Chapter 32
8 November, 1958 Watermead, Aylesbury
"I'm here! I came as fast as I could," Theresa called from the entryway. She removed her coat and gloves and tossed them on the back of the chair in Dorcas's office. "What is it? What have you found?"
She looked excitedly to Dorcas, seated behind her desk measuring out a violet liquid carefully from a potion bottle into a syringe.
"I don't know the who or the why yet, but I've found an altered memory," Dorcas answered. "But I can't administer the Ex-Nebulae Elixir on my own. The conditions have to be managed externally."
Theresa looked eager and reluctant at the same time. Her blonde ponytail bobbed as she shook her head. "Managed? But Dorcas, I'm not a healer–"
Dorcas cut her off, standing with a notebook in her hand.
"You don't have to be. Look, I've written everything down. There's a script. You just have to direct my mind to locate the false memory. Just read the lines that I've written and monitor my blood pressure. Nothing to it!"
"Okay," Theresa said, taking the notebook and scanning her lines, like an understudy who's just learned she'd be replacing the lead with no warning.
"Thanks for doing this for me," Dorcas said, grabbing the younger woman's arm and squeezing it.
Theresa smiled kindly and placed her hand over Dorcas's. "Anytime! I wasn't doing anything, really. Billy's at my mum's for the weekend and Gideon's been at the office at all hours lately."
Theresa continued to chatter as she watched Dorcas swab her own bicep and plunge the syringe with the purple liquid into her veins.
Positioning herself on the patient couch and propping her feet up, Dorcas closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing deeply. Theresa stood next to her, taking her wrist in one hand, finding the pulse there. She laid the notebook on the couch's arm above Dorcas's head, open to the promptings that she was supposed to give.
She looked at her watch to time Dorcas's heartbeats.
"Picture yourself on the steps of the Owlery. Tell me what you see." Theresa's voice steadied as she grew more confident with her tasks.
"It's black beyond the tower, nighttime," Dorcas answered, her voice small and distant. "There's ice on the steps. The letter in my hand is urgent. I don't pay any attention to the slick steps beneath me."
:::
24 February, 1940 Astronomy Tower, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Dorcas's screams died out immediately and Tom threw her backward against the stone wall and stood up.
"What's wrong with you?" He spat the question with disdain.
Dorcas stumbled, blankets twisted around her feet. She stood and tried to explain in a low and quavering voice.
"Amy and Dennis," she began, her breath came in ragged gasps, her heart was beating furiously.
Tom rounded on her. His eyes flashed and he was furious. His hand shot out as Dorcas recoiled from him and he caught her wrist. With one deft and powerful jerk, he twisted her arm, forcing her to her knees to take pressure off of the bones that were threatening to snap.
"What did you say?" Tom stood over her, a whitehot anger radiating from him.
Dorcas felt tears on her cheeks, the wind turning them cold before they fell. She opened her mouth to protest, but thought better of it. Somehow, she knew that to lie to Tom would mean pain far worse than her throbbing arm knew in this moment.
Instead, Dorcas employed a rarely-used, but innate trait of hers. Unlike her ability to see into the minds of others, Tom knew nothing of it. She could influence the moods of others. But, unlike her ability to see thoughts, she could reign this ability in and use it in moderation. Her Uncle Morty was the only soul she had ever influenced in this way. She would use it now and again when he became agitated.
Tom twisted her arm mercilessly. Dorcas cried out, but this only increased the pressure Tom applied. She knew that he was relishing her pain.
"What did you just try to do to me?" he said, his voice calm but threatening.
Dorcas felt something in her arm snap. She cried out again. "Nothing," she gasped, her vision began to swim.
"Don't lie," Tom commanded. For good measure, he slapped her across the face with the hand that did not clutch her broken wrist.
Dorcas tasted blood. "I'm trying to calm you." Every word Dorcas spoke pulled at her split lip and made it throb.
Finally, he released her broken wrist. The pressure of his fingers at last gone, she could feel a sharp pain near the fracture, but only the faintest pin pricks in her fingertips. She tried to flex her hand, but it wouldn't obey her and rested limply in her lap.
Tom was crouching in front of her. He grabbed her face with the hand that had just snapped her wrist. Squeezing hard, he forced her to look at him.
"Let's try this again," he said, that calm voice that belied a tempest beneath the surface sent a chill down Dorcas's spine. He was inches from her face, his breath and hers mingling in visible vapor in the freezing air of the Astronomy Tower. "What did you see? Why did you say the names Amy and Dennis?"
Dorcas was terrified. She would not attempt to evade Tom again, but she didn't want to describe to him the disturbing scene that she'd witnessed either.
"I won't ask you again," he warned.
"A cave, a snake, you, two other children."
It was enough of a confirmation that she'd seen something that Tom intended for no one to see, by the way he pushed her backward with the hand that held her face to his. But as Dorcas fell backward over the tangle of blankets around her ankles, Tom was instantly on top of her, pinning her down. His hands grasped her upper arms in a vice grip, fingers digging into her flesh even though she wore a thick jumper. His legs were on either side of hers, restraining them.
"Do not look into my mind, Birdie," he ordered. To make his point perfectly clear, he emphasized it by shaking her. Dorcas's head hit the stone of the rooftop observatory floor once and then again. The third time Tom threw her back against the stone she saw stars. And then nothing.
:::
8 November, 1958 Watermead, Aylesbury
Theresa brought her out of the memory successfully.
Dorcas didn't know how to respond to what she'd just seen. Rubbing the wrist that she'd just seen her childhood friend cruelly snap, she remembered the feeling vividly now. Not just the physical pain, but the confusion and the betrayal came back in a rush.
"What did you see?" Theresa asked in a tentative and shaky voice.
Dorcas shook her head.
"I don't even know how to put it into words."
"Boy! Do I know that feeling!" Theresa said with a sad smile.
Dorcas sat up and Theresa took the place that her feet had just vacated. She handed Dorcas a small glass phial and her wand. Dorcas siphoned off the memory and stoppered it. She didn't know when she would be able to drum up the confidence to go back and analyze the memory in greater detail.
She had questions to be sure.
"It feels like a fresh wound, doesn't it?" Theresa asked, placing a comforting hand on Dorcas's back.
