Sorry about the long delay. The past few months weren't my finest.
I have to clarify this here, because every time I read the restrictions, I get confused, and I came up with the darn things. So yes, Mary could go into the infamous "dogs playing poker" painting or a landscape and talk to Heather, but not the Mona Lisa. As of right now, she is not able to go into photographs, but Tony Stark is a genius and at some point in the future he may have a brainwave that allows for Mary and Lily to interact. I'll let you know if that happens.
Also, the rules that Peggy lays out in this chapter for "addressing titled members of society" are the ones that I'll be using throughout the story, unless and until someone more knowledgeable about that subject corrects me. If you ever have the opportunity to interact with a noble or a knight, please don't just assume that I was right…
And on the topic of "titled members of society," a guest reviewer going by the username Armiture reviewed every chapter (wow, thanks a LOT for that!) and brought up something in particular that I, in my appreciation for British history, forgot that not everyone would know. See, aside from the king and queen, the first recognizable-to-us title used in Britain was "earl," which was apparently a holdover from the Viking days, when the rank was, if I'm not completely screwing up, "jarl," pronounced 'yarl'. When William the Conqueror took over, he brought his people with him, who were, in Normandy (and France), known as "comte" - our translation being "count". As the two areas merged, the ranks - count and earl - were recognized as being equal in status. "Count" remained on the mainland, "earl" on Britannia. Somehow, no one ever seems to have come up with a feminine version of 'earl,' so 'countess' became the title for an earl's wife or, as occasionally happened, a woman who inherited her father's earldom in her own right. So Lily was granted an earldom and would have been called "Countess". And just to confuse you more, most nobles actually do have multiple titles - the easiest one for me to recall off the top of my head is Prince William, who, before becoming Prince of Wales, was known primarily as the Duke of Cambridge, but in Scotland was referred to as the Earl of Strathearn. If anyone wants to understand the hierarchy better, I highly recommend watching the relevant video (I believe the title starts with the heading "Royalty 101") on YouTube channel "History Tea Time with Lindsey Holiday." (Also, especially now that Tony's part of this madness, death by liver failure might be honorable if they're dealing with the insanity that is Heather Potter's life and luck. And I thought that was a hysterical idea; I may eventually incorporate it. Like, IM1 time frame. And if I remember right, somewhere in Iron Man, possibly IM2, someone mentions that Pepper has been working for him for about a decade - my headcanon is that she started working for him sometime between 1997 and 1999, so we've got a few years to cover yet, because I don't currently plan to include her early. Also, if the ones between Cindy and Pepper were, according to actual MCU canon and not just what I've read on here or AO3, attractive ladies whose main collective goal was to sleep with Tony, well, they're gonna be useless filler. I don't think there will be too many; I think that the next one might be it for the interim P.A.s, if I can write the character correctly. And your headcanon about the Horcruxes is my second choice on the topic, and you said it far more eloquently than I could have.) As to your other questions, from my memory, I think each one was answered in the chapter following the relevant review, but if not, please let me know what's still confusing, and I'll address it next time.
Cowchoas, they are indeed related to the queen. Exactly how will be revealed. Eventually. It's written, not typed - chapter 29, so, not a forgotten detail but not important in the near future.
Anubis, oh, thank you for that! The idea of a well-known artifact never even crossed my mind, mostly because... well, I subscribe to the idea, found elsewhere on the site, that Muggleborns are descended from Squibs who were cast out of their families. Which actually ties into the answer above. (And any more than that would be "spoilers," according to 11 and River. Sorry.) If anyone is interested in Heather's lineage, especially after chapter 29, I'll post the relevant lines of ancestry after that.
Aldiggity, if you like my story for the royal connection, and you haven't already read them, you should check out "Hatal Fart Attack" and "Royal Ward" (the latter being a continuation of the first by a different author), "Long Live the Queen," and the "Blue" series by Stephen Ratliff, all on this site.
Thank you all for your kind words and support, and I hope you all enjoy the chapter (and more Queen Elizabeth II!)
