They had sat amongst some of the wives of the sitting lords and a few husbands as well, to Elia's surprise.
It was one thing for Harry to tell her that they had matriarchal lines, quite another to see it. It was different from Westeros; Elia had certainly imagined the Wizarding World to be more similar to the rest of Westeros but they were a mix between Dorne and the other kingdoms.
"The sitting lord is the Chief Warlock, Alfred Golding," Narcissa Malfoy murmured lightly as the session began. "To the left is Lord MacDougal. He runs this session in a bid to gain approval for his budget."
"Does he work for the Ministry?" she asked, eyes focused on the balding lord. His hair was grey, voice low and deceptively soothing as he droned on about his bill.
Narcissa was looking at her in curiosity, a light smirk pulling at her lips as she glanced at the ring on Elia's hand. "His son was an Auror."
Their city watch, she recalled, remembering Harry's explanation.
"Of course," Elia murmured, gaze flicking to Harry. He was seated next to a young man with hair the colour of the sunset – red and gold with streaks of brown in it – the two young lords murmuring quietly to each other.
She could feel the eyes on her, the watching magicals curious about the woman who had accompanied their saviour. Another day at court, she thought wryly.
The divisions in the Wizard's Court were not as obvious as it was in King's Landing; there were no obvious factions, none of the outright polarization she would have expected following a war. Not even a hint of those outright currying favour with the Man-Who-Conquered – and Elia had laughed herself hoarse when she realized the title the Magical World had given Harry – though part of that could be attributed to his rare presence in public.
An oddity for a lord, particularly one such as Harry who had expected duties that he almost outright ignored, but it was not her place to comment.
With no marked divisions, Elia could see that there were more than a few showing displeasure at the lack of generated income the bill promised. Even more she guessed were unhappy with the thought of law enforcement given the means to do their jobs.
Lord MacDougal's pressing remark on the end of the war caused the room to pivot their attention to Harry, the dark-haired man stoic in the face of praise. Not all those sitting in council had looks of gratitude – perfunctory or sincere – and Elia stared at a particular woman in robes with green and black stitching who's face had tightened in momentary displeasure.
She shifted in her seat, allowing Elia a glimpse of an elaborate black crest bracketed by green winged serpents. House Wilkes, she guessed, running through the list of family crests Harry had shown her. Lady Emmeline Wilkes, born a Roper and holding the seat for her infant nephew.
It was at the break that Elia had her first test of Wizarding Society. The ladies had positively swarmed Narcissa, each moving to greet her as if they were old friends, eyes flicking to Elia and waiting for an introduction.
An elder gentlemen was seated next to Elia, one she was amused to discover was a shameless gossip.
"Old Lady Augusta is expected to host a gathering," he was telling the woman next to him.
"Pfft. Augusta has not held a gathering in some time, nor will she," the woman rebutted, hand smoothing the crease of her robes.
Not unless they wished to announce something, Elia thought. Harry had made mention of Neville's grandmother; a battle-axe, they referred to her as, and Augusta Longbottom did nothing without considerable thought – especially not when it concerned House Longbottom's social standing.
"Lady Elia," Narcissa murmured, pulling her attention to the younger woman stood next to her. She was a few inches shorter than Elia herself, with dark gold hair and pale blue eyes.
Behind her stood another woman with similar looks, her piercing eyes glancing every so often at whom Elia assumed was her sister.
"Might I introduce Lady Astoria Greengrass," Narcissa said, a faint smile touching her lips.
Mindful of the watching eyes, Elia politely greeted the younger woman. "Well met, Lady Astoria."
"And you, Lady Martell," she replied. Unlike the woman next to her, Astoria Greengrass had a fairly open disposition, though there was a spark of cunning intelligence in her bright eyes as her gaze flicked to the ring on her finger. "It is always so nice to see friends of Lord Potter-Black."
Quirking her lips into a faint smile she replied, "Indeed. My congratulations on your betrothal, Harry speaks fondly of his cousin."
