Author's Note: This is it! The end of 'The Nightingale, Vol 1'. I'm hard at work on the second installment of this story and will have the beginning of Vol 2 posted by next week. I would love to hear what you think about this chapter and the story in general so far. Please leave a review.
Enjoy!
Chapter 66
26 April, 1959 14 South Audley Street, Mayfair, London
Dorcas hauled the Christian Dior garment bag into the house, throwing it over a chair in the sitting room and adding her overcoat to the mix. She knew Frost would never leave the items flung willy nilly around the house, but called over her shoulder for the housekeeper to leave them.
Each new day was bringing its own little taste of a normal life and Dorcas's appetite was insatiable.
Today, she'd gone to the boutique for a final fitting. Unescorted, with only her girlfriends. Cherry and Anneliese didn't know about the danger that Tom posed to her and therefore, they didn't count as protective detail.
The St. Mungo's board would be meeting in three days to determine if she was eligible to keep practicing the healing arts. She was more than seventy-five percent certain that they would vote to reinstate her full-time as a mind healer on the Long-Term Spell Damage Ward.
Cal was going to be honored by the Healer's Guild of Britain and was at the top of his field and his career. Dorcas knew it wouldn't be long before she was able to catch him up in that arena.
"Master Cal's giving the little Miss her bath," Frost informed her, completely ignoring the instruction to leave the bag and the coat where they lay.
"Ah, thanks!" Dorcas grinned, heading up a flight of stairs and to the bathroom that Wren shared with Ryann when she was home from school.
She heard her husband's voice before she entered the girly white and pink space.
"'Oh, I see;"' said the Tin Woodman. 'But, after all, brains are not the best things in the world.' 'Have you any?' enquired the Scarecrow. 'No, my head is quite empty,' answered the Woodman; 'but once I had brains and a heart also; so, having tried them both, I should much rather have a heart.'" Cal read from his perch on a small white stool with a frilly pink cushion.
"Is it 'The Wonderful Wizard of Oz' again?" Dorcas asked, pushing the cracked door open wider.
Cal placed his finger in the pages, closing the cover to mark his place, offering his cheek for Dorcas to peck.
"How was your afternoon with the ladies?" he asked, bringing a hand up to her waist and pulling her down on his lap.
"Great," Dorcas enthused. "Really great! They both send their love."
"Well? Where's the dress? Do I get a runway show tonight?" He asked, glancing quickly at the bathtub where a golden head appeared amid vast clouds of foamy white bubbles, splashing contentedly. When he was certain Wren was well distracted, his hand undid two buttons on Dorcas's blouse, slipping inside to cup her breast beneath the lining of her bra.
Her pulse quickened immediately and her cheeks became flushed. "Maybe, if you play your cards right, mister!"
The 'Wonderful Wizard of Oz' was flung to the damp tile, forgotten.
"I want a runaway shower too, Mummy!" Wren called, spinning round and round in the tub.
Cal pulled his hand away immediately, sobered by the present attention of their five-year old.
"If you've finished your bath, young lady, and you hurry to brush your teeth and hair, then I'll give you a runaway shower," Dorcas bribed.
"I can't finish my bath yet!" Wren pointed out.
Dorcas was distracted still by the heated trail that Cal's hurried touch had left on her skin. She hadn't seen the turn her daughter's mind had taken. If she had, she would have run for the door immediately.
"Why's that?" Dorcas asked sternly, knowing Wren was finished and Cal had just been indulging her penchant for playtime in the suds.
Cal's grip tightened on her waist. "Because the mermaid hasn't been returned to the sea yet!" He stood abruptly, scooping Dorcas up and throwing her over his shoulder.
Dorcas had barely enough time to save her suede pumps, kicking them off. She pleaded for the sake of her silk blouse, but time had run out.
"Cal, don't you do it!" she cried, trying to use her most threatening voice. "My blouse will be ruined!"
Wren drowned her out, shouting. "Mermaid, come get in the sea!"
Ignoring her protests and flailing, Cal dumped her, fully clothed into the soapy water, where Wren helped him to douse her using a tin canister that once held coffee.
"Okay!" Dorcas said, feigning annoyance. "No one gets a fashion show! Early bedtime for both of you!"
"Promise?" Cal asked, leaning down to kiss her lips.
Dorcas piled suds onto his head to pay him back for the soaking she'd endured.
:::
Dorcas relented and gave a quick showing of her ball gown for the gala on Saturday night. In the famous Dior hourglass silhouette, Dorcas knew the navy blue bodice and full skirts showed off her figure to its best advantage. And she wanted to make Cal proud to have her on his arm. Because she was so proud of him, the brilliant man!
There was the appropriate amount of oohing and aahing before Cal hurried Wren off to read a few more pages of Dorothy's exploits on the Yellow Brick Road.
"I'll tuck in the little monster," Cal thought to her after he unzipped the designer gown for her. "You get completely naked and meet me under the sheets in twenty minutes."
"That one's going to take more than twenty minutes to tranquilize," Dorcas predicted, as Cal hauled Wren out of the room in the same fashion he'd deposited Dorcas in the bathtub.
"Not when I'm properly motivated!" he argued. Then he added, "Don't start without me!"
He was as good as his word. The proper motivation made him a savante at the bedtime routine, giving him a single-minded focus that he didn't normally have when it came to Wren's regimen.
Cal made Dorcas come with two dizzying back-to-back orgasms, collapsing beside her on his pillow ready for sleep.
While he usually was able to help her clear her mind in that way only he could do, tonight, Dorcas had something particular turning those gears.
"Cal?"
"I knew it!"
That surprised her. What was it that he thought he knew?
"Knew what?" she challenged.
"Lately, when you have something to tell me that you think I might object to or take badly, you butter me up with sex first."
Dorcas scoffed, swatting his chest and laughing. He was right.
"I never use sex to manipulate you. I know you're far too evolved for that trick!"
Cal snorted disbelievingly. "Uh huh! Let's hear it, then."
"Cherry said something today that got me thinking…"
He sat up and looked at her with a grave expression. "That is a terrifying sentence!"
Dorcas laughed again, but snuggled up to him, warming to her ultimate request.
"Isn't it just?" she agreed, thinking of the wild ideas that the impulsive redhead was known for. "But seriously, somehow we got onto the subject of Darren…"
She felt Cal shift beneath her, adjusting his grip on her and settling back against his pillow, sobering at the introduction of the topic.
"I've been thinking about the similarities between you losing Jack and her loss too," he admitted. "Have you told her about it? She could be a help to you. She's been there."
Dorcas nodded against his chest. "Yeah, I did."
"How did she take it?"
Cal was calm and supportive on the surface, everything she needed him to be. But on the inside, he was a tangle of insecurities and jealousies. Dorcas hated the way that Jack emerging from her past as abruptly as he did was causing Cal anxiety, on top of all that Tom had already caused between them.
But she also felt that Jack had been robbed of a true opportunity to be mourned by her. She didn't want to betray him now by shoving away the grief just to spare Cal. She seemed caught between two lives, the one that had been taken from her and the one she was blessed to have now.
It was an agony. The only dark cloud on the horizon of her incandescently bright dawn.
"She suggested that I go to visit his grave."
Despite her best efforts to control her emotions, she felt her cheek becoming wet where she rested against Cal's chest. She placed her hand between her cheek and his skin, trying to shield him once again from her sorrow.
"Where is he buried?"
"That's the thing...he's buried on Riddle land. Beside his mother and his sister."
She knew what Cal was thinking without having to enter his mind. It was dangerous to venture anywhere connected to Tom. They'd agreed months ago not to antagonize him any further. He'd left them alone since the Muybridge trial and they wanted it to stay that way.
"I still find it odd that Tom Riddle had family. I always thought of him as just...appearing here suddenly. Like Lucifer just being when God banished him. No mother or father. Just existing."
"That's giving him too much credit," Dorcas assured Cal. This was true. Tom would love the idea of appearing like a god, just existing somewhere one day. Not being a regular person who is born and has parents and a background. That was too plebeian for the infamous Tom Riddle.
She thought of the way he insisted Gemma call him "my lord" in her memories. It made her shudder.
There was a drawn out silence, Dorcas thinking about all of the arguments she could present when Cal said that she shouldn't go; Cal thinking up all of the ways that Little Hangleton might become some sort of dastardly trap for Dorcas.
"Would you mind if I went with you?" he asked, the request almost a whisper.
Dorcas, startled by the question, agreed at once. "Cal, I don't know if I could face it without you. Of course I want you to come."
:::
17 May, 1942 Gryffindor Quidditch Locker Room, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
"Glad you could join us, ladies!" Beau shot over his shoulder testily as Dorcas, Myrtle, Zelda, and Mohit entered the locker room.
"Hey!" Mohit objected sourly.
"Sorry," Zelda apologized, batting her eyelashes to great effect, which triggered something spiteful deep inside of Dorcas.
