next generation dreamcast: freya mavor as victoire weasley
"Ah, so you do possess half a brain?"
"I feel I must warn you, Vanity; call me your royal highness again, and it shall not be I who is rendered unable to speak."
"What would you rather I call you then? Your royal Carrowness? Your Alectoness? Your queen of the universeness? I find your royal Carrowness has quite a nice ring to it, actually."
He feigned an offended look, “Are you questioning my beauty, hm?”
Evan’s lips pressed together into a straight line of distaste, and he was silent for a moment before finally speaking. “I’ve been seventeen for five months, now, and my father still hasn’t brought it up. That worries me.” He still wasn’t sure if he’d mind being engaged - it’d be a lot of commitment, something he was poor at, and he’d have to act maturely, something he was also poor at. But would it really be so terrible?
"Oh, play nice now, what’s wrong with ol’ Nick?" He smirked, "He’s a gentleman, really."
He glanced at the long table of refreshments, and scowled when he saw only fine wines and champagne. He plucked two flutes of champagne from the table and handed one to Emma, before sliding a small flask from his pocket and adding a generous pour of its contents into each flute, pocketing it again. Evan clinked his glass against Emma’s and winked, “might as well have some fun for ourselves - bottoms up, Vanity.”
"Beauty? What beauty? you have about as much beauty as a troll," Emma mocked, looking him over in jest as if she was actually trying to gauge his attractiveness.
"Then bring it up with him," Emma said, shrugging again. The prospect of an arranged marriage was one she’d known was a possibility her whole life, and while she really didn’t want one - unbeknownst to most, Emma was a somewhat romantic at heart - it was something she had to accept. "Better that you bring it up with him first than find yourself engaged to someone like Alecto Carrow seemingly out of the blue." Emma shuddered at the thought, then she shot Evan a look when he spoke of Mulciber. “I’m not even going to dignify that with a response. He’s utterly foul.”
Smirking, Emma gratefully accepted the spiked drink. Merlin knows she was going to need it if she wanted to get through the rest of the night. “See, Evan, this is why I keep you around,” she smirked, raising her glass to his before taking a drink, feeling the sharp taste of firewhiskey burn down her throat.
Regulus noticed her facial expression change dramatically when he asked this, and all he could think now was how good this was going earlier. Her reply was stiff and took longer than usual. “Dreadful certainly captures those, doesn’t it?” he asked, rolling his eyes and trying to lighten the mood again. “And I know my parents, at least, are hell-bent on trying to find someone for me to marry, it’s exhausting.” This conversation was exactly what he was trying to get a break from back home, it’s why he came here in the first place. Realizing this, he tried changing the subject, casting around for another topic. “Like the new dress then?”
Taking a deep breath, Emma tried to regain her composure. She was Emma Isadora Vanity after all, and she had a reputation to uphold. There was no way in hell she was going to fall apart in public, in front of him. In fact, there was no way she was going to fall apart at all. Emma was a tough girl, and she could handle the weight that threatened to crush her as it settled on her shoulders. Pushing it aside and locking it in a box to be dealt with preferably never, along with any naive and somewhat bitter wishes that things could be different, seemed like the best idea. So that’s what she did, or tried to at least.
Regulus’s attempts to lighten the mood were appreciated, but despite Emma’s attempt to ignore her problems she couldn’t quite muster up the same level of carefreeness she’d had before. Now she looked at Regulus and she saw the perfect pureblood heir; living up to everything she was supposed to be. Emma’s parents had already made her give up her captaincy because they weren’t satisfied with her grades. Feeling that dark bitterness return, Emma refused to let it beat her. Straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin, she plastered her trademark smirk on her face with a confidence she didn’t quite feel as she allowed him to change the topic.
"Really, Regulus," she drawled mockingly and almost imperceptibly darker than usual. "You’re attempts to change the subject are pathetic. Is that really the best the high and mighty Regulus Black can do?"
"If that’s what you want." He noticed she was becoming more playful, more let go. Regulus considered this a victory, as far as she was concerned, but at this point, it wasn’t enough. The firewhiskey seemed to be egging him on, but before he did anything else, he pulled back slightly, one arm still wrapped around her waist. "Maybe a bit more privacy," he murmured, noticing they were still seated in the booth in the - thankfully not very crowded - Leaky Cauldron.
The rest of the night passed in a drunken haze for Emma. She vaguely remembered them getting a room, stumbling up the stairs and their clothes all coming off at some point. The night had been enjoyable, that much she knew, although she wasn’t sure if that was the firewhiskey making it seem better than it was or not.
Waking up the next morning with a killer headache did nothing to improve her usual morning grouchyness. Waking up and finding Regulus next to her only made it even worse.
"Fuck," she cursed, quickly getting up and starting to get dressed. Emma rarely stayed when she slept with a bloke, it was only when she actually liked them or she was too drunk to go home that she stayed. She was hoping that she could get dressed and sneak out before he woke up.
Fabian’s crooked smile met her little twitch of amusement. He nodded, pulling out two mugs and setting them on the counter before riffling through the cupboard for everything he needed. Powdered hot chocolate didn’t taste nearly so good as home made. He added all the ingredients and then a bit of cream right as the water started boiling. He poured it in and stirred the mixture together. He set his own aside and handed her one.
He nodded, contemplating what he could give her that would help warm her up. The cinnamon rolls his mum had made last night were gone— or were they? He checked the fridge. Ever predictable, she’d only used half the dough. Mrs. Prewett was not usually a patient woman, leading to using magic on her yeast to make it rise faster. Fabian pulled out the dough and set it on the counter to rise in it’s bowl. “Do you like cinnamon rolls?” He asked, raising his eye brows in a question.
Gratefully accepting the hot chocolate, Emma took a sip. Feeling much warmer, Emma leaned against the wall and an errant thought occurred to her. What would his mother do if she came home to find Emma wearing someone’s old sweats - Fabians? - and drinking their hot chocolate. Emma wasn’t exactly the type of person to be welcome in households such as the Prewetts, they were technically on opposite sides of the war after all.
"I’ve never had cinnamon rolls," Emma said, shrugging as she watched him cook. Emma herself had never set foot in her kitchen, let alone actually cooked anything. it just wasn’t how things in her family were done. Her father worked, her mother was a socialite. Domestic things like cooking were left to the house elves, and that’s how Emma had been raised. "Why are you cooking instead of House elves?"
"No. I might not end up owning it for that long, anyways. I’m thinking about selling it."
"Shame," Emma mocked. "Why would you want sell it?"
"I prefer the joyful sound of silence, personally. So no topic is required."
"You’ll end up losing your ability to speak one day, if you keep requesting silence. But fine, if her royal highness requests silence then silence it is."