared at her friend. She was bewildered by him.

Neither one spoke for a moment. The last question hung in the air unanswered.

"Can we just go back to being friends again?" Tom asked. His tone was beseeching. "I've missed you."

Dorcas couldn't help but smile. The strange tension between them broken, she nodded in agreement of the truce.

"I've missed you too, Tom."

"Meet me tonight. Barnabas the Barmy." Tom said this quickly and retreated from the library without waiting for a response from Dorcas.

:::

2 November, 1957 Watermead, Aylesbury

Dorcas was in the kitchen pouring a cup of coffee and musing over Hokey's memory.

"Coffee, Theresa?" Dorcas called into the sitting room.

"Yes, please," came the response.

Dorcas took another cup and saucer from the drainboard and filled it. She put the same amount of milk and sugar in as her own. If she asked Theresa how she took it, Theresa would just respond with a shrug and say, "Oh, however you make it."

They'd done this song and dance enough that Dorcas didn't ask anymore.

Today was one of those blissfully rare days when her schedule was clear and she got to be at home with Wren. Even rarer still, were the days when Cal's schedule was open as well. She contemplated an outing later, maybe to the park. Just the three of them. It was still mild outside for November.

She sat on the couch and handed Theresa her coffee.

"Thanks," Theresa said.

She was ensconced on the sitting room rug with Billy and Wren, building an elaborate castle out of blocks. The two children were monsters waiting in the wings for the signal from Theresa. Then they would rampage around with gnashing teeth and fists of destruction. The castle's inhabitants were in mortal danger.

Theresa and Billy had become a welcome fixture of the Meadowes home now.

Unwilling to return to her own home after Steven's deception was uncovered, Theresa and Billy had taken up residence in Ryann's room permanently.

This was just as well. With Ryann at Hogwarts now, she would occupy that bedroom for less than three months out of the year.

Dorcas had come to depend on Theresa as her schedule was busier than ever after news of the custody hearing had caught on, she and Cal had become minor celebrities because of their memory elixir.

Capitalizing on the opportunity, St. Mungo's was planning a promotional piece in the papers soon for the Blood Replenishing Potion, despite their protests. St. Mungo's was always looking for an angle that donors could get enthusiastic about. Unfortunately, for Dorcas and Cal, their successes were highly marketable.

Theresa had become the unofficial nanny of the busy household.

"How is it going with the house-elf's memories?" Theresa asked, sipping her coffee with one hand, finishing off a turret with the other.

"I think I'm convinced that her memory has been altered," Dorcas responded, pausing with her cup to her lips to blow the steam away. "But what do I do with it?" She shrugged dejectedly.

Theresa placed the final piece of crenelation and unleashed the monsters. Placing her free hand over her face to shield her from any errant building blocks.

"I can't believe someone would lock up a house-elf. Even if it was for murder," Theresa said with a sympathetic shake of her head.

A knock on the door nearly upset Dorcas's coffee in her hands.

Theresa stood up before Dorcas could even set her cup aside. "I'll get it!"

Dorcas recognized the voice right away as Theresa greeted the visitor.

"Gideon." Dorcas welcomed him as Theresa took his coat. "Has something happened with Hokey."

Gideon's expression was one of anxiety mingled with hopeful excitement.

"Yes," he answered, removing his hat. He handed it to Theresa with a warm smile.

"Come in," Dorcas waved to the building-block-strewn sitting room. She would probably never be able to pull off the poise and spotlessness of a proper housewife. So she'd given up the pretense long ago.

When Theresa had ushered Billy and Wren from the room and returned with coffee for Gideon, he recounted the message that he'd just received.

"The head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures has granted us a hearing." He spoke hurriedly. "It's at four o'clock this afternoon. I explained to him that Hokey was evaluated by a specialist yesterday and that the recommendation was for compassionate release."

He paused and took a sip of his coffee.

Dorcas would have commented on the liberties Gideon had taken with the facts of yesterday's meeting, but kept silent. This case had become important to her, as it was to Gideon.

"He wants to speak to the specialist himself. He said he's inclined to grant the request if you can satisfy some questions for him, Dorcas."

