Chapter 40
13 September, 1941 Library, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Dorcas was in a secluded corner of the library. Not her corner. She'd given that area over to Tom's domain. Her new haunt was behind a dusty and neglected pair of shelves holding runes translations aloft that no one seemed interested in plucking and opening.
She had a stack of Arithmancy texts in front of her. Trying to make heads or tails of the complicated charts and formulas was no use. Dorcas had never considered herself a stupid person until this moment.
Feeling helpless to do anything while her chances at gaining internships and study grants to become a healer seemed to dwindle before her, she placed the heels of her hands against her eyelids.
Tom's voice came back to her from a memory from last year. When she'd first learned about the imbalance in magical education afforded to boys and that afforded to girls at this school, she'd raged at the injustice of it. Tom had simply asked her what she was going to do about it.
What was she going to do about it?
She stared at the books stacked in front of her.
The answer to that question seemed to be to try and teach herself. But, the class was more than theory and reading. There was application and practical skill involved. And she was apparently an imbecile.
Deciding that she just needed a break and a moment to regroup, she pulled out two unopened letters. One was from her mother and one was from Jack.
Dorcas placed the letter from Jack back into her school bag. She had not earned a reward the size of Jack's letter just yet. Besides, it would be tempting fate to open his letter in a public place. She was still keeping him a secret from her friends. And from Tom.
But she could spare a few minutes for a birthday greeting from her mother.
She tore the envelope open and read. A grin spread over her face at the sight of her mother's neat script filling the page.
My Darling Girl,
Happy Birthday! Fourteen years seem to have gone by in a blink! I hope your day is filled with special surprises and a bit of fun. But if I know you, you're sitting in the library with a stack of school books in front of you. Nothing so small as a birthday could put you off of your studies.
I am displeased that Professor Dippet has denied your request to switch out of Domestic Arts and into Arithmancy. It seems to me that any educator worth his credentials would put a child's learning and future goals ahead of silly mandates from the Board of Governors. That class has always been a pureblood propaganda mill, its only aim to brainwash impressionable girls into believing the best they could ever aspire to is marrying and having a family. While those are certainly worthwhile pursuits, I argue that a woman can have those things and a career as well if she chooses. I am not the ideal example of a mother and a career woman, but I manage to make it work. You can too, if that is your wish. But I cannot say that I am thrilled at Dippet's attempt to hamstring your ambitions because of your gender.
I will write to him and see if I can bring about the change that you requested. In the meantime, please be a polite student in your Domestic Arts class and do not cause trouble for the professor. It is not her fault that you have been forced to take a class that does not suit you.
I have included a letter from Jack that had also just arrived for you. I hope it can lift your spirits on your birthday and make you smile. It would be nice to meet him on his next trip to town. I would like to get to know the boy who has captured your attentions.
Have a wonderful birthday, my darling!
With love,
Mum
Dorcas folded the letter and placed it next to Jack's in her bag. Sliding the stack of Arithmancy texts toward her once again, she set her shoulders and opened up the one on top, determined to understand the meaning of this subject.
"Hi, Dorcas," Cal's voice interrupted her.
Turning in her chair, Dorcas smiled up at the tall, blond Gryffindor fourth year.
"Hey," she replied, closing the book once more. She inwardly chastised herself for giving in to a distraction so easily.
Cal stood before her with his robes open and his tie loosened, a universal sign among the students that it was the end of a long, hard day of learning. Most couldn't wait to tear the confining uniform accessories from their bodies the instant they were dismissed from the final class of the day.
He was clutching a small box in his hand. It had white paper and a gold bow. He played with the bow distractedly while he spoke, reminding Dorcas of their conversation on the stoop in front of Anneliese's house just before Cherry's birthday in July. He'd been concerned about the scene he'd broken up between Dorcas and Tom on the train from school.
She blushed to think about the embarrassing scene and imagined what Cal might think of her because of it.
"I hope I'm not disturbing you. I just wanted to give you this," he said, looking down at the small box, thrusting it out toward her.
Dorcas sat up straighter. "For me?"
He smiled, eyes darting up to hers. "Yeah. Happy Birthday."
Dorcas grinned, taking the present from him.
"Sit down," she offered, nudging the chair next to her out with her foot.
She untied the bow carefully, admiring the pretty wrapping.
Cal cleared his throat and sat. "I didn't know where to look for you in here. You changed spots. Usually you'd be in the corner toward the back by the Potions references.
Being careful with the paper, Dorcas opened the box.
"Yeah, I haven't sat back there since…" she trailed off, finding it uncomfortable to mention Tom to Cal after the last conversation they'd had about him. She covered the unfinished thought by marveling at the truly beautiful gift. "Wow, Cal!"
She pulled a sterling silver pin from the box and held it up in front of her. It was a delicate little wren with a sapphire eye.
"This is really too much, Cal," Dorcas said breathlessly.
"No," Cal argued. "It's not much at all. I got it the same day I bought Cherry's gift." He laughed with a far away look in his eyes.
"What's funny?" Dorcas asked, tearing her eyes away from the beautiful bird to look at him.
"Oh, I was just remembering the pretty dress you wore to her party. The pin would have looked nice with it. Too bad I've given it to you late," he explained.
"It's not late at all! It wasn't my birthday then."
"May I?" Cal asked, taking the pin from her.
Dorcas leaned forward and swept her hair from her shoulder, allowing Cal to pin the bird to her robes just above the eagle emblem of Ravenclaw House.
"How does it look?" Dorcas asked, preening a little as she displayed the gift, undoubtedly the finest thing she owned.
Cal's eyes didn't leave hers as he said, "Stunning," in answer to her question.
Dorcas felt herself blushing under his gaze and looked away first, sensing that to continue to look at him was to make something more out of the moment than was really there between them. She realized that if she didn't hold him at a distance, then Cal would take it as encouragement to ask for more. Dorcas wasn't prepared to venture her heart in any significant ways, claimed as it already was by another. As she couldn't explain to Cal why she was not available to return his admiration, she decided to discourage it in more subtle ways.
