Chapter 56
5 March, 1959 14 South Audley Street, Mayfair, London
Dorcas woke with a start, springing up from bed and blinking in the dark, attempting to gain her bearings.
Cal was sleeping beside her, gently breathing in and out, reassuring her with his steady presence.
She'd been back in the secret room, pinned down and bent over a wobbly-legged table by Tom. Only, she wasn't witnessing his assault of her. Instead, she was witnessing Ryann's assault by some unknown perpetrator. The same dream as last night.
The terror she'd felt watching the scene unfold was still with her, tensing her neck and shoulders, stiffening her muscles. She tried to approach and fight the boy off, but couldn't move. She was rooted to the spot.
She reached for her wand. But it wasn't with her.
She tried to yell, profanities bubbling up in her throat for the young monster that was hurting her child. But she was voiceless.
Ryann's brown eyes stared back at her like a reflection, accusing her, challenging her, pleading with her.
And Cal slept peacefully beside her, insisting that their daughter was safe at Hogwarts.
How could he know that?
Frustrated, Dorcas threw the covers back and reached for her robe at the end of the bed. Shoving her arms through the sleeves, she tucked her wand in her pocket while simultaneously sliding her feet into her slippers.
Silently, she left Cal to sleep and padded out into the hall.
Dorcas woke early nearly every morning with nightmares. This one concerning Ryann was just the newest in a string of dreams related to Tom's multiple brutal violations of her.
She knew that there were more horrific encounters yet to be discovered. But she was fighting a strong wall of apprehension which told her that she was better off not knowing.
Her hand was on the knob to Wren's bedroom door only moments later.
Pushing it open a crack, Dorcas peered in and studied the little golden-curled head that peeked out from the sheets and blankets.
Dorcas took out her wand and cast additional wards around the bedroom of her youngest.
The first morning she'd put a shield over Wren's door, Cal had smacked into it, completely taken unawares. His forbearance as he silently waited for Dorcas to heal his broken nose was monumental.
Cal knew better than to enter their daughter's room without first checking for charms and wards now.
Dorcas sighed.
They had a housekeeper that was trained in magical combat and disguise detection. Their cook must also be a superwitch of some sort, although Dorcas hadn't bothered to figure out her particular skill set beyond her prowess in the kitchen. Wren's tutor was even doubly employed as the five-year-old's bodyguard.
This was life now.
She shuffled into the silent and dark kitchen to make some coffee. Beyond that, she didn't know how she would spend her day. There would be some time spent psyching herself into delving into the Pensieve. Brain damage waited for no witch! But she wouldn't shut herself into her office just yet. She needed a moment to decompress following the disconcerting nightmare that had forced her from sleep.
As the percolator sputtered and announced that its job was complete, Dorcas grabbed her favorite mug, the Columbia University one, and poured.
Then she aimlessly wandered the house like a ghost for a few minutes.
No. Not the house, she reminded herself.
Her house.
Cal was always quick to point that out.
Sometimes she would picture Elaine Meadowes as she remembered her, pristine in her jacquard jacket and skirt, a string of pearls around her neck, and hair styled precisely, looking her nose down at Dorcas.
"You will never be mistress of this house."
That confrontation, when she and Cal told his family about their plans to marry, had stuck with Dorcas.
It paled in comparison to the horrific scenes she'd just begun to uncover between her and Tom at school, but it had still scarred Dorcas.
She imagined herself, primly poised on the edge of the seat cushion on the chair in her office. Another, less kempt, more frazzled version of herself stretched out on the patient couch in her office.
A diagnosis would follow.
"The reason that Elaine's reaction has become so embedded in your psyche, Dorcas," Dr. Meadowes would say. "Is because you'd recently lost your own mother. Is that correct?"
Patient Dorcas nodded and stared at the ceiling.
"Less than two years before," Dorcas would reply.
"And did you feel acceptance from your aunt and uncle when they adopted you?"
"From my uncle, I suppose," Patient Dorcas answered. "From Aunt Eden?"
Her question would drift off on the tide of a recollection.
Eden lay pale and fragile on her deathbed. Jonas barely ventured to her bedside anymore. Gemma came not at all.
Dorcas was her only companion. A very pregnant companion.
She sat silently and bore her aunt's judgement all day long. For weeks.
"He'll leave you, you know." Aunt Eden's voice was a small wisp of sound. But Dorcas heard every syllable.
She knew he would.
"When you trap a man between your legs, girl, you cannot hope to hold him for long," her aunt added.
Dorcas nodded and tried not to be too gutted by the truth of her statement. She hadn't trapped Cal with sex. But she doubted how long his own noble intentions could hold out in the face of this proper mess Dorcas had made of her life.
Dr. Meadowes might make a note on her pad of paper and then set it aside.
"You craved the acceptance of a mother once again, and Elaine had rejected you."
Dorcas nodded.
Rejection was a common theme in her life.
Settling onto the bench of her piano, Dorcas sipped her coffee and stared at the keys. It was half six in the morning at the latest. She would not make a racket this early..
Or ever, really. It had been ages since she'd played.
She wasn't even sure it was in tune anymore.
Drinking her coffee silently, she imagined the feel of the keys as she depressed them beneath her fingers; imagined she could hear the sound box vibrating a familiar tune. Perhaps Grandma Leisel's favorite Bach.
Rejection.
Days ago she had been straddling her husband, kissing him. He'd undone the buttons on her blouse. She'd unfastened his trousers.
The memory of his desire for her wilting in her hand caused a pit to form in her stomach.
Would he ever want her again?
"I haven't heard you play in a long time."
Dorcas jumped and spilled coffee down her front. She swore.
"Sorry," Cal muttered, pulling his wand from the waistband of his pajama trousers. "I didn't mean to sneak up on you. But my mind was open." He added the last part, knowing she would be suspicious of him Occluding when Ryann was away at school.
He pointed the wand at Dorcas's chest where she'd received a steaming shock of hot, quickly replaced by cold as the spilled coffee lost its warmth in the chill of the empty room.
"I didn't hear you. I was lost in thought."
Cal seemed to know instinctively what had captured her mind's attention.
"About the other day in my study–" he began, taking a seat on the piano bench as she slid to one side to make room for him.
Dorcas shook her head, dismissing his explanation. She didn't think she could take the humiliation if he tried to reassure her that he still found her attractive.
"I saw your thoughts, Cal. I know you were thinking of what Tom did to me. You don't have to explain anything to me. I understand."
She felt his hand slip behind her, spreading along her lower back.
"Please, let me explain," he urged gently, rubbing her back.
Dorcas nodded and took another sip of her coffee.
"I'm afraid that you don't really want me anymore. Not after what he did to you. It wasn't me, but it was my body he used. I kept thinking, even though I want this, is it the right thing to want? What if you think you're ready, Dorcas, but you're not?"
She wanted to argue that she wanted him so much it was maddening. But then she remembered the way it felt to be trapped beneath him, pressed into the mattress when he'd rolled over on top of her as he dreamed of a time they'd made love in the past.
She knew he was right to be cautious.
"What if I misjudged the situation because I wanted you so badly that I ended up hurting you? Or traumatizing you further? I could never forgive myself if I did that. That's why I stopped. It's not that I don't want you, sweetheart. I will always want you."
Dorcas lifted her gaze from the coffee cup in her hand to her husband's crystal blue gaze. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that he spoke the truth.
And she'd needed to hear it badly.
He wasn't rejecting her.
"Do you think it would be okay if we snogged like teenagers for a few minutes?" Dorcas asked, batting her eyelashes at him.
Cal smiled. "We were never teenagers that snogged, Dorcas," he reminded her.
Dorcas nodded and laughed. "We were the kind of teenagers that skipped straight to babies and marriage."
He nodded and leaned closer, taking her coffee from her hand and setting it on the floor beside him. "I wouldn't have it any other way, my love."
She felt the sensation of tingling that spread from her lips as they met his and slowly grew to encompass the entire length of her body. His hand at her back pressed her closer to him, sliding her along the bench until she was tucked right up against him.
His other hand rested on her knee. Just like an excited teenager, she wanted to see if it would venture higher.
He sighed audibly when her tongue breached his lips and swiped his tongue.
She caught a shift in his position as he adjusted himself on the piano bench. He was trying to cover for his erection by turning his hips so that he wouldn't brush against her and possibly startle her.
As important as it was that he explained to her that he did not reject her in any way, Dorcas knew that it was also important that he realized that he didn't scare her. She knew the difference between him and Tom.
Her hand drifted to his lap and began to rub the bulge there.
"I thought we were just snogging like teenagers?" he asked breathlessly.
Dorcas shrugged but didn't remove her hand. "Aren't teenagers handsy little buggers?"
Cal laughed until Dorcas's fingers made his breath catch in his chest. His hands remained resolutely still, one on her knee and the other on her back.
"We should probably get showered and ready to go."
"Go where?" Dorcas asked, her hand still working him from the outside of his pajamas as she kissed the stubble at his Adam's apple.
"We have to go to the trial, Dorcas," Cal reminded her as he groaned.
"Oh," Dorcas said, running her tongue along the rough whiskers of his neck. "But we could shower together," she pointed out.
"If you don't mind the water being cold. I've got to find some way to calm all this excitement that my ridiculously sexy wife brings out in me."
Dorcas smiled and stood, pulling Cal up from the bench by the drawstrings at his waist.
:::
8 February, 1942 Library, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
"I should have waited," Cal said under his breath once again as Dorcas recounted the story of the crashed bomber to him.
She smiled and tried to alleviate his guilt by purposefully misinterpreting his meaning. He was mentally flogging himself for deciding to go into Hogsmeade with Cherry and the rest of his friends instead of waiting for Dorcas.
"I know! You would have been so interested in the aeroplane," she chimed. "It was far bigger than I thought it would be with four gunners manning the different positions. And massive artillery shells."
She tried to appeal to boys' relentless fixation on the machinery of war, but Cal was not taking the bait.
Dorcas had already sent a letter off to Jack, knowing he would fire back a million questions about the experience. He would be impressed with her and her magical abilities, as he always was.
Cal, on the other hand, was picturing some harrowing experience that he should have been present to shield her from.
Yes, it had been dangerous. And yes the airmen had both turned out to be real-life Wehrmacht spies. But Jonas had been with her, as she kept reminding him.
She'd visited the American crew member that she and Jonas had pulled from the wreckage as he convalesced in the school's infirmary. On that visit, she'd been able to look in his mind and see for herself that he was posing as a member of the American crew.
Dorcas remembered how she'd nervously chewed her lip and approached Dumbledore, trying to frame her suspicions of the airman's double identity in a way that didn't expose her peculiar gift for reading minds.
"Sir," she squeaked from the doorway of his classroom.
The professor looked up from the curling stack of essays he was marking and spied her over his half-moon spectacles.
"Ah, Miss Clerey. Hero of Britannia!" The corners of his eyes crinkled and Dorcas laughed at the absurd epithet.
"Sir," she started again, approaching. "I didn't say before because I couldn't be certain. But I think I heard the two crew members talking to one another just after the plane crashed. They didn't know Jonas and I were there. They both spoke German."
She'd lied. She couldn't think of another way to alert him of the dangerous enemy lying unconscious in a hospital bed in their school.
"Can Mr. Rackharrow confirm this?"
He'd set his quill aside and stared seriously across his desk at her.
Dorcas tried not to fidget under his gaze.
"I don't know, sir. I was closer to the door– the hatch" Dorcas corrected. "He said he couldn't hear them. But we both heard the gunfire."
She chewed on her lip, wondering what more she could say to convince him to act.
"Maybe you have a spell that can look into his mind. Or a potion to make him tell the truth–"
"Veritaserum," Dumbledore supplied for her. "Which is strictly controlled. We don't use substances like that lightly, Dorcas."
"Yes, sir," Dorcas replied, looking at her feet.
Dumbledore shifted in his chair and Dorcas looked up to see him steepling his fingers in front of him as he rested his elbows on the desk.
"Leave this with me, Dorcas. I will look into the identity of our unexpected guest."
Dorcas couldn't help the relieved smile that pulled up her cheeks.
"Don't forget that you and Mr. Rackharrow have detention tonight. Eight o'clock."
The smile fell away in a landslide. "Yes, sir."
"You'd be serving detention tonight right alongside me and Jonas if you had been with us," she reasoned, trying to appeal to Cal's regard for the rules.
"I would have served detention. Gladly," he argued.
"Great!" Jonas said, dropping into the chair on the other side of Dorcas. "You can serve mine."
"Jonas," Dorcas said, enlisting him for help. "Tell Cal that it wasn't all that dangerous."
Jonas snorted and played with the folded edge of Dorcas's Charms notes.
"Which part? The giant magical creature's footprint that you fell into? The burning plane whose engine could have exploded, or the fucking Nazi spy who held a gun to our faces?"
Dorcas groaned.
"He held you at gunpoint?" Cal hissed, his voice pitching lower when he wanted to shout.
They were in the library and rules were rules.
"Only for a second, Cal. Then I summoned his gun and stunned him."
"Only for a second," Cal repeated. Jonas laughed.
Dorcas took Cal's hand and squeezed it. "You worry too much!"
"You worry too little," he countered.
"The bint's got them all by the bollocks!" came a voice from somewhere near them in the library. When Jonas and Cal didn't react, Dorcas knew it was in her head.
When she flicked her eyes over the students studying nearby, she didn't see Wes Rookwood right away.
"Look at the way they both salivate in her presence."
She spotted him near the Herbology references, a book suspended halfway off the shelf, his arm either reaching up to take it or to put it away.
He noticed her looking.
"Does she have a golden twat, or something?"
Dorcas pulled her hand away from Cal and folded her hands in her lap.
"It really wasn't that big of a deal, Meadowes," Jonas tried to reassure him.
She didn't hear the rest of the conversation that transpired between Cal and Jonas. Pretending to read her Charms notes, she listened to the rest of Wes's monologue.
His hostility confused her. She'd thought that his involvement in the fight between Cal and Oliver Nott last year had been as a bystander. Sure, he'd laughed and leered when Oliver had conjured a gust of wind to lift her skirt in the corridor. But she'd thought he was a relatively innocent actor in it all. When she'd been hit accidentally by Cal or Oliver as she'd tried to break it up, he'd pulled her away from the tussle. That was when Jonas flew at him.
She was still guilty over her part in the deterioration of their friendship.
He seemed rather fixated on Jonas at this particular moment.
"Common, filthy whore," Wes continued, turning his eyes away from the trio and to the references at his fingertips.
She followed his train of thought and then instantly regretted it. He was wondering if she was good with her mouth. He wondered if Jonas liked that sort of thing.
Dorcas choked slightly at the image that was in his mind. She dropped her quill as she lurched forward a little in surprise. Unable to get the image of her fellating her own cousin out of her mind.
What was wrong with Wes? Was he out of his mind?
She barely registered when Cal bent, mid-sentence, to retrieve the quill for her. He continued to talk to Jonas in a distant and muffled tone.
Suddenly, Dorcas saw her own image, kneeling on the ground in front of Jonas shift. And then it was Wes on his knees in front of Jonas.
She had to get out of here. It was too much imagery. Too much information.
Hurriedly, Dorcas began to shove the quill, her notes, books, and inkwell back into her school bag and rise.
"Did we say something?" Jonas asked, watching her throw items into her bag.
Dorcas hadn't realized how frantic she looked. She slowed and became deliberate in her movements.
"No, I just remembered–" she was spared from thinking up an excuse to flee the library. She spotted one walking up to her at that very moment. "I have to help Tom with something."
"We have detention in an hour, Dorcas," reminded Jonas in a bored tone. "Don't be late."
She waved him off without a backward glance, nearly colliding with Tom as he approached her study table. Grabbing the sleeve of his jumper, Dorcas pulled Tom along behind her and out of the library.
Wes's voice rang in her head. "Slag's about to bag another one!"
Tom allowed himself to be led out of the library silently.
"I like it when you're rough with me, Birdie," he laughed mentally.
"Shut it!" Dorcas growled low as they moved down the corridor, the crowd thinning a bit.
Why did boys always make jokes and comments about sex? It seemed even the ones like Wes who didn't fancy girls couldn't help themselves.
Then it hit her again, the realization that Wes didn't fancy girls. She wondered at his teasing her with the other boys. Perhaps it was camouflage. She could only imagine how merciless his classmates would be if they suspected he preferred boys. He'd catch more hell than she did from his fellow Slytherins.
He made so much more sense to her now.
Then she remembered how the image of her had become him, hands on Jonas's hips...kneeling in front of him. He imagined a look of deep satisfaction on Jonas's face. She felt his longing for his once best friend as acutely as he had.
And she was sorry that they were not friends anymore. And she was sorry that Jonas could never return his affections.
He must be so bitterly disappointed.
She wasn't even mad at him for the names he called her; for the things he assumed she did with boys. He saw her as competition. He needn't.
Jonas was a good friend to her. And he was family.
The rift had come when Jonas warned Wes to leave Dorcas alone. Instead, he'd jumped on Gemma's Dorcas-bashing bandwagon. Then he'd been involved in that fight last year with Oliver and Cal.
Dorcas had tried to explain to Jonas that Wes was attempting to pull her away from the two brawling boys. He hadn't hit her. She thought Oliver might have done it accidentally.
Jonas blamed Wes and pummeled him for it.
"Birdie," Tom said, when they had left the crowded part of the corridor near the lobby. "What was that back there?"
"What?" Dorcas asked. She knew she was not convincing.
Tom pretended to rub his arm where she'd pulled him along after her. "Manhandling me like that."
"Manhandling you?" Dorcas repeated then scoffed. "Yesterday you practically snatched me out of my dorm, leaving handprints on my arm. Through my coat, no less. Manhandling you! Sod off!"
She turned toward Ravenclaw Tower, but Tom cut her off and stood before her, impeding her progress.
"Okay, fair point. I apologize for being rough with you. We need to talk."
Dorcas huffed in frustration. She wanted to change out of her school uniform before detention. But Tom needed to talk. Everything else must wait.
"I don't need to talk. I need to go to my dorm, Tom."
"What happened back there?" Tom repeated. "You're being short-tempered again. Something has upset you."
Dorcas breathed deeply and counted to ten. She needed to calm down. The last thing she wanted was for Tom to add Wes's name to his list of victims to scare witless with his new pet in the secret chamber.
She recalled how terrified Clay Atwood was anytime he was within ten feet of her.
"It was Meadowes. He did something. Or said something," Tom prodded.
Dorcas laughed. "Cal's a gentleman. I know you don't know what one of those looks like, Tom. But he's not the problem."
She could see his jealousy flaring within him as she complimented Cal and made a negative comparison to him, but she was in no mood to fluff his ego tonight.
Dorcas attempted to sidestep Tom and threw her head back with a long suffering sigh when he blocked her once again.
"Toooooom!"
"Please, Birdie. I have something to show you."
He took her hand, but gently, squeezing her fingers encouragingly.
"Please?"
He turned an angelic face on her, practically batting his lashes at her. His lip stuck out in a pout. Dorcas suppressed an eyeroll.
This worked. It was so damn effective.
"You have forty minutes. Then I have to go to detention."
Tom grinned and pulled her along behind him by the hand he held.
"I can work with forty minutes."
Dorcas felt a prick of disappointment any time she entered the secret room and it was the cavernous space piled high with hidden and discarded rubbish. She longed for the quiet intimacy of her tiny little sitting room.
But she pushed the thought out of her mind immediately. Tom could never know about her secret haven. She knew he couldn't read her thoughts, but she was paranoid that he would catch her off guard one time and she would let its existence slip.
Then it would never be truly hers ever again.
"I've worked out the rest of the plan," Tom explained, shouldering her school bag and leading her back to his potions laboratory.
Dorcas immediately stepped over to the tiny sapling peeking out of a pot with dark soil.
"This little fella is coming along nicely," she praised.
This was the Star of Bethlehem. The seeds that she'd given him on Christmas Eve. He must not have wasted any time in getting them planted so they could take root.
"Are you using magic?" Dorcas asked conversationally.
"No," Tom answered simply. He was right behind her, startling her with his nearness. "I'm nervous about how magic might alter them. I don't want to rush anything. That's how I lost the first feather."
His hand slipped around her waist and Dorcas felt her breath catching in her chest.
There was a gentle rejection poised on the tip of her tongue, but she was relieved that she didn't have to utter it.
Tom was pulling her over to another part of the lab. He wasn't trying it on with her.
"This is what I wanted to show you." He spoke with pride and anticipation. His hand on her flank squeezed lightly, causing a flutter in her stomach.
A beguiling gold liquid bubbled from a cauldron with low flames underneath.
"What is it?"
She'd read Crux Anima Bodhi almost as many times as Tom had. But she couldn't remember a Horcrux potion ingredient that needed to be boiled into a golden reduction.
He removed his hand from her waist and Dorcas felt steadier without the contact.
"Felix Felicis," answered Tom.
"Liquid Luck," Dorcas whispered, her gaze resting on the seductive golden glow.
Tom smiled. "MMhmm," he confirmed.
Dorcas regarded Tom, impressed. He basked in her awe, grinning.
"Tom, that's advanced potion-making," she pointed out.
Tom waved a hand over his entire laboratory space. "It all is."
"But that potion takes six months to brew."
"I've been at it since August," admitted Tom.
She stared up at him in wonder. He beamed at the speechless expression.
Dorcas broke her gaze by turning to the workbench. She picked up a large scarlet feather and ran it through her fingers.
"So I assume your retrieval yesterday went as planned?"
She referred to his manic quest for the basilisk feather yesterday and his demands that she remove Myrtle from the chamber's entrance.
"Yes," he replied carefully. "You and I make the perfect team."
"Is that what we are?" Dorcas asked, caressing the fine fibers of the feather. She looked back at Tom and his expression was guarded.
He perceived her shift in mood. He was bracing for the argument.
"You don't treat me like a part of your team, Tom."
"Birdie," he sighed, shoulders slumping, making it clear that he was weary of her opinions.
Dorcas's eyes locked onto his in a challenging stare as her hands reached for the hem of her jumper. She lifted it over her head and discarded it.
Tom's spine straightened and he looked between Dorcas and her jumper.
"Birdie, what are you doing?"
Dorcas shook her head at his ridiculous assumption.
"I'm not undressing for you, pervert!" she scoffed, unbuttoning the cuff of her blouse and rolling up her sleeve.
"Of course not," Tom agreed. Was there a disappointed note to his voice?
"Do you see that?" Dorcas asked, pointing to the angry gray and purple bruises on her upper arm from where he'd grabbed her yesterday morning.
Tom hissed. The prick even had the decency to school his features into contrition.
"I did that?" he asked, lifting a finger to lightly brush the fingerprints on her skin.
"Is that how you treat your teammate, Tom?" she threw his words back at him. "Touch me again, wanker, and you'll be finishing this bloody Horcrux business on your own. Say yes, Dorcas. I understand and I apologize."
Tom inhaled sharply. "Yes, Dorcas. I understand and I apologize."
Dorcas silently began to roll down her sleeve.
"Wait," Tom said, reaching for his wand. "Can I heal it, at least."
Dorcas shugged and lifted her shirtsleeve again. The dull ache eased as Tom removed the livid bruise.
"Thanks," Dorcas said, pulling down her sleeve and buttoning the cuff once more. "I understand that you were frustrated that Myrtle was in the way of your plans," she added, stooping to retrieve her jumper. "But I'm not your enemy, Tom. I'm your friend. So start treating me like one."
Tom nodded, but didn't say anything.
"You've got twenty minutes. What is the plan that you were eager to tell me?"
She followed Tom into the furniture and cushion cave. It felt strange ducking inside. She realized she hadn't been inside this structure since Tom took her down into the chamber. She'd woken wrapped around him, his erection poking into the inside of her thigh.
The memory of it made Dorcas feel awkward around him.
She sat back on her heels close to the cave's entrance and arranged her skirt primly around her legs, avoiding Tom's stare.
Pulling her jumper back on, she noticed him watching her in his mind when her head was fully ensconced in the woolen fabric. He was transfixed by the way her breasts strained at the buttons on her blouse.
She pulled the jumper down over her chest quickly and smoothed her hair.
Boys really did only think about one thing. It was infuriating.
"Well?" she asked impatiently.
Tom cleared his throat. "I have you to thank for the idea really."
"Me?" Dorcas didn't follow. What had she done?
He nodded. "When you stormed off, impatient because I suggested we wing it–"
"Yeah, I expected better from you, I have to be honest," Dorcas interrupted dryly.
"You said, "good luck with that" and swept out of the room dramatically."
Dorcas felt her pride prickle. "I'm not dramatic, you arse."
She'd gotten away with tugging him out of the library, calling him a pervert and a wanker, chastising him for his behavior yesterday, and now, calling him an arse and he hadn't reacted angrily once. He must really need her for this last phase of his Horcrux plan.
"It was the "good luck" part that I latched onto," Tom continued, patiently.
"The Felix Felicis," Dorcas confirmed.
"Yes." His eyes glinted conspiratorially.
"But you've been brewing it for six months. How did you suddenly think about it?"
Tom smiled. "I'm getting close to the final stages of my Horcrux plan. I decided that if I wanted all of the variables to come together just right, I might need a little good fortune in order to pull this off. I hadn't thought about using some of the potion for the retrieval of the mercury until you suggested it."
Dorcas bobbed her head. She supposed it would work. There would certainly be plenty of potion to use to get the last ingredient and for the final part of the plan that Tom had originally intended the potion for.
She swallowed, thinking about what the final part of the plan actually entailed.
Tom brought her back to the present with his recitation of the plan to break into a Muggle medical instruments factory.
"We can't use our wands once we've left the school grounds. So we'll have to disguise ourselves with the Chameleon Charm before leaving Hogwarts. And we'll take Muggle transportation instead of the Knight Bus. But the rest will have to be left up to luck and that's where the potion comes in."
"I don't know much about the potion. Will it actually help us to pull this off?"
"I think it will," Tom said. He took her right hand and held up the finger that wore the ring he'd Transfigured for her at Christmas. "Can I have this back for a second?"
Dorcas didn't follow the shift in the conversation. But she pulled her hand back and eased the ring off her finger as Tom drew out his wand from his pocket.
She dropped the trinket into his palm.
"We won't be able to see each other, and we'll have to be careful about talking if guards are present at the factory," Tom said by way of explanation.
Dorcas remembered being under the Chameleon Charm in the secret chamber with Tom. She had been able to come right up behind him, touch him, and even kiss him without his knowing.
"Now I'll be able to keep track of you even while you're disillusioned," he explained, taking her hand and slipping the ring back onto her finger. His fingertips lingered under her palm, brushing lightly.
It sent a jolt of electricity through her that made Dorcas distinctly uncomfortable.
"How will I keep track of you?" Dorcas asked.
Tom laughed. "If only you could track me with your mind, Birdie!" he thought.
Dorcas felt herself blush. That was rather obvious, she should have thought of it.
"When are we doing this?"
"Thursday night."
Dorcas nodded. Three days.
:::
5 March, 1959 Wizengamot Courtroom 9, Ministry of Magic, London
Dorcas clung to Cal's side, cognizant of the stares she was receiving. The last time she'd been at the Ministry, she'd confessed in front of the whole courtroom and the press that she could read minds. It was a secret she'd guarded for most of her life. Now it was out in the open.
With the exception of her manic trip to Hogwarts two days ago, she hadn't left the house since reading the Prophet article that had torpedoed her career.
Being out in public around so many people now after weeks in seclusion was overwhelming.
Cal seemed to instinctively understand the magnitude of her choice to brave the outside world in order to hear the verdict in the Muybridge trial. He was especially solicitous of her, sheltering her against his side, glaring down two reporters who'd begun to approach her.
"Hey, honey," Cherry chimed. She had been waiting in the hall outside of Courtroom 9 with Gideon and Theresa Prewett and Gwen Stanley.
Dorcas received Cherry's kiss on the cheek, repeating the gesture with Theresa and Gwen.
Cal removed the arm he'd placed around her shoulder in order to shake hands with Gideon.
"Jonas wanted me to warn you, Dory. They're using Dementors today, but there will be twice as many bailiffs with Patronuses."
"We'll sit toward the back. They shouldn't affect her from that distance," Cal said, hugging Cherry and the other two women in turn.
"I'm glad he warned me," Dorcas said finally. Her mouth felt dry and her legs were restless with energy.
Her mind was filled with dozens of curious comments and impressions from all of the trial goers that passed them. Dorcas tried to clear her mind, taking a deep breath.
Cal's arm pulled her close again and the group entered the courtroom to the strobing flash of cameras. Dorcas felt Cherry's hand slip into hers and squeeze.
There were far more people in attendance today than when Dorcas had given her testimony. It was probably the most high-profile case to be heard in the Wizengamot court this year. And today was closing arguments.
Gideon and Theresa walked to the front of the courtroom, Gwen trailing behind them. Gideon had been a peer of the prosecution; practically Caradoc Dearborn's legal assistant. He'd done most of the legwork for the case in the days when he was defending Theresa's parental rights over her son.
Dorcas and Cal would have followed them, had it not been for Jonas's warning about the Dementors. Instead, they sat close to the back of the courtroom on the prosecution's side of the court.
Most of the press sat behind the defendant's council. They would wish to be as close to the accused as possible when the verdict was read. Dorcas fully expected pandemonium as the reporters and photographers all jostled for the best vantage point of Muybridge's reaction.
The cameras flashed again when Caradoc Dearborn came from a side entrance to the left of the Chief Warlock's bench. Dorcas could make him out barely through the thick crowd in his navy robes, a serious expression on his face. She watched as he leaned over the polished wood railing that separated the gallery from the counselors and the Wizengamot judges. He was speaking in hushed conference with Gideon.
Dorcas followed the exchange, but did not probe their minds for context. Her mind was already thrumming with all kinds of unwanted chatter.
Then Gideon stood up and walked back to them.
"Caradoc invites the three of you to sit behind the prosecution."
Dorcas knew it was not an invitation.
Cal shook his head and tightened his grip on his wife's shoulders. "If Dementors are going to be used in the courtroom today, then we'll stay back here."
"Don't you think Dorcas has been through enough?" Cherry spat at Gideon.
Gideon flinched and Dorcas saw his mind flicker to the conversation she and Cal had recently had with him and his brother. He was mindful of all that Dorcas had suffered.
"Of course, Mrs. Rackharrow," Gideon answered calmly. "But the prosecutor would still like to have all of Muybridge's victims visible in an orderly row."
"So the Wizengamot judges can see us," Dorcas finished.
Gideon nodded. "It'll make for a more compelling closing argument."
"Tell Dearborn–" Cal began through clenched teeth.
Dorcas placed a hand on Cal's forearm and spoke evenly over her husband.
"We'll move up front if there's a chance it will tip the verdict in our favor," she replied.
She wished they'd just sat up front as expected. Now, all eyes were on them as they moved up the aisle to take their seats beside Theresa and Gwen. Cherry sat on her other side, still clutching Dorcas's hand.
"Don't worry, Dory! Those Dementors might get through that lot," she jerked her head in the direction of four bailiffs loitering beside the defendant's entrance. "But they won't get past me!"
Dorcas smiled faintly at her friend's threat.
"The court will rise and recognize His Lordship Chief Warlock, Ambrose Skandenberg," a bailiff cried loudly over the ambient conversation in the courtroom, announcing the beginning of the court's proceedings.
Dorcas stood with the others in the packed courtroom, shoulder to shoulder with Cherry.
Cal kept his arm around her, wary of the moment the Dementors would enter the courtroom.
"Sweetheart, if this is too much for you, we can leave," he thought, projecting the words out to her mind.
He was being deliberate and thought the words loudly, but with the other thoughts of the couple hundred people around her vying for the loudest, she could barely hear him.
She shook her head, but kept her eyes on the judge.
Others in black robes, thirty witches and wizards in all, filed onto the dais behind him. He would be presiding over the proceedings today, as he had for the past three weeks. But those thirty assembled behind him would be responsible for deciding Stephen Muybridge's fate.
Her eyes found Jonas along the dias on the second row. And he found her in the crowd.
He nodded slightly in greeting, but did nothing else to draw attention to him. His expression was grave.
Chief Warlock Skandenberg motioned for the gallery to take their seats once all of the judges were assembled behind him and turned to speak to the bailiffs.
"Bring in the accused," he ordered.
The tallest of the four bailiffs nodded and turned to the doors. He signaled for the two sentries at the criminal entrance to the courtroom to throw the doors back.
Two Patronuses shimmered to life, a massive rhinoceros and a diminutive corgi. They paced in front of their casters, alert. The two sentries at the doors added their Patronuses to the two already manning their posts. A kangaroo and a ring-tailed lemur flickered to life in the growing, glowing menagerie.
Dorcas admired the diversity among the creatures so much that she almost forgot that they were there to ward off Dementors.
Muybridge was brought in shackled to two Aurors, just as he had been the last time Dorcas was in this courtroom. To his left, wearing chains that tied him to Muybridge, was Fabian Prewett. She didn't recognize the Auror chained on Muybridge's right, but he was young.
Two hulking Dementors followed the accused and his handlers from the dark corridor into the courtroom. They resembled grotesque pallbearers at a funeral. Muybridge looked like he was a walking corpse being led to his burial plot.
The last of the parade were a shimmering, ethereal clydesdale and an ibex with long curling horns, followed by the final two bailiffs.
Dorcas watched Fabian with concern. How must it feel to be within arm's length distance from the two shrouded guardians of Azkaban? She couldn't tell by his stony and stoic expression, but knew that his use of Occlumency was keeping the worst of the Dementors' effects at bay.
How long could someone hold such intense concentration? The effort must be tremendous.
She had a newfound appreciation for the Aurors' talents.
"Can you hear me, you interfering cunt?" a voice asked, cutting across all of the gallery's prattle.
Dorcas felt like she'd been injected with icewater. Her vision swam as Stephen Muybridge's voice filled every recess of her mind.
"Yes, you can…" he answered for himself.
Slowly, he turned in the direction of the six spectators gathered on the bench behind the prosecution's table. Dorcas heard Theresa's audible gasp as Muybridge acknowledged each of them with a cold stare.
Dorcas forced herself to stare back, even as her heartbeat reached a dizzying pace in her chest.
"Do you know how I keep my sanity in that hellscape?"
His eyes rested on her.
"I imagine all of the ways that I will make you pay. Your screams are like a lullaby to me at night. Imagining you tied up. Imagining you in pain. Imagining you begging for it to end. I get off on it. Every. Single. Night."
"Eyes forward," Fabian commanded, using the tip of his wand to force Muybridge to look ahead, at the Chief Warlock.
Skandenberg looked down from the dais at Muybridge and addressed him directly.
"We will hear a summary of the prosecution's case and witnesses. Followed by your own defense counselor's summary. The Wizengamot judges will deliberate and then we will announce a verdict. Does the accused have any questions before we begin?"
There was a pause and Dorcas watched the defense council, Wes Rookwood, lean back from his bench to confer with his client.
Wes turned to the Chief Warlock, his voice ringing with the reply, "We have no questions at this time, Your Lordship."
Skandenberg nodded and turned to Caradoc Dearborn.
"The prosecution may begin its closing remarks," His Lordship concluded.
Caradoc Dearborn stood and cast one last glance at a roll of parchment he'd unfurled before him. Moving around the bench and onto the floor before the judges' dais, he addressed the assembled Wizengamot judges.
"Honored judges, Your Lordship," he began, bending at the waist before the dais.
"You've seen two sets of memories. One, a narrative expertly tailored by a manipulative psychopath who bends magic in order to control and coerce. And you've seen the memory uncovered that the accused tried desperately to alter. Stephen Muybridge altered the memory of Theresa Allen, framing her for the murder of her husband. He also altered the memory of her minor son, William Allen–"
Muybridge cut across Dearborn and addressed Dorcas once again.
"She'll pay as well, the whore! Pregnant with another man's brat. I'll make her pay too!"
Dorcas's vision swam once again as Muybridge projected his sick revenge fantasy to Dorcas.
"Can you see it, cunt?"
Dorcas felt bile surge up her throat as she watched Muybridge do things to Theresa in his imaginings. She wanted to gag when he punctuated the torture by slicing her belly open with his wand and reaching inside the incision.
She remembered a memory of Cal's from the time when he'd opened her up to save their son. Muybridge was decidedly not trying to save Theresa and Gideon's child in his wild fantasy.
Dorcas reached for Cal's hand with trembling fingers.
"It's okay, my love," he reassured her mentally.
It was not okay.
Dearborn continued and Dorcas tried to focus her attention on his words, narrowing her concentration to an acute window on his face alone.
"And when his lies were exposed by Dr. Dorcas Clerey-Meadowes, he blackmailed and coerced her medical assistant, Gwendoline Stanley to slip Meadowes an insidious poison. Think about that…"
Dearborn paused and Dorcas braced herself for the onslaught from Muybridge.
"There's another whore that I'm going to relish revenging myself on. Maybe I'll Imperiuse this knight in shining armor here," he thought, jerking his head slightly in Fabian's direction. "Can you picture it? I'll make him hog-tie her and gag her. I'll have my fun with them both and then I'll make him kill her. Imagine how hard he'll try to fight against it! So much for pure, innocent love, found in the darkest of circumstances. They'll wish they'd never laid eyes on each other by the time I'm through with them."
Dorcas closed her eyes in order to make the room stop spinning.
"The level of premeditation," Dearborn's voice rang in the silent courtroom. Dorcas jumped at his sudden resumption of speech. "One would have to have in order to flag a potential proxy, learn of areas of weakness that can be exploited, bribe or blackmail, and execute a plan of attack. And the target was eight months pregnant!" Dearborn shouted the last, dramatically emphasizing Dorcas's advanced state of maternity.
"Her unborn child died an agonizing death. A death that was meticulously planned and ruthlessly carried out by Stephen R. Muybridge," he pointed at the thin man in chains, flanked by Dementors.
"Birdie," came another voice like an intruder in her mind.
Dorcas clasped a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming at the sudden, haunting use of her pet name that only one person had ever spoken.
"Birdie," came the voice again.
She looked at the Dementors. Even with the added security and the six Patronuses, she supposed Tom's haunting voice could seep into her mind. She exhaled. It was better than the vivid rape scene she'd witnessed in the Dementors' presence last time.
"Birdie," the voice came again. "Even if he gets out of this, I will kill him for you. You have my word."
That was when Dorcas knew that the Dementors had nothing to do with that particular voice in her mind.
"Had it not been for the talented team at St. Mungo's," Caradoc insisted. "Including her husband, Healer Meadowes, the good doctor would have died right alongside her poor, unborn babe."
Dorcas had to fight against her own stiff neck and shoulders, tensed with the instinct to remain perfectly still. But she had to know.
Was Tom Riddle in this courtroom with her right now?
She swiveled on the bench as far as Cal's restrictive embrace would allow. She scanned the defense side of the courtroom.
"Nope. Not there."
Then she cast a glance between her shoulder and Cal's.
There were many people she didn't recognize and some that she did. Zelda Weston, her former roommate from Hogwarts, gave her a small, tight smile from the press pool.
"Not there, either," the voice laughed.
Dorcas leaned closer to Cal and whispered to him. "Close your mind."
Cal fixed her with a querulous stare but nodded and obeyed. Dorcas knew that the Wizengamot courtrooms would have wards on them. If Tom was here, he would most likely not be able to penetrate the minds of anyone assembled in this courtroom. But she wouldn't take the chance.
Between Tom's voice and Muybridge's revenge fantasies, Dorcas felt as if her head would explode.
"Dorcas, sweetheart?" Cal leaned in and whispered in her ear. "Are you okay?"
Maybe Tom was not here. Maybe he was projecting his thoughts from outside of the courtroom.
"Is that Weasley beside you? Tell her hello from her old school mate," Tom's voice said, as if in answer to her thought.
Dearborn paced in front of the Wizengamot judges, turning on his heel before he came into proximity of the Patronuses that stalked before the Dementors, holding them at bay.
"Magic is a grave responsibility entrusted to each of us," the prosecutor preached. "Will you allow this depraved individual to abuse the magical gift he has been given? To twist it and mangle it until it is a perversion of his basest desires? I urge the court to throw the full weight of consequence onto Stephen R. Muybridge for his crimes. Let his sentence serve as a warning to any dark soul who would corrupt the purity of magic in order to dominate and enslave."
There was a pause.
Dorcas let out a breath that she didn't know she had been holding.
"Was that it?" Muybridge inquired. Dorcas could detect the triumphant smirk in his voice. "I'm going to walk away from this." He was almost gleeful.
Dorcas watched one of the Dementors shift closer to Muybridge and his gloating mental voice was snuffed out.
But Tom's wasn't.
"I heard something rather alarming yesterday," Tom's voice pushed into her mind once more.
"Dorcas?" Cal squeezed her trembling fingers and looked down at her in alarm.
Dorcas inhaled sharply. She didn't know what to do. Should she tell Cal? Should she pretend as if nothing was wrong? She couldn't decide which was the better course of action.
"I didn't want to believe it. I thought to myself, surely Birdie isn't so foolish that she would disregard my warning…"
An involuntary cry escaped Dorcas's throat at Tom's words. She swallowed it.
But Cal had heard.
"My love? What is it? What's wrong?"
"Tom's here," Dorcas whispered, knowing that she could very well regret uttering those words.
Cal stiffened in reaction to her statement. Then he leaned away from her and across Gwen and Theresa. He spoke softly to Gideon.
"That was a bold choice, Birdie. Are you sure you want to involve Cal? After all, his position is very precarious. If the memory of your ordeal were to fall into the hands of the DMLE…"
The threat tapered off. Dorcas wished she'd kept silent.
She watched with trepidation as Gideon stood and casually strolled to the back of the courtroom, his wand gripped tightly in his hand by his right hip.
"Getting colder," Tom teased.
Dorcas tried to focus on Wes Rookwood as he replaced Caradoc Dearborn in front of the Chief Warlock's bench. But she was too eager for Gideon to root out Tom's hiding place, she fluttered into Gideon's consciousness as he searched the courtroom.
"Colder!" taunted Tom. "Are you curious about the rumors I heard, Birdie?"
Dorcas shuttered. She couldn't bar Tom from her mind. For years she'd tried to block unwanted voices from her thoughts. She'd always failed. She had no choice but to sit there silently and endure the mindfuck.
"Very well, I'll tell you. I know you went to Hogwarts to visit Dumbledore. I know you had a nice long chat with our old professor. Imagine my surprise. I thought I'd been more than convincing when I warned you not to cross me again. Do you need another reminder, Birdie?"
Wes Rookwood bowed slightly before the Wizengamot judges and addressed them in the same manner that Dearborn had.
"The prosecution would have you believe a monster roams among us. Stephen Muybridge used memory modification to manipulate the mind of the woman he loved. Now, I would certainly characterize that as misguided, but malicious? No. Who among us can relate to unrequited love?"
Dorcas thought she saw Wes incline his gaze ever so slightly in Jonas's direction on the judge's dais.
"Can you remember when you thought you'd do anything to make that person love you back? He is not a monster. He is only a man. The same as you and I. He was motivated by love, not by base desire, to manipulate circumstances."
"Do I need to drive obedience into you, Birdie. Over and over?"
Dorcas pressed her knees together, feeling his violation of her mind as keenly as she'd felt his violation of her body months ago.
She concentrated instead on Wes's speech.
"When Jim Allen confronted him, things got a bit carried away. The memory that Mrs. Meadowes uncovered," the defense counselor spoke and dramatically turned to Dorcas, pointing. "Did it show the context of Allen's death? Only partially. But it doesn't show the full story. It doesn't show the nature of Muybridge's relationship with Theresa Allen, now Prewett. Muybridge has been cast as a manipulative maniac by the prosecution. What does that make Mrs. Allen–sorry, Prewett?"
Wes shook his head theatrically as if he'd mistakenly forgotten Theresa's new married name.
Dorcas took a fortifying breath and focused on Cal's warm hand on her upper arm, the strength of his embrace, his comforting presence.
"One thing in particular surprised me. I wasn't expecting Meadowes to be quite so...gifted by nature. He always struck me as compensating for something."
Jealous prick, Dorcas thought.
"No sooner had her husband died and her lover, on the run, accused of his murder, than she hops into bed with her solicitor. The same man that helped to remove Muybridge from her life, just as she'd relied upon Muybridge to remove Jim Allen."
Dorcas heard Theresa sob. She wished she could comfort her. At least Gwen was near enough to pull her into her arms.
Looking around over her shoulder, Dorcas scanned the gallery for Gideon. Had he found Tom?
She located him in the far corner by some members of the press, searching.
"Colder!" joked Tom.
"They are married now and expecting a child." Wes turned to Theresa, who was weeping quietly in Gwen's embrace. "Congratulations, Mrs. Prewett. Is this Theresa Allen's happy ending after a harrowing ordeal at the hands of the accused? Or, is it the foregone conclusion of a devious witch who coerced some lovesick fool to commit murder for her? We've all done crazy things for the sake of love. And what of Mrs. Meadowes and her miracle memory potion?"
"How am I going to convince you that I am to be obeyed, Birdie?"
Dorcas shuddered again. What was he planning?
"Memories can be manipulated. Memories can be altered," Wes urged the judges to consider an alternative version of facts. "How do we know that the memory of Allen murdering her husband is the fake memory? How can we be certain that it was not real?"
"Maybe I will let Meadowes choose which of your girls I kill. That's fair, right?"
A scream of terror formed a knot in Dorcas's throat and she choked on the image in Tom's mind.
"And then there is Mrs. Meadowes herself, who you are being asked to believe is also a victim of the accused. Where is the evidence? We have the word of the very woman who poisoned Meadowes and her child. But Gwen Stanley gets to walk free. She's a murderer and she gets to walk free. Where is the justice in that?"
"Do you think he'll sacrifice the bastard daughter that he shares no blood connection to? Will he spare his one true child?"
"Dorcas Meadowes has proven to be a most duplicitous individual. How can a woman who spent her entire life maintaining a lie be trusted with admitting truthful and accurate evidence in this court?"
Dorcas turned to look for Gideon once again. Has he located Tom?
"Freezing!" Tom baited as Gideon moved down the opposite aisle and closer to Muybridge and the Dementors.
There was a spark of hope when one of the members of the press corps peeled away from the crowded gallery and pushed through the doors at the back of the courtroom.
Gideon pursued the man through the doors to Tom's internal laughter. "He might as well be standing on the South Pole!"
Wes continued to pace and speak.
"Maybe Muybridge was manipulated by the woman he loves into killing her husband. He's spent three months in Azkaban for that crime. Is he to suffer additionally for crimes that are not his? Does he deserve to languish in Purgatory under the misery of the Dementors? If you have even an inkling of doubt, then you must acquit Stephen Muybridge."
As Wes ceded the floor back to Skandenberg, Dorcas grew impatient. The court was going into recess while the judges met to deliberate the merits of the case.
"I warned you, Birdie. I want you to remember that."
Dorcas panicked, scanning the crowd of a hundred in the gallery as people filed out of the courtroom. Tom wouldn't miss the opportunity for his escape in this flood of witches and wizards.
"Cal, he knows I was at Hogwarts. He's threatened the girls," Dorcas stammered, fighting back frightened tears as she recounted the telepathic conversation.
Cal turned to Gwen and Theresa. "I have to go. Will you two remain here with Dorcas?"
Gwen and Theresa agreed with curious and worried glances between Dorcas and her husband.
"Cherry, come with me," Cal said, stepping past Dorcas and grabbing his fellow Gryffindor by the hand. "I need you to go to Hogwarts immediately," Dorcas heard him say to Cherry before turning back to her.
"Don't worry, sweetheart. I'm going to the house now. Wren should be with Miss Moody and Mrs. Frost. Cherry is going to check on Ryann and alert Dumbledore."
Dorcas didn't want to fixate on the order of Cal's priorities, but she did.
Cal was about to tear off to their house and check to see that his daughter was safe and protected. He would dispatch Cherry to Hogwarts to confirm that Ryann was alright.
Bile rose in Dorcas's throat and she pitched forward on a powerful retch, closing her throat tightly so that she didn't vomit all over the gallery floor of the courtroom.
If she'd been allowed to bring Ryann home with her, there would be no need to divide and conquer to secure the safety of her girls.
:::
8 February, 1942 Trophy Room, Charms Corridor, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Dorcas left Tom working in the secret room.
She was so distracted with thoughts about the Liquid Luck that he'd been brewing since August that she wasn't aware how far her feet had actually carried her.
She stood before the Trophy Room, face to face with the plaque enumerating Hogwarts' war dead. It had expanded since she'd last seen it.
What if they'd all had a phial of Liquid Luck on them when it would have made the difference between life and death?
She was struck again by how unfair Britain's Wizarding Community's stance on the war was. They had the means to protect lives. They could make a difference. And yet they chose to stay out of it.
Jack sprang into her mind, warming her limbs as she thought about him.
He deserved that potion. Not Tom.
She ground her teeth thinking about why Tom had brewed it. He didn't want to leave "variables" to chance. That was just a euphemism for murder. He didn't want to leave the murder he would have to commit to chance.
Jack deserved some of that potion.
And with a strong conviction, Dorcas resolved that he should have some.
Tom had brewed plenty of it. There would be more than enough for them to use Thursday night and for Tom to have some for when he was ready to complete his Horcrux plan.
He might not even miss it, if she was clever about how she swiped it.
She didn't even feel guilty about planning to steal from him.
But how would she get it to Jack? There were censors reading the post that was sent to the front. A mysterious liquid would never get through the mail screenings and into Jack's deserving hands.
She chewed on her lip and decided to mull it over. There had to be a way to get some of that potion to Jack.
"First one here doesn't mean first one to leave," Wes Rookwood said, approaching from the darkened end of the corridor.
"Wes, what are you doing here?" Dorcas asked, sighing. She didn't really want to spar with one of her tormentors right now.
"Same as you, I suppose," he said, lazily placing his hands in his pockets and strolling to her side.
Dorcas smirked. "What did you do?"
He shrugged. "Late to class three days in a row. Nothing as stupid as what you and Rackharrow pulled. Yet, here I am. Dumbledore has it out for me."
Dorcas rolled her eyes. "Dumbledore doesn't have it out for you. He just doesn't tolerate tardiness."
"Who asked you, stupid bint?" Wes spat in reply.
"What did I say, Rookwood?" Jonas snarled, drawing his wand as he came to stand beside Dorcas. "You so much as look at her and I'll show you exactly why my ancestor was famous."
Dorcas placed a calming hand on Jonas's wand arm, pushing it down. She knew it was an empty threat. Whether he was referring to the Entrail Expelling Charm, or the Unforgivable Curses, she couldn't be certain.
She paused for one horrified instant, thinking just how sinister her Rackharrow lineage was.
Wes staggered back, hurt by Jonas's tone, but recovered quickly. He slipped a superior mask over his feelings.
"Didn't you see her all over Riddle? Right in front of your eyes. What do you all see in this used up slag?"
Dorcas would have taken offense if she didn't have the context of Wes's thoughts from the library earlier. He was jealous of how close she was with Jonas. He missed his friend, whom he carried a torch for.
"She's my cousin, not my girlfriend, shite for brains! And what business is it of yours who she is or isn't with?"
Dorcas rolled her eyes. What a ringing defense, Jonas!
"Come on, you two! You used to be friends," Dorcas tried to mollify the two Slytherins.
She was spared the retort that Jonas was about to shout when Dumbledore rounded the corner.
He smiled at the three students. His mind had always been closed to Dorcas, but she wondered if he'd caught any of the exchange between the two boys.
"I do appreciate punctuality!" Dumbledore smiled down at the three. "Shall we get started then? There's a lot of polishing to be done!"
Wes's words rang in her skull.
Sodding arsehole!
She wasn't sure if the sodding arsehole was Jonas or Dumbledore.
:::
5 March, 1959 Wizengamot Courtroom 9, Ministry of Magic, London
Dorcas stared mutely at the place where Muybridge, Fabian, the other Auror, and the two Dementors had been moments ago.
They must take the accused to a holding cell while the judges deliberate.
She couldn't find the space in her mind to acknowledge that in a matter of hours or minutes, her son would either receive justice or he would not.
For all of the terror that Tom had waged in her mind, she hoped that one of his threats was real. The threat against Muybridge if he were to somehow be cleared of all charges by the Wizengamot today.
She prayed that Muybridge would meet Tom in a dark alley somewhere in London. Muybridge would not win that fight.
Then she was right back to replaying the scenes in her mind that Tom had threatened her with.
He'd shown her just how gruesome he could make her daughters' final moments.
Could he do that?
Could he hurt Wren? Could he hurt Ryann, his own child?
She didn't know. That was what was so alarming. She didn't know.
Now that Muybridge was out of sight for the moment, the press had turned their focus and their cameras on the women in the front row.
Theresa continued to silently weep while Gwen held her. Dorcas stared despondent at the empty chair where Muybridge had sat. Taunting her.
Gideon slid onto the bench beside her and leaned close.
"I couldn't find him in the crowd. He most likely disguised himself. Polyjuice, if I had to guess," he summarized.
"I should go find Cal and my daughters," Dorcas replied woodenly.
Gideon placed a hand over hers as she clasped them in her lap. "No. It's best if you stay here, Dorcas. It may have been his intention to lure you out of the courtroom. He can't touch you in here."
She wondered if he'd meant to lure Cal out of the courtroom instead. Her mind went wild with the possibilities of Tom's intentions.
Gideon must have seen the horror flash across her face. He squeezed her hands.
"Cal's not stupid, Dorcas. He'll be on guard."
Before she'd had the chance to argue with Gideon, Cal was beside her again, replacing Gideon.
Cherry and Professor Dumbledore accompanied him into the courtroom.
"Wren and Ryann are at home with Mrs. Frost and Miss Moody," Cal explained. "There are additional wards on the house."
"What did Tom tell you about Hogwarts, Dorcas?" Dumbledore asked.
Dorcas closed her eyes, ashamed to look up at her old Transfiguration teacher after how she'd behaved in his office two days ago. She pushed away the shame and thought back to Tom's words.
"He said he'd heard rumors I'd gone there to speak with you," she responded.
She hesitantly looked up and caught an exchange between Cal and Gideon. Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes were locked on her.
"Rumors," Dumbledore repeated.
"He could have some loyal friends among the staff, perhaps. Maybe someone saw Dorcas arrive and reported back to Riddle?" Gideon offered.
"You said you saw him at King's Cross at the start of term, didn't you, Dorcas?" Cal asked.
Dorcas blinked. She'd forgotten that she saw him there, waiting beside the entrance to Platform 9 ¾.
"Who was he with?" asked Cal.
"Roman Flint," Dorcas said in a hollow voice.
Dumbledore nodded. "He has a son at the school now. In first year. Perhaps it's as simple as young Flint mentioning the lady who visited during breakfast one morning in a letter to his mum and dad. Flint would have passed the news on."
Dorcas felt herself blush. His characterization of the "lady who visited during breakfast" was far kinder than the reality. She had been a she-beast flying into the school half-possessed with fear for her daughter.
But she was spared the necessity of a reply when a bailiff emerged from the door to the right, the judges' chambers.
That was a quick deliberation.
Dorcas couldn't decide if that was a point in favor of justice or against it.
"Please rise for the Chief Warlock and the judges of the Wizengamot," the bailiff called.
Dorcas felt curious eyes on her and more than one person took note in their mind of the addition of the Headmaster of Hogwarts to their party.
She shifted down the bench to allow Cal, Cherry, and the professor to sit beside her. Gideon took up his post next to his wife on the other end of the bench.
They all stood, breath suspended, on the precipice of a moment.
How would it all end?
And when it ended, would Dorcas be able to turn the page on this chapter in her life? Would Cal?
Ben's gone. Muybridge's sentence won't change that.
Cal pulled her to his side and squeezed her tightly. She wrapped her arms around him, leaning into him for support.
Warlock Skandenberg motioned to the gallery and there was a collective shuffle as a hundred people took their seats.
In the same exotic parade as before, Muybridge was led to his seat amid the glowing guardians in animal form.
Were the Dementors especially restless? Dorcas had no idea if they weakened away from their prison, if they were impatient, if they were bored.
Did they feel emotion?
Muybridge had none of the bravado that he'd projected out to her. He looked shaken, tremulous. Nervous.
Wes Rookwood turned to him, careful to maintain his distance from his client's guardians.
The courtroom settled into an eerie hush.
"Judges make a sacred vow to uphold justice and to protect our magical way of life," the Chief Warlock began.
"It is our solemn duty to preside over this court in a fair and considered manner. We do not support any agenda beyond the proper interpretation and implementation of the law. Wizarding kind in Great Britain must be safeguarded against the rogue element that seeks to degrade and corrupt the foundations of our way of life."
Dorcas saw Caradoc Dearborn's spine straighten in front of her. He seemed as if he was reacting to this opening remark.
Was it a good sign? A bad one?
"The mind and memory is sacred and must not be violated by magic. Life…" Skandenberg paused and let the word hang in midair.
Cal squeezed her hand. He's ruling against Muybridge, Cal surmised.
Dorcas inhaled sharply.
"Life is sacred, magical life even more so."
She cringed at the pureblood dog whistle, but remained hopeful.
"Stephen R. Muybridge has disregarded both the sanctity of the mind as well as magical life, treating both with a shocking lack of reverence. The court finds especially disturbing the accused's actions against a pregnant witch. Threatening the life of the mother, resulting in the death of an unborn child. The judges presiding here today cannot allow these crimes to go unanswered."
Dorcas thought about Muybridge's threats against Theresa and her baby. The vivid imagery was seared into her brain.
"Will the accused rise and hear his verdict?"
She hadn't looked in Muybridge's direction since he returned to the courtroom. Now, she noticed his gray pallor, his trembling limbs. He was shaking his head in reply to Skandenberg's orders to rise.
Fabian and the other Auror each took an arm and hauled Muybridge to his feet.
"We, the judges and the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot find the accused guilty of illegal use of memory charms, of illegal use of the Moonseed poison resulting in the injury and hospitalization of Dr. Dorcas Clerey-Meadowes, the use of an Unforgivable Curse resulting in the death of Jim Allen," His Lordship paused to draw another breath.
Laid out end to end, the crimes that Stephen Muybridge was here to answer for were astounding. But one had yet to be named.
Dorcas braced herself. Cal stiffened next to her and clung to her tightly.
"And the illegal use of the Moonseed poison and the premeditated murder of the infant Benjamin Meadowes."
The tears would not remain at bay a moment longer. When Dorcas heard her son's name read aloud, a gaping wound was torn open afresh.
"Because of the premeditated nature of the final crime, Stephen R. Muybridge shall be taken from this courtroom and to the Wizarding prison, Azkaban."
This was it. The verdict was imprisonment. Stephen Muybridge would pay for taking the life of her child. But the wound within her did not feel as if it was knitting back together. It was just as raw and as agonizing as it had ever been.
She had made a mantra out of wishing for Muybridge's suffering. She hunted him down for the express purpose of killing him.
As she watched him shudder and sob now, she no longer wished for it.
She felt nothing.
"Once there, Stephen R. Muybridge will receive the Dementor's Kiss..." the Chief Warlock continued.
Dorcas felt all of the air rush from her lungs. Muybridge became frantic, wailing and pulling at his bonds. She watched unblinking as the two Aurors struggled to hold him in place. Finally, one of the Dementors reached a possessive, rotten hand out toward Muybridge's shoulder.
The grizzly contact seemed to sap the remaining energy out of Muybridge and he stilled.
"Severing his soul from his body. May our judgement serve as penance for your crime. So say the Wizengamot judges. So rendered the verdict."
A/N: The Derek Chauvin trial gave me some inspiration for Wes Rookwood's paltry closing defense. There was such an effort at gaslighting and "you can't believe what your eyes are showing you" in defense of murdering a man prone and in handcuffs. You can't believe that your eyes are showing a man kneeling on another man's neck and suffocating him...weak.
Satisfied with the outcome in that case. And this fictional one too.
