Chapter 41

24 September, 1941 Domestic Arts Classroom, Fifth Floor, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

"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.

Tom stared at her blankly. But something in his eyes told Dorcas that he'd followed the rapid erosion of her will, the reshaping of it into his will.

He didn't wait for her to verbally capitulate. Placing a hand on her back he gently pushed her along beside him.

"Come with me," he said impatiently.

Dorcas abandoned the cursed scrub brush and mop bucket and allowed herself to be shepherded out of the Domestic Arts classroom.

She was silent, her limbs seduced by Tom's bidding. Her mind didn't even bother to prompt her voice to ask where he was taking her. She was content to be led by him.

They came to a stop outside of a classroom they'd visited together before, Defense Against the Dark Arts.

She felt Tom's grip adjust, slipping from her back to around her waist. His fingers digging into her flesh, pulling her to his side as if warning her not to run.

They'd visited this room together on two occasions.

Dorcas remembered confessing for a second time that she loved Tom right here over a Boggart disguised as Tom's own dead body. The image still frightened her; that Tom could depart this world–and her–forever. There had been so much that had happened between them since that confession, and yet, it still held true. No matter how much he aggravated her, angered her, appalled her, she still loved him.

The door closed quietly behind them and Dorcas caught a glimpse of Tom stowing his wand out of the corner of her eye. She marveled at his stealth and his wordless spellcasting.

They were standing before the cabinet that held the Boggart.

Tom turned to her and spoke slowly.

"I've used the Boggart as a sort of litmus test of how successful my quest for a Horcrux has been."

Dorcas nodded silently. She remembered when she'd resolved to help Tom, the Boggart had become the bloody body of her Uncle Morty instead of Tom. When her resolve wavered in the face of the obvious moral implications of the quest, it had changed back to Tom.

She wondered what the Boggart revealed to Tom when he was on the right path to immortality. It would no longer show him his own dead body.

"After I'd secured the Oni tusk last winter," Tom explained. "The boggart changed. It wasn't my corpse anymore."

Dorcas shivered slightly at the cavalier way he referred to his own death. His arm tightened around her in response.

Flicking his wand, the cabinet that housed the Boggart shuddered as the bolt pulled back from the catch magically. As the cabinet door creaked open, a torrent of water gushed out and around their ankles. As the water receded, Tom's unmoving form was revealed in the middle of the classroom floor.

Breaking away from Tom, Dorcas rushed forward with a sob, falling to her knees in front of the image she'd thought she would never have to witness again. She reached up to touch a drenched lock of hair that was plastered to Boggart-Tom's forehead.

"Don't touch it, Birdie," Tom warned.

He'd come to stand behind her.

"I thought we'd ensured this could never happen," Dorcas whispered, her hand suspended over Boggart-Tom's face. She felt a tear slip down her cheek.

Kneeling behind her, Tom wrapped his arms around her and pulled her away from the Boggart.

She felt herself lean heavily, wearily against him.

"I don't understand, Tom."

Dorcas's voice trembled as she realized that nightmares of Tom's real near-death experience–experiences, she corrected herself–would probably haunt her in her sleep tonight.

"I've had some trouble obtaining ingredients for the Horcrux potion, Birdie," Tom admitted. "I think the Boggart is an indication that my plan could be derailed if I don't find a way to get some of these rarer items."

Dorcas tore her eyes from the Boggart and looked up at Tom.

"What if it was never meant to be successful, your plan? There are no guarantees, right?"

Tom trailed his thumb down Dorcas's cheek, catching the tear that had fallen.

"I think it will be a success," Tom answered. "Do you remember when you saw the Boggart change?"

Dorcas nodded. "It became my uncle instead."

She looked back at Boggart-Tom. Why hadn't it changed into Morty this time?

Tom nodded. "That's how I know it can be done. When you resolved to help me, that's when it changed. So you are the key to this for some reason."

"Me?" Dorcas asked. She knew her eyes were wide and questioning, but could not help her foolish expression.

"But Tom, I don't want immortality. This isn't about me at all."

Tom waited patiently for her to complete her objection.

"I know. I am beginning to believe that it will only be possible to locate all of the ingredients with the help of your gift."

"But you have–" she began.

Tom cut her off, trying to hold onto his tentative grasp on patience. "I have your gift, yes," he completed for her. He kissed her forehead. "Thank you for teaching me. But it's limited inside these walls."

"You could wait for Binns to leave Hogwarts for the Christmas or Summer break–"

"He doesn't leave, Birdie. That's what I'm trying to tell you. The man is a hermit. I need you to get inside of his head. He knows about the Chamber."

"The Chamber? Oh Tom! You don't believe that children's story, do you?"

Dorcas felt his arms around her grow rigid. She knew immediately she'd irked him.

"Birdie, I am Salazar Slytherin's heir. The Chamber and its monster are my birthright. They are not a children's story."

His voice was steely and his eyes flashed threateningly. Dorcas had never heard him speak about his Slytherin connections aloud before. It was clear he'd been consumed by the idea and deep into research about the founder since she'd decided to spend less time with him in the spring.

"You're right, Tom. I'm sorry to have trivialized it," she placated. "What do you think is in the Chamber? What ingredient does it contain?"

"A basilisk," Tom answered. "More specifically, a basilisk's feather. Will you help me? Will you get the location of the Chamber from Binns?"

Dorcas had broken her rule against spying on teachers' thoughts before for Tom. Just after the Oni tusk had been stolen from the Circus Arcanus, Slughorn had come to retrieve Tom to Dippet's office for questioning. She'd violated her own rule then in order to give Tom an advanced warning about what the teachers knew.

"Could you banish that?" Dorcas replied, as Boggart-Tom's unblinking eyes stared back at her.

She could feel Tom shake his head as his chin rested on top of her head. "Not until you agree. I need to see if my theory is right. If you're the key to my success."

She wanted to ask a lot of questions. To start, why did Tom think a basilisk resided in the Chamber? The thought of such a dangerous creature nesting somewhere in the very school where she and her friends lived chilled her. She also wondered why Binns would be such a reliable source for the location of the Chamber. She didn't voice any of these queries.

Dorcas exhaled loudly. "Yes, Tom. I'll try to find out about the Chamber."

With a CRACK! the Boggart changed into Morty, blood pooling around his head just as she'd found him over a year and a half ago.

Tom's grip on her loosened in relief. She felt the muscles in his arms and chest relax at the disappearance of his own dead body.