They joined Cherry and Anneliese on the benches before the blackboard, on which Quidditch drills had been hastily erased and a baseball diamond drawn in their place.
"Dorcas, the girls are going to wear something like this. Isn't that darling?" Cherry cooed, holding up Dorcas's own magazine to her face.
Dottie Wiltse, the Strikeout Queen, grinned beautifully from the black and white pages in her Fort Wayne Daisies uniform frock.
Grinding her teeth, Dorcas began to shake her head at once.
"Cherry, where did you get that?" Dorcas asked.
She'd written to her mother, explaining their little Muggle Studies project and asked for any of her magazines that had a mention of the American sport in them. Mary-Ellen had sent two of her magazines and a book on the Major League from Morty's collection. Dorcas had intended for these to be helpful to Cal and Beau, who were tasked with organizing the game.
She shrugged. "I stole it from Cal."
Dorcas hadn't realized what a weapon such knowledge would be in Cherry's devious hands.
"We want spectators, Dorcas!"
She huffed and took a deep breath. "I understand the point of the exhibition, Cherry. But my bare bum didn't sign up to be a part of it!"
That was louder than she'd anticipated.
Now she had the attention of the boys at the blackboard who'd taken time out of their strategy meeting to attend the conversation about bare bums.
"This is what they wear!" Cherry doubled down.
Cal, Darren, Beau, Jonas, Hagrid, and four new additions to the group Phillip Ransom, Cole Barrow, Everett Hornby, and Kelley McKinnon all looked her way.
Dorcas blushed furiously, studying the floorboards beneath her feet.
"Well, I agree with Dorcas," Margo Clarkson, Hufflepuff, added to the argument. "It sounds fun. But May in the Highlands is still cold, Cherry."
"You won't be bare bummed, Dorcas." This was Zelda coming to Cherry's defense. She pointed to Dottie's impractical getup. "You'll be wearing these adorable little knickers!"
"They are adorable," Mohit joined in, enthusiastically, peering over Zelda's shoulder.
Cal cleared his throat nervously. "You're getting ahead of yourself on uniforms, Cher," he tried to say diplomatically. "We haven't even selected teams yet."
"I'm not playing if we're meant to be showing off everything," Dorcas stated, crossing her arms. "It's Quidditch trousers or nothing."
"I definitely vote for nothing!" Mohit called, raising his hand and beginning a vote.
"That's not what she meant." Myrtle greeted the back of Mohit's head with a firm, quick slap. "Boys don't get a vote, pervert!"
"Very well," Cherry spat, glaring at Dorcas challengingly. "All those in favor of the completely authentic and appropriate uniforms for the girls, raise your hand."
Cherry's and Zelda's hands shot up. Big surprise there. But so did Anneliese's and Darla's.
Dorcas was shocked at the latter two.
"Do you really want to be running bases with your skirt flapping up behind you?" Dorcas asked, wide eyes staring at the two of them.
"It's all in good fun," Darla said. Anneliese added, "It will draw a crowd, which was the whole point of this."
"All those girls," Dorcas said, looking pointedly in Mohit's direction, "who would feel more comfortable participating in Quidditch trousers like the boys, raise their hand."
Dorcas counted her hand as well as Myrtle's, Margo's, and Nora Simpson's, the other Hufflepuff who'd been recruited by Anneliese and Beau to fill out the necessary positions.
"Tied!" crowed Mohit. "I guess I'll have to be the deciding vote!"
"No!" Dorcas retorted. "All of the boys have to vote."
Dorcas didn't know why she was putting so much stock into this democratic show. She wasn't wearing the thin scrap of fabric that was laughingly called a uniform, no matter what the cause was.
Mohit led the charge in favor of the skirts.
"Of course we're going to waste time nattering on about dresses," Beau grumbled, rolling his eyes and throwing the chalk he'd been clutching.
Dorcas glared at each boy individually who raised their hands. There was nothing left to do but slide into their shins, cleats up on game day, she decided.
Her hit-list now included Mohit, Phillip Ransom, Darren Barton, and Cole Barrow.
Cal and Beau boldly raised their hands for trousers, Beau with an impatient plea to get to serious business as soon as possible. Jonas, Rubeus, Kelly McKinnon, and Everett Hornby joined them in voting down the revealing girls' uniforms.
Cherry stuck her tongue out at Dorcas and threw the magazine across the locker room.
"Finally onto more important matters," Beau said, frowning at Cherry and Anneliese, singling them out as the two ringleaders of the argument. "I think our team names should be the Yankees and Red Sox," he said, bending to retrieve his chalk and writing down the names. "That's the biggest rivalry in the game."
He threw the chalk again when Professor Hill interrupted, coming into the locker room with Professor Dumbledore in tow.
"Students, I have a special treat for you. Your Transfiguration teacher, I've just discovered, is a long-time fan of America's pastime and would like to join the spectacle as a coach."
"You know the game, sir?" Beau asked, cheering up at the new information.
"I know my way around the bases, sure." Dumbledore smiled, eyes twinkling in excited anticipation.
"I think the fact that he knows that there are bases is a point in his favor," came Cal's self-deprecating joke. He'd only been tapped as a team captain because he knew a bit about cricket and that was a one-off at best.
"Great!" Beau chimed. "You can coach Cal's team since they'll be at a disadvantage." He took a moment to puff his chest out and grin at his superior knowledge, reveling in being better at something than his friend.
"This ought to be a fun escape from the tedium of marking essays," Dumbledore replied, rubbing his hands together with gusto.
"Splendid!" Professor Hill trilled, taking a spot on the end of the bench. "I'll coach Haywood's team since I know hang-all about it!"
"We were just about to pick teams," Cal said, pulling a coin out of his trousers pocket to toss.
Beau called heads and earned the right to pick the team name when the toss went in his favor.
"We'll be the underdogs. The Red Sox. Everyone loves a comeback story!"
"Very well," Cal agreed. "We should probably alternate between each round of picks so the teams have an even number of boys and girls."
"Fine," Beau shrugged, looking over the pool of draft picks.
Cal grinned. "I'll take Hagrid."
Scowling, Beau mumbled, "Of course you will. I'll take Kelley."
Cal shifted his gaze to Dorcas and she knew he was going to pick her as the first girl on his team. But Myrtle's inner voice became loud and mournful, lamenting that a schoolyard pick always led to her as the lone loser. A series of playground humiliations flashed in the younger Ravenclaw's mind.
Dorcas jerked her head slightly and looked in Myrtle's direction, hoping Cal would take the hint.
"Warren," Cal said, to a collective gasp of surprise.
Dorcas rewarded him with a warm smile, prompting his cheeks to redden.
"Clerey looks like a killer!" Beau called, beckoning Dorcas to the Red Sox.
"What is wrong with the two of you?" Cherry shouted, visibly annoyed by not having been selected by either boy first.
"Darren." Darren Barton went to the Yankees.
"Rackharrow," Beau countered. Jonas joined Dorcas with a smile.
"Zelda."
Dorcas's grin at finding herself on the same team as her cousin dropped leadenly at the sound of Zelda's name from Cal's mouth. That sting of jealousy burned again without warning.
"Weasley."
Cherry stomped forward sneering at Beau and calling into question his sanity at waiting so long to make the obvious choice. Jonas brightened beside Dorcas.
"Barrow." Cole went to the Yankees.
"Singh." Mohit went to the Red Sox.
Darla Barton, someone that Dorcas was surprised hadn't been picked earlier, a Chaser on the Gryffindor team, went to the Yankees. Phillip Ransom, a bookish friend of Mohit's was the last boy picked for the team. That was not a surprise at all. Finally, Margo Clarkson rounded out the Yankees' roster.
Nora Simpson, Everett Hornby, and Anneliese Epping completed the Red Sox's lineup and the teams headed out to the Quidditch pitch.
:::
26 April, 1959 Great Hangleton, Lincolnshire
Dorcas stepped out of her husband's cherry red speedster and walked to the middle of the roundabout where the marble war memorial sat like a maypole in the center of town.
She removed her sunglasses and the scarf she'd tied around her hair.
Unprepared as she was to see his name among the other lost men of the town and the village a couple of miles below from the latest and deadliest conflict, Dorcas wondered how she was going to keep her emotions in check when she came to the little cottage in the woods on the edge of the Riddle estate and the grave marker that she was sure to find beyond it.
Placing sunglasses and scarf in her handbag, Dorcas looked around for spectators, finding only the wary gaze of Cal on her, silently watching. She pulled out her wand and quickly conjured a chain of daisies to lay at the foot of the monument.
Since discovering the stack of letters and Jack's mother's ring in the vault box, memories of her brief love affair with the handsome stable boy from the Riddle House had been coming back to her in waves; the grief along with it. Every conversation, touch, kiss they'd shared returned in startling clarity to her. The illusion of Tom's Imperius Curse that commanded her to forget Jack and devote herself to him instead had been shattered by the smallest link that she'd created with each letter she took out of its yellowing envelope and read. The words on those pages shared between Dorcas and her Jack were too real, and the fallacy of Tom's spell too fragile to hold up to its scrutiny.
