Chapter 63
20 March, 1959 St. Mungo's Hospital For Magical Maladies and Injuries
It felt different when she walked through the doors this time.
It was different. She was different.
Dorcas didn't need to have a final brain scan in order to tell her that she'd finally accomplished what had seemed insurmountable to her nine months ago. She knew she'd succeeded.
This was a formality to satisfy the hospital's board of governors.
She felt her stomach clench a little when she allowed herself to consider in whose hands her career lay. Gemma Rackharrow was a serving member of the board. Some of her circle held that same prestigious title.
Straightening her shoulders and commanding the confidence she'd felt only moments before, she pushed down the apprehension she felt at the impending hearing.
She had to remind herself that the hearing wouldn't be disciplinary. She hadn't done anything wrong. They could never find fault with her record of service, here or in the States. Once she was cleared by her peers in the Long-Term Spell Damage Ward and pronounced fit to serve as Healer once more, she would have her life back again.
No one would stand in her way of that.
Not even Gemma.
She spotted Cal as he strode through a set of doors from the corridor where his office was. He wasn't looking in her direction, head bent in conference with another healer...West? Wendell?
She couldn't remember.
Would she feel completely wrongfooted when she came back here full time? How much had changed in nine months?
When Cal looked up and caught her eye, resplendent in his green healer's robes, she felt an involuntary quickening of her pulse.
She was suddenly grateful for the absence of her chaperone, Mrs. Frost. It felt strange to make a trip out of her house without her, but she didn't want to have to shake her off awkwardly to get some alone time with her husband.
Cal had almost suggested popping home to fetch her to her appointment with Healer Crawford, but the offer withered on his lips with one stern glance from Dorcas.
"I can manage to floo from one fireplace to another, for pity's sake," she'd insisted.
"Hello, gorgeous." Cal leaned in, lips grazing her ear as he spoke before placing a chaste peck on her cheek.
Suppressing the urge to take him by the lapels and drag him down to her level to plant her lips firmly on his, Dorcas cleared her throat and looked around the bustling hospital lobby. She must remind herself once more how one should act in public.
"Busy day?" she asked innocently, blushing at the thought that had just danced through her mind.
Cal must have noticed the rise in her color, because his eyes sparkled mischievously.
"Nothing too hectic, a pretty bad case of splinching. But I saved the arm."
Dorcas took his hand as they walked up three flights of stairs to the Janus Thickey Ward.
"So you're saying there's a chance you could fit me into your schedule this afternoon?" Dorcas asked playfully.
Cal hesitated as two nurses passed them on the stairs. In his mind, he answered her instead.
"Should I clear my schedule and my desk?"
The physical reaction that Dorcas experienced was strong and immediate.
She paused on the stairs and looked up at her husband. "We don't need to go to all of this trouble for another brain scan do we? We could just skip it and get straight to–"
Cal smirked at her. "I wish the answer were no. But we do need this scan, my love."
He squeezed her hand and pulled her along up another flight of stairs.
By the time they'd reached her old colleague's office, she was practically pouting.
"Healer Crawford," Cal greeted the mind healer a little too rigidly, opening the door wide for Dorcas to enter.
Dorcas's mouth hitched up at the corners, removing the pout. At least she wasn't the only one impatient to get this over with and move onto the fun stuff.
"Dr. Meadowes. Healer Meadowes," Crawford greeted.
"I think you're going to be impressed today, Reginald," Dorcas said. "I've been hard at work and I think you'll see that it's paid off."
Her professional partner's eyes widened at the statement. "Is that so?"
Dorcas's head bobbed as she removed a file from her handbag. She laid out the evidence of her own harrowing nine months of investigation proudly. The last film, showing the remaining two trenches, one with a thick black lining around it indicating hemorrhaging, still looked nightmarish to her.
As always, she wondered how she had ever survived all of the trauma.
"It certainly is one of the worst cases of injury I've ever seen, Dorcas," Crawford admitted, shaking his head as he looked from one film to another. "How you continued to function is a complete mystery."
"I'm baffled myself," Dorcas agreed.
"Maybe there's a sort of protection that comes with your abilities…" Cal mused.
Dorcas turned and considered her husband for a beat. "You mean my natural Legilimency?"
Crawford chimed in. "It's certainly a unique case, Dorcas."
"You're protected from other Legilimens. Even a good one," Cal paused and thought to Dorcas, "Like Tom Riddle," before continuing. "-couldn't get into your mind. I wonder if it's afforded you some level of immunity to the worst effects."
"But I still experienced some symptoms," Dorcas argued. "Dizziness, fatigue, numbness in my extremities, blurred vision, seizures…"
Reginald nodded, taking in all of this information. "But you should have died, Dorcas," he countered, wand pointing to the dark crevasse in the final brain scan.
"Well, it's all past tense now, I hope," she sighed and sat down beside Cal. She was ready to confirm her success.
Cal laced his fingers together and leaned back, resting them in his lap. "There's one way to find out."
Reginald Crawford moved around from behind his desk to stand next to Dorcas, wand drawn.
"That's my cue, I suppose," he laughed.
:::
April 29, 1942 Muggle Studies Classroom, First Floor, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Dorcas dragged two victims along in her wake as she plodded down to the Muggle Studies Club meeting.
Their last meeting in late March had quite a poor showing and of that, only three attendees had been pureblood besides their domineering leader: Darren and Darla Barton and Jonas Rackharrow. Besides herself, there had been no other Ravenclaw students in attendance.
Cherry read her the riot act following that disastrous meeting.
She hoped her new recruits would be enough to keep Cherry off her back at least for this month. Although Mohit Singh's half-blood status might be enough to placate her, the addition of another Muggleborn in the form of Myrtle Warren was sure to rankle the redheaded club leader.
Mohit had been an intentional get. Myrtle wasn't.
Last month, after Cherry pointed out that besides Slytherin House, Ravenclaw had the poorest attendance record of the club, Dorcas had cornered Mohit, shoving The Great Gatsby under his nose and informed him that he would be joining the most exclusive extracurricular club at Hogwarts.
His protests were met with a stern reminder of penance due for the way he'd behaved at the tea shop in Hogsmeade, and a stiff kick to the ankle.
Myrtle was her newest recruit. As she and Mohit left the Ravenclaw common room books in hand and ready to be model club attendees, Myrtle was wailing alone on the stairs. There was no way to step around her and continue on their way without acknowledging her. Dorcas suspected that this was precisely her intention when she picked her location for her evening's wallow in self-pity.
