Chapter 28
21 February, 1941 Secret Room, Seventh Floor Corridor, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Dorcas heard the deafening crunch of gravel under her feet. She felt each jagged stone as it bit into her skin with every step. She'd long abandoned the heels she had worn. They were a hindrance, a device to render her unable to flee.
Liberated of the impractical footwear, she was still trapped. It did not matter how much speed she put on. There was no way out of the maze.
When Dorcas stumbled into a clearing she noticed people milling about. But as her footsteps ceased, she was able to hear an accompanying pair, dragging, slowing, stalking.
She opened her mouth to shout. Anyone of the gathered partygoers could lift their wand and come to her defense. But when she pushed the air from her lungs to call for help, no sound was emitted.
The groups of twos and threes that milled about the garden space continued to mingle and talk, undisturbed by her entrance.
Was she invisible?
"Stupify!" came a ringing shout from behind her.
Dorcas felt the spell strike her right between her shoulder blades. Dropping to her knees, her flowing red party dress providing no cushion to break the impact, she felt the whitehot pain of a fractured kneecap.
She collapsed face first in the gravel, unable to throw her hands out to shield her face. Unable to turn over, or to identify her assailant, she lay there motionless.
Waiting.
"It doesn't feel good to be stunned point blank, does it?" asked a cold, patrician voice.
He spoke to her the way many of his friends did, as if she were inferior.
Evlyn crouched beside her and ran a finger along her forehead, pulling her mussed and falling hair out of her face which was turned toward him at an awkward angle. Behind him, the crowd had taken notice. It seemed as if they were in some curious way only activated by his presence.
He grasped her shoulder and pushed her so that she was on her back. Her right arm was pinned beneath the weight of her body, but she could not adjust it. It went numb almost immediately.
Evlyn stroked her cheek. His fingers trailed along her jaw and traced her throat. Sweeping her hair from her shoulder, he hooked one finger under the delicate, gauzy strap of her dress and tugged. It didn't take much force for the seam to give way.
His wand was still in his right hand. He pointed its tip inches from Dorcas's nose. She wanted to close her eyes, but was immobilized by the Stunning Spell.
"Imperio!" Evlyn spoke the words so softly, so reverently that it seemed like a prayer.
He stood and backed away, surveying the assembled viewers. Dorcas saw them as individual people for the first time since she'd entered the clearing. She recognized Roman Flint, a smile spreading across his face, captivated by Evlyn and the scene he was orchestrating. Tamsen Podmore stood beside him. Her expression reminded Dorcas of a predatory bird circling prey. Morgana Josephs was staring at Evlyn in a way that suggested she was hanging on every word, though he spoke none. Callum Sayre stood passively amongst the group, present, but aloof.
And then there was Gemma. The look on her face was replete with satisfied anticipation. Dorcas knew that everything she would be subjected to here in this clearing in the hedgerow maze was her cousin's doing.
Dorcas stood, but not of her own volition. It was a swift motion as if she was a marionette that was being guided by strings. She had no notion of giving commands to her own limbs. They were behaving at someone else's behest.
Evlyn smiled benignly at Dorcas and lifted one eyebrow in a silent command.
Her body obeyed. She approached him. Her hands grasped his waistband, fingers tugging the leather belt from its buckle. She was not willing her eyes to hold Evlyn's stare, but she could not look away from him.
The sound of her own blood rushing to her head nearly drowned out the nervous and excited sniggering from the observers behind her. She felt lightheaded and ill.
Evlyn's hands grabbed the skirts of Dorcas's gown and tugged them upward.
As if giving some sort of tutorial to the onlookers, Evlyn spoke over Dorcas's shoulder.
"This is what really happened at the party on Christmas Eve."
:::
Dorcas woke with a start and sat up with such violent haste that she cracked her forehead against the leg of a table that was used to buttress part of the ceiling of the little furniture cave. The impact blurred her vision for a moment.
"Birdie! Careful!" Tom's voice was raised in alarm.
She was conscious of a scream that was quickly fading as the remainder of the breath she'd been holding was released.
Tom shifted himself into a sitting position beside her.
Dorcas jumped when Tom's hand rested lightly on her back. He studied her for a long, uncomfortable moment. She refused to look at him.
"Was it the same dream? The one about Wingate?" Tom asked.
Her throat was constricted painfully. Even if it wasn't, Dorcas was not sure she could answer him truthfully. It was easier to let him think that she was still plagued with dreams of the wretched hospital where her uncle had been tortured and where she and Tom nearly lost their lives.
Could he even understand why the encounter with Gemma's drunk boyfriend tormented her sleep? She didn't know if she fully understood why it had unsettled her so much. She constantly reminded herself that nothing happened. But it was his thoughts, the intention that she'd read so clearly in his mind that frightened her. What if she'd never gotten his wand from him? What if she'd tried to stun him and missed? What if?
"You're shaking," Tom observed.
He reached for one of the blankets covering the cushion-strewn floor of the cave and wrapped her up in it.
Since the trip to Birmingham and the visit to Wingate Institution, when an air raid had almost taken Tom from her, Dorcas found that she wanted to have him near. She wanted to touch him and to reassure herself that he was still there, still with her. She'd spent nearly every night sleeping beside him in this little makeshift burrow.
But Tom's touch seemed to put her on edge now. And she knew that the one thing that had changed was her cognizance of Gemma's campaign of slander against her.
She didn't want to pull away from Tom. She loved him. She loved him to the point that she diminished herself in order to make room for her expanding regard for him. But Tom's hands on her skin felt the same as Evlyn's. She couldn't distinguish between the two.
"Talk to me, Birdie," Tom implored. "What can I do to help?"
"What time is it?" Dorcas asked.
She hadn't been willing to stay with Tom overnight since hearing the comments from Gemma and her friends. She didn't want to give her cousin any more fodder for the lies she was spreading. She could only imagine how Gemma would spin that knowledge if acquired.
Dorcas scrubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. They felt heavy from lack of sleep.
"Close to one in the morning, I think," replied Tom, his tone told Dorcas he anticipated her departure.
Dorcas wordlessly dropped the quilt from her shoulders and began to crawl to the den's entrance.
"Will you allow me to walk with you?" Tom asked.
"No," Dorcas responded. She tried to make it sound like a light reply. But her voice had a tinny and hollow ring. She knew Tom could see right through it.
"Birdie," Tom began.
But Dorcas held a hand up. "It's fine, Tom," she said, cutting his words off.
Her footsteps echoed so loudly around the secret room that it sounded cavernous and empty. Tom's thoughts accompanied her from the space. He was inventorying everything he'd said and everything he'd not said. He was baffled as to what to do to change the current, chilly climate of their relationship.
