As he had expected, Marlowe's mother wrote back almost immediately. He received his letter the morning after he had made it up to the owlery to send it, but, knowing what it might contain, he did not open it at the table. He waited until he was getting into bed that evening to open the envelope and find out whether his mother's advice was as helpful as he had hoped.

Mrs. Finnegan loved Christmas more than any other holiday so he was not surprised to find that she had already broken out the festive stationery, gold foil edges and a faded green chevron background on top of which she had written her letter in her signature blend of cursive and print.

Marlowe,

Don't pretend this is a new crush. Mother's know better. You've fancied her for years, and if you really think she doesn't like you too, then I think they've put you in the wrong house. Aren't you supposed to be the intelligent ones? She's going to say yes, so don't worry about that, but I do think you should make it special. That way when you get married, she'll have a good story for the kids.

I've been on the internet doing a bit of hunting around for ideas and I found out that in the states, the kids are doing these things called "Promposals." They're real elaborate and all, writing "Prom?" on the sides of buildings or flying a blimp over the school and things. So I'm not suggesting you do anything like that. But something more personal. Like I saw one about a kid who wanted to go with a friend of his and they had an inside joke about asparagus so he gave her an asparagus bouquet, and, because he was a lot taller than her, made a measuring stick at his height that said, "You have to be this tall to say no to prom with me."

You've got to be able to come up with something. Make her laugh or smile. You're a funny kid, you can do that. And she's one of your closest friends, so I know you can come up with something. Just think about her interests. Think about what you've done together. And make sure you tell me what you come up with.

Now, there's one other thing. I don't know if this a tradition in your world, but it is in mine. You should order her a corsage to wear on her wrist. You have to find out what color her dress is - or I guess you all wear dress robes, don't you? That's why I had to send the ones you forgot this year, isn't it? - so that the flowers will coordinate. I can take care of ordering it and just send it to you if you'd like. No one else will probably have one, so she'll think it's special. A little something extra, so she knows you care about it and about her.

Oh, Marlowe, I'm just so excited that you're finally going to get a move on! From everything I've heard, she seems like just the sort of girl for you. And her brother is such a good kid, I know she'll be just as lovely. I hope you'll let us meet her. Why hasn't she ever come to stay when Sean has?

Nothing new going on here. Keep an eye on Elliot for me, and let me know how it goes with Caiti!

Love,

Mum

P.S. Great news about the Quidditch thing! I don't really understand it all, but I'm so excited for you! I'll make your dad explain better.

P.P.S. Don't worry, I won't tell him about the girl :)

Marlowe frowned at the letter for several minutes. He had thought, at first, that it was pretty useful, but the more he reread it, the more it became perfectly clear that she had given him nothing at all to work with. He could not give Caiti a bouquet of asparagus.

Sean stopped in the middle of his pre-bedtime organization ritual to appraise Marlowe. "You look constipated," he said.

Marlowe folded up the letter and said, "You look... dumb."

Sean grinned. "That's the best you can come up with? You're losing your touch, man."

Marlowe glared at him before falling back against his pillows with an air of drama worthy of Caiti herself. He opened his mouth, thinking to ask his friend for advice, but then, that was stupid. Sean was Caiti's sister. He could not ask him what he thought the best way to ask his sister out was. He closed his mouth again.

But who else did he have to ask? This was becoming a real problem. He needed to come up with an answer. Stat. He opened his mouth again.

Maybe he could just ask Evelyn instead?

He shut it.

"And now you look like a constipated fish," said Sean, who had been glancing at him over the lid of his trunk where he was pulling out the books he would need tomorrow. "What's up?"

"I want to ask Caiti to go to the ball with me," he said finally.

Sean turned back to his trunk and began putting things neatly in his school bag. He emptied it out completely every night and refilled it only with what he would need the next day. Marlowe had watched him do it a thousand times, never any less shocked. His own bag got cleaned out completely once a year when he got home from school and his mom unpacked everything for him.

"Figured you'd come around to it eventually," said Sean.