At least her tag-along had already read the bloody novel.
Cherry's ideas about lectures and demonstrations had fizzled out with her own limited knowledge of Muggle life after January's meeting. It had been Cal's brilliant stroke to select a novel with plenty of Muggle popular culture to study. That way, they could read it and discuss any Muggle contraptions or conventions of society that were unfamiliar to their own.
Cal's March selection had been Virginia Woolf's Mrs. Dalloway. It had all of the trappings of a fairly modern British Muggle life in an accessibly short read.
Those who'd grown up in mostly Wizarding Britain had been fascinated by the novel.
Her mea culpa for failure to deliver warm bodies to the meeting had been to suggest April's read. Dorcas had been hard-pressed to come up with a novel to rival Cal's suggestion of the previous month.
When she blurted The Great Gatsby, Cal had applauded the suggestion along with Anneliese. Beau warned her that she'd better not be selecting a girly book like Cal had.
"What do I care if the bird throws a dinner party or not?" he'd asked in protest.
Anneliese hopped to Cal's defense. "It's the quintessential sketch of Muggle London society. You could practically retrace Clarissa's steps through the city, Beau."
"She should have twisted her ankle in the first chapter and saved me a deadly dull read!" Beau argued.
"I think you'll like Dorcas's pick," Cal had mollified, implacable in the face of his mate's criticism. "It's got gangsters and car chases and–"
"Enough alcohol consumption to fell an elephant," Anneliese cut in.
Dorcas felt the pressure mounting from her critics. What would Cherry and the other purebloods think of the novel? What would Beau think?
She found everyone assembled and ready to discuss Jay and Daisy's ill-fated love affair. In fact, Jonas and Cherry had their heads bent together in hushed conference over something in its pages while the others chatted and waited for the meeting's official commencement.
"What are you two arguing about?" Dorcas asked with trepidation. She braced for a rotten review of her selection for April.
"We can't decide if Meyer Wolfsheim is a dark wizard or not," Jonas supplied.
Cherry scoffed. "What do you mean "we" can't decide? I'm telling you he is one."
"No," countered Jonas. "He's just a shady gangster."
"Well, then what's with the creepy human tooth cufflinks?" Cherry's eyes blazed with conviction. "If that's not some blood magic curse on Jay, then I'm a hinkypunk!"
"Good point, Cherry," Cal responded, using her argument with Jonas to open the meeting to the rest of the assembly. "Meyer Wolfsheim is a great place to start because he illustrates an interesting parallel between Anti-Semitism in the Muggle world and Anti-Muggleborn sentiment in the magical one."
Dorcas perked up. Maybe she had stumbled upon a timely and relevant bridge between worlds by selecting this work. Interested in what Cal had to say, she slid to the edge of her seat and opened to chapter four and Wolfsheim's introduction.
But Cal's scholarly connection seemed to be lost in a flurry of other questions.
"But what I don't understand is how he fixed the 1919 World Series," Mohit interrupted.
Darren nodded. "And what even is a World Series? Is it like the World Cup?"
"How did he help Jay get rich selling boots?" Cherry added.
Darla spoke over Cherry's question, "What is Jazz?"
In the commotion of the runaway discussion, Dorcas almost missed the arrival of another Ravenclaw. Zelda Weston floated into the space, elegantly sweeping her curtain of carefully brushed out curls over her shoulder and came to stand next to Cal.
The questions and voices dimmed as Dorcas watched her rest a hand lightly on Cal's shoulder.
"Hello, Caleb! Sorry I'm late," she smiled.
Dorcas felt her own glare narrow to a pinpoint, honing in on the hand on Cal's arm. She ground her teeth to hold back a biting correction of her friend's preferred name.
Telling herself that she was just annoyed that Zelda had turned her offer to join the Muggle Studies Club down, yet had come at Cal's request, she jumped up and strode purposefully to Professor Hill's blackboard.
"Alright, let's have some organization, people," she shouted, taking charge.
She turned her back to the club members and faced the board, but not fast enough to miss Cal offering his seat to Zelda, pulling over another chair from the wall and sitting close to her. Too close, in Dorcas's opinion.
Dorcas wrote all of the questions that popped out of the group like kernels of popped corn.
Wolfsheim: Dark Wizard or Shady Gangster?
Anti-Semitic/ Anti-Muggle Tropes
World Series (Baseball)/ World Cup (Quidditch)
Jazz
"Did I miss anything?" Dorcas turned to the crowd, chalk in hand.
"How did Jay get rich selling boots?" Cherry asked, repeating her earlier question.
Dorcas paused and cocked her head to one side, making a quick mental scan from what she remembered reading.
"You know...Boots? Bootlegger, like a haberdasher?" Cherry supplied when she caught Dorcas's stumped look.
Dorcas, Anneliese, and Cal laughed in unison. The others looked around, searching for the joke.
She turned to the blackboard and wrote Bootlegger.
"That's a particularly American thing, Cherry," Anneliese explained.
Cal added, "Like a rumrunner. A law was passed a few decades back in the States that prohibited the sale of alcohol. Jay got rich off of illegally smuggling the stuff across the borders. Probably from Canada."
"Alcohol is illegal in America?" scoffed Darren. "I'm never going there!"
"It isn't illegal anymore," Dorcas chimed.
"What does it have to do with boots? Is that how he smuggled it in?" Jonas asked.
"Sort of...The term comes from the practice of hiding a flask in your boot. But Jay probably used more sophisticated means of carting the contraband in."
Dorcas watched Zelda as Cal explained the etymology of the word. She instantly understood why Cal's invitation had appealed to her Ravenclaw roommate over her own.
"Any other questions before we begin?" Dorcas spoke in a clipped tone.
"What the hell does the Baker woman do all day?" Darren asked.
"And George Wilson. I don't understand his tinkering business," added Mohit.
"I think the green light on the end of the dock symbolizes Jay's ultimate death. Like the green flash of the Killing Curse," Myrtle nearly whispered, fanning out the pages of Dorcas's discarded copy of Fitzgerald.
Dorcas had been busy writing down J Baker job? and G Wilson garage before snapping the chalk accidentally with the startling revelation.
She turned and blinked at Myrtle, noticing that all of the others had done so as well.
