Elia was keenly aware of the fact that Harry's eyes had barely left her. Something she knew the others at the wedding were increasingly becoming aware of.
Oh, he played his role perfectly, stood beside Neville in pressed grey dress robes, handing over the rings he held as a witness to their handfasting. Yet, every so often, his eyes would flick to where she sat next to Griselda.
"Well," the woman muttered, hands tightening on her cane. "It's been quite a while since I've seen a Potter stare after a woman like that."
Admirably, Elia managed not to flush at the insinuations the old crone was making. "We're at a wedding," Elia hissed lowly, smile fixed on her face.
"Not the right one, I should think. How you managed to hold him off for so long is nothing short of miraculous, but I fear that dress will have ruined all your efforts."
Swallowing her retort, she ignored the satisfied smirk Griselda sent her. This was the last time she listened to Dorea's portrait. Wear yellow, she had said. The colour looks so lovely during the summer.
Madam Twilfitt had been delighted at making another gown for Elia – even more so when she realized it would be worn to the Longbottom-Abbot wedding – and she had designed it to mimic the styles that had been popular in Dorne before her marriage. A loose skirt with a small slit, a deep neckline that was stitched close together, the arms left bare.
The only jewellery Elia wore were the ones Dorea had gifted her and gold arm bangles, the only thing she had with her of home. It had been her mother's, thin with the visage of a snake wrapped around a curling spear.
Grudgingly, she acknowledged that the older Potter knew good fashion, but Elia knew of the other outcome the woman had been angling for.
She certainly will be delighted to hear it worked so well, she thought.
The ceremony had gone off without a hitch; even the normally stern Augusta Longbottom had softened at the sight of her grandson marrying the woman he loved.
Neville and Hannah were beaming, lost in each other's gaze as the attendants stood to begin the reception.
Feeling the eyes turning to her, she knew Harry was weaving his way closer. "Don't you have duties to attend to?" she lightly asked.
"And leave my date unattended?" he questioned, a husky note in his tone.
Glancing at his face, Elia swallowed at the sight of darkening green eyes. Cursing Griselda in her head – and Dorea for good measure – she ignored the slight flutter in her stomach.
"A terrible position to be put in," she stated.
"Utterly unacceptable," he agreed, steering them away from the chattering women to a table close to the front. Thankfully, Hannah and Neville had a small head table for the two of them, and the rest of the bridal party sat with their respective families. That Narcissa had offered to watch the children meant they did not have to worry about potential disaster from those three.
They sat next to Griselda, Elia pointedly ignoring the looks the woman sent the pair of them, and were surrounded by a few of Neville's relatives.
"Stop glowering at them," she told him, a plate of seared chicken popping into place before her.
"I'm not glowering," Harry muttered. Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Elia saw his old dorm mate flush as she caught him sending a wink at Harry.
"You're the best man, and you have a speech to give soon," she reminded him.
At her words, she saw the flash of delight in his eyes. Poor Neville was going to regret picking Harry to give that particular speech, she knew.
She listened idly as the Longbottoms shared old memories of Neville's courtship, Griselda chiming in on the various Longbottom weddings she had attended, before Harry stood to give his speech. Shuffling to the front of the hall, she saw him smirk lightly as he raised his wand to his throat.
"Ladies and Gentlewizards," he said. "Thank you, on behalf of the Abbot and Longbottom families for joining us today. As his best man – something I'm sure he'll wish he had not done – I am required to give a small speech on dear old Nev. Instead, I'll talk quickly about the day Neville realized he was going to marry Hannah."
"Oh God," Neville groaned, sparking laughter from the audience.
"Yes, Neville. That day," Harry told him, green eyes glittering with joy. "See, Nev here had worried for something like a year over the proposal. Agonized over it as he talked our ears off over when he would do it and where. Then Ernie decided it was time to get a drink."
Laughing, Neville pressed a kiss to Hannah's cheek, muttering something too low to carry across the room.
"Neville is a terrific drinker. Really and truly fantastic, that he ended up telling the lot of us just why he was going to marry Hannah. He was going to because he wanted to; because even when he spent countless hours agonizing over a number of things, not once had he doubted his feelings for her. He went on about the many things he loved about her; how she had the habit of rearranging his plants, how she had the strength to shoulder any number of burdens and allowed him to ease hers, how a single moment spent in her presence made him feel as if he were the happiest man alive."