She was on the edge of her seat. She checked her watch. The meeting was in forty-five minutes.

"I'll tell him whatever I can to get the poor creature out of there," Dorcas said. "Why is he so ready to change his mind?"

Gideon's face fell a bit. "He says the house-elf's health is failing. If he can be reassured that she is not a threat, he will release her to her family."

"Do you think they'll allow a Healer to see her?" Dorcas thought about the livid gash on Hokey's head and the worrying rattle in her chest. Dorcas's skills lay in treating the mind, but she also happened to know the most talented healer this side of the Atlantic when it came to the ailments of the body.

"Maybe," Gideon shrugged. "Let's be prepared for both outcomes. Bring anything you think will help Hokey. If they release her, you can treat her at her home. If they do not," Gideon shook his head. "Then, I'll fight like hell to make them admit you with your wand."

Dorcas nodded her agreement to the plan.

Gideon set his coffee down, barely touched. He looked at his watch.

"I need to see the Smiths. They'll want to know about all of this."

Dorcas stood. "Go. I'll get packed up and meet you at the Ministry. Theresa will see you out."

Dorcas left Gideon and Theresa at the entryway and took the stairs down to the basement laboratory with her gray handbag that complimented yesterday's outfit over one arm.

"I need your help with something, Cal," Dorcas called as she descended.

Cal was listening to Miles Davis on the Hi-Fi, sitting at his desk in the corner, pouring over his own handwritten notes. She found the sight of Cal hard at work incredibly attractive. She wasn't sure how they ever got anything done down here. Dorcas savored the picture for a moment.

"Cal," she called again, breaking the spell.

He looked up and pointed his wand at the record player. The music dimmed.

"Did you say something?" he asked, setting aside his work.

Dorcas crossed the space so that she could talk at a normal volume.

"I need your help with something," Dorcas repeated, moving to the cabinet opposite his desk and began pulling potions out. She placed anything she thought might be helpful in her bag.

"Anything, my love," Cal said simply. He noticed the bottles that she was packing up and came to stand beside her. "What's the matter, Clerey?"

"The house-elf I told you about last night?"

Cal nodded, remembering Dorcas's recounting of her trip to the Ministry.

"Gideon and I may be able to get her released. But she's in bad shape," Dorcas said. She paused to mutter a cushioning charm into her bag. "Will you come with us?"

"Of course I will," Cal said without hesitation. He grabbed two potions that Dorcas had missed. "Take this and this one too," he said, handing them to her.

Dorcas packed them away and climbed the stairs again. Cal, unbuttoning his lab coat and replacing it with the jacket on the hook by the door, followed his wife out.

:::

4-5, February, 1940 Seventh Floor Corridor Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Dorcas crept along the corridor, hugging the stone wall. She felt utterly conspicuous and alone. Every sound heightened her conviction that she would be found out of bounds by a teacher and punished. She realized that she only rarely thought about getting caught or lost in the maze-like halls of the school because she was usually with Tom. Usually distracted by Tom; her mind on a new place he was taking her to, or asking questions about various topics.

"Birdie," she heard his voice before she saw him in the dim light that a far away window provided.

She instantly felt relief. She'd found the right place in the dark on her own. She was getting better at navigating the school in blackness unaccompanied. It was empowering.

Tom was pushing the heavy wooden door aside and waving her into the secret room.

The space was just as cavernous, just as cluttered as when she'd last seen it two months ago.

"I'm surprised you came," Tom admitted, pleased.

They walked through the pathways of abandoned belongings and broken furniture, Tom leading and Dorcas following because there was only enough space to walk single file.

Dorcas didn't understand why Tom was surprised. Hadn't they patched things up in the library earlier today? She voiced this to Tom.

"It's Monday night," Tom shrugged with his hands in his pockets. "You usually have a rule against that, don't you?"

Dorcas could have slapped her forehead. She would have to get back to bed in a couple of hours if she didn't want to be completely knackered for classes tomorrow. She vowed to stay only long enough for Tom to show her what he wanted or to say whatever it was that he had to say.