"Yes," Dorcas agreed, appreciating for the first time exactly how disconcerting this process was for her patients. Her mind traveled back to the scan of her brain and the scars layered, overlapping one another.
She was certain that if Tom had altered this memory, then he was responsible for the other Memory Charms that scored her brain as well. She understood his impulse to erase an experience so violent from her memory. She would never have trusted him again after he'd snapped her bones and dashed her skull against the granite stones of the Astronomy Tower. She shuddered to think of how many more experiences like this one she would uncover in her efforts to lift the damaging spells from her mind.
Dorcas felt a panic rising in her at the notion that this may be the first altered memory among dozens in which the boy that she'd trusted so implicitly in her youth, had loved in her youth, did not love her at all.
No.
What he loved was control. He loved dominance. He loved pain. He loved punishment.
Earlier that day she'd sat on a park bench next to him and allowed him to hold her and comfort her as she cried. She had no memory of a time when he'd raised a hand to her in anger. As he'd taken her into his embrace, she imagined him recalling countless times when he'd brought her so desperately low, only to rewrite her experiences into scenes of support and caring.
She inventoried the reminiscences of her time with Tom. There were only rare occasions when she could remember even having an argument with him in which he'd so much as raised his voice at her. The Tom she had just witnessed in this new memory was terrifying to behold. His mood shifted so quickly, she struggled to remember what had even set him off in the first place.
The look in his eyes when he'd snapped the bones in her wrist was frightening. He was hungry for more. He desired her pain. He fed on it.
"Why me?"
Dorcas hadn't realized that she'd spoken out loud.
"I often ask myself that same question," Theresa answered.
:::
17 May, 1941 Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Dorcas scanned the Gryffindor table as she entered the Great Hall for breakfast.
Yesterday's brawl in the fourth floor corridor had been a humiliating experience. And a heartbreaking one. She'd been replaying the moment when Tom turned his back on her over and over.
It seemed that there was nothing left to be said about that particular event. Tom's feelings on the subject couldn't have been made more plain.
But she did have something to say to Cal. Clutching the letter from his mother that he'd dropped during the scene with the two Slytherin boys, she looked for him among his housemates.
He was seated in his customary spot between twin siblings Darren and Darla Barton. He talked animatedly with his Quidditch teammate while Darla employed every feminine trick to draw his attention in her direction. Cherry sat on Darren's opposite side, employing the same techniques as Darla did. Neither girl seemed the slightest bit successful in securing the attention of either boy.
Dorcas had to admire their determination, though.
"So, you only have eyes for Meadowes now? Is that it then?" Tom's voice was loud in her head.
She closed her eyes and breathed one deep steadying breath. She wouldn't look in his direction, let alone respond to his questions. She was not looking for a confrontation this morning.
Cal noticed her approach and stood up in a fit of gallantry. Darren laughed as Cherry elbowed him in the ribs. Darla frowned as Dorcas neared.
"You dropped this yesterday," Dorcas said, conscious of eyes on her from the Gryffindor table as well as at least one pair from the Slytherin table.
"What are you giving him, Birdie?"
Dorcas gritted her teeth in response to the voice in her head.
"Thank you," Cal said. His eyes were apologetic as he scanned her face for any sign of the injuries she'd sustained in the embarrassing tussel yesterday.
Dorcas realized she was doing the same inventory of his face. His bruises and cuts were healed. He'd probably been sent to Madam Higgins yesterday with the other boys after leaving Dippet's office.
She'd healed her own split lip yesterday after retreating to the dorms. She'd been far too mortified to venture out to the hospital wing to have Madam Higgins attend to it.
He took the letter from her, brushing his fingers against hers.
Dorcas felt a curious sensation like a faint wave of electricity pass between their touch.
"Are you trying to make me jealous, Birdie? You're embarrassing yourself." Tom's voice was an incessant irritant in her mind.
"May I speak to you for a moment? Privately?" Cal asked, his blue eyes hopeful.
Dorcas nodded and Cal held a hand out, signaling for her to lead the way out of the Great Hall.
It was a relief to be out in the entrance hall without eyes watching them, making the moment more significant than it really was.
She wanted to apologize for getting him mixed up in her problems with Gemma and her Slytherin gang. Her cousin's influence and her rumor mill seemed to have a far wider reach than she'd given her credit for. There didn't seem to be a single student, male or female who didn't have disparaging or disturbing thoughts about her now.
Except Cal.
His thoughts were calm seas. He never ventured anything more than a gentlemanly appreciation for her countenance and character. She would be sorry if his opinion of her were to change.
It soon would, no doubt. How long would it take for Gemma's slander to reach him?
"I was sorry for my conduct yesterday. Sorry not only to make you a witness to violence, but that you were harmed by it as well."
Cal's words surprised her.
She did not anticipate that he would apologize to her.
"Cal, you have nothing to be sorry for," Dorcas answered. "I know that you were already troubled by some unsettling news. The behavior of the Slytherin students just compounded that trouble. It's understandable."
"You're kind to let me off the hook. But my behavior was inexcusable. When Nott wouldn't apologize and then called you...well, when he called you names, I lost my composure."
"Nott," Dorcas said the name with a furrowed brow. She hadn't even known the name of the boy who'd harassed her yesterday.
"Yes, Oliver Nott," Cal confirmed. "He's a bit of a bully."
"You don't say," Dorcas returned with a smile, attempting a little levity.
Cal smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Dorcas thought it was a nice smile, open and friendly and easily amused.
"So what happened with Professor Dippet?" Dorcas asked.
"We have detention starting this afternoon. Every afternoon for a month, in fact."
Dorcas's eyes went wide and the smile slipped from her face. "I'm sorry, Cal! You'll miss the final Quidditch match!"
Cal shrugged. "I don't regret what I did. I only regret that you were involved. He had to answer for his words and his actions. It'll hurt him far more to miss the match than me in any case," he pointed out.
Dorcas nodded. Nott was a Beater on the Slytherin team. Now they would have to play an alternate in the final match for the Quidditch Cup against Hufflepuff. The Slytherin team has to be beside themselves with anger. She realized that this probably made her a target for more pointed attacks as she would likely be blamed for the loss of Nott on the field.
"What does he have against you, anyway?" Cal asked.
"Oh...er..."