They drove on, past the steepled church in the village of Little Hangleton, Cal wondering why she hadn't instructed him to stop at the cemetery that lay just beyond the churchyard.
"Jack's mother was denied a place in the consecrated ground," Dorcas explained. "Jack suspected that it had something to do with his grandfather's dislike of her. He was the most insistent of Jack's relatives that the connection between Master Tom and their one-time parlor maid never be acknowledged."
"That's cruel."
"You know that world better than I do," Dorcas shrugged, sounding a little more judgmental than she'd intended. It was the effort at holding in her emotions, carefully checking her sorrow. She hadn't meant to insinuate that Cal's father had treated her similarly, but that time and convention had shifted enough to allow Cal to marry her.
"Did Jack's father truly love his mother?" Cal asked, driving out of the village and down a dusty lane.
Jack's father...he and Jack's grandparents would be buried in that cemetery back there.
"In a way, Jack's father was more cruel than his grandfather."
"In what way?" Cal replied, trying to keep the conversation going, sensing that an easy exchange of thoughts and memories might help Dorcas more than controlled silence.
"Jack's grandfather at least acknowledged his grandchildren in a way by adamantly guarding against revealing the truth of their paternity. Tom was... indifferent to it all. He didn't seem to care that he had children at all. But that could be the insanity…"
"Insanity?" prompted Cal.
"Yes, I spent a few terrifying moments in Master Tom's mind," Dorcas shuddered at the memory. "Tom's mother, Merope Gaunt did a number on that poor man."
"It doesn't sound like he deserves your sympathy, my love."
Dorcas stared off into an empty field where she'd spent part of an afternoon in Jack's arms, allowing him to explore her tentatively for the first time. A tear escaped her bottom lashes and she continued to stare, wiping it away hurriedly before Cal caught the gesture.
"Maybe not."
They parked under a canopy of trees; overgrown elms and poplar, ash and maple. One heavy branch rested on the cottage's roof, threatening to collapse the structure. Dorcas mourned the lonely state of the place that had once been the center of her dreams for the future.
Several of the boards on the dock that jutted into the pond had rotted away, leaving the impression of a stunted bridge that had forgotten its ability to span.
She couldn't linger here. Her throat felt like it might close up, getting tighter and thicker the more detail she absorbed.
Hand in hand, Dorcas and Cal picked their way along an almost invisible path, though it was trodden enough to keep it from disappearing altogether.
"He might be buried back here, but I don't know for sure…" Dorcas explained, stepping carefully over a gnarled tree root.
"Might be?" Cal asked, his hands going to her waist, supporting her over the uneven ground.
Dorcas nodded. "I visited this cottage only once before. I sat with him at his mother's and sister's graves. I assume that's where he's buried."
The assumption proved correct. Dorcas and Cal followed the path into a little clearing with three graves marked by three headstones.
The middle stone was one that Dorcas had seen before, with wildflowers laid at the base. The one to the left of it had been similarly adorned. Anna Hardin, and to her left, Verity Hardin.
"Jack's mother and his sister?" Cal asked.
Dorcas nodded. But she couldn't take her eyes off of the stone to the right of Anna's. And she couldn't choke out a response.
Seeing Jack Hardin's name there, carved in stone, was more jarring than when she'd seen it among the list of names on the war memorial. It was lucky, at least, that his remains had been returned to his home at all. For many, that final honor hadn't been fulfilled.
Dorcas clutched her wand, conjuring three rings of daisies once again and placing them on each of the graves. Her hand rested on Jack's lingeringly.
"Why daisies?" Cal inquired.
"It's a bit of a joke. I was helping Tom to find out about his father," Dorcas explained, sniffling.
Cal handed her a handkerchief and nodded for her to continue.
"And I had this stupid idea to get hired on as part of the serving staff at the Riddles' anniversary party so that I could do some snooping around. That's where I got to know Jack. He worked in the stables then. I made up a fake name for myself, Daisy Smith. Jack would tease me about the lie from time to time."
Her husband stared at her, a curious expression on his face.
"What is it?" queried Dorcas, self-consciously. She dabbed at her eyes and her nose, hoping her mascara hadn't started to run.
Cal shook his head. "I thought I knew you so well at school. I considered us close. But you had this whole other life that I knew nothing about. You and Tom snuck out of school, went on these wild capers. You were engaged to a boy at war. I had no idea about any of it."
"Most of that had to do with Tom," Dorcas defended herself. "I knew he wouldn't like that I was carrying on a relationship with Jack. He was extremely jealous of his half-brother."
"And possessive where you were concerned," added Cal.
Dorcas nodded, conceding the point. "If I told any of my friends about my feelings for Jack, it would only have been a matter of time before Tom knew too. I didn't know what Tom would do when he found out, necessarily, but I suppose my instinct told me it would not be good."
"We now know how that turned out…"
She bowed her head and then stepped away from Cal, bending to trace Jack's name on the stone.
"Have you heard that saying, you die two deaths? Once when you die, and again when your name is spoken for the last time?"
"No."
Dorcas couldn't push down the pain and the guilt any longer, finally voicing the awful truth of how she felt responsible for Jack's erasure in her mind.
"I remember...not too long after... I had a visit from one of Jack's friends from the army, Abraham Weiss, the one who was with him at the end. He gave me that letter, you know the one, that the soldiers write just in case they don't make it? And he gave me the key to the bank vault box that Jack kept with him."
She swiped more tears with the handkerchief, drenching it more as she ground the memory out.
"Abraham and his new wife were expecting a baby. Jack wrote to me about it when his friend relayed the good news. I remembered staring across my mother's sitting room, looking at this man who was trying to explain to me why my fiance was dead, clutching the key and the letter and begging myself not to listen to him."
"I remember you left school for about a month without any warning…" Cal spoke faintly, almost to himself.
"I forced myself to read the words. I visited the bank vault. I found the ring that he'd meant to give me. His letter urged me to go on living my life, to be happy, and to remember him. But I didn't want to do any of those things. I didn't want to be happy. I didn't want to live. It hurt to remember. So I packed up all of the letters he'd written me. The letters that Abraham gave me that Jack had saved and carried with him. His photograph. All of it. And I locked it away in that bank vault and hid the key at the bottom of my school trunk. I tried to push the pain and the loss down and forget him."
"You were trying to protect yourself," Cal offered.
"Exactly. I couldn't even honor his last request and remember him. I was weak and selfish and I didn't want to be in pain."
"What do you mean?" Cal furrowed his brows and crouched next to her.
"I mean, I told Tom everything I'd been hiding from him. I think I knew what he would do. And I wanted him to do it."
Cal's eyes widened in surprise.
"There was no one left to keep Jack's name alive, to keep him alive in their memory but me. And I was too weak to carry that burden for him." She sniffled and stroked the stone's carved face. "I was too weak to keep him alive in my memory."
Reaching for her, Cal wrapped her up in a tight embrace, holding her as her body shook with loud sobs.
"If there's anything I've learned about Jack Hardin, helping you through this memory loss, it's that he loved you and would not want you to hurt or be unhappy. I think he probably would have understood why you did what you did."
Cal was benevolent in his attempt to absolve her of the guilt she felt at the way she'd discarded Jack's memory. She wished that she could believe him.
"Would you like for me to leave you alone with him for a little while?" Cal continued.
"Yes," Dorcas answered, attempting to find a dry spot on the handkerchief to scrub away the rest of her tears.
When Cal left the clearing, returning up the path to the cottage, Dorcas sat heavily and studied the stone that marked Jack's grave. Lost in thought, she hadn't heard the approach of another person behind her.
"I heard what you said," the low voice spoke from behind her, causing her to jump.
She gasped and turned where she sat, her hand going instinctively to the wand that she'd just placed in her handbag.
A man of about middle age stood before her, leaning heavily on a walking stick. He had dark hair that was beginning to go gray, peppered randomly with silver under a wool cap. He had the disheveled appearance of a working man. Dorcas dismissed the possibility of a day-tripper or a posh visitor to the manse on the hill.
"Pardon?" Dorcas said, distracted from her grief momentarily.
"About dying two deaths. If it gives you any peace about what you said to the gentleman, I come and visit Jackie and talk to him from time to time."
Dorcas blinked, curiosity piqued. "Did you know Jack?"
"Grew up in the village together," the man replied.
By looking at him, Dorcas knew that the man was too old by about a decade to be Jack's schoolmate. But the village was small and Jack had known a great many people there. She glanced at his shoes, worn leather work boots. He seemed to favor one leg. Perhaps an injury…
"I'm sorry," Dorcas stammered, shaking her head to clear it of the memories that sat jumbled and cluttered there. "I didn't catch your name, sir."
"Name's Frank Bryce," the man said, tipping his cap very slightly in her direction.