Astoria's smile widened a touch; gaze drifting to a cluster of lords where Elia knew the platinum head of Draco Malfoy was visible. The picture she had first seen of Harry's cousin had brought to mind unpleasant thoughts of one who could have grey eyes and pale hair, but the blond was less a reflection of Valyria than she had imagined.
Narcissa tipped her head at Elia, a flash of amusement in her grey eyes as she practically felt the increased interest of those surrounding them.
Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter as fond cousins, they would whisper in astonishment. Would wonders never cease?
The three ladies made their way to a small table, glasses of tea and water available.
"Have you begun planning the wedding?" Elia asked.
"Only recently," she responded. "I expect it won't take too long, though we are hoping for an autumn ceremony."
"Autumn?" Elia questioned.
"A lovely time to host a wedding," Narcissa replied. "The Manor gardens look splendid at that time."
"You will attend, of course," Astoria said, leaning forward conspiratorially.
Six to eight moons was a long time; Elia was unsure if Harry would find a way for them to return by then, but she knew it had been giving him trouble.
Not like to happen within the year, she thought uncertainly. But that was not why she had asked.
"Of course," Elia answered smoothly.
"You must come for tea sometime this weekend," Narcissa added, a satisfied gleam in her eyes.
"Saturday?" Elia offered. "I'll need to confirm a few things first."
"Oh, splendid," Astoria beamed. "Daphne will be thrilled."
It was as she excused herself from Harry's aunt to enter the woman's room that she met the Daphne in question. Astoria's sister had much of the same features as her sister, but where the younger woman had an openness to her that unknowingly lulled others into comfort, Daphne was a touch sharper.
"Potter has brought himself a guest," she heard a woman say scornfully. "At least this one looks the part, though I've not heard the name Martell before. I suppose we should be glad he seems well shot of Granger or Weasley."
"It sounds old enough," another responded lightly. "I did not think you one to care so much over Potter, Pans, or his relationships."
The first woman, Pans, scoffed in disdain. "I care less for what he does than the rest of these simpering idiots. Especially not now he is to be your sister's cousin by marriage."
A Greengrass, and another woman with an unfriendly history with Harry, Elia thought. Making her way to wash her hands, she chose the sink a few feet from the gossiping women, their eyes turning sharply to her.
Drying her hands, Elia locked eyes with Daphne's reflection before she turned to them, a warm smile on her face. "Heiress Greengrass," she said, causing the tiniest flash of surprise in the blonde's face.
"Lady Martell, I presume," she responded, gaze flicking to her friend next to her. "This is Heiress Parkinson."
"A pleasure, I'm sure," Elia said.
The woman sent a cool smile, her brown eyes unfriendly as Elia made her way to her seat.
There was little left of the session – closing remarks and a promise to continue in three days time.
Astoria had left to greet Draco before she left with her sister, and Elia had to stifle her laughter as the old man next to her muttered, "Any longer and even I might have birthed a child."
"Speaks fondly of his cousin, does he?" Narcissa said softly as they walked to the man in question.
"From what I've noticed," Elia murmured, causing the older woman's brow to raise in interest.
"Herakles," Narcissa called, pulling Harry's attention to them.
"Aunt Narcissa, Elia," he replied.
"I expect you for our usual lunch," Narcissa said, an expectant look on her face.
"I wouldn't dare forget," he quipped, smiling in amusement.
She smiled at her nephew, an unreadable look on her face before excusing herself to meet with her son.
"How was it?" he asked her anxiously.
"It seems I've found myself with an appointment for tea on Saturday," she said lowly as they weaved their way through the room.
"Tea? You can say no if you wish," he told her. There was a hint of worry on his face that Elia ignored.
"Do you suspect your aunt of attempting to poison me?" she asked curiously.
"Well, no. Not outwardly at least," he muttered, causing a huff of laughter from her.
"I was raised to trade words with noble ladies Harry," she reminded him. "Though you've certainly garnered the dislike of some."
There was a flash of bright light, forcing Elia to turn her gaze from Harry to the man holding the camera.