Marlowe looked up, startled. "What?" He had expected anything from anger to disgust to complete surprise, but he definitely not expected him to act as though this was what they had all been waiting for. This was not predictable. No one knew he liked Caiti.

"Said I figured you'd come around to-"

"No," said Marlowe, cutting him off. "I heard you. You're not... that's not weird to you? You aren't mad?"

Sean shrugged. "Better you than someone else. And anyway, she likes you."

Marlowe was glad that Sean was now busy laying out his clothes for the next day, something Marlowe had never once considered doing before he was actually about to get dressed. He felt his cheeks growing hot. "What, she said that?" he asked.

"No."

"Then how-"

"Marlowe, she's my sister. It's not hard. You can read Elliot, can't you?"

"Yeah, and speaking of which, he fancies someone and I can't figure out who it is," said Marlowe darkly. "But anyway... I need help. I don't know how to ask her. What if you're wrong? What if she says no?"

Sean frowned, pulling back the covers on his bed and crawling in. Marlowe rolled onto his side and propped his head in his hand to continue talking. "Just ask," said Sean. "What other way is there?"

Marlowe decided against bringing up the promposal information his mom had cooked up on the internet. He remembered how she had tried to get him interested in it as a kid, said other kids were dying to be allowed on the internet, but he hadn't been able to find the scores of the last Kenmare Kestrals match anywhere so he lost interest quickly. He only wanted to get outside on his Cleansweep 500, the first broom he'd ever owned. Still, she continued to be enamored with the internet in a way that made him think the search engine was the closest thing to magic she would ever know how to work and therefore found it invaluable, despite its insistence on pulling up positively useless information like asparagus bouquets.

"So what, you think it's easy then? You asked Ev already, have you?"

Sean sighed through his nose. "That's different. She's still acting funny around me."

Marlowe rolled his eyes. "It's obvious why, isn't it?" Sean did not answer this so he went on. "She thought you were gonna kiss her after everything happened. And you didn't and it put her off. She basically admitted to you she was in love with you, didn't she? And you might have said something like it back, but my mom always said actions speak louder than words."

"Yeah, well," Sean waffled. "The mood was all wrong."

"Excuses," said Marlowe. "The sooner you kiss her the-" he stopped. He had been about to say 'the sooner I win the bet and Caiti has to kiss me,' but he could not say that to Sean. He always pretended like he had gone suddenly deaf when talk of kissing Caiti came up. "The sooner she'll cheer up," he finished too late, trying to cover his mistake.

"Well still," he said. "It's not like they'll say no. Just ask her."

"You don't know that," said Marlowe. "She refuses to kiss me all the time. How do I know she won't say no to this too? How are you gonna ask Ev?"

"A kiss is different than an invitation. Maybe she's just waiting for you to ask her out on a real date first," said Sean, ignoring the second half of Marlowe's question.

"And maybe Evelyn is waiting for you to stop being a prat and just kiss her already," Marlowe retorted.

They both laid there staring up at the hangings over their beds. The lights were still on in the room and no one else had gone up to bed yet. It was not really that late, but Quidditch practice had worn them both out.

"You know what we need," Marlowe said finally.

"What do we need?" asked Sean.

"We need a man day," said Marlowe. "These girls are... they're ruining our lives. We've gotta do something, just us, that they won't want to do. Man stuff."

"Alright. Like what?" asked Sean with a laugh.

"I don't know yet," said Marlowe. "I'll get back to you."

One of their fellow seventh years, Sam, passed through the room. "You guys want the lights off?" he asked, frowning at the pair of them, pajama clad and under the covers.

"Yeah, please," said Sean. Sam flicked the switch off and proceeded to the bathroom to shower, leaving the two of them in the new darkness. Marlowe blinked a few times, letting his eyes adjust. White spots of remembered light flashed in front of his eyes whenever he opened them.

"How are you gonna ask her though?" Marlowe asked again. His voice sounded much louder in the dark. "Can't just pop it in in the middle of a conversation, can you? Too weird. It's gotta be it's own thing."

"I'm going to bed," said Sean, ignoring him once again. He heard Sean pulling the hangings shut around the bed and, disgruntled, Marlowe followed suit.