Dorcas didn't want to answer that question truthfully. What could she say? It's nothing, just half of the school thinks I'm a slut. She didn't know why, but she didn't want Cal thinking badly of her. Even if he didn't lend any credence to the rumors, Dorcas didn't want the idea in his mind to begin with.
"Just being a bully, like you said, I guess."
"Really? Because that seemed pretty pointed," Cal challenged.
When Dorcas said no more about it Cal finally dropped the subject.
"Birdie." Tom's voice was insistent in her mind.
She met his eyes as he stood in the doorway of the Great Hall.
"We need to talk. I want to explain." There was a pleading note in Tom's inner voice that Dorcas could feel chipping away at her resolve.
She knew they had to talk at some point, but she was adamant that any discussion they had would be on her terms. When she was ready. He did not get to be the wronged party here.
Almost imperceptibly she shook her head.
Cal caught the gesture and followed her eyes, resting on Tom.
"What did Riddle have to say for himself?" Cal asked, a discernible edge to his voice.
Dorcas sighed. If she wasn't careful, round two would be staring right here in the entrance hall.
"Nothing yet. I haven't given him the chance," Dorcas answered.
Cal nodded and spared another glance at Tom. He looked as if he wanted to say more and then thought better of it.
Dorcas pointed to the letter in Cal's hand that she'd just returned to him. "Don't give up hope. Your brother could still be out there, Cal."
It took Cal a moment to register her change of subject. He swallowed; his Adam's Apple bobbing as he seemed to choke down the words that had been on the tip of his tongue.
"Thanks. I know you're right," he responded.
Dorcas turned back toward the Great Hall. She knew that Tom would not force her into a conversation under Cal's watchful gaze. She was grateful for the presence of the guard dog that allowed her to pass back through the doors without having to hear Tom out.
:::
8 November, 1958 Watermead, Aylesbury
Theresa went home around half one in the morning.
The house now seemed too quiet and Dorcas had a lot of nervous energy that she didn't know what to do with. It began to manifest itself in pointed accusations at Cal's absence. She knew that all she really wanted was for Cal to be a sounding board for the memory she'd just uncovered. She wanted his comforting presence to remind her that the past was in the past.
But she couldn't discount the anger that started to rise in her as the minute hand ticked by on the clock. She remembered Sheldon Bonham's confusion when she'd gone to the hospital to surprise Cal. He'd taken every afternoon and evening off under the pretense of spending time at home with her. He'd been feeding her some rubbish about working late at the hospital every night.
Whatever Cal was getting up to was beside the point (at least she brushed it off as a secondary concern). What had her in a rage now was that she was left at home under orders to work on recovering her modified memories with absolutely no help.
And her constant state of loneliness did nothing to take her mind off of the loss of her son, whom her mind conjured up in phantom wailing and the faint whiff of baby powder when she was most vulnerable to it. She had nothing to do inside this house all day except wade into her grief.
She pushed herself up off of her patient couch in her office and padded in her socked feet to her bathroom. There she pulled a bag out from beneath her sink. It was tucked in the very back behind the spare toilet tissue. The bag held her supply of Bliss. Bliss was just a pet name for Dorcas's remedy for the malaise that hung over her life these days. It was a simple Draught of Peace, but kicked up a notch with Somniferum.
She hesitated with a bottle poised at her lips considering. She could take this potion and be up for hours yet to wait for Cal. This would ultimately lead to a confrontation about where he actually goes when his boss thinks he's home and his wife thinks he's at work.
Dorcas knew her nerves could not take the shock of learning about his lies in addition to the memory she'd just uncovered concerning Tom.
Sleep was the better option.
She reached into the medicine cabinet instead and tipped an entire phial of Sleeping Draught onto her tongue. Letting it drip its cool promise of oblivion down her throat, she felt instantly calmer.
Looking distastefully at her bed, Dorcas turned away and headed back to her office. She wouldn't sleep next to Cal while there was any question about his faithfulness to her. And there would still be questions as long as Dorcas was a coward who couldn't bring herself to ask them aloud.
:::
Dorcas pushed herself up from the couch and rubbed her stiff shoulder.
She wondered how long Ben had been crying before she'd actually registered the sound. She was working late in her office and fell asleep on her patient couch. Biting back the accusation that Cal could be a little more helpful during the night, she stood and stretched.
The path from her office to the nursery was a familiar one to her.
"Coming, my love," Dorcas mumbled, swiping the sleeve of her jumper across her eyes.
Opening the door to the nursery was like unlocking a haunting reality. A reality that was a never ending nightmare. As the wails of her infant faded into the hollow echo of an empty room, Dorcas flipped the switch and illuminated the harsh beige walls and the vacant space that was not her son's nursery anymore.
Dorcas's limbs would not carry her and her heavy disappointment back to her office. Instead, she crumpled to the carpeted floor and curled in on herself. If she squeezed her eyes shut and wrapped her arms tightly enough around herself, she could forget for a little while longer.
:::
Dorcas woke reluctantly, knowing that when she saw the harsh sunlight streaming into the room, it would not reveal her baby sleeping peacefully in his cot. Screwing her eyes shut, a moment longer, she tried to hold onto the image she had of standing over him while he slept, his perfect little mouth gumming his fist.
She knew it was an imprecise image, a generic substitute baby. She had no frame of reference for the true likeness of her child. Dorcas had never known, nor would ever know her child's face.
A hardness crept into her heart toward Cal, thinking of the precious few days he'd spent holding her baby. The time he'd had to memorize the round little cheeks and the rosy lips. She didn't know what color his eyes were, or if he'd had any hair. She resented that any of the details of her baby had to be filtered through him and his memories.
She pushed herself stiffly up from the carpet. Rolling her neck in a slow arc, she knew she would pay for hours spent asleep on the floor. Blinking, she noticed that the light pushing in from the other side of the curtains was faint still. It must be very early.
Standing, Dorcas exited the beige room without looking around. She would find nothing out of place. Except during her waking dreams, did this room ever receive any visitors.
Dorcas paused in the hallway.
The house felt empty. Was she the only one here?
As if in answer to her question, the front door opened slowly, sounding Cal's arrival home. Dorcas was frozen, rooted to the spot where she stood in the dark hallway. What would she say to him when he turned the corner and saw her there? What would his explanation be for returning home at…
What time was it, anyway?
