Although I doubt anyone who actually knows her will see this, I offer my condolences to the British Royal Family. I'm posting this today, instead of next week as I was planning, in the hope that this will help someone smile a bit.
Originally posted: 08 Sept 2022
"And of course," Her Majesty went on, smirking at her discomfort, "you'll be knighted for your own efforts, as well. Hmm, I don't believe I should personally take you on as a ward – I'm not getting any younger, you know. How do you feel about my son?"
Blinking blankly, the still wide-eyed teen finally gathered enough of her wits to say faintly, "You have three, ma'am."
Gorthunk and Peggy snorted; Tony and Elizabeth grinned, the latter elaborating, "Indeed, I do. I refer to Charles. When you visited with your mother those few times, he learned how to care for small children – he'd made himself scarce around Peter until he could feed himself and use the loo. You got on well with him, then."
Heather simply gaped. Turning to Tony in absolute bewilderment, she whispered, "What just happened?"
"How do you plan to address me having custody, as per the contract?" he instead asked the queen, rubbing the girl's back. "Standard penalty for breaking a magical contract is, as I stated earlier, loss of either life or magic, and I don't exactly want to risk either – mine or hers. And I highly doubt anyone foresaw complications of this magnitude."
"You'll have primary physical custody," Elizabeth snarked, "and Charles will get visitation rights."
"We're getting divorced?" he quipped back. "Aw, man, I don't even get a dinner date out of it? I must be losing my touch."
"Tony!" Peggy scolded, aghast. Behind the desk, where she was already setting the plans to paper, Elizabeth giggled in a most unroyal manner.
Heather blinked, even more lost. She wrapped his tie around her hand, trying to ground herself. "Seriously, I don't know what's going on right now. Please tell me?"
His hand moved into her hair while he held her gaze. "Are you all right, Gemstone? You look a little unfocused."
"There's something magical here," she said. Everyone tensed in surprise. "Not the ward stone the queen activated earlier, something else. It's not in the room, but it's not too far. It's calling out to me. When I'm reading the contract, it's not bothering me because the contract… draws more of my magic's attention? I don't know how to explain it."
"You sure it's not the Portkey?" he asked, naming the only other magical item he knew to be in the room.
"That type of magic doesn't call out," she shook her head. "Otherwise, I'd have never been in the graveyard."
"Okay." Tony was unnerved, but he carried on decisively, "Well, as long as it's not imminently dangerous, we can figure it out later. Her Majesty's making plans that will honor Lily's and your defeats of Fold-More, and those plans take into account both royal precedent from ages ago and our contract, with regard to your guardianship. I can work with the Prince of Wales, ma'am," he said to the queen, "if he's your choice of alternative."
Elizabeth nodded in acknowledgement. "Give me a moment, and then we'll return to the contract." Her guests used Her Majesty's preoccupation with making notes to refresh their drinks. When the queen had done the same, she motioned to the teen. "Go ahead, child."
"What about Sirius?" Heather wondered, grasping for something she could understand. "Isn't he still, technically, my guardian if I need one? He was never convicted, so his rights were subverted!"
"He can't be," the queen explained gently, "unless and until he is cleared of the charges against him. Were he to request asylum from my government or my family, we could ensure a fair trial, at the very least. But even so, this contract would still place you in Tony's custody, and I am not inclined to risk your safety or his for what should have been." As she turned to Tony, who thanked her silently for how she handled the question, she began smirking again. "And I'm sure I can convince Charles to take you out for dinner and a movie, so long as said movie is appropriate for the chaperones, as well."
Peggy sighed. "I give up."
"That's the spirit!" Heather chirped.
"There's two of them…" Tony's aunt groaned, sounding like all her nightmares had come to life.
"What part of 'soulmate'," her nephew drawled, "made you think she was anything other than the female version of me?"
"As entertaining as this is," Elizabeth cut in, still smiling, "I do believe we should continue."