"You banish it, Birdie," Tom encouraged.

It occurred to Dorcas that Tom was avoiding the Boggart, keeping her firmly before him, between him and the Boggart. Why didn't he want her to see what his own dead body would transform into once she'd agreed to retrieve information from Binns's mind?

"Riddikulus!" she said, transforming the Boggart into her own dead form before sending it sailing back into the cabinet where she locked it away.

Tom inhaled sharply behind her.

Dorcas realized she'd never told Tom how she manipulated the Boggart in order to banish it. It was a bit endearing to hear his stunned reaction to seeing her dead body for an instant. It helped to know that the sight of her death bothered him a bit.

"Birdie," he said.

She felt him shudder.

"You transform it into a fear you can live with, right?" Dorcas explained.

Tom swallowed hard and nodded.

:::

20 December, 1958 Graygable, Hatherleigh, Devon

Dorcas left Cal and Ryann to bring the rest of the luggage and Christmas presents through the floo. In a trance, she let her feet carry her down the vaulted space of the gallery and out of the massive gleaming marble and glass solarium and out into the snow.

Although she couldn't see it from where she stood, she knew that the stand of oak trees on the crest of the hill off to the west held the family plots where her mother-in-law and father-in-law were buried alongside her brother-in-law the war hero.

And next to them, she imagined a tiny grave with a headstone she'd never seen. One that bore her son's name.

She looked down at her black Chanel pumps. Not really the correct footwear for traipsing about Devonshire in the middle of December. But she would chance it.

When she came to the collection of gravemarkers, the sight of the smaller stone next to that of Airman Benjamin Ryann Meadowes made her chest constrict.

Dorcas only had memories of her baby's time on earth from her early communications with him in the womb and from Cal's recollections that he'd shared with her. She was not present for his funeral. She could imagine that in early August, there would have been a breeze in the green-turning-bronze leaves of the trees. The sun would still have been warm and golden.

She knelt in the snow in front of her baby's headstone.

"Hi baby," she said, swiping away the snow that had accumulated on the white marble slab.

She traced a finger over his name, Benjamin Mortimer Meadowes; over the dates of his birth and his death–just three short days. Days that Dorcas would give anything to have been awake for.

She hoped this would feel different once Muybridge was behind bars, once he'd been indicted for Ben's murder. But it didn't. Dorcas was beginning to understand that nothing would dull the searing stab of loss she felt, the empty gaping place that Ben was supposed to fill.

She was aware of the biting wind and the snow soaking into her wool skirt and stockings. Her cheeks became frosty too where tears had fallen.

"It's cold out today," she said as if he were here with her, perhaps in a pram wrapped up, being introduced to snow for the first time.

She plucked some sodden leaves out from under the snow and tossed them aside, giving her hands some small task to accomplish. What she wanted more than anything was to feel her baby, warm and vital in her arms. She wanted to pull a blanket snugly around his plump limbs. She imagined what it would be like if he'd lived. He would be celebrating his first Christmas in a few days' time.

"Dorcas," Cal said. His footfalls shuffled through the snow, announcing his approach before he'd spoken.

He knelt next to her in front of his brother's grave and brushed the snow from it as she'd done for their son. "Happy Christmas, mate," he said before turning to her.

"You're going to catch a chill out here dressed like that," he warned. Taking out his wand, he removed all of the snow from the four graves and then cast a warming charm over Dorcas.

"I don't care," Dorcas said gently. "I know it's a selfish thought, but sometimes I wish I could be buried down there with him. I could lay down here and let the snow cover me. Eventually I would become a part of the earth that he's a part of. He shouldn't have to be alone, Cal."

His arm wrapped around her shoulder, pulling her closer to him. "He's not alone, my love. Mum's with him, and Dad. Benjamin's looking after him."

Dorcas nodded. "I wish he were here, Cal. I wish he could be with us."

"Me too, sweetheart."

Sometime later Cal had convinced her to return to the house. Dorcas hadn't been aware of leaving the gravesite, of her husband's coat being wrapped around her, or of the cold which numbed her fingers and toes.

Her daughters' voices pulled her out of her malaise.

Wren was crying.

Following the sound, Dorcas saw her oldest and youngest arguing on the veranda under a bare oak tree.

"I can get her down. Don't cry," Ryann said, pulling her wand out of the pocket of her trousers.

"She will fall down. Don't do it, Ryann," Wren wailed.

Dorcas couldn't see what the commotion was all about.

Cal turned to her. "How can I help, my love? Do you want me to entertain the girls for a little while so you can be alone?" he asked.

She nodded. How did he know what she needed before she knew herself?

"Please see what they're fighting over. I think I'll have a warm bath," Dorcas replied.

Cal pulled her into a tight but brief embrace.

"Ryann, no magic!" he called over Dorcas's shoulder in the next instant. "You're not allowed and you might hurt Pippa!"

Dorcas was abandoned on the veranda's steps so that Cal could fetch Wren's kitten out of the tree.

:::

A bath helped Dorcas's limbs to thaw and her mind to return to the present.

She luxuriated as long as she dared in the garden tub full of steam and suds before she felt like an absentee parent.

Though she'd doubted sometimes in her darkest moments of the past few months whether Cal still loved her, it was never due to a deficiency in his character. She always assumed that if he was straying to another woman, it was because she wasn't being a good wife, a good partner to him.

And, although now she knew it was an absolutely absurd conclusion to jump to, Cal breaking his wedding vows, she still felt the same imbalance in their partnership. And she knew the deficiency was on her end.

Cal always seemed to be the one propping her up, bolstering her, encouraging her. Dorcas was married to the ultimate giver. Was she the ultimate taker?

She needed to be intentional about finding ways to correct this tipping of the scales. She knew it would speak more to Cal about the way she felt for him than any words could.

Wrapping a plush robe around her, she cinched it tightly at the waist and wiped condensation from the picture window that gave her a view of the apple orchard behind the house.

Cal and Ryann flew Quidditch drills. Wren was nestled on Cal's broomstick in front of him.

The scene would make Dorcas nervous if Wren was up there with anyone else. But she didn't have to worry about either of her girls with their father. He always kept them safe.

She just hoped that Wren did not develop a love of the game that Dorcas thought was so dangerous.

She tore her eyes from the scene long enough to select some trousers and a heavy wool jumper. With her spirits lifted by the warm bath and the scene of her family enjoying themselves, Dorcas thought she might join them. Perhaps tonight they could even put up a Christmas tree.

