Author's Note: This has been a difficult week for me as far as motivation goes. I was struggling a bit to visualize my purpose in writing (finishing up Chapter 40). It didn't help that the visitor's count on my story went kaput for several days on ff.n. It surprised me to realize what a desperate bitch I'd become about how many people click on my story and read through. But I have come to find out that I rely on those stats and your reviews to keep me motivated in this. Don't get me wrong, I think Dorcas's story deserves to be told. And the muses have entrusted me with it. It will get written! But I want to thank anyone who's liked my story enough to finish one chapter and click onto the next. It keeps me going to know that someone out there is in this with me. To my reviewers, scant few as you may be, you are the sun, the moon, and the stars.

Chapter 36

24 November, 1958 Watermead, Aylesbury

Dorcas thought she would stop having these dreams once Muybridge had been captured.

She saw herself standing over his limp, motionless body once again, caught between two decisions: spare him or make him pay.

The same arguments always surfaced in her mind. Spare him. Don't let him turn you into a monster. Let him face justice for his crimes. A life in Azkaban is surely a worse punishment than death.

However, Muybridge deserved no mercy. He was here at the tip of her wand. He wouldn't escape, he wouldn't manipulate the system. He wouldn't cheat her of the vengeance she sought for her son.

Dorcas opened her mouth and spoke the incantation.

"Avada Kedavra!"

And Stephen Muybridge was dead at her feet. She would never have to fear his escape, never wonder what loophole he could exploit.

He'd finally paid the price for killing her son.

She felt a curious feeling like awareness or energy seeping out of her from every pore. It wasn't a large amount, just enough that she noticed the difference. She felt a little colder, a little more detached.

When her eyes finally looked up from the body of the man whose life she took, it was Cal's eyes she met first.

"I guess you've made your choice, Clerey," Cal said bitterly. His shoulders sagged slightly under his disappointed hopes. "I always knew in the end you would choose him over me."

Dorcas wanted to argue. She wanted to explain that it wasn't a choice between him and Muybridge. She chose Ben. She chose their little boy. He would have to understand that.

She opened her mouth to voice her objections.

Another voice cut her off.

"It would always be me in the end. I never doubted you."

Tom smiled at her like a proud mentor whose protege had finally demonstrated the skill necessary to become a true master.

"Come, Birdie," Tom said, taking her hand. "We have much more to accomplish together."

Dorcas sat up, a frightening shiver slipping down her shoulders and into her spine.

At just that moment she heard the cries of her baby down the hall. When would he finally begin to sleep through the night? She gently lifted the covers off of her, feeling the chill of late November as her feet touched the floor.

She padded out of the bedroom as silently as she could. Cal was still asleep and she didn't want to disturb him.

:::

She woke stiffly on the scratchy carpeting of the room that had once belonged to Ryann. The room that had briefly been transformed into a nursery to receive her son. The room that now had beige walls and some boxes in one corner.

It was not the first time she'd woken up in this room. She knew that she was hearing the phantom cries of her dead son again.

It was, however, the first time she'd woken up with a blanket spread over her.

That was new.

It was also the first time she wasn't alone in here.

"Good morning, my love," Cal said, from his position against the wall, somewhere near her feet. "Why are you sleeping on the floor?"

Dorcas sat up and felt her right shoulder and hip protest.

Cal held his arms out, an invitation to cuddle next to him. She nestled into his right side, tucking the blanket around her frigid feet.

"Sometimes I dream that I hear our baby crying in the night. I get up to feed him and then I realize he's not here," Dorcas explained with a hitch at the last words. "I just don't have the...I don't know. Strength. Will power. Presence of mind. To turn around and go back to bed."

Dorcas had never tried to voice exactly why these dreams had such a power over her. She'd never been a sleepwalker. She'd never acted on dreams in the past.

"Maybe I figure, if I do return to bed, then the illusion that he's here will shatter for good." As she said it, she knew that it was the absolute truth. She wouldn't give up the heart-shattering dreams, because they were all she had of him.

"Do you think you're holding onto the illusion of our son because part of your mind doesn't know he's truly gone?" Cal offered tentatively.

"Maybe," Dorcas answered, a tear slipping over the levy and onto her cheek. But in the same way that she knew her own explanation was the absolute truth, she knew that what Cal said was equally right.

She'd not experienced her son's birth. She hadn't experienced his passing. She wasn't present when he was laid to rest.

He was with her one moment.

And then he was gone.

Cal removed his arm from around her shoulders and squeezed her chilled hands, kissing them, and then stood and left the room without another word.

Dorcas watched him go.

She had to remind herself that he was grieving too. She'd been too wrapped up in her own pain and loss, she'd forgotten too often that he needed her support as well.

She had no willpower to move, but pushed herself, clumsily stumbling to her feet, her joints tight with the cold and the unwise decision she'd made to sleep on the ground. She needed to put her own grief aside and be the support Cal needed for once.

Before she'd fully righted herself, she felt the sensation of his warm hand on her back.

"Come with me, I thought of something that might help," her husband said.

