The first few weeks of Marlowe's off-season were very enjoyable. He spent a lot of time with Caiti, helped her when he could, and tried not to bother her when he couldn't. Once a week, he went to the field for training and sometimes he went on his own, determined to keep his skills up and come back next season stronger than ever.
But the appeal of all his free time faded pretty quickly, and Marlowe had started to get bored.
He and Caiti were sitting on the couch in his living room one evening the in October, listening to coverage of the playoff match happening that night between the Holyhead Harpies and the Ballycastle Bats. Marlowe, who'd been tentatively recruited and then dropped by the Bats after he'd been bitten, was violently angling for them to lose.
His dad had been listening too, but the match was going on a very long time — it had started at three that afternoon and was still raging at nearly ten pm — and he'd decided to call it a night. It wasn't the final, final game. The Wigtown Wanderers had been knocked out the day before and whoever won today would play the Wimbourne Wasps on Sunday.
That match would decide the league champion.
"How is anyone going to win this late?" Caiti asked through a yawn. She sunk down a little lower on the couch, resting her head on his shoulder. "No one's going to be able to see the snitch in the dark."
"Well, the field is lit," said Marlowe.
"I still don't see how they could do it. They've been going for ages. Just sitting on a broom that long would kill me."
"They're not so bad," Marlowe said. "The good ones anyway. Have you ever even flown anything but a school broom?"
Caiti shook her head.
"See, that's a tragedy," Marlowe said. "That's why you don't like it. You've never really experienced it. When was the last time you were on a broom anyway?"
"First year," said Caiti proudly.
"No," said Marlowe.
"Yes."
"It can't have been. Not even once?"
"Never," Caiti said. "I swore off it after my last compulsory flying lesson."
"What would I have to do to get you back on a broom?" Marlowe asked.
"You can't," said Caiti. "I won't be convinced."
"It would be so different, though," Marlowe said earnestly. "You could fly mine. Those school brooms always hang left and they're not very responsive. I swear they've been around since like... the eighties. No one's ever replaced them. You need to try a good broom. Mine does exactly what you want it to and it's smooth, it's comfortable... it'd just be so different."
"As persuasive as you are..." Caiti said. "No thank you."
"Please?"
Caiti just patted his knee.
"What if I did it with you? You wouldn't even have to be in control."
"Oh god," said Caiti, sitting up to look at him. She had the most appalled expression on her face. "I'm not getting a broom with you in control. I've seen the way you whip that thing around."
"Fine, then you be in control. You can stay low to the ground and go slow."
Caiti raised her eyebrows.
"Please, Caiti," said Marlowe, giving her his very best puppy-dog expression. It had worked on his mum many times when he'd been little. It's probably still work on her today if he tried.
The crowd on the radio started to cheer.
"You're missing the game," Caiti said. "You'll be mad if the Harpies win and you didn't even hear it happen."
"We're resuming this conversation later," he told her. "And they are going to win."
At that very moment, the announcer yelled, "That's the snitch! Elizabeth McAvoy of the Holyhead Harpies gets the snitch! The Harpies win 730 to 690!"
"Told you!" said Marlowe triumphantly, and he kissed Caiti in celebration.
—-
The final playoff match went much more quickly. It was a full moon that night, and Marlowe spent the whole day lying on the couch at the greenhouse while Caiti made batch after batch of the Wolfsbane potion. They turned on the radio when it was time for the match — something Marlowe had quadruple checked was alright with Caiti.
"Marlowe, I could brew this potion in my sleep," Caiti had said the last time he asked. "Just turn on the radio."
Except for the fact that Marlowe felt like shit and was dreading what was coming that night, it was a really nice afternoon. There was quidditch on the radio, which felt nostalgic, like being a kid and listening with his dad. It was a gorgeous fall day. They'd opened the windows and crisp air filtered in. Best of all, he loved watching Caiti make potions.
She always seemed so calm when she was sitting at a cauldron. She'd tied her hair back in a low bun after the first batch to get it out of her way and she looked positively elegant. He watched her prepare ingredients for the next batch. She did this all so strategically, allowing an exact amount of time for the cauldron to cool in between batches while she prepped for the next one.
He'd asked her at first why she didn't just prepare everything once at the beginning, but she'd said she'd tried that once and the potions didn't turn out quite so well. It worked best when the ingredients were fresh.
"But they still worked?"
She'd nodded. "But they could've been better."
Marlowe highly doubted anyone else brewing this potion ten times today cared that much.
That, really, was why he loved watching her at the cauldron so much. No matter what potion it was, you could just tell Caiti cared about it. You could tell she was really enjoying herself. He kept wondering if she'd get to that point with her research, if she'd start to really enjoy that, too.
She put so much pressure on herself. Now that he was around during the day more, he'd really noticed it. She tried not to let him see, but something would frustrate her to the point of tears nearly every day and she spent a lot of time just staring at whatever was in front of her looking so lost.
He didn't know what he could say to get that look off her face.
