This war has never been about blood, not to me. It's about people. My people and their people. And if I'm lucky, it's mine who are going to make it out of this.
Emma Vanity was one of the first Eagletonians to embrace the Pawnee/Eagleton merger. While she was, of course, initially horrified by the thought of being part of the fourth most obese city, she discovered there was a lot to love.
Emma was able to keep the position she had in Eagletonian Parks & Rec department - Head of Outdoor Sports. If anything, she loves the job even more now, being able to put together and manage free sports programs in twice the number of parks. The people are a bit odd, and her boss is weirdly dedicated, but that only makes her job more interesting.
Most days, Emma is out working in the parks, and is rarely seen in the office. She only shows up to occasionally have lunch with co-workers, or pawn paperwork off on someone else.
Cissa smiled back to Emma - there were worst people she could have encountered. They could possibly be considered friends, although truthfully, Narcissa didnāt trust her - but in the end she trusted barely anyone. Her company could be rather pleasant, though, and they had attended to Hogwarts together. And, very important, for one reason or another, Emma had made the right choice of side, and was very unlikely to betray it.
Her eyes flickered to the paper again, briefly, before turning once again to the brunette. āThe Minister election indeed.ā Everything seemed to be about it now - good thing she actually enjoyed the subject. It was surely more entertaining than the babbler about the Dark Lord and his terrifying actions. She knew plenty of that, thank you very much.
"My vote?" She had put a lot of thought upon it, carefully considering the information about the candidates and whatever her family could remember about them in the first war - what wasnāt much. Cissa had even discussed the topic with her father, seeing as he was around, after his brother death. Their conclusion had been the same. The easier to manipulate would be the one less likely to think his actions too much, and Warwick seemed completely focused on the battle. "It was a hard choice, to be honest. Such great candidates. My vote was for Jeremiah Warwick, though. He was an appointment of minister Weymouth himself, after all.ā To a passerby, her words would be simply chitchat about the elections. She was counting that Emma, however, would be able to get the irony of it. After all, she couldnāt explain her real motivations openly in such a public place.
She drank a bit more of her coffee, and turned her attention to Vanity again. She was hardly so dedicated to the cause as Narcissa, and the blonde doubted her choice wouldāve Ā been made so carefully. Emma was a follower, after all - not that it was something bad. Followers were necessary, for things to move, in the end. āWhat about yours?ā Her question had genuine interest. She did enjoy discussing such topics, after all - she wasnāt sure Emma did, but she was the one bringing it up, for a start.
"Was he really?" Emma said. "Don't remember seeing it. Guess I should have read it more carefully. That does make him a bit more...suitable, I guess." She said, knowing what they both couldn't said. Weymouth had been an awful minister as far as fighting Voldemort was, which was too their advantage. Anyone in good terms with him, hopefully would be equally as useless, or at least a little bit incompetent. She'd love to say as much. Talking between the lines had never been her style, but they could hardly openly say they wanted a failure of a minister. Not in a place so public.
Narcissa had surely carefully weighed all the pros and cons of each minister before making a choice. Each flaw and strength carefully balanced to pin point the best choice. Emma's strategy of going with her gut, and choosing based on totally subjective opinions on who the candidates were as inidivual people, seemed a bit silly in comparison.
Never the less, it wasn't like her to ever be ashamed of something she'd done. So when Naricissa asked about Emma's vote, she grinned, and owned up to her pick. "I went with Linton. He seemed like a nice guy. And he loves quidditch, so that goes over pretty well in my books."
"Never really liked politics." She blamed that much on her parents. They'd been so intent on forcing of all of that on her, she'd made a point to ignore it whenever possible. "So I try and just go with my gut on these things. And since my gut said they were all pretty strong candidates, I went with the guy I liked the most. "
Politics were, since a young age, something Narcissa had taken interest in. Always drawn to power, it was no surprise, really that this subject entertained her for a long time. At first, she even wanted to be a politician - but that was before she learned you could be behind the politicians, and have the same power without the risk and exposing your face.
She was always amused with their ability with the words - for one could be loved by the people, even being the worst, if only he knew how to charm his audience. Cissa knew that anyone expecting the next Minister, whichever of the three it was, to actually do something was simply naive and stupid. Things didnāt work like that - what those mand wanted was power. Be it to actually change something or to benefit themselves - what was more likely - it was power they were here for.
An election was the perfect time for a change in the Ministry, and thus, a delightful oppurtunity of keeping ahead of the Order. If the right choice was made, and if the right words were used, they could have the new Minister, and this way the whole Ministry in their hands - and that would definitely be game changing.
There was a reason why she was expecting so eagerly for this results.