"Birdie," Tom read her silence easily. "You worry too much."

She stared at his back as they walked. Tonight he was wearing his black school trousers and uniform dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Dorcas didn't know how he could do it. How could he walk around in the drafty castle in the dead of winter looking like he was on a summer stroll in the park?

She had changed from her uniform (that should have been her first clue that she was breaking her rule about being out of bed on a school night), instead, opting for her usual warm wool skirt, wool knee socks, and jumper. She had begun to think of it as her prowling around uniform.

They came to a halt beside a little den. An assortment of furniture had been piled together to create a cave, a tangle of quilts and pillows spread over the floor inside. There was an upturned crate, a candle on a tarnished brass stand, and a collection of books.

"Sometimes, I just come here and read if you're not with me, or if I don't feel like wandering on my own." He looked at Dorcas as she surveyed the structure. She realized that he was waiting for her opinion.

She smiled and crawled inside. It felt very homey.

"This is excellent, Tom!" she said, sitting on a large cushion and tucking her feet under her.

It reminded her of the types of enclosures that Dorcas and her Uncle Morty used to build for his animals that he collected in the tiny garden behind their building. They would use all manner of rubbish they could find in the alley, old pallets, dustbin lids, cardboard. Only, this space had the added benefit of no mice or frogs.

"What did I tell you about raising your expectations?" Tom asked her as he climbed in behind her.

She laughed and laid back on the squashy pile of torn blankets and faded quilts. "I really think it's excellent."

Dorcas popped up onto one elbow and looked at the little pile of books next to the candle. Just then, Tom took the candle and lit its wick. She could see the titles better by the small flickering light.

One title caught her attention before all others. "Hey!" she admonished. "You dirty thief!" She held up the copy of 'A Thousand and One Nights'. "You stole this from that house!"

Tom shrugged and laid back on a pile of cushions. "I wasn't finished with it," he countered, folding his arms behind his head for support, unperturbed by her name calling.

Dorcas flipped through the pages of the familiar book as she lay on her side.

"Tom?" Dorcas asked.

He laughed.

They were both reminded of the conversation that they'd had laying in the Great Hall, staring up at the enchanted ceiling, when Tom had pointed out to her that she always said his name with a certain tone before she was about to ask him something that had been on her mind.

She laughed too.

"Ask your question," he finally said. "I'll answer it."

Dorcas laid back again. She felt that she couldn't be direct when she was looking at him, even if it was by the dim flame of a candle. She focused her gaze on the cobbled-together-furniture ceiling instead.

"The kiss from last week," Dorcas began.

"Okay," Tom said with a sigh. "We're going there."

"Well, if you'd rather not talk about it," Dorcas said, her courage waning. "I just think we should discuss what happened instead of sweeping it under the rug."

"You're right," Tom said after a long pause. "If we're friends, we should be able to talk about anything. I don't want you to feel guarded around me."

Dorcas turned her head in his direction and looked at him. She felt so similarly about their relationship. The truest friends could say anything to one another without fear or evasion.

"I don't want you to feel guarded around me," she echoed.

He extended a hand to her and she took it gratefully. The rift hadn't been completely repaired, but there was progress in that direction.

"So," Tom continued. "What do you want to ask me?"

"Why did you kiss me? What made you do it?"

"It's not like I planned to do it, Birdie," Tom replied. "It was spontaneous. I felt incredibly drawn to you, close to you at that particular moment."

"That's what I thought," Dorcas said.

She felt the tense muscles of his arm relax as if relieved that he's given the correct answer to an exam question. She squeezed his fingers.

"I'm not done," Dorcas continued.

"Heavens," Tom sighed dramatically. "Opening up is exhausting."

Dorcas wanted to lay it all out so that she could understand what was between them. She refused to be put off by Tom any longer.

"That explains the first kiss. But what about the one after?"

"I don't see them as being separate from one another. I saw the second as a continuation of the first one, the first impulse. I've never been as close to anyone as I was to you that night. Never looked into someone else's eyes and felt as recognized by that person as I was by you. And then, you touched me. For a moment, I lost control of the situation, of myself." He shook his head against the cushions. "That probably doesn't make sense to you."