"Thanks," she offered, not meeting his eye again.
For something to do to redirect the conversation, Dorcas pulled the Arithmancy text toward her again.
"Are you in Arithmancy this year?" he asked, brow furrowed. "I haven't seen you. Third and fourth years are together this year."
"No, I'm not. Much to my frustration," Dorcas said, gritting her teeth.
"Why not? You want to be a healer, don't you? Arithmancy is used in determining dosages of potions, in reverse engineering potion ingredients, and in creating antidotes."
"You don't have to convince me of its value," Dorcas spat, jealous of Cal's ability to take the classes that would help him realize his goals. "I want to take it. But it wouldn't fit into my schedule. I have to take Homemaking Hell instead."
Cal laughed. "Pardon?"
"That class that all girls have to take here for some stupid reason. It's at the same hour as Arithmancy," Dorcas explained.
"Ah," Cal nodded in understanding.
He ran a finger down the spines of the books stacked in front of her.
"Are you trying to teach yourself, then?" Cal asked.
Dorcas shrugged. "I don't know what else to do. Dippet won't let me switch out. But I'm not getting anywhere with these." She slammed the one closed that she'd just opened and pushed it away again in annoyance.
Cal dug around in his school bag and pulled out his own Arithmancy text, sliding it to Dorcas. "You need to order a copy of this book," he instructed, opening the cover to show her examples of partially completed numerical charts and breakdowns of formulas.
Dorcas dug into her own bag for parchment and a quill to take down the name, excitement blooming in her as she finally felt as if she was getting somewhere.
"Thank you, Cal," she enthused.
Cal smiled and crimsoned a little.
"I could meet you here after school to teach you, if you want," he offered, his eyes flicking back to hers again.
"Really? Would you?" Dorcas's eyes were wide and hopeful.
Cal nodded, his smile widening under the hopeful gaze. "It would be my pleasure."
:::
1 December, 1958 Number 23, Clanricarde Gardens, London
"Do you have a telephone, Gwen?" Dorcas asked.
Gwen nodded. "In the kitchen."
"I'm making a call to my husband. You know him. Healer Meadowes?"
Dorcas spoke calmly and explained her moves to Gwen, wanting the younger woman to understand that she was acting to help her and her mother.
"We need to get you and your mother someplace safe, someplace where your mother can be looked after properly."
Gwen's brow furrowed and her mouth parted as if to argue.
Dorcas cut her off. "Not that you haven't been doing your best to care for her. You've done wonderfully, Gwen. But you know as well as I do that she needs more."
Gwen closed her eyes and nodded her consent.
Reaching into her trousers pocket, Dorcas pulled out a telephone number that she'd scribbled down. It was the number to the cafe where Cal was waiting for her. She crossed to the kitchen and picked up the receiver, removing her earring in one deft movement.
"Hello," she said brightly when a female voice answered. "There is a tall man, blond, having coffee in your cafe. His name is Cal Meadowes. May I speak to him?"
She waited for the woman to retrieve Cal.
"Dorcas?" Cal asked. "Everything okay?"
"Yes," she reassured him. "I need you to bring Gideon and Fabian to Gwen's place as soon as you can."
"Is she going to help us?" Cal asked hopefully.
"I think so. But we need to help her first," Dorcas replied.
"I'll reach out to them right now," Cal agreed.
Dorcas hung up and replaced her earring. Turning, she saw Gwen standing nervously behind her.
"Who is Healer Meadowes bringing here?" she asked.
Dorcas placed a hand on Gwen's shoulder.
"Just two friends who can help," Dorcas explained. "A solicitor and an Auror."
Gwen stiffened. "An Auror?"
"Gwen," she explained calmly. "Auror Prewett knew where you were. He was the one who tracked you down for me. If he'd wanted to arrest you, it would have happened already. As I said before, we don't want you. We want Muybridge. And the man that threatened you and your mother," Dorcas added.
:::
13 September, 1941 Library, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Dorcas pushed on with the Arithmancy texts after she'd finished an essay for Transfiguration and a translation for Ancient Runes.
It was a relief to know that she wouldn't have to struggle on her own to learn the complicated discipline of magical numerical sequences. If she wouldn't be permitted to take part in the class directly, at least being able to absorb the lessons secondhand from Cal would help. She was eager to get started right away, but Quidditch practice prevented them from it.
Dorcas didn't realize how late it was until she looked up from an advanced number chart to find that the library was mostly empty.
The librarian, Madame Poole was floating a stack of books down an aisle about magical creatures. She disappeared a moment later and Dorcas was all alone.
The chair next to her slid out and Tom seated himself next to her.
"What did Meadowes give you?" he asked, nonchalantly leaning back in his chair.
Dorcas turned to him and stared.
His eyes flicked to the small bird pinned just below her shoulder. Dorcas could read his thoughts. He'd witnessed her unwrapping the gift earlier and Cal pinning it to her robes.
She rolled her eyes and returned to her reading.
"So does this mean you're officially dating that Gryffindor ogre?" Tom pressed.
Dorcas opened her mouth to assure him that she and Cal were not dating, but stopped herself. She didn't owe Tom any answers. She wasn't responsible for his jealous interpretation of what he'd seen.
Let him think what he wants, Dorcas decided.
"He's not an ogre. He's very nice and you don't have a problem with him besides the fact that he's my friend."
"Your friend?" Tom laughed out the word. "Are you sure that's what he is?"
Again, she wasn't going to be baited into soothing Tom's jealous ego by assuring him that there was nothing between her and Cal. Besides, if he suspected her and Cal of a relationship, then there was no reason for Jack to ever be cast in suspicion.
What if he'd learned of her feelings for his half-brother? And the letters? And the date they'd had? Would he forbid her from writing to him? She felt she would have to respect that request if he made it. After all, Jack was his family. Albeit very distant, barely acknowledged family.
She pushed Jack from her mind, afraid that Tom would pick up on her musings. Not for the first time, Dorcas was grateful for whatever mysterious force kept Tom out of her mind.
As annoyed as she continued to be with Tom, she missed him.
