The Healing Process
For a few weeks, Pauline was in good spirits, but one Monday morning, a blue mood descended on her that even Philip could not lift. During Herbology lecture, she sunk her head on her desk. Philip paused his notetaking to stroke her hair and saw that she was silently weeping.
Stacy, seeing the alarm on Philip’s face, moved to their table group. She put up her hand and said, “Professor, Pauline is not feeling well.”
Longbottom stopped his lecture and asked, “Langlet, do you need to go to the Hospital Wing?”
She shook her head. “I couldn’t bear going out into the cold right now, Professor.”
“Harkenborough,” said Longbottom, “why don’t you take Langlet into the other greenhouse. Walking around a bit may warm her up, and the aromas may revive her as well.”
“Thank you, Professor,” said Philip. He helped Pauline to her feet.
“I’ll take notes for them, Professor,” said Stacy.
“Very good, Hinds. 5 points to Hufflepuff. Let’s continue, shall we?”
Philip led Pauline into the second greenhouse. The air was warm and moist. Philip led her to the section of healing plants. He found the aromas invigorating, but Pauline was still desolate. “Why did he do this to me?” she asked, mournfully. “What could I have possibly done to him that he would take my babies away from me?”
Philip pulled her close. He felt the familiar fear that he would say the wrong thing and upset her further. “After class, I can take you to the Hospital Wing.”
“I don’t want to go back there. I’m tired of being poked and prodded. I feel like I’m some big class project. I want to go back to my life. But I can’t stop thinking about how I’ll never have children.” She started weeping again. Philip clutched her tightly and stroked her hair.
The lecture ended, and students began trickling into the second greenhouse to work on their projects. Longbottom, with Stacy at his side, checked in with Philip and Pauline. “I think I ought to take her to the Hospital Wing, Professor,” said Philip. “She doesn’t want to go, but I think someone ought to take a look and make sure something isn’t really wrong.”
“I concur, Harkenborough,” said Longbottom. “Langlet, you are carrying a great burden, but there are many here at Hogwarts who can help you. You need to take the help while it’s available to you.”
She relented and allowed Philip to lead her back out into the snow. As they approached the steps to the Entrance Hall, they found Lara and Morwena waiting for them. “Is she alright?” asked Morwena. “We were studying, and then Lara went into one of her trances and said, ‘Pauline is coming. We need to go to her.’ We just stepped outside and here you are, coming up the path.”
They ushered her out of the drafty Entrance Hall into the Great Hall, where it was warmer. “She’s been crying,” said Philip.
“It’s an effect of the curse,” said Lara, in her low, prophetic voice, her brown eyes distant and unfocused.
“I thought you got it out of me!” said Pauline.
“I kept it from spreading and killing you,” said Lara. “But the damage it caused is beyond my powers to repair.”
Morwena cast a diagnostic charm and checked her vitals. “Everything is within normal ranges.”
“It’s this blue mood that’s got her,” said Philip.
“I feel better when he’s holding me,” said Pauline.
“That is our solution.” With those words, Lara dropped out of her prophetic state. Her eyes and voice were normal again. “It’s Philip’s love for her that kept her alive, and it’s Philip’s love that she needs now.” To Morwena, she said, “They need a place where they can be together in private. Take them to Tess’ secret room.”
Philip wrapped his arm around Pauline and followed Morwena into the library. Lara trailed behind them. Morwena led them to the large study room with the stone wall on one side. “We came across this room as First Years,” said Morwena. “It’s a long story, actually, but we sort of stumbled upon it. We kept the password the same after all this time. We might have changed it, but honestly, we don’t know how.”
She braced herself and then called out, “Voldemort!” Philip flinched at the calling out of that dreaded name. Morwena added, “God rest his shattered soul, but that is the password.”
Immediately, the stones of the wall rearranged themselves, revealing an opening and a stairway leading down. Morwena lit the torch that hung halfway down the stairs. “Come,” she said. “I’ll get you two settled down, and then I’ll go.”
At the bottom of the stairs was a small room with a sofa and a fireplace. On the back of the sofa was a tartan blanket. Philip took the blanket and wrapped it around Pauline while Morwena lit the fire. Lara stood at the foot of the stairs, gazing around, unnoticed by the others.
