"You know I do, Em." He grinned, lifting one shoulder in a lazy shrug as if to say ‘you caught me’. He knew he was attractive - he was well aware of the girls that clamoured for his attention, and it would be a lie to say that at least a small part of it hadn’t gone to his head.
"I was joking, that’s not how I’d go about it. I have tact. But you don’t… You don’t know my father. I can’t bring up something like that casually. We don’t talk, Em, we’re hardly family. When he speaks to me it’s generally on business. I can’t… Pleasant chit-chat isn’t something that happens. To bring something like that up would raise suspicion." Sometimes he liked to pretend that he wasn’t related to the man he called father - it wasn’t difficult. He was generally in the ministry these days, and since his mother’s death two years prior it was usually just Evan and the house elves in a building that did little to feel like a home.
"Just making sure that you weren’t swapped with a lookalike when I turned ‘round." He rolled his eyes, though it was an action full of fondness.
"Is there a problem with me asking, eh?" Evan laughed at her expression, his fingers sliding across hers as they stepped onto the dance floor. He turned her towards him, rested a hand about her waist. "Entertain me with just one dance, if you can keep up." He all but challenged her.
And he knew a Vanity could never turn down a challenge if their life depended on it.
Emma’s brow furrowed slightly as he spoke about his father. Her relationship with her own parents was hardly much better. Mostly Emma’s mother just thought of Emma like a doll to dress up and parade around and use to elevate her social standing; while Emma’s father had little to do with her in general, preferring only to interact with Emma if it was about Quidditch or giving her a lecture about living up to the family name. Emma had lost the majority of respect she had for her father when she caught him cheating on her mother with one of her nannies when Emma was 15 although there was still part of Emma that wanted to make him proud. She supposed she had it lucky with her parents, that they made her aware of things like a possible engagement - although she wouldn’t get a choice in suitor, in fact she probably wouldn’t know until the contract was finalised - but at least she knew she was most likely going to have one. Evan, on the other hand…Emma hated not knowing. She didn’t think she’d last long in Evan’s position before going mad. Looking over, she watched as her mother make her way over to Mr Rosier, using every asset she had to keep his attention. He was a high ministry official, the exact type of person that her parents liked to suck up to. It was disgusting really, Emma thought, the lengths Isadora Vanity would go to improve the Vanity’s reputation. Wrinkling her nose in disgust, she turned her attention back to Evan and began mock seriously; “Here’s an idea - instead of wars and marriages and propaganda and parents who don’t know the meaning of ‘parents’ - let’s change our names and run away. After draining the Gringrotts accounts first, naturally. We could move to France or somewhere far, far away from here.”
"Wouldn’t it be tragic if I had been? Whatever would you do without me?" Emma teased. "It’s not me that’s going to struggle with keeping up, Evan," she shot back, predictably accepting his challenge just as they both had known she would, and placing her hand on his shoulder with a wicked glint in her bright eyes.
Emma prefers to avoid commitment based relationships, not because she fears commitment or doesn’t believe in love; but rather because she would prefer to spare herself the heartbreak when they inevitably end because her parents most likely have an arranged marriage ready for Emma. Self preservation is a top priory for Emma so she would rather have never loved and spared herself the pain, than have loved and lost.
An Emma Vanity fanmix. The girl who was everything and nothing all at the same time. Listen.
"It’s too big for one person."
"Then… live in it with other people?"
"Because it’s fun, I just said so… I like jumping on a trampoline, it has nothing to do with the fact that I have to be mature or keep my dignity in tact.. Alright?"
"Whatever you say, Evans. Whatever you say. With an attitude like that, i can almost see why people are trying to keep people like you out of Hogwarts."
He rolled his eyes and batted her in the arm gently, somewhat playfully
"Oh shut it, you love what I’ve got going on." Evan threw a wink her way, a soft chuckle rolling easily off his lips.
"Woah, /great/ idea." Sarcasm laced his words with poison. "How should I start? Hey Dadsy, I haven’t spoken to you in a week but I think we should talk about my future. You know, about the girl I’ll be fucking pretty soon. I’m sure that’d go down well." He laughed again, though this laugh was hollow. Bitter. "Oh please, I could handle Carrow. She’s just spoiled. Not that I want to have her as my wife… I’m not sure who I would." You wouldn’t be so bad, he almost added, but caught himself just in time. He could hardly think of her in any way other than a friend - he’s just known her for far too long.
"Alright, so he’s a little… Rough around the edges. He appreciates a good drink, that’s what matters."
A smirk flickered across his lips and be drained his glass, immediately topping it up. “I’ve got harder drink than that, if you feel like stepping it up a notch later.” He drank that glass quickly and set it down, holding out a hand and giving a slight nod of his head towards the dance floor,
"How ‘bout it, Vanity? Think you can keep up with me?"
Alright. So he was fit. Possibly a little more than just fit. But Emma would tell him that, and of course she only thought it from a purely platonic perspective. He was her childhood best, after all. Snickering as he nudged her, Emma’s lips flickered up into her trademark smirk as she teased him. “You wish.”
