Author's Note: This chapter was posted last week as Chapter 13. However, on the advice of some writer friends, I've decided to add a new Chapter 1 that provides a more bookended feel to the story. If you haven't had a chance to read the new (short) first chapter, please do so. And leave a note to tell me what you think. Thanks for sticking with it!

Chapter 14

November 22, 1957 Janus Thickey Ward for Long-Term Spell Damage, Saint Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries

Dorcas walked along the corridor outside of the Long-Term Ward for Spell Damage with a young man. She was dressed in the customary lime green robes with the St. Mungo's emblem, a crossed wand and bone on the breast pocket. Her charge was dressed in a uniform of sorts as well. A white hospital gown and a light blue bathrobe.

The Janus Thickey Ward was where most of Dorcas's healing skills were applied. Her work with Cal on the Blood-Replenishing Potion all but complete, she rarely got the chance to see her husband at the hospital. She missed the research, which was thrilling.

Her work with long-term spell damage was rewarding in its own way, but the Dai Llewellyn Ward was where all of the emergent and gruesome cases tested a wizard's mettle at every moment. She missed that, and she always relished the opportunity to partner her husband in the lab or the operating theater.

She turned her attention to Gus Hawkins, whose arm she was holding firmly, guiding slowly down the corridor. She found that when he was up and moving, he could talk more openly with her. His was a case of a backfiring Stunning Spell. His file stated that he had stunned himself so thoroughly that his lungs did not draw breath for over three minutes. His brain, having been deprived of oxygen, had not been able to throw off the spell. A properly cast Stunning Spell wears off of the victim naturally. The spell that had accidentally stunned young Mr. Hawkins was wearing off by degrees, slowly over the course of about two months.

The last part of the body being gradually released from the spell's effects was his mind.

"How are you feeling today, Mr. Hawkins?" Dorcas asked in a cheerful, but clinical tone.

"The same," he answered, shuffling along next to Dorcas.

"What do you mean when you say "the same"?" Dorcas probed gently. She had to toe a fine line around Mr. Hawkins. As the spell released parts of his mind gradually in the last two weeks, his emotions had responded by swinging wildly in the extreme.

"I mean..." He paused.

Dorcas remained a silent support beside him. She gave him the space to find his words in his own time.

"Sometimes I feel like myself again. Sometimes, I don't know who I am or what this place is. It's frightening," he continued.

"Yes, I imagine that can be very frightening," Dorcas nodded.

"How did you feel yesterday, when Elizabeth came to see you?"

Dorcas was not present yesterday when Mrs. Hawkins had visited her husband, but her colleague, Healer Crawford, made a note in the patient's file of the meeting and Mr. Hawkins's agitated state.

"Elizabeth," he said her name with reverence.

"Yes, your wife," Dorcas coaxed.

"I felt happy to see her. But I was also sad when she brought up things that I didn't remember."

"Why did that make you sad?"

They turned the corner, leaving the ward and came to the tea shop.

"I was reminded that part of my life's been erased. It's frustrating not to be a complete person. Not to have a whole mind."

They took two seats at a table in the corner.

"You explained yourself very well just then Mr. Hawkins. Do you recall how hard it was two weeks ago to form words?" She waited for him to respond.

He nodded slowly. The expression on his face turned from dejectedness to hopefulness.

"And you remembered some things that you could talk to Elizabeth about?"

He conceded this point with another nod.

A waitress came to take their order. Dorcas insisted on Gus placing his order for himself.

She pushed him past his comfort zone more every day. Knowing that every time she asked Gus to explain something he'd said, or order his own tea, a little more of his mind was tapped to carry out the task.

She turned back to Gus once the waitress left.

"You remember more about Elizabeth every time she visits."

Gus agreed.

"So why did you get upset with her when you didn't remember a story that she told?"

Again, she gave Gus the space to think about his answer and organize his words.

"What if this is as far as I can progress? What if some memories and some abilities never come back?"

"You're worried that you will plateau?" Dorcas asked as the tea arrived.

She watched Gus add sugar to his, stir it with his spoon and lift it to his mouth. A month ago all of these actions would have been beyond his ability. She reminded Gus of this.

