At six o'clock, a young healer with dark hair tied back in a very long braid knocked on Marlowe's partly open door. She backed herself in, followed by a blue plastic tray hovering a few inches beyond the tip of her wand. The tray carried Marlowe's dinner and a tall goblet, over the top of which Marlowe could see steam pouring out, unfurling in wisps and ripples all along the lip of the glass.

The healer let the tray float down neatly onto his bedside table.

"You'll want to drink this straightaway," she said kindly. "And then make sure and get some food down with it. They'll come for you about half an hour before dark."

Marlowe did not look directly at her when he nodded, staring blankly at his white sheets instead. She exited and he listened to her footsteps grow fainter down the hall before he addressed the goblet again.

This was it then. Tonight he would know for sure that there was no possible chance a miracle had taken place, that the bite had not really done any harm. Not that he had ever held out such hope, but still, when nothing whatsoever had happened to him apart from the nagging pain in his shoulder the first two days he had spent here, it had been easy enough to forget, to not really believe.

That is, until his healer had arrived for one of his customary chats a few days before to discuss the protocol for the full moon. At first, Marlowe had greeted the news that the day he'd been dreading was approaching already with surprising compliance. Soon after, he had gained a sick fascination with reading real life accounts of the full moon experience, of transforming. His healer had been all too encouraging, happy to provide as many documents as he could find. His thought had been that if Marlowe knew exactly what was coming he would not be so frightened of it.

Maybe he'd been partly right, but he had not anticipated the extent to which the accounts had disgusted Marlowe. He had been unable to stop reading, the way people find it hard to look away from a car accident on the side of the highway, but with every passing word, he had begun to feel more and more nauseous. He had barely eaten a thing in three days.

Marlowe rolled onto his side, propping himself on one elbow and lifted the frothing goblet from the tray. He peered inside at the liquid, deep green and quite unlike anything Marlowe had ever seen. It looked, to be frank, perfectly poisonous.

The fumes slipped into his nose and he coughed so hard he had to set down the glass so he wouldn't spill it. He laid back against the pillows again and stared at the ceiling, trying to talk himself into drinking it.

The weight of the little round pin on his chest had never yet felt like more of a burden. It was the thought of losing his mind, literally, of giving himself over to a force inside him that he could not feel on a normal day, but that he could not control on the wrong day, that finally made him sit up, pick up the glass for the second time, pinch his nose shut with his left hand, and down the potion in one long gulp. Swallowing took focused effort. His eyes watered.

It tasted rotten.

He set the cup back down and laid back against the pillows. Except for the rancid aftertaste in his mouth, he did not feel any different.

The clock in front of him read six seventeen.

He had maybe an hour at most, probably less, before they came to take him to the secure area where he'd be kept for the night, just in case. Already, the sky was looking a dusky purple, just beginning to change.

He picked up the tray, thinking to eat something just for something to do. He did not feel hungry. He took a very small bite of mashed potatoes, hoping at least he could cover up the lingering taste of the potion.

After a few bites, it seemed to be working. No amount of food could have stopped the racing thoughts in his head, though. All day it had been the same cycle on repeat: dread of that night, dread of the next morning, dread of going back to Hogwarts.

He realized now that he had been downright idiotic to think he would want to go back after this. He could not walk into that place and let everyone stare at him and whisper and pretend - badly - to act normal while he was around. He did not ever want to see Caiti again. He could not have the conversation he knew she would want to have. He did not think he could handle seeing her pity him, and Caiti would, though she probably wouldn't mean to.

His tray was nearly empty in ten minutes. He had shoveled down his food, partly from unrealized hunger, partly from stress. He placed the tray on the bedside table and laid back, staring through his open curtains at the sky, growing darker shade by shade. The mauve turned to orange before it softened again, heading towards blue, and that's when the second knock on his door sounded. Marlowe turned his head, heart pounding.

His healer walked in purposefully, clipboard in hand. "Good evening," he said, stopping next to the bed. Marlowe could not say anything back. His throat had never felt so dry.

"Well," continued the healer. "Shall we?" Evidently, he did not think Marlowe needed reminding of what they were heading to, and Marlowe was glad of it, because he was sure if anyone spoke the words out loud, he would pass out on the spot.

He sat up very slowly, staring at the sheets, trancelike. He did not really see anything as he stood up and walked, heavy-footed, around the bed. He and the healer walked out of the room and down a long hallway, then took the elevator up to the top floor. Down at the end of the hall was a small room. The healer performed a series of spells which unlocked the door. Inside, it was completely empty. One whole wall was dedicated to a large window. Marlowe swallowed hard as he stepped over the threshold of the door. He figured there would be a few words about protocol, but all the healer said was "Someone will retrieve you at seven am." And then the door shut and he heard the locks click into place. Wandless, Marlowe knew he was truly stuck there, something he found both comforting and suffocating.