"Hello? Well don't put out the welcome wagon or anything!" Cherry's voice called from the gallery below as Dorcas reached the stairs.

"Cher?" she called. "I just got out of the bath. I'll be right down."

She took the stairs two at a time, flicking her wand at her damp hair to dry it. Did Cherry have news of Jonas? Dorcas felt her heart immediately plunge into the cold again.

"Hey, Cherry," she said, out of breath from rushing down two flights of stairs and halfway down a long hall full of dead ancestors' portraits. "Is it Jonas? What's happened?"

Cherry dropped her suitcase dramatically.

"Nothing, I hope! Still missing in action. Still totally in the doghouse when he does finally come home," she answered. Cherry joked, but Dorcas could see the lines of worry on her face.

"I'm worried too, Cher," Dorcas admitted, wrapping her friend in a warm embrace.

Though they'd parted from each other at Gemma's house on a disagreement–Dorcas after punching her cousin and after warning Cherry not to do that exact thing–it was like they hadn't argued at all.

"I didn't want to spend another minute in that drafty house with a hundred servants staring at me. And I can't spend another Christmas at my parents' with all of my married siblings, stuffed in with all of their progeny at the children's table."

"You're always welcome, Cherry," Dorcas responded, picking up Cherry's suitcase and hooking her arm through her friend's.

:::

26 September, 1941 Ancient Runes Classroom, Second Floor, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

For days now, Dorcas avoided Anneliese's hostile glares by sitting in the back of the Ancient Runes class with Jonas. She wanted to corner her friend and force her to voice her particular issue with Dorcas. For her part, Dorcas couldn't understand why Anneliese wasn't being more supportive. Or Cherry for that matter. They knew she'd never been interested in that housewife and mother stuff. They knew she wanted to be a healer. Why were they upset with her for wanting that?

"Are you still skiving off your first hour class?" Jonas asked, pulling her out of her inner rant.

"No," Dorcas argued. It wasn't an outright lie. "I'm going to class first hour."

She was going to a class first hour, it was the truth. It just wasn't the class she was scheduled for.

Jonas looked at her skeptically.

"All the girls say you don't, Dorcas. How many days has it been since you went?"

Dorcas picked at the scab of a blister on her hand, the consequence of her repeated refusal to attend Domestic Arts.

"Nearly two weeks," Dorcas admitted.

Jonas's eyes bulged. "Two weeks? Dorcas! Think of all of the missed assignments you've stacked up. You'll fail out of the class. Do you want to receive a Troll in an easy subject?"

The irony of Jonas Rackharrow lecturing her about the importance of grades and attendance was not lost on her.

Dorcas put her nose in the air. Somethings were worth sacrificing for. She'd had this conversation with Professor Lin and Professor Swyryn. She would not attend a class that preached to girls about how they should take extra care with their appearance so as not to give their husbands cause to find them less appealing.

And though her mother had warned her to treat Professor Swyryn respectfully and make the proper appeals to switch classes, Dorcas had received no letters from her that admonished her for the stand she was taking.

Jonas did raise a fair point about her marks and eventually the problem with exams.

Dorcas was taking a stand, proving a point. Girls should be allowed to set their schedules in the same way that boys were able to. No forced Chores for Chattel classes. But she did worry about how this noble cause would play out in her school records. Would she still be eligible for research grants and internships with a failed Domestic Arts blemish on her transcript? Also, how could she hope to make all of this Arithmancy work pay off if she wouldn't be able to sit the exams at the end of the year?

"No, I don't! But I won't take that class. I refuse."

"Do you think that tone right there may be the reason Anneliese isn't speaking to you?"

Dorcas dropped her quill and turned to her cousin. Was he taking Anneliese's part in things now?

"What do you mean? How does my refusing to go to class have anything to do with her?"

Jonas shrugged and shrank back from her a bit. "Well, your stance that the class is a waste of time, beneath your lofty future plans," he began.

"Yeah?"

"Sounds a bit judgemental, doesn't it?" he finished.

"I'm not judging anyone. I just want to be able to take the subjects I want to take."

Jonas nodded. "And you're putting down her choices by comparison. She's Muggleborn, right?"

"Yeah? So?"

"So, she probably thinks the class is a worthwhile one. Learn how to be a proper housewitch. It's not a high aspiration for you. But that doesn't mean it's not an important goal for her, does it?"

Dorcas stared at her cousin.

He shrugged again self-consciously.

"You're a rather sensitive bloke, aren't you?"

"Get off!" Jonas growled, pulling his translation back from Dorcas's desk after she'd made revisions.

She handed him hers. "Let's crack on."

When class ended, Dorcas hoped she might catch Anneliese between classes to apologize. She knew now that Jonas was right. She'd been a selfish prat about the Domestic Arts class.

Stepping into the corridor, Dorcas lost all train of thought concerning Anneliese when she spotted her mother and her Uncle Lysander on the second floor landing, speaking with Professor Lin.

"It's my dad," Jonas said, worry coloring his tone. "And your mum."

Dorcas swallowed. "This can't be good."

She sent a tentative thread of consciousness into her mother's thoughts. A conversation between her mother and her uncle was playing over on the surface of Mary-Ellen's mind.

"You're the parent, Mary-Ellen. You tell your child what you expect and they follow."

"I believe in allowing her to solve her problems and forge her path. You may take a different approach with your children."

"What a path she's forged, Mary! She's going to get herself thrown out for defiance!"

"She's taken the punishment without complaint, I'm told by Professor Swyryn. She's also been seeking tutoring for the class she's missed out on. I'd say she's doing an excellent job of shifting for herself. It's Dippet who's being a stubborn old goat."

"Dippet's following the mandate. There's nothing for it. She'll just have to take the class and bear up as best she can. No more of this fomenting revolution!"

"And whose mandate is it that sets girls one class behind their male counterparts? The Board of Governors', that's who. You march into his office and tell him to excuse Dorcas from that infernal subject and place her in Arithmancy. You wanted a say in her life and her future. Here you are!"

Dorcas felt a swell of pride for her mother's advocacy. And a hint of consternation for her uncle's reticence.

Jonas placed a hand on her shoulder. "I'm off to Potions. Nice knowing you, cousin."

"Shut up!" Dorcas barked, shaking his hand off.

:::

Dorcas was bitten by fanged geraniums three times during Herbology. She couldn't keep her mind on the task at hand: moving seedlings into larger pots.