Dorcas knew that it wasn't fair to punish Tom in this fashion. She'd once challenged him to be more open with her about his feelings and now she was the one shutting him out. He hadn't reacted exactly the way she hoped he'd react when she told him that she wished he'd stood up to Gemma for her. He'd sort of brushed the issue aside, actually. But he had acknowledged that he should have said more–and would have, had he known that Gemma was slandering Dorcas to more than just him. She would have to be satisfied with the answer he'd given that if he'd been aware of her intention to spread the rumors beyond him, he would have spoken in her defense.
When she opened the door to her dormitory, she did so carefully and quietly.
She wasn't expecting June Riley to be sitting up in bed with a book propped open on her knees in the small hours of the morning. She stopped short when her eyes found her roommate's. Dorcas couldn't help but remember the raised eyebrow and the skeptical look she shot Dorcas when she'd climbed out of bed one morning in the fall still stupidly wearing Tom's Slytherin jumper.
June made no comment aloud. But Dorcas heard her thoughts. June was surprised that Dorcas had spent the last three nights in her own bed, but also wondered what she'd been up to until one o'clock in the morning.
Dorcas didn't attempt an excuse. She knew June wouldn't buy it. She changed silently into her nightgown and shooed Bing off of her pillow.
"Sweet dreams," June said, not bothering to look up from the page she was reading.
"Goodnight," Dorcas returned.
:::
22 February, 1941 Charms Classroom, Third Floor, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Dorcas had been anxious and distracted all day. It began with the unsettling dream that kept interrupting her sleep. But her anxiety had been growing in anticipation of leaving for Little Hangleton tonight. Her knee unconsciously bobbed up and down as she stared at her Charms notes and went over the plan she and Tom had decided on once more.
They would leave immediately after Dorcas's Astronomy class. This was an unfortunate set back to their plans. Astronomy met twice a month at the top of the Astronomy Tower at midnight and tonight happened to be a Second Year session. Dorcas couldn't skiv off her class because then teachers would come looking for her.
She and Tom had planned to arrive at Little Hangleton by the time Dorcas had to report to the Riddles' housekeeper on Friday afternoon, but had to improvise the moment Dorcas remembered her midnight class. Instead, they would arrive very late on Friday night and find an opportunity to Confund Mrs. Wharton into thinking Dorcas had been there since the appointed time of noon on Friday.
Tom had been evasive about his motivations for wanting to go to the home of the other Tom Riddle. Dorcas did not pry too much, as she was pleased that he'd come around to the idea of going at all. She'd been prodding him for months to investigate this lead. After all, it was the best bit of evidence they'd been able to uncover yet about Tom's origins.
Dorcas had also chosen not to disclose the other lead that she'd discovered when she'd gone to Great Hangleton on Sunday. She believed she'd unintentionally discovered the maternal line of Tom's family while she was setting up the circumstances of her investigation of his paternal line. But she was undecided as to what she should say to Tom about what she'd found out.
She was absolutely certain now that Tom's father was the Muggle son of an aristocratic landholder by the name of Tom Riddle. His name and his strong likeness to her boyfriend had made that connection firm in her mind since she'd discovered the fact back in the fall, although Tom had been less convinced about this conclusion. Traveling to Great Hangelton to interview for a position as an additional maid for Tom Riddle's parents' anniversary party had led her to the latest revelation: that Tom's mother was the unfortunate daughter of Marvolo Gaunt. When she'd returned to Hogwarts on Sunday night with Tom, she'd vacillated on whether or not she should share her discovery. Something made her hesitate and she bit her tongue. Instead, she'd gone to the school's library to confirm what she already knew to be true: Tom's mother was a woman by the name of Merope Gaunt. Dorcas had seen her in the memory of Marvolo's son, Tom's uncle, Morfin Gaunt.
As closely as Tom resembled his handsome father, Dorcas had also seen hints of Tom's temperament in his uncle's fits of fury. Even though Tom was usually very reserved around her, Dorcas recognized something of him in the flashes of madness in Morfin's eyes.
If the massive genealogy tome that Dorcas had consulted was reliable (and there was no reason to suspect it of faulty information), Tom belonged to a bloodline that could be traced all the way back to Salazar Slytherin.
She remembered the strange mirror that she'd caught Tom sitting in front of one night back in the fall. It was shortly after Dorcas had seen Tom Riddle Sr.'s face staring up at her from a Muggle newspaper. Tom thought that the knowledge of having a Muggle parent would dash his hopes of discovering some illustrious Wizarding connection. He saw himself reflected in that mirror as part of a long line of Wizarding blood that held as yet untapped magical potential.
Dorcas should have cheerfully shared all she'd discovered about Tom's maternal line with him. The longer she concealed the truth from Tom, the harder it became to justify his not knowing. But something in her held back and held onto the secret information. But it, and other things that Dorcas couldn't bring herself to share with Tom, like the dreams she was having, was driving a wedge between them.
She felt it. And she knew that Tom did too.
"Mr. Rackharrow," Professor Maynard's deep voice said, cutting off Dorcas's train of thought.
The Charms professor, clad in robes of deep blue, a flat cap perched over his high forehead, stared down at Jonas next to her.
"Something you would like to share with the class?" the professor asked, eyeing a note that Jonas was scanning.
"No, sir," Jonas said, taking his wand from the desk in front of him and lighting the note on fire. "It's just a bit of rubbish," he added.
Dorcas caught his pointed stare at Wes Rookwood, a fellow Slytherin in their year.
"Very well," Professor Maynard said. "Class dismissed."
Though Dorcas could have searched through her cousin's thoughts to see what was bothering him, she did not. She always tried to restrain her own curiosity when it came to the minds of others. She had imposed one important mantra on herself about her own unique ability: Just because she could read the thoughts of others did not mean that she should.
But, the nature of her talent for reading minds often meant that if someone in proximity to her was feeling a particularly strong feeling, or concentrating very hard on a thought, it was as if it was being shouted in her face. She couldn't tune it out.
Jonas was practically bellowing his anger over the contents of that note.
Dorcas walked beside Jonas out of the classroom and up a flight of stairs to the library. This was a small victory in itself. Last term, Jonas fought her when she'd made him spend his free period in the library with her. Now, Jonas came willingly, sometimes eagerly.
Once he'd confided in her that his most cherished dream was to become a combat pilot, Dorcas had slowly convinced him of all of the ways that magic would not only help him become better at flying, but better at protecting his wingmen and his country, Jonas had become an enthusiastic learner.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Dorcas asked.
She did not have to supply the context for her question. He was still silently fuming as they laid out their homework and textbooks in her favorite study corner.
"I'm going to curse Wes cross-eyed if he doesn't shut his stupid mouth," Jonas groused beside her as he flipped to the page in his Transfiguration text about the properties of mixed alloy magic.
