FEBRUARY 12, 1976

THE FIRST THING KATHLEEN DID IN THE CHAOS WAS TO GO OVER TO THE DRINKS. She already felt like she couldn't breathe in her dress, and she was worried that the humidity of the dungeons would make her hair start to frizz out of its straightness. Kathleen was too stressed, and she knew she needed to take the edge off. 

"Prewett. Didn't think you'd be here," said Shafiq, a sixth year Ravenclaw who was one of the most attractive boys at Hogwarts, and had probably slept with more than half the upper-school girls. "Nice dress. Muggle?"

"So what, Hayir?" her dress was nice. Last summer, Posey had taken her to a nice store in London called Liberty, and she'd picked the dress out. It wasn't the deep emerald of Slytherin, more a light jade that matched her eyes, with a high slit and open back. 

Shafiq raised his hands in defense. "So, nothing. Some firewhiskey?"

"I don't drink that shite. Do you have redcurrant rum?" And Shafiq poured her a little glass, chocolate curls dancing past his shoulders. She nodded in acknowledgement and thanks, before throwing her head back and letting the bittersweet liquid bolt down her throat; eyes fixed on the dance floor.

She wasn't sure which Slytherin hosted the party, but it was rather hard to host a party without people from every House coming. Of course, there were only purebloods at this one; Kathleen was sure even halfbloods would have been denied entry. She was one of less than a dozen Gryffindors, since normally Gryffindors were labeled blood traitors. It was all a farce, of course. Every stuck-up pureblood supremacist was being hypocritical. Even the music they played was by a Muggleborn wizard, though they would never admit it.

"Prewett. Haven't seen you out in a while," a new voice came up behind her, and she locked eyes with Cadmus Rowle, a muscled Slytherin fifth year. He was decked out in Slytherin gear, and his eyes were fixed on her arse.

"None of your business, Rowle," Kathleen rolled her eyes, the rum buzzing in her stomach, charmed to intoxicate a person even further.

"How's your father? Still trying to pass the Werewolf Reform Act?" he teased, and Kathleen could argue with idiots like him for years and still keep fighting, but tonight she just had one goal- to prove herself.

"Just shut up and ask me to dance."

Cadmus laughed, smoothing his hair with one hand and holding out his other. Kathleen accepted, and soon, with the alchohol thrumming in her system, she began to sway her hips to the music, her arms coming up and her hair shaking in its style. 

Bodies jumped and spun all around her, and she was occaisonally caught by a stray elbow or some hairs flying into her face. Cadmus's hands were light on her waist; he was never the too-creepy type of the Slytherins. She was sure that all the excitement would cause her beautifying charms to melt off faster, but she didn't care. Her shoulders moved side to side to the sound of singing and guitar, as she shouted lyrics into Cadmus's face. 

"Do you think this party's gonna make all the talk about Finch stop?" he yelled at her, and for a moment Kathleen stilled. She realized that outside of those residing in Gryffindor Tower, no one really knew that Kathleen and Posey were closer to sisters than friends. 

"Why don't you shut up about that? Talk about her with some respect," she said angrily, shoving his hands off her to prove her point.

To her annoyance, Cadmus only shrugged again, carrying on dancing with a no-care expression on his round features. "Relax, Prewett. Have another drink."

"You absolute-"But another elbow to the chest stopped Kathleen from finishing, as she let out a startled wheeze at the hand that accidentally hit her. To her shock (and quickly, disgust), it was Flora Blishwick, whose dance with Quinn Nott was also interrupted. 

"Blishwick," Kathleen sneered. Damn that she'd handed over her wand at the entrance.

"Prewett," Flora snipped. "Didn't think you'd actually show up. Broken out of your daze?"

The next thing Kathleen did in the chaos was push Flora Blishwick. Not exactly the point she'd come to the party to prove, but a point nonetheless. Cadmus let out a shocked, excited laugh the moment Kathleen struck the first punch, and Flora shrieked. 

In a room full of green, it was Kathleen herself that let her see red. Her locks, long undone, streaked across her vision as she started to fend off as many blows as she landed, calls of surprise turning into concern.

"Oi- oi!" someone yelled at them, but Kathleen wasn't listening. In hindsight, she knew her anger was misplaced, but Blishwick was such an easy target. She elbowed everyone else out of the way, throwing slap after slap, trained from fifteen years of living with three elder siblings.

"Scintillus!" And a sharp smell surged up Kathleen's nose, as bright green sparks flooded her vision, exploding in tiny fireworks dangerously close to her eyes. She coughed, the acridness getting to her sinuses.

"Oi, no fighting!" It was Quinn Nott that cast the spell, and Kathleen glared at his features, straight blond hair looking so easy to trample. Blishwick practically swooned into her date's arms, holding her hands over her face and pretend-sobbing. Some of the crowd had gone quiet around them, though the dance floor was quite large and the music remained booming. "Prewett. Out,"

"Are you fucking kidding me-" Kathleen began.

"She was provoked," Cadmus argued, and Kathleen even paused, blinking at how he backed her up. But it was no use.

"Get out of my party, Prewett," Nott snarked, before drawing an arm around Blishwick, who was still red-faced. He pointed with his wand to the door. Damn it. If only Blishwick's date wasn't the same wizard that hosted the party. 

