APRIL 13, 1976

"I CAN'T FIT INTO THIS DRESS," Kathleen complained loudly, standing in the hallway and making Fabian do up all of her little buttons.

"Well maybe you shouldn't have eaten so much at Easter brunch," he said snidely, fiddling with his fourth button. Kathleen tried to smack him on the head without turning around, and missed. She screwed up her face in an uncomfortable frown, as Fabian muttered a new curse per button. "Hold still-"

"I am," Kathleen fidgeted, the corset making it extremely hard to breathe. "I just never have to squeeze myself into these party dresses at Hogwarts, I'm not used to it."

"Whatever you say," Fabian muttered. He yanked her ear, making her yelp in surprise. "Done. Off with you, we're already late."

Kathleen grinned, scampering back to her room to look at herself in the mirror. She hummed in appreciation, doing a few twirls in front of the wall-length glass. "Looking lovely, dear," the mirror said.

"Thank you," Kathleen giggled. The dress was Mam's, handmade in Portugal in 1939. Slim, elegant, with a champagne-colored silk base, and strings of amber and pearls wrapping around her waist, hips, and shoulders. The fabric was as light as air, but the jewels weighted it down. It was beautiful, despite the straining corset. 

"I just don't get why you people choose to wear these things every single day," Persephone complained, holding up one of Kathleen's corsets as her blue eyes sparkled in disbelief. "I mean, to classes, too, and around the dorm, where no one will even see you! What's the point?"

"I don't wear corsets every day," Kathleen laughed. "Just to special events. It's the Slytherin girls that torture themselves."

To Kathleen's discomfort, she felt the intrusive thought of a memory months past, of skilled hands undoing corset ties while fumbling through her bedsheets, and the feeling of metal rings brushing against her bare back. She thought of Black's words on the carriage, and the earnesty in his eyes. Kathleen had never been a fool. She knew the inner workings of talks, of men, and life, but at that moment, she didn't know what was holding her back. Black's reputation, his family's reputation, her reputation. Hogwarts, Posey, the war, it all added up to a tonne of obstacles. She picked up the unicorn-hair brush on her setee, running it through her fine, pale red hair, before looking down on it again. 

"Kitty! Get down!" Thad yelled from downstairs.

Panicking, Kathleen threw open her window, yelling at where her family were having glasses of lemonade in the garden. "Coming!"

"Kathleen Myfanwy Prewett, you've got ten seconds, or we're leaving without ye!"

"Ten!" Kathleen hurriedly grabbed her lace umbrella for the sun, reaching for her wand, but it wasn't on her bed.

"Nine!" Kathleen muttered curses under her breath as she threw open her top two drawers, looking for her wand, before finally finding it under her pillow.

"Eight!" Kathleen almost opened her door to exit, before she noticed a few stray hairs. Huffing, she picked up the moonstone hairbrush.

"Seven!" She hurriedly ran it a few times through her hair, before flipping it over one shoulder, tossing the brush on her vanity, and running out into the hallway.

"Six!" Several portraits laughed at her as she bolted through the high halls, silk train flowing behind her. "Five-" 

"I'm here," she panted, nearly falling over with exertion, in front of Thad, who looked sternly at her. He held Mam's waist with one arm, as he led the way back inside to the Floo, and one by one, the Prewetts filed into the burning green fire.

"Ah, Kathleen, how do you do?" Missus Fawley greeted cordially, as Kathleen smiled, taking her hand in her own and curtsying over it. 

"Very well, thank you. You look lovely yourself, Missus Fawley," Kathleen greeted. 

"Indeed. Perseus and I wondered if you would be hosting tonight considering the birth, but you look wonderful, as strong as ever," Mam said, diamonds glinting at her neck.

The Fawleys had two children, twin girls, that Kathleen used to keep company and read to before they could read themselves. But now, Missus Fawley had been with child, and recently gave birth only a month prior to the Easter Soiree. 

"Thank you, Rhiannon. Would you girls like to see the new heir?" Missus Fawley invited, and Kathleen and her mother stepped away from the rest of the Prewetts, entering another room with green wallpaper. Within was a cradle, and Kathleen peered down at the squashy, red-looking, turnip-like baby.

"A boy," Mam breathed, as she reached down a finger for the baby to hold. "You and Maxwell must be delighted."

"We are," said the new voice of Mister Fawley, coming through the door, smoke curling around his pipe. He was quite large, and rather intimidating and solemn, but his moustache and features were soft as he looked down on his newborn son. "He's perfect. Archibald Maxwell Fawley."

"Hello," Kathleen murmured, as one of her fingers stroked the fine hairs at the top of the baby's head. She never quite understood babies, but this one was tolerable.

They left the nursery soon after, and began making the rounds to greet all of the pureblood families. Thank goodness it wasn't a ball; Kathleen didn't think she could handle dancing. The day before, she'd jumped from the cliffs outside Prewett Keep a total of nine times, making Bessie Apparate her back up every time. 

A few younger people danced on the wooden floor set up by the walls of the manor, but most of the people milled around the low hedges, sipping from champagne flutes or accepting snacks from house-elves. They were in the gardens, with white, violet and blue flowers dotting the statues, bushes, and walls. Fairies dotted the late afternoon sky, as the sun sank lower and lower into its bed on the horizon.

"Kitty, it will do you good to dance," Thad murmured in her ear, holding her back from reaching for another lemon tart. "Once, is all I ask."