The spell was broken by Beau Haywood flinging his copy of the novel across the classroom.
"Well that spoils the ending, doesn't it?" he spat.
Anneliese pulled out her wand and summoned the book back, snatching it out of the air as it sailed to her. "You were supposed to have read it all by now, Beau," she retorted dryly.
"That's a brilliant assessment, Myrtle," Cal congratulated her. "You're not in Ravenclaw for nothing!"
Dorcas saw Zelda glare at her housemate across Cal, crinkling her nose.
"Not just a hatstand, eh Warren?" Mohit added.
"Right," Dorcas responded, deciding how to phrase Myrtle's insight on the board.
Green light/ Jay's death
"Anything else come to mind?" she checked, scanning the group.
Whether the group was silent because they had exhausted all of their questions, or perhaps because Myrtle had taken the discussion to an eerie place, she didn't know. So she cleared her throat and pointed to the first item.
Wolfsheim: Dark Wizard or Shady Gangster?
"Well," Cal began. "He could be a dark wizard, I suppose. It would certainly make carrying out his criminal enterprises effortless. He could smuggle all sorts of illegal items with ease."
"What do you suppose the point of the cufflinks being made of human teeth could be?" Jonas mused.
"Well, that's a Jewish stereotype, isn't it?" Dorcas answered.
"What do you mean?" Cherry prompted.
Dorcas looked to Cal. "The character of Meyer Wolfsheim is a walking cliche, right? Motivated by money, ruthless, a monster wearing trophies of his kill to intimidate. A thoroughly disreputable figure in the community." Cal nodded in agreement.
"Do you think Fitzgerald felt the same way about Jewish people as Hitler does?" Anneliese asked in a small voice.
"He may just be a product of society. A lot of people think that way, maybe not to the level of the Nazi Party, but seeing them as other and dangerous…" Dorcas thought aloud.
"Like the way some people think about Mudbloods as having stolen magic that's not theirs," Zelda offered, glaring again in Myrtle's direction.
Anneliese scoffed at the statement. Cal cleared his throat.
"We prefer Muggleborn," he corrected gently.
Zelda, perhaps not guessing that Cal was Muggleborn, had tried to contribute to the conversation to make herself seem as if she were on Cal's intellectual level. Dorcas almost felt bad for her blunder. Almost.
She felt a delicious thrill at Zelda's flaming cheeks and bowed head.
"And my wand chose me. Same as yours, Weston," Anneliese snapped. "Ask Ollivander."
"How many in this group are Muggleborn?" Mohit asked, looking around. As a newcomer to the club and to her friend group, Dorcas thought Mohit's question a fair one.
"Well, Myrtle, as you know," Dorcas answered, pointing with the stub of chalk at the Ravenclaw. "Anneliese and Beau." She pointed to the two Hufflepuffs. "And Cal."
"I thought you were a Mud–" Zelda caught herself, prompted by a stern look from Anneliese. "I thought you were a Muggleborn too." She appraised Dorcas skeptically.
Jonas laughed.
"My mother raised me in Muggle London. But I'm half-blood," Dorcas explained patiently.
Cherry huffed. "Now that you've catalogued everyone's blood status, Weston, can we move on?"
Cal turned to Cherry. "It's a fair question, Cher. And Mohit was the one to ask."
Zelda brightened at Cal's defense of her.
"Er," Dorcas continued, consulting her list on the blackboard once again. "The 1919 World Series...Maybe we should start by explaining Baseball?"
A long silence followed.
"I've got this one," Beau Haywood said, standing and pushing his way to the front. He thrust his hand out to Dorcas seriously.
She grinned and gave him the chalk, stepping aside to cede the floor. She took his seat next to Anneliese and watched as he enthusiastically flipped the blackboard to the clean backside, drawing a diamond.
"Anyone familiar with cricket?" he asked, licking his lips.
Only Cal raised his hand.
Beau waved off the one hand and began his lecture. "It's played on a diamond made of grass and clay. You have an infield and an outfield."
Dorcas watched as he sloppily labeled his diagram. She leaned over to Anneliese. "He's rather like Binns on a tear about the Goblin Riots, isn't he?"
"Shh!" hissed Anneliese. "I'm so into this right now."
Dorcas snorted as she watched Anneliese adjust the collar of her blouse and swallow hard.
Beau continued to explain positions and equipment to polite questions from Cal, Mohit, Darren, and Jonas.
"Maybe we should try to play a game?" Darla offered. "The weather's turning fine again."
Cherry clapped her hands in excitement. "That sounds wonderful!"
"But we don't have the equipment," Myrtle pointed out.
Cal shrugged. "It shouldn't be too hard to Transfigure a Beater's bat into a baseball bat."
"I have a baseball," Beau added.
"It should be a roaring good time, old sport!" Jonas chirped, using Jay Gatsby's favorite catch phrase to no one in particular.
"But how was it fixed?" Darren interrupted plans for the ersatz baseball exhibition.
Beau nodded, taking the cue to bring the discussion back on topic. "The conspiracy was that eight players from the Chicago White Sox were paid to fix the game."
"Fix it how?" Dorcas asked. She had to admit that this was one of the questions that the novel raised for her that hadn't been satisfactorily explained. She supposed that when Fitzgerlad wrote the book, it was a well-known event in America and needed little backstory.
"A gambling syndicate paid eight players to throw the game," Beau explained.
"Throw it?" This was Darla. Dorcas was relieved to have her added voice, not wanting to appear dim on this matter all by herself.
"You know," Cal said. "A player accepting money in order to play badly on purpose. To lose the game."
Dorcas felt her jaw go slack in response. She thought of the hypothetical player's teammates. How awful to play one's heart out only to have an unscrupulous member throw away your chances at a win.
"That's terrible!" Anneliese said, voicing Dorcas's exact thoughts.
"It happens in all sports. Even Quidditch," Cal opined.
"So the White Sox were favored to win over the Cincinnati Reds. By convincing those eight players to throw the game, the bookies made a vault full of galleons on the game," Beau continued.
Darren spoke up. "So just to be clear, no part of the game takes place in the air?"
The image of baseball players rounding the bases on broomsticks was sidesplitting to the Muggleborns.
"No Muggle games take place in the air," Beau conceded.
The conversation went on and on. Dorcas counted her book suggestion a raging success. Her two guests were lively and participatory. Neither one, she congratulated herself, threw out nasty slurs, unlike some, she thought looking over at Zelda who was flirting with both Cal and Darren.