Sitting beside him in the library felt like old times. She realized that when she'd told him that she held him partly responsible for Morty being sent away, cutting him out of her life, it was the longest she'd gone without communicating with him. Nearly two months.
She found herself wondering what he'd been up to.
His eyes drilled into her as he waited for her to answer his question.
"What have you been doing all summer, Tom?"
Tom shrugged. "Research."
There was a visible thrill within him, a bright burst in his mind when she said his name. She was aware that she would only be picking up on the thoughts that he was projecting, so he'd wanted her to know how the combination of his name and her voice made him feel. It was intentional, a fly on the end of a hook.
Dorcas pushed these thoughts to the side.
"Research on what?"
Tom shrugged again. His mind answered when his mouth wouldn't. We're not friends anymore, Birdie. Why do you care?
Dorcas took a deep and steadying breath. As far as infuriating people go, Tom Riddle took the cake.
"Looks like you're doing some research of your own," he observed, deflecting.
"Not really, just trying to learn," Dorcas replied.
Tom stared at her. There were so many things that flitted through the forefront of his mind that he wanted to say to her. He wanted to apologize for his part in what happened over the summer. He wanted to dig in his heels and tell her that he believed he was right to want her to be safe from her unpredictable uncle. He wanted to tell her to snub Cal Meadowes and return his little love token to him. He wanted to resume their relationship.
But he didn't say any of these things. Instead he pulled a small piece of parchment from the pocket of his trousers.
"Happy Birthday, Birdie"
He laid the folded paper on the table between them.
There was a moment that hung between them when Dorcas was undecided whether she would accept the gift or leave it where it was.
Knowing that she would never–could never–be cruel to Tom, she picked up the piece of paper.
Unfolding it, Dorcas found a single word. It wasn't English.
Talpaer
"It's a spell," Tom said when Dorcas remained mute.
"What does it do?" Dorcas asked.
"It's a variant of the Disillusionment Charm," Tom explained.
Dorcas stared at the word.
"Show me," she asked, her eyes flicking from the page to Tom's eyes. She noticed how pleased he seemed.
Tom stood, pushing his chair back as he did. He withdrew his wand and pointed it at the bookshelf that partially obscured this study corner from the rest of the library.
"Talpaer!" Tom pronounced softly, but clearly, enunciating the syllables. Talpa-air.
Dorcas made a note of the wand movements that Tom executed. The motion was a simple downward flick and then a sort of halfmoon.
The bookshelf disappeared.
"It vanished!" Dorcas exhaled with surprise.
"See for yourself," Tom encouraged, waving at the space where the bookshelf once stood.
Dorcas stood and moved to the now-empty expanse of hardwood flooring. She stuck out her hand, expecting to feel the shelf. Disillusionment charms were like a chameleon effect, changing the appearance of an object to blend into its surroundings.
She gasped when she felt nothing. Her eyes found Tom's and she stared wide eyed at him.
"I feel nothing," she said with obvious astonishment.
Tom grinned. "I thought you might like that."
"Where did you find this spell?"
"I made it," he replied, stepping a little closer.
Dorcas turned to him. "You made it? Tom, that's brilliant magic!"
That golden halo around Tom's consciousness was back. The one that brightened his thoughts when she said his name. Only this time, the glow pulsed with an intensity at the praise she gave him.
Dorcas couldn't look away. His brilliance, creativity, and daring had always been the most attractive qualities about Tom. She was enthralled.
"I'm glad it pleases you," he said, stepping closer, closing the distance between them.
Becoming aware of his proximity and that all-too-familiar gravitational pull that Dorcas felt when she was around him, she stepped back a half pace.
She swallowed and gave her head a little shake to clear it.
"How did you come up with it?"
He waved his wand toward the shelf, wordlessly reversing the spell.
"Well, I started with the Disillusionment Charm as the foundation. But I wanted it to do more than blend an object into its background. Because that object can still be detected, touched," he explained.
Dorcas recalled the Disillusionment Charm he'd cast on the compartment door on the Hogwarts Express to keep anyone else from entering the space he occupied. All Dorcas had to do was feel along the wall until the latch caught her fingers. There was nothing to feel in the case of the shelf Tom had just charmed.
Her fingers rested on the shelf that had reappeared, trying to work out how Tom had done it.
"I drew on inspiration from Muggle repelling spells to accomplish the effect of vanishing. The shelf never disappeared." His fingers rested on the wooden shelf next to Dorcas's. "The spell only suspends the senses of touch and sight to give the illusion that something isn't there that is."
"It's a trompe l'oeil," Dorcas breathed.
"Yes," Tom agreed. "Well, a trick of the mind, rather than a trick of the eye. But the same concept."
She had the urge to press her lips to his in that familiar way she'd been accustomed to when they were dating. She wanted to possess the boy who possessed such brilliance, consuming that brilliance for herself. Her gaze dropped from his deep brown eyes that flashed golden on brief moments to his lips that spread into a self-satisfied grin. Dorcas felt herself leaning into his space.
"What are you two still doing in here?" Madame Poole asked, making Dorcas jump. "Curfew is in ten minutes."
Tom's fingers lightly brushed hers as they rested on the shelves of rune translation references.
"We were just finishing up," Tom lied smoothly.
Dorcas turned to gather her school bag and the stack of books she'd been scanning. She placed the parchment with Tom's spell into her robes pocket. She did all of this with her head ducked so that Tom could not see the hot flush that came to her cheeks.
"See to it that all of those find their way to the proper shelves," Madame Poole ordered, turning on her heel and disappearing once again into the stacks.
Tom helped Dorcas reshelve the books in silence.
Outside of the Ravenclaw Tower entrance, Dorcas searched for something to say to Tom. She wasn't sure what had passed between them, but she knew that it would not lead to a resumption of their relationship. She hoped Tom knew that as well.
"Happy Birthday, Birdie," Tom offered a moment later, alleviating the need for her to come up with words.
"Thanks, Tom," she replied, watching him descend the spiral staircase until he disappeared.
"You're past your curfew, young lady," the bronze eagle door knocker informed her.