"Fine," Kathleen spat, shoving Cadmus off her, and storming past hesitant looks and whispered mutters all the way to the mossy door.

The music had never stopped playing even as she wrenched the stone aside, yanking on the near-invisible handle. She didn't know why she was so angry, but she was, and now she had to do something about it.

The moment the stone door slid shut, all the chatter and noise ended in a click. She was the noise in the halls, letting out what seemed like her hundredth frustrated scream of the day, stomping past the wrinkled hem of her dress. The alcohol certainly served its purpose, as Kathleen still felt like she was on the dancefloor, surrounded by moving bodies.

"-What's gotten you in a piss?" Kathleen looked behind a nearby pillar, and to her befuddlement, Regulus Black was standing there, mostly-empty glass of firewhiskey on the ground in front of him, and a pipe in between his long fingers.

"...Nothing," she recovered quickly. "Give me some of that."

She reached for the pipe, he moved it so it was right above arms-reach. "Not even a 'please', Prewett?"

Kathleen only sneered. "And what're you doing out here? You caught the Snitch, it's your party."

Black shrugged, looking quite a bit tipsy himself. Kathleen jumped this time, trying to snag his pipe. "It's Nott's party. And I don't like fucking crowds."

In the past four years, her conversations with Regulus Black were usually relegated exclusively to classwork, and the occaisonal greeting at a stuffy ball. But she wasn't an idiot that believed in evil Slytherins, so perhaps they could be friends. He did sort of help her calm down back in McGonagall's office, she supposed.

"-Please can I have a drag, Regular Arthritis Black?" she said simperingly, rounding her eyes and flopping her hands at her sides.

It looked like five emotions smashed together on his face, with offense taking the lead. "What did you just say? No, absolutely not. This is goblin wood."

Kathleen huffed again, but, since he was so focused on keeping her attention up top, he wasn't quick enough to stop her from snatching the heavy crystal bottle of firewhiskey on the stone ground. 

"Hey-"

Prewett took his firewhiskey. The firewhiskey that Aunt Lucretia brought him from Germany, too. Reg scowled, but he found he couldn't get too mad. After all, firewhiskey was the strongest of wizarding alcohol, and he'd drank most of the bottle already.

Kathleen turned away, giving the bottle one quick dubious look before downing the rest of the golden liquid. She regretted it at first- she hated firewhiskey for a reason. The liquid practically burned her throat as it fizzed into her stomach, leaving her in a fit of choked coughs that almost made her want to throw up. But the pros of firewhiskey were many, with the main one being that it worked in almost seconds.

She sighed, leaning against the stone pillar, observing how the dim torchlight silhouetted Black's fine features. He could practically be a china doll, with each brow and cheekbone chip finely inlaid by some divine hand. 

"Are you still angry?" Reg asked, eyes ghosting over Prewett's hands clutching the bottle, how each knuckle bent delicately in conjunction. 

"Angry? No. I was never angry, I'm just frustrated. And sad," Kathleen said in a moment of utter stupidity and complete honesty.

"How so?"

"You know why, idiot. My best friend is dead; not that you'd care, anyway. You'd just call her a mudblood and move on," Kathleen spat.

"My, what an assumption."

"Am I wrong? You'd have to do a lot of groveling to prove you're not like the rest of them. Hypocrites, the lot. Copying the Gryffindor parties by listening to Muggleborn music, and pretending like it's respectable only when it suits your own interests."

"I wouldn't know, I don't host parties," Black looked affronted. "Stop talking about Muggles; start talking about you."

"Me?"

"Mm. Don't make me repeat myself."

It was the way he said it.

It was the wild things in her eyes.

Reg grinned, and his teeth were at her throat. 

His pipe vanished into his robe sleeve, the crystal bottle clattered to the ground. The silent hallway in front of the Slytherin common room erupted in hissed murmurs and soft gasps, as the two of them clashed haphazardly against each other like misshapen puzzle pieces.

Black kissed good. Not just because he knew how to do it, but because he did it like he had something to prove. And good thing she had something to prove, as well. She pulled her hands behind his head, taking clutches of deep brown curls between her fingers and pressing from the root, leaving a drawn groan in their wake. He kept going at her neck, for some weird reason; maybe he just liked that. It wasn't half bad.

It was all mussed up from there. Kathleen remembered blurred lines, messy clothes, and cold stone. Then she remembered the chase, Black's voice carrying strange, animal-like chuckles as he made her chase him, or the other way around, up the castle and to Gryffindor Tower. She fell on the Sinking Step, he pulled at her hand to yank her back up, before kissing the palm of that same hand. It was a strange, strange, experience, but Kathleen's life had stopped being normal three weeks ago.

She couldn't recall the password when they finally reached the Fat Lady. She leaned against a stone ridge, hiccuping as Black charmed his way into letting her open for the two of them. When it worked, she giggled in what felt like the first time in years, scrambling in as one hand strangled Black's robe ties. 

He did something, probably a Disillusionment or another charm, to the stairs. But Kathleen wobbled up the steps, leaning on Black every time she moved her center of balance. And when she shoved the door, with its plaque that read Fifth Years, open, her mind sagged in relief at being home. But her body wasn't done yet. She dragged him onto her bed with a shout of surprise from them both, and what next was really, really foggy. One thing was for sure.

The last thing Kathleen did in the chaos was sleep with Regulus Black.