"What about a note? Would that be weird?"

"Shut up, Marlowe," said Sean. His voice was already thick with coming sleep, but Marlowe lay awake in his bed, thinking his latest idea over. Yes, a note would be good. Simple enough, personal, something she could keep and look back at if things went well - girls liked keepsakes and trinkets didn't they? The question was what to write and how to slip it to her. There was one thing he knew for certain though. It had to happen soon. Before someone else realized how cute Caiti was and beat him to it.

Caiti felt like she blinked and it was December. Snow had become what seemed like a permanent part of the Hogwarts topography. It collected around the edges of the windows, coated the castle turrets, and fell in great clumps from tree branches sagging under its weight, an unwelcome surprise to the unsuspecting passerby. Each morning the blanket of snow lay afresh, perfect, only to be trampled in footprints before the first lesson of the day when groups of students making the trek to herbology or care of magical creatures were forced to brave the cold.

Caiti was glad that she did not have to leave the castle today. Not that the dungeons would be much warmer. When she entered her potions lesson, a chill ran right through her, raising goosebumps on her arms and legs. She decided not to go to her usual table, which was right by the wall and the only window in the room, but to go to the opposite side, as far from the icy window as possible.

She grabbed her cauldron and lugged it over to where she had dropped her bag. She had only just sat down when a voice behind her said, "Caitlyn O'Connell! What brings you to my neck of the woods?" It was Bill, the new quidditch commentator and her muggle studies buddy.

She grinned at him as he sat down, but grimaced at the unceremonious way he dropped his cauldron on the ground. "I've gone on holiday," she said, choosing not to mention the many things she would have liked to say about proper cauldron care. "Realized I lived in the arctic and thought it was time to escape."

Bill laughed. "Well you're welcome to crash on my couch."

"Thanks," said Caiti. "I already have."

She and Bill had never had a serious conversation in all Caiti's years of knowing him. It was one of the reasons she got along with him. Theirs was a no-pressure sort of friendship. A just-for-fun, never too attached, convenient friendship. She would never think to go to him for the deep things, but when she just wanted someone to talk to and have fun with, some company without all the analysis, Bill was the perfect person to go to.

"Only problem is," Bill was saying "now you're here, whatever I do that might've been passable is going to look like utter rubbish next to yours."

"Not if you pick up some tips by watching," she said. When she was younger she had always denied that she was any good at potions, not wanting to boast. At this point, though, she had so far surpassed her class in skill that her talent was infamous and there was no point pretending she didn't love it more than any other branch of magic. Especially after their O.W.L. grades had come out and she had received an Outstanding with a special note regarding this subject in her envelope. Caiti did not know how it had happened, but word had got out to the rest of the class and she had been forced to emphasize the fact that all her other grades - while passing - were as average as anyone else's, or at least, as any other Ravenclaw's.

"Mm. Didn't think about that," said Bill.

Professor Pym entered the room and cut their conversation short. Caiti's attention was immediately rapt when she began to tell the class about the Confidence Concoction they would be brewing that day. It was one of the few potions in Advanced Potion Making that Caiti had not already tried, and she was excited for a challenge.

"It's a tricky potion. Done right, the drinker will feel prepared for anything, regardless of preparation. Great for calming nerves, something like a calming draft, although the effect is not so soothing as exhilarating. It makes the drinker want to get out and do something, face the thing they wanted to face. It calls for action. So you can imagine that there is a time and place for each. You would not, for example, want to use a confidence concoction in place of a calming draft for someone who's just suffered a great shock or is feeling distressed."

The class took a moment to giggle darkly at the thought.

"Again, this is a tricky potion. I want to emphasize that, because if not done just right, the effect will be too strong, and therefore dangerous. Overconfidence leads to recklessness, and more than once the drinker of a poorly done confidence concoction has died in a valiant attempt to perform some dangerous task that they would have thought, rightly, impossible if not for the over-zealous effects of the potion. You'll want to be especially careful not to over-stew your nettles."

With that, Professor Pym tapped her wand on the blackboard and the instruction appeared. "Off to work," she said.