Closing her exemplar of todayās Prophet, Cissa decided that, at least, it was good the paper was supporting the candidate she was betting on - the masses could so easily be manipulated by that not so trustworthy paper that it was fun. It was only then she turned her attention to the place, and acknowledged the person walking straight towards her table, until it stopped in front of her. She slowly and carefully folded the paper, before turning to face the one standing there. āWhat can I help you with?ā
It was too early for Emma, who liked to sleep deep into the morning whenever she got the chance. But the fumes of coffee seemed to wake her up, even if she never could down much of the stuff. Grabbing her pastry and tea, she turned to leave, but changed course when she spotted Narcissa, and walked over to the woman.
"Just saying hi," Emma smiled, sliding into the chair opposite. "The ministry election right?" She said, gesturing to the newspaper. She couldn't see it, but it'd been the headlines the past few days. That and Voldemort.
Emma should probably take more than a passing interest in the ministry elections, it could change the whole game after all. But truth be told, she had just picked Linton because he seemed like a cool guy. Plus it said he liked quidditch, so that sealed the deal. Nevermind it sounded like any minister would be their opposition, it'd seemed to her like none of them was the clear chose to let them take down the ministry. But maybe she should pay more attention.
"So who'd you vote for?" Emma asked, taking a sip of her tea. She was curious what the pureblood princess might think on the topic. She'd probably put a lot more thought and planning into it than just choosing the guy who seemed the most likable. Now that she thought about it, Emma probably should have asked around before voting. The Prophet was hardly a reliable source for information, especially if it was about which candidate would be the best for Voldemort.
Donāt ever be pushed back by someone who doesnāt believe in you, believe in yourself. That is all that matters. Just get out there and get the knowledge for the career, for the choices that you want because you can never learn enough. Thatās the beauty of life, its changing and learning more about how the world works and how people work and if you know that then know that there is no end to what you can do.
Emma leaned heavily against the kitchen counter. She'd lost a lot of blood -- she hadn't even noticed she was injured until she got home. More time than ideal passed until she healed it. Not that any of this was ideal.
Her dress burned, muted, in the fireplace. It was bloody and torn and she never wanted to see it again.
Her hand was shaking, the tea tipping violently in her mug, as her grip loosened. She stared for a long minute. Instead of setting it down before it fell or steadying herself, she just let it go. The mug shattered with a crash that echoed dully in her ears.
Emma went and made another cup.
Everything was falling out of her hands, it felt, everything outside herself. How was she supposed to protect the people she cared about, when Voldemort seemed to have no qualms attacking them, too?
She picked up the fresh cup of tea, with her free hand running her fingers through Ceann's fur once he padded over.
"I never asked for any of this," she told him quietly, looking out the window into the next door alley's wall. She only ever wanted to play quidditch, but as the war got more and more real, that only seemed to get farther and farther away.
Why couldn't she have been born in America or Australia? She could be flying right now, carefree, the war only distant, grim headlines in the news.
But regardless, right here, right now, this was her war too. And her people had been put in danger. Voldemort had gone and fucked things up. You don't attack your own, that wasn't how this worked. They weren't faceless, replaceable soldiers. They were living, fighting people. People Emma cared about. He might be their leader, he might be the Dark Lord, but that didn't give him free reign to kill everyone and anyone. That wasn't how it worked. That wasn't the deal.
She could feel anger building inside her now. It was so much easier than guilt, being angry, so much more satisfying and righteous. Because he'd fucked up. And Emma was going to make bloody sure he knew that whenever she next got the chance.
She tossed her mug into the sink without thinking, and another satisfying crash of breaking porcelain rang through the room. She grabbed clothes and a cloak, picking up her wand from where she'd dropped it on the counter, and walked back out into the cold.
She'd done enough taking care of herself for the night; she didn't think she could stand sitting around on her ass would do anyone any good. Surely, somewhere she could be needed.
As soon as Voldemort's voice echoed through the crowd, Emma's eyes widened and her heart began to race. They hadn't been informed of this and she was sure it was nothing good. When thundering crashes began ringing through the garden, Emma whipped around, saw the giants, and made a choice.
She had friends here, too many friends, too many to find and make sure they made it out of here alive. She hadn't kept tabs, and had no idea where they were, or if anyone had stayed home tonight. She couldn't waste precious minutes looking for them.
She'd like to think that it was because she knew they could fend for themselves, and that was a small part of it, but with too many people, too many options, she defaulted. She chose what was the easiest and most logical. Though she would hate herself for it later, especially when she learned the names of the dead, she decided to save herself.