Kathleen glared, and the toughest part was that she knew why Thad was asking her. Molly and Arthur's marriage had, well, not soiled, but dampened some of their standings, and even if her parents didn't care, others did. Kathleen herself had rumors around her, with the talk of her being a blood traitor (which was total bullshit), best friend of the murdured Mudblood. Sometimes, Kathleen thought she resented her parents, but she would forever come back to them, cursed with understanding their every move.

Luckily, she found a partner pretty quickly. "Dance with me, Rowle."

"-Why?" Cadmus Rowle whined, before reluctantly being dragged on the dance floor by Kathleen. She needed both hands to even wrap around his bicep, as she manhandled him into the circle. "Oh, come on, Prewett, I wanted to try the Alaskan salmon frites."

"Merlin, please? I just need to dance once for my Father," she begged, just as her and Cadmus stood on the outskirts of the others, where an annoyingly slow waltz was being played.

"...Alright, fine, since you do look rather appealing in that dress," Cadmus said grumpily, as he walked her into their right steps, and he placed one hand on her waist and the other flat against her palm.

Kathleen tried to zone out and only focus on her steps. She'd never been a good dancer, and here, in front of most of the pureblood families of the United Kingdom, she had to be extra cautious. Every slight touch could send off droves of whispers.

"-you've got an admirer, Prewey," Cadmus said sleazily, startling Kathleen. Ignoring the affronted noise she let out hearing his nickname for her, he inclined his head to the right, where Kathleen saw none other than Regulus Black, who was staring from where his mother was talking to him in harsh words, blue eyes fixated on Kathleen as his knuckles clenched white around his champagne. He wore a white and green suit, and Kathleen almost misstepped with how startling it was to see him not wearing black.

Kathleen ripped her eyes away. "-Shut up. And why is your family here? Don't you hate the Fawleys'?"

"Mm, not really," Cadmus shrugged his massive shoulders. "My father hates Maxwell Fawley, specifically. Some Hogwarts history about the Hayes boy that's carried with them since. But our mothers happen to like each other very much. It's a weird game of boiling pot, to be honest, every time we come over." 

"What Hayes boy? From the Irish Old Families?" Kathleen asked, as Cadmus spun her around.

"No, no," Cadmus laughed. "He was a Mudblood, and Maxwell Fawley and him were close. Apparently, very close, if you know what I mean."

Kathleen shoved him a little as they started swinging side to side, moving along the edges of the ring. "Don't you dare use that word, Rowle. I won't have you speaking ill of the dead...assuming he's..."

"Oh, yes, he's dead. Died in January, 1943. I'm surprised Ignatius Prewett never told you of this, he was Head Boy that year," Cadmus said casually, while Kathleen's mind screeched to a halt. 

"Wait- Hayes died while he was at Hogwarts?" she choked out, as her mind whirled with thoughts of Posey. 

"Mhm. Oh- you're thinking of Finch. Er-" Cadmus said awkwardly. "-She was different. Hayes wasn't, well, killed the same way. He violated a woman, and was removed by school members discreetly."

"...Oh," Kathleen murmured.

"Yeah. And old Maxwell Fawley still defends him, even though the boy would've gone to Azkaban even if he'd lived," Cadmus said grimly.

"I- let's stop," Kathleen said, feeling a bit sick to her stomach. She had to talk to Uncle Ig. "Can we talk about something else?"

"Sure," Cadmus shrugged. "We've only got three more turns of this dance after all. Y'know the British Quidditch Cup is getting cancelled?"

"Oh. Why is that?" Kathleen said, trying not to think about the Hayes boy; the similarities between him and Posey were too great to ignore, and she itched to get to whatever tropical country Uncle Ig and Aunt Lucy were at the moment. 

"War, Prewett. War. Floris Franklin, the announcer, she's the wrong sort—I'm not using the name, I know it affects your sensibilities," Cadmus waggled his head at her. He always did that; push her buttons and then retract or interrupt her criticisms. 

"Affect my sensibilities-"

"-Anyway, she was found Obliviated yesterday. Daily Prophet's not reporting on it yet because they're still trying to make her recover, but Father says there's no chance. She could only talk about birds and trees when they found her."

"-Your thinking is absolutely backwards-"

"Mm, yeah, so that's why there's no Quidditch happening."

The orchestra by the bushes slowed their music to a halt, as the last notes of a harp stringed to silence. Amidst the faint clapping, Kathleen shoved Cadmus Rowle. "You- I can't believe you don't have any empathy for her!"

"Who?" Cadmus asked, looking eager to pounce on a house elf holding a plate of salmon frites. 

"Wh- the announcer! How dare you-"

"-Here, y'know what?" and Cadmus had the audacity to spin her around with hands on her shoulders, eyes glinting maniacally as if he was handling an animal. "Why don't you take that temper out on him!"

Kathleen yelped as he shoved her in front of him, running off. "Oi-"

Someone cleared their throat in front of her, and when Kathleen whirled around, furious, to see the person she spent the whole party dreading to see. Her mouth went dry at the sight of him, as her feet rooted to the ground. Her anger, as if it were a sizzling stove, suddenly halted and muted at the sight of his surprised expression. Her eyes latched on to a stray curl that was flitting over his forehead, as the world around them seemed to slow like a carousel.

"I-" Black said, before coughing. He slowly fished one hand out of his pocket, and, holding it in front of her, Kathleen noticed his palm was trembling ever so slightly. "May I have this dance?"