The room was completely silent, the kind of silence that screams in your ears so that it can't be ignored.

Marlowe slid down the wall opposite the window and stared, just waiting. He resumed his tracking of the sky, watching it darken by degrees, and then - all at once it seemed, he had never before watched for the moon to appear - there it was, not bright, but still clear and full.

His body shook all over and he felt a shooting pain run through all his limbs at once: it began.

---

When Caiti finished the last step of the wolfsbane potion in her lesson with Professor Pym, she was positively buzzing. This was it. She had no doubt. This time, she had done it. The potion bubbled in front of them, thick steam curling over the edges of her pewter cauldron. It was the exact shade of green prescribed.

Professor Pym reached for the ladle and gave the potion a stir. She smiled a thin-lipped smile. "It's perfect," she said.

Caiti had butterflies in her stomach. "Thank you," she managed to squeak out.

"You've done good work on this," continued Professor Pym. "I really saw you troubleshooting. We're not stopping these lessons yet, though. This is the first time you've done it. I want to see consistent ability before it's safe for anyone to drink it, alright? We'll continue meeting twice a week until you can make it perfectly every time."

Caiti nodded. "Of course. Okay. Thank you."

A few minutes later, she packed up her things and headed for the common room, feeling lighter than she had in weeks.

But as soon as the door to Ravenclaw tower swung shut behind her, her heart stopped. She had just looked out the tall windows at the other end of the common room, and there, hovering outside, just above the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw's shoulder, was a bright, white, perfect full moon.

In an instant, the space behind Caiti's nose and cheeks filled with a pressure. She bit down hard and willed herself not to cry. And then Sean was there, just standing by her, and he said "I know."

Caiti no longer cared that she had ever been mad at him. Her hands shook as a particularly powerful urge to cry ran through her.

"I didn't know- I mean... I didn't realize- I should've said something-" she stuttered.

Sean took a deep breath. She saw his countenance rise, but he did not let the breath out. She hugged him tight. Her face only reached his ribcage.

Sean gave her a little squeeze. She could tell he was still looking out the window. "He'll be back soon," he said.

---

Outside the castle gates, Marlowe hugged his mother and father goodbye, even though he was angry with the pair of them. He had asked not to be made to go back, but they had insisted he was being ridiculous, and that he would regret not finishing his education.

"You'll be fine, sweetheart," said his mom, as she went back for a second hug. "It's only a few months. You'll have your friends. You'll have Elliot." Marlowe nodded and turned to the black iron gates. His dad clapped him on the back.

"Write if you need something, alright?" he said.

Marlowe nodded again and swallowed hard.

He was even more nervous than he had anticipated. He had written Sean a letter the previous evening, asking him to meet him in the entrance hall, because he did not think he could handle seeing everyone all at once. Professor Westwick had arranged to meet Marlowe at the gate.

"Okay... well... see you," said Marlowe, and he entered the grounds.

Professor Westwick was waiting a short ways from the gate. "Good to have you back Mr. Finnegan," he said jovially. He gave Marlowe's hand a firm shake.

"Thanks," said Marlowe, hoisting his bag back up his shoulder. It was heavy thanks to all the textbooks his dad had picked up for him to keep up on his schoolwork. His professors had been sending him the assignments all along, and Sean had been good enough to share his class notes. It was potions, the only class he had without Sean, that he was still behind in. Granted, he would have been behind in potions no matter who was giving him notes, seeing as he was without the opportunity to use his cauldron.

Marlowe stuffed his hands into his pockets as they walked, and Professor Westwick made a few comments about how the quidditch team would be happy to see him back and how, if he were to have any trouble with his peers, disciplinary action would of course be taken. Marlowe nodded and mumbled that he understood, but he was too nervous to speak much. 

The castle's front doors - still far away - had just opened and shut, a sliver of light growing into a wedge and then shrinking again, out of sight. Not one, but two people had stepped outside. One of them was certainly Sean, who he had asked to be there. The other, short and regretfully unmistakable, was the one person he had specifically requested not be told he was coming back that night: Caiti.

Marlowe knew he was not up to seeing her yet. He did not know what to say to her. He definitely did not know what she would say to him. He did not even know how to act around her. Was he supposed to say hello? Would she ask why he hadn't told her himself that he was returning that night?

His heart pounded as they approached. The light from the windows inside was just enough that, if he had dared to look up, he could have made out her features at this distance. He ducked his head down so that he would not have to see her face yet. He did not know what it would do to him.

"Ah!" said Professor Westwick. "Looks like your friends have come to greet you, how wonderful!"

"Mhmm," said Marlowe. He glanced up, and saw Sean beginning to approach. He had to guess that Sean had told Caiti to wait on the steps, because all though she had refrained from running at him so far, she was bouncing on her toes with her arms crossed over her belly and looked ready to go at a moment's notice.

