The Brightest Sun

Chapter 17

The portraits of the Potter ladies had insisted Elia use the bedroom upstairs to prepare for the Marchbanks gathering, laughing amongst themselves at the thought of a small party. Euphemia had merely smiled in amusement before calling an elf to bring jewels for Elia to wear.

No matter how she protested, the ladies refused to even hear of it; she was a guest, they said, she simply could not refuse to allow them to lend her jewels when she came to England with naught but the clothes on her back.

To her chagrin, Harry had only smiled at his grandmother’s portrait in fond exasperation, muttering under his breath about meddlesome ladies before steering her to the rooms belonging to the lady of the house.

It was there in front of an ornate mirror that she currently stood, wearing a gown of deep red as she fiddled with the jewels Libby had brought, the ancient elf holding the box as if it were a priceless artefact; glancing at diamonds the colour of blood, Elia could see why she held it so preciously.

“Oh my, you certainly will knock them off their feet!” a voice called, causing a slight shriek of surprise to escape her as she jerked backward.

Whirling around in surprise, Elia saw that she was alone, not one of the ladies occupying the lone portrait to have spoken to her.

“Over here my dear,” the voice said once more, forcing her to stare in astonishment at the mirror at the same time Harry came bursting through a door, wand in hand as his eyes scanned the room.

Staring at her in bewilderment, it took a moment before Elia saw his lips twitch in amusement.

“It’s not funny,” she said, turning back to the mirror with a wary gaze.

“No, it really is,” he responded, shuffling closer. “I forgot the mirror in your room doesn’t talk.”

“Do all mirrors in the Wizarding World do that?” she asked.

“Most,” he replied, “though they’ve all got differing…personalities.”

“Are you going to help the lady with her jewels?” the mirror butt in. If animated objects could give a look, she was sure this one would be glaring sternly at the two of them.

Huffing in amusement, Elia watched as Harry picked up the necklace, gesturing for her to lift her hair. “This is far too much,” she murmured.

“It’s my gran’s fault,” he told her. “She’s only had the one son, so having someone to ply her jewels with and let the mirror poke fun at has been something she missed out on.”

“And the talking mirror?” she asked sardonically.

Laughing, Harry quipped, “A part of the house, I’m afraid.”

She rolled her eyes, ignoring the mirrors scolding as she watched his reflection. You would think setting a clasp were a life-saving endeavour with how concentrated he looked.

“Can you not use your magic to help you?”

“Not on these pieces,” Harry murmured, his breath fanning against the back of her neck as his fingers fiddled with the clasp. “They’ve been charmed to the nines to resist any magical interference.”

“Why is that?”

“Cursed jewellery is a hell of an issue to deal with,” he said cheerfully, a dark smirk on his face as he stepped back.

“Red is certainly your colour,” the mirror quipped.

Elia felt a slight nervous flutter in her stomach, ignoring the feeling as she gazed at her reflection. Harry stood behind her, his shirt vest unbuttoned and tie hanging from around his neck.