The last week of term had arrived leaving everyone anxious to turn in their final assignments and finally get a break. The whole of Ravenclaw house, it seemed, had gathered in the common room, sluggishly forcing their way through the last of their homework and trying hard not to think how close they were to freedom.

Sean and Evelyn sat on a plushy sofa covered in a blue, brocade fabric with Marlowe sat across from them in a large armchair. It had been over two weeks since Sean and Evelyn had kissed, and still, neither of them had acknowledged it, excepting the fact that Evelyn finally seemed to have forgiven Sean completely for his amortentia-induced indiscretion and had resumed her usual habit of using Sean as a pillow as often as possible. 

Tonight, she was pressed into his side with her homework spread across both their laps. Sean was trying to balance his textbook, class notes, parchment, quill, and ink, all on the arm of the sofa. Still, he kept his left arm around her, though he probably could have used an extra hand for his balancing act. He kept almost losing his notes as he rifled through them one-handedly.

Marlowe kept giving them disgusted looks from the armchair chair opposite them. Evelyn knew he minded their touchiness much less when Caiti was around. But tonight, she was gone at some meeting she had been very eager to go to, but strangely reluctant to go into detail. She had practically skipped out of the common room.

Evelyn dragged her finger across the text of what she was reading. The last thing she had to finish up before break was an excruciating essay for Defense Against the Dark Arts on the "history of rights for magical creatures of high intelligence from a defensive standpoint," whatever that meant. She was struggling to pay attention. DADA had never been her favorite subject, but she'd kept it into her N.E.W.T. years, because she felt it was probably important to know.

She turned the page, reduced now to skimming, rather than reading. Until she came across something that made her sit up.

"Sean," she said suddenly.

His arm slid off her shoulders when she moved. "Huh?"

"What was that thing you asked me about. Those initials?"

"What?" he asked, frowning.

"Mr. Fenwick, remember? The tournament. You asked me about those initials, what were they?"

Sean frowned. "R.W.W. wasn't it?" It had been awhile since he'd thought about it.

Evelyn's eyes widened. "Oh my god," she whispered.

"What?" asked Sean. He sat up too now, interest piqued. Half the contents of the arm of the couch fell off as he shifted. Thankfully, the ink bottle, which he had left open, remained stationary.

"Only, I've found out what it means," said Evelyn. And she pointed to the middle of the page so Sean could read.

Among the greatest leaps in the last decade towards a more accepting and whole wizarding society are the Wolfsbane Laws, so named for the potion which is among the most spectacular achievements of a branch of magic which is often overshadowed by flashy wandwork. In brief, these laws made it possible for victims of lycanthropy to come out of hiding and lead normal lives among the wizards they once felt they belonged among. 

While prejudice still exists, the laws have, as a whole, made the workplace a much more approachable place for the able werewolf. For the safety of those working closely with these wizards, it is required of all werewolves entering the public space that a badge is worn with the initials R.W.W. (Registered Werewolf), so that the condition, while no longer considered a setback or ultimatum, is not kept a secret. 

As can be gathered, all lycanthropic wizards must register through a system similar to that which tracks animagi, so that they can be tracked and maintained for the safety of the public, especially around the time of the full-moon. Though the program is not official yet, an initiative has been set forward to make it possible for all registered werewolves to have access to the wolfsbane potion monthly, free of charge. This process has been slowed by the unfortunate lack of wizards capable of brewing such a complicated and important potion.

Sean looked up and they both stared at each other for a long time, communicating without words.

"Uhm, hello," said Marlowe. "Anyone care to fill me in?"

"Mr. Fenwick is a werewolf," said Sean.

"That judge guy from the ministry?" asked Marlowe.

"Yeah, he wears this pin. Says R.W.W. on it. And according to this book, that means 'Registered Werewolf.'"

"Sick," Marlowe grinned.

"No it's awful," said Evelyn. "I wonder how long..." she trailed off.