Self preservation was deeply set into her instincts. As a kid, her parents always had more important things than her. And so she'd been the only person looking out for herself, and, before Hogwarts, she'd only had herself to look out for.
And so she ran. Her mind cleared and the irrelevant parts of the world blurred around her, a state of mind she most often associated with quidditch, singular and focused. One thing ringing clear, I am going to live.
And she did. Somehow she made it out. She remembered running and casting spells, but she couldn't remember what for. It all ran together, the details slipping out from her fingers like a dream.
Standing outside the front, she saw the towering giants smash into the manor like angry children with a doll house. She should have been afraid, still so close. But she was already out; she already knew she was going to make it.
It was then the guilt began to set in. Because she knew she should go back. But she'd already made it out alive, and with the manor coming violently down, she wasn't going to give that up. As much as she loved her friends, as much as she didn't want to leave without knowing they had gotten out, she was going to live through this.
Of course he had to share this newly conquered territory with herĀ ; well aware that her bark was worse than her bite, he looked at her, unimpressed. This girl was a joke -oh, sure she was a pretty face too- and he felt as if everything she did was meant to show how much she didnāt take a singleĀ thing they believed in seriously. She could not handle their mission and he felt like at the first rough time, she would fly away, give them up, and he couldnāt stand that.Ā
He gave her his back, not giving a damn about her opinion or the fact that she seemed positively pissed by his presence. It was like she was begging him to make it worse.Ā
You could say anything about the ministerās poor choice in term of guests, his garden was breath taking, and this meant a lot, considering winter was approaching and flowers werenāt blooming anymore. It didnāt exactly look like a Monet then, but he found it gorgeous never the less.
"I case you didnāt realize, Iām not going anywhere," he shook off his irritation and forced a smile, although could hardly hide the dryness of his tone.
"Shame," she said, "But a girl can hope." She walked up to the edge of the balcony, leaning on the railing. The last place she wanted to be was here, standing next to him. But if she'd turned and walked back out it'd look like she was scared, running off with her tail between her legs. And Emma Vanity did not back down from anything. Even if she had to stand out here all goddamn night, she wasn't going to be the first to leave this balcony.
Emma looked down to watch wandering around the garden, disinterested. At least the crisp night air felt nice against her skin. The Minister had picked a good night for the party. Not a cloud in sight. And even with some of the existing flowers starting to wilt, the garden was pretty enough to take your breath away. If you liked that sort of thing.
Emma dropped the mass of papers that had built up, neglected in her mailbox over the past week. A couple slid onto the floor. Sighing, she reached them down, pushing Ceann out of the way when he came over to sniff at them. She started to put them back on the table with the rest of the mess, when she noticed the Ministry of Magic seal.
Curious, she tore it open, and quickly read through the invitation. She snorted, āWhat is he playing at,ā she said glancing over at her dog. The invitation got crumpled and tossed towards the trash on her way to get a butterbeer from the panty. āāOur collective magical achievementsāā said said in a snooty tone, waving her hands. āJust another way of saying theyāve done jackshit.ā
High society parties were the bane of her existence. Most neglected to even send her invitations because she almost never showed up. Sheād rather do literally anything else than have to go to that party, and pretend everything was fine and dandy. No way was she going.
Hours before the party.
Walking into the kitchen to grab dog food, she saw the invitation laying crumpled on the floor, having just missed the trash can. āShit, thatās today, isnāt it?ā She said, reaching down, and smoothing it out to get a better look, before returning it to the trash.
She leaned up against the counter, thinking quickly. Even if she hadnāt followed her first impulse of sending a letter back saying Fuck no Iām not coming, this is idiotic, it was the ministerās party. She should probably go, not that that held much weight in her books.
She went and filled the dog bowl quickly, and hurried to her closet. She might as well go and suffer for a few hours. After all, there would be free food.
Fenrir knew when he was unwelcome, and the look Emma was giving her was something heād grown accustomed to, ever since he was just a little boy. People like her, he could get rid of in less than two seconds, but she meantĀ nothing to him. Nothing to him, his pack, or his future plan.Ā
"Itās called an invitation. I didnāt realize theyād sent them out to irrelevant cronies, too. Oh, well. Someone has to take out the trash when the partyās over.ā
Emma made a face at the last part. She knew to some she appeared just a footnote in the death eaters rankings, not being one of the most vocal about their ideals. But that didn't mean she couldn't more than pull her weight.
She rolled her eyes, "Of course you got an invitation, I'm not an idiot. I just meant, I'm sure no one is going to think twice if you skipped out on the party, so why are you here? Correct me if I'm wrong, but you don't seem like the kind of person to care about the Minister or love parties."