Caiti read through the instructions twice, comparing those in her textbook to those on the board for any inconsistencies, as was her custom. Then she began to work, feeling butterflies in her stomach that most people reserved for first kisses. Caiti often felt them when she was attempting a potion for the first time; that mixture of nerves and excitement was no different now than when she was around someone she had a crush on. She was glad that this potion could go so easily wrong. Half the fun of potion making was troubleshooting. The ability to adjust on the fly was what turned a good potioneer into a great one.

Next, she began organizing all the ingredients she would need. She preferred to prepare them all ahead of time if possible, and this potion cooked fast so she would have no problem fitting everything into the time-frame of the double lesson.

She noticed Bill, who had already set the water in his cauldron boiling, quickly put the flame out again and started organizing ingredients the way Caiti was. She smirked a little, but she didn't mind. She was used to copycats.

Bent over her work surface, she sliced roots, chose large spiders with great care, and counted out her nettles. She separated each ingredient into it's own neat pile, equidistant along the table, and then, when everything was ready, she filled the cauldron and lit the flame underneath with the tip of her wand.

At this point, most of the class already had potions frothing in their cauldrons, but Caiti could tell with a quick glance around that most of them had underestimated how quickly things would get rolling. All around the room, people were frantically chopping their roots, trying to get them in before the nettles over-stewed.

Caiti tipped her own nettles in and sat back, calm, watching steam shoot up from the water and then settle back down before the water returned to boiling. She reduced the heat. This was not in the directions, but she had a feeling it would solve some of the recipe's problems. She gave the potion a few stirs and, feeling satisfied with the result of her gamble, continued on with the instructions as written.

Next to her, Bill was frantically trying to mimic Caiti's every move, though he was doing so sloppily in his haste not to miss a moment of her work. Caiti was glad she had stopped brewing the potion at a boil. It was still cooking quickly at a lower heat. She had just enough time to give each instruction the attention it needed.

When the class ended, Caiti's potion was the precise shade of sunset orange that the recipe specified. Bill's was one of the best in the room, a deep blood red. Most of the others were a distinctly unpleasant brown hue, also known as burnt nettles.

Caiti filled a flask with her potion to turn in, but Bill sat staring into her cauldron in awe. "What?" she asked, with an amused smile.

He shook his head side to side in disbelief. "Watching you make a potion," he said, "is like a religious experience."

Caiti laughed out loud. "What's that supposed to mean?"

But at that moment, Professor Pym, who was making her usual end of lesson circle of the classroom to see everyone's final products, arrived at their table. Bill looked up hopefully and did not answer. She didn't make a comment, but she did give him a nod as if to say it was passable.

She smiled, as always, when she got to Caiti. "Lovely," she said simply. Then, when everyone had begun to pack up, she passed Caiti a piece of parchment, folded up twice. Caiti beamed and took it. She knew what this was.

Professor Pym had been something like a mentor ever since Caiti had discovered that she was not only good at potions, but enjoyed it. Every once in a while, her professor would send her with an extra potion recipe she thought Caiti might enjoy tackling, something that wasn't covered in the usual coursework. Caiti appreciated this, because it kept her interested in and engaged by a class that might otherwise have felt too easy. It did get frustrating, sometimes, being the best in every lesson. She wanted something to practice, something to need to improve at. So Professor Pym had been finding her more and more difficult potions to try. She would meet with Caiti outside class time and help her work through them until she got them right.

Caiti tucked the recipe into her bag to look at later and followed Bill out of the classroom. Everyone was in a particular hurry to get to lunch today, for the great hall was always much warmer than the dungeons anyway, and it had been particularly frigid, especially so once the flames under the cauldrons had been extinguished all across the room.

She and Bill chatted their usual nonsense all the way up the stairs and to the great hall. Just outside the doors, Caiti started to raise her hand in farewell so she could head off to the Ravenclaw table and he to Gryffindor when Bill surprised her by putting a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, I was thinking," he started.

Caiti looked up at him. He had always been so confident, so easy around her. She had never seen him this way. His narrow eyes were slightly pinched in the corners and his tan cheeks showed the faintest flush. "D'you maybe want to go to the ball with me?"