She smiled as she watched her patient conversing and carrying out tasks that he had not been capable of when he was first admitted. She could not quiet his fear. It was entirely possible that not all of his memories or functions would return to him. But, she reasoned the progress that he had made so far was extremely encouraging. And she would help him go as far as it was possible for him to go in his recovery.

She was reminded of something Cal said a lifetime ago, when they were tucked into a little niche behind a tapestry in Hogwarts, looking into the practices of less scrupulous healers. He'd said, "Magic can be incredibly destructive."

On the other hand, Dorcas thought, the human body could be incredibly resilient.

:::

As Dorcas shed her uniform robe and pinned her hat to her hair, readying herself to leave the Wizarding hospital and enter Muggle London, she was thinking about the hard work that still lay ahead for her and Gus Hawkins.

She left her St. Mungo's office, pulling on her driving gloves. She was anxious to meet Cal in the hospital lobby and head for home. Tonight they were planning to celebrate Cal's birthday with dinner and dancing. She was looking forward to some fun with the old gang.

Dorcas stopped short of the lobby doors when she saw a tall figure pass through the entryway and out onto the London street. It was a figure that she hadn't seen since her days at Hogwarts. But why was Professor Dumbledore visiting St. Mungo's? She hoped there was nothing wrong with him.

The thought struck her as absurd. Although the man must be old, he always possessed a young and vital spirit. The idea that anything serious enough to prompt him to visit the hospital could be ailing him seemed as unlikely as the sun and the moon completing their cycles in reverse.

"Ready?" Cal's voice behind her made her forget the odd sight. He placed a hand on her back and led her through the doors to the exit.

:::

7 March, 1940 Hospital Wing, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Were it not for the steady stream of friends that came to visit Dorcas, she would have gone mad in the hospital wing.

Anneliese and Cherry diligently brought her assignments and textbooks. And, despite Madam Higgins's orders against it, she completed these in fierce succession, determined as she was not to fall behind her classmates in lessons.

Tom brought her books from the library. On two clandestine occasions, he smuggled Bing in to see her.

Cal was with her now, providing the distraction Dorcas required in the form of a letter.

This was the very same letter that Cal was about to show her before noticing her injuries and insisting she get them looked at. She was eager to return to the subject of the Wingate Investigation.

Cal wrote to the publishers of the mysterious Wingate book two weeks ago and had only just received their reply. They gave an address for the author, Harriet Finnigan.

She and Cal were triaging lists of topics to write to Ms. Finnigan about. Should they ask about the institution's location? Should they focus instead on gleaning information about the specific spells and treatments the healers had used on the children? Would it be more prudent to find out if Finnigan knew of other institutions that used the same methods that were still in operation?

"I can't think of anywhere else to look. It's like the hospital was just erased with the fire in 1926. Nothing exists in the whole library, except the two pages that we've already read in Medical Institutions of Great Britain."

Cal was brushing the feathered tip of a quill across his lips in thought as Dorcas spoke. He abandoned the list they were compiling momentarily.

"Maybe we could look in Muggle newspapers," Cal suggested.

Dorcas was about to express her doubt, but then something she'd read in the Finnigan book came back to her: the monks protected the school by cloaking it in a Muggle disguise.

"It was disguised as a parochial school for Muggles," Dorcas answered, sitting up in her hospital bed. "But the library doesn't carry Muggle periodicals."

"Let's write to the author and see what she can tell us. If we reach a dead end, then we can turn this into a Muggle investigation."

If Dorcas could have her way, she would throw back the covers and head straight for the library. She would draft that letter and dispatch it as soon as she could. But she was sitting with Cal and he was almost as vigilant about her recovery as Madam Higgins was.

"Clerey," Cal said. His tone announced that he was about to embark on another round of questions concerning the circumstances of her fall.

Dorcas looked at her hands in her lap. This was becoming a ritual of their visits that she did not relish.

"I already told you everything, Cal," Dorcas said in a flat tone. She tried to keep her voice from shaking in frustration. No one wished for the details of her memories to match up with the injuries she'd sustained more than she did. "I wish I could remember more."

"You are absolutely sure that you didn't see anyone on the steps to the Owlery?"