As they reached each other about a dozen paces from the front steps where Caiti waited, Sean pulled Marlowe into a hug, patting him on the back twice. "I'm sorry, I know," he muttered. "She got out it out of me. I tried not to tell her."

Marlowe shook his head. "It's fine," he said. His voice was tight. He stood in place, not making to move towards her. His shoes were soaked through by the snow, and he was freezing, but he was too scared to approach her, scared he might say or do something he would later regret.

In the two days since the full moon, Marlowe's mind had been in a state of civil war. Half of him was dying to see her, to make sure she really was okay. The rest of him, had grown bitter. He was not going to deny it to himself or anyone else. Being a werewolf sucked. The entire night had been the worst of his life, worse than the night he was bitten. Transforming hurt. And then he had spent the whole night terrified of himself and of his unfamiliar body, a shape he didn't know. And even worse, it scared him how instinctually he had been able to navigate it. How, even with his human mind still intact and present, he had recognized his own power and potential to harm.

And that powerful other self was always hiding, somewhere inside him, waiting for it's chance to take over. And Marlowe had to spend the better part of each month dreading what he knew would inevitably come again, never far away enough to forget.

And all Caiti had to do was miss him while he was stuck dealing with the rest of it.

He did not want to hurt Caiti, he knew that, but he was scared his temper would get the better of him and he would say something on accident.

He finally looked up at her, really looked at her, as Sean stepped aside and Caiti took this at her cue. She ran straight at him and threw her arms around his middle, almost knocking him backwards. His heart shot into his throat and his stomach clenched. His arms folded around her and she seemed impossibly small.

"Hi," he said, his voice a little hoarse. She had nearly knocked the wind out of him. Tentatively, he moved one hand up to the back of her head, and slid it down her hair.

Caiti pulled back just enough to look at him. They both opened their mouths but she didn't seem to have any more idea what to say than he did. He pulled her into his chest again and stared, unblinking, at the snow a few feet behind her. He had expected many things when he imagined seeing Caiti again, but he had not expected he would feel so overwhelmed. He was short of breath and actually dizzy.

Professor Westwick cleared his throat and said, "Shall we head inside to the warmth, then?"

Marlowe had almost forgotten he was there. Westwick led the way to the front doors and the three of them fell in step behind him. Cait's hands slid away from Marlowe's back. She had still not said a word.

"Uhm... thanks Professor. I think- I think we can get back fine."

"I thought we'd make an announcement to-" he began to say, but Marlowe did not like the sound of that one bit.

"No," he said quickly. "I mean- I'd rather not... make a big deal of it."

Westwick appeared taken aback, but he nodded solemnly and said, "Of course."

They walked on in silence until their path verged from Professor Westwick's. He paused and said, "If you need anything.. Please don't hesitate... wonderful to have you back with us. Really." Marlowe nodded but did not say a word. Westwick gave them a weak smile as he turned to go and they all went on their way again.

"So... how are you?" asked Sean. Marlowe glanced at him, across Caiti, who was walking a foot away from him with her arms folded and her gaze on her feet. He felt a little guilty about not holding her hand or something, but he still felt a little addled by suddenly being so close to her after so long.

"Okay," said Marlowe, which was a lie, but he didn't feel like going into detail.

"Good," said Sean, after too long of a pause.

"I'm just tired," Marlowe said blankly. He couldn't think of a better excuse.

"Yeah, sure," Sean nodded. "Don't worry about it."

No one said anything else so Marlowe had ample time to consider the distance between his side and Caiti's, both far too close, and not nearly close enough. Had she unfolded her arms, he thought maybe he would have tried to take her hand, but then again, he also might not have.

They arrived outside the common room door, but no one went to knock right away. "God, I do not want to walk in there," said Marlowe quietly.

Caiti finally reached out for him again, one hand on his back. "We're with you," she said.

He nodded, but didn't open his mouth again. He was beginning to feel a little sick. Sean raised his hand to the knocker, watching Marlowe a minute before he knocked. He answered the question and they stepped inside, Marlowe last to enter. He froze inside the door. Everyone stared, and then the whispers broke out. A couple of people shouted out cheerful greetings, but there was an overwhelming atmosphere of gossip. "I'm going to bed," said Marlowe. He brushed Caiti's arm and made quiet eye contact with Sean, and then he walked away, head down and up the stairs.

Evelyn had been sitting in the common room waiting for Sean to return, and she got up and made her way over to the O'Connell's, still standing my the door.

"How is he?" she asked.

"Nervous," said Sean. He glanced at Caiti who was still staring at the staircase to the boys dormitory with a small frown.

"And..." Evelyn said, looking to Caiti now. "How are you?"

"I don't know," she said. "I guess, I sort of thought he would kiss me or something."

"Give him some time," said Evelyn gently. "Can't have been easy to come back."

Caiti nodded. Her frown faded away, leaving her face looking tired and sad. "I'm gonna go to bed too," she said, and she walked away without another word.