Originally posted: 2 Dec 2022
Elizabeth stared at the now-empty painting in shock. "Won't someone notice," she asked faintly, "that a famous portrait no longer contains its subject?"
"Have you ever noticed her absence before?" the girl retorted, sarcasm tempered by sincerity. "Muggles go out of their way to ignore magic, even when it's staring them in the face. Besides, the magical world long ago took precautions against one of our paintings finding its way into this society. All works created by a witch or wizard have a special Notice-Me-Not Potion mixed into the paint, in addition to the animation and personality potions that are also required for a magical portrait. Uninitiated Muggles will see exactly what they expect to see – Mary, Queen of Scots, for example – and then their minds will turn to more important things, or they won't even notice the frame at all; anyone who knows about magic will assume that Mary is doing exactly what she is doing – visiting other portraits."
"I already knew about magic before this," the current monarch argued. "Why would I not have seen it empty?"
"Because, while you knew about magic before this," Heather pointed out reasonably, "you didn't acknowledge it on a regular basis, nor, if I guess right, have you ever previously been aware of magical portraits' penchant for sitting still as well as five-year-olds."
"This entire thing is ridiculous," Peggy muttered. "I can deal with magic; I've seen science do some pretty strange things, too."
"Cough, Steve, cough," Tony fake-hacked, to Elizabeth's quickly-hidden mirth.
His aunt ignored them. "And I know how to interact with incumbent heads of state. But now I need to learn the protocol for deceased monarchs in magical paintings? Do such protocols even exist?"
"Honestly? No idea," the teen shrugged. "I just went with what we know. I did the same when I met Ragnok a few hours ago – he's the Goblin equivalent of a king, but I can't pronounce his actual title without a lot more practice – only I added that, because of lousy instruction and no way at Hogwarts to get the correct information without arousing suspicion, I was forced to rely on the Muggle customs I've grown up learning, and could he please not take offense to my ignorance."
"She did, and he didn't," Gorthunk confirmed for everyone. "While your forms were foreign to him, he understands your limitations and appreciates that you showed him what you know as the equivalent respect for someone of his stature."
"Oh, good," Tony sighed in relief, wiping non-existent sweat from his brow. "Gem told me about a rumored Goblin punishment, and that's one dinner reservation I never want to make."
"That is only for those who act against either the bank or the Nation – thieves, for instance," the Goblin grinned savagely, picking up the ward stone. "Like a certain annoying, backstabbing, 'greater good'-espousing goat fucker – ahem, I mean, whiskered wanker. Or rather, as Tony described him earlier, and I think will become a preferred title for him within the bank, 'color-blind Gandalf.' Yes, that's the inoffensive version. Apologies, ma'am."
Elizabeth's eyes shone with mirth as she led the small group back to her office. "Why? Oh, bother, did I go temporarily deaf again?" The younger humans snorted and giggled. "It's become rather a common ailment," she went on with a smirk, "when my older grandchildren are here, and not in their roles as young royals."
They fixed themselves more refreshments and slowly resettled in their seats. The hostess took the opportunity to phone the Prince of Wales and request that he and his wife – yes, they were still married, and they'd do best to remember that – come to the Palace around 8PM that evening. She pushed the button to re-secure the room, and Gorthunk, visibly, became a Goblin again. "The floor is yours once more, dear girl," Elizabeth said, allowing the teen to reopen the scroll.
"Thank you, ma'am. The last part I read was about the actual wedding, yeah?"
"Yes," Peggy recalled first.
"Thanks." Heather scanned through the scroll to find the right spot. "'The parties must–'" She stopped abruptly, turning shrewd eyes to the corner of the room behind them after hearing a faint sound, like that of clothes rustling. "Show yourself," she demanded, taking her piping hot tea with her as she stalked to the empty area, "or face the consequences."
Gorthunk seemed to give her the benefit of the doubt, but the humans were not so inclined. "Baby," Tony sighed from his chair, running a hand over his face, "there's nothing there. You're being paranoid."