"You know," she heard her Ravenclaw roommate purr, "Fitzgerald married a Zelda?"
"Is that right?" Cal replied, hands thrust into his trousers pockets, appearing comfortable in the blonde girl's presence.
Dorcas felt the corners of her mouth pull down, watching the exchange.
"It means blessed. Anyone who marries a Zelda is blessed," the Ravenclaw persisted.
"Blessed, eh?" Darren asked, raising his eyebrows.
Dorcas searched for Cherry, wondering why the fiery Gryffindor was letting the poisonous Doxy near her boyfriend. Cherry was at the blackboard with Jonas and Anneliese planning the baseball exhibition with Beau, oblivious.
She squared her shoulders and joined Zelda and the two Gryffindor boys, telling herself that she was just looking out for Cherry's interests.
"It's said that Daisy Buchanan was inspired by Zelda," the insipid girl continued.
"Ginevra King," Dorcas corrected, pushing her way into the conversation.
"What's that?" Darren questioned.
"The muse for Daisy Buchanan was Ginevra King. She was a socialite that Fitzgerald was madly in love with. Obsessed, really," Dorcas clarified. "She married some social paramount bore that Fitzgerald wrote Tom Buchanan after."
"Really?" Cal asked, leaning his hip into a wooden desk and studying her. "Aren't you a fount of information, Dorcas Clerey?"
"I've never heard of her," Zelda sniffed, rankled by Cal's compliment.
Dorcas didn't know why, but Zelda's jealousy for Cal's attention spurred her to continue. "In any case, Fitzgerald was obsessed with what he couldn't have, like Gatsby was himself. So he settled for what was available."
Zelda's eyes narrowed on Dorcas. "Availability has its charms as well. Many of Fitzgerald's plot ideas came from Zelda's diary. Seems he just couldn't live without her."
"The talent behind the man, so to speak," Cal laughed.
Zelda nodded and blushed prettily, prompting Dorcas to flash with rage to fantasies of snatching the beautiful blonde bald. "He even stole lines right from her."
"Oh?" asked Darren with interest. "Like what?"
"Well, when Daisy hopes her daughter is a 'beautiful little fool' that came right from Zelda when she gave birth to their child."
"Sounds like it was a good partnership for them," Cal replied. "They managed more than one commercial success between the two of them."
"DARREN!" Cherry bellowed from across the classroom. "Do you think the Quidditch pitch might suit for our little beeball game?"
Darren turned at the sound of his girlfriend's shouts. "I think it's baseball, kitten." He left their conversation with a regretful sigh.
"What if Jay had stopped pining over something that could never be with Daisy…? Like F. Scott finally did with the King woman, and settled down with a Zelda instead?" Zelda mused.
"Since Daisy was the death of him...and poor Myrtle and George Wilson…" Cal shrugged. "Maybe you have a point."
Dorcas walked silently back to her common room, fanning out the pages of The Great Gatsby absently with her thumb as she walked. The phrase "Beautiful little fool" rolled around in her head. But she wasn't sure she wanted to know who the fool really was.
:::
20 March, 1959 St. Mungo's Hospital For Magical Maladies and Injuries
"Do I get a reward for being a good girl during my doctor's visit?" Dorcas teased, closing the door and placing a Locking Ward on it before turning to face her husband.
Cal was busy casting a Silencing Charm on the walls while simultaneously shrugging out of his green healer's robes.
"My darling, I'll give you whatever you want. Name it."
They were both riding a giddy wave of triumph following their visit to the Long-Term Spell Damage Ward. Apart from the faint shadow, which Dorcas supposed might be the repressed memories of Jack Hardin, the scan had revealed no scars, lesions, bleeding…nothing.
Dorcas reached the desk in three quick strides while Cal jerked the knot of his necktie free.
"I want you so deep inside me that I go cross-eyed," she said, making a wild swipe across the stacks of papers on the desk.
"STOP!" Cal shouted, restraining her with a strong grip on her wrist while the other tossed his necktie to the floor. "You scatter those files all over my office and I swear I'll bend you over that desk and spank you."
"Ooh! Promise?" Dorcas purred seductively.
Cal laughed. "Okay, I'll do that anyway. But truly, woman, don't make a mess."
Dorcas raised her hands in surrender and backed away from the paper-laden desk. As Cal rushed to make organized stacks of the envelopes and folders, moving them to the floor, Dorcas heckled him.
Removing the ivory cardigan she wore over her burgundy silk blouse, Dorcas groaned theatrically. "Oh, yeah. Organize those files, you stud!"
Laughing, Cal managed to make quick work of the clearing. In that time, Dorcas managed to undo most of the buttons on her blouse.
With keen reflexes, Cal seized her about the waist and pinned her against the edge of the mahogany surface. As good as his word, Dorcas felt his hand between her shoulder blades, pressing her down on the polished desktop.
Breathlessly, Dorcas turned her head so that she could catch sight of him in her periphery. "Bending me over the desk was only half the threat."
There was a gentle smack in reply and Dorcas felt her muscles clench between her thighs in response. Then there was cold as her backside was exposed with the lifting of her skirt.
"Oh my! Dorcas Clerey! You're not wearing any knickers!"
The offending hand that smacked her bum was now exploring the entire exposed area, finding the warm moisture that had been building along with her anticipation. He tugged on the straps where her garter belt held her stockings in place on her thighs, snapping it tantalizingly against her skin.
Then suddenly the hand pressing her to the desk and the one that was exploring disappeared.
Dorcas's breasts pressed into the desk's hard surface with each gulp of air as she waited for her husband to free himself of his constraining trousers.
Her patience was rewarded with a sudden thrust that ground her upper thighs into the desk's carved wooden edges.
"Remind me again…" Cal grunted, pausing periodically to withdraw and advance once again. His hands returned, one gripping her shoulder to hold her in place before him and the other moving to the remaining buttons of her blouse, plucking each one loose. "What do you want?"
He ripped her blouse off of one arm and then the other, casting it to the floor and pressing her down onto the desk once again.
"I want you so deep inside me that I go cross-eyed," Dorcas repeated, panting in time with his tortuously slow movements.
The hand that was controlling her movements at her shoulder slipped around her throat, gently stroking her pulse there. Cal quickly pulled her back against his chest, using his other hand to draw down the lace cup of her bra.