:::

Dorcas let Cal lead her down the hall and across the entryway into her office.

They stopped at her desk where Cal had set out her Pensieve. A swirling memory shimmered on its surface.

"I never wanted for you to have to see this. But now I think you might not be able to find closure without it," he explained, looking at her with an expression that was so full of concern, it warmed her.

"Without what?" Dorcas asked, confused.

"Experiencing time with our son," Cal answered.

Dorcas felt a curious mix of anticipation and fear. She'd thought about asking Cal to share his memories with her. She remembered small flashes of Cal's precious few days with Ben when she was recovering in the hospital and Cal's mind was still open to her. But she'd never entertained the possibility that he would agree.

She found she couldn't make her voice come out past the knot in her throat and so she nodded at Cal. She wanted to see their baby.

Taking her hand, Cal cast a tentative glance at her and inhaled. "Are you sure you're ready?"

She nodded emphatically, trying to hold back her tears and failing.

They leaned over the Pensieve together and plunged through the surface of the cold, misty liquid.

Dorcas's feet found the tile of the hospital room at the same time that Cal's did.

The room was small, but private. It was dimly lit by a lamp to the left of memory Cal's elbow. He sat in a wooden rocking chair, in his lime green St. Mungo's robes. All of his concentration was focused on the small bundle he held carefully in his arms.

Dorcas's breath caught in her chest.

She stepped closer, leaned over her memory husband even as her real husband placed his hand on her back and stood beside her.

"He's perfect," she heard herself whisper.

Even as she watched her frail son, only a day or so old, struggle to pull in enough air to survive she thought she'd never beheld a more beautiful sight. Her conjured images of a generic baby that she always used as a stand-in for her Ben were a cheap imitation of the memory that her husband held of him.

She'd been right to be jealous. To hold this memory–only among a handful of memories that contained Ben in them before he left this world for good–she would give anything for that.

Dorcas felt her hands clasp one another tightly and squeeze, a way of reminding herself that she could not reach out and touch him. This was just mist suspended in time. This was not her precious boy. Only his sacred memory.

As if he'd heard her visceral wish, memory Cal reached a finger up to the velvet of her son's light brown hair and carefully smoothed down an unruly curl.

A sob escaped her throat and she pressed her clasped hands to her lips, afraid that she might disturb the serenity of the scene before her.

Cal's hand on her back slipped up to her shoulder and squeezed comfortingly.

Little Ben inhaled again; a rattling, terrible effort, as he tried to pull air into his damaged lungs.

Dorcas felt herself begin to tremble as she imagined the pain he must be in.

Cal anticipated her fears.

"I made sure that he wasn't in any pain, Dorcas. He's comfortable," he assured her.

Dorcas watched on as her baby fought for air. His breaths becoming shallower.

Memory Cal talked to him and stroked his hair.

"Your mother and your sisters love you, little mate. I love you too. We're all sad that you're not going to be with us for long, but it's okay. You don't have to keep fighting. We all understand that you did your best, little mate."

Cal was silently weeping beside her. His memory self mirrored his pain.

Dorcas blinked tears furiously away, impatient not to miss a moment of staring at her son, taking in every detail of him.

When his breaths became shallow and irregular, memory Cal gently lifted him in the crook of his arm and left the room.

She and Cal followed him to the room next door.

Dorcas saw herself laying completely still in a hospital bed, the gentle rise and fall of her chest was the only indication that she was still alive.

Memory Cal drew close to her bed and placed their son on her chest as she lay unconscious. She watched as her husband carefully adjusted her arms so that she cradled their son, his hand resting softly on Ben's downy head.

"I wish I remembered how he felt in my arms, Cal," Dorcas said, a wild cry escaping her chest involuntarily. She clapped her hands over her mouth, afraid of disturbing the peace of her son's final moments. Her cries became louder as she remembered that her son had passed months ago. This was only Cal's memory of it.

Cal wrapped her in a tight embrace. She was thankful for his strong arms. If he wasn't holding her, she felt as if she would simply break into tiny pieces and float away.

Her eyes focused on her baby's tiny little fist that he held close to his chin. As the rattling in his chest became weaker, that fist slackened and slowly drooped downward until it lay motionless on memory Dorcas's arm as she cradled him, unaware that he'd just slipped away.

Memory Cal's sharp intake of breath matched her own.

"I'm sorry, my precious little boy. I'm so sorry," he sobbed.

Dorcas's vision blurred and she lost sight of her son's still form. She became unaware of the scenery around her. In her ears she only heard her own sobs and those of her husband and his memory self.

Some time later, when she had no more tears and her throat ached from the cries that clawed their way out of her, her lungs spasmed in the aftermath of her uncontrolled keening.

She found herself curled into a ball on Cal's lap. They were once again in her home office on her patient couch. The front of Cal's shirt was soaked with her tears.

He silently stroked her hair

"I wonder if it was a mistake to let you see that. I'm sorry for causing you more pain, my love," Cal finally said.