This question caused her to pause in her assurances that things happened exactly as she had described them. He'd never suggested that another person could have been involved before.

"I'm sure," she said finally. "Why are you asking?"

Cal leaned closer in the uncomfortable wooden chair he was sitting in. "Dorcas, your face had bruises all over it. They were like finger marks on your chin and cheek, like someone grabbed your face hard."

Cal had not seen the bruises on her upper arms. But she thought the same thing when she'd seen them. She'd even held her own fingers to the markings to see if they matched up. But she didn't remember meeting anyone at the Owlery or even after.

Dorcas knew what to say when she wanted this line of questioning to end.

"I'm tired, Cal," she said, yawning for effect.

"You don't have to tell me if someone's hurting you. But I hope you'll tell someone," Cal said, finally accepting that the conversation had reached an end. There was an edge to his voice that gave Dorcas the impression that he was cross with her.

"No one's hurting me, Cal," she said, exasperation clear in her voice. She couldn't explain why the bruises looked so suspicious. But she was more certain of her memory every time she was asked to relive it.

:::

22 November, 1957, The Savoy Hotel, London

There were two inducements that ultimately convinced Dorcas to move back to London after nearly a decade abroad. The first inducement was the desire for Ryann and Wren to attend her alma mater. The second one was sitting around the table in front of her, the closest friends she'd ever had. Most of the party seated around the finely appointed table at the Savoy Restaurant were the first friends she'd ever made when she went away to school. In fact, she fondly remembered the copper whirlwind that was Cherry Weasley; the first person who'd spoken to her on the Hogwarts Express.

Cherry couldn't seem to focus on her meal, so convinced was she that Frank Sinatra or Sophia Loren might walk through and she would miss it.

Jonas, seated next to Cherry, was enlisted as a lookout for famous Muggle actors and singers too. Dorcas thought this a bit comical. Jonas was the last person who could carry out this commission as he was a pureblood wizard with practically no Muggle experiences to speak of.

Beau and Cal, their heads bent close to one another, were engaged in Quidditch talk. Dorcas smiled, this was probably the best birthday present that she could possibly give her husband: twenty uninterrupted minutes to talk to another human being who did not have to feign interest in the Pride of Portree's winning streak.

"It must be dead helpful to have a live-in nanny," Anneliese was saying to Dorcas. They were discussing Theresa's decision to move in with Cal and Dorcas full time.

"She's not a nanny. But it is nice that she is able to watch Wren for us," Dorcas conceded.

"Any idea where that loathsome Lothario went? The one that seduced her and murdered her husband?"

"None." Dorcas sipped her champagne. "But he's definitely on the DMLE's radar. He can't go within five hundred feet of Theresa or Billy. A location charm would alert the Ministry immediately."

"You're amazing! The way you cracked that case," Anneliese beamed proudly at her friend.

:::

The plates having been cleared and a toast having been given in Cal's honor, the party moved to the ballroom where the big band was playing a Glen Miller tune.

"Holy Hippogriff," Cherry exclaimed loudly as they entered. "That's John Wayne!"

Everyone looked in the direction she was pointing.

"I'm going to touch him!" Cherry announced.

Before she could shoot off in the direction of the man she was pointing at, Jonas pulled her into an embrace and bustled her onto the dance floor.

"They're such a sweet couple," Anneliese cooed. "I hope they get married."

Before Dorcas could respond that she wished the same for her friend and her cousin, Beau pulled his wife onto the dancefloor as well. Dorcas and Cal joined them.

Cal had always been a great dancer. His bulky frame belied his aristocratic grace.

"Do you remember the first time we danced like this?" Cal said.

Dorcas did remember. It was at the club that she sometimes performed at. She'd met his brother and some of his old school friends that night. Recalling the memory now was an odd sensation, as if looking at a movie. Someone else's life, someone else's recollections.

"I wouldn't have dared to believe it if someone told me that three years later that beautiful girl would become my wife," he said, his breath tickling her neck and giving her goosebumps.

She assumed that familiarity and time bred apathy among couples. She was always surprised to realize that it was entirely the opposite with her and Cal. It was true that she was not attracted to Cal, didn't even love him when they'd married. But over the years, his constancy and faithfulness won her heart every day.