"Yes, ma'am," the teen nodded. Tony rested his chin on her shoulder as she lifted the scroll. "Er… 'A bride price of 10,000 Galleons, or the non-magical monetary equivalent, shall be paid to the female party's family within six months of the parties receiving this document. A dowry, consisting of, at minimum, double the bride price and one warded residence on a property no smaller than one acre–'"
"Do you – did your family even have a property that met those requirements?" Tony pondered.
"Before Friday last," Gorthunk replied for her, "the Potter estate had seven such properties around the world. As of mid-morning Saturday, the number grew exponentially." He glanced pointedly at Heather's forehead to wordlessly remind them of the destruction of the soul leech.
"Anyway…" Heather scanned the scroll for where she'd left off. "'–one acre, shall be turned over to the female party one month prior to the wedding to prepare it for habitation.'" Suddenly, she glowered at the parchment, almost growling, "'Bride price and dowry are nullified only if both parties are the last of their respective families; if one of the parties has close kin, but the second does not, both bride price and dowry are required.'"
Tony made a similar sound. "I'm sorry you had to fight through that for absolutely no real reason."
"How did you know Tony's the last of his line?" Peggy demanded suspiciously.
"Aside from what Gorthunk said earlier? He'd already told me he was C.E.O. of S.I," the teen explained, "and that he's ten years my senior. He gives off the same… vibes, I guess, as my cousin and most of the magical children I've met, and the ones I'm talking about are only children all. Obie – Obadiah Stane," she clarified disdainfully for the queen's benefit, "outright said that he'd run the company since Howard died until recently." She shrugged. "There are only two ways I know of to become C.E.O. so young – create the company, or inherit it."
"Logical deductions," Gorthunk praised, "and, luckily, correct."
"So this scroll is a marriage contract," Elizabeth recounted, "to which Tony and Heather are bound by the magical heritage in their blood to fulfill, because neither was married or otherwise legally contracted to another person on the 24th of November just past, when Heather was emancipated in the magical world, but not in the mundane, where she's been in no one's legal custody since her parents died, which left her as a Royal Ward that no one was aware of. According to the contract, Tony must have guardianship over her. Actually, that bit worries me," she admitted. "From what I'm seeing of your interactions, you seem more like siblings than future marriage partners."
"That's a non-concern," Gorthunk dismissed.
"Uh, I've kinda felt the same way," Tony agreed. Heather froze. "I'm not trying to get out of this, Gem. But the age gap is not exactly helpful with this. Even knowing we're soulmates, I don't look at you right now – no offense – and think, 'Here's the future mother of my kids.' I feel more like a protective older brother, like I am to you what Rhodey's always been to me, and in my opinion – no offense, Your Majesty – incest is not win-cest."
The girl relaxed, teasing, "Too interested in eating your own pizza?"
"Well, yeah, that, and not having offspring that inspired Picasso's unique style," he quipped back.
Elizabeth snorted into her teacup. Peggy choked on her mouthful of coffee. Gorthunk, unfamiliar with non-magical art, wondered softly, "Who's Picasso?"
Raising an eyebrow at his aunt, Tony deadpanned, "By now, I'd think that you, at least, would know better than to take a drink while I'm talking."
"You are acting exactly as expected," the Goblin reiterated, shaking his head. "Your innate magic is leading you to be exactly what she needs at any given moment, and vice versa. The contract, and magic itself, have decreed that you have nominal guardianship over her. You see, or sense, that she needs someone to call family, someone she can trust, and that she's not ready for romantic entanglements yet. That, plus the magically-enforced guardianship, plus her current age, culminate in your current relationship with one another. Your interactions will change, based on what's needed or desired at any given time. My point being, at some point, you will want to copulate – likely around her 18th birthday, if your will remains strong. But neither offering comfort nor overprotectiveness is exclusive to any one type of relationship."
Mollified, the queen continued, "Heather will be granted dual citizenship; as a Countess, she must be a citizen of the Realm. The Prince of Wales will serve as secondary guardian in my stead, which will allow her to learn the duties of a Peer. And of course, we learned about the moot stipulations regarding bride price and dowry. Have I missed any of the important details so far?"
"No, ma'am, that was well summarized," Peggy sighed, running a hand down her weary face. "I've just one question – how do you get mixed up in things like this?"
