His speech was becoming less and less stilted as they exchanged pleasantries -- as it should be. After all, this was formally Vector, the girl he'd had shared an intelligent discourse with. "Oh, oui. It hasn't been insufferable, has it?" Evan inquired further, teasing out the details one by one. Somehow, Septima had made the jump from first name basis to esteemed lunch guest in a matter of months, but even more puzzling was how the words had first come to settle on his tongue. It was no less surprising that he pursued the topic in a cool, detached sort of way -- at the surface, at least. He nodded at her elaboration, understanding that a third party was often the most helpful at mitigating a tense situation. Whilst her problem was yet to be solved, there was nothing much else to lose given the circumstances. If the Ravenclaw was forthcoming, the Slytherin might as well take advantage of the situation. "Does she visit often, your aunt? Is she a professor as well?" he asked.
A ghost of a smile vanished as he cleared his throat, choosing the path to lead her down after a brief pause. His mother expected this of him, the tour, repeating the mantra of being a perfect host: make our guests feel at home. That was more or less true, though she never did acknowledge her ostentatious behavior when the business associates were over, or when the Parisians witches came to the east to socialize. Evan wasn't as interested in the material objects as he was in the means; it was just the way it was, really. He was born into affluence and was set to inherit it wholly one day. All of the watercolor and oil paintings lining the walls were not his, nor the expensive rugs underfoot. But they were part of the Rosier image, one he tried to uphold as he tried not to bore Septima half to death. Neither were to come to fruition, as the incoming scolding meant he was not up to his mother's standards, and Septima was well aware of what she said in French. Evan grimaced as his mother fixed the cuff of his right sleeve, which certainly did not need fixing in his opinion. The arrival of Septima made small imperfections seemed larger than they really were. Of course, the warning he had thought about giving her would have come in handy right about now -- explaining would have to come later, way later.
"A pleasure to meet you as well, darling. What details I've managed to extract have certainly built you up exactly as I've imagined. We can, however, discuss this more over lunch," Madame Rosier said, her perceptiveness keen. The casualness of the meal would allow her guest to relax a little more whilst getting acquainted with one another. Hogwarts had not been her alma mater, but its teaching staff was up to snuff to provide the best quality education. Evan, though sparse on details, had given the basics of who Septima Vector was -- the daughter of the Arithmancy professor, a Ravenclaw, and obviously brilliant; the very, very abridged version of the incident had led her to believe that Septima was indeed not like the elegant, soft-spoken ladies of the upper echelons. She would have the opportunity to find out, once she'd have one of the house-elves fetch a warm cloth and serve the main meal. Behind her and Septima, Evan trailed at a distance. The sharp angle of her eyebrows made his slouch straighten, and with that accomplished, she turned back to their guest with a pleasant expression. "Right in here. Sabine will seat you," she added once they reached the dining room. Sabine bowed as they entered, motioning toward the intricately-designed rungs of the mahogany chair as Madame Rosier took her place at the head of the table.
Evan took the setting across from Septima, taking the opportunity to offer a shake of his head. "The elves are bringing out a rosĂŠ wine, if that's fine with you, Septima," he said at last, with a decisive nod. Being under the close watch of his mother presented no opportunity to be even the slightest bit candid with her, so subtle tells would have to do. "They'll bring you anything else you desire, so don't be hesitant to say anything." This seemed to please his mother well enough, so conversation drifted toward the personal sort. Of course, Madame Rosier led the charge as long-stemmed glasses filled with blush-colored wine materialized next to their settings. "So, Evan tells me that you're a year under than he and his friends are. That means you've just started pursuing your... N-E-W-T-s, correct?" she remarked, her dark eyes settling on the Ravenclaw. "And that your father is currently teaching at school? A very prestigious position, if you ask me." Here, she paused to take a sip from her glass. She wasn't sure if Septima would indulge her questions on more than a polite level, but certainly that was the endeavor for the afternoon. Sabine returned with the soft cloth enchanted with a heating spell, holding it up for Septima to take. At this time, Evan decided to ease the topic to allow the poor girl to answer at her comfort. "We frequently see each other at the library, don't we? She helps me with Arithmancy sometimes," he interjected, nodding for effect. Then, a subtle jest. "Septima studies too much, as it is."