"I thought he was your friend," Dorcas said, confused.
"He was until he started repeating disgusting rumors," Jonas explained.
Dorcas knew at once what the rumors were about and why they made Jonas so angry.
"Are the rumors about me?" Dorcas asked.
"Yes," Jonas said between gritted teeth. "I know Gemma started them. She's crossed the line. It's way beyond getting even with you over that spell last summer."
"It's more than that," Dorcas agreed, lowering her voice.
She debated intimating the entire timeline of events to Jonas. She really needed an ally right now. Dorcas knew that Jonas would be on her side instantly. Unlike Tom, who was sitting on the fence, in Dorcas's opinion.
"What is it?" Jonas said, sitting up and facing her for the first time, bracing himself for what she was about to tell him.
"Gemma's angry with me because she believes that I," Dorcas swallowed around a knot in her throat deciding how to word things delicately. "Got close to her boyfriend at the Christmas party."
Jonas's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
Dorcas looked away from him, wrung her hands in her lap. "He told her that we…" Dorcas couldn't bring herself to finish the explanation.
Her cousin placed one hand over hers to stop her from pulling and twisting her own fingers.
"Why would he say that?" Jonas asked, his tone was low but sharp.
Dorcas tried to meet his eyes but couldn't. The anger radiating from him was intense. She regretted sharing this with him. She schooled her own emotions to become calm and then concentrated on sending the emotion outward toward Jonas.
"I went into the maze to look for Tom," Dorcas explained.
Jonas nodded. "After he beat the hell out of Flint, rightly so."
"I didn't find him," Dorcas plunged on, ignoring Jonas's comment about Roman Flint. "But Evlyn was there. He was drunk and angry at Gemma for trying to kiss Tom. He wanted to make her jealous. So he tried to-"
"I'm going to kill him."
Tom chose this moment to sit down next to Dorcas at her table. He did not know what he was walking into.
"Kill whom?" Tom asked innocently.
"And you just stood by and bloody let it happen?" Jonas asked, turning his rage on Tom.
Tom looked between Dorcas and Jonas confused.
"Jonas, calm down," Dorcas said, grasping his hand. "Tom didn't let anything happen. Nothing happened! I stunned him and left him there in the gravel and he's just angry that I attacked him with his own wand."
Calming Jonas down helped her to put the whole incident into perspective. Nothing did happen. True, the "Dorcas is a whore" narrative was unfortunate. But it would fade over time.
Tom seemed to catch the major theme of the discussion, which was becoming altogether too loud for the library.
"Listen," Tom said, across Dorcas to Jonas. "I talked to Gemma. She's going to give it a rest, call off her pet trolls."
"You don't know my sister," Jonas said simply, packed his books and parchment without another word and left.
Dorcas sat back in her seat, defeated. She'd thought that Jonas would be a sympathetic ear and encourage her to keep her head up. She was wrong.
:::
23 February, 1941 Third Floor Charms Corridor, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Dorcas was excited to get to Little Hangleton at last. She'd stashed the maid's uniform beneath her school robes in her trunk when she'd returned to Hogwarts on Sunday. She worried that they were wrinkled but stuffed them in her school bag vowing to take extra care to press them with magic before the party tomorrow night.
Unsure of how to cover for not sleeping in her own bed tonight, she'd left it made up. Dorcas reasoned that none of her roommates had snitched on her yet for staying out all hours. One more night would make no difference.
"Do you have everything?" Tom asked, taking her bag. He opened the Vanishing Cabinet.
"Yes," Dorcas said, popping the frilly little maid's cap onto her head.
Tom laughed. "Let's go."
Dorcas was thankful for the opportunity to come to Great Hangleton on Sunday because she now knew the town's layout and in which direction she should go in order to find the Riddles' house.
They walked through the town, which was silent and insulated with fresh snowfall. Dorcas walked close to Tom, but did not reach for his hand. The mood remained friendly between them, but neither had brought up Dorcas's renewed reluctance concerning contact.
"It's a beautiful town, isn't it?" Dorcas asked.
"Idyllic," Tom replied offhandedly.
Dorcas noticed how Tom became increasingly silent as they approached the home of his father. She wanted to give him privacy in his own thoughts, but they were loud. She didn't even know if he was aware of how much he was projecting.
He wondered if Tom Riddle Sr. was like him in more ways than just appearance. He wondered if his father had loved his mother. Did he know that she was dead? Mostly, he wondered if his father knew about him. And he berated himself for any and all of these thoughts, calling them weak and sentimental.
Dorcas wanted to distract him. She cast about for something to discuss. She didn't want to talk about the Gaunts, whose shack was hidden in the darkness under a thick covering of trees coming up on the right. She thought about Jack, the boy who'd tried to defend her when Morfin Gaunt attacked. But he looked like Tom. Dorcas wouldn't mention him either. She thought of a million things to say and came up short.
She reached out and squeezed his hand instead.
He smiled and looked down at their entwined fingers.
"Thanks for doing this with me, Birdie."
"I wouldn't want to be anywhere else, Tom," Dorcas said.
She wrapped her free hand around his arm and cuddled close to him. The feelings she'd had toward him a couple of nights back seemed to have vanished. Perhaps his statement to Jonas earlier today that he'd talked to Gemma on Dorcas's behalf was what she wanted from him all along. She wanted to know that he would come to her defense in the same way she'd always come to his.
They walked on in silence. Physical silence, that is. Tom's mental monologue kept them both company for the rest of the journey.
As they overtook the last small hill leading to the Riddle house, Dorcas could see a few lights on in the lower levels of the main house. But the stables in the foreground were ablaze with light and the sounds of a violin and singing.
Dorcas and Tom trudged through the snow of an open pasture to take the shortest route to the lively scene. On approach, Dorcas saw the stable's doors flung wide, the main floor had been cleared away for a dance space. Several couples whirled energetically over the thin layer of hay on the timber boards. A cheery fire was crackling in a pit a short distance away. Some of the older members of the party sat around it smoking, drinking, and talking.
"Daisy Smith!" called a low voice as Dorcas and Tom moved from the dark pasture and into the light of the stables.
Dorcas recognized her own alias after a moment's hesitation and looked around for the speaker.
"Jack!" she said with a smile, releasing Tom's hand as the tall boy hopped from the fence rail he'd been sitting on with some other boys.
"I didn't know you'd hired on for the party," he said with a grin.
Dorcas was once again struck by both his handsome features and his friendly and open manner. He looked from her to Tom.
She knew immediately that the familiarity of countenance was not lost on either of them.
"I didn't know you'd be here either," Dorcas answered.
Jack rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously, his eyes shifting between Dorcas and Tom. "Yeah, I work in the stables here."