"And I wouldn't have believed that fifteen years later, I would be completely mad about you," she added, her voice low.

Her mind traveled to firsts other than dancing. She was keenly aware of how public a space the Savoy Ballroom was and how much she desired to be alone with her handsome husband.

She cleared her throat and changed the subject. "You won't believe who I saw leaving the hospital today?"

"Who?" Cal asked, rather reluctant to be distracted from his own thoughts.

Dorcas had to pull back a little to look up at Cal. "Professor Dumbledore."

She noticed that Cal was not surprised by the person she named.

"He was there to see me."

Dorcas was the one to be surprised. "To see you? Is all well with him? He's not ill, is he?"

Although Professor Dumbledore would rank rather middling on her list of favorite teachers, she was concerned all the same.

She knew that Professor Dumbledore was an important influence over Cal's formative years in school, being his head of house and something of a coach to the Gryffindor Quidditch team. If the professor was ailing, she knew Cal would take it very hard.

"He seems in perfect health to me." Cal spun Dorcas with the music and smiled lightly. It put Dorcas's fears to rest. "He came to see me for a different reason. He is interested in the house-elf."

Dorcas wasn't sure what she'd expected Cal to say, but it certainly was not this.

"With Hokey? Why?" she was baffled by this bit of news.

"He wondered if she had made enough of a recovery to try the elixir on."

Dorcas couldn't see the connection at first. Why was Professor Dumbledore concerned with Hokey? But, she realized, the Minister himself had ordered Hokey's release from the Containment Ward of the DRCMC. She'd seen this in Roman Flint's mind clearly enough. Who else could pull the Minister's strings but the ubiquitous professor? But to what end? What could Hokey offer that Professor Dumbledore was interested in?

"He wants to know who framed her?" Dorcas's voice was suddenly low and conspiratorial.

"I think so," Cal confirmed.

"What did you tell him?" There was an edge to her voice that she couldn't quite mask. It wasn't intended for Cal, but he was the unfortunate recipient.

"Am I in trouble for speaking to our old teacher?"

"No," Dorcas said, taking a deep breath and exhaling. "You're not in trouble. I wonder why he decided to speak to you about her."

Cal shrugged and swept her around the dance floor. "He's a smart man. He knew he'd get further with me than with you."

"Did he?" Dorcas asked, her eyebrows raised.

"Did he what?" Cal asked, the hand on her waist was moving lower.

She caught his arm and moved his hand back to an appropriate position.

"Get further with you?"

"No," Cal said. "I told him that he would have to convince my partner of the necessity of using the elixir on the house-elf."

Dorcas knew that Hokey's improved health would renew Gideon's requests that Dorcas retrieve the real memory of Hepzibah Smith's murder. It wasn't as if Dorcas was opposed to bringing the real killer to justice. She just didn't want to take any risks with the fragile house-elf. Now that Professor Dumbledore was adding his voice to the request, Dorcas wondered how she could possibly keep up the resistance.

"Do you think she's strong enough?" Dorcas asked.

"It's a gamble. The elixir is designed to work on human adults. Hokey weighs a fraction of what a human does. We've never tested it on her species. We don't know much about the magic they possess. What if she's got physiological magic protecting her mind?"

Dorcas thought about this as they danced. Cal's hand returned to her backside.

"The Memory Charm wouldn't have worked on her if she had magical protections around her mind," Dorcas responded, thinking out loud.

"Sounds like Dumbledore won't need to work all that hard to convince you," Cal said, kissing her ear.

"I wonder why he's so interested in Hokey. What has it got to do with him?"

Cal ceased kissing her. "Can we not talk about Dumbledore? He's a real mood-killer."

Dorcas laughed.

"Take me home, then."

Cal smiled rakishly. "I can do better than that," he replied, pulling a hotel room key from his pocket.

"Do you think the others will mind if we sneak off?" Dorcas looked around for the other two couples.

"Do you really care?" Cal's hand on Dorcas's backside gave a provocative squeeze and they left the ballroom for the lifts in the lobby.

