The sun violets stared Caiti down, the deep purple spot around the center of the flower like an angry eye. She had put off doing anything other than caring for her plants a whole six days now. The first three days, she told herself it was because they had just been transported to a new environment and she wanted to be sure they were well established in their new home, not stressed from being moved, and generally healthy enough to start plucking petals off. The fourth day, she had been so busy brewing the wolfsbane potion and delivering it that she hadn't really had time for anything else.
Then she'd woken up at four AM the day after to brew Marlowe a potion for nausea that was best taken fresh. She never slept well on full moon nights worrying about him, so by the time he'd left for work, she was exhausted. She went home and took a three hour nap and then felt so groggy the rest of the day, she told herself it was fine to take the rest of the day off.
Marlowe had been off the following day and it was his first day off since she'd been home, so Caiti had decided not to go into the greenhouse at all except to make sure the plants were watered.
He was back to work today though, Caiti was well-rested, free of commitments,and knew she had no excuse left except her own sheer terror.
She clutched her wand in her hand and stared at the plants for a solid ten minutes before she worked up the courage to go for it. She used a spell Professor Munslow had taught her to carefully remove the petals from exactly one flower from the second plant she had started growing. She was too afraid to mess with the original, even though it had the most blooms. If anything went wrong because of this, she couldn't risk it being that one that died.
She used her wand to guide the petals onto a very clean glass tray, and then carried them into the other room, afraid to even breathe in case one fell on the floor.
She set the tray down gingerly on the table where she had already selected several other ingredients from the wolfsbane potion — the ones that were cheapest and easiest to replace.
She opened the new notebook she'd purchased in Diagon Alley last week to a blank page, recorded the date in the upper righthand corner, jotted down a few notes about the cauldron she would be using, the volume of water she would use, the temperature she would heat it to — all the controls she had decided on to ensure her tests were fair.
She was wasting time and she knew it.
Taking a deep breath, Caiti reached for her wand again, filled her pewter cauldron halfway with water, and started a flame beneath it. It rose to a boil quickly and Caiti lowered the flame. Then she traded her wand for one petal and a teaspoon of powdered dittany, the same amount she used in the wolfsbane potion.
She dropped both into the cauldron, stirred until the dittany had dissolved, and then quickly picked her quill back up to write what happened.
The result was unremarkable. The water turned bubblegum pink and a light floral scent rose out of the cauldron, but that was all. She wasn't sure what she had expected. What was she supposed to be looking for? What was this supposed to prove to her?
She let it simmer for another quarter of an hour, trying to convince herself that some realization would dawn on her, but mostly she just felt stupid.
This didn't make any sense. There was no goal here. No hypothesis to prove or disprove. How was she ever supposed to know if this ingredient mattered in the way she needed it to?
No clearer on her intention, Caiti collected several bottles of the mixture and cleared the rest of the cauldron. She wasn't going to waste these petals, whatever little she learned from using them.
She labeled the first vials African Sun Violet/Dittany, 6-19-19, and then started all over again with one more petal and two and a half teaspoons of powdered moonstone.
Four tests later, Caiti felt so confused she could have cried.
—-
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.
—-
Later that night, he went to Caiti's house. He knocked on the front door and was relieved when Caiti, and not one of her parents answered.
"Hi," she said, surprised.
"Did you eat yet?" he asked, even though he knew she must've. It was well past dinner time.
"No," Caiti said.
Marlowe, who had been all ready to switch gears for plan two, stopped short. "Oh. Really?"
"My parents are out tonight. I was going to make something and I just... haven't."
"Well, are you hungry?"
She nodded.
"Let's go get something to eat then. I'm starving."
Caiti smiled a little. "Let me just change. I'm not really dressed for public viewing."
So Marlowe stepped inside and waited while she ran down the hall to her bedroom to put something else on. He didn't follow her, but he did notice she left the door open. When she returned, she wore a pair of light wash jeans and a blue t-shirt, a cardigan over her arm.
"Hi," Marlowe said. "By the way."
Caiti laughed. He kissed her.
Marlowe took her hand and disapparated. At first, he'd thought about going to Diagon Alley, but thought he'd probably run into too many people they knew there and he wasn't in the mood for all the small talk. It was Caiti he wanted to talk to.
He took her back to his house instead, but only because he couldn't apparate where they were going. "This isn't it," he said, and he started walking up the lane away from his house, hand still in hers. It was about ten minutes to the village and there was a little pub there he liked. It usually always had a table open and the barmen were friendly but didn't bother you too much so it was a good place for a private conversation.
He realized as they walked, that it was the first time they had gone on anything resembling a proper date since she'd been home, and suddenly Marlowe didn't know why he hadn't asked her to do something like this sooner. He supposed he'd gotten so used to only seeing her one hour a month that it hadn't really occurred to him this was something he could do now.
It was a nice evening out, too. A slight breeze but still warm, dusk just settling over the sky. The crickets were starting to come out.
"How'd everything go today?" Marlowe asked after they'd been walking in silence for a minute. Caiti seemed quieter than usual.
She shrugged. "I don't know. Research is a slow process. I don't think you can really recognize anything is progress until you're well past it."
"Yeah," Marlowe said. "That makes sense."
"I tried to do something with the petals today, but... I don't know. It's just a lot of guesswork right now. Nothing really feels substantial yet."
"But that's okay," said Marlowe. "You're just getting started. You've only been home like two weeks."
"Yeah," Caiti agreed, but then she went quiet again.
After a minute, she said, "I want to talk about something else. I can't think about it anymore right now."
"Sure," said Marlowe.
"How was work?" she asked.
"Decent," he said. "Uneventful."
"D'you think you'll get to play again soon?" Caiti asked.
"No idea," said Marlowe. "No one's had to be subbed in for most of the season. The starters have been in good shape. They're not going to swap them out unless they have to."
"Well," Caiti said, "I think that's kind of silly of them not to. You won them the game the time you got to play."
This made Marlowe smile a little too much.
"I mean," he said, trying hard to hide the smile from his voice, "I didn't really win it. I don't score any goals."
"But they wouldn't have gotten the snitch without you," said Caiti. "You of all people should know the seeker isn't the only important position. Just the ones that get all the glory."
"Damn right," said Marlowe with a grin. "I knew I taught you well."
"I think beaters deserve more credit, really," said Caiti. "You're the only position that has only one hand on the broom the entire game."
"Stop flattering me. You'll make me blush."
"I've just been thinking about it a lot lately, how that's your job and everything. And even if you aren't playing much yet, you will eventually. And that's just really cool, you know? You always said you were going to do this, and you did it. That's just really, really cool."
This stopped Marlowe short. He hadn't thought much about it in a while. The novelty of being on a professional quidditch team in his limited capacity had sort of worn off in the past year. The monotony of it being a job had set in. He'd gotten complacent. But it was really cool. This was what he'd always wanted to do, and in spite of everything that had happened, he was, sort of, doing it.
They were right on the edge of town now and there were a few people milling about, but Marlowe stopped walking and hugged her right there on the path.
"Thanks," he said. "I think I needed to hear that."