April, 29. 1892
Basil couldn't help but smile at the latest correspondence from his cousin Mathilda as her anxious scrawl fluttered across his desk. He missed her, and he felt for her considerably more this upcoming season than those past for it was her debut. Basil himself was not one for society on the whole, but even he knew the significance of a debutante's first season. While he hadn't agreed with his aunt and uncle's choice to pull Mathilda from Hogwarts and send her to finishing school
to rot her brain it hadn't been his place to opine, especially as he couldn't quite be free of bias. He knew this upcoming season he would be at her beck and call though, in an effort to make up for his lack of assistance to her in that regard and to ensure she had as painless a first season as he could manage. (Even if it did incur the wrath of those meddling adults or tiresome gentleman from whom he'd have to shield her.) Finding a fresh parchment to reply, Basil scribbled his response.