VIOLET (A Harry Potter Universe Fanfiction)

4.

Four tests later, Caiti felt so confused she could have cried.

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It had taken him over a week to get around to it, but at seven PM one evening, Marlowe finally took his old broom, the one he'd flown at school, out for a spin by himself. It was hours after everyone had left and the only people at the field were administrative staff and custodians, but that was how he wanted it. This was the only place he felt sure he could fly without fear of being spotted, something he'd never had to worry about at Hogwarts where the grounds had always been open to him.

He wished there was somewhere even more private, but after hours was the best he was going to get and Marlowe needed to be up in the sky. He'd had a lot on his mind the past few days.

Something Caiti had said the night of the full moon had popped back into his brain, something about that program she was working for. It hadn't really registered when she'd said it the first time.

There were so many people lined up waiting for it, she'd said. I had no idea.

Neither had Marlowe. He'd never really thought about how many others were in his predicament. How many were there in Britain? Why did he feel so isolated if the line had been as long as Caiti had suggested? What were their situations like?

As hard as this had all been on him, Marlowe knew he had it good. He'd never once had to go through a full moon without the potion. He had a strong support system. He had been able to finish school and get a job in his desired field. Yes, he had encountered prejudice and his body hurt more often than it didn't. Yes, he still spent a lot of time feeling alternately sorry for or scared of himself. But ultimately, he was still leading, mostly, the life he'd always planned on leading.

How many others like him were really able to say the same?

Part of him wanted to go to the pick-up location next month, get his potion there, except that he wasn't sure getting Caiti's potion was a guarantee then and he wasn't about to take it from anyone else, however qualified the other makers might be. But he was curious. He wanted to see.

He wanted to know if he'd feel as separate from them as he thought he would. Mostly, Marlowe thought of himself as a wizard, as a person. If he saw others like him, would he know it? Would he start to see himself, really and truly, as a werewolf instead?

That thought scared him, but he also wondered if maybe speaking to someone else who went through the same things he did would help at all. Other than a lengthy and very formal apology letter from Mr. Fenwick, the former ministry wizard who had bitten him, Marlowe had never had any contact with a werewolf. Marlowe had only skimmed that letter and then thrown it away.

He thought he remembered the healers at St. Mungo's offering to set up a meeting with someone when he'd been in the hospital, but this wasn't something Marlowe had been ready for at the time.

Maybe he was now. It had been more than a year. He was, sort of, coming to terms with it.

It had been warm out that day, but up as high as he was, the air was cooler and the wind on his face felt good. He flew fast. His old broom, in comparison to the one he flew now, was shaky and hard to direct, but it was sort of nice to have to think about it a little. The new one almost did the work for him.

The longer he flew, the more his mind cleared.

It wasn't until he landed, a full hour after he'd first taken off, that another thought occurred to him.

If he were to speak to someone else like him, maybe he would learn something else that would help Caiti.

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