She felt his hips shift against her, pressing himself in further. The slow movement was emphasized by the sudden pinch he gave to her nipple.
"How am I doing so far?" he growled low in her ear.
Her hands never moved from the desk, she used them to brace herself every time his hips rocked slowly into her backside, bringing him deeper with each thrust.
While she pondered his prowess, he grazed her neck with his teeth, following each gentle bite with a swipe of his tongue.
"I'd say I'm rather walleyed," Dorcas panted.
Cal rewarded her favorable report with another thorough plunge into her core. Bringing one hand from her neck down to the juncture of her thighs, his fingers found the sensitive bundle of nerves that would drive her toward the peak of pleasure.
A guttural moan escaped her as she used the desk to push her hips backward into his thrusts. As his movements gained speed, her cries grew in intensity.
Dorcas was glad for the Locking Ward on the door and the Silencing Charm. She imagined what sort of wild image they presented; her breasts out of their lacy restraints, bouncing with abandon as Cal held her tight against him, pounding roughly into her as she urged him on with her cries. His fingers continued to stroke her, expertly calling up the most powerful sensations within her.
She felt her legs begin to shake, signaling that blessed moment of release that was on the horizon. And shortly after she fell over the edge, she felt the warm, fluid release of Cal's orgasm follow.
She straightened her skirt and adjusted her bra, covering her breasts once again, as Cal tucked himself away and zipped his trousers.
His hands grasped her hips and pulled her down onto his lap as he sat back in his desk's chair.
"How do you feel?" he asked her.
She leaned back in his arms and laid her head against his shoulder. She was not ready to put on clothes and meet the world outside yet, so she slipped two of his buttons free of his dress shirt and snaked her hand inside the opening, stroking the fine hairs of his chest.
"About the sex or about the brain scan?" she asked.
"Both."
Dorcas felt a smile playing on her lips. "The sex was amazing, as always."
He answered by trailing his hands down the bare skin of her spine.
"And relieved that we seem to have discovered all the Memory Charms...But."
"But what?" Cal prompted, his fingertips finding that sensitive spot at the back of her neck and stroking it lightly.
"But I don't want to trust it. You know?"
She felt his chin scratch the top of her head as he nodded.
Being in his professional office, Dorcas longed to have her own again. There was a thrill of anticipation in the prospect of returning to the hospital, of having to make educated decisions about patient care. And coming home after a long day of helping people, a feeling of such satisfaction, she felt she could get drunk off of it.
She was reminded of the invitation and the note from their boss that she'd found on Cal's desk in their Mayfair home's laboratory.
"Cal?"
"Hmm?"
"Why did you turn down the honor from the Healer's Guild of Britain?"
Cal shifted beneath her and took a long time to answer the question.
"Sheldon is right, you know. It's the highest honor in the healing community in this country, Cal. You deserve it."
"It's in recognition of the Blood Replenishing Potion, Dorcas. We worked on that one together. It should be an honor that we share."
She sat up so that she could look him in the eyes.
"Cal, that's your discovery. I just assisted you."
"How is it any different than the Ex-Nebulae Elixir, then? I helped you with that one. And yet you insisted that both of our names were on the patent. The American Journal of Medical Magic and Potions Award went to both of us. We're a team." His hand on her hip tightened in emphasis.
"Yes, but I'm persona non grata at the moment in this community." As she said it, her stomach clenched with the fear that her gift of natural Legilimency could factor into the hospital's board denying her reinstatement as a practicing physician. The fact that the Healer's Guild was only honoring Cal seemed to confirm this.
None of that meant that Cal shouldn't be recognized for his innovation and brilliance.
"Please accept the award, Cal. I want this for you. You deserve it."
Cal inhaled and held his breath.
"It wouldn't feel right to stand in front of all of those people and receive an award for work that we both did. It would feel like lying."
"Cal, I'll have many more opportunities for professional honors. Please don't deny me the opportunity to cheer you on. I can be your trophy wife for one night and go back to being your professional equal after that. Please?"
She could see the moment he would acquiesce to her entreaty in his eyes.
"Okay, Dorcas. I will."
"Good. Let's go tell Sheldon you'll accept," she insisted, hopping up from his lap to locate her wand and her handbag.
"Er, Dorcas?"
"No, Cal. You can't take it back. You already said you would accept–"
Cal cut her off by grabbing her waist and pulling her close so that he could bend and bury his face in her cleavage. He kissed each of her breasts twice before handing over her blouse and cardigan.
"I think you should put this on before seeking out our boss."
She choked a startled laugh. "How else do you propose I get my job back?" She joked and gave a shimmy that commanded Cal's attention.
"I'll be the first to admit your tits are magnificent, my love. But they might not sway a gay man."
Dorcas mocked taking offense as she buttoned her blouse. "Even a bent like Sheldon Bonham is no match for these ladies," she countered, pushing her chest out as she tucked in her shirttails.
"You may be right."
:::
April 30, 1942 Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Dorcas selected a seat about a quarter of the way down the Ravenclaw table for breakfast this morning. Usually, she was not particular where she sat as long as she wasn't too close to the snide comments and stares of June Riley. Her requirement for choosing a spot was that she picked one that placed her back to the Slytherin table. But, Tom had been silent for the better part of six weeks now, so Dorcas was beginning to let her guard down there.
Today, it was Zelda Weston she was trying to avoid. She wasn't sure what had possessed her to spar with Cal's guest at last night's Muggle Studies Club meeting, but the direction of the back and forth still irked her.
She squeezed some lemon into her tea and only looked up when Myrtle joined her.
"That was fun last night," she said, pouring herself some pumpkin juice.
Dorcas smiled. "Yeah. It turned out to be very interesting. You had some good insights to offer."
Myrtle shrugged. "I like reading. Fitzgerald is a favorite of mine."
"Talking about the meeting last night?" Zelda chimed.
Dorcas didn't know where she'd come from. She specifically selected a seat away from where Zelda, June, and Mohit sat with Charys Fletcher and Phillip Ransom.
Without invitation, Zelda sat down next to Myrtle.
"I thought it was a rather stimulating chat. The parallels between our own relationships and theirs...really gets you thinking." Zelda munched on a corner of toast with a far-off look on her face.
Dorcas looked quizzically to Myrtle, who could only shrug in response.
