The portraits of the Potter ladies had insisted Elia use the bedroom upstairs to prepare for the Marchbanks gathering, laughing amongst themselves at the thought of a small party. Euphemia had merely smiled in amusement before calling an elf to bring jewels for Elia to wear.
No matter how she protested, the ladies refused to even hear of it; she was a guest, they said, she simply could not refuse to allow them to lend her jewels when she came to England with naught but the clothes on her back.
To her chagrin, Harry had only smiled at his grandmother's portrait in fond exasperation, muttering under his breath about meddlesome ladies before steering her to the rooms belonging to the lady of the house.
It was there in front of an ornate mirror that she currently stood, wearing a gown of deep red as she fiddled with the jewels Libby had brought, the ancient elf holding the box as if it were a priceless artefact; glancing at diamonds the colour of blood, Elia could see why she held it so preciously.
"Oh my, you certainly will knock them off their feet!" a voice called, causing a slight shriek of surprise to escape her as she jerked backward.
Whirling around in surprise, Elia saw that she was alone, not one of the ladies occupying the lone portrait to have spoken to her.
"Over here my dear," the voice said once more, forcing her to stare in astonishment at the mirror at the same time Harry came bursting through a door, wand in hand as his eyes scanned the room.
Staring at her in bewilderment, it took a moment before Elia saw his lips twitch in amusement.
"It's not funny," she said, turning back to the mirror with a wary gaze.
"No, it really is," he responded, shuffling closer. "I forgot the mirror in your room doesn't talk."
"Do all mirrors in the Wizarding World do that?" she asked.
"Most," he replied, "though they've all got differing…personalities."
"Are you going to help the lady with her jewels?" the mirror butt in. If animated objects could give a look, she was sure this one would be glaring sternly at the two of them.
Huffing in amusement, Elia watched as Harry picked up the necklace, gesturing for her to lift her hair. "This is far too much," she murmured.
"It's my gran's fault," he told her. "She's only had the one son, so having someone to ply her jewels with and let the mirror poke fun at has been something she missed out on."
"And the talking mirror?" she asked sardonically.
Laughing, Harry quipped, "A part of the house, I'm afraid."
She rolled her eyes, ignoring the mirrors scolding as she watched his reflection. You would think setting a clasp were a life-saving endeavour with how concentrated he looked.
"Can you not use your magic to help you?"
"Not on these pieces," Harry murmured, his breath fanning against the back of her neck as his fingers fiddled with the clasp. "They've been charmed to the nines to resist any magical interference."
"Why is that?"
"Cursed jewellery is a hell of an issue to deal with," he said cheerfully, a dark smirk on his face as he stepped back.
"Red is certainly your colour," the mirror quipped.
Elia felt a slight nervous flutter in her stomach, ignoring the feeling as she gazed at her reflection. Harry stood behind her, his shirt vest unbuttoned and tie hanging from around his neck.
"Shouldn't you finish getting ready?" she said lightly, picking up the earrings as she spoke.
"I am ready," he responded, pointedly ignoring the incredulous stare she sent him. "You'll be fine. They're nothing like Aunt Narcissa."
"As I said before, Harry, I can handle noble ladies well enough." It was the other bits she was unsure of. She might have been nonchalant in the face of his worry over the article, but Elia had dealt once before with pointed whispers over her personal relationships; she did not know exactly how far Magical Britain was willing to take these conversations. His aunt had done nothing but watch Elia converse with her soon to be gooddaughter at tea, her grey eyes scrutinizing every word that left her mouth with the occasional comment.
Words are wind, she reminded herself. They could speculate all they wanted, but Elia had oddly enough found a friend in Harry and made Potter Hall her home, something she was loathe to ruin on the words of rumourmongers.
Harry had managed to finish dressing, summoning his robes and a small box as the mirror chided him on his careless handling of fine clothing.
"Ready?" he asked, stepping closer to her, hand extended.
"How are we getting there?" Elia asked with a dark glower as she looped her arm in his. Wizards and their methods of travel, she thought in dismay. There was no one particular aspect of magical travel that she enjoyed.
"Apparition," Harry said ruefully.
Tugging her closer, she saw Harry send a cheeky wink at the portrait before her vision was surrounded by darkness.
"I sorely despise you," she muttered under her breath, smiling as yet another person came to greet Harry, their faces lit in joy at seeing him again. They were all well older than them, though they did not look it.
"No you don't," he murmured, steering them toward Emry Marchbanks.