There was a derisive chuckle from next to Dorcas which reminded her that she hadn't introduced the two boys yet. Tom was being annoyingly smug about the comparisons he was marking in his mind. Dorcas heard him surmising that he didn't hold out much hope for Jack's ability to read or write.
She wanted to point out that none of them came from lofty origins. London's East End was not Saint James's after all.
"Jack," Dorcas said, elbowing Tom as inconspicuously as possible. "This is T–"
She stopped herself, nearly giving Tom's real name. Wouldn't that complicate things?
"Just say a name," she heard Tom's thoughts in her mind.
"This is Donald, my brother," Dorcas finished lamely.
Jack smiled a charmingly lopsided smile and laughed a little. "Pleased to meet you, Daisy's brother Donald," he said, holding out a hand to Tom.
Dorcas shoved her elbow into Tom's ribs a second time. He reluctantly took the boy's hand.
"He's shy," Dorcas said to cover Tom's rudeness.
She shot a reproachful look at Tom, who was glaring at her.
"Come on in and enjoy the music," Jack said, turning back toward the stables.
Tom and Dorcas followed. Tom shifted Dorcas's bag on his shoulder and leaned close to her.
"Donald and Daisy. Are you insane?"
"Shut up! I panicked," she said, stifling laughter.
Tom huffed. "Let me do the talking from now on."
The violinist was taking a break, but a turntable was being set up by a girl with dark brown hair that was bobbed and held back from her face by a silver barrett.
"What's your pleasure?" the girl asked, flipping through a crate of records. When she looked up, her eyes locked on Tom and she smiled a bright smile.
Jack leaned in close to the girl and spoke low. Dorcas couldn't hear what he said, but the girl laughed at some joke.
Dorcas knew Tom had no compunction against listening in on people's thoughts like she had and she turned to him with a glance. He shook his head.
The girl plucked a record from its sleeve and dropped it onto the turntable. The needle scratched momentarily while she cued up the tune. Glenn Miller, 'Pennsylvania 6-5000'.
"C'mon, handsome," the girl said alluringly to Tom. "Let's dance."
Tom dropped Dorcas's bag at her feet and removed his coat, laying it over her arm with a smile. He took the girl's hand. Dorcas tried to squash the feeling of being abandoned by him. Other stable hands, footmen, and serving girls were taking to the dance floor as well. She recognized the style of dance. Tom had taught her the lindy hop when they danced together on Valentine's Day. She fought the tide of jealousy that was washing over her as she saw her boyfriend dancing with a pretty girl and having a swell time.
"Dance with me, Daisy," Jack said. He took Tom's discarded coat and the bag and placed them on a hook next to a bunch of bridles and other tack.
Dorcas hesitated, surveying the crowd of proficient dancers. "Oh," she said, studying the couples, studying Tom and his partner. "I'm not a good dancer," she admitted.
Jack shrugged disarmingly. "Neither am I," he answered.
He slipped her coat from her shoulders and hung it up as well.
Dorcas looked down at her dress and jumper, knee socks and plain shoes and lamented her childish appearance. She hadn't put as much thought into her attire on this trip, assuming she and Tom would be sneaking into a household that was already fast asleep. She never dreamed they would show up to a party in full swing with all of the Riddles' staff present.
Jack was pulling her onto the floor before she had a chance to protest.
"You're better than you let on," Dorcas pointed out as he led her expertly through the complicated steps.
He pulled her close, the proximity had a dizzying effect on her.
"It's all about how you're partnered up," he explained, that lopsided smile again stealing her breath from her.
There were oohs and ahhs coming from the dancers around them. When Dorcas turned to see what the crowd was reacting to, she noticed they'd formed a circle around a pair of dancers who were improvising elaborate flips and tricks into the steps of the dance.
"Your brother's shy, is he?" Jack asked with a laugh.
Dorcas watched Tom lift his partner and throw her. She landed gracefully on her feet only to be flung behind Tom's back and then under his legs.
"It's all about how you're partnered up," Dorcas said under her breath.
Jack laughed and squeezed her hand.
"Verity's a good dancer," Jack added.
"Yes," Dorcas agreed. "It appears so."
She released Jack's hand and turned from the scene. There was an open door at the back of the stable leading to a corral. Dorcas suddenly felt too warm and headed for the escape. The cool air of the corral felt like a relief to her flushed cheeks. She climbed the railing to take in the snowy hills and the village beyond, spotlighted by the moon.
"This place is beautiful," Dorcas said, hearing Jack's footsteps in the snow behind her.
He climbed the railing beside her and perched.
"It can be," he allowed grudgingly.
"Don't you like it here?" Dorcas asked.
Jack hesitated for a long time. Dorcas resisted mightily against the urge to find the answers she was looking for by flipping through his thoughts.
"I like the town. I like most of the people. But there's nowhere really to go from here," he explained.
"What do you mean?"
"I don't want to take care of some rich man's horses my whole life," Jack elaborated. "I'm going to leave one day."
As if on cue, one of the rich man's horses nickered and approached from a darkened corner of the corral. It had probably heard Jack speaking. It was a dappled gray mare with a white mane that was shot through with black.
"She's a pretty girl," Dorcas said, reaching her hand out for a sniff. The velvety lips investigated her knuckles.
"Cressida," Jack said. "Troilus is the other. He's a chestnut bay. He won't come to strangers."
"Is the master a nice man?" Dorcas asked. She hoped she sounded casual, but she was impatient to hear anything about the mannerisms and temperament of Tom Riddle, Sr.
"The master and his wife are, yes."
Dorcas felt a sense of foreboding about the way that Jack qualified the statement. Thomas and Mary were nice people, but that meant that Tom was not.
"But the young master?"
There was a silence that hung between them for a long moment. Dorcas busied herself by petting Cressida and allowed Jack the space he needed to decide if he wanted to say more.
"The older staff, Mrs. Wharton and Mrs. Penny, say there was a time when he was a gentleman, polite, well mannered, respectful of others. But I've never seen that in all my years here."
"When did you start here?"
"My mother died when I was two. She died when Verity was born," Jack answered. "We came to live in the big house."
"She's your sister?"
Jack nodded.
"Why did you come to live here?" Dorcas asked, but then regretted it.
She knew why. Their father lived here. She cursed herself for her insensitivity. But she would push on because she knew she would never get another opportunity to get such a measure of Tom Riddle, Sr. as she was getting from Jack now.
"You heard that madman, Gaunt, didn't you?"
Dorcas shook her head. "He said a lot of things."
"He called me a bastard. I have no father. At least none that will claim me. So my mother's sister convinced Mistress Mary to take me and my sister in. She's the cook in the big house, Mrs. Penny."
"That was good of her, I suppose," Dorcas allowed.
"Have you seen the Riddles?" Jack asked, his gaze rested on Dorcas and it was intense. He reminded her more of Tom in that moment.