:::

10 March, 1940 Hospital Wing, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Cherry waited outside of the infirmary's doors. She'd told Dorcas on numerous occasions that she hated hospitals and "bloody business". Dorcas was glad to be leaving the hospital wing today, and glad that she would not have to subject her friend to visiting her bedside here any longer.

In her own clothes once again, Dorcas felt completely healed and rested. Though, she remembered no more about her fateful trip to the Owlery than she had when Cal had first asked her.

"I bet you're pleased to be out of there at long last?" Cherry asked in her usually bubbly tone.

"I am," Dorcas agreed, picking up her pace once past the hospital's entrance, as if she would be dragged back if she didn't make a hasty retreat.

"So," Cherry began as they walked down the corridor. "No new memories, then?"

"None," Dorcas responded.

After ten days in the hospital wing, she hoped she'd be able to remember more.

"Did Cal tell you that Professor Dippet thought he'd done that to you?"

Dorcas stopped walking and stared at Cherry in shock.

"Why would he think that?" she asked Cherry, a note of panic in her voice. She couldn't think of a person less likely to hurt another student in the school than Cal Meadowes. And she felt extremely guilty that an association with her had gotten him into trouble.

"Madam Higgins saw some bruises on you that didn't look accidental. Cal was with you when you went to the hospital wing. I guess she suspected that he'd hurt you and then taken you there to cover it up."

"That's nonsense," Dorcas said, angry at the nurse's meddling.

She felt lightheaded with a number of emotions. Indignation on Cal's behalf, frustration with herself for casting suspicion on her friend who had done nothing more sinister than show concern for her well being, and finally hopelessness that she may never remember the entire truth of how she fell and injured herself in the Owlery.

She wished she'd never acted on the impulse to send that letter at night. A letter that obviously wasn't important enough to risk all of the damage that she'd caused. A letter so inconsequential that she couldn't even remember who she was sending it to or what it was about.

Cherry wrapped an arm around her shoulders and began walking again.

They didn't say anymore on the subject of Dorcas's accident. Dorcas allowed Cherry to chatter while they walked without hearing what she said.

"Well," Cherry finally pulled her from her own guilty musings when they reached the Ravenclaw common room entrance. "Here's where I leave you. Remember what Madam Higgins told you. Go straight to bed. No reading. No homework."

Dorcas nodded and thanked Cherry for the company before answering the bronze doorknocker's riddle and entering Ravenclaw Tower.

Few students were in the common room because it was dinner time on a Wednesday. The small group of Ravenclaws that were assembled stared at her in mild curiosity. She wondered what had been said about her in her absence.

She climbed the stairs to her dormitory, trying hard not to relive the confusion and pain she'd felt the last time she was in this place, after waking from her accident with no recollection of it.

She saw Bing on the window's ledge next to her bed eating a moth, but otherwise the room was deserted. Dorcas heaved a sigh of relief for that small mercy. She moved toward her bed and threw back the covers. But she was feeling defiant toward Madam Higgins and her orders. It was unfair for the nurse to parade her assumptions as fact and involve Cal in Dorcas's accident. What if he decided that it was more trouble to be Dorcas's friend now than it was worth?

Reflexively, she plunged her hand into the pocket of her skirt where she kept the letter that Cal had received from the publisher. Maybe his writing to them to uncover the address of the Wingate book's author was his last act of friendship. She wouldn't blame him if he started to put some distance between them.

She grabbed her school bag and left Ravenclaw Tower.

:::

10 March, 1940 Library, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

When Dorcas arrived at her study corner, Tom was already deep into homework.

"Hey, Tom," Dorcas said, taking her seat and unpacking her school books, parchment, quill, and ink.

Dorcas could tell by the expression he wore that he hadn't expected to see her here.

"You're out," he said with a smile.

"Yeah," she said, her mind was still troubled by the bit of news that Cherry had relayed.

Tom, picking up on her dark tone said, "What's wrong?" He set aside the essay he was writing and turned to her.

She looked at Tom, who was sitting next to her, patiently waiting to hear what was bothering her. She wanted to talk to someone, but she reckoned that person should be Cal. She didn't think it would be right to unburden herself to Tom. At least not with this particular issue.

