Return to the Roots PV Ebony Vetra

Typicality was not a trait that the Vetra family possessed. While their blood was as wizard as any other pure-blood lineage, status was not something held on a pedestal to the Scottish family. The opulent balls and dinner parties that were so often hosted by other pure-bloods were a rarity to them. They served only as distractions from what was most important — a false facade of luxury and arrogance to the young Vetra girl, who had spent the majority of her childhood either hunched in her bedroom shrimp-backed or meandering in the fields of their secluded Edinburgh mansion. She recalled the main proponent of social events being her mother's desperate grasps at making herbologist friends. Most guests likely departed in a state of disgust at her eccentricity. The lack of pretentious gatherings did not change after Ebony began her schooling at Hogwarts; she had still yet to attend a ball — though she planned to make an attempt during the upcoming Spring Ball — and any ostentatious dinners or get-togethers were out of the question. It thus came as a surprise when her mother's shrill voice beckoned, commanding her daughter to get dressed and indicating some meetup at the Ministry of Magic. A work event, perhaps. Her father had worked in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement back then, all those years ago, with those flauntingly pompous legislative blokes who undoubtedly harboured nefarious agendas I (OOC) do not actually mean this, apologies if anyone actually does work in legislation.. He had, until a certain weaselly somebody had decided to screw him over. Upon closing her eyes, the image of that girl (Valour) and that old lady still flashed in vivid clarity. Her father had been screwed over, and he had not graced that wretched Ministry with his presence ever again. Why in Merlin's beard her father had been invited back for an event remained a mystery.

A plain, void-black dress was thrown on with the precision of somebody living in a post-apocalyptic world, a strap left dangling by the shoulder and one side of the dress more crinkled than the other. A cosmetic self-applicator brushed along her cheeks — she could not bother to apply it herself, nor did she have the skill to — as the Ravenclaw pulled her dark, tangled locks into a lazily slanted bun, loose streaks of hair falling to frame her face. The outfit accentuated her broad shoulders; it was bound to attract a comment of disgust from her mother, which Ebony anticipated and was prepared to disregard. The woman had had the pleasure of watching in despair as her once daintily frail daughter grew to be more and more sinewy with each passing summer. The brunette paid less than a cent of attention to attire and the appeal of her visage, though her expression remained guarded behind a facade of scowling neutrality.

Thumping down the stairs somewhat unwillingly after haphazardly dolling herself up, Ebony was met with the image of an unusually polished mother and the rare sight of her father. She had spent the majority of her time pre-Hogwarts with her herbologist mother, the two of them having moved to São Paulo for a brief period of time together. The man was always buried within work, even after departing from his post at the Ministry. He was but a barely appearing speck even during the holidays, where she would return south to Edinburgh from Hogwarts. Always out of town or something. Subsequently, the girl's relationship with her father had never taken off to the extent that she had wanted it to. It was somewhat ironic that a fancy meetup — something that Ebony detested — was the one event that could draw all members of her family together. She supposed the desire to maintain status and uphold reputation before all those grandiose Ministry folk brought some unity, though she personally would be more than willing to throw any status and dignity out of the window instantly. If the assumption that pure-bloods were naturally superior is taken to be true, displaying any showy nobility only diminishes that superiority to arrogance. Recently, however, she had begun doubting that underlying assumption in itself.

The Ministry of Magic, Atrium. It had been a long while since she had stepped foot in the building, and the air weighed even heavier with false pleasantries and pretentious masks of perfection than she had last remembered. Her mother instantaneously burst into conversation with a nearby stranger. Or perhaps they were acquainted; Ebony wouldn't know, given the sheer amount of social connections the woman had made over the years. Her father decided to slip off as well, perhaps to converse with his old colleagues or dragged into a discussion for a business deal that he did not really desire to strike. It was always the business for these types of people. The money, the reputation, the ostensible flawlessness of whatever prestigious name they hailed from.

Ultimately, she was left standing amidst the adults, an impostor who did not belong within these ranks. The girl was only able to force a few polite smiles and nods that sat awkwardly on her face, as though the smiling features were not her own. It didn't take long for her to tire of the pretense, slinking away unnoticed to merge with the shadow. It wasn't as though anybody would take notice. Such was the advantage of dressing plainly, of appearing ordinary. It rendered one able to blend into anything almost chameleon-esque. Nobody would notice — nobody would care, nor did Ebony care whether they noticed her absence or not.

Or so she pretended.

Ebony Vetra criticised these arrogant fools for the masks of perfection that they kept so rigidly tight, but she too was a fool. A hypocritical fool. She, too, was engaging in pretense. A pretense of nonchalance, a pretense of disregard for the thoughts of others that somehow, in her mind, placed her above those who cared too much. The pretense had lessened over the years, admittedly. A younger her would have been more uptight, smile wider and more sustained. The child had grown to the point that she was a child no more, tenderly child-like interior toughening over time. The disregard for the perception of others had grown to be more prevalent, more real. If she repelled others — as she had perceived over the years — why pretend to be kind and welcoming and perfect? Repeller she will be.

And so the brunette stood, engulfed by the silhouette cast by a pillar — alone, observing. Observation was an interesting hobby. It was as though she were watching animals in their natural habitat, watching social creatures do what they do best: socialise. Ebony's eyes trained upon one girl with an uncannily wide smile that did not quite reach her eyes. The young girl (she could not have been more than twelve or thirteen) cast herself aside from the hubbub of conversation. The smile slipped off of the girl's face; she, too, was clearly not here on her own volition.

"You don't have to pretend, you know. Nobody cares." The Ravenclaw approached the girl, picking up a glass of her own to take a messy sip. She gave the girl a sweeping, inquisitive glance — one that she hoped did not appear hostile. She was pretty. Pretty in a way that would make her incredibly presentable, seemingly put together and neatly dressed, but almost falsely so. Somebody that the crowd gathered here would approve of. Ebony was unsure as to why she had approached this girl; instances where she was the one to strike conversation, especially at a social event, were extremely unprecedented. Perhaps she had been reminded of her younger self.