"Why, whatever do you mean, Zelda?" Dorcas asked deadpan, sipping her tea in irritation.
"I just see some commonalities between some of the members of the group and the Jay, Daisy, Tom triangle…"
Myrtle set her juice down and raised her eyebrows at Zelda. "Who's in a love triangle?"
"You don't really know anyone in the group well enough to make those kinds of assumptions," Dorcas reminded Zelda coolly.
"Sometimes it takes an outsider's perspective to shed some light on the dynamics between a tight-knit group," Zelda pushed.
"Speaking of shedding some light," Myrtle interrupted. "Who knew you were such a supremacist!"
Zelda glared at Myrtle, clearly triggered that the younger witch recalled her blunder last night.
"Shut it, Warren!" she responded evenly. "In some circles, that is a commonly accepted phrase."
Dorcas smirked, remembering her furious blush at Cal's gentle correction last night. "In others, it's offensive hate-speech. Did you miss the part on Cal's invitation that said Muggle Studies Club?"
It was apparent that Zelda hadn't intended to debate blood-politics with Myrtle and Dorcas, which made Dorcas wonder what the point really was.
"Look, I'm sorry for offending you last night, Myrtle. Okay?"
Myrtle shrugged and popped a bite of sausage into her mouth.
To Dorcas, she continued. "What I was curious about was what got you so annoyed last night, Dorcas?"
She sputtered a bit, dribbling tea down her front.
"Me?" she asked, dabbing her chin and collar with the corner of her napkin.
Zelda nodded innocently. "I was having a perfectly lovely conversation with Caleb and Darren and you butted in."
Dorcas set her napkin aside and fixed Zelda with an innocent stare. Why had she felt the need to correct Zelda's facts about the background of the novel and its author? And why did she leave the conversation feeling horribly convicted by it?
"I thought I was merely contributing to a scholarly debate," Dorcas defended innocently.
"Really? Because it seemed as if you were jealous? But I can't figure out which boy's attention to me made you that way…"
Dorcas chanced a look across the table at Myrtle, who in the least subtle way imaginable, jerked around in her seat to stare at the boys of the Gryffindor Quidditch team huddled together over Captain Della Harper's notes.
Shrugging in her best approximation of apathy, Dorcas replied, "No jealousy here."
The post owls came flapping into the Great Hall; a blessed relief from this beastly uncomfortable conversation.
"Good," Zelda smirked. "I'd hate to think we had our sights set on the same boy."
One letter dropped in front of Dorcas and she snatched it up in irritation. "You're welcome to any boy who will have you, Zelda," she said firmly, her attention having been drawn away from the conversation and to the address on the envelope.
There was an involuntary jolt of excitement at seeing Jack's name written there, accompanied by a twinge of guilt when Dorcas thought of how she tried to mark her territory with Zelda last night.
"Are you sure, Dorcas?" Zelda pushed. "Because if you like Caleb–"
She didn't even look up at Zelda as she spoke, swinging her leg off the bench and standing, tearing into the envelope.
"He prefers Cal, actually. And you're welcome to him. I have to go."
:::
By the time Dorcas reached the secret room on the seventh floor, she had almost lost her own internal struggle to keep from shaking the pages out and reading them in the open.
She hadn't even noticed when she entered the room that the cavernous space was not the quaint and cozy sitting room that she normally conjured up for her letter reading sessions.
The room only resisted her promptings when there was another inhabitant already occupying the space.
Dorcas's veins filled with ice as she tried to recall whether Tom had been sitting with the Slytherins at breakfast this morning or not. It had been several days since she'd compulsively glanced at the house table furthest to the right when she entered the common space at mealtimes. She'd been too distracted by Zelda and Cal, and by Jack's letter to check for his presence at breakfast.
Which could only mean that she was in the secret room with Tom at this moment. It was the only explanation for the magical space not to transform at her request.
She slipped back out into the hall as quickly and quietly as she could manage and ran flat out until she was on the third floor.
Dorcas settled for a narrow and poorly lit alcove in which to read the letter, hoping that it didn't contain another report of Aunt Penny's hopeless condition. It made Dorcas feel terrible that she couldn't offer any of the help she'd so irresponsibly promised. And awful heaped on top of that for the uselessness she felt to make things better for Jack.
Dorcas, my love,
This may not reach you before I've landed in Britain, the post runs so slowly in wartime. But I'm getting ready to board a ship right now and I'm coming home. According to my grandmother, my aunt is fading fast and doesn't have much longer. Because she knows that my aunt was responsible for raising me and is therefore like a mother to me, she's managed to pull quite a few strings in order to secure my leave from duty for two weeks.
It may not be possible, given the distance between your school and Lincolnshire, but I would love to see you. Even if I can only see you for an hour, it would be worth the journey. Please write to me in Little Hangleton to tell me where I might be able to meet you. But if you cannot get away from your studies to see me, I understand. Please do not make trouble for yourself on my behalf. But if it can be managed, tell me how I might bring it about.
Eager to hold you in my arms again.
Yours always with love,
Jack
Hardly daring to believe what she read, Dorcas slowly eyed each word twice more before she allowed herself to think that Jack was on his way to–could already be standing in–Britain again.
Her heart raced with the realization that she could be a mere half-day's train ride from the love of her life presently. The thought of it caused her muscles to spasm in an unconscious motion of jumping to action, as if she could get up and walk to him at this very moment.
The thought of calmly writing back to him, walking to the Owlery, going to class, all of these little mundane things seemed too impossible to accomplish. Anything that didn't involve racing into his arms right this second was too trivial to waste energy on.
Her mind scrambled to decide what she should do next.
She had to write him back. What if he'd been in Lincolnshire for a day or more without any word from her? Would he assume that she didn't want to see him? It couldn't be fathomed.
Her hands shook, too eager to draw a quill and parchment from her school bag. But she managed a hurried reply.
My darling Jack,
I cannot believe that you are coming home, indeed that you may already be home as I write this! There is no question of the trouble I would go through in order to see you. My only question is this: Is there room in the Riddles' hayloft for me? I will stow away and stay in the stables for as long as you're on British soil. If I could possibly manage to, I would fold myself into your bags and travel with you to Africa.
But I am sorry to hear that your aunt's poor health is the occasion for your visit. I feel like a right selfish cow for the excitement that I can't manage to contain when you're dealing with such a tragic diagnosis.
Send word back with this owl and I will receive your reply almost at once.