"No," responded Dorcas.
"Master Tom is my father. He's Verity's too," Jack said. He stated this in a very matter-of-fact tone. He seemed to harbor no shame in the admission. Maybe it was because that fact, written so plainly on his face, was not something he could ever reasonably deny. "There was a year or two when Master Tom disappeared. Mistress Mary was beside herself with worry over him and I think it comforted her to have something of him still. Even if the comfort came in the form of two motherless and illegitimate children. When he returned…"
Jack left the last sentence unfinished with just a shake of his head.
"You could leave," Dorcas said. She was empathetic for Jack's situation, but he wasn't trapped. There were far more opportunities out there for a man to make his own way than for a woman.
"I could," he conceded. "But I won't leave my sister here with Master Tom, he's the absolute devil. But she loves him. I don't understand it."
Jack jumped lightly from the fence railing and held his hands up to Dorcas to help her down.
"Let's go back inside. I'd rather dance than talk."
Dorcas allowed herself to be pulled from the railing and into his arms.
Verity and Tom were still commanding the crowd's attention. Dorcas worried that three visages bearing a strong resemblance to the young Master Riddle might set tongues to wagging. She wanted to go and grab Tom's hand and pull him away from Verity, but she was stopped by Jack.
He wrapped an arm around her waist and swept her onto the floor.
Glenn Miller was slowing the tempo. 'Moonlight Serenade' wafted from the speakers and the crowd around Verity and Tom began to break into couples and slowly meander away.
:::
Mrs. Wharton locked the door to the postern stairs at eleven o'clock on the dot every night. As such, the two permanent household maids, Verity and Jenny knew that a night of dancing and gaiety would mean sleeping in the stable's hayloft. They giddily made the trade off as diversions of this magnitude did not come to the village of Little Hangleton often.
The temporary staff, many of whom had already put in a long day of party preparation, were also relegated to the stables for their lodgings.
Dorcas didn't complain about the mean sleeping arrangements and neither did Tom. Dorcas knew that Tom's lack of protest was due to the fact that he never intended to sleep for long no matter where he was. Being at his father's house was the opportunity of a lifetime for him to poke around undisturbed.
Still nettled by the display that Tom and Verity had made, Dorcas lay an arm's length away from Tom.
He stubbornly moved close to her and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her to him.
She grabbed his wrist and flung his arm away from her and bid him, "Goodnight, brother dearest."
Her dream was the same. The trapped feeling, the helplessness, the terror. When she woke with a start, she reached for Tom. He was not beside her.
Picking her way carefully from the loft above the stable's main floor in the dark, she went in search of him.
"Tom," she whispered.
"I knew his name wasn't Donald," came Jack's voice from behind her.
Dorcas cursed herself for being careless. She turned to find him in a stall with the chestnut bay. She remembered that the horse's name was Troilus. Jack was adjusting a blanket on the horse's back.
Why hadn't she insisted on Tom disguising himself? The whole enterprise seemed fraught to her now.
He swung the stall's door closed when he left and came to stand before her, appraising her. He pulled straw from her hair and then removed his jacket, wrapping it around her shoulders.
"Tom, is it?" he asked. "And are you really Daisy?"
Dorcas shook her head and bit her lower lip.
"Can he do magic, like you?"
She nodded.
"What's your real name?"
"Dorcas."
"Well, Dorcas," Jack said, "Why are you really here? It's not because you want a job carrying a tray at a party."
Dorcas hesitated and pulled his coat tightly around her, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She was uncertain about how much to tell him. It really wasn't her truth to tell anyway. She knew Tom would be furious if she disclosed any details about his life to a stranger.
"No answer?" Jack asked, his voice was flinty. "I gave plenty of answers to your questions earlier. It's only fitting that I get some answers now."
She swallowed. Her tongue felt dry and over large for her mouth.
"Okay," he said, turning on his heel and taking long strides from the stable and into the lane toward the main house. "Mrs. Wharton can ask the questions, then."
"Jack, don't!" Dorcas hissed in a whisper. She ran after him and grabbed his forearm to stop him. "Not here," she said, looking at him with a frantic expression.
This seemed to stay his feet from taking him to the house and to the housekeeper. He held an arm out to the left of where they stood, indicating an open door. Dorcas walked in that direction, Jack close behind her.
She entered a modest room with a wood framed bed and a thin mattress, a chest of drawers and a small, utilitarian mirror on the wall above it. There was a stack of books just under the mirror. Jack entered and closed the door behind him. He gestured to the neatly made bed. Dorcas sat. Jack took up a position beside the door, seeming to want to keep as much space between them as possible.
His arms were crossed over his chest and he stared at her.
Dorcas took a deep breath. "What do you want to know?"
"Why are you here?"
"My friend, Tom, grew up in an orphanage in London," Dorcas started. Every word was a betrayal to Tom. "I'm here to help him find out about his parents."
"You're not his sister?" Jack asked sharply.
Dorcas shook her head.
Jack relaxed a little. Dorcas would have thought that this was due to the fact that she was finally providing answers, but his thoughts were loud. He'd relaxed because he had already made the connection between Tom and Master Riddle and wondered if Dorcas was a bastard daughter as well. He was relieved that he didn't, in fact, fancy a long-lost sister.
Dorcas ducked her head to hide the smile and the crimsoning of her cheeks.
"When was he born?" Jack asked.
"1926. December," Dorcas supplied.
"Verity was born in August," Jack said, more to himself than to Dorcas.
"You said that Master Tom ran away for a period of time, when Mrs. Riddle brought you and your sister into the house."
Jack was no longer keen to put space between them and moved to sit next to her on the bed.
"Yes, my Aunt Penny says he came back from wherever he was all wrong. He was paranoid, drinking all the time, he flew into fits of rage for no reason. He claimed he'd been bewitched–"
Jack's words trailed off and he looked at Dorcas beside him.
"Everyone thought he'd had a fall. That his mind had been addled. But you can do magic," he said, turning to her and leaning in. "What if he got mixed up with someone who could do the things that you can do?"
Dorcas nodded. "I think Tom's mum was a witch too."
"If she did something to him, then I curse her name," Jack said, the flinty tone in his voice reemerging.
"Don't say that," Dorcas urged, placing a hand on his forearm.
From what she'd seen of Tom's mother in Morfin Gaunt's memory, she was a pathetic and tormented soul. Someone to be pitied.
"And why shouldn't I?" Jack asked, shaking off her hand. "I was just a boy and Verity a baby when he took us to the river below the village early one morning and said that we were cursed. He said that the witch created us with dark magic to torment him. He tried to drown us."
Dorcas gasped.
"I'm sorry," Dorcas whispered. She thought Tom, Sr. might be a proud man, or even a cruel man. Her worst fear had been that he would simply reject Tom as a bastard son. But what Jack had revealed to her just then was so much worse than she'd feared.