She responded in the only way she was capable of responding at the moment, silently stepping back into the beige room and closing the door slowly and quietly. Maybe he would just fall into bed and take advantage of the few hours' sleep he might be able to catch before heading back to the hospital.
No. Not back to the hospital. She knew he hadn't just come from there.
His footsteps passed the door that she hid behind and faded as he neared the end of the hallway where their bedroom was. Had she left their bedroom door open? Closed?
She couldn't remember.
"Dorcas?" she heard him call her name from somewhere beyond their bedroom door.
Then his footsteps retraced their path back down the hall, passing her. Her office door opened.
"Dorcas?" he called more urgently.
Dorcas felt her teeth clench as she thought about keeping silent. Give him a taste of his own medicine. How does it feel not to know where your spouse is? Shitty, right?
"Dorcas? Are you down here?" she heard him call down the steps toward the basement laboratory.
"Dorcas?"
His calls became panicked and Dorcas sighed, cursing her own cruel instinct. She remembered how worried he'd been when she went to Hogwarts to see Dumbledore without leaving him a note.
She stepped out of the beige room and closed the door behind her as he was flying back up the basement steps.
The relief that washed over his face when he saw her was its own condemnation.
"I'm here," she announced as he rushed to her and wrapped her up in a tight embrace.
"Thank God!" he sighed, his chest heaving.
Standing silent and still as he kissed the top of her head and squeezed her tightly, she wondered how she could suspect him of sneaking around with other women. It was clear to her how much he adored her. She felt it in his touch and in his kiss. Wrapping her arms around him, she snuggled into his chest.
But then, where was he going to when he would have her believe he was working at all odd hours of the day and night?
"Long night?" she asked, kicking herself for being a coward. This was not at all what she wanted to ask him. Why couldn't she just come out with it?
Cal planted another kiss on the top of her head. "Yeah, the ward was busier than ever."
Dorcas dropped her arms and stepped away.
He was either too tired or too distracted to notice her pull away.
Taking her by the hand, he led her back down the hall and toward their bedroom. She followed.
He collapsed on the bed fully clothed. Laying beside him until she heard his breathing become deeper and slower, she fought the urge to sift through his mind and find the answers to the questions she was too frightened to ask.
Dorcas finally climbed out of bed and returned to the memory journal in her office.
:::
19 May, 1941 Transfiguration Classroom, Second Floor, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Dorcas gave Jonas a sideways glance as she Transfigured a hairbrush into a hare. Turning an inanimate object into one that was animated took more concentration than animate to inanimate Transfiguration. But she couldn't help studying him, his expressions, his mood.
He seemed angrier since the fight, always on the verge of exploding.
She wished he had not been in the Fourth Floor Corridor when she tried to break up Cal and Oliver Nott. Now he was not speaking to his best friend Wes Rookwood on her account. Wes had taken part in her harassment, joking with Oliver about her knickers after the older boy had conjured a gust of wind that lifted her skirt. But he'd apologized immediately when confronted by Cal.
Jonas hadn't been present for that part. He'd only happened upon the scene when Wes tried to pull Dorcas away from the brawling Slytherin and Gryffindor. Oliver, meaning to land a punch on Cal, connected with her face instead. From Jonas's perspective, it must have looked as if Wes had hit her.
And that's when Jonas began wailing on his once-good friend.
The other reason she regretted his involvement was folded in her pocket.
Jonas's father had written to her to gain some clarity on Jonas's involvement in the altercation. When questioned by her uncle, Jonas must have explained that he was defending her, but did not elaborate. Now Uncle Lysander turned to her to fill in the missing information.
She did not relish writing an explanation of the particular brand of harassment she'd been receiving on behalf of students from Gemma's circle. And, as much as she would love to point the finger in Gemma's direction as the architect of all mischief, her mind kept returning to the scathing words Lysander had for his daughter following the Christmas party at Blackpool Abbey.
"Jonas," Dorcas said quietly, watching as he transformed the hairbrush. His hare had wiry fur and its twitching nose bore a distinct woodgrain pattern.
He sighed in disappointment, the dark look returning to his face as she spoke.
She waited for him to respond. When he didn't, she glanced in Professor Dumbledore's direction to make sure he was busy across the classroom.
"I'm sorry that you got detention for a month. And I'm sorry that you got into trouble with your father."
"I'm not sorry for the detention," Jonas said with a shrug, not looking at her. He busied himself transforming the hare back into a hairbrush. Four long bristles on each side of the brush twitched like whiskers, but otherwise, it was a good attempt.
"Jonas," Dorcas scolded. "You shouldn't have hit Wes. He was trying to help me break them up."
"Still, he had it coming. I warned him to stay away from you," Jonas argued.
Dorcas didn't have anything to say to that. She pulled out the letter from her uncle and slid it across the desk to him.
He looked at the writing on the front of the envelope. "What are you going to tell him?"
She shrugged. She didn't know what she was going to say.
"How about the truth? He'll want to know what Gemma's been saying about you."
"He'll be very cross with her if I tell him," Dorcas answered faintly.
"So?"
Dorcas took another turn with the hairbrush, though she Transfigured it perfectly every time. She did it once more, slowly, so that Jonas could watch her wand movement.
"So, I don't want to come between family."
Jonas furrowed his brow and looked at her.
"But you're family too," Jonas pointed out.
She nudged him with her elbow and smiled, wanting to throw her arms around him and kiss him on the cheek. The display would embarrass him and that was the only reason she stopped herself.
He quirked up the corner of his mouth in a smile as he acknowledged her reserved gesture of affection.
"Was he really angry with you?" Dorcas asked.
Jonas shook his head, concentrating on mimicking Dorcas's wand movements as he perfectly Transfigured the hairbrush.
"He wasn't angry at all. I mean, he was initially. But I explained that I was defending you–I didn't go into details. I'll let you say what you want to about that. But I told him that you were being bullied and I defended you."
"And I appreciated it. But I never want you to do it again!" She adopted an imperious big sister tone that made him smile.
"I make no promises."
:::
Dorcas wasn't avoiding the library exactly. But she had been generally delaying a confrontation with Tom by steering clear of the usual spots that they would have occupied together.
But it had been a few days and she felt as if she'd gained enough clarity to have a quietly whispered and calm discussion under the watchful gaze of Madam Poole.
