Not much earlier inside the Verninac Chateau, the fireplace hearth flashes emerald as the godparents arrive. The first to emerge is the pale-faced, Dorea Potter (nee Black) with a batch of running blue veins running beneath her skin. She wears a simple matron ball gown with slightly puffed sleeves and a full-length collar stretching up to her neck. Her gown is a pale lilac, a lighter shade of mourning color with her ever-present black shawl to keep the chill at bay. She had stepped onto the rich carpet and vanished the soot from her dress when an aged wizard with wispy unruly hair emerges from the emerald flames that roar behind her.
Fleamont Potter hazel eyes glance about steadying himself, before nodding at Dorea Potter. The two of them had reacquainted themselves since the death of Fleamont's distant cousin, Charlus Potter. His knobby knees tremble for a moment from age, before he straightens and steps aside. He was wearing full robes embroidered with golden threads in a symbol of their forebear, Linfred of Stinchcombe. (Wizarding Historians credited Linfred for a number of remedies that evolved into potions still in use to modern-day including Skele-Gro, and Pepperup Potion. And which enabled Linfred to leave a vast fortune to his descendants even until that present day.)
The green flames roar again causing Fleamont's hazel eyes to soften with tender feelings and worry. His only child had been born to him and Euphemia's in their old age, a true miracle. They might have spoiled James a bit much, but he'd always been a good lad. However, after his fall, James had been different, colder, and even distant. He'd tried to put the matter out of mind, but the Hogwarts Matron had written with a list of stern instructions indicating the need for nutrient potions, calming draughts, and even a strictly controlled amount of dreamless potion.
Fleamont and Euphemia had panicked hastily sending their house elf, Nimmy with a letter to the Matron of Hogwarts, Madam Pomfrey. To their shock, they found that James was suffering from stress and possible aftereffects that were a direct consequence of his fall during the summer. As a result, James was under strict watch to take his potions in the presence of the matron or another adult. They had done exactly as the instructions from the Matron said, but James seemed even more lost and distant as if he wasn't seeming them, but rather through them.
Fleamont and Euphemia had seriously discussed their next steps. They decided that if James failed all of his O.W.L.'s that they would accept it and move on. There were plenty of other careers that James could pursue that would not require an academic focus.
Still, he felt a bit at loss without his wife at his side. His only source of relief is that she was starting to feel better before they left, but still, they thought it prudent not to risk the international portkey. In a kind gesture, she had been invited by Dorea Potter to visit her great-nieces, Narcissa Malfoy and Andromeda Tonks along with Molly Weasley, who would not be attending the ball due to their small children. Euphemia had agreed to consider visiting the younger witches if she felt better. Fleamont felt a sense of comfort knowing that his wife wouldn't be alone until their return home if she accepted the invitation. All that mattered to him was that his Euphie recovered from her cold.
Fleamont's gaze returns to the figure to his son, James, who is wiping the soot off his outer robe. His son had been meticulously dressed by Dorea Potter, who had even forced him the evening before to drink a beauty hair-lengthen potion. His son's dark unruly hair had grown out to his chin, before been elegantly pulled back creating a charming, tousled hair effect. It was the neatest that his son's hair had ever been.
James wore a silk white cravat to match his stark white shirt. There was a dark vest embroidered with golden threads representing the Potter name along with plain dark trousers and sleek dragonhide boots. Instead of an outer jacket, there is a shorter inner swallowtail style of robes followed by a longer full-length of robes with silver embroidery. The only other flash of color is the pin on his shoulder of a coiled silver wyvern with sapphire-colored eyes symbol of the Prince crest.
In fact, James looked fully rested without the usual eyeshadows under his eyes and that awful thin look on his face. Whatever emergency beauty regiment Dorea Potter had forced onto his son, James looked healthy again even if still overly thin. Fleamont slowly nods his head in thanks and bows his head to Dorea Potter in gratitude. Dorea sniffs loudly, but the pleased tilt of her lips gives her delight away.
Fleamont wordlessly offers Dorea his arm as Dorea wordlessly accepts by curling her hand around his extended elbow. Without a wordless glance, