Author's Note: The one year anniversary of this story just passed. I never thought that I would set out to write something with a word count to rival War And Peace...but here we are! I'm surprised sometimes about where this story is going, but I'm letting it unfold in its own way. I wanted to drop a quick note to say that I will be taking a small break from my weekly updates as I am posting this last completed chapter. I have to build up my reserve chapters and give my betas time to comb through them. I hope you will stick around and pick the story back up in a couple of weeks. Enjoy!

Chapter 58

6 March, 1959 14 South Audley Street, Mayfair, London

Dorcas didn't remember returning home after the trial. She didn't remember how she got here. She blinked a little in the dim light of dawn and looked ahead of her.

She was in her bed, an arm wrapped around Ryann, hand draping over hers as it rested on Wren's chest, gently rising and falling with the little girl's breath.

Dorcas gently lifted her hand, not wanting to disturb her sleeping daughters, but did not remember how they'd gotten here. Ryann was supposed to be at school. The last time she'd seen her oldest, they were in Dumbledore's office and Cal and Ryann were teaming up to convince Dorcas to let her stay at Hogwarts.

She slowly rolled over in her bed, noting that she was wearing a nightgown. But she didn't remember putting it on. Cal should be able to fill her in on the missing time. She didn't know how much she'd lost.

Hours?

Days?

Her husband's side of the bed was empty and cold. Was he already at the hospital? It was a bit earlier than his usual time. But he did get called in at odd hours sometimes.

Her eyes focused on the rest of the room as she rolled onto Cal's pillow and faced the door.

He was asleep in a chair that he'd pulled in front of the bedroom door, almost as if he'd barricaded them inside. His wand was hanging from his fingertips as his hand rested against his thigh. His head rested with his chin against his chest. Dorcas knew he would have horrible neck pain from sleeping like that all night.

She slipped from the covers and turned to make sure that Ryann and Wren continued to sleep undisturbed.

Dorcas approached Cal on quiet, bare feet, placing a hand on his chest, rubbing gently to wake him.

"What time is it?" he asked groggily. His hand reached for hers as it lay against his chest and he squeezed it affectionately.

"I don't know," Dorcas admitted in a whisper.

"How's your head?" Cal yawned and rolled his head from one side to the other, stretching his legs out in front of him.

Dorcas thought about the question and then internally surveyed her mind.

"It's fine, Cal," Dorcas replied. She shrugged, wondering what would prompt him to ask.

The look on her husband's face was concerned.

Cal stood without a word and lifted the chair away from the door silently. He placed a hand on her lower back and ushered her through the door he'd just opened after undoing several wards.

"Let's talk out here," he whispered, aware of their daughters still asleep on the bed.

Dorcas let Cal take her hand and lead her to the empty and spotless kitchen, the domain of their mysterious cook. Dorcas only ever ventured into this room to make coffee.

"Do you want breakfast? Or coffee?" Cal asked, rolling his head to the side again and reaching the hand that clutched his wand up to knead a sore muscle.

"I'll make the coffee. You sit," Dorcas ordered. "Are you hungry?"

Cal obeyed her and sat at the kitchen table. "Just coffee," he replied.

Once Dorcas had set the percolator to work, she turned to Cal and began rubbing the muscles of his neck. He sighed and relaxed into her as she worked the kinks out gently.

"What happened last night?" Dorcas asked tentatively. She didn't want to worry him by telling him she couldn't remember, so she kept the question as light and inconsequential as she could.

"What do you mean?" Cal groaned as Dorcas eased a particularly tight area in his shoulder.

"I don't remember," Dorcas replied simply, her hands slipping from his shoulders to his pectoral muscles, gliding across his chest.

Cal grabbed one of her wrists and pulled her around to face him. The expression he wore was sober and serious.

"You don't remember the trial?"

Dorcas blinked, wondering what she'd done wrong. The look on Cal's face was not what she was expecting.

"I–" Dorcas stammered. She took a moment to access the last thing she remembered.

A courtroom, Dementors, screams, the feeling of paralyzing terror.

"Stephen Muybridge was taken to Azkaban and given the Dementor's Kiss," Dorcas recited. She had an odd, out of body feeling like she knew what to say and had the corresponding memories, but not the experience of them.

The percolator sputtered as it finished brewing the coffee. Dorcas jumped up before Cal could and fixed their cups.

"I wonder what that's like," Dorcas continued casually.

"What what is like?" Cal rubbed his face with his hands and leaned back in his chair.

"The Dementor's Kiss. Does it hurt? What happens to the body when it's over?"

Cal stared at her as she handed him his coffee. He blinked at her twice.

"I hadn't thought about it, to be honest." He took a sip and used his foot to pull a chair out for Dorcas next to him. "What else do you remember?"

Dorcas blew on her coffee and then took a sip. She used the pronouncement of Muybridge's sentence as a reference point and reached back further.

"He was in my head, he called me an interfering cunt," Dorcas answered.

Cal sat up straighter, leaning an elbow on the tabletop. "Who did?"

"Muybridge, he was in my head, taunting me." Dorcas sipped her coffee, trying to appear nonchalant as she recounted Muybridge's taunts and threats. "He did it before too. Once he learned that I could hear thoughts. He wouldn't stop talking to me. That's why I didn't want to go after my testimony was over. I didn't want him in my head anymore."

"Was Muybridge the only one you heard in your head?"

Dorcas crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair, considering. Someone else was in her head at the trial…

"Do you know how I keep my sanity in that hellscape?" She heard Muybridge spitting hatred into her mind. "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."

But Cal was suggesting that someone else was tormenting her mind as well.

"Birdie," another voice spoke to her. "Even if he gets out of this, I will kill him for you. You have my word."

"Tom," Dorcas whispered. "He promised to kill Muybridge if he was released."

"He did?" Cal asked.

Dorcas nodded. "Then he threatened you and the girls."

"Maybe I will let Meadowes choose which of your girls I kill. That's fair, right?" She heard Tom's voice in her mind again, remembering his words. Her hand began to shake and she set her coffee down before she spilled it all over herself.

She recalled, given the choice between rushing off to check on Wren or Ryann, Cal had chosen Wren, sending Cherry to Hogwarts to check on Ryann and alert Dumbledore to Tom's threats.

"He said he would let you choose which one of our daughters to kill." Her voice was hollow.

Cal shook his head, dismissing Tom's threat. "Impossible. He could kill me. But I'd never pick one of my girls over the other."

"But you did, Cal!"

Cal stared at her wide eyed and confused. "When?" he challenged.

"You sent Cherry to Hogwarts and you raced home to check on Wren. You did choose!"

Leaning away from Dorcas, Cal's shoulders slumped and he kneaded his forehead.

"You'll always think the worst of me, won't you?"

"But it's true! You did choose!" Dorcas felt so strongly in her conviction that Cal would protect Wren over Ryann.

"Besides you, there's no one I trust more with our girls than Cherry and Jonas. I would have gone to Hogwarts, Dorcas. But I didn't want you to go to the house in case Tom was trying to draw you out. I was trying to protect you too!"

Tom's voice rang loudly in her head once again. "Do you think he'll sacrifice the bastard daughter that he shares no blood connection to? Will he spare his one true child?"

"But you chose Wren! Just like Tom said you would!"

"Just like Tom said I would…" Cal repeated her words. "Did it occur to you that Tom is trying to drive a wedge between us, Dorcas? He's playing on your insecurities like a concertmaster violinist. And you let him!"

"You chose her over Ryann exactly like he said…'' Dorcas was crying now. She didn't want it to be true. But Cal's actions spoke volumes. When Wren and Ryann were threatened, he would choose Wren. He'd done it.

Cal shook his head. "You're the one who referred to Ryann as your daughter. You said I wasn't allowed to determine where she went to school. I'm not the one who thinks of her as someone else's child, Dorcas. That's all you!"

"Because I don't think of her as yours, you were in no hurry to make sure she was safe. You had to check on your daughter first. You want to think of her as yours, but you don't, Cal. I think you made a judgement call that because Ryann is Tom's, he would be more likely to threaten Wren, your child."

Cal stood up and turned to the sink, splashing the remainder of his coffee down the drain.

"I made a judgement call to come home and check on Wren because only you and I can get through the wards on this house, Dorcas. Cherry can't get inside because of blood magic. But I'm glad to know where you stand after almost fourteen years of marriage."

Dorcas swallowed the sharp reply that had been waiting on her tongue.

"Miss Moody and Mrs. Frost will be here in an hour to watch the girls. I'm going to take a shower. Be ready to go by eight o'clock."

"Go where?" Dorcas asked without turning around.

"St. Mungo's to get another brain scan. You had three seizures last night."

:::

12 February, 1942 Fat Lady's Portrait, Seventh Floor, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Dorcas waited in the shadows of an alcove across from the portrait that guarded the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. The wooden box that she clutched in a white knuckled grip felt incriminating. She wanted to safely store it where Tom would never think to look for it.

"Why would he go looking for it?"

Dorcas had been stuck in this logic loop for hours since she'd stepped out of the washroom on the train, palming the phial of Felix Felicis in her hand obsessively.

She supposed that a lack of sleep could be partially to blame for her jumpiness.

When she'd stepped through the Vanishing Cabinet and back into the empty classroom on the Charms corridor alone, she scurried quickly to her common room on the fourth floor. She didn't know how far behind her Tom would be and didn't want to meet him again so soon after their last, illicit encounter.

Her skirt was still cold and damp from where she'd washed off the semen he'd spilled onto her abdomen. Would he be penitent for his behavior toward her? Would he be expecting more?

She didn't know. The moment he'd rolled off of her, releasing her from beneath him, she'd rushed from the cabin to the train's lavatory. That was where she left the ring he'd given her.

Had he waited for her, tracking her to the closed door of the loo? Had he knocked? Gone inside looking for her? Had he found the ring discarded on the floor and picked it up?

Dorcas hated that she felt guilty for abandoning him without a word. She hated that she felt guilty for leading him on, playing on his obvious attraction for her to distract from her thieving a bottle of Felix Felicis from him.

Gemma may have started the false rumor that Dorcas had an easy virtue. She may have spread it around that Dorcas accepted payment for sexual favors. But last night on the train home from Newcastle, Dorcas had given weight to the rumors. She'd verified them by getting Tom off in order to keep him from becoming aware that she'd saved her second dose of Liquid Luck.

She could have told Tom no. She could have pushed him away. She could have fought.

But then he'd renew his suspicions that she'd not taken the potion.

Dorcas clutched the box in her hands and shifted from one foot to the other as she waited for someone to come through the portrait hole.

The box appeared to be empty. But she'd placed the Chameleon Charm on the small crystal phial of Felix Felicis.

Initially, she thought she'd disguise it and keep it in her own school trunk. She'd already investigated Tom's ability to get into her dorm room. She had been confident that he couldn't. But that didn't mean that he couldn't get into her common room and summon the potion to him if he suspected her of keeping it.

It was probably the most precious item she'd ever held in her possession. The Occamy eggshell alone was more dear than she'd ever be able to afford. Tom would be furious to learn that she'd kept it back for his half-brother, an unworthy Muggle, and a rival in his mind.

The logical part of her mind had kept up a continuous refrain of "Why would he ever make the connection between Jack and the potion you stole? You convinced him that you took it yourself. You were very convincing…"

But the paranoia would counter, "He brought up Jack. Of all of the topics he could have raised last night, he'd point-blank asked you about Jack and wanted to know if he was any sort of competition for him."

When Dorcas had returned to her common room early this morning, she'd raced up the stairs and opened the door as quietly as she could. She'd beelined to her trunk and taken out the small stack of letters that Jack had written to her. She concealed them with the Chameleon Charm and fastened them to the inside lid of her trunk with a Sticking Charm.

It was probably unnecessary to take such a precaution, but she could only think of Tom's rage if he'd somehow managed to find those letters after she'd reassured him that she didn't have feelings for Jack.

She was planning to leave the Felix Felicis with Cherry.

Even her paranoid side couldn't imagine Tom finding the potion in the third year girl's dormitory in Gryffindor Tower.

"He doesn't even suspect you of keeping it!" logic argued exasperatedly in her mind.

Dorcas felt as if her sanity was unraveling.

She hadn't slept once she returned to her dorm. Instead, she'd taken her nightgown and her toiletries to the washroom. She'd taken the Felix Felicis with her as well.

A shower was just the thing to help her relax. She would wash off the long evening of travel and the remains of the sticky residue that coated the skin of her stomach along the waistband of her skirt.

But once in the shower, she couldn't make herself stand up and wash. She'd sat on the cold tile of the cubicle and cried, clutching her prize to her chest.

In the end, she despaired of ever finding a way to get the potion to Jack.

The thought of him risking his life on some foreign field while she betrayed him with his brother was condemning. Whenever she saw him again–if she ever saw him again, would he be able to sense her betrayal? Would she be different around him?

Had she ruined everything?

She cried hysterically at the thought until the water turned cold and she was able to pull herself up from the floor and dress herself.

But sleep didn't come.

Dorcas stayed awake for the last four hours of the morning, listening to the sounds of the other girls breathing deeply. The Liquid Luck stayed tucked into her palm as she lay in bed, replaying every jab of Tom's fingers, every thrust of his hips, every word she'd said that encouraged him on.

Dorcas felt her breath catch in her chest as the Fat Lady's portrait swung open and Darren Barton stepped out.

She rushed across the corridor to him.

"Darren!"

"Dorcas, hi!" he replied warily, shifting his school bag onto his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

Her face must show her desperation to get inside. She arranged her features into a pleasant mask.

"Nothing. I just need to see Cherry. Is she still inside?"

Darren nodded and held the portrait's frame open for her. The Fat Lady muttered something about passwords being useless if dunderheads left the door open for every stray that came wandering by.

"She may not be awake yet. Be warned, she's a hellbeast when disturbed too early," Darren cautioned.

Dorcas brushed him off with a wave. "I'll take my chances."

:::

6 March, 1959 Janus Thickey Ward, St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries

Dorcas clutched Cal's hand nervously, grateful that he was allowing her this small comfort while he was still furious at her for accusing him of having favorites between his two daughters.

He surprised her further by pulling her against his side and wrapping his arm around her.

Her former partner on the Janus Thickey Ward, Healer Crawford met them outside of her old office. When he saw the cloud of apprehension that settled over Dorcas's expression, he smiled nervously and said, "We can consult in my office, if you prefer, Dr. Meadowes."

She nodded gratefully. She hadn't been in this office since they'd revisited her poisoning looking for the poison's handler.

The scan was painless as usual, but Dorcas feared that every traumatic memory she'd uncovered, every wound she'd opened had brought her no closer to healing. In fact, the seizures were new. That wasn't progress. That was regression.

Healer Crawford held the new scan between them and then removed his fingertips from the film's edge, allowing it to hover in space between them.

What Dorcas saw was incredibly hopeful and devastating at the same time. She inhaled sharply. Cal squeezed her thigh briefly before reaching for an envelope he'd tucked into the side of his chair.

The previous scan was drawn out of the envelope and placed beside the newest one.

Cal's hand returned to her thigh and she covered it with her own hand.

The four faint scars from the previous scan were gone. But where the old scan showed two worrisome gouges and a mysterious shadow, the new scan revealed that one of the deeper scars had begun to bleed.

At least now she knew what had triggered the seizures, even if the reason for the bleed was a mystery.

Healer Crawford pointed out the obvious positive news first.

"I see you have been hard at work since your last visit, Dr. Meadowes. Well done!"

Dorcas cringed at the congratulatory tone. Was revisiting childhood trauma in the form of repeated sexual assault well done? She didn't think so.

Cal's fingers squeezed again encouragingly.

"Any idea why this one has started to bleed?" Cal asked the room.

Crawford exchanged a curious look with her, wondering if she was going to be more responsive to this discussion than she had the last time she was here. She'd allowed the men to discuss her while she remained mute during the last scan.

"My instinct says that you've been revisiting the altered memory, Dr. Meadowes."

Dorcas nodded. "I would agree. But it's hard to know for sure since I'm not aware of its alteration. It's only two or three days old, the bleed," she pointed out.

Cal sat up, hopeful that she was onto something.

"What have you done in the past two to three days, Dorcas? That's not a lot of time. We can narrow it down."

Cal was staring at her eagerly, optimistically. Dorcas's eyes flicked from her husband's to healer Crawford's.

"Healer Crawford," Cal spoke without looking away from his wife. "Would you mind if Dorcas and I spoke privately?"

Crawford nodded. "Of course. Take all the time you need. I'll be on the ward if you need me." Dorcas and Cal were silent until the door clicked behind him.

"What is it, my love?" Cal asked, his eyebrows pulling together.

Dorcas didn't have the same optimistic feeling as Cal had.

"Well, there was all the stuff Tom was saying in my mind," she offered.

Cal nodded, pulling her chair closer to his so that he could face her directly. "Did he reference anything from your past?"

"I–" Dorcas's reflex was to answer that she didn't remember. But she could remember. She had to. If that brain bleed persisted, she would die. She had no doubt about that.

She looked at the latest scan and the dark area spreading out from the deepest gouge. Again, she was struck by how unbelievable it was that she was able to walk and talk and breathe on her own. A brain this damaged should not be able to sustain her body.

Then she looked back at Cal. She didn't want to die and leave him. He was a wonderful, perfect, patient, loving man that she knew was out of her league. And he somehow put up with all of the shit she put him through. And then there were her daughters. Cal could raise them without her. She was confident in his ability to do so. But she didn't want him to have to. She didn't want to miss out on who her girls would grow up to be.

She had to get to the bottom of this. She thought through every word she remembered Tom shoving into her mind at the Muybridge trial.

"Everything Tom said was about now. About me visiting Dumbledore, about attacking me three months ago. About our daughters."

Cal's face darkened when she brought up Tom's threat to their girls again. She thought he was remembering her accusations from this morning.

"Dorcas, you don't ever have to worry about him hurting our girls. I will never let that happen. And I'm not choosing between them either."

"I'm sorry I thought you had, Cal," Dorcas apologized.

Cal grabbed her hands and kissed her knuckles. "Don't apologize for the thoughts that psychopath placed in your head. Just know that it's not true. He doesn't know you and he doesn't know me. He can't tell you what I would do."

Dorcas nodded and continued to inventory the past three days.

"I got drunk with Hagrid. Do you think that drinking would do that?" she jerked her head slightly to the scans hovering in front of them.

Cal studied the newer scan. "It might increase the bleeding. But it wouldn't have started it."

He stared at Dorcas for a long time, looking at the space just in front of her, thinking.

"Is Hagrid part of a memory you keep revisiting?"

He didn't see her flinch.

Hagrid was part of a memory that she'd been visiting lately. He factored prominently in one of the events from her past that she felt most guilty about. He was connected to a memory she wished she could forget. A memory that, if revealed to Cal, would cause him to leave her for good.

Next to that memory, there was one other that Dorcas felt the weight of guilt that she'd carried with her since the age of fifteen. But Cal knew about this one.

"Dorcas, talk to me, please! I want to help you."

"You don't understand any of it, Cal. You can't help me." Dorcas was afraid of what letting him into these parts of her past might do.

"Why do you say that?" Cal asked, removing his hands from hers as if stung. "Dorcas, I will understand. Haven't I forgiven you for accusing me of having an affair? You thought I'd choose Wren and let Tom kill Ryann. And I know that's Tom speaking through you. It's not you. Make me pay for every goddamned horrible thing that Tom ever did to you. I'll take it all gladly. I know you think there are some things about your past that are too dark. So dark that if I knew them I would never love you the same way again. Don't you know that I love everything about you? Even the parts of you that you think are so awful that I could never get past them. Don't give in to this, Dorcas. Don't accept death! I can live with anything else. But I can't live without you!"

Dorcas didn't know what to say about that speech. She decided to test his words.

"I've killed people."

"I know about the soldier, Dorcas. And I'm beginning to think that it's a fake memory. Think about it. Tom was there. What if he framed you?"

Dorcas nodded. She'd begun to suspect this as well.

"I said I've killed people, Cal. As in more than one."

:::

12 February, 1942 Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

"Birdie!" Dorcas heard Tom's voice in her head. It reverberated in her skull. "What the hell? I was looking for you all night!"

Dorcas didn't look in Tom's direction. It was taking all of her will power to walk into the Great Hall and down the aisle between the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor tables calmly, when what she desperately wanted to do was run full tilt back to her bed and draw the curtains around her.

She took a seat that would put her back to Tom, busying herself by plucking a piece of toast from the warm pile and spreading butter on it. She wasn't going to eat it. In fact, the smell of the eggs and sausage and butter was making her stomach churn. But she wanted to appear as if she was going about things normally.

"Turn around, Birdie, and look at me!"

Dorcas kept her eyes on her toast and pretended not to hear his voice rattling her brain.

"Are you alright? Did something happen? Did anyone hurt you?"

His rapidfire questions caused Dorcas's heart rate to speed up. She blinked to keep tears from pooling on her bottom lids.

She wanted to respond to his questions in clipped replies. "No. Yes. You did."

But she knew that wasn't completely fair. She was not a victim, or at least not entirely. She'd had a hand in the events that took place on the train. She'd had a choice in the matter.

And she felt rotten for making that choice.

Dorcas felt bile rising in the back of her throat and dropped the toast on her plate.

A distraction came to her in two forms: one lumbered into the Great Hall, three-hundred-and-fifty pounds of second year Gryffindor. Rubeus Hagrid found her along the Ravenclaw table and eyed her darkly. She returned his glare.

She would be a poor excuse for a friend if she didn't find him later and do her best to convince him to see reason. It would certainly take her mind off her own troubles, helping him to problem-solve his.

The second distraction came by way of the morning post. An eagle owl arced toward the Ravenclaw table and dipped to send a letter in her direction before flapping upward and out of the hall once again.

Her mother had sent on a letter from Jack.

It was usually a personal celebration, these mornings when a letter arrived for her (infrequent as they might be). Her stomach usually did a little flip when she saw his name on the return address.

But this morning, as her eyes traced his name on the page, the envelope felt like an accusation. Jack's words were no doubt passionate and adoring and would in no way make her feel like celebrating.

She'd never had to read his words to her with the knowledge playing in her mind that she'd betrayed him.

Reaching for the letter, Dorcas was immediately shamed that it was the same hand she used to stroke Tom into coming on top of her. She shoved the letter into the pocket of her skirt and clenched her fist. She tried to forget the feel of him as he throbbed in her palm.

She'd have to tell Jack what happened. He deserved to know. Then, it would be his decision whether to forgive Dorcas, or to break off what was developing between them. It was only right that he should be given that choice.

"You were out late last night," June Riley said.

At first, Dorcas didn't realize that the comment was aimed at her. June's voice had blended in with the rest of the chatter at the table.

"I didn't hear you come in this morning," she continued, staring pointedly at Dorcas.

"Come out into the corridor with me, Birdie. Let's talk before class." Tom's voice was pleading and a bit concerned.

Dorcas knew better than to assume that was all he was feeling. Those emotions could easily be covering deeper feelings of anger and frustration. She knew he had every right to feel those things, but didn't have the capacity to talk it all through with him right now.

She felt weary of it all. Her muscles ached and her eyes stung. She didn't know how she was going to face the day.

The accusation in June Riley's tone was the tipping point.

"I find it hard to believe that someone with your talents as a busybody didn't notice my coming and going," Dorcas jibed, pushing back from the table and grabbing her school bag.

Her eyes found a means of escape and of keeping Tom off her back walking out of the Great Hall and she clambered to join him.

"Cal, wait up! I'll walk to class with you," she called.

Cal Meadowes turned in surprise, but smiled down at her good naturedly.

"How was Quidditch practice yesterday?" Dorcas asked, retreating from the hall with her Arithmancy partner.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Since when do you care about Quidditch?"

"I don't," she admitted with a blush, feeling stupid for asking.

Cal seemed to take this as encouragement and filled her in on the drills he and his team ran for two hours yesterday evening.

Dorcas was grateful for the long explanation that required her to do nothing more than to walk silently beside him and smile every so often.

:::

6 March, 1959 14 South Audley Street, Mayfair, London

Dorcas stepped through the door into the grand entryway of their Mayfair home. Not for the first time, Dorcas was met with an out of body feeling like this was someone else's life that she'd stumbled into.

She wanted to believe the grand speech that Cal had given in Healer Crawford's office. She knew he believed it. And some of it might even be true. He would take all of the punishment she'd never be able to dole out to Tom. She knew he'd even believed that he couldn't live without her.

But he could. Or at least, he should. She was toxic. Everything terrible that had happened in his life was because of her.

Well–at least the things that had happened since he'd fallen in love with her.

Dorcas allowed Cal to take her coat and handbag from her.

It's just the memory of the soldier I killed at the club. Cal has already seen this one. He brushed it off as self-defense. He'd already forgiven her for this bit of violence.

"Are you hungry, my love?" Cal asked.

His mind was blocked to her because Ryann was home. But she'd dearly love to know what he was thinking at this moment.

"No," she replied. "Let's just get this over with."

Cal nodded and walked ahead of her to open the door to her office.

Dorcas pulled the hem of her jumper down, straightening it nervously before pulling her wand out of the pocket of her wool trousers.

She looked to Cal for encouragement and he nodded, placing a hand on her shoulder blade.

It wasn't that she was nervous about confronting her actions again. Two years ago, she'd shown this memory to Cal after confirming that Tom had murdered Hepzibah Smith.

She felt like such a hypocrite then, judging Tom for the murder of the old woman when she'd killed people too.

But Cal had quickly explained away not only her part in the death of the soldier at the Black Dahlia, but also Tom's part in it too. That was before he'd seen the memory of Tom beating her on the Astronomy Tower and raping her in their marriage bed three months ago.

She doubted that Cal had any goodwill left for Tom. Dorcas hadn't any left for him either.

But what if the memory wasn't altered? Dorcas was beginning to crave the absolution that would come from lifting this memory to uncover her own innocence. What if she had done what the memory suggested she did?

Cal's hand made a comforting circle along her back. "Do you want me to do it, sweetheart?"

Dorcas shook her head and placed the wand to her temple. She withdrew a shimmering silver thread and deposited it into the memory solution in the basin of her Pensieve.

:::

31 December, 1942 The Black Dahlia, Upton Circle, London

"That was some performance," a voice close behind her chimed. There was applause.

The American that hadn't moved from his spot by the stage was now standing close to her in the alley. He took a final drag from his cigarette and flicked it to his right where it fell next to a stack of crates. He slowly advanced on Dorcas.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" he asked.

Dorcas took a step backward and then another. She'd had men compliment her singing, her looks. Walter, the barkeeper, was usually the one to tell the lovestruck fools that she was underage. Her bandmates also kept a fairly sharp eye out for trouble if it came her way.

She regretted coming out into the alley where she was alone with the young soldier.

"It's Dorcas," she said, quickly adding, "I've got to finish my set."

He stretched his left arm out, hand resting on the wall. Blocking her path. He stepped closer still.

Dorcas felt the cool brick against her shoulder blades. Her wand was in her right glove. She'd learned to always keep it at hand, no matter where she was or what she was doing.

His right hand moved to her left shoulder, tracing the neckline of her dress with his finger.

"Dorcas," he said, his breath mingled with hers in the frigid air. "You're beautiful."

Dorcas made a motion like she was pulling up her glove and reached for her wand. She held it threateningly between them.

"I said, I have to finish my set," Dorcas repeated.

The soldier's eyebrows creased in confusion. "What is that?"

He didn't wait for an answer, he batted her wandhand aside and pressed his lips roughly to hers, causing her to bang her head against the bricks.

Dorcas shoved as hard as she could with her left hand and waved her wandhand at him, yelling "Stupefy."

The man crumpled helplessly to the ground. Dorcas looked around the alley to make sure that no one had seen her perform magic. The alley was deserted apart from her and her would be attacker.

She crouched beside the man to make sure he was breathing. A Stunning Spell should only knock him out for about thirty seconds. When Dorcas neared the man's motionless form, however, she saw blood pooling under his neck.

"Birdie?"

Tom had stepped into the alley. His eyes went wide when he saw her crouched next to the soldier.

Frantically, Dorcas stood and tried to explain. She knew she was in trouble. She knew the soldier was dead. He'd hit his head on the stack of crates as he fell. She didn't know what to do. She only knew that Tom couldn't be here too. She could not involve him in her mistake.

Tom crossed the alley and grabbed her by the arms. "Did he hurt you?"

Dorcas shook her head numbly. "Tom, he's dead."

He looked her up and down. Satisfied that she was not injured, he instructed her firmly but quietly, "You need to go back inside. You'll be missed soon."

"Tom," she said, blinking stupidly. "I can't leave him here. We've got to get someone. He's dead."

"No," Tom said. He took her face in his hands and forced her to look at him instead of the dead man at her feet. "You're not going to tell anyone. You're going to go back inside and finish the set."

Dorcas tried to pull his hands away and argue his plan down. She knew they needed to call the police.

"Birdie," Tom said, forcefully, "Go back inside. Now."

:::

12 February, 1942 Third Year Girls' Dormitory, Ravenclaw Tower, Fourth Floor, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Dorcas climbed onto her bed and waved her wand at the curtains, drawing them. She was instantly plunged into darkness and sent two lighted orbs sailing from the tip of her wand to hover in the space above her.

She'd grudgingly taken Cal's advice and came up to her dorm after practically falling asleep on his arm as he patiently tried to take her through this morning's Arithmancy lesson again.

It had been difficult to concentrate this morning as Professor Lin lectured on the movements of Mars, the number seven, and major transregional conflicts like the invasion of the Huns and the Ottoman sacking of Constantinople.

Tom kept up a constant interrogation in her mind. His concern at having lost track of her quickly evolved into wild accusations. She couldn't focus on the lecture and soon gave up hope of following along and taking notes.

Finally, Dorcas resolved to copy Cal's notes later that evening and trespass on his good nature by begging him to reteach the lesson.

But in the library this evening, Dorcas's lack of sleep and empty stomach overwhelmed her. After Cal had nudged her awake for the third time, he suggested that they resume the lesson tomorrow. He'd insisted on walking her to her common room and even offered to pop down to the kitchens and ask a house elf to bring her something to eat.

His kindness had nearly broken her because she felt even less worthy of it than usual.

She tearfully thanked him and retreated behind the door with the bronze eagle door knocker before she could humiliate herself further by blubbering in front of him.

Now, she was alone, ensconced in the only part of the castle where she truly felt safe. Sleep didn't come immediately because Jack's letter sat like a rebuke in her pocket.

Ordinarily, she'd be furtively ducking into her secret drawing room that transformed just for her. She'd be eager to read Jack's words and to write him a reply.

But now she was afraid to open his letter. He would begin by calling her "my love" or "angel" or "dearest" and Dorcas didn't think she could face disappointing his idea of her.

Dorcas drew a fortifying breath and reached into her skirt pocket for the letter.

She carefully opened it and pulled out a single sheet of paper.

Sweetest Dorcas,

I received the photograph you sent me as a Christmas present. I don't know how you manage to get prettier when you're already the most beautiful girl in the world! Imagine my surprise when the photograph winked at me! I could scarcely believe it had happened and was sure I was imagining things. But then your likeness blew me a kiss! I am continually surprised by the magic you possess. You are a uniquely captivating person and I am stunned that you happen to love an ordinary boy like me.

I have some sad news to share. My grandmother wrote to me to inform me that my Aunt Penny is ailing. I know that Mistress Riddle wouldn't have written if my aunt's condition wasn't grave. I don't know what the illness is or how much time she has left, but I wish I could be there with her. She's the only family I have (that will openly acknowledge me, that is). After she's gone, I'll have no one left on my mother's side. No one that will remember her fondly. My father doesn't count as he's gone 'round the bend years ago and doesn't remember her at all.

I'm sorry to write to you with sad news. I always like to keep your spirits up. I've been doing a poor job of that lately. But I promise that I've had no more near-death encounters. All has been quiet on the war front.

Please write to me soon. I want to hear about something cheery, something that will make me laugh and forget about how far away from home (how far away from you) I am.

I love you, my angel!

Jack

Dorcas remembered Mrs. Penny, the Riddles' cook. She ran the kitchens during the Riddles' anniversary party like a drill sergeant. Her cadets scattered before her frantically carrying out her will. Dorcas had done her best to stay out of the intimidating woman's path when she was serving there.

It was hard to picture the indomitable woman bedridden with a terminal illness. But she believed Jack when he said that Mrs. Riddle wouldn't have bothered him if it wasn't grave news.

She had to do something for Jack. She felt as if she owed him any kindness that she could think to give.

Dorcas summoned paper, ink, and a quill from her school bag on the floor beside her bed.

Beloved Jack,

I am sorry to hear about your aunt. If you would like, I will visit her and give you a full accounting of how she does. If you write to me and tell me what you wish to say to her, I'll deliver your message. I could hold her hand for you and make things better. There are different medicines and potions in my world than in the Muggle world. Perhaps if I can find out what ails her, I can help her too.

She racked her brain for something to tell him to take his mind off of his sick aunt. She thought about how Cal had taken her mind off her troubles this morning by regaling her with endless Quidditch talk.

Have I ever told you about the game of Quidditch? It's a sort of football played on broomsticks. Instead of one goal on either end of the pitch, there are three hoops. The goalie is called a Keeper. That player is responsible for keeping the Quaffel (similar to a football) from scoring goals in the hoops. The Chasers (there's three on each team) are responsible for scoring goals with the Quaffel. There are two Beaters (I guess they would be the equivalent of defenders?). They have bats and they club these horribly violent balls called Bludgers at the Chasers and Keeper in order to distract them from scoring or preventing a score. Now, there's a seventh player on the team that has no equivalent in football. That player is called the Seeker. Their job is trying to find this tiny golden ball with wings called a Snitch. If they catch this hard-to-find ball, they earn one-hundred-and-fifty points for their team and the game ends. In many cases, the game is won by the Seeker. They have to be an excellent flyer, have accurate reflexes, and a good instinct.

When you come home from the war, we'll see a Quidditch match first thing. I have a feeling you'll love the sport.

In the meantime, keep yourself safe so that you can come home to me soon! I will let you know what I can find out about your aunt and how to help her.

I love you with all my heart,

Dorcas

She reread the words and addressed an envelope. First thing in the morning she'd post it to the Muggle post in Hogsmeade. And she'd also have to find time to speak to Rubeus about the pet he'd been keeping in the school.

But for now, she was so tired, she could only think about sleep.

:::

6 March, 1959 14 South Audley Street, Mayfair, London

Dorcas surfaced from the memory first. She stood back a pace and waited for Cal to join her outside the Pensieve.

"Did you see it, Dorcas?" he asked excitedly.

She nodded. "I wouldn't keep my wand in the glove on my right hand. I'm right handed. Tom knew that."

Cal agreed. "I thought that was odd, too. But he would have needed to work fast to alter your memory and dispose of the body. Perhaps he just lost the details a little bit."

Dorcas knew he was right. What was this memory covering up, she wondered?

"I knew you hadn't killed that man, Dorcas." Cal's back was to her preparing the Ex-Nebulae Elixir. He didn't notice how Dorcas's face fell at his confession. "You're not a killer."

So much for loving the darkest parts of her.

She tried to match his enthusiasm, but was afraid of what Tom would cover up by framing her for murder.

As with the memories of their shared intimacy, Dorcas had been afraid to uncover the cruelty and abuse that Tom was capable of.

Dorcas decided not to comment, instead lying back on the sofa in her office and waited for Cal to inject her with the memory serum.

:::

31 December, 1942 The Black Dahlia, Upton Circle, London

Dorcas was happy to play the piano most nights at the club where her neighbor Betty Balfour sang. When she was home from school these opportunities allowed her to do what she loved, as well as earn a little pocket money. And it was far more glamorous than working at a shop somewhere in Poplar.

Tonight, Betty was with her beau celebrating New Years' Eve. Dorcas was able to step out from the bandstand and sing.

In one of her cousin Gemma's hand-me-down, but still elegant evening gowns Dorcas felt like a starlet under the spotlight. The first time she'd been forced to the microphone as a sub-in for Betty, she'd protested until Marvin the owner begged and doubled her pay for the evening.

Dorcas found, to her surprise, she reveled in the sensation of becoming someone else. She thought of her stage persona as an alter ego. Barely anyone of her friends at school knew of the moonlighting Dorcas did when she was on holiday breaks.

Cal had found out. And not too long after that, Cherry and Anneliese knew of her secret life too.

Tonight, there was a larger crowd than usual owing to the holiday. More than half the room were men in uniform; a little rowdy, but good natured.

Dorcas began her set with a few numbers for the boys. 'Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree', 'We'll Meet Again', and 'Uncle Sam Gets Around'. The audience's energy was up and so was hers.

The band usually began to slow the tempo about halfway through a set. One of her favorites to perform was up next.

Tonight, Dorcas was in a Christmassy red satin dress with matching gloves that came to her elbows. The neckline plunged a little lower than she'd have preferred. She wished Tooey were here to make some slight alterations. Gemma's dresses were often a little snug in the bust. She'd arranged her hair and pinned it like Peggy Lee's.

There was a young American standing off to the right of the stage, resplendent in his uniform. He'd come in with some friends, all of whom had partnered up and spent their time on the dancefloor. Dorcas caught his eye a few times earlier in the set. He'd even winked at her as she sang.

A familiar intro, Dorcas knew this number by heart. It was always a crowd pleaser and fit her voice just right.

You had plenty money, 1922

You let other women make a fool of you

Why don't you do right, like some other men do?

Dorcas surveyed the crowd of faceless clubgoers, dancing, drinking, laughing. She didn't anticipate seeing a familiar face staring back at her.

She felt her breath catch in her chest. She was staring at a ghost.

Jack?

A fog came over her and her brain became muddled and hazy. When she blinked to clear the mist, Jack was gone. He was gone. She knew he was. But she couldn't help seeing him as he once was. As she remembered him.

Jack wasn't here. It was a boy who shared the face of their father.

Tom was nearly as unexpected. He usually didn't spend his Christmas holiday in London, preferring instead a solitary two weeks at Hogwarts. He looked at home in the crowd, blending in was a natural skill of his. He also looked out of place at the same time, somehow above the company.

He made no attempt to mask his admiration of Dorcas under the spotlight, smiling up at her as she performed. Her alternate personality slipped under his gaze. She stumbled a bit on the lyrics.

The American whistled encouragingly, inciting Dorcas to blush.

Get out of here and get me some money too.

Dorcas finished the song, but turned to the trumpeter, Donald, and asked him to play on without her. Exiting the stage to 'Chattanooga Choo Choo', Dorcas retreated to the alley behind the club for some fresh air.

She was confused as to why Tom's presence at the Black Dahlia had disconcerted her so much. Was it really that bad that he knew about her secret performances? She'd been embarrassed when Cal had seen her perform at the club, but it was nothing to the panic she felt now. She thought somehow that Tom would judge her stage performance as base and beneath her. Or would he find the display in character with the way he thought of her now? He probably thought she looked right at home on the stage, teasing drunk men for a living.