"It's not paranoia when someone really is out to get you," she shot right back, her glare never wavering from her invisible target. "And rocks don't scream, and cars aren't feral. And whomever this is, he or she cannot vacate their chosen spot without making a sound." She smirked evilly, addressing the unseen spy, "Not going to out yourself? Well, don't complain that I didn't warn you." With that, she tossed the steaming contents of her teacup onto where she expected the person's face to be. She nailed it, and the Indian man undid his Disillusionment, scowling. "Who are you? And what is your purpose here?"
"I am Auror John Dawlish," the man sneered at her, wiping the beverage off his face. (On a scale of one to 'Snape after Sirius escaped from the castle at the end of her third year,' the look barely rated 'puppy being forced to take medication.') Tony stiffened at the menace in the auror's voice, though Heather, herself, barely heard the tone, as accustomed as she was to the Potions Master's venomous rages. "I was alerted to the use of the Muggle Queen's security device and came to investigate."
The raven-headed girl held her hand up to stop anyone else commenting, narrowing her eyes pensively. "Mr Stark," she purred, "didn't one of the Three Amigos tell me that I need Dobby in my life?"
Her soulmate blinked, pulled from his protective anger by the thought-provoking non-sequitur. "In… different words, but yes, that was the gist of what Billy the Kid said…" Heather cackled, a full-on, stereotypical evil witch's laugh that left those with whom she was meeting share apprehensive looks. "Little gem, you're kinda scaring us."
"Only kinda? I'm not doing it right, then."
"What are you plotting?"
"Oh, just how to prove that I am my parents' daughter," she explained, grinning viciously. "Your Majesty, would you be so kind as to write a letter to the Ministry of Magic that says something to the effect of, 'everything's fine, don't send people to investigate when I magically secure the room, the next person who does investigate without my express invitation will be taken for and treated as a spy and a traitor…'"
"Any particular reason?" the queen asked, already pulling out a piece of official stationery.
"If I'm right," Tony drawled, "she's about to say something about the favorite spell of someone who was employed in her second year to teach the school Defense and failed miserably in that job."
"Stop reading my mind!" the girl protested teasingly, her laughter low and sinister. Dawlish shivered at the sound. "Time to find out if he was right. Dobby? If you're not busy, could you please–"
The excitable elf popped in rhapsodically. "Heather Potter, miss, you is calling Dobby?"
"–come here," she finished rhetorically. "I did, indeed," she answered, grinning warmly at him until a horrible thought struck her. She motioned the enthusiastic servant over to her and bent down to whisper, quietly enough that even Dobby had trouble hearing, "Are there any listening charms or other spying spells active in the room right now?"
He paused for a moment to do a quick scan with his magic. "Yes, Heather Potter, miss," he whispered back, equally quietly. "One being going into the Ministry, other to Professor Dumbledore's office at Hogwarts. But no one is there to hear – the Ministry in France is calling to check into all the wrong things that happened during the Tournament."
Even with that silver lining, Heather's back tensed. She clenched her jaw as she thought through her very limited options. "Get rid of them, Dobby, please!" she begged. With two clicks of his long fingers, he complied. His nod of confirmation allowed her to breathe freely, and suddenly, she couldn't hide the mischief in her expression. "And now that we're free and clear," she smirked, speaking at her normal volume, "I'm under the impression that you may be interested in one particular family bond, and I sure could use an elf I trust." She smothered her giggles as Dobby, much to everyone else's amused bewilderment, bounced up and down in elation, more closely resembling a kangaroo on a trampoline than one of his species. "What do you say, Dobs?"
"Oh, Heather Potter, miss!" the elf squeaked. "That is Dobby's dream of dreams! I's accepting bonding to the Potter family! So's being said…"
"So mote it be," Heather concluded automatically, feeling something indescribable, but right, slot into place. After a bemused look, she shrugged to herself. "Is Winky still drinking butterbeer?" she wondered aloud.
"Yes, Mistress," Dobby replied sadly, twisting his ears in distress. "Winky still misses her old masters."
Heather's eye twitched. "I knew I was forgetting something about house elves," she muttered to herself. Louder, she said, "Okay, I'll give you all the rules later, but for now, would you please get me my potions kit, book, and cauldron?"