She refrained from rolling her eyes, well aware of the number of people watching them. The Marchbanks family had held this gala at a winter lodge west of Potter Hall, warm oak wood flooring contrasting with the odd splashes of colour, a massive window taking up the entirety of one wall.
"Come to a Wizengamot meeting with me Elia," she muttered sardonically. "Aegon can use it as preparation, Elia."
She would have been better off ignoring his request and staying well away from the majority of magicals. From their moment of entry, Elia had greeted no less than thirty people, each cheerfully come to say hello to their suddenly social saviour.
"I did warn you," he responded lowly, a light grin on his face as they walked the last bit to their hosts.
"Ah, there he is," the older man said, "Where is that tyke of yours?"
"Teddy's a bit too young to party around you," Harry joked, moving forward to accept a close handshake from him. His brown hair was peppered with grey, beard cut close as his grey-green eyes crinkled in amusement.
"And him a bit too old to continue as it is," the shorter woman retorted.
Griselda Marchbanks, Elia thought, stifling her amusement as Harry greeted the woman fondly.
"Emry, Griselda, I don't think I've introduced you," he said, stepping next to Elia with a genuine smile aimed at the pair. "This is the Lady Elia Martell."
Lord Emry placed a light kiss on her knuckles, the man's warm gaze flashing quickly to the man next to her as he said, "I suppose we have you to thank for bringing this one out so often."
"A happy coincidence," she replied lightly.
"Quite," Griselda said, blue eyes staring oddly at Elia. Abruptly, the woman turned to Harry and said, "Do excuse us. I'm afraid we ladies have mingling of our own to do."
Elia ignored the oddly identical looks of worry the two men had, giving Harry's arm a faint squeeze before she walked off, Griselda Marchbanks leading her toward a gaggle of ladies.
"Griselda!" one of them greeted, her black robes pristine, hair pulled into a severe bun. Her eyes were the colour of jade, widening the slightest bit at first, and even as Griselda pulled the woman into conversation, Elia noticed she would glance coolly at her from time to time.
"She thinks you mean to displace Teddy," a woman's voice murmured.
Turning, Elia saw a woman near her age, one of the Ladies on the Wizengamot if she recalled correctly, hair the colour of lightly reddened gold with clear blue eyes staring at her in scrutiny, a contrast to the deep blue dress she wore. There was a light smattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose, her sharp features and colouring bringing to mind the Tullys.
"Any who have met Teddy would never seek to displace him," Elia replied, grabbing a glass of wine from the floating tray.
The woman smiled slightly in response, a rueful thing that let Elia know she had been correct to assume she had met Harry's son.
"Susan Bones," she introduced, a more friendly expression on her face.
"Elia Martell," Elia replied.
"McGonagall's always had a bit of a soft spot for Harry," Susan said, eyes skimming the other ladies surrounding them. "Teddy is much of the same."
"An understatement, I'm sure," Elia said. Even Harry ignored the obvious protectiveness of the older women he had become close to. A side effect of a sour relationship, she guessed.
He had not mentioned what happened between him and his friends, and Elia had not pushed for answers beyond what she had pieced together. Whatever it was had put these particular women firmly in protective mode when it came to him.
"In any case, I'm glad to see him out and about, even if he would not miss this," Susan commented.
"With a past like his who could blame him," Elia said lightly. "Though he has shown greater interest in certain matters."
"A recent change," Susan replied, staring curiously at Elia. "One most attribute to your presence in his life."
"They give him too little credit," Elia countered.
"Perhaps," she conceded, an odd note in her tone.
Elia glanced quickly at Griselda, seeing the woman speaking with two other older ladies. Every so often, one of them would glance at Elia and Susan, purse their lips and continue with their conversation. Behind Elia stood several others, she knew; could feel their stares as they eagerly awaited any information they could gather.
Harry Potter is more trouble than he knows, she thought.
"They mean well," Susan told her.
"I'm sure they want to make certain he's not invited a scheming woman intent on relieving him of his galleons and planting her children into his life," Elia said drily.
Susan let out a strangled noise at the scandalized gasp from the two women directly behind them, hastily clearing her throat even as Elia offered her kerchief.
She excused herself from the younger woman, tipping a polite nod to the old crones gossiping in their corner before she made her rounds.
"Enjoying yourself?" Harry asked, his arm held out and a light smirk on his face as he glanced at the direction she had come from.
"I'd consider it a success," she sniffed imperiously, prompting laughter from the green-eyed man.