She had just finished portioning the potion into separate containers to be handed out in a few hours at the ministry pick-up location. She looked over at him. "How're you feeling?"
"Could be worse," said Marlowe.
"Do you need anything?"
He shook his head.
The radio announcer called out another ten points for the Wigtown Wanderers.
"I'm going to try to get you more venom," Marlowe said, just as Caiti looked back down at her supplies.
Her head snapped back up. "Marlowe," she said.
"It's fine," he said. "I'll be fine." He hadn't done it last month. After what had happened in August, he'd gotten nervous, especially with the quidditch season still going on.
But with some distance from the situation, he felt pretty confident he could manage it this time.
"You really don't need to do that," Caiti said. "I'll figure it out without it. It's not worth you feeling—"
But Marlowe cut her off. "If you have more, you won't have to feel like you're wasting it. It'll be fine. I have a plan now, for how to handle it. It was just a lot of unknowns before. It'll be fine."
"Marlowe," she said again.
"Caiti," said Marlowe, raising his eyebrows at her.
She accidentally cracked a smile.
"Come're," he said, pushing himself upright.
She got up and moved around the table towards him, perched on the edge of the couch. He pulled her into his arms and Caiti linked her hands together behind his back, her chin on his shoulders.
"I promise it'll be fine. I want to do this for you."
"I just don't want you to think I'll be disappointed if you don't do it."
"Then I won't think that," said Marlowe. "And I won't have to anyway, because I will do it."
Caiti breathed in deeply and sighed. "Just promise me you know you're allowed to change your mind."
"Got it," said Marlowe. He gave her one last squeeze, thinking she'd want to let go and get back to work, but she just readjusted her arms and held on tighter.
—-
Caiti spent the rest of that night worrying about Marlowe. She couldn't relax. She'd brought her many bottles of wolfsbane to the ministry in a hurry and then gone straight over to his house and spent another hour and a half with him until it had started to go dark and he had to head out. Then she went back home and spent the whole night sitting up in bed trying not to think about what state he might be in in the morning.
She failed miserably at this.
As soon as the first ounce of light slipped through her blinds, she got up, got dressed, and disapparated to Marlowe's house, sitting on the front porch steps to wait for him to appear. It was not even five AM.
She waited at least forty five minutes before he came out and she was so relieved at the sight of him that she nearly broke down in tears right there, but she fought them back.
"You're here early," said Marlowe. His voice sounded a little weak, and he was pale, but he seemed okay, all things considered.
"I was worried about you," was all Caiti could say.
Marlowe held out a small container with a few drops of venom inside, a little more than last time.
"I'm gonna go lay down," he said.
Caiti took the container from him carefully. "Thank you," she said softly. He just nodded and then he pushed through the door.
"I'll be there in five minutes," she said. And she was. She took it to the greenhouse, placed it in a safely sealed vial, and labeled it, then she returned, lay in bed next to him, and let him rest his head on her chest. Slowly, she began to relax.
She thought Marlowe had fallen asleep, because he didn't speak for quite some time, but she felt him inhale and then he said, "I know you're going to say I didn't have to do it and I don't have to do it again, but I just want you to know it wasn't that bad."
"You still don't have to do it again," Caiti said. "It could be the most pleasant experience of your life and I'd still say so. I'm not making you do anything."
"I know you're not. I'm choosing to. I just want you to know it wasn't that bad," he repeated. "Last time I just didn't know what to expect and I worked myself up and that was the worst part of it. This time I just waited till it was almost morning, and I did it. Just got it over with. Like it was something routine. And then I realized it wasn't awful. I can handle it."
Caiti didn't know what to say. She knew he was trying to reassure her and she couldn't explain that his doing this put so much pressure on her to do something useful with it, but that she didn't know how to do something useful with it, or even what she might do.
Marlowe scooted away from her a bit so he could look at her while he talked. She turned her face towards him even though she was afraid he'd be able to read everything she was thinking right off her face.
"I'm going to do it every month," he said. "And maybe next time I can get more, because I know it's not so bad now. And then you don't have to worry about wasting it. You can just try stuff. Whatever you need to do."
Caiti felt like crying, but she was always crying in front of him and she just didn't want to today. So she fought the pressure back, rolled to face him, and when she felt her voice was trustworthy, she said, "Okay. Thank you."
Marlowe smiled a bit, kissed her on the forehead, and then draped an arm over top her and took a deep breath, his face in her hair. He seemed the least pained he had been after any full moon so far and she had to guess that the break from quidditch helped. Knowing this made Caiti want to figure something out even more, because Marlowe loved quidditch and it wasn't fair that it made him feel worse to do something he loved.
If that venom was the key and he was willing to do it — even if he was downplaying his experience for her benefit, which she assumed he was — then wouldn't that all be worth it in the end? It was Caiti who needed to push past her own fears and try using it. Marlowe had already done the hard part. To let it sit there unused was perhaps a greater waste than to try something that didn't work.