"Yeah," said Sean. "If he's lived with it most of his life or..."

"It must have been recent," Evelyn mused. "He's so high up in the ministry and it's a recent change that they can keep a job at all."

"Yeah, maybe," Sean agreed.

"Well, I think it's cool. He could take out anyone he wanted," said Marlowe sagely.

Evelyn gave him a dirty look, as though he were being insensitive and brash at someone's death bed. "Werewolves don't get to choose who they attack," she said, putting on a haughty tone. "It's—"

"God, I know, I wasn't serious. Who cares if he's a werewolf anyway?" said Marlowe. He sat back with a huff, pouting, and mumbled something about "can't take a joke," and "Caiti would have laughed." Sean slid his arm back around Evelyn, and they settled back together. Evelyn wasn't sure why she was so affected by this information. It wasn't as though Mr. Fenwick's condition was really threatening their everyday lives at all. And anyway, they didn't know him well enough to feel genuinely sorry for him. But it bothered her all the same.

"That explains," Sean said, "why he sometimes looks so thin and sickly, doesn't it? It must have been near a full moon."

They continued to discuss their new discovery for a while, Marlowe making a pointed effort not to contribute, but after a few minutes, Sean checked his watch. "We've got patrol," he said. They packed up their bags, said goodbye to a still annoyed Marlowe, and headed out. 

---

As usual, they found the patrol to be dull and uneventful, and so, fell back to their preferred pastime of sitting against the wall in one of the deserted corridors until they were able to go back to Ravenclaw tower and their beds. Before long, Sean and Evelyn had exhausted all angles of conversation regarding their new development and they fell into a silence.

It was the first time he and Evelyn had been completely alone since the day he'd asked her to the ball. That was the thing about Hogwarts – there was always someone around. He couldn't help but notice Evelyn shifting uncomfortably beside him. She kept combing her fingers through long sections of brilliant red hair and glancing around the hallway like she waiting for something to happen and wasn't sure in which corner it would come from.

They both glanced at each other at the same moment and made eye contact accidentally. Evelyn looked away, but looked back again almost as soon. This time her gaze lingered. She dropped her hand from her hair and faced front again, frowning at the stone wall ahead of them.

"Sean," she said.

"Yes."

"We kissed."

Sean's cheeks felt hot. "Yes," he said again. His mouth had gone very dry.

When Evelyn spoke again her voice was very small. "Can we try it again?"

"Yeah," said Sean, too eager. "I mean, yeah... I'd like to..." They turned to each other.

"Uhm," said Sean. Why was this so hard? He had already done it, but still, this felt like the first time. He tried to clear his throat without making much to do about it. His mouth was so very dry.

Evelyn scooted forward a little more, her teeth grazing her lower lip. Sean felt a little jolt deep in his belly. Did girls know what that did to boys? He put his hand on her shoulder, leaning in towards her. They both tilted their heads the same way. Evelyn laughed nervously, and they both tried to switch at the same time. Sean's cheeks were on fire. He felt so uncomfortable, so out of his element.

The third time, they sort of bumped noses, and Evelyn pulled all the way back, very quickly and sat with her back pressed hard against the wall. Slowly, Sean withdrew.

"This is weird," she murmured.

Sean nodded a little bit. His stomach would not stop flipping around and it was driving him mad. His breaths came in short; he felt lightheaded and out of control.

His eyes slid over without turning his chin. Evelyn was taking deep breaths, her chest rising and falling, and her eyes stared unblinking at the place where the floor met the wall. Some of the portraits were watching them with curiosity, whispering to their companions. Sean gritted his teeth, filling himself up with as much determination as he could muster.

This was not weird. This should not be weird. Nearly seven years he had been pining after the same girl, so close to him, and yet never in the way he wanted. And she was sitting right next to him. She had actually asked him to kiss her.

And he had already done it once.

Planting one hand on the floor, he spiraled around, and kissed her, before he could talk himself out of it again.