I can hardly believe that I write the words "see you very soon".
Yours with all my love,
Dorcas
She was full-on winded by the time she reached the Owlery. She spotted a restless tawny owl close to the entrance that looked ready for flight.
She summoned it down with a treat and a stern word.
"No dawdling, d'you hear? This needs to get to Little Hangleton, Lincolnshire today. And you are to wait for a reply."
She spoke hurriedly while tying the letter to the owl's leg and it was off in a whoosh of feathers.
Dorcas made it to Arithmancy early, but felt that she had little patience for abstract concepts this morning. She was practically banging the table with her bouncing knee when Cal joined her on the bench. Her mind was full of lists of what she should pack. She was determined to spend the entire weekend with Jack, though she didn't know how she would manage such a long absence from school without being noticed.
The Felix Felicis. She would need to retrieve it from Cherry. This was the perfect opportunity to get the potion into Jack's hands. She bit her lip, impatient for her hour break before lunch so that she could see to things.
"You made an excellent suggestion for the novel at last night's meeting," Cal said conversationally.
"Huh?" Dorcas turned to him with a blank stare.
"The Great Gatsby. It was a good choice."
"Oh yeah," Dorcas agreed faintly. "At least Cherry will be off my back until next month."
"Cherry can't think of anything but the Baseball Exhibition she's planning. She's booked the Quidditch pitch and made handbills and everything."
Dorcas tapped her quill on her Arithmancy text impatiently. "Wow. She's really going to do that?"
"Yes, you know what she's like when she has an idea."
"I do," Dorcas agreed with a quick smile. "Zelda seemed to enjoy herself." She regretted her stupid mouth the moment the other witch's name had escaped.
"Yeah, I'm glad she came. I wasn't sure she would when I invited her…"
This was the opportunity to ask him the question that had been bothering her since Zelda walked into the Muggle Studies classroom last night.
"Why did you invite her anyway?"
Cal shrugged. "I was trying to help you."
"Help me?" She wondered how Zelda Weston's presence was meant to benefit her in any way.
"Well, I just mean," he stammered and scratched the back of his neck. "Cherry was giving you a hard time about not bringing any Ravenclaws...so I thought I'd invite some just in case you didn't manage it."
Dorcas sat back, stung by his lack of faith in her. "Hey, I brought two."
"You did. And your book was a success. We're even going to get an extension activity out of it." Cal arranged his textbook and notes absently. "Hopefully next month's selection will be just as good. I haven't read it."
"Neither have I," Dorcas replied.
Jonas said he would like to understand Muggle warfare better in the current political climate, so Anneliese had suggested Erich Maria Remarque's All Quiet on the Western Front.
"I wonder what sort of exhibition Cherry will dream up off of that one…" Dorcas thought aloud.
Cal paused and then stiffened his spine suddenly. "Oh God, she's going to have us reenacting trench warfare."
"Merlin, help us!" Dorcas sighed, wondering how near the truth Cal's hunch would be.
:::
21 March, 1959 14 South Audley Street, Mayfair, London
Dorcas was in the Black Dahlia, but she didn't remember how she'd gotten there. She was in the arms of a handsome boy in uniform.
Her heart swelled as she recognized his face; high cheekbones, strong, angled jaw, dark eyebrows that enhanced his brooding blue eyes, under carefully combed waves of brown hair.
It was her Jack.
There was a mischievous spark in his eye that warned Dorcas that he was going to insist on dancing.
"But you must have forgotten my two left feet," Dorcas protested.
"Balderdash, Clerey! I dreamed of the day I would have you in my arms again. We're doing this!"
He pulled her out onto the floor as the band played a tune that seemed too fast for her to keep up with. Jack was a strong leader. After a while, Dorcas learned to relax and follow.
"Tell me about the school you go to," prompted Jack.
Dorcas worried that concentrating on his questions and what her feet were meant to be doing might be too much for her uncoordinated mind and body.
"Well, there's four houses. Every student is sorted into one of them on the first evening they arrive."
"Who decides where the students are sorted?"
Dorcas smiled, anticipating how odd her answer would sound. "There's a hat that looks into your thoughts and reads your talents. It decides and then shouts its choice. Some students are sorted right away. Some take a bit longer to figure out."
"What? The hat shouts its choice? The hat can talk?"
"Yes, of course," Dorcas said as if this was not an unusual detail.
"Did it take a long time with you?"
"Well, yes. It said that I had the qualities to fit into any of the houses. So the choice was really up to me. I picked my mum's house in the end."
"What are the qualities of the houses?"
"Gryffindor is for the brave, Hufflepuff for the faithful, Slytherin for the cunning, and Ravenclaw for the curious."
"I agree with the talking hat on all points except for the Slitherings."
"Slytherin?"
"That's what I said," Jack joked.
"You don't seem like the cunning sort. There's a bit of selfishness in that word," he added.
"Well, you really can't put a lot of stock in the house traits. There's all kinds of students in each of the houses for different reasons. My cousin is in Slytherin. One of the kindest people I know."
"That evil snob from Magic Town? Now I believe the hat got it right there," Jack argued.
Dorcas was tickled by the misunderstanding.
"No! She's Slytherin all the way through! I mean her brother, Jonas. He's one of my best friends. And Tom is also in Slytherin."
Jack nodded, taking in all of the information.
"Well, don't leave me in suspense!" Jack said, twirling her on the dance floor.
"About what?"
"What house did you choose?"
"Oh! I'm in Ravenclaw," answered Dorcas.
"Yep, I would have guessed that one. You're a smart girl. That or Gruffledor."
Now he was just doing it to make her laugh.
"The brave ones?" She thought of Cherry and Cal and Darren. She was probably more Slytherin than Gryffindor.
"Yeah. Why not?"
Dorcas considered how the Sorting Hat would have placed Jack. He would have been declared Gryffindor before the brim of the old brown hat touched his head.
Before she realized it, her hand rested on his chest in a gesture that was too fond, too familiar. She began to pull away, embarrassed.
Jack caught her hand and pressed it to him before she could remove it.
"You're brave. And smart, and faithful. And beautiful," he said. "And only cunning in the way you stole my heart when I wasn't looking."
Dorcas inhaled at the unexpected statement. So she hadn't conjured the confession he'd made earlier. He actually had told her he cared for her.