“Stacy told me about this room,” said Philip. “Tess brought her here once.”
“Yes,” said Pauline. “She doesn’t use it, now. All her boyfriends have been Slytherins, and we have other places to hang out.”
“This should be a fine spot for the two of you,” said Morwena. “How long until your next class?”
“Not ‘til after lunch,” said Philip.
“Then I will speak to Madam Pince,” said Morwena. “I will reserve the room above for you until noon.”
Only then did Morwena notice that Lara had followed them. “Let’s leave them now, shall we?”
“Yes,” said Lara. As they climbed the stairs, she added, “I have seen that room in my dreams.”
Philip and Pauline sat down on the sofa and nervously eyed one another. “I’m sorry to be a bother to everyone,” said Pauline.
“Nonsense,” said Philip. “I love caring for you.”
“I’m so tired. Can we lay down together?”
Philip lay back with his head on an armrest. Pauline leaned over him and set her head over his heart, but after only a few moments, she sat back up again.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes,” she said. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take off my bra. I usually have it off when I’m resting.”
“I’m fine with that. Do I need to divert my eyes?”
She laughed, thinking of Benedict’s confession. “I don’t think that’s necessary.” She turned her back to him, hitched up her blouse, and wriggled out of her bra. She tossed it on the floor and then lay back down on him again. “Much better.” She drew the blanket around her, and she was quickly asleep. Philip stroked her hair and held her tightly against him. It was a wonder to him that she was finally in his arms. The intimacy he had longed for came so easily to her. He doubted that this could be a more effective cure than what Madam Pomphrey might do. After an hour, however, when she raised her head and looked at him, there was a healthy glow in her cheeks and a bright sparkle in her eyes.
“Hi. I fell asleep.”
“I guess you needed a nap.”
“Were you bored?”
He smiled tenderly at her. “No. I love holding you.”
“I love being held.” She sat up and stretched, pressing her chest against the thin white fabric of her blouse. His eyes watched her hungrily. She smiled knowingly back at him. “This is what Lara said I needed. I need to be in your arms. I need your kisses. It’s part of my healing process.”
Philip sat up, too, and stretched his arm across the back of the sofa. “She said the same to me as well,” he said.
Her gaze became more cautious and wary. “I’m not ready to have sex,” she said. “You and I, we’ve known each other forever, but we’ve only just started as a couple.”
“I agree,” said Philip. “Let’s take it slow, and savor each step.”
She leaned forward, and they kissed. “You’ve been so good to me. It’s okay if you want to take one more little step.”
She took his hand and brought it under the hem of her untucked blouse to her breast. He clutched her and pulled her tightly to him. She closed her eyes, lost in the pleasure of the moment.
“I’ve wanted you so long,” said Philip. “There were times I despaired that you would ever want me as your man.”
“You came at the right time,” she said. “That’s all that matters.”
Aiden and Freya’s investigation was initially stymied. They spoke with Robert Kaufmann about it via the Floo Network chimney in Professor Gregor’s office.
“We’ve gone back to 1950,” said Aiden, “and we’re not finding anything in either index.”
“That’s a sign, isn’t it?” said Robert. “Breaking the oath is such a taboo that no one even wants to make accusations about it.”
“What about sexual assaults?” asked Freya. “I saw some stories about rape accusations in Progress and Culture, but Aiden couldn’t find similar articles in Journal of the Masters.”
“The references I did find,” added Aiden, “were editorials that were condescending and dismissive of the women’s accusations.”
“That’s the world that women lived in for decades,” said Robert. “Centuries, really. Even now, it’s difficult for some people to take those sorts of accusations seriously. They blame the victim, or try to pass off the incident as being consensual. Follow that line, Freya, and see if there isn’t some veiled reference to the Oath somewhere within those stories. Was there a trial or some sort of civil settlement? Or was it all swept under the rug?
“Keep an eye out, too, for use of the curses from the book Wicked Vengeance. The book was never a best-seller, but it had a cult following for several decades after it made its debut in the late 1920s. A handful of men were responsible for compiling that book. The best known is the man who did the illustrations – Christian Dethlake. Keep an eye out for him.”