"I understand. I just thought that I'd done something to put you off. You jumped up so quickly and then you didn't talk to me all the way back to school. I thought I did something wrong."

He was smiling up at the ceiling of the little cave. Dorcas could make out his profile in the candlelight.

"No, Birdie. You did everything right," Tom said finally. He sat up quickly and leveled a very earnest gaze at her. "But I want you to know that I won't take liberties like that again. It's important that you know that."

"I trust you, Tom," Dorcas said. She meant this. She felt at ease with him. She knew that he would keep her secrets. She knew she was safe with him. She hoped he felt the same way.

A weight had been lifted from around her neck. She knew that she'd almost shied away from even mentioning the kiss. But she was glad she did. A moment's embarrassment and vulnerability had gained her a better understanding of her friend and what his thoughts and feelings were. And also, what her own misgivings had been.

She shivered as a draft circulated into the tiny space. She adjusted her skirt around her knees.

"Here, Birdie," Tom took one of the many blankets lining the floor of the cave and arranged it over her.

"Can I request something from you now?" He asked after tucking the blanket around her.

She owed him answers too, she supposed. She nodded and brushed some hair out of her face.

"Will you practice with me again? Practice seeing thoughts?"

Dorcas considered how they went about this the last time they'd tried it. Their actions had led down a path in which they did not speak to each other for a week. Dorcas wanted to protest, but she also knew that fair was fair. Tom had opened up to her when she'd asked him to. She needed to do the same.

"Tom, I'll do my best. But I'm clearly no good at helping you with this."

He shook his head, disagreeing with her. "You're wrong. We haven't been at it for that long. I wasn't born with your gift. It's going to take me a lot more time. It won't be easy. I'm willing to put in the work."

Dorcas considered this. He was probably right. She did believe that most things could be learned with enough application and practice. Why should this be any different?

"Why do you want to do this so badly, Tom?" Dorcas said. "I don't think of it as a blessing. I see it as a curse."

"It's not a curse, Birdie," Tom said adamantly. "I'm going to learn it too!"

"Why, Tom? You're plenty smart. Probably the smartest boy in school."

Tom pulled his knees to his chest as he sat and looked at her laying under the blanket just inches from him. Dorcas noticed that this was a rather guarded posture to take. He was uncomfortable sharing his motives with her.

He folded his arms over his knees and rested his chin on them.

"I've been in the orphanage as long as I can remember. The kids in there, we don't have any future ahead of us. All doors are closed to us. Absolutely no one is handing out opportunities in that place. Then Dumbledore came when I was eleven and one door swung wide open for me. I promised myself then that I was going to seize every opportunity that I could at this school. I am aware how incredibly lucky I am to get to come here. The only one in that horrible place who gets a shot at a better life. I'm not going to squander it. I want to know everything."

Dorcas was struck with the force of his conviction. She wanted to help him. She was more determined now that she understood his drive to know more.

A memory came to her. "The image I saw of the burning wardrobe. And Professor Dumbledore?"

"Yes, that's the one. He was trying to make a point."

Dorcas wondered what that point was. The professor was indeed an eccentric man. But she didn't ask.

"Okay," Dorcas sat up. "I don't have to stare at someone in order to hear what they're thinking. So, I'll go out there a little way and try to pick something out of your mind."

She was reinvigorated by Tom's life mission statement. He became energized too.

"No," he said, pushing her back as she tried to stand. "I'll go out there. It's warmer in here and you're cold."

He strode out of the furniture cave, but ducked back in moments later. "Don't pick up on obvious things. Try to get something obscure."

"I'll try," Dorcas said, sitting up and rearranging the blanket over her legs that had shifted when Tom departed.

"Are you doing it, Birdie?" she heard him say. She knew it was in her mind and not spoken out loud.

Dorcas concentrated on an image of her friend in her mind. She imagined being able to flip through thoughts the way that one could flip through the pages of a book. A reference book that contained a multitude of images and names and phrases and sounds. She saw the memory of Dumbledore and Tom and the wardrobe, but continued flipping.