Dorcas shook her head in argument, letting it rest against his shoulder, thoroughly exhausted from crying out her grief.

"No. Don't be sorry! I needed to see it. I wanted to know our little boy. I wanted to see what he was like."

"He was a tiny little fighter. That's what he was."

Dorcas focused on the rhythmic breaths that Cal took, causing his chest to rise and fall. The movement began to lull her to sleep.

"He was a lot like his mother, I think."

:::

5 July, 1941 Number 19 Strattondale, Poplar

Dorcas woke up alone as she expected she would. Tom would not have stuck around past daybreak.

She dressed hurriedly and searched for her shoes. She'd wanted to be at the hospital early so that her mother could come home and rest. Remembering that she'd rushed into her flat last night, eager to get out of her blood stained dress, she'd kicked her shoes off in the hallway.

When she opened the door, they were exactly where she left them.

But what was unexpected to Dorcas was the sight of her mother and her Uncle Lysander sitting at the scrubbed wooden kitchen table.

"What happened?" Dorcas asked the moment she saw them. "Morty?" She felt panic rising in her throat like bile.

"Nothing has happened, Dorcas. Morty is at the hospital. Resting comfortably."

Mary-Ellen spoke in a calm and unruffled manner that Dorcas had seen her use with patients at St. Mungo's.

Dorcas opened her mouth, but her mother anticipated her next question.

"Betty is with him. Please, come and sit."

Dorcas didn't like the sound of that invitation. It sounded as if her mother and her uncle were planning to share with her some information that she was not going to take well.

She stuck to her rule against rifling through the thoughts of others adamantly, even though in this instance, she could certainly justify a breach. But she wouldn't do it. Not to her family.

Silently, she sat between the two adults and calmly waited for them to decide who should start.

Mary-Ellen reached out and took Dorcas's hand as it lay on the table top in front of her.

"Dorcas, sweetheart," Mary-Ellen began. "We think that Morty needs quite a bit more care and supervision than I am able to provide here."

"I help. And there's Mrs. Spratt too," Dorcas argued.

She realized that Morty's accident on the platform was precipitated by some events that she hadn't been made aware of, but she'd never expected that her mother would send him away.

"Mrs. Spratt didn't show up yesterday because she fell down the stairs and broke her ankle," Lysander coolly answered.

The calm that the pair intentionally embodied was annoying Dorcas. Morty was fine. He'd had an accident but he would recover. Her mother hadn't made such a big deal when he fell before and ended up in the hospital, it was just a part of his condition, a part of his life. They could deal with this.

"Then I'll look after him. I'm home until September," Dorcas persisted, raising her voice. "Or we can get someone to replace Mrs. Spratt."

"My darling," Mary-Ellen soothed. "You've always been a big help with Morty. I know you love him. I do too. But my first priority is you. Making sure that you are safe."

Dorcas blinked and paused, trying to place her mother's comments into context.

"I am safe."

"Not around him!" she heard her uncle respond.

Her eyes shot up at him and realized he'd not spoken the words out loud. She bit back a retort that was on the tip of her tongue, knowing how suspicious it would be to argue with him over words he hadn't spoken aloud.

"Nothing happened," Dorcas pleaded, turning to her mother instead. "I wasn't being patient enough with him. He pulled away from me and he slipped. It was my fault entirely."

Mary-Ellen's eyes fell to the table top, unable to look at Dorcas.

"He struck Betty three weeks ago," her mother said. It was almost a whisper.

Dorcas thought she'd misheard her at first.

"He struck her?" Dorcas asked, disbelieving. Morty wouldn't do that. He was gentle and he loved Betty. Dorcas had begun to suspect that his fondness for her ran much deeper than friendship.

Her mother nodded. "They were in the Underground too. Morty's coat became caught in the carriage door. He began to make a scene. Betty tried to free him and he panicked. He blackened her eye, Dorcas." Mary-Ellen's voice trembled at the terrible confession. "I didn't know how to tell you. But I should have warned you that he was getting worse. It was negligent of me."

Dorcas shook her head emphatically. "But you said it yourself. He was panicked. He didn't know what he was doing. He really is very gentle. He just gets scared."

"He's twice your size, Dorcas," Lysander chimed in impatiently. "Do you mean to tell me that when he flies into a fit that you will be able to calm him down? Or restrain him if necessary?"

Dorcas stuck her chin out defiantly. "I have magic," she replied confidently.

"And did you use that magic in defense of yourself? Or to save you and Mortimer from the tracks in the tube?" Lysander challenged.

Dorcas was silent. Her uncle knew the answer. He had the entire story from Tom. He must have questioned Tom thoroughly on the way to the Ministry. She began to feel a rising, angry heat at Tom's betrayal.

"No, you didn't. Tell me, what was your plan? To sit on the tracks with him and be killed?" Lysander's voice had a hard edge to it.

"I would have used magic if Tom hadn't done," argued Dorcas.

Lysander nodded slowly. A gesture that was meant to humor Dorcas.