He felt Evelyn smile a teeny bit into his lips as she kissed him back. It was not long. He broke apart from her, his breath so short with nerves he was sure if he had not broken it, he would have passed out. They sat back against the wall, shoulders pressed together. Evelyn worked her fingers into his. He looked down at her hand in his, pale white skin, perfectly clear and smooth except for a few small birthmarks, darker than the freckles over her nose, which were almost not there at all. It was funny how this, holding hands, felt so much better to him.

Snogging, Sean thought, was not all it was cracked up to be. But he still wanted to try it again.

---

At seven thirty, Caiti knocked on Professor Pym's office door. "Come in," said her professor from the other side, and Caiti opened the door.

Inside, Professor Pym was sitting at her desk, long dark hair loose and tumbling over her shoulder. She was what Caiti would call "almost young," meaning, she was not yet old, but she had wrinkles. "Evening," said Professor Pym, pleasantly. She finished writing something and then shut the book she'd been making a note in and looked up at Caiti with piercing blue eyes and folded her hands on the desk.

"Hi," said Caiti. She rolled her lips together.

"Shall we get started then?"

Caiti couldn't hide her grin. "Yes."

She sat down opposite her professor and listened.

"Now, first of all, I want you to be aware that your first attempt will likely be a mess, even with my help. This is not an easy potion. But I think learning it could be a huge step for your career, not just as boasting rights, but in a practical sense. There is high need of skilled potioneers capable of brewing this particular potion at the moment, and there's a specific initiative to make it consistently available to all werewolves. There's been a lot more trouble getting things started than the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures anticipated, but they've got a plan to get things rolling in the next two years or so. Which would, of course, be ideal timing for you. It'd be a great job, right out of graduation. Plenty of benefits and good pay. But more importantly, they won't be expecting anyone your age to be able to brew it – but of course, they don't know you. It'll put your name on the map right away, get you in with the right people, and soon they'll be all sorts of opportunities."

Caiti's eyes were alight. Her parents had always worried that there weren't enough jobs in potion-making. She wasn't particularly interested in being a healer, and her dad didn't think there was much point to pursuing potions professionally unless she wanted to work in medicine.

Caiti had tried to explain to them on multiple occasions all the things that could be done, but they never seemed quite convinced that she would be able to make such things happen. They supported her, of course, but they were cautionary. They didn't want her to be deluded into doing something she wouldn't be successful at.

But this was something palpable. This was something that had a clear path forward, something specific and tangible that she could dream about and work towards, and also something that could propel her further.

"This is something you're interested in?" Professor Pym confirmed.

"Yes," said Caiti at once. She had not realized it while she listened, but she was gripping the edge of her chair so tightly her knuckles had gone white.

"Well then let's get started," said Professor Pym. And together, they began to discuss the best ways of preparing each of the ingredients and the importance of being exact in measurements.

---

At ten o'clock, Sean and Evelyn had not yet returned from their patrol. Marlowe thought they had been gone an unusually long time. He wondered if there had been an incident they had had to stay and help deal with.

Caiti beat them back, perching herself on the arm of Marlowe's chair. "Whatcha doin?" she asked, peering over his shoulder at the homework laid out on his lap.

Marlowe looked up at her. She looked exhausted, but also, for some reason he could not explain, she was absolutely beaming. He doubted this had to do with her interest in what homework he was working on.

"Charms," he said, setting down his quill and frowning at her. "What's got you so happy?"

Caiti just shrugged. "Where are the others?"

"Prefect duties," he said, darkly. "Those two are becoming unbearable." He had only managed to make significant progress on his work after they – and their embarrassing PDA – had left the room.

"That's because they kissed," said Caiti simply.

"What?!" said Marlowe gripping the arm of the chair and swiveling to look back at her. "Sean didn't tell me that."

"Well it was a bit of an accident, according to Evelyn," Caiti conceded. "But anyway, it was just the once. She said he never tried to again and they haven't talked about it. That's why she told me. Wanted to know what to do."