"Dorcas Meadowes," she said, pushing herself up from the ground.
"What brings you to the Hardins' stones, Dorcas Meadowes?" Mr. Bryce was boldly inventorying Dorcas's expensive shoes and handbag, her crisp trousers and blouse. Summing her up mentally. Posh. Well-spoken. Educated. Cultured accent. "Not from around here, are you?"
"My husband and I are up from London, actually," Dorcas responded, seeing the flicker of interest in his mind.
"London?" Mr. Bryce pried. "That's a long way for sightseeing."
"We're not tourists," she explained. "I knew Jack Hardin when I was younger."
"There was a girl, some of the villagers say, that Jack was in love with. Dark hair. Not from these parts."
Dorcas felt the instinct to keep herself guarded. She didn't know this man. If she hadn't been able to see what was in his mind, she'd be terrified that Cal's prediction of a trap set by Tom was all too real.
When she didn't offer to elucidate on these details, Frank continued.
"Yeah, when he died, the story goes, no one ever saw the girl again. Some say she killed herself. Others speculated that she was pregnant with his child and raised it with another man."
Dorcas shifted her weight. Perhaps at one point she'd wanted to kill herself, just to end the misery of being without him. And the pregnant by one man, married to another part was also true, but in a different context.
"Why are you here, Mr. Bryce?" Dorcas asked pointedly.
The older man shrugged, leaning on his walking stick. "I look after the Riddle place. I'm the gardener."
Dorcas hadn't paid much attention to the looming manor house when she and Cal had driven by. But the property looked moderately well-maintained in any case. The poor cottage that she and Jack shared some of her happiest days in was another story.
She looked down at the three graves.
"It was her special request that I keep this space cleared back from the forest," he murmured, his eyes becoming a little unfocused as he remembered something.
"Who's request?"
Dorcas wanted to know who cared about these lonely graves in the woods. She hadn't remembered them until recently. But someone had been maintaining the resting places and their markers for years.
"The late Mrs. Riddle," Frank Bryce answered. There was a hint of something in his tone that said he wasn't quite comfortable discussing the Riddles with her.
"And who do you work for now?"
Frank looked up at her, blue eyes boring into her. "Connected with that family?"
"What makes you say so?" Dorcas returned defensively.
"Your question assumes that the Riddles don't own the house any longer. How would a Londoner know the business of the family?"
Dorcas felt herself back away a half step. He already knew that she was connected to Jack. She used that information.
"I met the family a few times. When Jack was alive."
Frank nodded, accepting the answer. He rewarded her with an answer to her question. "I work for the property's investor. He doesn't have anyone renting right now. Do I take it you and your husband are interested?"
"No. As I said, we're just here to visit Jack's grave. And now I think I'd better leave you to your work, Mr. Bryce," Dorcas hedged politely, walking in the direction Cal had left by.
"I'm sure he enjoyed the visit."
"Who?" Dorcas asked, turning to look at the gardener one last time.
Frank didn't speak, he just jerked his thumb in the direction of Jack's stone.
Her throat tightened again with emotion and then she turned. She walked a little way down the path, pausing when the trail wound around a thick old elm. She'd disappeared from sight, but she could hear the low muttered voice of Frank Bryce.
"She looks well taken care of. You've no cause for concern there. Rest easy, lad."
:::
21 May, 1942 Quidditch Pitch, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Dorcas was excited for the match and the more she heard the details of the baseball game being talked about in the corridors and during meals, her excitement grew. She knew that Cherry's intentions for the club had begun humbly, just a group of enthusiastic students who wanted to know more about Muggle inventions and things. But after the early success of the dance interest had fizzled. Dorcas knew that Cherry took the decline in attendance personally even though she tended to lash out at others for it.
A novelty event like a Muggle baseball match was just what students needed in order to blow off a little steam before settling to the daunting task of exam preparations.
Every night this week there had been practice. Dorcas welcomed the distraction from the constant ache she felt missing Jack.
During moments when one of her teammates did something funny, or someone accidentally connected the bat with the baseball (no one ever got a hit on purpose!); she had the urge to turn and smile or cheer with Jack, reminding herself to save up all of the experiences for her letters to him. She'd had some post from him, but it wasn't the same as having him present, participating in whatever small task she happened to be doing.
Professor Hill had transformed Ravenclaw and Slytherin Quidditch uniforms into an approximation of a baseball uniform in the colors of the Boston Red Sox, as described by Beau Haywood.
Dorcas had chosen her sturdiest pair of boots to wear for the occasion and Everett had even placed a light Sticking Charm on the soles of each players' shoes in place of cleats.
When the Red Sox found their way to the field, Dorcas felt instantly transported to a baseball stadium in the States. Professors Dumbledore and Hill must have spent all morning making over the Quidditch pitch into a baseball diamond with clay and even a chalked line and white bases.
Benches had been dragged out of the locker rooms to create a home base for each team. Sorry! A dugout for each team, Beau had corrected her!
A small gathering of students had turned up by the time her team had taken the field to warm up. Beau made them run the perimeter of the pitch twice (which Dorcas thought was a little excessive) and threw some practice pitches for each of them to practice batting one final time (which Dorcas felt necessary, if a bit hopeless).
She reckoned they'd be lucky to make a connection between ball and bat collectively as a team even once. She hoped the other team was just as terrible.
But their uniforms were striking!
Leading the New York Yankees to their dugout, Professor Dumbledore caused Dorcas to do a double-take.
Standing between Anneliese and Cherry, Dorcas took note of the pinstriped uniforms of their rivals, staring open mouthed at their Transfiguration teacher who had his long gray hair tied back, a baseball cap on his head. His beard was neatly knotted and tied beneath his chin, and he was wearing the pinstriped shirt and trousers that his team wore, completed by a jacket with his name emblazoned on the back.
Anneliese surveyed the backs of the other team, lamenting, "We should have put names on our jerseys!"
"Holy Helga Hufflepuff's fanny!" Cherry cried, eyes bulging from her head. "He's wearing a uniform! I can see his BUM in those trousers!"
At first, Dorcas believed her to be fawning over her own boyfriend. Dorcas had to admit, Darren and the other boys looked smart in their outfits. But she nearly died of embarrassment when Cherry fanned herself and added, "He can teach Transfiguration in that from now on as far as I'm concerned!"
Professor Dumbledore was one of those authority figures that Dorcas couldn't imagine having legs under his flowing robes let alone a bum. She looked away, loosening the top button on her uniform shirt, taking up a bat and stepping up to hit some of Beau's practice pitches.
"Anne, if that man so much as bends over, you're going to have to throw a bucket of water on my unconscious body!" Cherry pretended to faint into the Hufflepuff's arms.
"Get a grip, Cherry! He's like seventy!" Anneliese scolded.
There was a loud CRACK! That echoed over the pitch when Dorcas swung her bat, causing Beau to squeal frantically. Players on both teams turned to see what the commotion was.
Dorcas had hit one! It sailed out over the diamond and into the grass beyond–the outfield. Beau insisted that they all use the proper terms!
Rubeus Hagrid did a sort of hop-skip as the ball landed close to him, edging away from it.
"You're supposed to catch it, mate!" Darren reminded the larger boy.
Dorcas's attention had drifted to Cal who was applauding her across the pitch with an appreciative smile. Dorcas hadn't realized she was returning the smile until it slipped from her face when Zelda pushed his hands down and reminded him that Dorcas played for the other team.
"CLEREY! Do that again!" Beau commanded, taking the center mound once more and winding up an overhand pitch this time.
"Come on, Dorcas!" Jonas and Nora cheered in tandem.
Dorcas's throat tightened with nerves when she saw Dumbledore calling Darla, Darren, and Cole to him, studying her. They were the Yankees' pitchers. All three were Chasers on their house Quidditch teams and all had deadly accurate aim.
She'd just placed a target on her back.
Whether through nerves or because lightning never strikes the same spot twice, Dorcas missed the next five pitches, to gentle reassurances by the catcher, Hufflepuff Nora Simpson.
Dorcas heaved a breath of relief now that she was out of the spotlight. Anneliese could take her turn at bat to be yelled at by Beau.
Cherry and Everett were busy with Professor Hill, putting names on the team's backs with a Stitching Charm. When Cherry grabbed her shoulders roughly and began monogramming her jersey, Dorcas was turned involuntarily once again to the flirtatious scene across the way.
Cal and Darla were practicing Darla's pitches as Zelda hovered like a gnat around Cal, swooning with praise for every little thing he did.
Cherry misinterpreted her staring.
"Don't worry about Darla, she's not a threat. You just need to stay focused on the ball, Dory. You're our best batter."
"I sure hope that's not true. We're sunk if the team's relying on me!"
"We have to win!" Cherry snarled, pulling on her uniform harshly, choking her.