Her thoughts kept returning to the sight of her mother and her uncle on their way to Professor Dippet's office with Professor Lin.

The conversation that her mother and uncle had engaged in prior to their visit to Hogwarts played over in her mind until the sound of their voices was deafening.

"She's going to get herself thrown out for defiance!" her uncle had said.

All concerned were upstairs deciding her fate right this moment. She felt faint thinking about it.

"Dory! You'll crush it!" Cherry said, elbowing her.

"Huh?" Dorcas grunted, refocusing on the task at hand–well, in hand. She held a seedling in a vice-grip, its fangs gnashing at her thumb just out of striking range. "Sorry!"

Dorcas wasn't sure if the apology was directed at Cherry or at the geranium, but plopped the agitated perennial into fresh potting soil.

"Missed you in class again this morning," said Cherry.

Unsure if the comment was meant genuinely, or not, Dorcas busied herself with pressing down the soil around the seedling and kept silent.

"It was funny to watch Anneliese practice a charm to whisk egg whites. She mispronounced the spell and got goo all over herself!" Cherry laughed.

Dorcas looked up and smiled. It was funny to imagine perfectly poised Anneliese with egg on her face. Her mind flitted back to Ancient Runes class and her discussion with Jonas about Anneliese. Dorcas wondered if the sour look on her face had been because she was still mad at Dorcas, or because of the whisking catastrophe.

She really needed to find a moment alone with Anneliese so that she could bury the hatchet once and for all.

Professor Lin entered the greenhouse, causing Dorcas to drop the empty pot she'd just liberated the geranium from.

"Honesty, Dory! Where's your head at today?" Cherry chided, waving her wand at the shards of pottery, knitting them back together.

Dorcas ignored Cherry's question, watching Lin speak with Professor Runyon-Smith three gardening benches over.

"Dorcas Clerey," Runyon-Smith said, making eye contact with Dorcas and jerking her head toward the door that Professor Lin was now holding open.

Cherry gasped beside her. "Are you in trouble?" she whispered.

Dorcas shrugged her shoulders in reply.

The answer was probably yes. Epic trouble.

:::

21 December, 1958 Graygable, Hatherleigh, Devon

"Oh my goodness!" Cherry exclaimed, pulling a frilly little bonnet out of a trunk full of baby clothes. "Was this Ryann's?"

Dorcas leaned around a stack of cardboard boxes to see what Cherry was cooing over.

"I don't think so. We didn't have her christened."

She continued searching for her school trunk among the generations of mementos, old furniture, and junk in her husband's ancestral home.

"It's probably Cal's," she added absently as she shifted a heavy crate full of china dishes and packing straw.

"Muggles dress all their babies as girls, then?" Cherry asked, scrunching her nose.

This room was stacked with more junk than the secret room at Hogwarts.

"A christening is a religious ceremony where a baby is inducted into the Church," Dorcas informed her. "It's a rather fancy ceremony and that is the formal attire for a baby."

"Were you christened also?"

"My parents weren't Muggles, Cherry," Dorcas reminded her.

She found what she was looking for under piles of linen and heavy drapes.

"Here, Cherry. Help me lift these off."

They cleared two school trunks, one belonging to Cal and one to Dorcas.

Cherry immediately moved to unlock Cal's.

"Better not, Cher," Dorcas warned. "Cal won't thank you for going through his things."

Cherry raised an eyebrow in response. "What he doesn't know won't hurt him."

Dorcas unlocked her own school trunk, like opening a time capsule. She pulled out a stack of black robes.

"I always hated those! They did nothing for the figure," commented Cherry.

Dorcas had to agree with that.

She wasn't looking for anything specifically. She just had a general feeling that her investigation of her memories from her time at school had stalled. She knew her brain scan indicated multiple memory charms or other COCs scarring her brain, but she'd only successfully located and removed one of them.

She hoped that this trip through her own artifacts would help to direct her path.

Dorcas lifted out three stacks of textbooks, placing them on the floor beside her. She would love to go through these at her leisure.

"You're going to read those before bed, I know it," Cherry teased her, while flipping through a Gryffindor Quidditch team photo album.

The smile fell from Cherry's face almost at once. Dorcas paused, understanding the rapid shift in moods.

"What year is that album from, Cher?"

Dorcas watched as her friend's eyes turned glassy. "1943."

"Sweetie, I'm sorry. I know it still hurts," Dorcas soothed, rubbing Cherry's knee.

Lips pressed together, Cherry flipped through the team's photos, reminding her of her first love, Darren Barton.

Dorcas remembered vividly the day news came of his death, the acute despair Cherry suffered in the knowledge that the plans they'd made for their future had instantly vanished. She prayed Jonas would turn up soon. Watching her friend suffer like that again would be agonizing.

"I bet Cal would like to see those too," Dorcas offered.

Cherry smiled and swiped the back of her hand across her cheek, catching her tears. "I bet he would," she agreed.

Swallowing past the knot in her throat, Dorcas found a small wooden box that she kept little trinkets and treasures in.

Cherry kissed a photo that Dorcas couldn't see and closed the album. Pulling a ball of red and gold fabric out of Cal's trunk, she made a face.

"These reek!"

"What are they?" Dorcas asked. Turning, she recognized Cal's Quidditch Keeper's uniform. "He probably took that off after the final match and threw it in there, where it's stayed for thirteen years."

"Boys are vile creatures," Cherry sneered.

Dorcas laughed. "Yes, they are."

Opening the small wooden box, Dorcas found a comb that Cherry and Anneliese had given her for a Christmas gift, along with a pair of sapphire earrings that were a birthday present.

"Anything good?" Cherry asked, chucking the Quidditch uniform across the attic space and taking out a thick sketchbook.

"The comb and the earrings you and Anneliese gave me."

Dorcas gasped. She thought she'd lost this necklace.

"What is it?" Cherry looked up from detailed drawings of a mandrake, sketched by Cal's talented hand.

"Tom gave me this," Dorcas answered, holding up a delicate alabaster bird on a thin chain. "He made it himself."

"I remember you wearing that," Cherry replied. "It's beautiful."

"I wish sometimes that I could go back to the time when I first recognized the feelings I had for him," Dorcas mused. "I'd take myself firmly in hand and shake hard until I came to my senses. I'd say, Dorcas! He's a liar! He doesn't care for you."

"Do you really believe that?"