Caiti blurted out "No," automatically and immediately regretted it. It wasn't that she didn't think he would make a good date; she actually thought he would be quite fun. The word had come out before she even knew what she was going to say. "I- I mean," Caiti stammered. "It's not that I wouldn't want to, I'm just... already going with someone," she lied.

"Oh," said Bill looking slightly relieved. "Yeah, yeah okay. Sure... well, have fun. I guess I'll see you there."

"Yeah," said Caiti. She managed a small smile and hurried away, hoping that this didn't affect their friendship. He was one of the few people she could count on to talk to her next year.

Her cheeks were hot when she sat down next to Marlowe. She had actually begun sweating. "Bill just asked me to go to the ball with him," she spat out. She stared down at her empty plate, blinking resolutely. Her hands gripped the edge of the table.

"Crap!" said Marlowe, much too loud.

Caiti was almost more surprised by this than she had been by Bill's invitation. "I said no," she told him.

Marlowe tried to play it off that he had only dropped his fork but Caiti didn't believe it for a second.

---

Caiti's second invitation knocked Marlowe into high gear. He had to do it. He had to ask her. Like, yesterday.

The problem was, he still did not know how, and he was becoming increasingly nervous that she would say no to him, too. Perhaps she just didn't want to go.

Or perhaps, but this was the more hopeful side, she had said no because she was still waiting for someone else (him) to ask her.

It was this shred of potentially reckless hope that made him sit down in his room after lessons ended that day and scribble down a note which he subsequently tore up and tried to rewrite, neater the second time.

But how to deliver it? He kept staring at it like it would somehow give him the answer he was looking for. He folded the parchment absentmindedly, creasing it hard, and then opened it back up again.

Then it hit him, and he set to work.

---

Caiti sat curled up on the end of the couch by the fire in the common room, reading over the paper that Professor Pym had given her at the end of class. Her stomach kept flipping around joyfully at the thought of it.

The Wolfsbane Potion. 

Professor Pym thought she would need to practice it several times at least, but she was sure she'd be capable of brewing it correctly. It was immensely tricky. Caiti had never seen a more complicated potion, nor one that mattered so much to get right. It was finicky and temperamental, the instructions laid out so thoroughly that Caiti suspected she would need to have it completely memorized before they ever started practicing.

Professor Pym had suggested a meeting time in her note where Caiti could come to her office to work on it.

If she could make the Wolfsbane potion...

It was the sort of thing only professionals made. Not students.

She began to read over the recipe again, grinning to herself, when something white zoomed right past her nose, circled her head, and then fluttered into her lap. Once it had gone still, Caiti saw that it was an enchanted paper airplane. She looked up, thinking that someone must be missing it, but no one was hurrying towards her to retrieve it so she inspected the airplane instead. She was about to put it to the side when she noticed something underneath one of the wings: part of a word, handwritten, the rest concealed in the folds.

Cautiously, she began to unfold it revealing the rest of the words.

Will you please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please go to the ball with me?

It was not signed, but Caiti knew Marlowe's handwriting. His O's were never closed, his S's loose and slanted. She smiled in spite of herself, her lips pressed tightly together.

Looking around again, she spotted him standing on the bottom step of the staircase to the boy's dormitory, one ankle crossed over the other and leaning casually against the wall, watching her. He gave her an embarrassed smile when they made eye contact. Caiti lifted her hand, motioning with one finger for him to come over.

She looked down at the note again when he made his way across the room to her. She wanted so much to be coy and casual, to keep the fluttery feeling in her tummy to herself, but with each 'please' it got harder to contain her smile.

Marlowe stood in front of her with his hands shoved into his pockets. Caiti looked up at him and saw him run his tongue between the semicircle of his upper and lower teeth. She patted the spot next to her on the couch and he lowered himself very slowly. She had never seen him sit up so straight.

Caiti looked at him with her mouth partly open and an unreleased inhalation pulling her chest upward. Finally, she wrapped her arms around his neck and said, "Yes." There was a short pause and then she felt his arms snake around her lower back.