The soulmates shared a look, neither knowing which of them she was talking to. Tony shrugged first. "This kinda shit just finds me."
Peggy and Elizabeth cleared their throats in disapproval, even as Heather repeated his gesture. "Prior to meeting Tony," she disclosed, "there were several absolute truths in my life: the Dursleys despise me; every year at Hogwarts, there'll be a new Defense professor, and at some point during his employment, he'll try to harm me; my hair will never do as I want; and I have inherited, apparently from my father, the most bipolar luck ever."
"Examples of that last?" Gorthunk pressed, his expression vacillating between skeptical and 'this child is the answer to all my prayers.'
She leveled an unimpressed look at the Goblin and deadpanned, "I was forced to steal from, and then outfly, an enraged, starving, unrestrained, fire-breathing, nesting mother dragon, for a competition I was entered into against my will, on what amounted to an enchanted piece of kindling, as said giant lizard chased me around the school grounds in its attempts to flambe me – and I somehow survived." Her lips twitched as both males attempted to protest her fatalistic phrasing and realized they couldn't. "From what I understand, Gorthunk, you may have an even better example under your hat of one of my father's bad plans gone miraculously good: a previously unconfirmed werewolf mating ritual, orange juice, and Frank Sinatra-crooning duck-billed tiger lilies?"
Gorthunk snorted in remembrance. "Patron James may not have been the sharpest sword in the armory, but he was always good for a laugh."
For the other humans in the room, all of whom were mouthing the components in a futile attempt to make sense of them, she shook her head. "Yeah, don't hurt yourselves. I don't know, either. The only other phrases in Mum's diary anywhere near those – and these make only the tiniest bit more sense – are, and I quote her directly, 'Remus really has a furry problem now,' 'McGonagall got shit-faced pissed last night,' and, both most interesting and most disturbing of the lot, 'not just a crime against nature, a crime against abominations, too.'" Smiling, she raised her hands in surrender. "After recording the event, or the aftermath, Mum seems to have done her level best to forget it happened. She stuck the pages together and put a warning on the front of that section: 'Read at your own risk – Potter idiocy running rampant.' I haven't unstuck them yet because of the Trace."
Elizabeth laughed. "Yes, that sounds like Lily. Once they were married, every meeting began with her huffing into her seat, and Prime Minister Thatcher sighing, 'What did the toe rag do this time?' Inevitably, the latest exploits had the three of us in stitches in less than twenty seconds." She snorted ungracefully. "Purple antlers on a neon green dog…"
"I've seen that picture!" Heather giggled. "Any chance you'd be willing to relay that story? Sirius point-blank refuses on the grounds of 'preserving my innocence' or some such rot."
"Maybe another time," Peggy cut in. "There's still a lot of that contract to go through."
Heather's shoulders slumped in tandem with Tony's. "Party-pooper," she grumbled.
"Killjoy," Tony agreed with an overblown frown.
"Fuddy-duddy," Elizabeth added with her own exaggerated pout. At Peggy's look of surprise, Her Majesty went on, "What? I may be Queen, but I'm rarely allowed to go off-script. Peggy is right, however; we should return to the topic at hand."
After a few seconds, Heather found the correct spot. "'The wedding must occur before the younger party's 20th birthday or within two years of this contract being enforced, whichever is later.'"
"Well, that's a weight off my mind," Peggy sighed. "Your mother would kill you if you married a child, and then me for not stopping you."
"Define 'child,'" Heather challenged, scoffing. "Because, aside from earning a paycheck, I've been taking care of myself for donkey's years."
"Any semblance of childhood she had a chance at died in her place on her fifth birthday," Tony agreed with her darkly. "You know how I feel about Howard? Compared to the Dursleys, he was Father of the Fucking Millenium – sorry, ma'am."
"It's about perception, Tony," Elizabeth commented quietly, frowning at but otherwise ignoring the coarse language. "Public opinion can make or break a person's image. Being who you are, you must know that. I must say that I, too, am glad for that provision."