She needed to make Tom leave before he had the chance to encounter his father.
:::
She and Tom found the opportunity they'd needed to place a Confundus Charm on Mrs. Wharton early on Saturday morning. She believed that Dorcas had been part of the staff that had been working tirelessly since yesterday to render the ballroom and the hall and the grand staircase in such a breathtaking array of white roses, blush colored tulips, and red anemones.
All of the flowers had been arranged, silver polished, linens pressed, and glasses shined. Dorcas had been present for only the finishing touches to the general splendor around her. She had the same bemused thought when she took in the sumptuous decorations and food arranged in the various rooms of the house that she'd had at Blackpool on Christmas. It was like the war didn't exist within these walls.
The guest list must have been extensive. Men and women in tails, and gowns, and furs, and jewels arrived over the course of two hours, filling the vast rooms with people.
Dorcas and the other four maids were in a constant relay of serving, collecting, cleaning, and refilling of glasses.
Tom had been scarce for the entirety of the day. Dorcas needed to find a moment in which she might be able to duck away from the partygoers and find him.
But he found her first.
"Birdie," she heard his voice in her mind, causing her to nearly topple the tray in her hand.
He was standing next to the cloak room in the grand entryway of the house.
Dorcas set the tray of champagne flutes down and hurried toward him.
He ducked into the cloak room, pulling her in behind him.
He ran his eyes over her uniform: black dress, white apron, silly little lacey cap.
"I don't know why, Birdie," Tom said with a laugh. "But this is working for me."
"Don't be stupid!" Dorcas said, swatting his hand away when he tried to grab her around the waist. "What have you been doing? Where have you been?"
Tom shrugged. "I've been around. Talking to folks. Getting the measure of the Riddles," he said vaguely.
"I have too," Dorcas said, grabbing his shoulders and pushing him toward the back of the cupboard so that their voices would be muffled by all of the wool and the fur.
Tom had the wrong idea about Dorcas's intentions and kissed her, cutting off the information that she was trying to convey. His hands were sliding from her back to her backside. She pulled away from him.
"Be serious, Tom. I'm trying to tell you," she rushed on. "Tom Riddle is not a good man. I was talking with Jack, he's an illegitimate son of Riddle's too."
Tom cut her off. "I've been digging around the Riddle's legal documents. I'm not illegitimate. I found the papers that the lawyers filed to annul his marriage to my mother. I know who she was too!"
Tom was excited by the knowledge that he'd gained. His eyes were wide with the enlightenment that came with his newly acquired identity.
"Tom," Dorcas pushed on, placing her hands on either side of his face to make him hear her words. "Tom, don't go looking for him. He's dangerous. I'm afraid he'll hurt you."
"He's not here," Tom said dismissively.
"What?" Dorcas asked. She was surprised to find out that the Riddles' son was not in attendance at his parent's anniversary celebration.
"He's not here. Verity said that Master Thomas always sends his son out of town when they hold events here."
"Oh, Verity said," Dorcas spat in an annoyed tone.
"Jealous?" Tom asked, amused.
"Of you and your half-sister? Gross!" came Dorcas's retort.
"I'm going to poke around daddy dear's bedroom. Keep a lookout down here. You're doing great!"
He kissed her forehead and left her among the coats.
"Tom!" she called after him. But he'd gone.
She shook her head at his single minded determination, but was grateful to know that Tom would not run into his father. A father who had no qualms against infanticide.
Straightening her rumpled appearance, Dorcas paused just outside of the cloak room in order to smooth her hair back into the knot at the nape of her neck and to tidy the little cap on her head.
The front door opened and she turned with a quick curtsy ready to take the coat of the new arrival.
"Ah, Jenny," the man slurred, wrestling with his coat.
"Sir," Dorcas said, a chill creeping up her spine. She stepped forward to help the young Master Riddle out of his coat. "We weren't expecting you."
"Indeed," Tom sneered. "I want to surprise dear old mum and dad."
Dorcas managed to pull the coat free of his arms with little help from him. He began to move in the direction of the ballroom. In his mind, Dorcas knew he was looking forward to the ready-made audience for a slanderous speech he was planning to make about his parents. She had a sudden outpouring of sympathy for Mary and Thomas Riddle. What did they and the staff have to deal with on a daily basis? This angry, drunken, impulsive bully seemed to terrorize everyone in the household. No wonder they sent him away.
She was thinking fast. She did not want to become the custodian of this stumbling, stammering, mess of a man. But she didn't want him to stagger into the mass of gathered friends and wellwishers to abuse his parents. Dorcas hadn't met Master Thomas or Mistress Mary, but she'd seen them in Jack's mind. He was fond of Mary Riddle. For that reason alone, Dorcas would try to spare her any embarrassment that she could.
"Sir," Dorcas said, taking him by the elbow, tossing his coat in a heap by the cloak room door. "You're not properly dressed to receive guests." She directed him toward the stairs.
"Ah, quite right," Tom conceded. He looked at her for the first time, his eyes lingering on her chest. "You have snow on you, Jenny." His hand swept across her left breast, in a charade meant to clear her uniform of the snow from his coat, affording him the opportunity to take liberties.
Dorcas had the impression that he was often quite handsy with the staff. She felt her wand in the hip pocket of her dress; a reminder that she had means of defending herself if needs be.
"I'll inform the Master and Mistress of your arrival," Dorcas urged, wanting to get rid of the scoundrel as soon as she could.
Master Tom grabbed the shoulder of her uniform. "Don't you dare tattle on me, Jenny."
"Sir, please," Dorcas gently pried his hand from her sleeve.
He turned to take the stairs silently and stumbled. Dorcas gasped. She didn't care about the wretched man's safety. But nor did she want Tom's father to break his neck.
"Christ!" she muttered under her breath and slung his arm around her shoulder, helping him to climb the stairs.
And what would she do once they'd safely reached the top, eh? She didn't know where Master Tom's chambers were. She'd also just realized that if she did manage to gain his rooms, Tom was also headed there to poke around.
The first room off the staircase offered a solution. The door was ajar, a fire blazing within. Dorcas could see a tufted leather couch and two chairs arranged around the fireplace, a massive mahogany desk in one corner. It was a study, perhaps the same one that Tom had just been rummaging through.
She steered Master Tom in this direction. He was barely supporting his own weight and Dorcas deposited him a little more roughly on the sofa than she'd needed to. She was spared the task of wondering how she could keep him locked in here for the remainder of the party (without magic, that is). When she looked at the pathetic figure, crumpled against the leather sofa, she realized that he'd passed out.
This was the perfect opportunity to sort through his memories and learn all she needed to know about Tom's origins uninterrupted. She hurried to the door and closed it.