"Cool," he said. He laughed. Caiti thought he sounded relieved.

---

The next morning, Marlowe and Sean found themselves alone for the first time that day while heading out to Care of Magical Creatures. Sean had taken a leaf out of Evelyn's book and balled up his fists inside his sleeves, but it didn't do enough to block out the cutting wind. He had hoped that class might be cancelled because it was the coldest it had been so far, but unfortunately, here they were, trudging through a blanket of trampled snow. It was too cold, even, for any new snow to fall. Instead, what was left was iced over and extra slippery.

They didn't talk much as they walked, keeping their heads bowed against the wind.

"So, I asked Caiti to go with me," Marlowe said finally. His voice sounded shaky, as though talking at this temperature took a great effort. Sean understood how he felt. His own teeth were chattering violently.

Sean swore, glad that the wind sucked away most of the volume, because he had shouted.

Marlowe laughed. His smile looked tight and awkward on his red, frozen cheeks.

"I told myself I'd do it before you," Sean explained.

Marlowe grinned. "Well, better do it quick. The ball's only a few weeks away now." This explained why he had had an extra spring in his step all morning and why Caiti had been so intent on not looking at Marlowe – or anyone else, for that matter – at breakfast. She kept smiling at her eggs instead like they were the best thing that had ever happened to her.

"Shut up," said Sean. He did not want to talk about it more. His teeth went horribly cold each time he opened his mouth and let the wind whistle in.

---

That afternoon, as they were leaving transfiguration, Professor Westwick pulled Sean aside. "Mr. O'Connell, a quick word please," he said, sorting through a stack of essays the seventh years had just stacked on his desk.

"I'll wait for you," Evelyn said, and she went to stand in the hallway. Sean hoisted his bag up his shoulder and approached Professor Westwick's desk.

"Now, as I'm sure you've realized, the Yule Ball is approaching quickly. A very fun event, of course, but a certain amount of formality all the same," explained Professor Westwick. "You and Miss O'Sullivan will be sitting with the headmaster and headmistresses as well as the other two champions and their dates. The three champions and their partners also open the ball, performing a short dance for the rest of us gathered there before others are allowed to join in. Nothing too scary, but I wanted you to be aware."

During this whole speech, he never looked up from the papers on his desk.

Sean stared at the top of his purple pointed hat. "What's Evelyn got to do with it?" he asked.

"Well unless you plan to dance by yourself," he said with a chortle. "I think you're date will have to be involved, won't she?"

"I haven't asked her yet," said Sean automatically. He did not mean to tell his head of house the details of his personal life.

Finally, Westwick looked up. "Well, get a move on, boy," he said heartily. "She's waiting outside the door for you."

Sean rather resented being told to ask a girl out by his professor. Feeling embarrassed, and a little ashamed of his own fears, he clunked back out of the classroom. The door swung shut behind him with a firm click and Evelyn, leaning against the wall with her legs out a foot or so in front of her, looked up.

"What was that about?" she asked.

But Sean didn't answer. "Ev," he said. His heart was pounding and his voice sounded thin and tight. Why was he so nervous? It was only Evelyn. "Will you go to the ball with me?"

Evelyn looked surprised for only a moment. "Of course," she said.

Sean relaxed. He nodded once, adjusting his bag again. It was heavy today. "Cool," he said, beginning to smile. "Yeah. Great." He kind of laughed and then, putting a hand on her upper back, leaned in to kiss her on the cheek.

Only he didn't.

Without even planning it, he had kissed her. Actually kissed her. Like, on the mouth. It was only a peck, brief and dry, but still. His face turned bright red and he quickly turned away. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Evelyn raise one hand slowly to her mouth, hovering a few inches from her lips.

"Well," she said, finally. Her voice was too high. "Shall we- go then?"

They walked in silence, neither of them acknowledging what had just happened. Sean was not even sure he had enjoyed it. He had not, after all known it was happening until it was over. He wanted to try again, but did not know how to initiate. After a few minutes, because he did not want her to think he regretted it, he worked up the courage to take her hand, feeling an immense wave of relief when she interlocked their fingers.