APRIL 13, 1976

KATHLEEN'S LIPS PARTED IN SHOCK. She stared at his outstretched hand, frozen. Perhaps it was all the angry words at the tip of her tongue making her dizzy, or it was how he was in arm's length of her, where he could so easily reach out and skim the edge of her dress, or her neck, or her hair. 

"Please? Kathleen," he asked in a low whisper, eyes darting to their sides. With a start, Kathleen realized that they were still in the middle of the dance circle, and the orchestra was hesitantly waiting for them to assume their positions before playing again.

"Are you two dancing or not?" said little Melody Fawley, who sat on the sidelines, watching Kathleen and Black stare at each other. She placed her small hands on her hips, swishing around in her purple dress.

"Er- yes, Melly," Kathleen fumbled, before picking her dress up with one hand, slapping her other in Black's, and hastily moving to her spot, where Narcissa Black shot her a judgemental look for holding up the others.

She looked into blue eyes, and he looked into green eyes. And Kathleen was so distracted that the first thing she did in the waltz choreography was falter and almost slide over Black's leather shoes.

He let out a startled huff. "Tripping over me already?"

"Stop," Kathleen demanded, closing her eyes briefly, as her mind flitted to their first conversation outside the dungeons. How long ago that seemed, how much heartache had occurred since then. "Stop, don't say that."

Black's adam's apple bobbed, as he blinked a few times. "I- I apologize."

Kathleen flicked her eyes away from him, it was getting easier. "...Thank you for the gifts, I-"

"-You got them?" Black interrupted, blue eyes wide. "Do you like them? You're not wearing the earrings."

Kathleen wasn't wearing the earrings. They lay deep in her trunk, slim and silver while today she wore hoops, gold and wide. "I'm not wearing them. But I was going to say, that they would've been better if accompanied with a letter. Or words, of any kind."

"Oh," Black said softly, as his palm, pressed slightly against her waist, skimmed on and off. They started taking steps across the dance floor, and Kathleen half-remembered that she was supposed to stay in rhythm. "Apol- that...was my fault. I know- you don't like me talking about my family, but I never really learned about gift giving through them..."

"I don't mislike you talking about your family, Black. I just-" Kathleen inhaled. Prewetts only ever opened their hearts on the battlefield, but here she was, letting her soul rush out in front of a boy. "I only wanted you to be honest with me."

"I am- I will be," Black nodded. "I give you my word. Please, you have...changed me, Kathleen. You have...unwritten parts of me that have rot, and you have written parts I did not know existed."

Kathleen's lips parted, and she fought the urge to press them against his face. "So, there was more?"

"More?"

Kathleen swallowed. "It wasn't just casual for you, then?"

Black's throat bobbed, and Kathleen's eyes fixed on the up-and-down. Their hands, interlocked as was custom for their dance, began to tremble, as Kathleen admired the cut of his suit, the veins of his neck, and the structure of his cheekbones. "...There was more."

Kathleen almost tripped again, but caught herself in time. That was all she'd ever wanted to hear. "There was more for me too," the words fell in a sacred whisper, as the last chords of a cello lengthened to silence.

A series of applause echoed from the outskirts, but Kathleen and Black held each other in their positions, unmoving, with hands holding hands, shoulders, and waists. It was only until chatter started from the other dancers, and bows had already finished, that both of them snapped out of the moment. Kathleen yearned for many things. To make her parents proud, to carve her own future, and to be a warrior just like her ancestors. Never had she imagined someone like the boy in front of her to be a part of that dream, but he'd lassoed her into his self, and now she couldn't come apart. She hesitantly looked around, watching how dancers retired and new partners came onto the ring. 

"Wait, you don't have to say yes, and I'll do it properly, like a gentleman this time, I give you my word," Black's murmured voice halted her as she turned, and both his hands came to gently grasp her upper arms, as if she were a china doll. "May I court you, Kathleen Prewett?"

And god, he looked so perfect right there, out of those ghastly black robes, silhouetted with the spring flowers and blooming leaves of April gardens. The horizon molted into a technicolor world behind him, as the sun retreated its golden fingers over the edge of the universe.

"...You may," she whispered, and smiled.

Of course, it was only proper that Kathleen didn't dance with him another time. It was a risk itself, a dance between two families that had only met once before to intertwine with marriage. And lingering after the dance, no less. Kathleen walked back to the stern eyes of her parents, eventually finding herself reading to Lucretia and Melody as the hour hand of the grandfather clock climbed higher and higher.

Spitting out a few ashes as she arrived back in Prewett Keep, Kathleen bade her family good-night, tired but secretly giddy with what happened with Black. She changed into her robe, with the house in silence, and was about to go to bed before her stomach rumbled. Kathleen didn't hesitate to tiptoe downstairs for a bowl of cereal: she didn't want the night to end.