Taking a position on the rug, kneeling in front of Tom's unconscious father, she felt a momentary hesitation. This was against every thread of common decency that Dorcas knew. The man was helpless and vulnerable and Dorcas was about to force her way into his thoughts and memories.
She asked herself one startling question: how is this any different than what Evlyn tried to do to her?
Dorcas sat back on her heels and debated.
"Cecilia," Master Tom murmured.
He was dreaming of a blonde haired beauty. Maybe an unrequited love?
Dorcas forgot her reservations and dove in, lured by the mysterious name and the feeling of deep regret that came with it.
It had been nearly a year, she guessed, since she'd tried to teach Tom how to read the minds of others. In that time, she had not waded through anyone else's thoughts. She only ever saw what was on the surface, what people projected. Those were the thoughts that she couldn't ignore, even if she wanted to.
She felt out of practice, flipping through Tom Sr.'s thoughts now.
The girl, Cecilia, was with him on more than one occasion when he'd ridden by the Gaunt shack. She was not with him in Morfin's memory. The memory where he'd cursed Master Riddle and Merope had pleaded for her brother to spare him.
She found another memory in the same location, the Gaunt shack. Why did he insist on riding near that awful place?
This time, Merope was alone, waiting near Tom, Sr.'s path with a tin cup in her hand. Dorcas could tell within the shades of his emotions that he felt a measure of pity for the girl who lived with a cruel father and brother. He'd attempted to speak to her briefly on those occasions when she appeared by herself. But she was always timidly silent.
She held the cup out to him. It was a hot day, and the sun did beat down unrelentingly on his shoulders.
He took the cup with good cheer and thanked the poor creature.
But she wasn't a poor creature at all. She was transformed. Her raven black hair was not a tangled matted nest, her gray dirty house dress was comely and figure-flattering. Her eyes–which he'd always remembered had the unfortunate appearance of looking in opposite directions were now a clear, deep brown that held his gaze and stole the breath from his chest.
"Pray," he said, leaping down from his horse. "I must declare, I love you!"
Her smile was radiant, its glow captivated him.
The same woman cowered in a corner in a small, sparsely furnished flat. She was pregnant. Dorcas only noticed this detail because the woman guarded her protruding middle with her hands, even though dishes, cups, and even the occasional chair came flying in her direction, but she wouldn't raise a hand to cover her own face.
A bit of crockery burst against the wall just beside her, a jagged shard cutting her cheek. She cowered lower.
The entire scene was filled with shouts and curses. Dorcas could feel the rage and disgust, the absolute violation of his person. He wanted to hurt her. He wanted to kill her.
"NO!"
The sound did not come from the mouths of either Merope or Tom, but from her.
Master Tom, startled by Dorcas's cry for mercy, jolted awake.
Dorcas inched backward, but the tea table behind her impeded her retreat.
His swift movements belied his inebriated state. His hands found her throat immediately and he squeezed.
"I knew you'd come back for me, sorceress. I'll kill you this time. I will. How dare you! How dare you!"
He pushed Dorcas to the ground, the tea table's leg snapped and its contents, crystal decanter and glasses, crashed in sharp fragments around them.
Master Tom was on top of her, his knees on either side of her hips pinned her down, pinned her wand in her pocket.
Dorcas tore at his hands as they grasped her throat.
"You witch! You disgusting whore!" he shouted.
She tried to speak, to explain that she was not the woman who'd tricked him into an elopement. Fighting to stay conscious, she kicked her feet uselessly and tried to gouge his eyes to incapacitate him.
He was nearly twice her size. He had the upper hand.
The door opened and a flood of relief washed over Dorcas. Her Tom had heard the commotion, surely.
But it was a girl's voice that Dorcas heard over the ringing in her own ears.
"Master Tom," Verity said. "You've got to stop. You're going to kill her!"
Verity was yanking Tom's sleeve, trying to pull the man off of Dorcas.
Dorcas's vision began to swim. She felt her arms drop limply to either side of her.
There was a short tussle. Dorcas barely registered the argument that took place between Verity and Master Tom.
Tom, Sr. was still pinning her to the ground, but his hands left her throat long enough to throw Verity back against the fireplace. Dorcas heard a smack, and knew that Verity had hit the bricks hard. The imprecise shape of Verity's form lay at an odd angle just out of Dorcas's reach.
Dorcas tried to feel for Verity's consciousness to make sure she was still alive.
Master Tom pushed off of the sofa and heaved himself to his feet. Dorcas knew this was her only opportunity to get him off balance and escape. But her arms and legs felt leaden, she was gasping and coughing for breath, her vision was spotted.
She managed to push herself into a sitting position.
Master Tom moved to the door.
Dorcas felt relief flood through her. He was going to leave her.
Instead, he shut the door and locked it.
"I've waited fourteen years to kill you, witch," Master Tom said, his voice was low but venomous. "Fourteen years you've haunted my dreams, YOU'VE RUINED MY LIFE!."
Dorcas tried to move, but could only gasp and sputter.
"I'm not her. She's dead," Dorcas explained.
The look in Tom, Sr.'s eyes caused Dorcas to shake. There was a burning, murderous rage in them.
He bent over her once more. He grabbed a fistfull of her hair and shoved her head back against the wooden floorboards with all of his strength.
It might have been her head smacking the ground, but Dorcas also thought she heard someone kicking at the door.
Master Tom's hands were around her throat once more. Dorcas had nothing left in her to fight him.
"Dorcas!"
It sounded like Jack's voice, but muffled from the other side of the door.
"Stand back!"
That was her Tom's voice.
"Alohomora!" She heard the incantation and a moment later, Tom and Jack burst into the room.
Jack was quicker than Tom and with an angry cry, shoved Master Tom off of Dorcas and onto the sofa. He was pummeling his father with his fists, blind with rage.
"Jack, move!" Tom yelled.
Jack reluctantly stepped back.
"Stupify!" Tom shouted once Jack was clear of the prone and bloodied man.
Tom, Sr. lay motionless on the sofa, forgotten for the moment.
"Dorcas," Tom said, kneeling beside her, grasping her shoulder and shaking her.
Dorcas coughed, and tried to choke out a word.
"Don't talk," Tom said, helping her to sit up.
Dorcas pointed instead, to Verity laying beside the fireplace unmoving.
"Verity," Jack said in a low, panicked voice.
Tom stood up and went to Verity.
"She's breathing," Jack said, feeling her pulse.
"Renervate!" Tom spoke the incantation that would revive her.
Jack hugged his sister, relief flooding his features.
"Daisy!" Verity shouted. "He's hurting Daisy!"
"It's okay, Verity. She's okay," Tom explained.
"I saw the bastard return home in his fancy car. He was completely off the trolley. I knew he couldn't be up to anything good," Jack explained.