"Nothing," she said, pulling the publisher's letter from her pocket and copying the address contained inside of it onto one side of a piece of parchment. Flipping it over, she composed a letter to Harriet Finnigan.

Tom did not push Dorcas to confide in him and Dorcas was grateful for their easy manner around each other.

She explained in the letter that she'd read Harriet's book and was curious about Wingate because her uncle was a patient there in 1925 or 1926. She explained only a surface amount of detail about Morty and his difficulties since leaving the hospital. She reasoned that if Ms. Finnigan was to understand why she sought information about the hospital, then she might be more inclined to dispense it. Finally, she asked Harriet if she knew anything about the particular spells used on the patients there. She had only just decided as she was writing that of all of the information that she wished to know about Wingate Institution, it was the spells she wished to learn more about than anything else.

She reread the letter, making sure that she conveyed everything that she wished to convey. When she was satisfied with it, she folded it so that the address was visible on the outside. With her wand she cast a spell that sealed the letter and then stared at it on the table top.

"Do you want me to post that for you?" Tom asked, sensing her apprehension as she eyed the letter.

Dorcas shook her head. "No. I can't be afraid of the Owlery forever. That's stupid." But she knew her tone gave her away.

"I'll go with you, then," Tom said, rolling up his essay and stuffing it into his bag.

Dorcas packed her things too and slipped the letter into her pocket next to the letter that Cal had given her from the publisher.

More solicitous of her than he normally was, Tom pulled Dorcas's chair out for her. She almost said something to him about this, wanting to explain to him that he didn't need to fear that she would suddenly fall and injure herself again. But she didn't.

His kindness didn't deserve her rebuke.

"I thought of something else I overheard Mrs. Cole saying to Jenny one night," Tom said, picking up a conversation that they'd apparently started already.

Dorcas was confused. "Mrs. Cole? Jenny?"

These were not names that were familiar to her. Tom examined her closely.

"You don't remember me telling you about the woman who runs the orphanage?"

Without meaning to, Dorcas reached a hand to the back of her head where she'd hit it.

"I'm sorry, Tom," she apologized. "I still don't remember some things from when I fell."

'Well, I'll remind you," he said, taking her arm and pulling her closer to him as they left the warm confines of the school and crossed the windy courtyard to the tower ahead.

"I sneaked into Mrs. Cole's office one night and found my file. My mother requested that I be named for my father and her father. Tom Marvolo. That's all I've got to go on."

"And your last name." Dorcas knew this was very little to investigate, but she wanted to give him hope. "It's either your father's name or your mother's."

"Yes," Tom agreed. "I also remembered Mrs. Cole, that's the lady who runs the orphanage," he filled in with a note of dislike. "Talking to one of the girls who helps out around there, Jenny. I always get blamed for things that happen at the orphanage," He continued.

Dorcas knew that children displayed signs of magic that were involuntary. It must have been very confusing and hard on Tom being conspicuous in this way around all of those Muggle children and staff.

"Mrs. Cole said to Jenny that I must have some of my mother's talent for mischief. She suspected my mum was from a traveling circus."

Whatever Dorcas had thought Tom was going to confide in her, it wasn't that. But, it was as likely a story as any concerning the mystery of Tom's parentage.

"Well, we can look up Muggle circuses," Dorcas said. This was a little more to go on than just a name. "Do wizards have circuses?"

"I've no idea," Tom said. He seemed content to let the subject drop.

Dorcas sensed some relief in Tom's demeanor as she held his arm and came to a stop at the Owlery steps. She paused at the prospect of climbing those treacherous stone steps again. The memory of falling on them still terrified her.

She felt Tom squeeze her hand as it rested on his arm.

"Give me the letter," he said.

She dug it out of her skirt pocket and handed it to him with thanks.

"Be back in a minute," Tom said, racing up the steps.

Dorcas wanted to shout a warning to him to be careful, her apprehension mounting as he disappeared around a curve in the stone wall. She tucked her hands under her arms and waited in the windy courtyard at the base of the steps.

Tom's footsteps announced his descent and she saw him moments later.