:::
1 December, 1958 Number 23, Clanricarde Gardens, London
It was Dorcas who answered the door when Cal and the Prewetts arrived.
Gwen had retreated to her mother's room to explain that it was necessary for them to move again.
"What do I tell her?" Gwen had tearfully asked Dorcas.
Placing her hands on Gwen's upper arms, Dorcas squeezed and replied, "Tell her as much or as little as you want to. I won't tell her anything. Neither will Cal or the others."
"Hey!" Dorcas greeted them as she held the door open. She felt like a bird was trapped in her ribcage, fluttering nervously. "Thank you for coming," she said to the Prewetts.
"I'm glad you were able to bring her around," Fabian replied.
To Cal, Dorcas instructed, "Her mother is not well at all. Will you look her over and see if she's able to travel?"
Cal nodded silently and moved across the small sitting room and knocked gently on the door that Gwen had disappeared behind.
"I've drawn up a confession that Gwen can sign. It's got the standard perjury enchantments on it," Gideon informed her, removing his hat and some folded papers from the breast pocket of his overcoat.
Fabian stepped into the space behind his brother, handing a small piece of paper to Dorcas, similar to the one he'd given her yesterday with Gwen's new address written on it. This one bore the address of a different location.
"I've already shown this to Cal. Gwen and her mother will need to read it and then I'll destroy it. No one else will be able to travel to that location once it is destroyed."
"No one else will need to," Dorcas agreed.
She retrieved the memory phial containing Gwen's memory from her handbag and handed it to Fabian.
"This is what she remembers of the man Muybridge sent to threaten her. Will your team be able to track him down?" Dorcas asked.
"I'll take a look. See what I can do," Fabian responded, taking out a handkerchief and wrapping the memory up before placing it in his pocket.
The bedroom door opened and Gwen emerged, eyes red rimmed from crying. She was clutching two navy blue suitcases, each in a white-knuckled grip.
"Are you going to be alright?" Dorcas asked, placing an arm around her shoulders.
Gwen nodded and drew in a shaky breath.
"I've told her about the man who wants to kill us, but I couldn't tell her why," Gwen informed her. Tears began to fall afresh and Dorcas hugged the younger woman to her.
"That's okay," she soothed. "You don't have to, Gwen."
"I just can't have her thinking of me as a murderer!" the blonde woman sobbed, dropping the suitcases she held and placing her arms around Dorcas. "She doesn't have a lot of time left and I can't bear that she'll spend any of it thinking badly of me."
"You did what you had to do to keep her safe," Dorcas returned, surprising herself.
"Muybridge is the real murderer here," Fabian said from somewhere behind Dorcas.
Reminded that there were two other people in the room, Dorcas turned and introduced Gwen.
"Hello," Gwen sniffed, dabbing at her cheeks as she did.
"Miss Stanley," Fabian explained. "The Ministry is providing you with a safe house for you and your mother. Dr. Meadowes has also negotiated on your behalf for medical care for your mother."
Gwen opened her mouth to ask how care would be provided when they lived in a safe house with limited visitors.
"Cal will be looking in on your mother. And I will as well," Dorcas supplied.
"I will be the location's Secret Keeper," Fabian continued. "If these are acceptable terms for you, please look over your confession carefully and sign it."
Gideon handed her the folded papers and a pen.
"These papers are perjury-proof. Please make sure that everything that has been reported in the document is completely factual before signing, Miss Stanley," Gideon instructed.
As Gwen read the papers, Cal came out of the bedroom with Mrs. Stanley's small frame wrapped in a quilt and cradled in his arms. She looked weaker than she had when Dorcas saw her through Gwen's mind only ten minutes earlier.
Dorcas could see that it tore at Gwen to see her mother so diminished. She wondered how long Gwen's mother had been failing and why she'd never thought to ask about her.
Some friend you are, Dorcas chastised herself.
Fabian plucked a candlestick from the fireplace's mantle as Gwen signed the confession and handed it to Gideon.
Dorcas handed the address to Gwen and then instructed her to show it to her mother. Finally, when everyone had seen the address, Fabian destroyed the paper with a flick of his wand.
Cal shifted Mrs. Stanley in his arms to remove his wand.
"I'm going to place a Sleeping Charm on you, Mrs. Stanley. The trip will be rough and it'll be better if you're not awake," he explained.
Mrs. Stanley nodded her consent mutely.
"Yanam!" Cal said, rendering his patient unconscious. He replaced his wand in his pocket and pulled the quilt securely around her.
"Are we all ready, then?" Fabian checked.
All present nodded with the exception of Gwen's unconscious mother.
They gathered around the kitchen table as Fabian placed the candlestick on its center.
"Portus!" he said, pointing his wand at the candlestick as he voiced the incantation that turned the object into a Portkey.
"Now," he instructed, as they all leaned forward to touch the glowing Portkey.
Dorcas placed her free hand around Mrs. Stanley's ankle as Cal tightened his grip on her.
A sensation like a hook tugging at her navel pulled Dorcas toward the candlestick and then she felt as if she was spinning in complete darkness, bumping into her travel companions as she did.
:::
15 September, 1941 Domestic Arts Classroom, Fifth Floor, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Dorcas gave herself a pep talk all the way up to the Domestic Arts classroom. Telling herself that it wasn't so bad, that the information she'd learn from Professor Swyryn really was practical and useful, she didn't realize that the staircase had moved.
Now she was walking into class fifteen minutes late when she was already on the teacher's bad side.
She huffed as she sat next to Anneliese. Cherry leaned over her to tell Dorcas what page number to turn to as she pulled her textbook from her bag.
"Now, who can tell me the three uses for the Scourgify spell?" Professor Swyryn asked, zeroing in on Dorcas's belated entrance.
There was a shuffle about the classroom as hands went up into the air. Dorcas was flipping to the correct page when she heard her name being called.
"Miss Clerey," the professor said, coming to stand in front of her. "Since you don't think this class is worth your time, and the lessons I am here to provide so basic, perhaps you can enlighten us."