"And what did you tell her?" Marlowe asked, incredulous. He could not believe that Sean, his best friend, had not thought to tell Marlowe that he'd gotten it on with the girl he'd been obsessing over for years.

"Told her that Sean is too thick to realize she wants him to kiss her again so she'd better just tell him or do it herself."

Marlowe laughed. "That's bad advice."

Caiti looked affronted.

"I only mean," said Marlowe, grinning, "that if he's anything like his sister, he'll have an answer ready and it's 'no.'"

Caiti rolled her eyes at him.

She glanced at him and he got the feeling she was expecting him to go on, to make his usual request for a kiss, especially since this meant that he had won the bet he had made with her back in October. But he kept quiet. He had not forgotten what Sean had suggested the night he had asked for advice about the ball, that perhaps Caiti was only waiting for a real date before she said yes.

It was only after he was in bed that night that he realized Caiti had given him the information herself, knowing full well what Marlowe might take it to mean, and that perhaps this was Caiti's own shy way of suggesting that if he asked again, there might be some small chance that this time, finally, she would not say no.

---

"So," said Marlowe the next morning. "Tell me, supposed best friend, why I had to find out through your sister that you and a girl who goes by the name of Evelyn O'Sullivan, if I'm not mistaken, kissed."

Sean looked bashful. "Uh," he said.

"That's what I thought. No good answer. Details, stat." Marlowe clapped his hands twice, and Sean relaxed. It was clear that Marlowe was only joking around.

Though he wasn't sure how Caiti knew, either. He would have to ask later.

"Well, I uhm... accidentally kissed her right after I asked her to go to the ball with me."

"And how was it?" asked Marlowe, fighting back his laughter. He wasn't quite sure how anyone could accidentally snog someone, unless they tripped in a very, very unlucky set of circumstances. Or very lucky, depending on how you looked at it.

"Well... it wasn't," said Sean, frowning. "It was only for a second. And then we didn't talk about it for a few weeks."

Marlowe shook his head, patting Sean on the back in mock seriousness. It was only for the sake of his own impressive comedic abilities that he was able to keep a straight face as he said, in a solemn tone, "My friend, you are, without a doubt, the least romantic person I have ever met."

"Well we kissed again, last night," Sean argued, glaring at him.

"Ah," said Marlowe in the manner of a detective gathering important clues. "Now this I didn't know. Tell me more."

"I don't know. She brought it up and then it was... really awkward and weird, and we kind of stopped trying. And then I just did it. And it was... it was alright."

"Just alright?" Marlowe frowned. "What, she's no good?"

"No it's not that," Sean said.

"I don't know. It's just..." He felt strange saying it out loud. "I don't know. People talk about it so much, you know? And it's not really that great. Or not yet anyway. It's just sort of weird. Like why do we do that?" He'd gotten a little desperate as he spoke. What if he was the problem? What if he sucked at snogging? What if Evelyn never wanted to kiss him again?

"You gotta practice," said Marlowe. "Luckily you've got someone to practice with. You two like routine, don't you? You're both so organized. Just make it feel like your normal. I mean, neither of you really have much experience do you? Can't expect it to be like Filibuster's Fireworks the first time around."

They headed downstairs to meet the girls for breakfast. Evelyn was already there, and her face turned slightly pink when she saw Sean. He glanced at Marlowe who nodded encouragingly, and then pecked her on the mouth. Evelyn looked surprised, but she smiled a little bit. "Good morning," she said quietly.

Marlowe raised his eyebrows at Sean who shook his head jerkily. Marlowe shrugged as if to say "suit yourself." A girl with pale skin and dark red lipstick went stomping past them – Amelia – but Sean didn't care.

A few minutes later, Caiti arrived downstairs, yawning widely with her hair a little disheveled, and they all headed on their way. As they walked, Sean spotted Marlowe fixing Caiti's favorite blue bow which had gotten caught underneath the rest of her hair.