2006: Lily
They had watched them for the past three years – sometimes quietly, most often with a bit of input – waiting to see what would become of the two.
Not for nothing were they left to impart wisdom on generations of Potters, be it in matters of their house or magic. But this was the first time they had taken up the mantle of matchmakers.
At least, the first time any of the portraits could recall having to interfere so obviously.
Harry had only had eyes for the Dornish Princess even before he had given her the ring. They all knew the look in his eyes, familiar as it was to them from their own husbands, and saw their boy unknowingly fall as deeply in love as those who came before him.
"Really, what is the point of pushing them together if we don't get to see any of it," huffed Iolanthe.
"Mother!" came the scandalized voice of her daughter-in-law.
"Oh, hush you. Where do you think it was all leading to?"
"Not something we should be watching," Elizabeth hissed, bright spots high on her cheek.
"Dear girl, I am not so uncouth as you think," Iolanthe sniffed, a devious glint in her eyes. "I merely want to know whether the boy will act on his feelings or not."
"We don't even know if she feels the same way," protested Helene.
"Ach! Aren't you French people supposed to be experts of romance?" sniped Ursula. "Anyone with eyes can see how she feels for him."
Rolling her eyes at the familiar arguments that broke out, Lily wrinkled her nose as her mother-in-law winked.
"Six hundred years, and you think they would tire of that same argument," Euphemia chuckled softly.
"I'm afraid they'll air their dirty laundry soon enough," Lily said. When she had married James, the last thing she expected was to be introduced to the multitude of portraits that were housed in Potter Hall. Her first meeting with them had gone well until two of the portraits had broken out into an argument, the cousins letting them all know exactly what had happened in their time.
"You worry for him," Euphemia stated.
"He's my only child," she bit back. She grimaced in apology a moment later, but Euphemia waved her off.
"Harry has a good head on his shoulders," her mother-in-law grinned. "And she has proven more than willing to give him a swift kick when needed."
Lily hummed in agreement, eyes wandering to the ballroom doors. She could hear the music they danced to, and for once found herself agreeing with James over the need for at least a single frame in that blasted room.
There had been a moment, after Andromeda's death, that she had feared for her baby boy. Andy had been the last parent he had known; the only person tied to him alone who had loved him for being Harry. Alone with Teddy and mourning yet another soul, Lily had watched in slight fear as he kept himself hidden from the world, as the only person to pull a genuine smile to his face was his son.
Perhaps it was selfish of her, but seeing the love in his eyes as Elia and her children carved a space in his heart made her wish they never had reason to separate. Let Westeros remain an impossible dream if it meant the two of them found some measure of happiness together.
Lily had given the world her son; the least they could do was allow him this one joy.
Present Day: Dorea
Dorea sat patiently in the frame hanging over Euphemia's old rooms, waiting for their princess to come out from within the wardrobe.
Once, when she had first made an appearance as a newlywed, it had been in here that Euphemia gifted her with Potter heirlooms, helping the younger woman ready herself to face a crowd of scrutinizing aristocrats.
"You are a Potter now," Euphemia had said. "One of us, hang what the lot of them wish had happened instead. You are a Black still; let them stew in their anger, for they cannot take that away from you."
She had gone downstairs that evening with her head held high, eyes focused on the dark blue of her husband. Charlus had stared at her in stunned admiration, eyes filled with love, and Dorea had known she had made the right decision.
That Fleamont had threatened to lodge a blood feud should Arcturus remove her from the family had only endeared Charlus's cousin to her.
She had been painted with those same jewels, a set of black diamond earrings with a matching necklace, and Dorea glanced at the box that held it.
A smile curved her lips as their visiting princess entered the room, her eyes flicking to Dorea's as she made her way to the mirror.
"I suppose you were right," Elia said, admiring the gown.
"Of course I was," Dorea sniffed, a slight smile on her face at seeing the flash of amusement from the younger woman. "You will certainly leave him breathless."
At her words, Dorea saw Elia stiffen, eyes wary as she flicked them to hers.
I do so hate having to be direct, she thought in dismay.
They had been hinting at the obvious outcome for so long that they were now at wits end with these two. Never had she seen a more stubborn pairing, and Dorea wished for a moment that she could trade places with Euphemia.
Herakles was so easily ruffled when it came to his feelings for the woman before her, and the young man would need little prompting after the little princess' intervention. She would have to be delicate with Elia, knowing the woman was the more likely to resist of the two of them, and still manage to avoid the dance of words that she had been raised with.
"Do sit down dear," Dorea said, "you look as if you might faint."
Ignoring the dark look Elia sent her, Dorea waited until the princess had sat, spine straight and face unreadable. It had been some time since the woman was so closed off, but needs must, and Dorea pressed forward.
"Will you argue if I decide to present you with a gift?"
She could see the flash of surprise in black eyes, and Dorea withheld a smile of triumph.
"Did you know, Charlus and I were never meant to marry," she told her, grey eyes soft in reminiscence. "None of my family had ever conceived that we would ever be more than classmates. I was to marry another heir to some house allied with ours, staunch in their support of the pureblood cause, but Charlus had firmly found a way around it."
Elia remained quiet, but Dorea knew the woman was curious. It was not often that she spoke of her past.
"He showed up at my home with a box of jewels declaring his intent for my hand. My brother was apoplectic; a few centuries had passed since the last Potter-Black marriage, and that it was ruining his plans for glory to our line. Euphemia gave them to me, all those years ago. I'd like you to wear them today."
Thankfully, Euphemia's insistence on Elia wearing the family jewels had worked to soften her to the prospect. Still, Dorea knew the woman understood the implication behind the gesture.
Present Day: Euphemia
At the sight of Harry running a hand through his hair in nervousness, his bowtie hanging loosely, Euphemia felt a pang of sadness. He looked just like James; worrying over nothing when it was so obvious the boy was in love and was loved in return, and for a moment she thought to call her son so he might console his.
"I don't think I should do this," he said, green eyes worriedly locked onto hers.
There goes that plan, she thought, pleasantly surprised that Rhaenys had managed to get through to him. She would have to do something special for her adopted great-granddaughter.
"For all that you are more your mother's son in temperament, you are very much James's boy in certain matters," she told him fondly.
"Really, Gran," he scoffed. "Dad chased after Mum for years…"
"And still he panicked before every date," she stated dryly. "He nearly worked himself into a frenzy just before he proposed and the day of the wedding."
"I'm n-not…" he stammered, a flush on his cheeks.
Euphemia felt a fond smile curve her lips. "Harry, darling. Breathe."
She waited until he had managed to calm himself, though there was still a hint of nervousness in his eyes.
"You love her."
"More than I thought possible," he stated, a soft look in his eyes.
"Then let me tell you the same thing your grandfather and I told James before he proposed; if you are certain of your feelings for her – sure that they are not simply a passing fancy – then go and make certain she knows as well. It's one thing to find love, darling, and quite another to deprive yourself of it due to fears of not being enough. That is her choice to make; and personally, I don't think she would refuse you."
He sat silently for a moment, and Euphemia waited until he had sorted his thoughts.
"What if they return to Westeros?"
"Would you let her return having never spoken of your feelings?" Euphemia retorted. "You do yourselves a disservice, Harry. Life is too short to deny yourself happiness."
She watched him fidget the slightest bit, brows furrowed as he thought on her words.
Finally, Euphemia watched as a determined look crossed his features - one she had seen on three generations of Potter men.
"I need to get something," he murmured, jumping to his feet.
"She's already received them," she told him, smiling at the look of fond exasperation on his face.
She had done what was expected of her; the rest was for them to decide.