Her mind's eye alighted on another image. A landscape: angry, swirling water and a craggy, stark cliff face off in the distance, a dark cave's mouth. She was now seeing it up close through Tom's eyes, she was entering into its cavernous darkness. She flipped the page again. Tom was wandering through Piccadilly, the lights and the noise and the people closed in on her. She heard a woman's voice. Saw the faces of children she didn't recognize. One child, she did find a name for. A small red headed girl with freckles. Amy Benson. She could keep going like this indefinitely. She was absolutely confident in that fact.

She felt frustrated. She didn't need to get better at this. She didn't want to be better at it. But how was she going to be able to pass this ability on to Tom? How would she be able to guide him correctly?

'Did you do it, Birdie?" Tom asked, peeking back under the furniture cave's opening.

"Yes," Dorcas said. She waited for him to take a seat next to her and he listened intently.

"I pictured you," Dorcas began slowly, striving to recount every detail exactly for him.

Tom nodded eagerly. He leaned forward in anticipation.

"I saw your mind as a sort of large reference book with thousands of pages, perhaps millions. I pictured flipping through image after image. Some were scenes, other pages were just sounds, or phrases, or names. I could sense every one of them clearly. I didn't rest on anything long."

As she said the last part, she looked directly at him. She wanted him to know that she would also not take liberties with her ability to peruse his mind.

"Okay," Tom said with a succinct nod. "I'm not going to try to look into your mind from a distance. I don't think I could do that just yet." He raked his hand through his hair. "But someday."

He said the last part so hopefully that Dorcas began to want that for him as much as he wanted it for himself.

"Close your eyes," Tom said.

Dorcas settled against her cushions and blankets and did as Tom asked. It was so quiet in the vast space of the secret room, she could only hear her own breath mingling with the sound of Tom's. She could have fallen asleep right there.

Maybe she had fallen asleep for a moment or two.

"Damn," Tom swore.

Dorcas's eyes fluttered open with the sound of his voice and she sat up as he collapsed back on his cushions in futility.

"Nothing?" Dorcas already knew the answer. She felt crestfallen and so inadequate as a teacher. But she knew she would continue to help Tom as often as he wanted.

"Maybe next time," she said, more cheerfully than she felt. "You're going to get the hang of it."

Tom did not respond. Instead, he played with the frayed corner of a pillow.

Dorcas yawned, reminding herself that she needed to get back to her bed. "Time for me to go. It's late and I'll be no good in class tomorrow." She crouched and ducked out of the cave.

She instantly felt chilled in the vast space outside of the warm little den.

"Wait, Birdie," Tom said in a dejected tone. "I'll walk you back."

He blew out the flame of the little candle and was momentarily shrouded in dark before Dorcas pulled out her wand and lit their path.

At the door of the secret room, Dorcas turned to Tom wanting to say something to him, wanting him to know that she would keep helping him.

"You'll get the hang of it," Dorcas encouraged. "I have faith in you."

Tom smiled at her and took her hand. He pulled her out into the corridor and toward the stairs.

After a few moments, she could feel his mood changing. He began to whistle.

'Beer Barrel Polka'. The Andrews Sisters. Tom had once said it was his favorite of the songs Dorcas hummed when they studied in the library.

Dorcas hummed along. They made a passable rendition considering they were only two voices, instead of a trio.

:::

2 November, 1957 Ministry of Magic Atrium, London

Dorcas and Cal crossed the Ministry atrium, Dorcas's bag full of healing potions, Cal's hand in hers. She was going over any and all arguments in her mind that she could use to convince the head of the DRCMC to release Hokey.

Gideon was waiting by the lifts where Dorcas met him yesterday. He had a man with him. They wore twin expressions of anxiety and hopefulness. But that's where the resemblance stopped. Where Gideon was tall and broad shouldered, the other man was shorter and slight of build. Dorcas thought he'd make a good Seeker with that frame. His hair was blond where Gideon's was shot through with copper. He also appeared slightly younger.