"In the magical world, a marriage is not recognized as binding until it has been consummated," Gorthunk chimed in, to Heather's discomfort. "Even if all documents are signed and filed, it can be contested until… well, for the sake of my young client's blood pressure, let's just say, until the wedding night."
Indeed, at that moment, the teen was doing her best to make a lobster jealous of her coloring. "Now that I know what they mean," she whispered to the slowly calming man, "I'm okay with it. After all, you basically said the same when I first told you and the Three Amigos about Lockhart." He released a deep breath that wasn't quite a sigh and nodded. "Ahem. 'Said wedding must take place in the presence of the reigning British monarch, said monarch's heir apparent or presumptive, or both, barring illness or injury which precludes their attendance. If neither monarch nor heir attend for any other reason, parties must have an audience with the monarch at the earliest mutual convenience beforehand to obtain royal assent.'"
"Well, I suppose that's now," Elizabeth chuckled. "Assent granted. You'll need to get with Charles for planning purposes," she said pensively as she added that thought to her notes. "Since he'll, at least nominally, be one of your guardians for the next three years, and it seems unlikely he'll have a natural daughter, I'm certain he'll be pleased as punch to stand in for your father and escort you down the aisle. The requirement can easily be fulfilled in that way, though, presuming I am invited, I do wish to be there for you on your special day."
"All that's left is to mail it," Tony agreed, and the teen hummed her consent. As she opened her mouth to continue reading, he put a hand on the scroll. "How soon do we need a date picked? I remember hearing somewhere that you have parts of your schedule made three years in advance."
"That is true," the queen nodded. "As soon as you've decided, let us know. But there's no rush right now. I do not want your nuptials to occur before your 18th birthday, Heather – not even the night before. Understood?"
"Yes, ma'am," she immediately acquiesced. Tony shot the woman a look, wondering why she was even bothering to state something so obvious. "Um, before we go any further, could we please take a quick break? I need a lavatory."
"Of course," Elizabeth grinned gently, pushing the same button with which she had secured the room. "I find myself in a similar situation."
After a brief pause so that Gorthunk could activate a Glamour Stone and thus preserve the Statute of Secrecy, the four guests trooped behind the queen to the nearest water closets. Heather, the first of the three women done, stepped into the hallway and leaned against both Tony and the wall. A flicker of movement, barely enough to be called a trick of the light, caught her attention, and she stared intently at the portrait in front of her as her magic reached out to it.
"Gemstone!" Tony called, in a worried tone that implied he'd called her several times. Slightly dazed, she turned to him. He immediately saw how hard it was for her to focus, so he leaned down to meet her eyes. "Are you down the rabbit hole again?"
"I don't know what that means," she replied airily, her eyes darting around quickly. "I've seen this painting before," she went on, zeroing back in on the object of her interest. "At school. I think. Snape's classroom? Maybe."
Gorthunk discreetly dropped something that would protect their privacy. Even though he saw the action, Tony chose his words carefully in case it took a moment to power up. "Is this what you were feeling that very specific pull to, earlier?"
"Nonsense," Elizabeth said from behind the girl. "The Crown has had that portrait since shortly after it was painted. This is the original; the copy that James VI & I commissioned sits in the Devonshire Collection."
"But if the artist was, secretly, a wizard," the Goblin countered, "he could easily have created a companion portrait to which the subject could travel. This is, indeed, a magical painting, Lady Stanford. I sense a faint signature of a spell that limits her ability to move – Dumbledore, if I'm not mistaken, though I cannot fathom why."
"Are you seriously telling us," Peggy challenged, "that this well-known portrait of Mary, Queen of Scots, is magical? What does that even entail?"
"She looks like Mum," Heather commented dreamily, ignoring the disbelief being expressed behind her.
The others looked up at the portrait in surprise. "I suppose so," Gorthunk shrugged, "inasmuch as all humans look alike to us Goblins, and we all look alike to you lot."
"Bells!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "I never noticed the resemblance, but now you mention it, they are spitting images!"
"Different eyes," Tony contrasted, "but otherwise, you're – Gem, what are you doing?"