As she finished her letter to Jack Hardin, writing the Little Hangleton address on the envelope, she began to think that Tom had given up his persistent pursuit of cornering her.
She drew a new sheet of parchment in front of her and answered her uncle's letter. Dorcas had been carefully considering the words she would use and the sentences that she would fashion to approximate the truth without the humiliating details and the finger pointing in Gemma's direction.
She made it appear that Wes and Oliver had done nothing more than call names. Though she did not say it was specifically related to lewd rumors circulated by his own daughter and she left the details about her humiliating exposure out entirely, she was satisfied that it came near enough to the truth without being a complete unveiling of particulars.
A hand shot out from behind her and grabbed the letter addressed to Jack.
"Are you still writing to him?" Tom asked, studying the address while taking his customary seat beside her.
"I haven't been forbidden from doing so. Does it bother you?"
Tom shrugged casually. "I write to Verity. I suppose I'll allow you to write to Jack."
"Oh, thank you!" Dorcas responded coolly. "How is she?"
"Following that Muggle ape around like a kicked puppy," Tom said. "Unfailingly loyal. Though I can't understand why."
"You sound like Jack. Except for the Muggle ape part. He used different words," Dorcas pointed out. "But, I think she's afraid that her father might harm himself. She may believe that she's the only one who cares for him. If she washes her hands of him, who does that leave?"
"Let him stumble off a cliff. Let his horse throw him into a fence. And good riddance! He's a parasite on them all," Tom whispered, his voice becoming harder.
Dorcas lamented the ill-conceived visit to Little Hangleton and its effect on Tom. He channeled his disappointment into loathing the man who looked so much like him. The aim had been to help Tom connect to the only family he had. Though he would never have a relationship with his father, he had connected with a half-sister. She never could have anticipated that. And she was glad for it.
She reached out and laid a hand over his arm.
There was a long pause. Tom stared at her hand.
"Listen, Birdie. The other day…"
Dorcas removed her hand and placed it in her lap.
"I heard your thoughts, Tom," she confessed.
He had the decency to look ashamed for his inward agreement with Oliver Nott.
"I don't think you're a whore, Dorcas. I was just jealous. I admit it," he explained in a low voice.
"I understand," Dorcas responded. "And I forgive you for thinking of me in that way because you were jealous."
"But Meadowes is in love with you. Why can't you see that?"
She wanted to roll her eyes. Apparently he had not wrestled enough with his jealousy so as to conquer it. But she still forgave him.
She continued, talking over his justification for turning his thoughts against her. "But I can't forget that you turned your back on me."
"Birdie–" Tom began, but Dorcas cut him off.
"Tom, you left me there to sort it all out for myself. You could have said something to Nott to get him to stand down. But you didn't. You wanted to punish me."
Tom sighed as if impatient for her to finish.
Dorcas ignored it. She would say what she needed to say.
"I love you, Tom," Dorcas added sincerely.
His eyes flicked up to meet hers. They were hopeful.
Dorcas was careful to make herself understood. "But I don't think you return that love. And that's okay. You don't have to. But I don't think I can be with you anymore."
"You would rather be with Meadowes?" Tom asked, gritting his teeth around Cal's name.
"No. This is not about throwing you over for someone else. Tom, I fight for you. I stand up for you. I defend you. But you don't defend me. I feel like you've used me."
Tom opened his mouth to argue, but she stopped him.
"And I don't say that it's your fault. I don't. I think you can't have had many examples of love and partnership in your life. And I'm sorry for that. But I don't want to keep convincing myself that I mean something to you. I think we just need to be apart for a while."
She felt her cheeks getting damp and knew that she'd begun to cry. She did not expect for the words to rend her quite so completely. But she felt as if her own words shredded her.
For his part, Tom didn't show any emotion. If anything, he looked very stoic.
"Maybe you're right," Tom conceded.
Dorcas bent in her chair to reach for her school bag. She fished some sheets of paper out and handed them to him. Then she collected the envelopes addressed to Jack and to her uncle and stood.
"What's this?" Tom asked, furrowing his brow and reading.
"The extinct flower. When you saw me hug Cal, I was on my way to find you and give you that. His brother is missing, presumed dead. That's why you found us like that. I was just comforting him."
"Birdie," Tom replied, but trailed off. There was a hungry look in his eyes as he devoured the information on the pages. Dorcas knew he hadn't heard the rest of her explanation.
"Good luck. I hope that helps," she said, lifting her bag to her shoulders and leaving the library.
:::
8 November, 1958 Watermead, Aylesbury
"What is this?"
Dorcas's face was cushioned by her open memory journal and she'd begun to drool, smearing the ink a little as she slept. She sat up with a jolt at the sound of Cal bursting into her office.
She blinked to help her focus.
"Christ, Cal! What?"
"This," he said, striding into the room and holding a bottle of bluish gray liquid in front of her. "There's about a dozen of them in the bathroom sitting out on the counter. What are you taking?"
His voice had a harsh ring to it.
Dorcas felt her ire rising.
Was he really doing this right now?
Was he brandishing the potion that she took just to get through the lonely fucking days in this house all by herself after he just waltzed through the door at half four in the morning without so much as an explanation before collapsing on the bed and falling dead to the world?
Was this really happening?
"It's a Draught of Peace, Cal. I take it sometimes," Dorcas replied evenly, closing the smeared page in her journal, praying that the cool demeanor she adopted wasn't ruined by a smudge on her face.
"Draught of Peace is a clear blue, Dor. This is not. What is in this?" he challenged.
Dorcas shrugged. "I tinkered with the recipe a bit. It's perfectly safe."
"I don't believe you. I'm going to reverse engineer it," Cal said, handing Dorcas his handkerchief.
She stood and looked at her worn and haggard appearance in the mirror behind her desk.
Dammit!
Her memories were written on her face. Not figuratively.
Why did it feel like her best efforts at keeping it together these days ended with a mess on her damned face?
"Don't you have an important and demanding job to get to?" she asked as she scrubbed at the ink.
:::
Cal's outburst about the potion he'd found did not deter Dorcas from using it.
If he cared about what she was doing, where she was going, what she was taking then he had a hell of a way of showing it.
She kept to her office until she heard the front door close. Once she was assured of Cal's departure, she padded to the bathroom, determined to calm her nerves with some of the Bliss from her stash.