"Cher," Dorcas said, holding onto her collar while Cherry worked so that it wouldn't cut off her airway. "It's just a ga–"
"If you say, 'It's just a game' to me, Dorcas Clerey, I will stitch your bloody name right through your uniform and into your skin! Hit that ball and run bloody fast as you can!"
"Okay! Gee wiz!" Dorcas called, helpless beneath Cherry's ministrations. "Do you have money riding on this, or something?"
"Something…" Cherry evaded.
Dorcas didn't want to know badly enough to go fishing through Cherry's mind.
"Looks like everyone's here," Professor Hill called in a booming voice. "Let's hit the ball!"
"It's Play Ball!" Beau huffed, stomping into the dugout.
:::
29 April, 1959 Board of Governors' Conference Room, St. Mungo's Hospital For Magical Maladies and Injuries
Dorcas and Cal waited impatiently outside of the boardroom as Dorcas's fate as a healer at the hospital was determined on the other side of the door.
She couldn't shake the look of mild indifference on many of the faces in the assembly before her as she made her best case for reinstatement. Trying to avoid Gemma's glare in particular, Dorcas had looked at everyone of the other eleven governors as she summarized her qualifications and her accomplishments, her service to the British Wizarding community, and her innovations in the area of Memory Charm reversal.
But, her worst fears had been confirmed when one fat little wizard with a gray combover asked her pointedly about her abilities as a Legilimens.
Dorcas had been thorough in her answer, insisting that she never used her gift to give herself an unfair advantage in school or even pried into the thoughts of her patients or her colleagues.
"I can only hear those thoughts that people are thinking insistently about. Like the difference between listening to a shout or a whisper. If someone is deliberate in their thoughts, droning on about an idea, it's like a shout in my mind. I try my best to block them out, but it's difficult. Average thoughts, the kind that occupy our everyday minds, are like whispers. You have to concentrate very intently on the small wisp of a voice. I can usually overlook those easily. I never push into people's minds."
She'd continued to look anywhere but at Gemma. Of course, she had personal experience with Dorcas pushing into her thoughts. Oh, God! Would she tell the board that Dorcas had come into her house and punched her in order to get her Occlumency shield down?
She turned to Cal and grabbed his hand, squeezing. "I know Jonas was trying to be diplomatic where his sister was concerned; dividing up the properties and the positions that belonged to his father. But he really fucked me on this one…"
"Dorcas," Cal said, under his breath as he sat holding her fidgeting fingers in his grasp. "You could just pop into someone's consciousness. You know, just to get the measure of the vote…"
Sighing, she leaned her head back against the wall, shaking it slowly from side to side.
"That's just exactly why I'm here, Cal. This should have been a formality. They could have viewed my scans, read Crawford's report clearing me for duty and left it at that. Except, after learning that I can see inside everyone's minds at will, they see me as more of a liability than ever…"
Just as Cal shifted toward her and inhaled, ready to make some noble speech about how the hospital would be stupid to let her go, the conference room door opened.
A tall and slender witch with her dark hair severely drawn back into a knot at her neck stepped into the hallway.
"The vote was unanimous, Healer Meadowes," the woman said, grabbing Dorcas's hand as she stood, shaking it. "You've been conditionally reinstated in the Long-Term Spell Damage Ward."
"Conditionally?" Dorcas asked, rising and taking her hand numbly.
"What does that mean?" Cal demanded, standing beside her.
The woman pulled her hand back and jutted her chin forward. "Some think it's best–for the time being, until you've eased back into the routine of care–that you take on a more...back of house role."
Dorcas blinked stupidly.
"She's not allowed to treat patients?" Cal clarified, brows knitting together in annoyance.
The witch who'd delivered the verdict seemed to feel more comfortable addressing Cal and so turned to him to explain further.
"There is a reasonable cause for concern where patients are concerned–"
Dorcas didn't want to be talked about as if she wasn't in the room, or too dim to follow the technicalities of the conditions she was being held to.
"But I don't use this gift on my patients. I have a duty of care that I've sworn to uphold. I never pry into my patients' minds. Not under any circumstances. It's not ethical."
This had Gemma written all over it. She said something to the rest of them...
The woman raised her hand to stop Dorcas. "As you've already stated, Healer Meadowes," she cut her off, continuing. "But the patients, you must understand, need to feel safe and comfortable with their healers. Healer Crawford has agreed to be the face of long-term care on the ward and you will assist him in the behind-the-scenes elements of patient care."
"Behind the scenes?" Cal repeated, shoving his hands impatiently in his robes' pockets. "She's being demoted to a laboratory assistant."
"The term we discussed among the governors was Consultant."
The governors began to file out, one by one, offering non-committal congratulations to Dorcas as they passed.
"How can I consult about patients that I'm not allowed to interact with? Mind healing is personal."
The witch nodded patiently as Dorcas objected to the conditional terms of her reinstatement.
"Healer Crawford will be able to provide you with more details about day-to-day roles and duties. You are free to begin next week. Congratulations on your reinstatement. And to you, Healer Meadowes," she added, turning to Cal. "Congratulations on the Healer's Guild Award." The witch smiled and stepped back, signaling the end of the conversation. She walked off with an aggressive clacking of heels.
Gemma was the last to leave the room in conversation with a middle-aged wizard with a sallow face and deep lines around his mouth that made him appear ghoulish.
Dorcas had a sudden urge to find out what had actually been discussed in the room and regretted her hesitancy to use her ability to eavesdrop as Cal had suggested.
"Gemma!" she called after her cousin.
Cal's grip on her arm held her in place. "What are you doing, Dorcas?" he muttered, turning away from Gemma to address his wife.
Dorcas watched the ghoul depart, relieved that Gemma seemed to be in a mood to humor her, hanging back in the corridor.
"It's fine, Cal," Dorcas said, jerking her arm out of his grasp and walking the few steps away to meet her cousin before the lift.
Gemma waited, staring at her dispassionately, with an air of impatience at sparing Dorcas any of her time.
"Gemma," Dorcas said again. "Thank you for the vote. It was unanimous. I didn't expect that."
Shrugging, Gemma sighed. "Whatever I feel about you as a person, Dorcas, you're a good healer."
Dorcas was stunned into silence. It wasn't the hateful remark that she would have expected from her cousin, who'd been hostile to her since almost the first moment they'd met.
"The condition about not interacting with patients, though," Dorcas pushed, wanting to take advantage of this rare civility she'd happened to receive. "Where is that coming from? I'm no threat to my patients. And I can't treat them without talking to them and getting to know them."
Gemma glanced at the lift. Dorcas thought she might brush her off with a nasty comment reminding her of the time they'd rowed in her sitting room. Gemma truly didn't owe Dorcas anything.
But she sighed and answered her.
"I wasn't opposed to you coming back to the hospital in your full capacity. That was Jenkins and Maldonado."
That was useful information. Dorcas thought she might set up meetings with both to hear out their specific concerns and see if she couldn't set their minds at ease.
She continued. "But that was the compromise that got them to vote for you to stay."
Dorcas was dumbfounded by this vote of confidence from Gemma. Had she fought for Dorcas's case in the boardroom? It sounded that way. Her face must have shown her stunned shock.
Gemma shifted uncomfortably and flicked her wand to call the elevator.
"Look, Dorcas," she said, hitching her handbag onto her elbow. "The governors are supposed to look out for what's good for the hospital. The work you do is good for the hospital. That's why I voted for you to stay. We're not going to start painting each other's nails or anything, for Merlin's sake."
The grate opened and the lift beckoned.
"Gemma?" Dorcas's voice hitched as she decided on the spot to try her luck with Gemma's strangely reasonable mood. "Did you consider what Jonas had to say?"
Her mood shifted. She was impatient to get away from Dorcas. "About what? I don't have time for this, Dorcas. I have far more important things to do than to humor your insatiable need to be accepted all the time."
There it is.
Dorcas let the elevator pull her wretched cousin away as Cal stepped to her side.
"What was that about?"
"Gemma said I was a good healer and that she wanted me fully reinstated."
Cal made a surprised snort. "Maybe when you come to work on Monday, hers will be one of the files that comes across your desk."
"If she needs her head examined, Crawford will have to be the one to do it," Dorcas replied, biting back her annoyance at the incomplete reinstatement of her healing duties.
:::
21 May, 1942 Quidditch Pitch, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
The Red Sox, the batting team, ended the first inning with only one hit. That hit came from Beau, the only player that seemed to have any earthly idea what he was doing. He called out to every subsequent batter from his stranded position at third base, begging any of them to connect bat with ball so that he could bring home a point.
He was fuming at the top of the second inning as he directed his teammates to take their positions in either the outfield or the infield.
Dorcas was guarding second base and absorbing withering glares from Cherry at centerfield, who, rather unreasonably, thought that Dorcas could have delivered a hit to bring Beau home.
As it stood, the score was nil-nil.
But, it was a success in another way. All of the racket supplied by the spectator's clapping hands, Beau's shouted obscenities, and Professor Hill's threats of detention for his foul language had wafted through the open windows of the castle and beckoned more students out onto the pitch.
