Emmeline & James || Fighting Fathers

Christmas was usually Emmeline’s favorite time of the year. She’d come home from school, Mum would take time off from work, Dad would insist on cooking and baking the Muggle way with his two favorite girls, and Emmeline would hardly want to go back to school and leave the happy little bubble of her house. It goes without saying that this year didn’t quite measure up to past Christmases, of course. Mum had tried for Emmy’s sake, but she wasn’t nearly as good with Muggle baking and cookery as Mr. Vance and most of what she and Emmeline tried to make this year had to be fixed with magic so it was edible. Nothing tasted the same, much to the disappointment of both. The house was decorated, of course, but it seemed so much emptier without Dad’s presence. Colder, almost. It was stupid, the house was just as warm as it always was. But Emmeline couldn’t help being depressed.

To make matters worse, her father couldn’t even come out of hiding or have visitors for the holiday. Emmeline couldn’t stand the silent house any more, her mother had gone back to work on Boxing Day and left her daughter to her own devices. Nothing could have been worse for the anxious teenager, being alone in the house with her worries and thoughts. Today she had finally come up with an excuse to leave the house. The clothing her mother had bought as Christmas gifts wasn’t fitting right, since Emmeline hadn’t noticed how much her eating habits had changed and that she had dropped a few pounds. She could never bring herself to eat much during exams or when she had a large assignment due, so it must be stress related…. At any rate, Emmeline didn’t want to ponder whether she was actually more stressed than usual. She just knew her clothes hung oddly off her, and that meant a trip to Diagon Alley to see if Madam Malkin could do some quick alterations.

She had dropped off the stack of clothes and been reassured that they would be done in a few hours, and, with little else to do, resigned herself to window shopping. As she emerged from the robe shop, she quickly buttoned up her coat and adjusted her new Ravenclaw scarf (a lovely present from her Secret Santa which she greatly appreciated) and shoved her hands in her pockets. It was a bit cold. Colder that it had been when she set out from the house, anyway. But she supposed the fresh, brisk air was good for her. Always better than being cooped up in the near-empty house. As she walked, she paused to look in the various shop windows, absently making a list in her head of what she’d want next Christmas, or for her birthday. 

A leather-bound planner was pretty, as was nearly every book in the window of Flourish and Blotts (with the exception of two books on the Dark Arts, as Emmeline had a distaste for that subject). She did wish the stores would take down their Christmas decorations already. The holiday was over and done and the sooner there were less reminders of her absolutely dismal Christmas, the sooner she could pretend that it never happened and her life was perfectly normal. Although, the chances of her being able to actually do that were slim. She was also privately hoping she wouldn’t see anyone she knew from school. Because then there would be the niceties and polite conversation and she knew the question would come up. So how was your Christmas? And Emmeline would have to figure out a decent lie or purposefully be vague and abstract and either option was so much effort. She paused in front of the window of Quality Quiddich Supplies. She didn’t play the sport herself, but she always enjoyed watching the matches at school. When she was younger, her mum would take her to see some professional games and Emmy would come home and explain every little detail to her father, who never quite understood. She sighed, moving her hands from her pockets to cross them over her chest. The damn cold. She blinked her eyes furiously, upset at how they started to water. The damn wind.