She felt her teeth grinding together at the condescending response. She'd spent one summer and two weeks at Christmas under his roof. That didn't mean he knew her. He didn't know any of them.

"He's not going to get any better, my love," Mary-Ellen offered. "It's important that he gets the help he needs."

"Help?"

The word caused a shiver to creep down Dorcas's spine.

Her grandfather once thought that he was helping his son by sending him to Wingate Institution. If Morty had never received Wingate's help he might be a normal, functioning adult now. Possibly married to a kind and pretty woman like Betty. Maybe with a couple of children of his own, cousins that could have been Dorcas's friends. Wingate didn't help him. It destroyed him.

"He's not going to an asylum?" Dorcas choked. She could barely make herself say the word. "He doesn't belong in a place like that. He belongs with us!"

Mary-Ellen closed her eyes. Dorcas didn't have to push into her mother's thoughts to know that she regretted sharing information about Wingate with her.

"He's beyond the help that you and your mother can provide, child," Lysander broke in.

"Lysander, please," Mary-Ellen said.

Her brother ignored her, leveling a stern gaze on Dorcas.

"I will not stand by and see him harm you or your mother. He will go somewhere that has professionals trained to deal with people like him."

Dorcas heard what her uncle didn't say as much as what he did: she became aware of the conversation that he'd had with Mary-Ellen after he'd returned from the Ministry with Tom. Either Morty left the flat, or he would take Dorcas.

Dorcas pushed her chair away as she stood, raising her voice at her uncle. "PEOPLE LIKE HIM? Tell me, uncle, why is he like that? Because his father couldn't stomach having a Squib for a kid and he packed him off to a place that did horrible things to him. You stood by and watched. People like him? You're part of the reason he is this way. And you're trying to bully my mum into sending him away again. She's dedicated her life to helping undo the DAMAGE THAT YOU CAUSED!"

"Young lady," Lysander interrupted in a commanding baritone.

Dorcas ignored him.

"I'll come back when he's gone and we can decide how to help Morty," she said to her mother. "I don't want to hear anything else he has to say."

With that, Dorcas turned and flung the flat's door wide, stomping down the flight of stairs and onto the street. She hadn't the slightest clue where she would go. But she knew she wouldn't be back until her uncle had cleared off.

:::

When she walked through the hospital doors, Tom was already seated in the waiting room. The walk to the hospital had given Dorcas a little time to collect her thoughts, but she felt her ire rise immediately at the sight of him.

"Hi," he said, covering the few paces between them quickly. "I thought maybe I'd missed you. Is your mum still with your uncle?"

Dorcas snorted. "Which one?"

Tom blinked, a confused look passing over his features. "Morty, I suppose?"

"No. Our neighbor is with him. I'm just going to relieve her," Dorcas responded.

She felt an urgent need to see Morty, to convince herself that Lysander hadn't already sent him away somewhere dreadful where she would never be able to see him again.

"Hang on a minute," said Tom, gently impeding her as she tried to push past him, with a hand on her waist.

Dorcas slapped his too familiar hand away, her temper that was barely in check was about to explode and she was struggling not to make a scene.

"Something's wrong," Tom observed. "I can tell."

"Perceptive," bit Dorcas, uncharitably. "Let me pass."

"Wait. I want to talk to you about last night," Tom persisted. His voice was soft, almost purring.

He caught her hand and held it between both of his.

"Yeah," Dorcas challenged. She felt the dam burst and she couldn't hold back the flood of anger. "About last night. What did you say to my uncle?"

"When?" Tom asked, dropping her hand.

The tender and caring act was getting him nowhere, Dorcas noted. She smirked unkindly as she saw how quickly he tailored his emotions and gestures to her mood. Chameleon, she thought.

"At the Ministry. What did you say to him? What did you tell him exactly about what happened on the platform?"

"The truth," answered Tom with a dismissive shrug.

"Which is?" Dorcas prompted impatiently.

Tom paused and studied her. She seethed under his stare.

"Why are you being like this? What has happened? I thought last night you and I–"

"Nevermind that! What did you tell my Uncle Lysander?"

"I explained that Morty became upset and that you tried to calm him down, but couldn't get him under control. He nearly pulled you with him when he fell on the tracks, but I grabbed your other hand and pulled you back."

Dorcas closed her eyes and shook her head. She could imagine how her Uncle Lysander would have heard that explanation. And what's more, she could understand why he would be fearful for her around Morty.

"But he didn't pull me onto the tracks. I jumped down there on my own," she argued.

Tom nodded. "Yes, and you would have been killed alongside him. You were both rescued in time, but what if I hadn't been there? Or that stranger? What if the platform had been empty?"

"I would have used magic!" Dorcas argued

"But you didn't! Not even to save your own life! Not even to save him!" returned Tom, his voice became low and flinty. "You're selfless and I love that about you," he rushed on. "But I think that one day that selflessness is going to get you killed."

Dorcas brushed off the confession that Tom had just made. She was too angry to decide if his words and feelings were genuine, or if he was manipulating the situation as he expertly did most times.

