The Brightest Sun

Chapter 4

His grandparents had alerted him to the incident in the tapestry room immediately after it occurred.

He wasn't too surprised; Teddy was a magically active five-year-old, and his father had been keeping an eye on the child.

He was waiting for Elia in the lady's sitting room, preferring to hold the conversation here in the comfort of the blue and cream-coloured room instead of his study after his grandmother's scolding. "One does not expect royalty to come to them Harry James! Especially not for something such as this!"

His father had laughed at his misfortune, though thankfully grandfather Fleamont had been willing to educate his unfortunate grandson on the courtesies expected of him. Why the Potters had a special room for breaking difficult news he did not know, but they had one and there were certain etiquettes expected when hosting royalty.

Elia walked in calmly, a polite look on her face as she saw him standing near the window.

"Princess," he said with a bow, and Harry suppressed the small smile as he saw the look on her face at his atrocious bow. Andromeda had knocked high society manners into him, but Harry had always been a rebel at heart.

"Lord Potter," she greeted him with a nod, voice remarkably calm.

Gesturing for her to sit, Harry took the armchair opposite the couch as he called for an elf. "Winky," he said, watching as the small elf popped in silently.

He had been watching Elia's face and was impressed; aside from the slight widening of her eyes, the princess had not reacted to the elf.

"How can Winky be helpings Master Harry Potter sir?" she squeaked.

Winky had gotten used to referring to him as Dobby once had, and Harry did not have the heart to correct her.

"Winky, can you bring us some tea please?" he asked, looking at Elia. "Is there a particular type you prefer?"

Arching a brow she said, "I'm not certain whether there are any similarities in tea."

Well thought out Potter, he groused to himself.

"Earl Grey, and a few scones," he told her. Winky was off before he could turn to his guest, grey uniform flashing as she disappeared. A moment later, a tea set appeared on the low table and Harry busied himself with it.

They were silent for several moments, tea in hand as he thought on how to broach the subject.

Gryffindors charge in, he told himself, setting his cup down as he squared his shoulders.

"I've been told you met the portrait of my parents," he stated, eyeing the woman curiously.

"I have. Lovely people," she said, "though I'm surprised to see such lively paintings."

His lips twitched in amusement; lively was one way to describe the Potter portraits.

"You are a mage," Elia stated, as if they were speaking of magic and not something that was partly illegal.

"I am what is more commonly referred to as a wizard, as is Teddy. As was every Potter before me for centuries," he told her. She did not look too surprised, most likely having pieced together that bit, or a victim of Teddy's enthusiastic retelling of family histories, he though wryly.

"Your son is a shapeshifter," she said, tea forgotten as her gaze pinned him to his chair. Elia Martell exuded maternal warmth when near the children, but Harry had already fallen prey to her sharp tongue once and had the feeling he was in hot water with her once more.

"A metamorphmagus," he corrected. "Not entirely a shapeshifter, but he can change his features to resemble others." Best to leave out the bit about morphing into animal snouts until she saw it for herself.

One good thing to come from this was that his son no longer had to hide his abilities, and Harry was positive dinner the next few nights would be filled with the children's laughter as Teddy changed into his favourite morphs.

"Is the entire world filled with wizards?" Elia asked curiously.

"Not entirely," he told her. "There are those who cannot perform magic, though we do have our own separate society."

"Is that who you are avoiding?" she suddenly asked, and Harry felt himself stiffen in discomfort and growing anger.

She must have read his face for she apologized a moment later. "Forgive me, it is not my place to ask such things."

Lip curling in disdain, Harry thought of the world he had been born into. "The Wizarding World is a…difficult place," he allowed, biting his cheek to keep his foul commentary to himself. There was a portrait hanging on the wall behind her, and though it was unoccupied Harry was certain they were listening in, the bloody busybodies.

"There are a multitude of families, different hierarchies based on birth," he explained.

"You are of noble birth."

"I am," he nodded, remembering the surprise when he had learned of his titles. It had been an unfortunate sore point between him and his friends, and Harry only made an appearance when it was mandatory. Poor Neville had been voting his seat for him. "Lord Potter-Black to the Wizard's Council."

"A world of magic," she murmured, eyes unseeing as her mind wandered to thoughts he did not know.

She seemed slightly discomforted with the thought, and Harry's curiosity was getting the better of him. "Does your world not have magic?"

"It does," she told him, "though mayhaps not as prominently as yours. If the tales of the Age of Heroes are to be believed than it once was a prominent part of life. Not in the last century have we seen something so magical in Westeros, and all attempts to bring about a return ended disastrously."

"Is that what started the war?" he asked boldly.

Elia froze momentarily, eyes clearing before she pinned him with an intense gaze. It burned him, and he had quite clearly overstepped, but for once Harry remained silent.

A city sacked, an attack on a family with a touch of magic; Harry would bet his firebolt that there had been some magical element to their war, something bigger than just a throne.

"A prophecy," she said with a slightly bitter tinge to her voice.

Harry grimaced, a sour look on his face as he thought on that.