The music slowed as Dorcas felt Jack's arm around her waist tighten and pull her closer.
"I know I shouldn't have said that. You already have a sweetheart. You're with Tom. Verity told me."
"I'm not," corrected Dorcas.
"In the letter he wrote to Verity…"
Dorcas shook her head. "We were together for a few months. But I broke it off."
"Why?" Jack asked.
Dorcas's mind raced with explanations that could gloss over truths she'd rather not tell this perfect boy. She didn't want to explain that Tom left her to deal with two harassers and wouldn't even speak in her defense. She didn't want to reveal Tom's conduct on the train home from school. Didn't want to repeat his part in her uncle being sent away.
Jack was still Tom's family and Dorcas didn't want Jack thinking badly of him.
"It's okay. You don't have to answer. It was an impertinent question."
"We're just better as friends," Dorcas offered.
"Well, I'm not sorry," Jack said. "I don't know Tom very well, but I can tell he's not right for you."
"No," she agreed.
She didn't know at all who was right for her. But she did agree with that statement; felt it as a deep certainty within her.
Maybe Jack was the right one. But he was leaving in the morning. She wondered if she would ever see him again after tonight.
Perhaps it was the realization that tonight was all that existed for them that loosened some resolve within.
"Don't go, Jack. Tell them your real age. Don't go away tomorrow."
She could see in his eyes as they widened that he hadn't expected this rushed request. He appeared to consider her words for an agonizing moment.
"I wish I could stay, angel. But I can't let other people fight for me when I'm perfectly capable of pitching in. We all have to do our bit for king and country, right?"
Dorcas felt as if the answer was a rejection. She'd raised herself up on her tiptoes to make it possible to look him right in the eye as she pleaded. She fell back on her heels in disappointment at his response.
Selfishly, Dorcas wished that every other girl's sweetheart would go to the front ahead of Jack. He didn't realize just how much of a Slytherin she could be when she wanted to.
"Kiss me and tell me you understand, Dorcas," demanded Jack, with a gentle squeeze of her waist.
She rocked back up onto her toes without another thought and brushed her lips lightly against his.
Releasing her hand that rested on his chest, he captured her lips, pressing her tighter to him with a firm grip at the back of her neck. She knew he was undoing the work that Betty had put into her hair, but she didn't care.
As Jack deepened the kiss, Dorcas's mind traveled over other possibilities. She entertained the thought of unbuttoning his shirt and running her hands over his bare chest. Envisioning his strong hands lifting her up and wrapping her legs about him.
She was brought back to the present abruptly when she heard hoots and shouts around her. Opening her eyes, she noticed that the other dancers had stopped to stare and to cheer them on.
Dorcas pulled away from Jack, placing her hands on her flaming cheeks in mortification.
"On that note, ladies and gentlemen, this next song is dedicated to young love. Grab your gal and do like the kiddies do!" Betty laughed from the stage, microphone in hand.
The dancers around them laughed and cheered and kissed.
"I'll be seeing you in all the familiar places," Betty sang.
"That this heart of mine embraces all day through,
In that small cafe, the park across the way,
The children's carousel, the chestnut trees, the wishing well,
I'll be seeing you in every lovely summer's day,
In everything that's light and gay,
I'll always think of you that way,
I'll find you in the morning sun,
And when the night is new,
I'll be looking at the moon,
But I'll be seeing you."
Dorcas woke as the words and the tune faded with the dream, but her cheeks were wet with tears. For the first time since...whenever Tom had decided to steal Jack's place in her heart and make it his own...she grieved for the loss of him.
"Cal?" Dorcas wept, turning over and reaching for him under the covers.
If he could just hold her for a little while, she might find her way back to sleep.
But Cal wasn't lying next to her.
When she turned back to her side of the bed, her hand flew out for her wand.
"Lumos!" she hissed.
Her husband was not asleep. He wasn't even in the room with her.
Sobered now, the sights and sounds of dreamland completely shaken off, Dorcas flung back her covers and reached for her robe.
She didn't have to search much of the house at all. Her instinct told her to check on Wren before looking anywhere for Cal.
Her youngest was asleep in her daddy's arms as he made languid arcs in the rocking chair.
Pippa was pouncing around under the pink sheets of the now empty bed.
Dorcas lowered herself to the rug in front of Cal's feet, careful not to disturb him and by extension, their sleeping daughter. He hadn't drifted too far into unconsciousness, Dorcas knew, because he was still rocking. But his eyes were closed and Dorcas didn't know if he'd heard her come in.
She lightly pressed her fingertips to his ankle beside her and whispered.
"Did she have a nightmare?"
There was a gentle inhale from Cal as he registered her touch and her voice.
"Yes, I didn't want to wake you," he thought, rather than saying his reply aloud. His eyes opened and he stared down at her.
"Any wee accidents?" she asked softly. She glanced behind her to see if the sheets needed changing.
"No. She's getting to be quite the big girl," Cal answered. "Why are you out of bed? Nightmare?"
"Yes." Dorcas smiled, jokingly whispering, "But no accidents here either."
"That's my big girl!" Cal smiled and laid his head back again, closing his eyes. "What was the nightmare?"
"Not a nightmare. I was joking about that bit too. But I did have a dream about Jack Hardin. I remembered when I began to have feelings for him."
She laid her head on Cal's knee, her cheek moving with the rocking motion. His warm palm came to rest on her hair, his fingers trailing comfortingly against her temple, stroking lightly. It didn't take too long for his pajamas to begin soaking up her tears where she rested her head.
"Is it possible that some of the residual Ex-Nebulae Elixir could have lifted a memory that it wasn't specifically directed to?"
Her voice was strangled with tears and came out choked. "No. I don't think so. I don't think Tom used a Memory Charm to control my feelings toward Jack at all. He did something else."
Author's Note: You may have noticed that I changed the title of the story to The Nightingale, Vol 1. I originally intended for this to be one story. But it has become so long that I worry about the manageability of it. So I've decided to break it into two parts. Volume 1 is going to end on Chapter 66. So just a few more installments and the first part of the story will be complete. I intend to have the first installment of the second part posted shortly after the completion of Chapter 66. Thank you to the readers who've stuck with it.
Also, I wanted to credit MatureMead for the book club-style Muggle Studies Club meeting. In 'The Dead Warlocks Society' (on AO3) the Marauders host a book club with various classic stories. It's a cute one! I highly encourage the read.