"Well, no one asked you to care or to have an opinion, Tom!" she fumed. "Thanks to you, he's going to be sent to another institution that will probably finish the job that Wingate started!"

"They're sending him away? Your mum and your uncle?" Tom asked. The relief on his face was plain. Just like Lysander, Tom saw Morty as a danger to her and wanted him gone.

Dorcas wanted to say something clever and devastating to Tom to hurt him, but she couldn't think of anything. There was a knot in her throat making any wounding jibe impossible to speak.

She just nodded instead.

"Birdie," Tom cooed gently, placing a hand on each of her shoulders before pulling her close to him. "I'm sorry. I know you don't want him to go. But maybe it's for the best."

She hated the way his touch set something off in her, a wave of longing that wasn't in any way linked to her own cognizance. It was more akin to an instinctual reaction to the proximity of him. If she could, she would find it and sever it. If Tom was aware of it, he would use it like a snare.

Dorcas pressed her palms against his chest and pushed hard, remembering how difficult it had been to fight him off on the train home from school.

This had to end.

"Why do you think you are allowed any opinion at all about what my family does? It's not your family. Leave us alone!" Her words were harsh. The knot that had stopped her from responding only seconds ago had loosened and it emboldened her.

"I may not have any right to an opinion in your family, but I have an obligation to you. I won't be sorry to see Morty somewhere far away from you. Somewhere he can't hurt you!"

Dorcas drew in a sharp breath at Tom's confession.

"Well, consider that obligation ended, Tom Riddle. I don't want anything to do with you."

"What happened to always loving me and wanting to be my friend?" Tom asked in an incredulous tone. It was clear that he did not find her statement at all definitive or threatening.

It made her angry, the way he mocked her. He didn't take her seriously. The narcissism that he was capable of; the realization that he believed she would never be able to live a life without him in it was shocking to her.

"Things change," Dorcas growled.

She turned and walked away from him toward the casualty ward.

"Don't come round my flat anymore," she spat, pushing through the doors and disappearing.

Only once she knew she was out of his sight did she hastily swipe at the tears on her cheeks.

:::

24 November, 1958 Berryfields, Aylesbury

Dorcas adjusted her smile as she sipped her tea. She couldn't arrange her features in a manner that didn't feel plastic. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy visiting with her two best friends, she did. But she couldn't seem to shake the memory of her son's death from her mind. It seemed to have settled into her bones, weighing her down, robbing her of the ability to be present.

Cherry and Anneliese either hadn't noticed Dorcas's retreat into herself, or were intentionally allowing her to wander off. When she'd last tuned into the words they were saying, Anneliese was giving an opinion on tea-length versus floor-length wedding gowns.

Dorcas sipped and stared and nodded politely every once in a while. She found her eyes flicking to the clock, counting down the minutes until the grammar school was dismissed. Then she could see her Wren.

"Have you had any word from him, Dory?"

Dorcas vaguely registered her pet name, offering, "You'll look beautiful no matter what dress you choose, Cherry dear."

"No," Anneliese replied, speaking slowly. "Dorcas, we wondered if you'd had any communication from Jonas."

Anneliese and Cherry exchanged bewildered looks.

"From Jonas?" Dorcas thought for a moment. "No, why should I? He's still out of the country, isn't he?"

"Well, he was due back this morning. I haven't had a letter or anything in over a week. But I didn't really think I would, since he would be home soon. But…" Cherry's voice trailed off.

Dorcas heard what she didn't say out loud: What if it's happened again? What if Jonas had met some terrible fate on some foreign shore? How would she be able to carry on? Losing the first love of her life had nearly destroyed her.

Dorcas reached out and took Cherry's hand.

"I'm sure he just got delayed. You know those missions can be extended without warning."

"See?" Anneliese said brightly. "That's what I said."

"I know I'm probably worrying for nothing," Cherry demurred. "It's just that not hearing anything makes me crazy! If he'd just done a quickie ceremony with me before a judge, I'd be his wife already and wouldn't be so in the dark about what's going on. But he wouldn't hear of it. For now, at least, his only next of kin is his Skrewt-sucking sister!"

Anneliese choked on her tea, but patted Cherry's arm sympathetically at the same time.

"Would you like for me to ask Gemma if she's had any word about him?" Dorcas was horrified to hear the offer come out of her mouth.

"Oh, would you?" Cherry asked, the hopefulness written on her face told Dorcas that she couldn't back out now, or rescind the offer. "I would ask her myself, only the last time I saw her was at the engagement party."

"Where you tried to hex her face off," Dorcas reminded her.

Anneliese shook her head, remembering the scene. "You really ought to control your temper more, Cher."

"Those fiery Gryffindors," Dorcas agreed, thinking about the other fight that had broken out simultaneously that night between Cal and Tom.

"It's the vile Slytherins who start it. The Gryffindors finish it," Cherry argued.

"Not all Slytherins are vile. You're going to marry one, after all," Anneliese reminded her.

Cherry stuck her nose in the air. "I still maintain the Sorting Hat got it wrong in his case."