This must be Hepzibah Smith's relation. But the resemblance between him and the memory of Ms. Smith offered more contrast even than that between him and Gideon.

The pair walked toward Cal and Dorcas as they approached.

Gideon held out a hand. "Dr. Meadowes, thank you for making the time on short notice."

"Of course!" Dorcas responded, releasing her husband's hand to take Gideon's. "This is my husband, Cal. He's a Healer and far better qualified to treat Hokey's illness than I am."

Gideon's eyes shifted to Cal, more hopeful still. "Healer Meadowes. I am grateful you could come." He shook Cal's hand.

"This is Thaddeus Smith," Gideon introduced. "Hepzibah Smith's nephew and heir. He's hired me to get Hokey released."

Introductions made and handshakes exchanged, the party took the nearest lift to the fourth floor.

Dorcas felt the apprehension mounting as the grate of the lift opened and she was once more in that stark hallway that was the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

Instead of traversing the entire length of the corridor, they stopped at the second door they came to. This was the door marked BEING DIVISION.

Gideon ushered them all into the small antechamber. There were benches arranged against the walls and a reception desk in front of a corridor of offices with the same institutional doors as the one they had just entered. Dorcas surveyed the space and thought that it might serve as a Hollywood set for a police department in a Muggle detective film. This thought distracted her and made her smile. In a way, they were all playing parts in a detective film, were they not?

Gideon crossed the small waiting room to the witch behind the reception desk. She struck Dorcas as having features rather similar to the Hogwarts Librarian, Miss Poole. Although Dorcas supposed, Miss Poole would be considerably older than the witch that Gideon spoke to now.

"Come with me," the woman said in a bland tone.

Gideon motioned to Dorcas, who stepped forward.

She and Gideon followed the receptionist behind her desk and down the hallway, leaving Cal and Thaddeus in conversation in the waiting area.

They did not stop until they'd reached the very end of the row of doors.

The receptionist paused to rap lightly on the frosted pane of glass that was labeled ROMAN FLINT HEAD OF THE DEPARTMENT FOR THE REGULATION AND CONTROL OF MAGICAL CREATURES.

Dorcas was surprised to read the name. Roman was an old schoolmate. Perhaps this could work in their favor?

Dorcas imagined that she would be meeting with some old wizard with a sallow complexion and sunken cheeks. A real villain of a character.

Roman was not that character at all.

Dorcas remembered a round faced boy with light brown hair. He was the sort of boy that you could describe as average in every way. Dorcas tried to recall his specific features and found that she did not have a precise memory of them. She couldn't even remember what year he'd been in.

The memories of a memory therapist were failing, she thought ruefully.

The man sitting behind the desk was no villain, Dorcas had confirmed. He was a bureaucrat through and through. A man in the middle of the pecking order, hoping to put more people in subordination to him and fewer people in positions above himself.

He looked up at the three, smiling as they entered the room.

"Mrs. Meadowes," he said. "Counselor Prewett. I've been expecting you." He stood to shake hands.

"It's Dr. Meadowes," Gideon was quick to correct Flint.

Dorcas was beginning to get the measure of the man. She'd met his trope more times than she'd care to recount. He was the type of fragile wizard ego who was twofold unsettled by Dorcas's achievements. Offense number one: a woman in a position of expertise. Offense number two: a position of Muggle mingled with Magical expertise. The combination was threatening to this type of man.

"Ah yes," Flint conceded, but could not bring himself to voice the correction.

"Thank you Metis, sweetheart," he said to the receptionist.

Oh Roman, Dorcas thought. Fragile wizard ego was one thing, but carrying on with your secretary? How pedestrian. Her eyes went directly to the gold band on the ring finger of his left hand. He kept sinking lower in Dorcas's estimation at every word he uttered.

"Sit," he said, gesturing to two chairs opposite him as he took his own seat again.

"So," Flint continued once Dorcas and Gideon had seated themselves.

Dorcas was on the edge of her seat.

"Counselor Prewett has told me that you believe the house-elf to be innocent. That you've investigated its memories and found them to be altered. This would mean, I assume, that Ms. Smith's real killer is still on the loose and the poor elf is wrongfully imprisoned?"