"Who was that letter to?" he asked offhand, throwing an arm around Dorcas's shoulders and returning to the less drafty corridor.

"The author of that book about the hospital."

Tom nodded but said nothing. They walked in silence back to Ravenclaw Tower.

"Meet me tonight," Tom entreated. "I know it's a school night, but I've missed you."

Dorcas felt an anxiety rise in her unexpectedly at the request. The fall had shaken her much more than she'd admitted to herself. When she thought about all of the places that she'd sneaked around with Tom and all of the times they could have been hurt, she became alarmed. She swallowed hard.

"Tom, I can't." She used the excuse that always did the trick when Cal asked her about her injuries when he'd visit her in the hospital. "I'm tired."

She felt bad now in hindsight, casting off Cal's questions. What she had taken as an overbearing need to protect her had really been a request for information to absolve himself. She wished she hadn't involved Cal in any of this mess. She should have taken herself to the hospital wing directly after her fall. It was stupid, really, not to have done.

Tom looked a little downtrodden at her refusal, but let the matter rest. He said goodbye and left her in the fourth floor corridor.

:::

23 November, 1957 Watermead, Aylesbury

Dorcas sat down at the desk in her home office with a cup of coffee and a stack of patient files. She was having a hard time concentrating on the tasks that she needed to accomplish today. Her mind kept wandering to last night and she would promptly forget what she'd been doing.

The coffee should help her to focus.

She took a sip and opened a file. She was instantly distracted by the memory of Cal tossing her onto the hotel room bed, kneeling at her feet to remove one of her shoes and then the other, kissing her ankles as he undid each strap.

She blushed and renewed her efforts at studying the patient notes before her.

The doorbell rang. She closed the file in frustration. Her time to work through patient notes and update files was so limited these days. She couldn't waste time daydreaming.

"I'll get it," Theresa said, rushing past her wiping her hands on her apron as she went.

Dorcas could tell by her tone when she greeted the visitor, that Theresa knew him.

Gideon stepped through the door and Dorcas wondered if they had an appointment that she had not remembered. Surprisingly, Albus Dumbledore stepped through the door behind him and into her home.

Her old professor saw her standing in the doorway of her office just off the entryway and smiled. The smile was so disarming that Dorcas remembered all of his interesting lessons and the curiosity he had inspired in her instantly. At the same time, she saw his pleasant demeanor as a weapon that he employed to bring down the shield of any foe as completely as Expilliarmus.

"Professor!" Theresa enthused. She clearly had more positive memories of the old teacher than Dorcas did.

"Miss Vance," Dumbledore said, addressing Theresa in a way that Dorcas had never heard Theresa called. "A pleasant surprise."

"Allen, now," Gideon corrected Dumbledore.

Dumbledore's eyes creased as his smile widened, laughing at his old habit. "My mistake. A teacher always forgets that his students leave school. I cannot help but to picture the precocious Miss Vance that was. Forgive me, Mrs. Allen."

Gideon's eyes found Dorcas behind Theresa's shoulder. "Dr. Meadowes, may we have a word?"

Dorcas remembered her conversation with Cal the previous evening about Professor Dumbledore showing up at the hospital and wondered at her own surprise now seeing him on her doorstep. She should have expected a visit from her old teacher.

"Certainly," Dorcas stepped out of the doorway of her office and gestured for the two men to enter.

If she wanted to present a professional atmosphere to the professor and her colleague, Billy and Wren crashing into Gideon's leg with a hobby horse put an end to that illusion resoundingly.

"Precious," Dumbledore said, laughing at the pair as Gideon stumbled into Dorcas's office door.

Theresa righted the children, taking one each by the hand. "I apologize, Counselor," she said to Gideon.

He gave her a warm smile and begged her not to worry. "I've battled fiercer foes," he added, ruffling Billy's light brown curls.

"Professor," Dorcas said. "Theresa's son Billy, and my youngest, Wren."

"She looks like her father," Dumbledore said, the pleasant smile never leaving his face. "While your oldest favors you, Miss Clerey."

Dorcas smiled, choosing not to correct his choice of appellation. Many people made this observation of her children. She motioned again for the professor and the solicitor to enter her office.