Dorcas's eyes moved from the dangling bird to her friend. "What? That he's a liar?"

"That he doesn't care for you?"

Dorcas shrugged her shoulders and laid the necklace gently in the box once more. "Maybe in his own self-serving way he cares. He cares about talents and abilities that serve him. But, me? No, he doesn't care about me."

"Then why did he kiss you?"

A silence descended between them for a moment. Dorcas felt a sharp pang of guilt once again for laying that burden on Cherry. Dorcas knew she needed to tell Cal, to confess her betrayal to him. But she was so afraid of the consequences. Would he be able to move past it? Was the damage irreparable?

She didn't know. And that scared her.

"Why does he do anything Cherry? Because he could. Because I was weak and vulnerable and drunk. Because it's something he can hold over me."

As she said it, a chill came over Dorcas. Tom could ruin her marriage with one sentence. She'd given him the power to undo her life. Why did she do it?

"You can't let him use it as leverage, Dory. You have to tell Cal. It'll hurt him. There's no avoiding that. But it needs to come from you. Not from Tom. Please don't let Tom cut him like that."

Dorcas filled her lungs with dusty attic air, realizing Cherry was right. She needed to come clean to Cal and take the power of the betrayal away from Tom.

"I know you're right, Cherry." Dorcas's voice trembled. "I'm just scared–"

"This isn't about you now, is it?" She snapped the sketchbook closed and cut off Dorcas's excuse.

Cherry was transformed. She'd gone from Dorcas's friend and confidante to Cal's protector in an instant. Dorcas could not fault her for this. They were close. As close as family. Dorcas thought of her relationship with Jonas. Theirs was a similar bond.

She thrust the drawings at Dorcas and stood. "It's time to put Cal first and forget about the consequences for you."

Cherry turned on her heel and left the attic, flinging the door wide. It shuddered on its hinges as she stormed off, carrying the photo album in her clenched fist.

Dorcas flipped the book of impeccable Herbology sketches over in her hands, smoothing the cover and remembering the many times she'd seen Cal with it propped on his knees, lost in thought as he filled its pages.

She opened it at random to a bright illustration of a snargaluff pod. She flipped the page.

Dorcas came face to face with a black and white graphite sketch of herself at the age of about thirteen or fourteen with Bing in her lap. She didn't remember Cal sketching her.

Flipping the pages, Dorcas noticed others. Studying in the library. One of her face, bright and smiling. Another of her sitting on a bench in a dress with birds on it, reading a letter. She recalled the dress. But she did not recall posing for the picture.

He'd loved her forever.

Cal never said things just because they sounded nice, or because they were lovely sentiments. He was always earnest in the way he expressed his feelings for Dorcas, once he'd plucked up the courage to finally tell her. He'd also confessed on numerous occasions how he'd held a cherished hope for years that Dorcas would encourage him in some way. To let him know somehow that she felt for him the same adoration he'd felt for her. But the drawings drove this fact home in a more poignant way than mere words ever could.

He'd given her his heart long before she ever realized she possessed it.

If she could take that girl on the bench in the bird dress and shake some sense into her, that girl would have noticed Cal. She would have noticed him and forgotten all about the boy named Tom Riddle.

But Dorcas couldn't correct such myopism. She was a blind and stupid girl. Self-absorbed. Idiotic. She ignored the boy who'd already given her his heart. Instead, falling for the boy who'd taken hers and shattered it.

That's what Dorcas deserved. A shattered heart. Because she was a taker.

:::

26 September, 1941 Headmaster Dippet's Office, Seventh Floor, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Dorcas raised her hand to knock timidly on the solid oak of the door just above its handle. But the door flew open almost the moment she'd touched her knuckles to its surface.

She was face to face with Professor Swyryn, who'd opened the door while speaking.

"Highly irregular!" she finished as she noticed Dorcas standing there.

If she meant to continue her speech, she did not. Instead, she swept past Dorcas without another word and down the stairs to the gargoyle statue.

"Ah, Dorcas," the headmaster said.

Dorcas had managed to go two years without the headmaster ever speaking directly to her. The sound of him saying her name filled her with dread.

"Please come in, my dear," he invited, smiling pleasantly at her from behind his desk.

Dorcas moved into the room and closed the door behind her.

Opposite the headmaster, her mother and uncle occupied two leather chairs. Behind the aging wizard, the stone walls were lined with the portraits of other witches and wizards. Some dozed in comfy chairs, some sat reading. One silver haired witch knitted and watched the scene with unabashed curiosity. The walls flanking the door she'd entered were lined with tall shelves of books. The Sorting Hat sat in an alcove on a velvet cushion.

Mary-Ellen turned as she entered. Lysander continued to stare forward. Her uncle's face was unreadable. It brought to mind the distinct memory of when Dorcas had witnessed Gemma's dressing down for her behavior at the Christmas party last year. Her uncle's face had been a mask, but his words had been cutting.

Her mother smiled encouragingly and held a hand out to her. She wore the same traveling outfit that Dorcas had seen her in when she took Morty to his new home in Wales. It was a smart gray suit in wool with a skirt that came a few inches below her knees. The light color made her dark hair appear raven by contrast and her light blue eyes brighter.

Dorcas took her mother's hand as she stood beside her, trying not to draw her uncle's eye.

"My dear," Dippet began, steepling his fingers as he leaned his elbows on his desk. "You have failed to report to your first hour Domestic Arts course for nearly ten days. Professor Swyryn has informed me that her continued reprimands and punishments of evening detention scrubbing the classroom floors have been ineffective in correcting this behavior."

Dorcas swallowed. Her mother squeezed her hand, silently directing her to answer the headmaster's question.

"Yes, sir."

"This behavior seems most out of character for a bright and talented young lady. You must be aware that you are receiving poor marks in the class because of your lack of attendance."

"Yes, sir."

Her uncle inhaled a sharp breath like the crack of a whip.

"Dorcas, you must see reason. Failure is not acceptable. Defiance is not acceptable." Lysander snapped, causing Dorcas to jump.

Mary-Ellen's hand tightened over Dorcas's. "Lysander," she warned.

"Please, Mr. Rackharrow," Professor Dippet continued. Turning back to Dorcas, "Why don't you want to learn from Professor Swyryn in Domestic Arts?"

"Because I want to take Arithmancy instead," Dorcas replied.

"Professor Lin informs me that you requested Ancient Runes for your additional course. If you wanted to take Arithmancy, you needed to indicate that preference at the end of last term."