Rubeus Hagrid held the bat gingerly at home plate, ready to timidly swat at the ball that he seemed to be frightened of.
Cal came out of the Yankees' dugout with Dumbledore hot on his heels. Dorcas was relieved. She assumed the two would know just what to say to inspire some confidence in Rubeus.
Instead, Cal addressed Beau on the pitcher's mound.
"Substitute batter? Is that allowed?" she heard Cal ask.
Dorcas swallowed hard, clutching her glove to her chest. Rubeus would be humiliated to be run off the field like that. She tried to catch Cal's eye, hoping to signal to him to leave off.
"It's a pinch-hitter, Meadowes. And Hagrid hasn't hit a ball yet. He'll be fine," Beau argued.
Dumbledore was patting Hagrid's arm and speaking to him in low tones, adjusting his grip on the wood of the bat.
Cal gestured to the basemen. "You've got Epping and Clerey on the bases, Beau. Hagrid's going to run right over them!"
Dorcas glanced at first base where Anneliese clutched her mit with her clawed left hand, looking warily at Hagrid's massive form, hoping he didn't get a hit. She knew if the enormous boy had somehow miraculously hit the ball, Anneliese would be the first to careen out of his path.
Beau held his ground. "Hagrid's as afraid of girls as he is of baseballs. Why do you think they're in the infield? That's called strategy, Meadowes!"
Next to her, hoping to have the opportunity to run to third base and then home for the first point of the game, Darren laughed. "Sidelinin' his own player," he muttered in a light Irish burr. "I can' think what he means by it. Cherry's gonna win the bet."
Dorcas looked to Cherry behind her in the outfield. So the bet was with Cal?
"What was the bet?" she asked Darren.
"You know Cal's '32 Alfa Romeo?" Darren began.
Dorcas nodded. She'd seen him sketching pictures of it all the time. He had spent summers with his brother fixing it and racing it before the war broke out. It was his most prized possession.
"BARTON! DON'T JUST STAND THERE!" Darla bellowed at her brother from the bench. "RUN, YOU FOOL!"
Dorcas's head snapped back to home plate and saw Hagrid's lumbering strides as he tossed the bat behind him, causing the catcher, Nora Simpson to leap out of the way. As predicted, Anneliese dove for the grass, giving up guardianship of her base.
The ball had been struck timidly. All of the teasing that Rubues endured made him try his best to be small and powerless; his swing mimicked it. The ball rolled right toward her.
Stooping quickly, Dorcas scooped up the ball in her glove and straddled the base at her feet.
Rubeus, cheered on by the crowd, rounded Anneliese's vacant base and came right at her. Dorcas had the impression of an elephant stampeding before a lone mouse. If Rubeus saw her, he would alter his course, afraid to trample her. If he didn't…
"Dorcas! MOVE!" Cal shouted from his place at bat.
This was negated by Beau's shouts of, "Don't you DARE move, Clerey! TAG HIM OUT!"
Mohit and Kelley, shortstop and third baseman, added their voices to the roar that demanded Dorcas hold the field of battle. Darren had made it to home base.
Dorcas cursed under her breath, staring down Rubeus Hagrid like the bloody Hogwarts Express. She held her breath, stuck out glove and ball, and closed her eyes.
There was a gentle tap to the leather as Hagrid slowed and let the glove bounce off his pinstriped middle.
"Out!" Professor Hill announced to the boos of the spectators. Apparently, the crowd hadn't been informed that baseball was not, in fact, a bloodsport.
Cal was halfway to the pitcher's mound, cap thrown on the ground, screaming incomprehensible words to his friend. Beau was gesturing wildly in Dorcas's direction.
"I wouldn'a hit yer, Dory!" Rubeus reassured her with one heavy hand on her shoulder.
Shaking slightly, Dorcas smiled up at the massive Gryffindor. "I know you wouldn't, Rubeus."
:::
30 April, 1959 Ministry of Magic Atrium
Dorcas's fingertips lingered on the exquisite diamond and sapphire necklace that Cal had given her to compliment her dress earlier this evening.
All of the remarks about her beauty, her dress, the jewels...it all rankled her in the most grating fashion. She wondered how much more of this she would have to endure before Cal could accept his award and they could go home.
She said that she could spend one night being his trophy wife, but now Dorcas was not so sure she could. He would have been more suited to a wife like Anneliese, or Zelda Weston. Someone who was bred to be poised and stunning and compliment a husband's success.
Dorcas found that she was a poor ornament. She loathed praise when it was merely about outward appearance.
And that made her feel like less than the wife Cal deserved.
She clapped politely and smiled when the other award recipients made speeches about the research and the life lessons that had brought them to their discoveries. But the smile never reached her eyes. Internally, she raged that every one of the awards had gone to males. All accepted the conferrals as a natural conclusion of the work they'd done.
There was nothing wrong with this, except that for everyone of the men making speeches tonight, Dorcas wondered how many women like her had been passed over.
Her sour attitude would spoil this moment for Cal and he was every bit as deserving of this award as she was, if not more.
She took a sip of champagne and tried again for a more convincing smile.
The Blood Replenishing Potion was hailed as a breakthrough in potion-making and a boon to the healing arts. The wizard who introduced Cal called him unparalleled in his field and a brave innovator.
Setting aside her feelings of jealousy, Dorcas applauded with the rest of the assembled healing professionals and ministry officials. She was genuinely proud of her husband. Tamping down her injured pride at being overlooked, maybe she clapped a little louder, her smile a little wider than what was strictly genuine.
"Honored members of the Healer's Guild of Britain, the Ministry of Magic, and the St. Mungo's Healers gathered tonight," Cal began, setting his shoulders and taking his award in one hand. He adjusted his bowtie a little uncomfortably. Dorcas knew that public speaking was not his strong suit. "This is an award that I cannot stand up here and accept."
Dorcas looked over her shoulder, to her right and left as murmurs began at Cal's statement. Her heart stopped. They'd talked about this. She'd begged him to accept the award. After all, it didn't matter if it had his name alone, or both of their names on it. The award was for the breakthrough itself.
"Don't do this, Cal," Dorcas exhaled in a whisper, clasping her hands together under the table.
"I cannot stand up here and accept alone," he continued. "Like everything I've done in life, since the time I was eighteen years old, I've done it as a team. The Blood Replenishing Potion is no exception. Eight years of concocting recipes, experimenting with ingredients, hospital trials, and more hours writing and editing essays on the results. All of that time, I worked on this potion with a partner. Healer Dorcas Clerey-Meadowes deserves this award as much as I do."
Cal swallowed, looked down at the crystal plaque, and then cleared his throat. "I don't understand the politics that go into making these nominations. But I know that as the culmination of an achievement like ours, a contribution to the magical community like this, deserves to be given to the right person–or people, rather."
He paused, eyes finding her in the crowd.
"Dorcas, join me in accepting this. I won't do it alone."
Dorcas's first instinct was to sink lower in her chair. Many pairs of eyes found her in the crowded atrium and stared at her.
Pushing her chair back, helped by a colleague of Cal's that sat beside her, Dorcas reluctantly stood and made her way to the dais where Cal waited for her.
"Cal," Dorcas whispered beside him. "Just say thank you and come sit down. I don't care about it."
She tried to tug him away from the lectern, pulling on the sleeve of his tuxedo jacket.
"I do, Dorcas! It'd be a lie to accept this without you."
Cal stepped aside for her to add a word of acceptance. But she shook her head. She didn't have a speech prepared. She didn't want the spotlight. She just grabbed her husband's hand and tried to pull him down from the dais.
"Dorcas has put in just as many hours as I have on this discovery," he continued. "But for some reason, her contribution had been trivialized by the healing community. Ever since she revealed that she's a natural Legilimens, she's been shunned in our circle. She hasn't done anything wrong. She was born with this gift. She uses it to help people. Think of all that she could gain by applying her talent elsewhere. Yet, she's decided to put her gift to work seeing people through trauma; innovating some of the most cutting edge research in mind healing. You believe that her abilities make her less deserving. But you're wrong. We're lucky that she's chosen to stay on at St. Mungo's. We're fortunate to have her in the British healing community at all."
Dorcas felt herself flush with emotion and squirm a little under the stares of so many pairs of eyes.
"I'm fortunate," emphasized Cal, looking at her with the strongest sense of conviction. It reminded her of his impassioned plea all those years ago, when he'd begged her not to break off their engagement. "I'm fortunate to have such a partner."
:::
"I suppose I'll have to thank every lab assistant and cleaningwitch who scrubs the cauldrons every time I receive an award now," Gordon Carraway, recipient of the Healer's Guild award for his Boneknitting Spell, said as he glided across the dance floor with his wife.
Her tinkling laugh seemed to pluck every one of Dorcas's last frayed nerves.
Cal's shoulder stiffened beneath Dorcas's arm, and the hand clutching hers and the one around her waist clenched in reaction to the comment.