Dorcas didn't remember leaving the bag out on the counter. Hadn't she carefully replaced it in its hiding spot under the sink? She cursed herself for being careless. It hadn't mattered that Cal found them, except that he'd smashed every single one in the sink.
She shook her head, cursing him mentally as she drew her wand and cleaned the mess up with an angry flick.
Now on edge with no way to dull the clawing, jittery feeling, she decided she'd relax in the bathtub before heading down to the basement laboratory to brew more.
:::
Dorcas spent the rest of the morning setting ingredients to boil and ladeling more of the bluish gray liquid into bottles. She'd have to find a new hiding place. Perhaps somewhere in her office. Cal never went in there. Unless he was barging in to yell at her for concocting remedies for her shattered nerves.
She supposed she should thank him. Throwing a tantrum and smashing every bottle of Bliss she'd made had been a small favor at least. Now she had a purpose for her day beyond inventing errands and crying in the park.
The faint sound of the doorbell pulled her out of her doldrums for a moment.
She wasn't expecting anyone. She was never expecting anyone.
Wiping her hands on her apron and smoothing her hair behind her ears, she climbed the stairs.
"Coming," she called, as she checked her reflection in the mirror.
When she answered the door, the shock must have shown on her face.
Professor Dumbledore smiled pleasantly from her stoop.
"Sorry to call unannounced. Have I interrupted you?"
"No, sir. Please come in," she said, casting another glance down at her appearance. She was not dressed to entertain. What must he think of her?
The wizard swept into her entryway in silvery gray robes. She wondered if the neighbors had noticed the tall, oddly dressed man. Mrs. Peake across the street had, she was sure of it.
"May I offer you some tea or coffee?" Dorcas asked, leading the way to the kitchen.
Dumbledore followed her, studying her house as he went.
Dorcas cringed inwardly, lamenting the speedy demise of Dorcas the Diva of Domesticity. She had an embarrassingly short run as a motivated and capable housewife. The dust on the piano in the sitting room admonished her.
"Tea would be most welcome. The biting winds of winter have begun howling early this year," he answered.
She gestured to the dining room table, inviting Dumbledore to sit while she put the kettle on.
"I confess myself curious, Professor," Dorcas admitted, laying out the teapot, cups and saucers.
"Is that a confession? I have always regarded it as a well-known fact," he laughed, looking out the glass sliding door to the veranda and backyard.
Dorcas smiled to herself. His visit might have set her on edge, if she'd not quickly brewed and consumed more Bliss only a mere twenty minutes ago. The effect was that her former teacher was now a charming and benign visitor in her home.
"What I mean to say is, I am curious about your visit. No doubt you're here to collect on a debt that I owe."
"A debt?" Dumbledore asked, taking the steaming cup that Dorcas handed to him. "That has such a tawdry ring to it. No, I was pleased to be of service to both you and Cal."
Dorcas couldn't help the dubious expression that came to her face at those words.
"By the way, how did the Occlumency instruction go? Is Cal having any trouble with it?"
"None whatsoever," Dorcas said, a little more bitterly than she'd meant.
"Wonderful!" Dumbledore smiled and sipped his tea, studying Dorcas from behind his half moon spectacles
"And you would like a favor in return." Dorcas sipped her tea and returned the stare.
"I have a dear friend whose mind is failing him. He's getting on in years and might be, forgive the expression, just shy of going 'round the bend."
Dorcas's professional Muggle medical curiosity was piqued, as Dumbledore most assuredly knew it would be.
"What's the diagnosis?"
"Dementia, sadly," Dumbledore replied.
A tragic diagnosis. Was there anything worse than losing yourself piece by piece? Dorcas pushed down the realization that her future would likely look very similar.
"And where do I come in? You know there is no cure."
"I am acquainted with the disease, yes."
She sipped her tea and waited.
"I must retrieve some memories belonging to him, before they are consigned to oblivion."
Dorcas set her cup down. It was a fairly straightforward request. She wondered what the catch was, wary of anything involving Dumbledore seeming easy.
"That's all?" Dorcas hedged. "Help you retrieve some memories from an addled old man?"
"Yes, help me to retrieve memories," Dumbledore agreed.
"Very well," Dorcas said. "Let me get my coat."
:::
8 November, 1958 Exeter Quayside, Exeter
Dorcas released Dumbledore's arm after the jarring feeling of Disapparation subsided.
She looked at the brown-gray water of the River Exe and the similar colored clouds that threatened snow.
"So your friend's a Muggle, then?" Dorcas asked curiously, as she scanned the street and the row houses facing the river.
"His wife is," Dumbledore answered, offering no more explanation.
They stepped out of a concealed alleyway and onto the riverside street.
"Are you looking after yourself, Dorcas?" Dumbledore queried after a few moments' silence.
Dorcas didn't associate her professor with compassion. He was a good man, to be sure. But he'd often struck her as brilliant, but aloof. He took a teacher's interest in the education of his students, but Dorcas had never perceived anything beyond this.
She glanced up at him as they walked side by side down the street. He returned her look, studying her the way a grandfather might analyze a wayward grandchild.
She heaved a sigh. There was no getting anything past those hawkish eyes.
"I'm trying to. It's not easy. Hard to see the point in getting out of bed most days," she answered honestly.
"I do not pretend to know what it is to lose a child. But you know I've carried my own losses. Please know that I want to help you and Cal in any way that I might."
Dorcas felt a knot in her throat. She nodded and looked at the cobblestones in front of her.
Her child was buried not far from here. Graygable was in Hatherleigh. She remembered Cal telling her that Ben was buried on his family estate. Could she make a stop there after she'd concluded her business with Dumbledore? Would she be able to bear it? She thought not.
"I'll keep that in mind, Sir," she said, not ungratefully. She wasn't sure what it was about him, but she'd always held her old teacher at a distance. She had the utmost respect for him, but she didn't trust his motives.
They walked on in silence. Every once in a while that silence was broken by a barge's horn as it passed down the river.
"Here we are." Dumbledore finally turned off the main road and down a side street. The row house had steep gray steps up to a second level entrance. Faint music could be heard playing from inside.
He climbed the steps, Dorcas in his wake. His knock was answered promptly indicating that he was expected.
"Mildred, you're looking well," Dumbledore said, embracing a small, thin woman with silver hair and a round face.