Dorcas's throat felt like gravel. "I did, sir. I picked Arithmancy and Ancient Runes even though girls are only allowed one new class beginning in third year. First and Second Level Arithmancy meets at first hour, same as Domestic Arts."

"I see," Dippet said, leaning back in his chair.

"Professor," Mary-Ellen said, taking up her daughter's case. "If Dorcas were a male student, we would not be having a conversation now about taking Domestic Arts or Arithmancy. Her male classmates may take two additional courses beginning in their third year. Yet Dorcas is being denied the same opportunity."

Dippet nodded, following along with Mary-Ellen's categorization of school policy.

"That is correct. Young men will go on to pursue careers in the Ministry and in the healing fields, as teachers, and business owners. Higher level coursework is not only offered, but encouraged for our young men. Our young ladies are served best in classes that prepare them for a supporting role as wives and mothers. Some women go on to have careers, it is true. But the value society places on marriage and family are paramount to our very survival as a society."

Mary-Ellen sat up straighter.

"Let me see if I understand you clearly, professor. I'm a woman and a little slower to draw conclusions, you see." she began.

Dorcas perceived a shift in her uncle's posture from the corner of her eye.

Dippet nodded slowly, seriously conceding Mary-Ellen's request, missing her sarcasm completely.

"Because Dorcas is not male, she may not pursue a career path of her own choosing. She must instead, follow a path decided for her by yourself and the twelve male governors on the board at the school. A path of marriage and childbearing and housekeeping and supporting. Whether that is the dream she cherishes or not? I wonder if you are in the business of cultivating the potential of your students, headmaster, or that of limiting potential?"

"Mary-Ellen–"

"I will hear nothing from you, brother," Mary-Ellen interrupted. "Unless you are opening your mouth to state that you wish Dorcas to be switched from Domestic Arts into Arithmancy first hour."

Mary-Ellen leaned around Dorcas to stare at Lysander. Dorcas couldn't help looking in her uncle's direction as well.

He seemed to bend under her mother's intense gaze.

"That is what you wished to say, is it not, Lysander?" Mary-Ellen prodded.

Lysander's eyes flicked to Dorcas.

Dorcas wasn't sure what kind of expression she wore on her face. She was stunned at her mother's direct and commanding tone.

Both men were silenced in her wake.

Dorcas saw her uncle's expression soften. She knew he was going to advocate for her in that instant. She felt her pleasure creep slowly into her cheeks, pulling the corners of her lips into a smile.

"Dippet," Lysander barked. "It's no use trying to convince her to return to that class. For the sake of a peaceful resolution, could we make an exception for my niece? I would consider it a personal favor."

"This is all highly irregular," Dippet blustered. "She's nearly a month behind in the Arithmancy course."

"I'm not!" Dorcas shouted. She remembered that she was speaking to adults and tempered her tone. "Sir, I have been receiving tutoring in Arithmancy. That is what I've been doing with my first hour when I didn't go to class. Please, sir!"

"Hear, hear!" said the knitting witch in the portrait behind Dippet.

"There, Dippet! The girl has been skipping one subject to learn another! She's hardly a bad egg! She's a credit to you!" Lysander championed.

"I'll get Os on all of my work. I'll make up all of the assignments that Professor Lin has already set. I'll continue to scrub the classroom floors," Dorcas begged.

"Very well, but the floors don't need scrubbing, my dear. Consider the matter settled."

Mary-Ellen kissed the back of her daughter's hand. Dorcas basked in her mother's pride.

"Thank you, professor!" Dorcas said. Her mother echoed her thanks and they left the men to speak.

Walking back to the gargoyle guarding the staircase and entrance to the office, Mary-Ellen turned to Dorcas.

"I haven't seen Hogsmeade in ages. I'd love a Butterbeer."

Dorcas's felt inflated by her excitement. She'd finally gotten the class that she'd wanted. Her desire to become a healer wasn't derailed after all.

"I have a free period now and then lunch," Dorcas said hopefully.

Her mother smiled, mirroring Dorcas's smile. It was a rare occasion indeed that Dorcas had time with her mother all to herself. And they had a victory to celebrate.

:::

Dorcas felt invincible!

There was one person she was eager to share her good news with. But she'd had no word from him since the letter that came on her birthday.

She'd already written to Jack twice since then. Unable to contain all of the thoughts she'd wanted to put down on paper, she'd filled four pages about the goings on at school.

Dorcas was also showing less restraint when it came to opening and rereading his letter. She was still wary of taking it out and unfolding it in front of others at school, so she'd taken to ducking behind a tapestry and into an alcove with a narrow window on the fourth floor.

She removed the well-worn pages from her school bag now and ran a finger over the ink endearments he'd used to open his letter.

My Darling, Dorcas,

I have a rare moment to myself and I find that I am rushing to locate a pen and a piece of paper to write to you before I think of doing anything else. I'm well knackered from training each day. I thought all of my years of mucking stalls and lifting bales of hay had prepared me for the life of a soldier. Boy was I wrong! The most wearing part of this routine is not the deprivation or the building of endurance, but the endless marching. Sure, it would be worthwhile to march if we were going anywhere. But the countryside in one part of England is the same as that in any other. I am eager to be off somewhere new.

As many times as Dorcas had read these words, that last line always filled her with panic. It was the very last thing in the world that she was eager for.

I got your letter with the photograph that you were kind enough to send me. You have the prettiest smile. I keep you in my pocket and take you out at night when I get to thinking about the events that have upended my life. You are like my little talisman against sadness and despair. It's easy with Verity gone to feel like I'm alone in the world now. But I take your photo out and look at you. You're smiling back at me and reminding me that I'm not alone. Not truly.

You are beautiful in every memory I have of you. But the one that I think of the most is the time when I came to visit you and you opened the door. The look of wide-eyed surprise on your face, your plain dress and bare feet; you took my breath away! I imagine a life where I get to come home and you're there, looking that way every day. You have a simple and effortless way of being beautiful, Dorcas. And I know you were wishing the entire visit that I'd written to give you fair warning so that you could have chosen your dress more carefully or arranged your hair or put on shoes. But I'm glad I surprised you. The girl of my dreams opened the door to me that day. My favorite memory of you!