The door opened announcing Beau's arrival home with Trevor and Wren.

"Mummy!" Wren shouted, throwing her bag to the floor and pumping her little legs as fast as they could carry her.

"Hello, sunshine!" Dorcas said, sliding her chair back so that her daughter could sit with her. "Do you want a biscuit?" She offered Wren the untouched shortbread that accompanied her tea.

It made her feel lighter, holding her daughter. More grounded. More whole.

She began to wonder why she couldn't just take Wren home with her right now. She'd only forgotten to pick her up from school one time. Cal overreacted and handed their daughter off to Anneliese and Beau. But for how long? What was she supposed to be able to prove in order to have her daughter back? She hadn't a clue.

"Were you a good girl in school today?"

Wren sucked on the shortbread and nodded emphatically.

"Charlie made little pellets and then we cleaned out his cage," Wren said.

Dorcas had no idea what this meant. It gave her a moment's annoyance that her daughter was sharing experiences from her class that Dorcas had no context for.

She looked to Anneliese to provide it for her.

"Charlie is the hamster. Wren is fascinated with all aspects of the creature. She fills us in on what he eats, where he sleeps, how he poos."

Anneliese had been very gracious to care for Wren while Dorcas was recovering, but she couldn't continue to receive translations of her own child's words from her friend. It should be the reverse, she thought. When her five year old said something odd, she should be the one to fill in the details for everyone else.

How long was this arrangement meant to go on? She realized that Cal had never made the terms clear. And she'd been so aware of her own failings as a mother that she didn't even argue the point. If he was expecting for her to completely remove the spell damage from her mind before he declared her a fit parent, why then she may never get Wren back.

"Just wait until you see the creatures at Hogwarts you'll get to study one day," Dorcas said to Wren. "How would you like a unicorn as a class pet?"

Wren's eyes grew wide.

"She'll be magizoology-crazed like Rubeus Hagrid!" Cherry laughed.

Dorcas laughed. She was reminded of the first time she'd met the large Gryffindor. He was trying to coax some mooncalves with a head of lettuce. She could see Wren doing the same thing.

"What if you went home with me to see daddy? Would you like that?" Dorcas asked hopefully.

Wren bounced in her lap, eating her biscuit.

"Trevor, take Wren to look for Pippa," Anneliese said, ordering her son to take Dorcas's daughter out of the room.

Dorcas was confused. Anneliese's controlled tone made it seem like she wanted the children to clear off so that the adults could have a serious conversation.

Once the children had left, Anneliese turned to Dorcas.

"I don't think it's wise to get her hopes up, Dory. You still have a long recovery ahead of you."

Dorcas brushed shortbread crumbs from her lap, giving herself a moment to react calmly and rationally.

"What do you know about my recovery?"

"I know that you forget things, like forgetting you need to pick your daughter up from school," Anneliese responded coolly.

Beau came to stand behind Anneliese, placing a hand on her shoulder. A silent posture of support for his wife's position.

"Anneliese, don't be so stuck up! Wren is Dorcas's child, not yours," Cherry cut in.

"And at this time, Wren's father believes that Beau and I are better guardians for her than her mother is," argued Anneliese.

"Wren is safe with me. I'm fine. So I forgot to pick her up once. People forget things all the time," Dorcas reasoned, bristling at Anneliese's insinuation that it was dangerous for Wren to be alone with her.

"She's not a thing, Dorcas! She's not mislaid car keys. She's a little human who needs a lot of care and supervision," Anneliese persisted.

"Anneliese!" Cherry cried. "Dorcas is her mother. You have no legal right to keep her if Dorcas wants to take her out of this house right now!"

"Fair point," Dorcas said, standing. "Pack her things, Anneliese. She's going home with me."

"Now just wait a minute," Beau said, chiming in for the first time. "You two are best friends. This is no way to behave!"

"Butt out of it, Beau!" Anneliese cut him off. "What does Cal think of your plan? Does he think you're well enough to care for her?"

The truth was, Dorcas hadn't discussed it with him. She was under the impression that Wren would come home with her whenever she felt up to the task of looking after her again. She didn't know she needed his permission to take her own daughter home with her.

"Cal supports my decisions. Always," Dorcas said, but her confidence in the statement was less sure.

She felt Cherry's arm around her waist. "Come on, honey. Let's go and talk to Cal. He'll assure Anneliese and Beau that everything is fine and we can put this silly misunderstanding behind us."

Dorcas let Cherry guide her to the door. Things were getting fuzzy and she couldn't feel her legs. She never thought that she would have to fight with one of her best friends to be allowed to take her child home. How could Anneliese and Beau steal her daughter like that?

"Mummy! I'm ready to go!" Wren said, a hastily packed bag and Pippa the kitten held in her arms.

Dorcas broke away from Cherry and reached out for her daughter, only to be blocked by Anneliese first, taking Wren by the arm to stop her from approaching Dorcas.

When Wren started to cry, so did Dorcas.

Beau stepped in between Dorcas and Anneliese. "I think it's best if you go now, Dorcas."