She slipped out of his light grip to cross the corridor in awe. "It's Mum's magic," she marveled, shooting him a quick glance over her shoulder. "Hidden under Dumbledore's." Tony tensed as her right hand grazed the outer edge of the frame, but nothing happened. "I've never felt it before, that I can remember. I have Dad's Invisibility Cloak, and the map of Hogwarts he helped create – and weren't both of those a trip to discover, and even more to use them together – but no one's ever really mentioned Mum, let alone given me something of hers – I was lucky to find her diary in the vault, and smarter to heed Bloodrock's advice to leave it there."
"Heather," the queen tried to persuade, "you don't know–"
"I am an infallible DNA test within my own family lines," the teen bit out in annoyance, forgetting that only Tony had known that, "and magic is part of that. What I'm feeling, it – it resonates with me, but differently than Dad's magic in the Marauders' Map, so it must be Mum's." Without allowing for further objections or comments, she laid her hands on the gilded frame and pushed her magic into the canvas and oil.
Immediately, the regal redhead began moving slowly. First, she blinked rapidly, then she moved her head from side to side. "Cor, that feels good," the portrait half-sighed, half-groaned in her fading French accent as she stretched. She looked quickly at the beings assembled before her, focusing on the youngest. "Lily? How didst thou change thy hair?"
"I'm not Lily, Your Majesty," Heather replied sadly but politely, ignoring the three flabbergasted humans near her to curtsey. "But I am glad to hear I resemble her, too. She was my mother."
"Ah, yes, I remember now," Mary, Queen of Scots, recalled, recognition brightening her painted eyes. "Heather, isn't it? Blimey, you've grown! Have you the same talents as your mother? Where is she?"
"She's talking… to a portrait," Peggy intoned, her eyes flitting between living teen and painted queen. "The portrait… is talking back. And… we're all okay with this?"
Infinitely more mentally-present than before, Heather turned to Tony's aunt in astonishment. "I thought Tony said you deal with strange happenings regularly. How does a talking portrait make your weird-ometer go 'ding' if you didn't blink when I told you I out-flew a bloody dragon?!"
Mary laughed in delight. "You're a true Gryffindor, then?" she enthused.
"You wear my House's colors well, ma'am," Heather confirmed with a grin, gesturing to the scarlet and gold dress the woman had been painted in. "And while I'd've done better not to modify the school motto, I did what was necessary to survive."
"As my cousin Elizabeth did, far more effectively than I." Mary gave them a melancholy smile. "And who, young Heather, accompanies you today, if not your mother? How many years have you lived?"
"I'm 14, ma'am. My birthday is at the end of the month."
Mary scrutinized the teen; the sharp, assessing gaze felt very like McGonagall's. "I insist that you return to see me as soon as possible after. I am privy to some secrets of Lily's, and, as you referred to her in the past, I must assume there is no one else to reveal them to you. What happened to Lily and your father James? And again, I ask who your companions are."
"Mum and Dad were killed, moments apart, when I was 15 months old," came Heather's clipped reply. "In some ways, I've been responsible for myself ever since; we've just discovered that my legal guardianship is somehow shared between my soulmate, Tony Stark–" At her indication, the wide-eyed man waved. "– and your descendant, the current reigning queen of… England and Scotland, among other countries, Elizabeth II. Also here with me are my account manager – er, my personal treasurer, Gorthunk, and Tony's aunt, Peggy Carter."
The painted queen nodded regally to everyone, eying her living counterpart speculatively. "I would appreciate, granddaughter," she 'suggested' in the manner that only royals could pull off, "being moved into your office. I so miss intelligent conversation. That Potions Master at Hogwarts – he died most painfully last week, did you know, clutching his left forearm like he did in his first year teaching, whenever that subversive revolutionary summoned him – he always called me 'Lily,' denegraded all his students, and railed specifically against Heather Potter, especially when that meddlesome Headmaster required him to aid her in any way."
"And I so loved that overgrown dungeon bat, too," Heather snarked to Tony, who snorted.
Mary looked directly at the teen as the pieces came together. "That… would be you."