"Dobby is sorry, Mistress," he shook his head, shoulders drooping at the perceived failure on his part. "Dobby cannot go that far to a new place if Mistress is not first calling from there. At least, not till Mistress is fully bonded," he added, giving Tony a pointed look.
"Well, that's helpful," she snarked, pursing her lips in rumination until a shrewd idea came to her. Her face lit with a sadistic grin as she explained, "Anything the overgrown bat considered his, is now mine." After several seconds, Tony, her intended audience, caught on, his expression mirroring hers. "Dobby," she requested, overly sweet, "would you be kind enough to fetch me a pewter cauldron, a set of brewer's knives, a stirrer, and a fourth-year's potions text from Hogwarts, along with the ingredients, already prepared if possible, for the Forgetfulness Potion?"
"I won't take it," Dawlish insisted immediately, even as the elf disappeared. "It is illegal to impede a member of the D.M.L.E. in the line of duty."
"Is that so?" Heather questioned dangerously. "And if Lucius Malfoy were the one meeting with Her Majesty, would you be so keen to spy on this audience?"
"Of course not!" the auror denied vociferously. "Lord Malfoy is an upstanding citizen!"
Elizabeth's eyes flashed with anger, pausing in her writing to stand imperially behind her desk. "We dare say he was not, if he claimed a title not granted to him by the Crown – whichever country that Crown may have ruled. Only those ennobled are allowed to use the title of 'Lord' or 'Lady,' as Lady Potter is. Our predecessors, and most certainly We, have never issued Letters Patent for a Malfoy; and, with a grand total of two exceptions in the last 500 years, all hereditary nobility in the British Isles has passed through heirs male of the body of the first holder. And We highly doubt that the former monarchs of France would have thusly exalted a family known for breaking their word – or have We erred in translating 'mal foi' to 'bad faith'?"
"And really," Gorthunk scoffed from his new position to the interloper's left, "you're telling us that someone accused of being a Death Eater is a more trustworthy individual than your vaunted Girl-Who-Lived?"
"Did you see him move?" a wide-eyed Tony hissed at Peggy, who usually observed everything.
"No, and that's concerning," she murmured back, staring unabashedly at the unsheathed dagger in the Goblin's hand.
"On second thought, Lady Potter," Gorthunk mused as Dobby popped back in with the requested gear, "I don't think you need to worry about brewing anything except more tea. Your elf–"
"His name is Dobby," she corrected pointedly.
With a contrite nod – he'd yet to see her treat any being as inferior to herself – he duly amended and continued, "Dobby can deliver Her Majesty's letter. I do believe that Auror Dawlish has…" His eyes filled with blood lust, and even the witchling was slightly disturbed by the sight. "…an inescapable dinner reservation at Chez Gringotts." He spun the dagger in his palm with nary a care.
"It is of no concern to your subordinate Ministry," Elizabeth stated sharply, "for what purpose We secure Our office, or with whom We meet, or what is discussed. Lady Potter is completely correct in her unstated but implied demand. Either you take the potion made and provided by the Countess of Stanford, or Account Manager Gorthunk shall be temporarily elevated to Our personal security force and allowed to deal with the threat you represent as he sees fit."
Dawlish paled drastically as Goblin and monarch made their threats. Heather, still smiling savagely, simply started brewing. "I'll take the potion!" he decided desperately.
"Your Majesty," Peggy added pointedly for him. When he looked at her cluelessly, she explained curtly, "When one speaks to a titled member of society, one uses the member's title unless and until said member tells one otherwise, regardless of age. I am Dame Carter; the young woman at the cauldron is either, Lady Potter or Lady Stanford when speaking to her, and when speaking about her, 'Countess of Stanford' is an equally appropriate identification; and the 'Muggle Queen,' as you so disrespectfully referred to her earlier, is Her, or Your, Majesty." She unsubtly removed her handgun from her purse; at Elizabeth's curious glance, she stated plainly, "After the war, and considering my profession, I've never gotten out of the habit of carrying it with me, though I never thought I'd need it in your office."