I'm sorry that you didn't get the class you wanted. That housework class sounds like a lark to me. But I know you're much more serious about your studies and wanted the other course. I don't know much about how your school works, or even what that class is that you wanted. But I do know that you're the same girl that threw that lunatic Gaunt to the ground. You won't let a little thing like a scheduling conflict stand in your way. I have faith in you. You'll work it out. And when you become a very important doctor and invent cures to all of the diseases, I'll be at home in an apron cooking you a well-earned supper. I'll do all of that housewife rot that you're too big and important for!

Well, I'm out of paper and free time. So I guess I'll end it here until next time. I'll keep your picture close to my heart. Write to me soon!

Here Dorcas's mouth always pulled up into a smile as her eyes turned to follow the writing up the margin of the page.

I'm forever glad you opened the door, angel!

Yours always,

Jack

Dorcas ended her rereading of the letter by pressing her lips to his name.

Yours always, Jack.

She wondered if it thrilled him to write those words as much as it thrilled her to read them.

The first time she read this letter, she'd recalled how embarrassed she'd been by her appearance when Jack showed up at her flat. But she'd been more embarrassed about her behavior when she'd kissed him. Her cheeks colored even now at the memory of the way he'd placed his hand over hers to stop her from unbuttoning her dress. What had gotten into her?

She'd apologized in her answering letter days ago, pleading with him to erase the moment from his mind completely.

Folding his letter up and stowing it back in her bag, she removed the picture of him she carried with her.

He was handsome. For this reason, she felt she could reasonably forgive herself her wild indiscretion on that summer day they visited together. How could any female help herself in the presence of such an Adonis?

Her mind made another tantalizing leap to later that night when she'd stolen into the bedroom where he slept and climbed under the sheets beside him. She remembered the feel of his skin and the solid muscles beneath when she ran a hand over his bare torso. The only thing stopping her that night from doing something highly regrettable was her own lack of experience. She had the desire to be close to him, to touch him, to press her body against his, but not the faintest notion of what to do beyond that.

Spending the night in his arms was perfect without needing to go any further.

The tapestry moved slightly, throwing light on her momentarily. She hurriedly replaced Jack's picture in her pocket before she realized it was only Bing seeking her out for a scratch behind the ears.

"Birdie," Tom said, pushing the tapestry aside in the next second, swatting at her feet in a gesture that demanded she make room for him.

Dorcas jumped at the sudden intrusion, but sat up straighter and tucked her feet under her to give him half the bench in the alcove.

"How did you know I was here?" Dorcas asked, hoping she'd covered the annoyance in her voice with a casual tone.

Tom's only answer was to point at the cat on Dorcas's lap.

"Are you okay? You look flushed," Tom observed.

Dorcas squirmed a little as if she'd been caught out by Tom concerning the not-so-innocent thoughts she'd been indulging about Jack. She was grateful once more for the mysterious force that kept Tom out of her head.

"I'm alright," Dorcas said a little sheepishly. She placed her hand over the pocket she'd just concealed Jack's photograph in, glad that Tom had not seen her with it.

"I saw your mum and uncle on the stairs earlier between classes. Did something happen?"

Dorcas's mind had raced in so many directions she'd nearly forgotten her triumph.

"Yeah. I got my schedule changed!" she couldn't help the glee she felt that pulled her smile wide across her face.

Tom nodded in approval. "We'll have a class together now! Maybe I can get Lin to make you my partner."

"But you have Mohit," Dorcas pointed out.

"Singh's a talentless prat. I'd much rather partner you." He shrugged and spread out confidently on the bench, making the assumption that Dorcas would be grateful for his partnership. "Speaking of partnership…"

Dorcas avoided looking at him, guessing why he'd sought her out. She busied herself by petting Bing instead.

"I need to know how far your ability extends."

Dorcas scrunched her nose up. "How far it extends?"

"Yeah, your range. Can you be outside of a room, let's say, and still hear someone?"

"I don't know. How about you keep walking and I'll let you know?" she replied, smirking.

Tom reached a hand toward Bing and stroked the cat's head, brushing her fingers as he did.

Dorcas couldn't help herself, as much as she wished her privacy hadn't been invaded, she was compelled to know more about his plan.

"Why can't I just go up to Binns and start a conversation with him?"

Tom rolled his eyes at her. "Hi, sir. I was wondering if you could tell me where the Chamber is hidden? I need to visit the legendary monster inside," he mimicked her voice.

"I would never be so artless!"

"Even so, I don't want you interviewing Binns. I'll ask the questions. I just want you listening in."

She shrugged. She didn't care who asked what to whom. She'd said she would help Tom–and she would. Beyond that was his business. "When is this going to happen?"

"When I can be certain that your ability is reliable."

Dorcas rubbed Bing's chin and the cat responded with a loud buzzing purr.

"Maybe I'm not reliable. Maybe you should find someone who can get a better signal."

Dorcas was being flippant now just to frustrate him. She didn't like the way he was ordering her about. She felt like reminding him about who had the talent in this scenario.

"Come to the secret room tonight, Birdie. We can test it there."

Bing jumped down from her lap and ducked back out of the tapestry as if bored of the conversation.

"Tom–"

"Birdie."

"I don't want to go back."

She meant it on different levels. She didn't want to go back to the scene of the crime; the moment their relationship bled out. She still felt that gutted feeling at seeing a place that had held such wonderful memories of their friendship and budding romance smashed to pieces. She also didn't want to revert to old habits. Spending time alone in the secret room with Tom felt like coming full circle. It didn't feel like progress to Dorcas. It would be too easy to fall back into their unhealthy rhythm.

"I fixed it. It's not like it was the last time you saw it."

"Still."

Dorcas chewed on her bottom lip. There was a potent disappointment hanging between them. She knew Tom had been all but certain she would just comply with his wishes. It seemed that falling into their old rhythm was exactly what he was banking on.

"Tom, we can experiment with the range of my abilities right here. We have an hour until dinner. I'll even practice with you after dinner if you like. But I won't go back there."

"Very well," Tom responded, pushing himself off of the bench and leaving the alcove.

Dorcas thought he might storm off and give her the silent treatment for a few days as a punishment for her defiance. But his thoughts overtook her own and she realized he'd capitulated for once and chose to do this on her terms. She was surprised. Maybe this was personal growth.

"Surely you can hear me from here?" he mentally shouted at her.

"Of course I can, smartarse! Move off a little. And not so loud!"

"Yes, your majesty!" Tom said.