“I’ve heard that name before,” said Freya. “And, I saw a reference or two for him in the index. I didn’t know anything about him, really. I just know he was a bad person. That’s what my mother and grandmother would say, anyway.”
“He is still alive,” said Robert, “and he is still a bad person. Look him up in the indexes and see what Progress and Culture has to say about him. They’re likely to be more critical of Dethlake than the Journal will be. The ‘masters’ are likely to be complementary towards him.
“Aiden, keep digging through Journal of the Masters. Go back a century, to 1850, and start working your way back to the present. See what you turn up. Look for violence between former lovers, but also between siblings. Even if the sex of the two is the same, and the Oath isn’t specifically invoked, there may be a remedy or a type of censure that we can reference.”
The researchers next session was more productive. Aiden went back to 1850 and worked his way forward as Robert had suggested. In 1866, he found a reference to Baingarden’s Oath. A man was running for M.P. of Godric’s Hollow, and an opponent accused him of breaking the Oath. The man dismissed the accusation, saying, “I may have, as headstrong youth, struck my sister, but it was my older sister, and she was a noble witch of Ravenclaw. A Slytherin sister ne’er came to harm by my hand.”
Freya, meanwhile, found a full article about Dethlake in the May 1938 edition of Progress and Culture. She duplicated the article and wrote a one-page summary for Robert, and she discussed her findings with Aiden.
“In the early 30’s, Dethlake was engaged to be married, but the woman broke off the engagement. She accused him of abusing her. He accused her of infidelity. One night, her parents came home from a banquet and found her dead. All her internal organs were covered in scars. Her lungs were full of scar tissue – they think she suffocated. It was the Barren Curse, from Wicked Vengeance that killed her.”
“That’s the same curse that struck Pauline!” said Aiden.
“Yes. They think it was Dethlake who did it. He claimed to be out of the country at the time, but of course, it wouldn’t be hard for a wizard to apparate away from the scene of the crime. The journalist suspects that, after he cursed her, he stayed in the house until she was dead.”
Aiden looked up Dethlake in the Indexes and found references to him in the same time period. “One of the editorials came to Dethlake’s defence. It said the case against him was innuendo and rumour, a smear campaign by people who didn’t like the type of pictures Dethlake drew. But another editorial condemned Dethlake. Accused him of murder and oath-breaking.”
“So, what happened?” asked Freya. “Was he ever arrested?”
They searched the indexes, but there was no mention of Dethlake in either journal for forty years. Journal of the Masters had a brief note about how he had been living abroad, and he returned to England for a funeral.
“So, he kills his fiancée, and nothing happens to him?” asked Freya, indignantly.
“Well, he didn’t go to prison,” said Aiden, “but it sounds like he was forced into exile. He was out of the country for decades, and people stopped talking about him. His book and his artwork fell out of favour.”
In an edition of Progress and Culture published a few months after the second war against Voldemort, Freya found another reference. Dethlake returned to England and bought an isolated estate. The writer noted that, despite his advanced age, Dethlake seemed fit and healthy. The writer asked, “Did he leave a sliver of his soul beside the bed of poor Vivien?”
Aiden shivered when Freya read him the line. “That’s a reference to Horcruxes,” said Aiden. “They’re accusing Dethlake of making a horcrux when he killed his fiancée.”
“He’s still alive, according to Kaufmann,” said Freya. “If that’s the case, he’s got to be over 100 years old. Maybe he did make a horcrux after he killed his fiancée and made an awful thing even worse.”
Aiden checked the Journal around the same time, and he also found a reference to Dethlake. “There’s an editorial here defending Dethlake against rash accusations. It doesn’t say the word horcrux, but it mentions the article you found. It argues that Dethlake has suffered enough public recriminations and should be left in peace.”
Neither Robert Kaufmann nor his young researchers knew about Professor Gregor’s discovery, but it was included in the police report of the attack on Pauline: Reginald Dennison’s copy of Wicked Vengeance, the rare volume with colour illustrations by Christian Dethlake himself, had been made into a horcrux. That report was not made available to the public until after the trial.
Both the prosecutors and the defence attorney hired by the Dennisons had the report, however. They were troubled by the account, and included it in their preparations for trial.