"Guilty as charged, ma'am. He's hated me since before I knew he existed, because of my dad," the girl tried to explain, "and yet he saved my life. Also because of my dad."
"More likely, for your mother," Mary mused. Her eyes lit with mischief, a look the teen knew well. "I'm currently cursed to remain in either of my portraits alone; you've already released me from my enforced silence. Which means that, if you allow me to move freely, and allow others to visit with me, I can become your Walsingham in the magical world. No one pays attention to the portraits unless they need something from us."
"For secrecy purposes," Elizabeth commented, her eyes hard, "I assume you'd prefer to report at night. Would you be bringing any… friends to these… meetings? If so, I'll need to commission a magical painting of chairs." The living queen paused. "I can't believe that sentence just left my lips."
"I can have that painting in a week," Gorthunk offered, grinning viciously. "And I hope it wouldn't be too presumptive of me to invite myself to these 'meetings' – I need all available information to best serve my clients, after all."
"I can already smell the potential blackmail to force their cooperation – er…" Peggy flushed as she remembered who made up her audience: Heather blinked, unsure how to react; Tony looked vaguely worried; Elizabeth raised an unimpressed eyebrow; Mary struggled not to laugh; Gorthunk stared in wonder at his kindred spirit.
Heather looked up at Tony, hope in every inch of her face; his responding expression questioned her sanity. "Not happening, doll. I'll find a way that Mary can visit and share stories about your mother, but we are not getting involved in some weird version of espionage unless you actually want to get into that line of business."
"Please, Tony?" she begged. "I'll never escape that world; they won't let me. So I'm the one who'll need the information in the long run. And when I've only got bits and bobs – well, you've seen how well that works out." She wrapped her arms around his waist. "I'm sick of decisions being made for me without my input. I mean, not that I would have refused – anything was and is better than being stuck with the Dursleys – but I never even chose to go to Hogwarts. Hagrid said I was going; wrote to the Headmaster that I had my letter and that he'd take me shopping in the morning; and gave Dudley a pig's tail when my uncle objected."
He sighed and rubbed her back. "Okay, I get where you're coming from. God knows, Howard did the same to me. I've just been out from under his thumb for long enough that I forgot what it's like, having someone else make the big calls. I really don't like the idea of us getting involved in anything that makes Aunt Peggy that professionally giddy, but you have a point. We'll talk about it later, okay honey bee?"
"Thank you," she murmured into his chest, then turned back to Mary. "How do I free you and let others into your portraits?"
"Oh, lambkin," the painted queen chuckled, "haven't you learned yet? When in doubt, fall back on your will. Envision what you wish to occur, and your magic will make it so. Just remember to perform the renewal rituals annually to show your appreciation for its presence in your life."
"I don't know how to do any rituals," the teen explained awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck. "They've all been declared, by the idiotic British Ministry of Magic, as 'dark' and thus illegal. The powers-that-be want us dependent on regulated wands, structured spells, and potions recipes; free-thinkers, imagination, and innovation are actively discouraged. What they want is what they currently have – a community of sheep-ostrich hybrids who follow the loudest voice and refuse to acknowledge any societal flaws or any mistakes made." She let go of her soulmate to place both her hands on the frame again. She closed her eyes in concentration; after a moment, she grinned. "I think I got it. I felt a snap, anyway. Go ahead, ma'am, try it out."
"I can't sense any other magical portraits here," Mary pondered. "I believe I shall visit with Bronwyn – you would know her as Gryffindor's guardian. I shall return shortly to inform you whether or not it worked." Two minutes later, the long-dead queen returned excitedly. "You were successful, young Heather! And I can go into any portrait, regardless of how much magic is in the paint, so long as I do not speak in a non-magical painting of a once-living being that spoke a human language! I can't wait to hear the more positive versions of your exploits! Remember to return after your birthday!" And with that, Mary, Queen of Scots, left Buckingham Palace.
Heather blinked twice at the information overload, then turned to her companions. The other humans, having never experienced moving paintings before, looked overwhelmed, so she smirked at Gorthunk. "So… that just happened…"
He snorted. "You've an inimitable way with words, Lady Stanford."