A moment later Dorcas could detect his thoughts. They were directed toward enumerating the many things about Dorcas that captivated Tom. The sound of her laugh. The flash in her eyes when she wanted to challenge him. The feel of her hair when he carded his fingers through it. Her curves he'd traced with his eyes the time she'd hurriedly changed her uniform dress in his presence when they were fleeing the Riddles' home after the party.

She felt a hot flush return to her cheeks. But she also felt anger. This was a calculated attempt to manipulate her. It was flattering to think of all of the ways that Tom had taken notice of her, but she tempered them with all of the ways he hadn't seen her.

He certainly hadn't taken her protests into account when he'd tried to force her into a physical act on the train last summer. He hadn't considered how wounded she would be when he couldn't be bothered to defend her against his housemates' assault on her character in the spring.

The flaming of her cheeks was quickly doused.

Tom could fill his mind with all of the best memories he had of their time together and it still would not cancel out the dismissive way he treated her.

She placed her hand over the pocket that contained Jack's picture. The similarities between the two half-siblings might be great, but Dorcas's eyes had been opened to what real adoration felt like. And she'd never again be able to mistake Tom's interest in her for true affection.

Not after Jack.

:::

21 December, 1958 Graygable, Hatherleigh, Devon

All through dinner Dorcas cast worried side glances at Cherry and long assessing stares at Cal.

Her inward debate was going to add to the trauma her brain had already sustained.

And she only had herself to blame.

She should never have told Cherry about the kiss. Not only was it selfishly motivated by Dorcas's desire to unload her burden, but she'd idiotically forgotten about Ryann's ability to hear others' thoughts.

What kind of mother would do that?

She monitored the threads of consciousness that came from Cherry's mind and scanned her daughter's face. All seemed to be well at the moment.

Poor Cherry was tortured with her constant wonderings about Jonas's whereabouts and his safety. Blessedly, all thoughts of Dorcas's indiscretion with Tom were forgotten for the moment.

She was also inventorying Cal's mood and the precarious timing of events.

Cherry was right. Dorcas had to be the one to tell Cal. She couldn't rely on the secret staying buried. She knew Tom. She knew that he would not hesitate to apprise Cal of the events of his birthday dinner when he was preoccupied with apprehending Muybridge. Even if it served no other purpose than to fuck up Dorcas's life, he would do it.

Why had she done it?

Why had she placed herself, Cal, her family in his cruel hands like that? He wouldn't hesitate to leverage that one illicit moment; to hold it over her.

She had to tell Cal. But she'd decided to do it after the holidays.

There was no sense in bringing discord into their lovely Christmas retreat.

Dorcas lay in bed, the small wooden box she'd found in her school trunk propped on her knees. She took the necklace that Tom had given her out once again, untangling it from a black ribbon with a key tied to one end. She didn't remember what it went to. Perhaps it belonged to something from her old life in London before her mother and her uncle had died.

"What's that?" Cal asked, climbing into bed and pulling her tightly against him.

"Cherry and I took a trip down memory lane today. I wanted to see if anything in my school trunk could jog some memories."

Cal nodded, taking the necklace from her.

"And what did you find?"

"Cherry nicked one of your Quidditch team albums. There were pictures of Darren in it."

Cal smiled fondly, remembering his friend.

"I remember you wearing this," Cal replied.

"It's from Tom."

Dorcas felt bile rising in her throat at the secret she had to keep from him for now.

"Did it help you remember anything?"

Dorcas shook her head. "It didn't trigger any memories. But I made this important discovery," said Dorcas, turning to the bedside table to retrieve one of Cal's sketchbooks.

She'd marked the page she wanted to show him and flipped it open.

Cal dropped the necklace back into the box and took the book, open to the page that had the drawing of Dorcas reading a letter.

"You discovered you married a stalker?"

"Why didn't you ever show these to me?"

Cal shrugged.

"They're really good."

"It was my way of purging you from my mind. I never seemed to have the right moment to tell you exactly how I felt about you. One thing or another always came up."

"Like Tom."

Cal nodded, studying the sketch.

"Yeah, you weren't exactly available. And then with everything else that happened…"

Dorcas knew what he meant. With her becoming an orphan, with his brother's death, and then Darren's, there was never an opportunity for Cal to tell her how much he loved her.

"Those little white shoes with the ribbons drove me mad," he mused, tracing a finger over the image. "They factored pretty prominently in the fantasies I had about you, Clerey."

Dorcas laughed.

"You didn't have fantasies about me! I know. I could read your mind, remember?"

Cal shrugged. "It wouldn't have been gentlemanly to have those thoughts in your presence…"

Dorcas found this so hard to believe but she was dead curious.

"Tell me!"

Cal laid the sketchbook aside. He flung the bedcovers off of her, exposing Dorcas's bare legs to the cold. She'd gone to bed wearing only a button down dress shirt of Cal's.

A grunt of approval escaped his throat that made Dorcas giggle.

"I always dreamed of slowly untying the ribbon around your slim little ankle, kissing every inch that the ribbon exposed," he narrated, slipping down to the end of the bed and placing his lips against the flesh on the inside of her right ankle, trailing his tongue down the side of her foot, tickling the arch in a way that made her breath hitch.

His hand traced the muscle of her calf, brushing the underside of her knee. Her stomach gave an involuntary flip.

"And then the other one," Cal said, his voice becoming husky with desire.

Dorcas sighed when his lips met another erogenous zone, traveling over her calf, running his tongue along the crease behind her left knee.

His hands traveled up her thighs, to her hips where he pulled her toward him on the bed. The hem of her nightshirt rode high on her waist. He lifted her leg, hooking it over his shoulder. She felt his lips kissing her inner thigh.

"You never did, Caleb Meadowes!" she breathed, her words faltering as he worked his way higher.

A moan escaped her when his actions became more deliberate.

"Mmhmm," was all he managed in reply.

Dorcas flung her hands out wildly before burying themselves in the sheets on either side of her.

There was a knock at the door causing Dorcas to gasp.

"Mummy! Daddy!" came Ryann's voice.

Dorcas assessed the situation quickly, reassuring herself that Cal's mind was closed.

"One second, baby!" Dorcas called, hurrying to pull her nightshirt back down over herself. She sat up and smoothed her hair.

Cal stood to answer the door, smirking at her wickedly.

Ryann was in her pajamas and barefooted.

"What is it, sweetheart?" Cal asked.

"Cherry wants you," Ryann said. "It's Jonas."

Dorcas reached for her robe, scrambling to follow her daughter and her husband downstairs.