"Come with me, honey," Cherry said, pulling Dorcas toward the door. "Cal will sort it all out when we get you home."

Cal shouldn't have to sort anything out. Dorcas wasn't a criminal. She wasn't negligent. She was a good mother.

"Mummy!" Wren wailed as Cherry grabbed their bags and gently pushed Dorcas out of the door ahead of her.

Dorcas caught a fleeting view of her daughter struggling with Anneliese. Wren bit her on the hand.

Dorcas hoped that the little scrapper had drawn blood.

:::

5 July, 1941 Saint Joseph's Hospital, London

Dorcas sat with her uncle in his hospital room for most of the morning.

His head was bandaged, recalling her to the accident he'd had a year and a half ago under her watch.

Seeing him bandaged and unconscious, Dorcas began to concede that maybe her Uncle Lysander had a point. Maybe she couldn't keep him from hurting himself. Maybe she couldn't be trusted with his care.

Her Uncle Lysander was motivated out of concern for her, but when she flipped it, she could see how Morty's condition was worsening. And she was in no position to offer him any help.

A feeling of hopelessness washed over her.

Was there no other option? Couldn't they find someone who was better able to look after him when her mother was at work and she at school? Uncle Lysander had money–loads of it. He could hire the best caregiver money could buy.

Mary-Ellen knocked gently and let herself in.

She looked worn out.

"Here, mum," Dorcas said, standing and offering her mother the more comfortable of the two chairs. The one that was closest to Morty's bedside.

She took the stool that sat beside the door.

Mary-Ellen sat and rubbed her red-rimmed eyes.

"Dorcas," she began, "I know you don't agree with us when we say that Morty needs to go somewhere that can give him the care he needs."

"No, I don't," Dorcas interrupted. "And don't say "we" like you agree with Uncle Lysander, because I know you don't."

"Well, when it was just me and Morty, I would have disagreed. You're right about that. I haven't forgotten why Morty struggles the way that he does. But I have to think of more than just Morty now. I have to think about you."

Dorcas held her arms akimbo. "I'm fine!"

"But maybe next time you won't be."

"This is all his fault. Why does Uncle Lysander think he gets to make all of the decisions for this family?"

Mary-Ellen drew in another long breath. "Because he's the head of the family. That's how it is."

Dorcas shook her head. "He's not the head of our family. Just the Rackharrows. We are not Rackharrows. We're Clereys!"

"Dorcas, he can prove to the Ministry that you've been endangered. He can take you away. Do you want to go and live with them permanently?"

"No!" Dorcas cried. The thought of permanent domicile under the same roof as Gemma and her hateful mother was repulsive.

"Then this is the only way!" her mother sighed.

"I wish you'd never involved him," Dorcas continued, petulantly.

"What would you have me do?"

Dorcas was angering her mother. She didn't want to pile on. Her mother shouldered too many burdens as it was without Dorcas being one of them.

"Nothing, mama. I'm sorry!"

They sat on opposite sides of Morty's bed and retreated to their own thoughts. Mary-Ellen's thoughts became so loud that Dorcas couldn't ignore them.

"And you're fine with your daughter jumping onto train tracks after him?" Lysander raged.

"Dorcas is fine, Lysander! Calm down!" Mary-Ellen hushed.

"Fine!" he parried, holding two letters from the Ministry up and waving them. "Fine? She and her friend being called before the Wizengamot is NOT FINE, Mary-Ellen!"

"You explained–calmly, I hope–to the Ministry that this has all been a misunderstanding. They let the two off with warnings because lives were in danger."

"Aha! So you admit Dorcas was in danger," Lysander seized on the barest of admissions.

Mary-Ellen crossed her arms over her chest.

"Only for the briefest of moments. My girl is resourceful, she's capable of looking after herself."

"But she shouldn't have to!" Lysander pushed. "She should be worrying about school and friends. She shouldn't have to worry about looking after her dangerous uncle."

"Dangerous! Lysander, really! He panicked and pulled his hand away from her and fell. You're imagining worse than what happened!"

"You leave her alone too much. She's alone in that abysmal little flat in the worst part of town right now. And you don't care."

Mary-Ellen's eyes narrowed at her brother. "Come out and say it! You think I'm an unfit mother!"

"I didn't say that! I just think you work too much and look after your daughter too little," Lysander defended.

"Work too much?" she huffed. "Lysander! How are we to live if I don't work?"

"You could take a less demanding job. Or you could let me pay for your living. You could have the townhouse. It's in a much more suitable area."

"Lord, not this conversation again!" cried Mary-Ellen.

"Stop pretending to be too good for my money!" Lysander ordered. "You take it for Dorcas's tuition. Why not for the roof over her head and the food on the table too?"

"You know very well that I didn't ask for you to pay for Dorcas's schooling. She's very bright and could have had a scholarship, like her friend."

"The orphan boy. My niece doesn't need a scholarship like a nameless orphan. She's a Rackharrow!"