"Albus, so good to see you. Please come in," Mildred said, turning a bright smile on Dorcas. "Hello, my dear."
She struck Dorcas as a grandmotherly type, though she had no experience with grandmothers. This was exactly the one that she would conjure for herself if she could. In a light blue house dress with a thick pink wool jumper over it and fur-lined boots on her feet, she looked cozy and soft. Dorcas imagined that hugging her would feel very comforting.
The warm air wafting from the open door promised warm cider and shortbread biscuits. It smelled like Christmas, reminding Dorcas that the holidays were not far off.
"Hello," Dorcas said, proffering a hand for Mildred to take. "I'm Dorcas Meadowes."
"Mildred Ogden. Please come in and warm yourselves by the fire," Mildred said, pulling Dorcas into the house by her outstretched hand and enveloping her in a tight hug.
Dorcas blushed, wondering if this woman had the same ability she possessed; of reading minds. But she was indeed, a soft and warm, grandmotherly embrace.
"There's no meat on your bones at all," Mildred observed, squeezing Dorcas. "I've just taken some biscuits out of the oven." Mildred pulled Dorcas by the hand behind her, giving Dorcas little time to remove her hat, coat, and gloves.
"It'll be Millie's personal mission now to see you fed, Dr. Meadowes," Dumbledore confided as he followed Dorcas down the hall.
"Perhaps you'd like a sandwich?" Mildred shot over her shoulder at Dorcas.
"A biscuit will be fine," Dorcas smiled. Her smile widened when the woman tisked at her.
"Buzz," Mildred said to a small man who seemed to be swallowed by a squashy chair beside the fire. "These nice people came to see you."
Dorcas was released finally and offered the chair opposite the old man's. Mildred went to the wireless and turned a knob. The music became lower still, an ambient noise. Dorcas assumed that it had a therapeutic effect on her husband.
He had wide blue eyes and rosy cheeks. Tufts of white, flyaway hair stuck out from above his ears and the top of his head, giving him the look of some exotic bird. He wore a green bathrobe over striped pajamas.
"Hello, Bob," Dumbledore said, leaning very close to the old man, taking his hand and smiling at him. "Do you remember me today, old friend?"
Bob (or Buzz) looked at Dumbledore and blinked slowly.
"Albus?"
"Right in one! I see I've come on a good day," Dumbledore said, gently patting the papery skin on the hand he held.
"Yes, you have," Mildred agreed. "We don't get those too often anymore."
Dumbledore summoned a wooden chair that sat in the corner so he could sit at the elbow of his friend, not breaking his connection to the man.
Mildred disappeared into the kitchen.
"This is my former student, Dr. Dorcas Meadowes," Dumbledore explained, pointing to her.
The man followed his finger and slowly blinked again.
Dorcas smiled when his eyes found her. "Hello."
"Bob, we've come to visit today to see if you can remember some cases from your Magical Law Enforcement Squad days."
Dorcas studied the man as Dumbledore spoke. There was something familiar about him. She wondered if she'd seen him somewhere before. The man seemed to be concentrating very hard on Dumbledore's words. This was a good indication to Dorcas that they might have success retrieving whatever memory Dumbledore needed.
Bob nodded. "Which case?" he asked in a whisper.
"Gaunt, 1925." Dumbledore's eyes flicked from Bob's to Dorcas's. She knew he was curious how she would react to the name. Though she had not expected to hear it, she only raised her eyebrow and stared back at him.
"A case of Muggle baiting in the village of Little Hangleton."
"Gaunt?" Ogden asked, his eyes taking on a faraway look.
Dorcas saw this transition from lucid to nescient so often when she'd volunteered in her undergraduate days at a Muggle home for the mentally infirm in New York. She knew that getting the right memory that Dumbledore sought would be a tricky business.
"Mr. Ogden, can you picture a long sloping lane and a meadow opening up on the left side?" Dorcas prompted. "Picture a large hedgerow to your right and under a copse of very old trees, a rundown shack."
Bob's eyes remained glassy and unfocused.
"Professor," Dorcas ventured. "Do you have a visual of any kind that could help recall his mind to the event. A picture, perhaps?"
"As it happens, I do," Dumbledore answered, pulling a news clipping from a hidden pocket within the folds of his robes.
He handed Dorcas a crinkled black and white newspaper article from a paper that she was very familiar with, the Great Hangleton Gazette. An odd feeling of deja-vu came over her. Not only had she read the Gazette often in her youth, but she distinctly remembered this particular story and photograph.
Morfin Gaunt's frozen scowl looked up at her, unmoving because of the Muggle origin of the print.
Dorcas held the photograph up to Bob Ogden's face, leaning forward to span the space between their chairs.
"Dangerous man! He killed those Muggles!" Bob muttered to himself.
The self talk was a good sign. He was prompting himself. Dorcas knew that what he said was confirmed in the article that this photograph had been clipped from. She tried not to remember this and other stories from the Gazette that had brought her bad tidings in the past. She wished she'd packed a phial or two of Bliss. She could feel it wearing off and it made her tense and jumpy.
Mildred bustled back in with a tray of cider and biscuits.
It was good timing.
Now that Mr. Ogden had seen the image and began accessing his own memories, the distraction would allow his subconscious to knit the image and the memory together. She was fairly certain she could get to the memory in about fifteen minutes.
They enjoyed the refreshment with a little small talk. Mostly, Dumbledore bragged about his former student and her husband while Mildred responded with questions and impressed exclamations.
Dorcas had never heard her former teacher express such awe in her accomplishments. She sipped and ate with a permanent blush on her cheeks.
"Do you and your husband have any children?" Mildred asked conversationally.
Dorcas was mid-sip, her cup paused at her lips.
"She has two charming daughters. The oldest is in her second year at Hogwarts and shaping up to be as talented as her mother and father," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye. "She is a wonder with Potions and Charms."
Dorcas couldn't explain why, but seeing and hearing the way he spoke about Ryann with such affection was touching to her. Perhaps she harbored some fear that the professor's knowledge of Ryann's paternity would somehow turn him against her. She remembered that there was no love lost between Tom and the Transfiguration teacher when she was at school.
There was a faint hiss as Mr. Ogden dripped hot cider down his chin.
"Oh, Buzzy!" Mildred chided. She set her own cup down and reached for a tea towel.