Flint steepled his fingers and leveled a challenging gaze at Dorcas.

She was not fazed by the patronizing tone or the stare. It was Roman's mistake to believe that Dorcas would be intimidated by him.

"We are not contesting the elf's guilt," Gideon answered. "She confessed, and she's old and poorly. We're just here to negotiate her release to her family."

"She is no danger," Dorcas added. "She mistakenly killed her mistress. The family will give assurances that she's not going to be employed as a servant. They just want to ensure that her final days or weeks are peaceful and happy."

"Is it your professional opinion that killers deserve happiness?" Flint asked, emphasizing the word professional.

"If the killing was accidental, as is the case here." She leveled a coolly defiant stare at Flint.

"Well," Flint said, backing down. "As you say, it probably has days or weeks at best." He signed a piece of paper and waved it at Gideon, who rushed to grab it. "Present that to the guard in Containment. He'll see to the elf's release."

Dorcas and Gideon stood. With the requisite signed release form obtained, there was no need to continue the conversation.

"Dorcas," Flint said, standing to show them out. The use of her Christian name surprised her a little. "A moment, if you wouldn't mind."

Gideon paused and looked at her. She knew that he would be ready to make an excuse as to why they both needed to leave the office together. But she was not afraid of Flint. She nodded for Gideon to continue with the task of freeing Hokey.

"Give this to Cal," she said, handing him her gray handbag full of potions and tonics.

Gideon took the papers freeing the elf and the bag and left.

Flint shut the door once more.

Dorcas perched herself on the edge of the chair. "What is it, Roman?" She asked, using his given name as well.

He sat and leaned back in his chair. This annoyed Dorcas. He knew that she didn't have the time for a leisurely stroll down memory lane. The memories that they shared between them being so scant as to make that lane comically short.

"I'm curious about the work you're doing with the elf."

Dorcas did not speak.

"It's very interesting to me that you can investigate memories and recover lost or edited ones."

"Just professional curiosity, is it?" Dorcas asked, a note of suspicion in her voice.

Roman shrugged, but remained in a posture of complete ease. "I've read the papers like everyone else."

"Then, like everyone else, you know the gist of it." She straightened her gloves impatiently.

"Will it work on the elf?" Roman pressed her.

Dorcas did not often break her rule about pushing in on the thoughts of others. But she was distinctly aware of the casual posture and tone that Flint employed. It read, professional curiosity, but the subtext was coiled anticipation.

She cast her mind outward and felt his consciousness. It took nothing to breach his walls. She saw that it was not Flint's own compassion for the house-elf that had secured her release, nor was it anything she'd said. The missive that had resulted in Hokey's imminent release was from the Minister himself. Powerful people were involved in this little case of misplaced guilt. What exactly had Dorcas stumbled upon? Unfortunately, with Hokey in such a frail state, she (and those pulling the strings) may never know the answer to that.

She wouldn't say as much to Flint. "I won't even try it."

The simple statement seemed to bring about a change in demeanor. Roman's hands dropped to the armrests of his chair and his back straightened. She couldn't tell if he was pleased or unsettled by the declaration.

"Not even to bring a real killer to justice?" The way he emphasized real communicated to Dorcas an intentional message. There was no mysterious memory-altering killer on the loose, only a doddering house-elf with bad eyesight.

"No." Dorcas began to suspect that this news pleased Flint. "She would not survive the procedure."

Flint was giving himself away. He sat forward. "No, you're probably right. Best not try it on the poor thing." He oozed the kind of care and sympathy that his words had been lacking up to this point.

"Well," Dorcas said, standing and ending the charade of pleasant conversation. "I'd better go and help my patient. Thank you for securing her release. I am grateful, as I am sure that her family is."

Roman stood as well and crossed to the door, opening it for her. He didn't speak, but Dorcas heard his thoughts all the same.

"Bleeding crusaders."

Dorcas nodded goodbye with a pleasant smile and walked out to reception. Gideon was waiting for her there.