She poured milk into her bowl, then placed the bowl back into the closet, where the permanent Stasis Charm was cast. She knew she could probably go back to her room. Fabian and Gideon were probably asleep, but her parents weren't. But still, she needed a good conversation, so she went to the lounge, settling onto an emerald colored loveseat.

"Nain. Nain, are you awake?" Kathleen whispered to the wall, where a familiar portrait hung.

Ariane Prewett jerked awake, not noticing that her elbow accidentally splashed murky water onto her half-finished painting. "Oh, little Kit. How was the party?" 

She'd been painted in the garden, and the blueberry bushes swayed behind her in a magical breeze. Kathleen smiled. "Just lovely. Can I tell you something?"

"Of course, pet," Ariane said kindly, taking one hand and placing white curls behind her ears. "It is quite the shame that children cannot write letters to painted people from Hogwarts. Tell me, and I will be your most captive reception."

"Okay," Kathleen murmured, not able to keep the grin off her face. "I met a boy, Nain. At Hogwarts." Kathleen looked up shyly, tracing the edge of her bowl. 

"My, Kitty! Well, do say more," Ariane said eagerly, placing her elbow on her knee and resting her chin in her palm.

"We started, er- hanging out, in February, but it was casual, I guess, until he broke things off two weeks ago," Kathleen recalled. "...That hurt, badly. That was when Persephone's rabbit was killed, I think Mam told you about it."

"Yes, strange. Very upsetting, of course, that anyone would target an innocent girl," Ariane's lips turned down. Posey had visited Prewett Keep once, last year, cooing at all of the decorations (even the swords, shields and goblets splattered with centuries-old blood) and making conversation with all the portraits. She even performed a card trick without magic that Kathleen didn't understand, duly impressing the fickle nature of ten-year-old Taurus Prewett. "That must've been a shock."

"It was. It's just strange," Kathleen pursed her lips in frustration. "-How they'd go after a pet. But, anyway, Black was there when I found him in the corridors, and that was the thing that set him off, I guess. But he apologized to me today, and he asked to court me, and I said yes."

"Black. Last I knew of the Blacks when I was alive was Arcturus buying his way to an Order of Merlin. But Cassiopeia was a dear friend of mine before I moved to Anglesey," Ariane mused, staring into the distance, before fixing her eyes on Kathleen. "Dear, how much has Perseus told you of mine and Phineas' marriage?"

"...Not much," Kathleen answered softly. "Thad gets sad when he talks about you."

"I know," Ariane said sadly. "My poor boy. I understand why he avoids my portrait; I am but a piece of what I was before. But death comes for us all."

Kathleen's eyes rounded as she curled her legs up under herself, preparing for one of her Grandmother's stories.

"-The first time I met Phin, I arrived from Paris by portkey, and when I landed, my trousseau and all of my thirty trunks fell from the sky and squashed all the vegetables and flowers of his prized garden," Ariane laughed at the memory. "He was quite infuriated. So much so that he didn't speak to me until the day after, where we were reciting our vows. Things where different, you know, back then. It was custom for the woman to be with child within the first two years of marriage, so it was a rather tense wait with me, only becoming pregnant ten years after marrying Phin. Because we couldn't stand each other! We lived in separate wings at the Keep, and I spent half my time back in Paris. But we were brought together, anyways,"

"By what?" asked Kathleen.

"Honesty," Ariane's painted features grew firm as her words grew stronger. "I would still take any verbal spar, because if we stewed in our anger instead it would have crept under our skin and tore us apart even further. The arguments started because we had nothing in common, but after years of keeping in the same home, the threads starting forming. Then, I suppose, we started arguing about the same things rather than different things, and then we started arguing and agreeing. No two people are ever that different from each other. But it was honesty, always telling the truth, even through the heat of anger, that kept us alive."

Kathleen smiled, watching a breeze rustle through the portrait, swaying the little tomato plants and blueberry bushes dotting the gardens where Ariane sat. 

"Oh, love. I am happy for you, I have not seen you so eager in months. Remember my words, and be true. And if he is the boy you need, he will treasure your words as he treasures your heart, for they are one and the same," Ariane finished.

Emotions ran through Kathleen at the recollection of her grandparents' story. Taid was never painted; he said he didn't believe in portraiture and making a hoax of his own death. That was a difference between him and Nain. But no matter how many differences they had, they still loved each other, and hope bloomed in Kathleen's chest as she thought of her own possibilites.

"Thank you, Nain," Kathleen whispered, getting up to stand from the couch, and to head back upstairs to bed, where her thoughts would be of peace.