"What are you, an idiot?" Emma scoffed, and rolled her eyes at Evan, not at all fazed by his sarcasm. "You’re a Slytherin, Evan, use some of that cunning you supposedly posses and gauge his stance on the matter without actually asking him. Mention Lucius and Narcissa’s wedding or something." Emma caught the bitter note to his voice, but she couldn’t exactly admonish him for it. She, after all, wasn’t much better. Women didn’t always get the better end of the deal when it came to arranged marriages. The best Emma could hope for was that she got paired with someone familiar and tolerable as she’d long ago given up the naive thought that she would fall for her partner. Her parents had never fallen for each other, their marriage was purely business and that’s all Emma expected now. She scoffed and shook her head at his comments about Mulciber, but allowed the subject to drop nevertheless.
"Have you ever known me to turn down a drink, Evan?" she queried, an amused smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Are you really asking me that?" Emma raised her eyebrows and smirked, quickly draining her glass and setting it down before taking his offered hand.
“Doesn’t surprise me, boy really aren’t that bright. In one way or another anyone and everyone will be able to tell when they’re stuck on someone.” Emmeline snickered as she sorted through the rack. This wasn’t something normal to her, shopping with someone, especially Emma. It was hard to even think of it was ‘with’ it just kind of was. She took the dresses to go try on and just couldn’t help but laugh. The thought of someone’s gran dressed as a chicken, or even a chicken dressed as someone’s gran…it was too funny. Obviously she didn’t want to say than and embarrass herself, or her family. “Thank you, Emma.”
She wanted to act more like an adult at that moment, not laugh at stupid things, but she couldn’t help it. Once she got behind the dressing area and silently laughed to herself. Emmeline was a bit of an odd duck in the world of high-class family names. Her father was a Qidditch player for the Tutshill Tornados, and continues to be a coach, which made the Vance family one in the spotlight every so often. She was supposed to be a lady, act like her mother. Be clam, kind, and put together, but that wasn’t her. She was goofy, outgoing, more of a tom-boy. She tried on the first dress and quite frankly couldn’t even figure out how to put it on. “Jeeze, how the hell…” She muttered before she bumped into the wall.
“Okay that’s a no….” She took a good look through the dresses Emma gave her and they became more elegant by dress. She picked a light blue one to try next, it look easy enough to wear. “So, who was the bloke who fancied your dress so much he spilled on it?” She asked to Emma from within the room.
Emma merely hummed in agreement. If anyone was to see her right now and so much as imply that what she was doing was an act of kindness, she’d deny it vehemently. The world was under the impression that Emma was just a spoilt, heartless botch and that was the way she liked it even if it was untrue. It was a defense mechanism, nobody could hurt you if you pretended like you didn’t care. However, sometimes her softer side got the better of her and she found herself in situations like these. Emma told herself that it was because it would be an embarrassment if she allowed Emmeline to leave the shop dressed like a homeless person and that Emma had been buying clothes anyway so she might as well shove a few things Emmeline’s way; but really it was because somewhere deep down Emma didn’t actually mind helping Emmeline shop. Shopping was something Emma always enjoyed, and she’d also always been slightly fond of the way Emmeline was so normal. She wasn’t coldly elegant and ever the little lady. Rather she was warm, and even somewhat funny. Emma, in the privacy of the deepest darkest places of her mind, found that refreshing. She shrugged off Emmeline’s thanks with a flippant wave of her hand. She may tolerate Emmeline, but she wasn’t about to get sentimental.
"How long does it take to try on a bloody dress?" Emma grumbled, rolling her eyes impatiently. Just because she was slightly fond of the other girl, didn’t mean she was actually nice. At least, not nice by normal standards. For Emma, this was rather polite. If one read between the lines of Emma’s sharp words, they would see that most of her comments were actually constructive just in a very roundabout way. She heard Emmeline say ‘okay that’s a no’ and rolled her eyes again, figuring Emmeline was trying on the corset dress that had to be tied up. Of course Emmeline would struggle with it, Emma thought in slight amusement. Emma herself was used to such dresses, having worn them all to various functions over the years. “Are you trying on the first one with the lace up back? It’s simple, honestly,” Emma huffed, proceeding to tell Emmeline exactly how ‘simple’ it was - which was not simple at all. it had taken Emma forever to be able to get dresses in that style on without any help, but now that she could she couldn’t resist mocking Emmeline for her inability to do so, although her mocking was more light teasing than actually being cruel.
"What did I say about annoying questions?" Emma called back, although she wasn’t half as irritated as she appeared to be. "And it was Regulus Black. Bloody git," she muttered under her breath.
Quidditch is something Emma is passionate about, and when she made Captain it was one of the best days of her life. However, her parents made her give up her captaincy at the end of her fifth year because they weren’t satisfied with her grades and wanted her to be free to focus on her NEWTS, and Emma did so with great reluctance. She passed on the reigns to Lucinda, who Emma has resented ever since because all Emma see’s when she looks at Lucinda wearing the Captain’s badge is that it should’ve been her. Emma also holds great resentment towards her parents, especially her father who shares the same love for Quidditch that she does, for forcing her to do this.