Dorcas stared blankly at the professor, abandoning her search for the page that the class had turned to.
"Scourgify is for cleaning, isn't it?" she stammered.
"Are you asking me or telling me?" Professor Swyryn quipped.
"I think it's a cleaning spell," she answered a little more confidently.
"A cleaning spell," the teacher repeated. "Care to be more specific?"
Dorcas caught Cherry's hand waving out of the corner of her eye. She turned in her friend's direction.
Cherry mouthed to Dorcas, "Removing stains."
Anneliese nudged Cherry, chiding, "If she thinks she's so clever, let her answer on her own, Cherry."
Dorcas felt herself redden.
"Miss Weasley," the professor continued.
Dorcas slumped into her seat in relief. Being caught out and unable to answer a question was a humiliation to her. But Anneliese's comment was what really stung.
"Removing stains, polishing objects, and washing out foul mouths," Cherry recited.
Professor Swyryn nodded in approval. "Take five points for Gryffindor."
Dorcas felt certain she could have come up with the first two uses on her own if she had not been caught off guard. The third one she would have never guessed.
She didn't look in Cherry and Anneliese's direction for the remainder of class.
When Professor Swyryn announced the end of the lesson and dismissed the class, she called Dorcas up to her desk.
"I am aware that you remain skeptical of the value this class holds in your future life. You are entitled to your opinions, Miss Clerey. But I will not tolerate tardiness. As a consequence for your lateness and because you couldn't tell me the uses of one of the simplest household spells, I am assigning you twelve inches on the uses of Scourgify. Due tomorrow morning.
Dorcas felt injustice boiling up in her. She had homework in other subjects to do and Arithmancy lessons with Cal tonight. She would need to work through dinner if she wanted to get it all accomplished.
She bit back anything she might have offered by way of an excuse, seeing that the professor was firm in her decision.
Instead, she hung her head and muttered, "Yes, ma'am."
Racing to get to Ancient Runes before racking up another tardy, Dorcas found that her customary seat next to Anneliese was now occupied by a Hufflepuff girl, Diana Lange.
Slipping into an empty seat toward the back, Dorcas opened up her runes translation reference and laid her homework out to be collected. She stared at the back of her friend's head, the stinging feeling from her earlier comment resurfacing.
:::
2 December, 1958 Watermead, Aylesbury
Dorcas watched the shadows of tree branches sway in the moonlight as she lay thoroughly boneless and exhausted beneath the sheets in her bed. She reveled in the peaceful feeling of completion that only Cal had ever been able to bring about in her.
Remembering the first time that Cal made love to her, she was pleasantly surprised to note that their passion for one another hadn't waned. She still felt as desired now as she had then. Her ardour for him certainly hadn't cooled.
When she observed him in his occupation as healer, commanding a team, saving lives, she felt her attraction for him deepen further. She'd remembered numerous occasions when the sight of him in a lab coat, pouring over notes or number charts for antidote recipes had inspired her to sweep his work aside and pull him onto the desk in their basement laboratory.
He was always a good sport about it when she laid waste to his research to satisfy her own libido.
She supposed what she found so undeniably attractive about her husband was his ability to put others ahead of himself. He'd wanted to be a healer in order to do the most good possible. She loved his kind heart.
"You were incredible today," Cal said, breaking the silence of their darkened bedroom.
Dorcas had been focused intently on the sensation of his index finger as it traced a pattern on her shoulder blade while she stretched out beside him on her stomach.
"I was?" Dorcas asked, disbelieving.
She'd just been remembering how gentle and caring he'd been with Mrs. Stanley. Patients were always so safe in his hands.
"Yes, you put me to shame sometimes," he continued.
Surprised by this comment, Dorcas turned over onto her back to stare at him.
Cal's hair was unkempt, a testament to the fun they'd had moments ago when she'd carded her fingers through it while in the throes of passion. His hand slipped from her shoulder as she turned to rest on the flat surface of her abdomen.
"Why do you say that?"
Between the two of them, everyone would agree that Cal was far more kind and selfless. Dorcas was brash and impulsive sometimes.
When it came to tracking down Stephen Muybridge, Dorcas had been out for blood. Cal only wanted the monster off the streets and in prison.
"You assumed that Gwen had been forced into helping Muybridge. You insisted on talking her into helping us put him away. My only thought was arresting her. I wanted anyone who had a hand in our son's death to be put away for good."
He moved his hand in smooth arcs over the sheet across her midsection distractedly as he talked.
"But you didn't think about yourself or of getting justice. You put Gwen and her mother first," he explained. "You're a very kindhearted person, Dorcas. You reminded me that I should put others ahead of myself. You always challenge me like that."
Dorcas didn't know what to say. Her whole body felt lit from the inside with a golden glow at the way he spoke to her.
She lifted a hand and raised it to his cheek, feeling the day's growth of stubble. Her fingers slipped around his neck and pulled him down so that his lips met hers.
Feeling effervescent with his praise, Dorcas continued to tug at him until she could wrap her legs around him and trap him against her.
"I love you, Cal," she breathed against his lips. Every time she said it, she couldn't help that it sounded like a revelation, as if she was only now realizing in that moment just how deeply rooted in her were the feelings she had for him.
He smiled, pulling back from her slightly. "I love you too, my darling wife."
:::
17 September, 1941 Arithmancy Classroom, Fifth Floor, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Dorcas felt her feet dragging as she began to climb the stairs to her first hour Domestic Arts class. The pep talks, the positive thinking, none of it was the least bit effective anymore. She hated that subject. What's more, she began to see that she was not welcome in the class anymore.
Anneliese in particular was hostile toward Dorcas, taking opportunities in class and out of it to let Dorcas know that she didn't agree with her stance on the family and career values that ran counter to Professor Swyryn's. Dorcas supposed Anneliese felt personally attacked by her attitude toward the class.
So when the moving staircase chose, once again, to deposit her in the opposite direction of her first hour class, Dorcas didn't feel especially inclined toward making the effort to be there on time. She didn't particularly feel like going at all.