"What are we going to do?" Dorcas croaked, looking at Tom. "We're underage. And we used at least three spells, attacked a Muggle. The Ministry will be all over us."
Tom turned to look at his father, stunned on the couch. His breath causing the gentle rise and fall in his chest was the only movement he made.
"I'll wipe his memory," Tom said simply, lifting his wand.
"Tom, no!" Dorcas said, painfully clearing her throat. "You could do far more damage."
"It's fine," Tom said confidently. "I can do it."
"He won't remember anything," Jack said, as he lifted Verity onto her feet, supporting her. "He gets blind drunk and does all kinds of things he doesn't remember." The last statement was spoken with a bitter edge.
"Donald," Verity interrupted, almost to herself. "She called you Tom. Daisy called you Tom."
"I'll explain later," Jack said, rubbing Verity's arm reassuringly.
Tom decided to trust Jack's assessment of the situation and stowed his wand in his pocket.
Dorcas stiffened suddenly and gasped. "They know something's happened," Dorcas said. "Downstairs. They've heard the shouting."
Tom helped Dorcas to her feet, supporting her with an arm around her waist.
"Get out of here," Jack said with authority. "Run. We can handle this," he added, looking to Verity for corroboration.
She nodded.
"Can you walk, Birdie?" Tom asked.
"Yes," Dorcas answered, though her head was pounding and her throat was on fire, her legs worked just fine.
"Take the postern stairs. Take a right down the corridor and another right. You'll exit through the scullery that way," Jack instructed.
"Thanks," Tom said, and rushed Dorcas from the room.
She barely had time to glance over her shoulder to catch one last look at Jack. He smiled, a little regretfully, as she left.
:::
They gained the stables in a matter of minutes.
Dorcas had only performed magic outside of school on one occasion. That was when she was trying to save Tom's life in Birmingham. The city was in such chaos after the bombing that Dorcas hadn't even entertained the idea that the Ministry would come investigating.
This time, she felt certain that the Ministry would come.
"Accio Dorcas's bag! Accio coats!" Tom called. The items came soaring from the hayloft above.
"Tom!" Dorcas called, exasperated.
"If the Ministry's on its way, then they already know that magic was performed in a Muggle home. What's one more spell going to hurt?"
She grabbed the bag and stepped quickly through the door of Jack's room.
Tom followed her in, carrying their coats.
Dorcas immediately ripped the cap from her head and untied the apron, leaving them in a jumble on Jack's bed.
"Don't just stand there! Help me, Tom!" Dorcas commanded, kicking her heels off and turning her back to Tom. There were about six buttons down the back of the black maid's uniform dress.
He threw the coats onto the bed and set to work on undoing them. He brushed a finger across the side of her neck, where she guessed several angry fingerprints were beginning to redden her neck.
"I don't know how to heal these," he said with regret.
Dorcas pulled her wool jumper and dress out of her school bag.
"Nevermind that."
She would never have been so immodest in front of Tom had it not been an emergency. As it was, she cast the dress off without a thought. Her camisole and slip were only visible briefly before she covered them with a fresh dress and utilitarian wool jumper.
But she could hear Tom's thoughts. It was a sight he wouldn't soon forget.
Dorcas would have rolled her eyes at him if the comment had been made out loud.
"C'mon," She said, grabbing her coat and tossing Tom's to him. "We still have to make it to Great Hangleton before we can hail the Knight Bus.
Tom took her bag and her hand and they fled the Riddle house for good.
Every step they took up the incline made Dorcas more apprehensive. They had not seen anyone who looked remotely like a Ministry official as they walked from the stables and onto the lane that led into Great Hangleton.
Dorcas heard a commotion off to her left that caused her and Tom to stop and step out of the streetlamp's glow.
They were across the lane from the little copse of old trees that shaded the Gaunt house. A man in a strange ensemble of spatz, raincoat, and fez turned to talk to a group of people over his shoulder.
"A Stunning Spell, Mr. Gaunt," the man was saying. "That's quite tame for you, I must admit."
"Wasn't me," Gaunt was arguing as he struggled against the restraints of two very large wizards. They were dressed in a similar odd array of Muggle clothing as the first man.
"Azkaban seems to have had a calming effect on you. Let's see if a second stay can't cure you of that temper altogether," the first man opined cheerily.
"No, not Azkaban! I didn't curse no Muggle! You have to believe me!"
Morfin Gaunt was digging his heels into the gravel and snow.
Dorcas hadn't noticed Tom moving out of the shadows and closer to the scene. She rushed after him.
"Tom!" she whispered, pulling on his coat sleeve. "We can't be seen."
"They said "Gaunt,"" was Tom's distracted answer.
"SHE DID IT!" Gaunt yelled and fought against his bonds wildly when he saw Dorcas in the lane, pulling on Tom's sleeve. "SHE'S A WITCH," he raged.
"Well, that's a new low, I must say, Morfin," the man returned after looking briefly in Dorcas and Tom's direction. "Blaming two Muggle children for your crime. You can do better, man!"
"SHE WAS HERE! SHE CURSED ME, SHE DID!" Morfin shouted and fought.
The man in the raincoat turned to them with a nervous laugh. "Nothing to see here, young people. Be about your business now."
Dorcas pulled at Tom's arm. "Tom," she hissed.
"OW!" one of the men restraining Morfin wailed. "THE BLUDGER BIT ME!"
Dorcas pushed Tom ahead of her at a quick pace. "Go, Tom!"
They'd rounded the corner as the man in the raincoat voiced an incantation quietly and Gaunt dropped motionless into the Ministry officials' arms.
:::
24 February, 1941 Third Floor Charms Corridor, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
It was around three in the morning by Dorcas's guess as they stepped from the Vanishing Cabinet into the abandoned classroom on the third floor.
Dorcas took her bag from Tom's shoulder and turned to go down the hall that led to the stairs and to Ravenclaw Tower.
Tom still held her hand and tugged her gently in the other direction, toward the passage that would lead to the seventh floor and the secret room.
"Come with me," he said. His voice was restrained.
Dorcas had heard his thoughts as he stewed all the way back to London on the Knight Bus. He was grousing about the fact that Dorcas had met Morfin Gaunt and did not disclose it to him. He wanted to know if she'd made the connection between the Gaunts, the Riddles, and him.
She was weary of all of it. Her throat still smarted where Master Tom had nearly crushed her windpipe. Her muscles ached from her attempts to fight the man off. She wanted to sleep.
Dorcas pulled her hand out of Tom's and shook her head.
"Not tonight, Tom," Dorcas said gently.
"But, Birdie," Tom argued.
"Not tonight," she repeated, turning toward Ravenclaw Tower.
A/N: Reviews are welcome and appreciated.