"Cal, leave it alone," Dorcas urged under her breath. For good measure, her hand fisted in his lapel to keep him dancing with her instead of pounding Healer Carraway into the ground.
She was having a hard time pushing down the pros and cons list that kept popping into her mind. On one side she had tacked Staying in Britain. On the other side was Going back to America.
Snobbish, chauvinistic healers had just been added to the list on the cons under Britain, just beneath Everyone thinks I'm barmy. On the pros side under Britain, there were only two items: Ben is buried here and Ryann loves Hogwarts.
"He's such a tosser!" Cal spat, glaring at his colleague.
America held the prospect of connecting with a healing community that had embraced her and Cal warmly. She longed for that same sense of belonging at St. Mungo's, but hadn't found it here.
The major pro under the America side of the mental chart was: Tom 3,000 miles away. That, to her, was nearly enough to make the decision for her.
She watched Gemma over her husband's shoulder speaking with a tall wizard with blond hair slicked back, giving him the appearance of a shady businessman. He looked vaguely familiar to Dorcas, but she couldn't call up a name from memory. She supposed this was someone she once knew at Hogwarts.
"What if we moved back to America?"
"Are you serious, Dorcas?" Cal asked, stopping in the middle of the dance floor.
Dorcas wasn't aware of voicing her thought aloud until Cal had spoken.
"Why not?" Dorcas prompted. "We only came because St. Mungo's offered us that research grant. It's clear that they don't want me anymore. What kind of future do I have here as a healer?"
"Well, we came back for more than just the research grant, didn't we?" He led her off the dance floor and to the bar.
They passed Gemma, Dorcas catching her hostile glare immediately.
"Oh yes, we came back so that I could once again be near my loving family," Dorcas returned sarcastically, flicking her eyes away from her cousin's.
"Well, if not family, then friends, at least," Cal replied, handing Dorcas another flute of champagne, holding a glass of water for himself.
Dorcas sipped, thinking about how she could frame her response without sounding like she wanted to abandon everyone and run from her troubles.
"They've all got their own lives. And besides, I've brought them enough trouble by coming back here."
"Is that what you think?" Cal was studying her closely, brows furrowed.
Dorcas nodded, swallowing another gulp, hoping not to become emotional. This was really a conversation that was more suited to the privacy of their home.
"Jonas and Cherry's wedding was ransacked, Blackpool nearly burned to the ground. I put Beau and Anneliese in a difficult position with Wren…"
"The wedding wasn't your fault. No one knows what happened there, or why. And the thing with Wren was a misunderstanding that you and Anneliese have moved past." Cal rested a hand on her knee. "Where is this all coming from?"
Dorcas fiddled with the cocktail napkin for something to do with her hands, studying the origami that she was creating.
"I just feel like there's nothing left here for me. I get to be a glorified lab technician at the hospital. That, or go back to being a housewife, which we both know I'm shit at."
"Ryann has started to put down roots here. She loves Hogwarts…"
Dorcas continued to fold the napkin, making crisp creases with her thumbnail. "Ryann was so good about being uprooted before. Who's to say she won't love Ilvermorny just as much as Hogwarts?"
"Well, it's not something we have to decide right now…"
Dorcas nodded, shaping the head of a paper crane. She hadn't made these in a long time. There was a slight pang in her chest as she remembered her uncle Morty.
Cal inhaled and continued. "Ryann did want me to ask you something."
"Oh?" Dorcas raised her eyebrows. Cal had always been Ryann's advocate, broaching difficult subjects on her behalf with Dorcas. The latest of his victories was getting Dorcas to agree to let her return to Hogwarts.
"There's a camp she wants to attend in July. Junior Potioners and Herbologists of Britain. They're studying efficacious water plants around Loch Lomond," began Cal, taking a sip of his water.
"And you think she should be allowed to go?"
"I think it sounds like a good opportunity for her to see if she enjoys the practical sides of those subjects. She's brilliant at both courses in school. She may find she has a passion for healing, like her mother. Who knows…"
Dorcas inhaled sharply. "It's dangerous for her to be away from home though," Dorcas hedged, swallowing uncomfortably. "With everything that's happened."
"No more so than Hogwarts is. Say you'll think about it, my love," Cal urged.
"I'll think about it," she agreed.
"Dorcas," came a low, simmering voice at her shoulder.
"Hello, Gemma," Cal greeted politely. "Thank you for your help with the other board members yesterday. We appreciate the support."
Gemma sneered at Cal, but didn't respond to him. Dorcas knew she wouldn't trouble herself to address him. Cal was always good about brushing the rudeness aside.
"Dorcas, I need to speak with you before you leave."
"We were just about to go," Dorcas insisted, standing and gathering her handbag and gloves.
"I'll wait for you at the bar, my love," Cal said, kissing her cheek as he stood and left the two women to speak alone.
Gemma didn't take the seat that Cal had vacated, but stood over Dorcas threateningly instead.
"What is it, Gemma?" Dorcas inquired.
The dark haired, green-eyed woman looked a bit different than she had yesterday when they'd spoken. Perhaps, Gemma in her professional capacity as hospital board member was a bit more reserved than this version. It was clear to Dorcas that her cousin had been drinking. But, she had been as well. The tedium of these events could topple the resolve of the most ardent teetotaler, she supposed.
"I don't know what it is you think you know about me and Tom. But it's my relationship and I'll thank you to stay the hell out of it."
"So you're still with him? You haven't left?" Dorcas couldn't school the shock and apprehension on her face.
Gemma scoffed. "I'm not leaving Tom… even after I found out you slept with him, goddamned slag. You had your chance with him." Gemma was seething. It was such a different tone than she'd had at the hospital yesterday. Dorcas was stupid enough to have believed that Gemma was opening her eyes, seeing Tom for what he was and had left him.
"So, you're not staying with Jonas, then?" Dorcas feared her answer.
"Of course not. And that's another thing. Don't go filling my brother's head with your filthy notions of what you think my relationship with Tom is. You have no right to put yourself between me and my family."
"Gemma, Tom is dangerous! I know he hurts you and I don't want him to–"
"Enough!" she spat, cutting Dorcas off. "Enough, Dorcas! If you won't leave off, I'll tell your husband that you fucked my boyfriend. If you won't stop interfering with my family, I'll start interfering with yours."
"No! Gemma, that's not what happened–" Dorcas began to defend herself. She stood and grabbed Gemma's hands.
Gemma jerked roughly out of her grasp. "Don't touch me! You're just as filthy as your disgusting Mudblood husband."
Dorcas was confused. How was this the same woman who'd said she was a good healer and that the community needed her? Perhaps she'd had too much champagne?
She watched Gemma storm off into the crowd, shoving Healer Crawford roughly out of her path.
Hanging her head, Dorcas mentally added another point to the pros of staying in Britain: Help Gemma.
:::
21 May, 1942 Quidditch Pitch, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
More stands were being added for all of the spectators that their little game had attracted. Dorcas's spirits were soaring thinking about how excited Cherry must be.
But she was stunned that they had gathered such a large audience. They were simply awful!
Eight innings had passed and they had very little to show for it. It certainly wasn't a high-scoring game.
It was two-one; the Red Sox having only managed the luckiest of homeruns by Jonas in the third inning. Surprising himself, Jonas hesitated at home base, scarcely believing that he'd sent the ball soaring past the outfield and into the Gryffindor Quidditch stands.
"RUN, YOU PRECIOUS IDIOT!" Cherry shrieked, tearing at her red pigtails in maddened triumph.
Jonas tore off, rounding first base before he realized he was still clutching the baseball bat.
Zelda, Darren, Margo, and Phillip fled the field in an effort to locate the ball, but Jonas easily made it home, scoring one precious point for the team.
In frustration, Zelda had snatched her wand out of her belt and used a Summoning Charm on the ball.
"THAT'S A FOUL, AND NO MISTAKE!" Beau raged, stomping off to the Yankees' dugout to appeal to Dumbledore for judgement.
"He's right, Miss Weston," Dumbledore agreed. "You're on the bench for the rest of the game, I'm afraid."
Zelda huffed, dropping dramatically to the wooden trestle. "He still got home anyway. I don't see what the fuss is about!"
The Transfiguration teacher was now taking her position as left fielder.
Cal's strategy for protecting the Yankees' lead in the bottom of the final inning seemed to be to place Hagrid at first base. The boy was so large that any runner would have a hard time tagging the bloody thing with him standing there.
"Don't move an inch, Rubeus," Cal said desperately, taking the larger boy's arms. "You just stand there and be ready to catch anything that is thrown your way!"
If his bet with Cherry had anything to do with his racecar that he'd spent years fixing up with his brother, Dorcas could understand the desperation. What was Cherry planning to do with it?
The strategy was working like a charm. Beau was struck out by Hagrid.
When Anneliese made it up to bat, Dorcas could tell she'd given up any pretense of actually trying to hit the balls that Darla was pitching to her.