Her feet had taken her to the class she'd wanted to attend since her first day of third year.
When Dorcas slipped into a seat at the back of the Arithmancy classroom, she noticed a disparity among the students who took the places around her. They were overwhelmingly male.
Dorcas saw only two female students among the group. One was a fourth year Slytherin girl, Ines Santiago and the other a Hufflepuff fourth year called Jo-Ellen Campbell.
Cal was in the front row. He'd turned to answer a question from a third year Gryffindor behind him that Dorcas didn't recognize, catching sight of her and furrowing his brow curiously before smiling.
She gave a slight shake of her head as if to communicate that she did not want him to take notice of her.
Mercifully, he seemed to pick up on the gesture and turn to the front once again.
Professor Lin entered the classroom from a side door, presumably leading from her study. Waving her wand at the blackboard, chalk diagrams and formulas appeared on its surface.
Dorcas retrieved parchment, a quill, and an inkwell from her bag quickly and began to take notes. She tried to copy everything that the professor had written, barely understanding half of what she'd scribbled down.
It was no reflection on Cal's tutelage that Dorcas was lost from the start. They'd only had the opportunity to meet twice so far. Dorcas had absorbed as much as she could from her friend, but she still felt like she was trying to learn lessons in a language that she didn't speak.
Professor Lin finished her instruction and broke the class into pairs so that they could demonstrate the skill she'd just lectured on. The pairs seemed predetermined as one fourth year student was seated next to one third year student throughout the class. Dorcas noticed that Tom was paired with her housemate, Mohit Singh and Cal was paired with a third year Gryffindor, Clay Atwood.
Dorcas sat in the back of the room partnerless.
Trying to cover for her lack of a partner, Dorcas buried her face in her notes, trying to make sense of them while sneaking glances at a Ravenclaw fourth year and a Slytherin third year seated close to her.
Professor Lin came by each pair to observe the teamwork and the resultant numerical chart, correcting math and reminding students how to apply the formulas as she went.
Dorcas tried to soak up what she could from observing the groups before Professor Lin noticed her.
"Miss Clerey," Professor Lin finally said, coming to stand next to her desk. "I was not aware that Professor Dippet had approved a schedule change for you."
The two closest pairs to Dorcas stopped to eavesdrop on her and the professor.
"He hasn't, ma'am," Dorcas admitted, crimsoning as she caught Ines tittering behind her hand.
Professor Lin turned and fixed Ines and her partner with a cool stare. The pair continued working, but Dorcas also knew they were keeping their ears open to the conversation.
"Then you are skiving off your scheduled class at this hour, is that correct?"
"Yes, professor."
"Then I suggest that you return to the class that you are scheduled for immediately. Please stop by my office before you head down for lunch. I would like to resume this conversation then."
Dorcas packed up her things and stood.
"Yes, ma'am. Sorry," she added as she bolted for the door.
Her eyes became blurry with angry tears as she was dismissed from the class. It galled her that she was being sent away from a class that she desperately wanted to be a part of in order to be a part of lessons in magical chores that she clearly wasn't interested in.
She was not a defiant girl. She wasn't a troublemaker. She'd never dreamed of skipping a class in her life. But she felt a belligerent streak at having been turned away from the Arithmancy class, similar to the way a dog's hackles are raised when provoked.
She would not return to the Domestic Arts class. That was a certainty. She would continue to come to Arithmancy and be thrown out every day by Professor Lin if that's what it took to force a change in her schedule.
Professor Dippet would have to cave at some point. Cave in, or throw her out, Dorcas thought with a cold chill at the line she had become aware of crossing.
She would come back to Arithmancy every day. Even if she was thrown out a hundred times by Professor Lin, she would come back.
She was contemplating how to blend in better so that next time the professor wouldn't spot her so quickly when she had the spark of an idea. Reaching into her robes pocket, her hand clasped a small piece of paper.
It could work, but she would need practice.
Dorcas ran the rest of the way back to Ravenclaw Tower, taking the stairs to her dormitory's bathroom two at a time.
"Hello?" she called out into the white-tiled space.
No answer came back.
Dorcas dropped her school bag and took her wand and her birthday present from Tom out of her robes pocket.
She tried to remember Tom's voice and how he'd pronounced the incantation four days ago when he'd demonstrated his invention for her. Closing her eyes, she pictured the way he moved his wand through the air.
Talpa-air
Dorcas took a breath and adjusted her grip on her wand. Pointing it at her school bag on the bathroom floor, she pronounced the spell, slicing down decisively before creating a gentle arc upward.
"Talpaer!" she pronounced just as Tom had.
Her bag seemed to disappear. She knew it hadn't, the spell was a mirage, tricking her mind into seeing what is around the bag without seeing the object itself. She reached her foot out to nudge the worn brown leather and school books it contained. She felt nothing.
"Okay," Dorcas said, encouraged by her small success. "Finite!"
The bag reappeared.
She moved on to a sink and then to a whole cubicle.
As she gained confidence, she became more certain that she could carry out her plan in Arithmancy class.
She positioned herself in front of the full length mirror at the end of the row of sinks and inhaled sharply.
"Talpaer!"
She saw her own shoulders slump in the reflection of the mirror.
Well, it had been worth a try at least, Dorcas thought to herself.
Moving away from the mirror a little dejectedly, Dorcas bent to retrieve her bag.
The bathroom door opened at that precise moment and Charys Fletcher and Zelda Weston stepped in talking about the class Dorcas had just skipped.
"Maybe she got her wish and transferred out," Charys offered.
Dorcas abandoned her bag and stood awkwardly. The two girls were talking about her.
"Well, at least now she won't bring the whole mood of the class down with her judgement," Zelda replied, tripping over Dorcas's bag. "Who leaves their crap right in the middle of the floor?" she huffed, kicking the bag for good measure.
Dorcas was frozen.
They couldn't see her. The spell had worked!
She looked at herself in the mirror once more. It was obvious to her now why she could still see her reflection. A mirror was inanimate. The spell only worked on sentient beings. The mirror had no senses to be fooled.
Zelda and Charys retreated behind adjoining cubicles.