"That was enlightening," Dorcas said cryptically. "How's Hokey?"

Gideon placed a hand on her back and guided her out of the Being Division and back to the lifts. "She's not any better, but I don't think she's any worse. Thaddeus and your husband have already taken her to the Smith's home. We're meeting them there."

:::

When Dorcas and Gideon arrived at the large Chiswick townhome that had once belonged to Hepzibah Smith, an affable blond woman ushered them up two flights of stairs and into a well appointed bedroom.

Dorcas saw the diminutive Hokey lying under a crisp white sheet. The elf's skin was almost the same color and texture as the bed linens themselves.

The blond woman crossed the room to take Thaddeus's hand as he stood out of the way by a window. His wife, perhaps, Dorcas guessed.

Cal was standing over the elf, her tiny wrist held gently between his fingers, the heavy Admonitor cuffs still present. Cal was studying his watch as he monitored the elf's pulse.

Dorcas went to stand next to Cal and Gideon to the other side of the bed. She did not interrupt, but waited for Cal to update her when he was finished.

"I've given her a sedative. She became agitated when she saw Thaddeus." Dorcas spared a brief glance behind her and saw a careworn and guilty expression on the young man's face. "The cuts and bruises have been mended. There was a weeks-old fracture in her left arm that's been repaired. As for the pneumonia, we'll have to give the potions time to do their magic."

"And what about retrieving the memory?" Gideon asked, not in an unfeeling way, but hurried nonetheless.

"Out of the question," Cal responded with finality. Dorcas knew that he would not hear of adding stress to the elf's already taxed body and mind.

"Gideon, I explained it to you yesterday. We may not ever be able to identify the man who killed Ms. Smith. Hokey wouldn't survive it."

As Gideon opened his mouth to argue with her, Dorcas added, "I didn't even bring any of my equipment."

Turning to Cal, Dorcas said, "How long do you think she has?"

"It's hard to say," Cal hedged.

Dorcas was aware of the silence in the room. Everyone was listening. As a healer, Dorcas knew the highwire act that Cal was being asked to perform. Give hope, but not too much hope as to be unrealistic.

"She's a little fighter," he said, looking at the house-elf, watching her chest rise and fall with each breath. "If she gets past the pneumonia, her chances are better."

"Couldn't they remove the Admonitors, at least?" Dorcas asked, this time addressing Gideon.

He shook his head. "A condition of her release."

"She's resting now and her pulse is normal. I've done what I can," Cal announced moments later, tucking the tiny arm he was holding under the covers.

The group was led downstairs to the cluttered sitting room by Thaddeus and his wife, who was introduced as Rhoda.

Tea had been laid out in preparation of their arrival.

As Dorcas sat down with a cup and saucer perched on her knees, she looked around the room.

Still as bursting with the rare and the valuable as she'd seen it in Hokey's memory, the room had a more disheveled appearance.

"Forgive the mess," Rhoda said with a tone of embarrassment. "There's a lot of inventory to be done."

"Yes," Thaddeus added. "My aunt was a famous collector. It's a real magpie's nest, this."

Everyone sipped their tea, eyes darting around, unable to rest on any one thing. There was so much to take in.

"Have you noticed anything missing?" Gideon asked, ever the solicitor.

Thaddeus and Rhoda exchanged looks.

"There are a couple of very dear, very unique pieces that we've yet to locate. But, I'm sure they'll turn up. My aunt had hiding places all over the house. Some of them are guarded with extremely powerful magic."

With that, the tea was finished in companionable silence. Only interrupted every once in a while when someone inquired about a curious artifact.

"Thank you all for your help in bringing Hokey back to us," Thaddeus effused, shaking Dorcas, Cal, and Gideon's hands.

"She was his very first friend," Rhoda added, smiling warmly at them.

"I'll check up on her tomorrow, if that is agreeable," Cal said, helping Dorcas into her coat.

"Yes, of course," Thaddeus responded.

Dorcas felt lighter. However long Hokey had, it would be spent in the company of those who loved her best and in the home that she'd faithfully served her entire life.

A/N: Reviews are welcome and appreciated.