"STRIKE THREE!" Myrtle called from her spot behind home plate.
Anneliese shrugged and dropped the bat, walking back to the dugout.
"You could at least try!" Cherry cried.
Anneliese sniffed and shrugged her shoulders. "Just relax, Cherry! It's fun, right? Whether we win or lose!"
"I GET TO DRIVE A BLOODY RACERCAR IF WE WIN!"
Dorcas's head snapped to Cal at the shortstop position. That was insane! He hadn't really agreed to let Cherry behind the wheel of an automobile? She'd kill herself and anyone in her way.
Cherry hoisted the bat with a deranged gleam in her eye. She hadn't hit a single ball, despite all of the heckling she doled out to her teammates for their own misses.
There was a muffled tap as Cherry made the lightest connection with Darla's pitch, sending the ball gently in the direction of third base.
Cherry was off in a flash, lowering her head and right shoulder as she neared the impenetrable barrier that was Rubeus Hagrid.
"MOVE, IF YOU KNOW WHAT'S GOOD FOR YOU!" she roared, picking up speed as she soared down the baseline.
"Cal tol' me I couldn'a!" Hagrid stammered, looking frantically between Cherry and the third baseman, Phillip Ransom.
Ransom dropped the ball twice, hardly expecting to have to catch or throw from his rarely-visited position.
Rubeus made a wild cry and folded in on himself, holding his hands in front of his crotch, as the redhead bulleted toward him.
"HAGRID! CATCH IT!" Cal bellowed. "PUT YOUR HANDS OUT!"
"BETTER NOT, IF YOU WANT TO PROTECT YOUR BITS!" Cherry wailed, bracing for impact.
Professor Hill was hovering, waiting for the showdown, ready to proclaim Cherry safe or out.
"SAFE!" she cried as Cherry crashed into Hagrid, doubling the big Gryffindor over. The ball dropped pathetically to the ground in front of Rubeus.
"Good show, Rubeus," Cherry comforted, patting the boy on his massive shoulder as he dry-heaved into the clay.
"Mr. Hagrid, do you wish to sub-out?" Professor Hill asked, bending down to look him in the eyes.
"Nah!" Rubeus gasped, straightening. "I reckon I'm a'righ'."
It was Dorcas's turn and Cherry had just raised the stakes of the final inning of the game. It was down to either Dorcas or Jonas to bring home a win for their team. But Dorcas didn't want her team to win if it meant that Cherry would also win her bet. Cal loved the speedster he'd fixed up. She was torn between being a friend to Cherry or to Cal.
"Come on, Dorcas! You can do it!" Jonas cheered from behind her, clapping encouragement.
Dorcas lifted the bat to her shoulder, positioning herself in front of Myrtle.
"Just like you did in practice," Beau coached.
Practice was a fluke. Dorcas hadn't managed to hit the ball again after that rare occurrence. She smiled, clearing it all from her mind. Whatever happened, she'd had a wonderful day with her friends. The sun was shining and their exhibition was a success. This group of mates had expanded to include some of the most outcast bunch at Hogwarts, Myrtle and Rubeus, along with representatives of each of the four houses, competing together instead of against one another.
And Tom Riddle was not a part of her life anymore. The notion liberated something in her chest.
CRACK! The ball went flying into the outfield.
"GO, DORCAS! RUN!" Beau shouted, jumping up and down frantically.
She made eye contact with Rubeus as he planted his feet on either side of the base. Then he looked behind him to check on Darren Barton's progress. He was retrieving the ball as it rolled further afield.
Cherry was already careening around second base.
"DON'T GIVE ANY GROUND, HAGRID!" Darla roared from the pitcher's mound.
Dorcas studied Rubeus's stance on the plate as Darren lobbed the ball at him. Hagrid must have believed her to be gentler than Cherry. His arms were not defensively placed, but up in front of him, trained on the ball that was sailing in his direction.
Dorcas threw her weight backward, pushing her feet out in front of her and slid. She crouched in a fetal position when one of Rubeus's massive feet knocked her sideways as he lunged to catch the ball.
As the dust cleared, Professor Hill's cry of "SAFE!" echoed in her ears.
Coughing, Dorcas threw her head to the side and saw Cherry at third base. If Jonas could get Cherry to home plate somehow, they would be tied.
Rubeus helped Dorcas to her feet. "Sorry I stepped on yer!"
"No worries, Rubeus! You're doing a great job!" Dorcas panted, swiping at the orange dust on her bum.
Darla pitched a tricky sort of curved throw at Jonas, which was caught by Myrtle.
"COME ON, RACKHARROW!" Cherry wailed from her base.
Dorcas understood the pressure he must be feeling. He had two more hits and then the game would be over. Cherry would make his life miserable for the next month if he lost this for them.
"YOU CAN DO IT, JONAS!" Dorcas called, cupping her hands over her mouth to amplify her shouts.
Rubeus clapped too. "A'RIGH' JONAS!"
The stands were erupting in raucous calls as well, all pitching low into a collective groan when he missed the next difficult pitch.
Myrtle tossed the ball back to Darla. This was it. Either Jonas made this one, or the Yankees won. Dorcas remembered Beau saying that the Red Sox were the underdogs in that rivalry. Maybe he'd jinxed them by picking the losing team's name.
Jonas bit his lip in concentration. She knew he didn't want to let the team down; didn't want to let Cherry down.
"Come on, Jonas," Dorcas said under her breath.
When he swung the bat, the ball connected this time with a thunderous CRACK!
Cherry wasted no time in rounding to home. Dorcas hadn't seen where the ball went. All she knew was that if Cherry could make it home, they would go into extra innings and might have a chance to win.
Dorcas raced to second, thinking that at any moment one of the infielders would tap her with the ball in their glove. She continued to soar around the base, pulling on Cole Barrow's jersey to pinion her around the corner.
The feeling of her lungs straining and her feet beating the clay was incredible. She felt so free and light, like she was flying. This must be what it felt like to soar through the sky. She thought, for just a moment, she'd like to ask Cal if it was like that; flying.
"KEEP GOING, DORCAS!" Beau screached. "JONAS IS RIGHT BEHIND YOU!"
The cheering from the stands grew louder and louder as Dorcas stepped on the home plate, followed a short time after by Jonas.
"WE WON!" Cherry roared, throwing her arms around Dorcas and then Jonas. "WE WON!"
:::
28 July, 1959 Janus Thickey Ward for Long-Term Spell Damage, Fourth Floor, St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.
Dorcas sat in the tea shop, sipping a comforting cup of Earl Grey, watching the visitors, healers, and patients with envy.
She used to bring her patients here in order to simulate interactions with the outside world. Many of the people she used to heal had to relearn activities that we all take for granted; walking, using a knife and fork, talking, ordering a cup of tea.
But she wasn't allowed to do that anymore.
Draining her teacup, Dorcas sighed. She supposed she'd better get back to the drudgework that occupied her days here unending. This morning, she'd been processing brain scans. One after the other. Mind healers would come and retrieve them after she'd done the mundanity of treating them in a solution that would cause them to become three-dimensional.
When she tried to consult with one of her colleagues earlier today, he'd brushed her aside and thanked her for the menial task of preparing the scan.
"Happy to help," she'd muttered, returning to the nickel and wormwood bath where she had another set processing.
An afternoon spent in her office updating patient charts seemed like a paradise compared to the fumes of the potions room where she'd been working on the scans.
Well, the mountain of paperwork wouldn't complete itself.
"Three more weeks," Dorcas sighed. It was a mantra that had gotten her through most of the months of June and July; counting down the weeks until she and Cal moved their family back to America.
They'd agreed to allow Ryann to take the trip to the Highland lochs to study medicinal plants. She and Cal had agreed not to tell her of the move until the trip's end. That was tomorrow.
She had no idea how Ryann would receive the news that they were taking her away from Hogwarts permanently. She braced for the worst.
Dorcas removed her green Healer's robes and laid her wand on the desk beside her. She had three stacks of patient files that she had agreed to review for three separate colleagues. It was as close to the patients as she was allowed to get.
Inhaling a fortifying breath, Dorcas grabbed a pen from beside the stacks and instantly felt a tug behind her navel. Her pulse had barely any time at all to quicken in reaction and her last act before she was pulled away was to reach for her wand.
:::
When Dorcas stopped spinning and lurching in space, her heels hitting solid wood, she immediately clutched her wand in her left hand, dropping the ballpoint pen portkey from her right.
But the feel in her left hand was different. She brought it up in front of her, stifling a frantic cry when she realized her wand still lay on her desk in her office at the hospital. She'd only had time to grab the letter opener beside it before being spirited away.
Panic clawed at her throat when she inventoried the space; wood paneling, dark drapes, a large four-poster bed.
And...
"Mum?" Ryann's voice, stunted with terrified sobs, called out to her from the corner of the room.
"Oh God! Ryann!"