Dorcas quietly repeated the spell on her bag and walked out of the bathroom. She would walk the short distance to her dormitory and see if anyone noticed her.
From now on, she would be attending Arithmancy classes incognito and skiving off Domestic Arts.
She realized that she was inviting an avalanche of retribution from Professor Swyryn and Professor Dippet, but she wouldn't let that stand in the way of the knowledge she wished to obtain.
She felt drunk on the recklessness of her decision.
:::
24 September, 1941 Library, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
"So that's why the numbers are divided by two," Cal explained.
"It's the prime number that the formula gave us," Dorcas confirmed.
She rubbed her thumb over the cracked cuticle of her middle finger as she studied. Her hands were chapped and red from her detentions scrubbing the Domestic Arts classroom floor the Muggle way. Since she refused to attend that class, this had become a nightly routine. One she would have to repeat after dinner tonight.
"Professor Lin told us a joke about the number two today in class. Do you want to hear it?" Cal asked as he watched Dorcas complete the numerical chart they'd been working through during this evening's tutoring session.
"Sure," Dorcas answered without looking up from the chart.
She'd heard the professor make the joke in class today. But Cal didn't know that.
Her scheme to camouflage herself in order to sneak into Arithmancy had gone mostly without a hitch. The only snag Dorcas hadn't foreseen in her plan came when she slipped into her seat at the back of the room and reached for her parchment and quill from her bag. She couldn't locate it. She spent five minutes feeling around in the space beside her desk on the floor before she finally conceded defeat. If she had been able to locate it, taking notes on parchment that was concealed from her own sight as well as everyone else's would have been impossible.
So she sat quietly and absorbed as much information as she could, resolved to copy Cal's notes during their tutoring sessions.
"We should give credit to the number two, Professor Lin said after explaining the formula. Do you want to know why?"
Dorcas looked up at him for a moment, eager to get back to copying his notes. She knew why. Because it was a prime number against all odds. She'd stifled a laugh when Professor Lin had said it.
"Why?" she asked as prompted.
"Because it's a prime number against all odds!"
Dorcas watched as the corners of Cal's eyes crinkled with humor. She laughed in spite of having heard the punchline before it was given. Cal was so pleased to share the joke with her, she found his eagerness endearing.
Her finger traced the sketches that Cal made in the corners of his notes. Like the field journal of a botanist, he dashed quick pictures of plants and flowers in the margins.
"That's a good one," Dorcas laughed.
Her laugh seemed to distract Cal momentarily. She heard his mind resting on the notes of her voice as it pitched with mirth.
Then another voice cut into their moment of math humor.
"Reusing a teacher's jokes to impress a girl. I don't think I've ever seen anything more desperate," Tom's voice cut her laughter off.
Cal continued to smile at her, unphased by the biting comment.
Tom had only communicated it to her. Dorcas wanted to turn around and bite back at him.
Why didn't he have the guts to say what he thought about Cal out loud? Was he afraid of the taller and bigger boy?
Cal's eyes moved from her to a place over her shoulder.
"Hi, Tom," he greeted the Slytherin in a friendly tone. "We're reviewing Arithmancy. Care to join us?"
Dorcas could tell that Cal was just being courteous to the intruder on their study session. He did not want Tom to join them and hoped he would decline.
"I'd rather chew glass, Meadowes," Tom thought, his mind's whisper like a hiss in Dorcas's mind.
The exaggeration caught Dorcas off guard, surprising herself and the two boys when she barked out a laugh that was almost a cough.
Cal's eyes crinkled in a self-conscious laugh once more as he stared at Dorcas.
"What's the joke, Clerey?" he asked good-naturedly.
She could hear Tom's smirk behind her.
"Yeah, what's the joke, Clerey?" Tom's asked.
Watching Cal's eyes flick between her and Tom, she knew Tom had spoken aloud. She felt the smile slip from her face. Tom had just tried to trip her up, catch her out with her bloody cursed mind-reading.
Dorcas hoped her recovery was swift and imperceptible to Cal. "Tom's way too busy and important to waste his time helping a third year."
Tom sat at the table next to the one Dorcas and Cal occupied. Dorcas suppressed an eyeroll. He placed a stack of books in front of him.
"What are you busy with?" Cal asked, eyeing the titles before Tom with interest.
"What is it now, Tom? Ancient wizarding languages? Talents of the Hogwarts founders? Snakes, maybe?" Dorcas baited.
"That's enough, Birdie. You go too far," Tom warned, rattling her skull with the ferocity of his own projected thoughts.
Dorcas cast a dark look over her shoulder. It was a reminder that they both had secrets they'd promised to keep for one another. Best not to take those promises lightly.
She rubbed her dried and cracked hands together and set to work again copying Cal's Arithmancy notes.
"Hey, I just remembered," Cal said, his attention returning to her as Tom turned his back on the two of them. "I brought this for your hands."
Cal removed a glass jar from his schoolbag, sliding it across the table to her.
Dorcas picked up the jar and held it up to the light. There was a sage green opaque ointment inside.
"It's a dittany salve for your hands," Cal offered. "I noticed how red they were yesterday."
"Thanks," Dorcas mumbled, becoming self conscious.
If Cal had noticed, then others had as well.
"Here," he said, taking the jar from her and twisting off the lid.
He dabbed some on her knuckles and palms and began to massage it into the skin of each of her hands gently.
Dorcas noticed a medicinal cooling sensation on the chapped skin of her fingertips and along the dried cracks at the base of her thumb and index fingers.
"We use this for various Quidditch injuries," Cal explained.
Dorcas nodded, distracted by Cal's fingers on her skin.
"Quidditch injuries," Tom repeated skeptically in his mind. "He uses it to wank off. Right now he's memorizing the shape and feel of your hands for later, Birdie."
She gasped and pulled her hands away from Cal.
It wasn't true. Dorcas wasn't aware of any ungentlemanly thoughts in Cal's mind, but the suggestion had been upsetting.
"I'm sorry," Cal apologized. "Did I hurt you?"