Mary-Ellen nodded. "Exactly! That's why you pay for her. Not because you care so much. It's because everyone knows she's related to you and you'd be humiliated in front of the Hogwarts staff and the Board of Governors if your niece took a scholarship. You'd be happy to pay for our entire lives just so that we wouldn't be an embarrassment to you."

All the bluster seemed to go out of him. "You're not an embarrassment to me, Mary-Ellen. I wish you would let me make your life a little easier. You don't have to be the savior of everyone."

Lysander crossed the room and placed a tentative hand on her shoulder.

"But Morty can't stay there any more with Dorcas around. How would you feel if the next time you came home to find the flat empty, she wasn't safe in a hospital waiting room, but instead was the one lying on the operating table?"

Mary-Ellen's voice hitched. "I know you're right. But how can we do this to him, Lysander? He's our brother."

"I know, Mary! But she's your daughter."

Dorcas watched her mother replay the conversation with her elder brother. A tear slipped down Mary-Ellen's cheek and dripped from her chin.

"Where will he go, mama?" Dorcas asked.

"To a Muggle institution this time."

:::

24 November, 1958 Watermead, Aylesbury

"Cal, come home at once. It's an emergency!" Cherry spoke quickly to her Patronus, a red fox, before watching the silvery creature take off through the glass slider leading to the terrace and out into the snow.

"Why was she acting like I'm dangerous, Cherry?" Dorcas asked between sobs. "She wouldn't even let her come to me."

"Anneliese is just a protective sort, you know. That's why you trust her with your kids in the first place. She's a pro at it!"

Dorcas sipped the vodka that Cherry handed her, but it didn't do anything to calm her racing heart.

"Cherry, she wouldn't let me take my own daughter home. Why is she stealing my child from me?"

Dorcas felt like her heart would burst through her ribs. Her vision began to swim and she lost feeling in her fingers. The glass slipped from her hand and spilled on the rug in her sitting room. Good thing it wasn't wine.

"Cal will be here any minute. He'll clear all of this up, honey," Cherry cooed, sitting beside her and patting her hand.

As predicted, Cal came bursting through the front door.

"Cherry? Dorcas? What's wrong?" Cal asked, slamming the door in his haste to assess the emergency.

He knelt in front of his distraught wife and looked to Cherry to explain.

"Dorcas wanted Wren to come home with her after we visited the Haywoods for tea. Anneliese and Beau seemed to think they needed to clear that with you first before they let her go. As if Dorcas had no right to walk out the door with her own child, Cal. Where would they get an idea like that?"

Cal responded by leaning forward and wrapping Dorcas up in his arms.

"I'm sorry, my love. That must have been awful!"

"She wouldn't even let me touch Wren. She looked at me like I would harm her," Dorcas said, to no one in particular.

Cherry would not be put off. "I repeat. Where would they get an idea like that, Cal?"

"I don't know," he responded. To Dorcas he added, "I'll go and get her right now if that's what you want."

Dorcas nodded quickly. "Yes, I want Wren. I don't want her to be with Anneliese anymore."

"Now, honey. Anneliese is a good, good friend. She loves you and your little girl. She was only trying to keep her safe, like you wanted. Don't go giving her a hard time now."

Cherry turned to Cal. "You waiting for someone to get your hat and coat, Meadowes?" Cherry asked harshly when he didn't make a move to leave his wife. "Go and get your kid!"

"Are you going to be okay?" he asked Dorcas.

She nodded again. Her breathing was finally evening out and she didn't see stars in her vision anymore.

:::

15 July, 1941 Number 19 Strattondale, Poplar

Dorcas yawned. She'd been up at dawn this morning to see her mother and Morty off.

As the July days wore on and Morty recovered from his fall off the platform, Dorcas knew that the time was nearing and he'd be packed off to his new home.

She busied herself doing all of the things Morty loved. She made curtains of paper cranes with him, played war with his figurines on the rug under her piano. Teased Bing with a feather on a string. She wanted to remember all of the good times they had.

How would she get on without the friend she'd had since birth? Sometimes her only friend.

She comforted herself with visions of a place where Morty would be listened to, challenged, protected. She hoped that her mother had found such a place.

Dorcas didn't know much about the institution. It was a Muggle hospital. It was in Wales. Her mother and Morty would be going by train. Her mother wouldn't return until tomorrow evening.

She felt restless in this flat by herself. She sat at the piano and played tune after tune, occupying her hands while her mind wandered over the possibilities for Morty's future.

Her grandmother's favorite Bach piece flowed from her fingers subconsciously as her mind drifted elsewhere. After days had passed, her perspective on her Uncle Lysander began to change; to soften. She supposed she should write him an apology for the way she spoke to him.

A knock at the door pulled her from her wandering thoughts.

It could be Betty. Though, with late nights singing at the club, she usually wasn't up this early in the morning.

Better not be Tom, Dorcas thought darkly. She hadn't forgiven him for his attitude toward Morty.

Reaching for her wand in her pocket, she opened the door and inhaled sharply.

Her heart did a flip before jumping up into her throat.

"Jack!"