"Might I suggest," Heather commented lightly, otherwise completely focused on her task, "that someone separate the wizard from his wand?"
With all other hands occupied by at least one weapon (Elizabeth's pen, of course, being the mightiest), the girl's soulmate was the obvious choice to remove the enchanted stick from the interloper's grasp. "I think you gave them too much credit," he muttered, "when you said not an ounce of logic. If he's the shining example of British wizardry, I'd be astounded if the entire community could scrounge up a microliter."
About 45 minutes later, after removing the *dithered amber* concoction from the portable flame, the teen added a strand of her hair to the potion and stirred vigorously for precisely 32 seconds as the hand-written variation instructed.
"What's that gonna do?" Tony asked in fascination.
"Normally, the Forgetfulness Potion makes the drinker forget everything in a set time-frame," she lectured. "Along the lines of, say, forgetting an appointment or a recipe. Enough of an external stimulus will eventually bring the memory back. The time frame is determined by the ratio of ingredients. But one can key the potion to a particular person, apparently, by adding said person's DNA. Adding my hair – and Dobby's, to the vial we give to Auror Dawlish – means that he will completely forget seeing or hearing us in the last two hours, and anything he learned about or from us in that same time. More accurately, the memories of Dobby and me will be completely destroyed, where even video evidence wouldn't convince him the events had happened, but the rest is under the same 'cloud' as I described earlier." She dropped Dobby's offered hair into the first vial he handed her and began shaking it; the elf continued meticulously bottling the rest of the potion for potential future use. "Make sure to label these as already being keyed to me, please, Dobs." He nodded and immediately created magical labels that held all relevant information. As she closed the book, a cheeky smirk found its way to her lips. "Was this copy of the book previously owned by a Death Eater, do you know?"
The elf stopped working for a moment, his own expression sly as he answered, "Oh, yes, Mistress. Was nasty potions man's."
"Somehow, I'm not surprised," she muttered. "Probably used this variation on the occasional lucky sod who survived revels, like what the aftermath of the Quidditch World Cup turned into. Please store those extras in a secure location where no one except you and my other house elves can access them when requested – never know when they'll come in handy. Also, if you'd be so kind, return everything – you can ask another elf, if you want – and make sure that all this kit is properly cleaned and maintained and in the exact same spots from whence each item came, so that no one knows they were used. And then, come back; I still need your help."
The excitable elf was gone, along with all the magical items he'd brought into the room (save the vial of potion that was earmarked for Dawlish), and back in less than a minute. During his absence, no one spoke. When the loud pop sounded his arrival, Heather took out her own wand and aimed at the wizard as insurance. Despite the fact that she was 'underage,' she immediately became the assailant he took most seriously. (Bloody stupid Pureblood – did he not realize that the Goblin next to him was just waiting for an excuse to gut him?) "Dobby, would you please do the honor of knocking the rude man unconscious?" she requested.
"Is auror man trying to hurt the great Heather Potter, miss?" the elf asked shrewdly.
The teen raised an eyebrow at Dobby's unusual comment, then remembered that he hadn't interfered in her confrontation with Lucius Malfoy until Papa Ferret had become an immediate, imminent threat to her life. And Dumbledore and the Ministry potentially locating her before Tony and Elizabeth hammered out the particulars – well, that didn't bode well for her safety. "He's certainly not here for my health," she answered carefully.
Dawlish opened his mouth to retort, but another click of the elf's long fingers left the intruder laid out, soporose, before he could finish drawing the necessary breath. "No one hurts Dobby's Mistress," the small being growled protectively.
Gorthunk snorted. "Dobby, the young lady you call 'Mistress' is the most protected, most protective, most dangerous, and most danger-prone individual I've ever had the privilege of encountering."