For the first time, Dorcas found herself wishing that Tom could hear her thoughts as clearly as she could hear his. Then she could curse him out without raising her voice in front of all of the students in the library.
Instead, Dorcas packed up her notes and books and raced from the library, cheeks on fire and Tom's sneering laugh in her ears.
"No," she stammered in response to Cal's apology. "I just remembered I have...something."
:::
Her thoughts returned to the regrettable scene in the library over and over as she scrubbed the rough wooden boards of the Domestic Arts classroom floor for the seventh day in a row.
The relief she'd felt from the dittany that Cal had applied to her hands had worn off almost immediately. A blister from the scrub brush she pushed endlessly across the floor had opened up on her right palm.
Her knees and her back ached.
Turning her head to the side, Dorcas felt her shoulders slump in reaction to her survey of the vast space she still had to cover.
It helped to remind herself why she was doing this. If this was the punishment she had to take for blowing off that happy housewitch class, she'd do it gladly. One day when she was pursuing some exciting healing career or breakthrough research, she wouldn't even remember this torture.
How long would Professor Swyryn insist on punishing her? How long would Professor Dippet ignore her defiance? Could she outlast both of them?
Feeling close to capitulation, Dorcas rolled onto one hip to massage her red kneecaps. Throwing the infernal scrub brush into the mopwater, she let out a cry of frustration.
"Scourgify!"
Dorcas jumped as the floors were magically scrubbed clean around her.
She craned her neck to glare at the intruder around a row of desks.
"Tom. I was supposed to do it all by hand."
"Why, when you can do it with magic?"
She took a deep breath, hoping that she could somehow store up some patience. He'd already depleted her reserves.
"That's my punishment. To drive home the idea that magic makes everything easier."
Tom, with his hands in his trouser pockets strolled up the aisle slowly, staring down at her. He shrugged.
"It does."
Dorcas didn't disagree. But she also didn't believe that magic was a slave to the magical, merely existing to make one's life more convenient. It was a gift. It could encourage life and snuff it out. It was precious.
Magic could also make one less able, too reliant. Weak.
Tom would not understand any of this. From the moment he'd discovered magic in himself, he saw it as a way of separating him from the non-magical. The ordinary.
He was magical. He was extraordinary.
Magic could never weaken him.
No.
He believed in pushing magic to the brink. He believed in severing every ordinary mortal connection and replacing it with magic. The way the Tin Man removed the human parts of himself and replaced them with metal.
It made him enduring.
But it also made him hollow.
"What do you want, Tom?" she asked wearily.
She didn't understand why he was seeking her out. She'd made her position clear back in July. She didn't want him in her life.
The birthday gift didn't change that.
"A favor."
He was standing over her. A posture of power. Dominance.
Dorcas was too tired to play along.
She looked up at him and shrugged silently. Expectantly.
"You have a funny way of warming someone up to ask for favors," Dorcas spat, remembering his provoking comments concerning Cal earlier.
"Oh, come on, Birdie. That was funny!"
"Our definitions of humor are vastly different," Dorcas returned. "It must be those witty new friends you've replaced me with."
"I haven't replaced you. I never could."
"Well, try your best," Dorcas said, pushing herself to a standing position. "Goodnight."
"Birdie."
Tom's hand shot out quickly to seize her around the wrist.
She tried to twist out of his grip. It became vice-like.
"Birdie, hear me out. I've helped you, haven't I?"
Dorcas barked a sharp, humorless laugh.
"I have. Aren't you using my spell to get into Lin's class? I know you are!"
"Wasn't that a birthday gift?" Dorcas retorted. "I know you're not a selfless giver, but I assumed that you'd given me the gift so that you could see how impressed I was. It was all in the service of stroking your ego."
One corner of his mouth hitched into a smirk.
"That and I need a favor."
"Get one of your brilliant, funny friends to help you out. Are Roman and Evlyn too busy torturing Muggleborns to assist right now?"
Tom laughed.
But Dorcas was also aware that his grip on her arm had not loosened.
"I need a favor that only you can provide."
Dorcas tugged at her arm. His fingers remained firmly in place.
"Meaning?" she prompted.
"I need your gift."
Dorcas laughed.
"You have my gift, Tom," she snapped. "Something I deeply regret giving you. You tried to out me to Cal today."
"And you reminded me that I made a promise. It won't happen again," he replied solemnly.
"So who is it?"
"Who's what?" Tom asked.
The cat-and-mouse bit was wearing on her nerves.
"Who's the person that you need access to that you can't get? And what makes you think that I can get to them?"
"It's not really who, it's where," he cryptically replied.
"Tom, I don't have time for this. I'm tired!"
"Binns," he said, cutting off her whining.
Dorcas's interest was piqued. That was a name she had not expected.
"Professor Binns?" She scrunched her nose. There was nothing especially complicated about the History of Magic professor. He certainly didn't practice Occlumency or other mental defenses.
Dorcas paused to consider. It's not really who, it's where. Binns never left Hogwarts. While other teachers loved to take advantage of a Hogsmeade weekend, same as the students, Binns was of a different persuasion. He tended to keep to himself. He never strayed past the school's gates. Past the school's wardings.
Tom's ability to read minds had one vulnerability. He could not see past the protective enchantments of the school. His was not a natural gift.
Dorcas had no such difficulty.
"No, Tom."
With a hard yank downward, Dorcas broke the hold Tom had on her.
"No?" he hissed, coming within a few inches of her face. Angry. Challenging.
"No. I will not help you spy on teachers."
"Yes, you will. You've already agreed to help me."
Dorcas knew the look on her face suggested Tom had said something ridiculously absurd.
"I won't."
"You've agreed to help me with anything I needed in order to obtain a Horcrux, Birdie."
It was the way he said "Horcrux" that seemed to cast a spell over her. Warm resolve spread throughout her body and a delicious desire to acquiesce to his request hummed within her.
His stance became at once less hostile, more compelling. Pulling her in.
His eyes carried less of a threat and more of a seductive allure than she'd ever before perceived.
She wanted to help Tom. She needed to help him.