Out in the cold night air, away from the band and the noise and the smoke, Dorcas felt she could think more clearly.

"Birdie," came a voice behind her, followed by the closing of the backstage door.

Dorcas turned at the pet name. "You mean Dorcas, don't you?"

Tom shrugged and lazily approached her, hands in his trousers pockets. Then a bright smile lit his face.

Dorcas's emotions were in turmoil. She was reeling from a painful loss and wanted a friend.

And here was Tom. They hadn't spoken in over ten months.

"I've missed you," he said, approaching cautiously. "You looked great up there."

Dorcas still felt the words he'd spoken to her last February. They still stung. His smile was like rubbing salt in the wound. He couldn't toy with her now by pretending that hadn't happened.

"I looked great?" Dorcas spat, barking out a surprised laugh. "Are you sure that's how I looked? Did you mean to say instead that I looked like a fucking whore?"

Tom winced as she threw his words back in his face.

"Birdie, I was hurt. I didn't mean any of that. I know you don't believe I think that way about you."

Dorcas covered her nervousness at having him so close. She narrowed her eyes on him. "Oh, it's my perception problem?" she challenged.

He didn't answer the question. Instead, he stepped closer. There was barely an inch of space between them now.

"It's my birthday, Birdie," he reminded her.

She smelled alcohol on him when he was this close to her.

"You're drunk, Tom," she pointed out, swatting away his hand when he began to trace a finger down the plunging neckline of her red dress.

He pouted theatrically, but wouldn't be put off, returning to her neckline again insistently.

"Do you know what I want for my birthday?" he asked, his eyes falling to where his finger met the place at her sternum below her breasts where the neckline terminated. To make it obvious what he wanted, he pressed his body along every inch of hers.

There was no mistaking the hardness at the front of his trousers as he ground into her thigh.

His words from ten months ago came back to her clearly again. "Let me guess...you want…" she shook her head mockingly as she pretended to recall his phrasing. "What did you call it again? An easy fuck?"

He smiled down at her like a predatory animal. She wasn't sure if he understood that she was quoting him. It didn't matter.

Dorcas wouldn't give him what he wanted for his birthday. But she would give him a raging headache courtesy of a point-blank Stunning Spell to the face.

He brushed his lips against hers and then deepened the kiss, his tongue pushing to gain entrance to her mouth.

"Kiss me, Birdie. Please…"

When Dorcas didn't respond, Tom bit her bottom lip.

"I miss you, Birdie." He punctuated the statement with a thrust against her thigh. "I need you, Birdie."

He pulled away from her when she didn't respond to the bite or to his words.

Dorcas stared back at him and pulled her lip into her mouth, tasting blood.

As Tom busied himself groping her chest with one hand, while lifting her dress with the other, she wound her arms around his neck. He misunderstood her, believing her to be encouraging him to bend and kiss her breasts.

Dorcas was really trying to gain access to her wand that was secured in the elbow-length red glove of her left hand.

But she panicked the moment she heard Tom drawing down the zipper of his trousers.

She cursed as she dropped her wand behind Tom.

His eyes were dark with whiskey and desire. He appeared not to have heard her.

But he heard the voice of a man calling out to them from the entrance to the alley. "What are you doing there?"

Dorcas recognized the American who'd been staring at her all night.

She may have dropped her wand, but she wasn't going to miss this opportunity. Aided by Tom's own hand that was holding the skirt of her dress up, freeing her knees, she aimed her right knee upward with as much force as she could, catching him in the groin.

Tom grunted and doubled over, managing to hang onto her by the neckline of her dress.

"Hey! Get away from her!" the soldier called.

She was grappling with Tom's hand as he held her steady. Dorcas didn't see him stoop to retrieve her wand.

Opening her mouth to warn the soldier, Dorcas's voice was drowned by Tom's as he pronounced the words to the Killing Curse.

The American crumpled to the alley's pavement heavily.

"Ohmygod! Tom! You've killed him."

Tom stood and turned back to her. His eyes were bright with rage. The hand that held her by the neckline of her dress yanked violently toward him. Dorcas was an inch away again and could in no way mistake the anger that was flashing in his eyes.

"You will pay for that! Over and over, Birdie!"

She braced herself for pain. For something.

But Tom released her.

"Go back inside before you're missed," he ordered.

"Tom! You killed him!"

"No, Birdie!" he hissed, spitting in her face. "You did."

He shoved her wand hard at her chest, causing her to stagger backward, before removing his own.

"Obliviate!" he whispered.

Dorcas's panic disappeared. She needed to go back inside and finish her set.

:::

14 February, 1942 First Floor Corridor, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Dorcas left Rubeus with his monster wondering if she'd made any sort of impression on him at all. She even offered to help him conceal the giant spider (now the size of a Great Dane–what was Rubeus feeding it?) and take it to the Forbidden Forest.

When appealing to his sense of self-preservation and reason that another student could stumble unwittingly upon the beast didn't work, she appealed to his love of the creature.

Wouldn't Aragog (Jesus! The monster had a name!) be happier with room to stretch? Wasn't Rubeus stifling his natural instinct to hunt by bringing him food? He wouldn't be able to develop the necessary skills to take care of himself. Dorcas did everything except label it abuse.

Rubeus seemed to take all of her arguments to heart and even capitulated, agreeing that he couldn't keep Aragog locked up forever.

The night she'd come back through the Vanishing Cabinet, a secret passageway from the Trophy Room had caused her to collide with Rubeus carrying a brace of dead ferrets. She'd forgotten all about his monster that he'd been keeping in an abandoned classroom cupboard on the first floor.

She supposed she shouldn't have yelled at him that night. And, if she took the time to examine her own mental state, she would admit that she wasn't truly angry at Rubeus. She was angry at Tom (and at herself).

Rubeus had responded uncharacteristically and told her to keep her nose out of things that didn't concern her.

But she was the only other student besides Rubeus that knew of the Acromantula's existence in the school. So, technically, it was her business.

Tonight he'd promised to relocate the gigantic spider. But Dorcas didn't press him for an exact date and a plan just yet. She knew he'd need to be eased into the idea of letting Aragog go.

She left him and decided she was feeling bold enough for a little outing tonight. She was getting rather bored of the inside of her curtained four-poster in the Ravenclaw dormitory. She wouldn't go anywhere near the secret room, where she supposed Tom was holed up, obsessing over his Horcrux potion.

No, instead, she was bound for the quiet Charms Corridor and a curious artefact in an abandoned classroom. She wanted to visit the mirror that showed her a future with Jack.