"And she's standing right here," Heather drawled in amusement, rolling her eyes in exasperation at the elf's antics. "Dobby, until I tell you otherwise, I need you to act as though nothing has changed between us – for my safety, not because I'm ashamed of you," she hurried to elaborate. "You absolutely cannot let the Headmaster know about the bond; that you've acted to my benefit without him ordering it; that you've seen, heard, and-or interacted with me at any time since the Third Task started; or that you left the school to answer my call, and eventually allowed me to utilize ingredients and equipment from the Potions department. I will call for you later, and when I do, please bring Winky with you. I'll need her to be as sober as possible."
"Yes, Mistress. Dobby is so happy to bees Heather Potter, miss's elf!" he cried excitedly before he left.
Several seconds of silence followed his departure. Finally, Elizabeth summed up the general opinion of the room by saying, "Well. He seems quite the character."
"Oh, he is," Heather deadpanned. "Little bugger nearly got me killed, trying to save my life. And then, he sent a flying cannonball after me to break my arm. Good times," she reminisced fondly, "good times."
One skeptical eyebrow trying to merge with his hairline, Tony met the teen's gaze. "You and I define that phrase very differently. So what was the point of knocking out Auror Dumbish?"
"The potion takes effect within two minutes of being ingested," she expounded. "And if he sees me, it's completely negated."
"So we need to provide a reasonable explanation for why he's unconscious," Peggy realized quickly. "And for why his shirt smells like tea. Will he remember anything about the potion?"
"Because we clearly stated that Heather was brewing it, no," Gorthunk answered. "We Goblins have a similar potion that we use on retiring human employees." With an expression of disappointment, he returned the dagger to its sheath at his hip. "That looks like a rather heavy book," he added, pointing to a thick tome of laws. "May I?"
"Oh, yes, of course," the queen allowed graciously. "We obviously saw you pick it up and throw it at this menacing infiltrator in our defense. Heather, pass the vial to Gorthunk; he can ensure that Mr Dawlish consumes every last drop, magically if necessary."
"I don't need another citation for underage magic, or magic in front of Muggles," the teen nodded, doing as she was told.
"Haven't we agreed, however grudgingly," Tony ruminated, "that you're of-age in the magical world? How would you be charged with underage magic?"
Heather glared half-heartedly at her soulmate. "Haven't we agreed, however furiously, that British magicals don't keep up with the times?" she shot back caustically.
He smirked back sheepishly. "Touché."
"Before you wake him up," the youngest thought aloud, "and I suggest that someone throw more tea on him to do so, despite the waste of not one but two good cuppas–" Peggy quickly turned her chuckles into a hacking cough. "–I need somewhere to hide, or else this is all for naught."
"Behind the curtain," Elizabeth suggested, motioning with one hand as she finished the letter of remonstration with a flourished signature and a wax seal. "I doubt he'll think to look there. Especially since we won't be giving him a chance to do so."
Dubiously, the teen glanced over to the window dressings. "That was always the first place Dudley looked for me, even after I stopped using it as a hiding place," she sighed. "And won't he see my shoes?"
Gorthunk chortled. "You're assuming a lot, Heather," he chided playfully, "like wizards using logic."
"There are four chairs in front of Her Majesty's desk," the witch pointed out, "and seemingly only three people meeting with her. While they don't use logic, they certainly can do maths."
"So we move the extra chair," Tony shrugged. "Set it at the perfect angle to hide your feet. And in the unlikely event he asks who it's for, we'll tell him it's for the Prince of Wales. He will be here later." With barely any effort, he picked up the chair nearest the window. "Come on, Gem – I can't camouflage you without you being in place."
"I can see I've been outvoted," Heather drawled as she pulled the curtain back. "You still have his wand, yeah?"
"Yes, shorty. Now shush," he urged. "Gorthunk's pouring the potion down his throat."
"You should have the book," she whispered loudly, "so Gorthunk can take his dagger back out. And Her Majesty should be the one to dump tea on Dawlish, to tangibly display Her displeasure."
"I like the way she thinks," Peggy said, a smirk in her voice.
"As do I," the Goblin agreed as he pocketed the now-empty vial.
"I suppose that makes the sentiment unanimous," Elizabeth concurred before splashing her tea on the Auror as suggested.