His eyes caught hers, and Elia felt her breath hitch at his words. "That if he had to choose between a moment spent with her, or an eternity having never known her, he would cherish the short time they had together."
Harry's eyes flicked back to Neville and Hannah, a soft smile on his face as his friend gave him a nod. "Of course, then he ran out and decided he knew the perfect ring to give her. But here we are, watching the beginning of a new journey in their lives. Neville is one of the greatest people I have had the pleasure of knowing; very rarely will you meet someone as strong, brave, or compassionate as him, and I am immensely glad to see that you have found a perfect complement in Hannah.
I wish you both the very best in this new journey of yours, in hopes that Hannah promises to name any kids."
Laughter rang out as catcalls from their old friends pierced the air. Neville had stood to give Harry a tight hug, the two men slapping each other on the back before Harry pressed a quick kiss to Hannah's knuckles.
Susan Bones' speech passed her in a daze, Elia's mind on the green-eyed wizard sharing a dance with the maid of honour.
"Now, dear," Griselda said, shaking her out of her thoughts. "Before your friend returns."
"Griselda," she cut in, though the woman waved her off.
"My dear, I've seen countless people marry over the years. Far too many times have I witnessed people fall in love. It is quite obvious to some of us that what the two of you have is special. Much as the rest of the world likes to assume you've already shacked up, I know better."
"It's complicated," Elia retorted.
"Then make it uncomplicated," Griselda countered. "What is it that you want? You and I both know that man is in love with you, just as much as you are with him. I'm not getting any younger, you know, and I'll be damned if I don't see the end of this."
Rolling her eyes at her final words, Elia left her with a polite smile.
"You're staring," she told him as they walked along the corridor leading to her rooms.
"I am," he agreed, surprising Elia into stopping. Harry's eyes were darker than usual, the love evident in his gaze, and she had to swallow against the sudden lump in her throat. "Have I told you, that you looked absolutely beautiful today?"
"Once or twice," she answered softly. He was holding her hand, and Elia closed her eyes as he placed a soft kiss on her knuckle. "Harry…"
"Would it be terribly selfish of me to admit how I feel about you?" Harry asked quietly. He cradled her cheek in his palm, and Elia pressed lightly against his hand, black eyes locked onto his.
"I want this," he murmured. "I want to wake up and know I don't have to pretend that we are just friends, that I don't look a fool imagining himself in love with someone greater than he. I want you, Elia; your wit, and compassion, and the way you manage to brighten the world with your presence. Far more than anything I've ever wanted, I want to be selfish just this once, if you'll have me."
Green eyes stared deeply into hers, love and hope and a hint of vulnerability swirling in their depths.
What is it that you want?
She knew the answer to that question; had, perhaps, known the answer for much longer than she was willing to admit.
What are you running from?
Elia had expected a marriage like the one she had gotten. Not everyone in Westeros married for love, and she had known a comfortable marriage would have been the best she could hope for.
Yet here she stood, being offered everything she had never thought possible. She would return to Westeros one day, perhaps further into the future, and Elia was finding it difficult to come up with excuses as to why she should ignore her feelings.
"Did you mean it?" she asked, knowing he would understand.
"Every word," he vowed. "As temporary as it might be, I would rather a single moment with you than to have never spoken in fear."
The gods have fashioned us for love, she recalled her septon saying at Doran's wedding. It had been a lavish affair, and they had droned on about the blessings of love.
Elia had been raised to do her duty. As liberal as Dorne could be in certain regards, her life had been dedicated to the duty of a Princess of Dorne. Just this once, she wanted to be selfish and grasp the love he so freely offered.
"It's not terrible to want, Harry," she whispered.
There was a split second of hesitance before Elia felt warm lips pressed against hers. His arm wrapped around her waist, holding her closer as she clutched at his robes.
"I love you," he murmured against her lips, his hand sliding into her hair, fingers buried in her curls. "I lost my heart to you, Elia Martell, and I don't quite know what to do with myself."
Swiftly, she kissed him once more, revelling in the obvious care Harry took with her. She was drowning in a torrent of emotion – hers, his, and a touch of magic sparking between them – and Elia held tightly to him as if they would weather any storm together.
"We live," she told him softly. "We live each day as if it is the last we have to love each other."
There would be time enough to worry of the future; tonight was theirs.