As she stepped into the classroom, Dorcas held her breath. When she positioned herself directly in front of the mirror, would the image change? Had she completely wrecked the future that she'd been dreaming of?

Her reflection was the same. And Jack stood beside her. A little girl that was the perfect blend of both their features smiled out at her.

Dorcas smiled at the girl that she'd begun to think of as little Verity.

"Hi, little Verity! Hi, Jack!" she whispered.

Raising her chin and looking up at the reflection of the boy who'd captivated her heart she continued, "I'll go and visit your aunt. She won't suffer. Even if I can't find a way to heal her for you. I'll make sure she doesn't feel any pain."

There were footsteps in the corridor. This late at night, Dorcas wondered who could be strolling about.

She raised her fingers to her lips and stood on the tips of her toes to press the kiss to Jack's lips that turned up in a devoted smile as he stared down at her.

Keeping to the shadows along the wall, Dorcas waited for the footsteps to pass before leaving the classroom and heading up to bed.

But the footsteps echoed closer in the corridor until they stopped at the classroom's cracked door.

Tom pushed the door open and stepped inside.

"Birdie?" he called softly.

Dorcas wanted to continue avoiding him, but supposed they'd have to talk sooner or later. She stepped out of the shadows and faced him.

"I had a feeling you'd be in here," he said, relief colored his words. "How have you been? Why won't you speak to me?"

It all came out in a rush as Tom approached and took her hand, clasping it in both of his. Soon he released her with one hand to remove her ring from his pocket. He slipped it back onto the ring finger of her right hand.

"I'm fine, Tom." She wanted to reassure him, but it came out in a small, timid voice that was unconvincing. She looked down at their hands and slipped hers out of his grasp, turning the ring around self-consciously.

"Then talk to me. Tell me what happened. We were having fun and then you went to the loo and disappeared on me."

Was that what they were doing? Having fun?

Fun wasn't a feeling she remembered from the train ride home from Newcastle.

"I was so worried something had happened to you!" He nearly choked with emotion as he pulled her into a tight embrace. "I stayed out all night looking for you. I only came back to school an hour before classes started."

Dorcas was speechless. She hadn't realized how frantic he'd be when he couldn't find her. She supposed she'd been stupid to think otherwise.

"Please say something, Birdie!" he begged. Pulling back, but keeping his hands clasped around her upper arms, he stared at her expectantly.

"I didn't want to be around you on the train after…" Dorcas trailed off, feeling her voice leave her. She didn't know how to explain that night to him.

His thumbs stroked her upper arms, deep brown eyes probing hers for understanding. He blinked in confusion.

"Why? You were amazing! You have nothing to be ashamed of!"

Her head was spinning. He didn't understand. He couldn't understand.

"I didn't want to…" she confessed. He might now finally suspect her of keeping back the second dose of Felix Felicis. But even if he did suspect, he would never find it.

She was willing to risk his fury. But she wanted him to understand that she wasn't amazing. The time they'd spent on the train together was not amazing.

"Didn't want to...what?" asked Tom. "You didn't want to leave me?"

Dorcas didn't respond.

"I know. You probably didn't realize your ring had slipped off, but you should have just returned to the cabin. We could have found it together."

He pulled her to him and stroked her hair, kissing her forehead.

"Did you think I'd be mad at you for losing it? I'm not. It's just a dumb ring! I'll buy you a thousand more like it."

Dorcas swallowed and closed her eyes. It would be easier to say this if she couldn't see him. "I didn't want to touch you. I didn't want you to touch me. It was the Liquid Luck that made us…"

Tom released her and stepped away from her a half a step.

"What?"

Dorcas opened her eyes. Tom stared back at her, stricken.

"Don't do this, Birdie," he pleaded. "Being with you was incredible. It wasn't the Liquid Luck at all!"

"No, Tom. I told you to stop. I told you that it hurt. You wouldn't stop. The potion made you completely unreasonable."

Tom took a step toward her again and Dorcas backed away further into the classroom.

"Birdie, please stop this. It's natural that you feel awkward about what we did. I do too, a little. But we care about each other. We'll be comfortable with physical affection after a while."

Dorcas backed away another step. What he said was making a lot of sense. Dorcas was beginning to feel at ease as she listened to him. But that wasn't what happened at all.

"Tom, I woke up and you were on top of me. I couldn't get you to stop," Dorcas whispered, her throat was thick with tears.

"That's not what happened, Birdie!" Tom defended himself, he stared at her, his eyes becoming intense with emotion.

"Yes, it is!"

"No! I was laying beside you, listening to you breathe. I kissed your cheek and whispered that I wanted you. I hoped you wouldn't slap me again and send me away. And this time you didn't. You whispered, "Take me, I'm yours". I didn't force you to do anything, Birdie. I wouldn't!"

Dorcas was crying now and shaking her head as he explained his perception of that night.

"I told you to stop. That you were hurting me. And you didn't, Tom."

Tom reached for her, but Dorcas dodged his hand.

"Dorcas, your first time is going to hurt. That's the way it is. But you can trust me. You're safe with me. And if you wanted me to stop, then why did you offer to jerk me off instead?"

This was what really made Dorcas upset with herself. He hadn't forced her to do what she'd done. She made a choice to pretend to be under the influence of the same potion as him. She'd offered an alternative to penetration that Tom would find appealing. She hoped to sate his desire so that he wouldn't push her for more and discover that she was not rolling on an overdose of Luck, like he was.

"I couldn't push you off of me and I thought I could distract you that way and that you wouldn't want to…"

She watched a muscle in Tom's jaw work as he ground his teeth listening to her explanation of events.

"That I wouldn't want to...what? Rape you?" He looked away from her, disgust evident on his face. "Jesus Christ, Dorcas!"

Dorcas's chest tightened as he switched from her pet name, his affectionate name for her, to her given name. It was cold. She didn't expect to feel so anguished by it.

"Do you want to know what I think, Dorcas?"

Tom let the question hang in the air. Dorcas didn't answer. She knew he was going to tell her what he thought. Whether she wanted to hear it or not.

"I think you're a tease. I think you've tricked me and half the boys in this school into wanting you. You encourage it. And when someone thinks something about you that's a little less than innocent; when someone corners you because they thought you were serious in your flirtations, you cry wolf. I think you are what everyone says you are. I'm done defending you to all those blokes that think you're an easy fuck, Dorcas. And when one of those blokes actually gets you alone and does rape you, don't come crying to me about it."

Dorcas listened mutely. She didn't have a single word to speak in her own defense.

Tom swept out of the classroom, calling over his shoulder as he left, "Happy Valentine's Day, you fucking whore!"