"Lord Potter-Black," said another man stood next to him, a floating quill hovering over the parchment he held. "Any thoughts on the Wizengamot session?"
"Not at the moment," Harry responded coolly. "There is time yet for us to discuss the budget, and I expect certain things will be clarified in due course."
Before the man could add more comments, his eyes flashing to where Elia's hand rested on Harry's arm, Harry was pushing past them beyond the floo.
"Fancy a late lunch before we head home?" he asked, and at her nod gave a quick warning. "It'll be a touch unpleasant."
His arm tightened on hers, and at a slight twist Elia felt her world constrict. She felt as if she were in a tube, her body twisting to fit in it as all breath left her.
It felt as long as an hour though it could not have been more than a minute before they rematerialized in a tiled entryway.
Sucking in a sharp breath, Elia clutched onto Harry's arm as she attempted to gather her bearing.
"What in the gods name was that?" she asked breathlessly.
"Apparition," he told her sheepishly, hand rubbing at the back of his head. "I'm sorry, I should have given you more warning."
"You most certainly should have," she hissed.
They were in a building somewhere, though Elia could not tell whether they were close to home or the Ministry.
"We've got reservations at The Merman's Court," he said, a hand on her back to guide her further in. It was not busy, the vivid blue room they stepped into holding only three others, all of whom craned their necks to glance at Harry.
"The Merman's Court?" she asked, wondering at the name she knew the Manderlys to call their Great Hall.
"A restaurant opened several decades ago. House Black has had a standing reservation since it's inception," he murmured as a red-haired man dressed in black robes with sea-green piping and cravat walked over to them.
"Lord Potter-Black, my lady," he said with a nasally voice. "Welcome to The Merman's Court. If you will follow me?"
They were led through the hall to another room, this one far more private and a table set for two. There was a bay window, the view showing the sea at sunset, and Elia felt a sudden longing for home.
Once they had been served – a plate of herb-roasted salmon for her with a side of spices and a chicken fillet for Harry with a bottle of wine – they turned the conversation back to the Wizengamot.
"There were a number of unhappy faces," she noted, recalling the various lords and ladies. "Not everyone is for Lord MacDougal's amendments, though a great number of them are."
Harry nodded his agreement, "It would have worked well five years ago, but MacDougal is beating at a dead horse. The only reason it is continuing to a second reading is because of the war."
"And where do you stand on it?" she asked, knowing Harry's vote could swing things to either side.
"I'm not sure," he admitted. "I would have been for his proposal, but the things we are hearing…there are a number of unpleasant rumours that raise certain questions."
"Harry," she said, putting her fork down and pinning him with a serious gaze. Harry copied her movements, giving her his undivided attention. "I cannot presume to know enough of your economy to guess at the issues, but if Lord MacDougal is proposing the Ministry ignores its trade contracts – and they take his stance on it – there will be naught but infighting amongst society."
"Not outright ignore, though he would rather use those from the old regime," he replied with a bitter twist to his mouth.
"Which seems to be enough of a problem for the other lords," she told him. "People have gone to war for lesser insults, and you might not want a war so soon after but there will be some sort of fallout should they give in."
He sighed, returning to his food with a pensive look before he grimaced suddenly. "I suppose I'll have to make an appearance at these bloody dinners."
"A token effort at most," she stated flatly.
"Also," he said, suddenly awkward as he stilled in his seat. "Lady Marchbanks expects the both of us at her estate next Saturday. Her great-nephew is celebrating his sixty-first birthday."
"The both of us?" she asked in surprise, seeing him shrug his shoulders. "Don't do that," she reprimanded absentmindedly, thinking on the old woman. "She was your grandmother's friend, was she not?"
"She was," he replied, a note of fond amusement in his tone as he returned to his food.
"What have you done to Heiress Parkinson?" Elia asked suddenly, causing him to jerk his head in surprise.
He laughed sharply, a sardonic smile on his face as his green eyes darkened. "I refused to die quietly and Pansy has never quite forgiven me for that."