Dorcas watched Mildred for a moment, dabbing at her husband's soaked robe and shirtfront. She wondered if Mildred regretted spending her twilight years as a nursemaid to the man she loved.
She couldn't help her mind making the connection between Mildred and Bob and what her situation might be like in twenty or thirty years. Could it possibly be sooner?
She hoped that Cal would be just as devotedly by her side as Mildred was for Bob. Did Bob inwardly cringe during his lucid moments wishing things were different? Wishing that he could be the partner that Mildred deserved.
"Excuse me," Dorcas said abruptly, setting her cup and saucer on the tea table and standing. "I just need to step out for a moment."
Mildred nodded, not looking up from her job of cleaning her husband.
Dumbledore's eyes were fixed compassionately on Dorcas.
She followed the hallway back to the front door and stepped outside. She felt faint and the cold air was just what she needed to jolt her out of her panicked projections into her own bleak future. It had begun to snow.
Sitting on the top step of the stoop, Dorcas folded her arms around her and watched the barges pass. The sting of the cold wind on her cheeks announced that they'd begun to trace familiar rivulets down her cheeks.
When the front door opened behind her, she swiped at the tears quickly and sniffed.
She felt her coat being settled over her shoulders and saw the professor out of the corner of her eye as he took a seat next to her.
"I'm sorry the conversation turned toward children. That had to have been painful."
Dorcas kept her eyes on the river traffic. Dumbledore handed her a handkerchief.
"For once, it was not my son I was thinking of," Dorcas said with a sad smile.
Dumbledore sat in silence giving her the space to go on or not.
"Professor?" she asked after several minutes' quiet.
"Yes?"
"Did you really mean those things about Ryann? That you think she's like me and Cal?"
"Yes, I do," Dumbledore replied in a serious tone.
"So you don't see anything of Tom in her at all?"
"Only in her appearance. Why do you ask?"
"Sometimes I worry that she'll have inherited some of his qualities. His impulses, his… philosophical leanings."
"There is a lot that can be passed down from parent to child, but there's far more still that can only be nurtured in a child. As Tom has had absolutely no input in Ryann's upbringing, I can't think of much that he could pass on to her."
Dorcas nodded. The words were comforting.
"I am proud of you, Dorcas. I want you to know that," Dumbledore said, turning to look at his former student. "I am tremendously impressed when I watch you with patients like Bob; the way you were with the elf, Hokey. You have a gift, my dear."
"And to think, I could have been a pregnant dropout that didn't amount to anything," Dorcas chuckled, a hard edge creeping into her voice.
"I deeply regret that I did not step in to do more. Had I know the circumstances when you made your request to sit exams early, I would have made a different choice."
"Why did you block my request then?" Dorcas had always been curious about this.
Dumbledore sighed. "Sometimes I can be a fool, Dorcas. I assumed that you wanted to sit exams early because Tom was leaving school at the end of that year. I thought that if you were denied the opportunity to finish school early, a year's separation would sever your bond with him."
She had always wondered. When she'd sought the professor out at the end of her sixth year, she was ready to confess that she was in difficulty to get him to change his decision. But he'd already left the country, traveling to the continent to face Grindelwald.
"I am glad to have my foolishness confirmed in this case. You deserved a chance to prove your talents and take your exams. Your successes remind me daily of how much influence I wield and that I must not take it for granted."
Dorcas felt better for knowing the truth of his motives for a decision that could have decided her fate. That he was acting out of an impulse to protect her was unexpected. She'd always thought he knew about her pregnancy and didn't want her shame to be the school's shame.
"Shall we see if Bob is ready to remember?" Dumbledore asked finally.
:::
8 November, 1958 Watermead, Aylesbury
Dorcas felt a sense of accomplishment in helping Dumbledore today. And she'd gained more insight into the mercurial old man.
She wondered if discovering the concealed memory of the beating she'd received at Tom's hands had also liberated some resolve she had to help her former professor. She didn't feel any of the old loyalties to Tom that had caused her reluctance when Dumbledore called on her before.
Dorcas decided, remembering the horrific scene on the Astronomy Tower, that any help Dumbledore needed to uncover Tom's plotting she would provide willingly.
She kicked off her boots in the entryway of her home and removed her coat. Her mind was already ticking through the list of memories in her journal that she would like to investigate more closely.
"Where have you been?" she heard Cal ask from somewhere further in the house.
Stepping from the entryway into the living room, she saw him sitting on the couch, the bottle of the bluish gray liquid he'd brandished in her face that morning sitting on the coffee table in front of him.
"With Dumbledore. I left a note," Dorcas said innocently.
"I don't see a note, Dorcas." Cal's voice had an edge to it. She knew he was angry.
She turned back to the entryway and scanned the table that sat below the mirror. She'd written a note explaining that she was going to help Dumbledore. It was no longer on the table. She moved Cal's car keys and picked up the decorative bowl that sat there. The note was gone.
Scanning the floor, she found it under one of her snow and mud covered boots.
"Here it is," Dorcas said, waving the filthy paper. She wanted to diffuse the tension, but didn't know what else to say.
"Somniferum, Dorcas?" he responded, changing the subject. "Laudanum?"
"So?" she replied, gritting her teeth. She felt that tense, frayed edge return to her nerves. She would not be lectured about how she medicated herself when he took every opportunity to abandon her to her own devices. "I don't take it a lot."
"You shouldn't be taking it at all!"
She felt her blood beginning to boil.
"What other choice do I have? I'm here by myself all the time. I don't have anyone to talk to. I can't go anywhere without you jumping to conclusions and calling the authorities. You're gone all day and night, Cal."
"It's busy at the hospital. What would you have me do?"
Dorcas scoffed. So it's the party line again?
She stomped over to the coffee table and snatched the bottle from its surface. She flicked the stopper out and tipped the entire contents defiantly into her mouth. Throwing the empty bottle into the fireplace where it smashed, she turned and retreated into her office.
Casting charms and wards over her office door to keep him from following her, she barricaded herself inside. After a long moment she heard the basement laboratory door open and then close.
A/N: If you like what you're reading I would love to hear about it! Thanks to Angelina and Nur for regularly dropping me a line or two when you read. I'm always interested in the parts you liked and your interpretations of events. Thanks also to SpelloSara for the amazing book cover.