"What was it you wanted to speak to me about?" she asked innocently. In her mind she was gearing up to take a stand for Hokey's well being.

Billy attached himself to Gideon's leg, making his departure from the entryway impossible. Theresa's embarrassment was apparent.

"Why don't we go to the park?" Theresa suggested, prying her son from Gideon's trouser leg.

"Come to the park with us, Mr. Prewett," Billy invited enthusiastically, unwilling to let go of him.

Gideon looked to Dumbledore, who was still smiling. "A better offer has been presented to you, Counselor. You would be a fool indeed to pass it up."

"Well," Gideon said. "I guess, if you don't need me to-"

Dumbledore cut him off. "Miss Clerey and I will get on quite well without you, Counselor."

Dorcas closed the door to her office as Gideon and Theresa wrestled the two children into coats. She heard the front door shut and the commotion outside fade as the party left.

"Miss Clerey," Dumbledore began once he was seated on the patient couch.

Dorcas sat beside him. "Please, Professor. Call me Dorcas. Would you like some coffee or tea?"

"No thank you, Dorcas," Dumbledore said.

Dorcas could not get over the weird sensation of seeing her professor-well, now the headmaster-of her old school seated in her home office. It was truly a surreal experience.

"I met with your husband yesterday," he began.

Dorcas nodded. "He told me."

"Ah," Dumbledore continued. "Then you know that I am interested in a certain house-elf that you and Counselor Prewett worked to release from the Ministry's containment cages."

"We both know you had more to do with Hokey's release than either Gideon or I did," Dorcas said. She believed being direct was the best policy for this particular conversation.

Dorcas would have been curious to use her particular gift on Dumbledore's mind at this moment so that she could be truly enlightened as to his motives concerning Hokey. She knew this was futile. She had never been able to read Dumbledore's thoughts. There was a name for the particular skill he employed: Occlumency.

"You have always been insightful," Dumbledore commented. She believed he meant it as a compliment. "You see a great deal that others miss."

She wondered if this was a hint at her ability. She chose not to answer.

"Why do her memories concern you, Professor?" Dorcas asked. Her hands were folded passively in her lap, her expression equally passive but curious.

"I believe they concern us all," Dumbledore said cryptically.

"I'm afraid I'll have to insist on more specifics," she countered.

"The death of Hepzibah Smith is a troubling continuation of events that, I fear, spell great danger for the Wizarding community at large," he continued.

"How ominous," Dorcas responded blandly.

She wondered if the cataclysmic rise to fame that Dumbledore had experienced after the stunning events of 1945 had made him more insufferable than ever. Or had he always been so? Time may have rendered Dorcas's memories of her eccentric teacher more kindly to her in the intervening decade.

Dumbledore's beatific smile never left his features. But Dorcas could tell that he was deciding how to proceed after her lackluster reply. She was growing impatient. She didn't like chess, figuratively or literally.

"You, perhaps, know that Ms. Smith was a distant relation to the Hogwarts founder, Helga Hufflepuff?"

Dorcas nodded. The papers had reported the scandal of her death and made much of this familial connection. Dorcas had also been inside of the Smith home in Chiswick. It was a veritable showcase of Hufflepuff heirlooms.

"I cannot say more," Dumbledore preceded cautiously. "Only that, I know Hokey is innocent of the murder of her mistress. I suspect the real murderer, but I can only confirm that with the help of your ingenious elixir."

She made a note of the flattery he used to persuade her. But she also noticed that he needed her elixir's help. He was making it plain that he did not want nor need her to be present. She wondered at his taking the time to talk to her at all. Why not just break into her office and steal what he needed, like a burglar?

Dorcas disabused Dumbledore of the notion that the use of her elixir could be anything less than with her consent and with her presence.

"Cal and I are making a house call on Hokey the day after tomorrow. If I believe that she is well enough, I might consider attempting to retrieve the memory for you."

Dumbledore kept his passive smile plastered to his face, but Dorcas could sense both relief and apprehension from him.

"But, understand me, professor. If I feel that this will harm her in any way, I won't do it,"

"I understand you," Dumbledore responded. "Perfectly."

A/N: Reviews are welcome and appreciated.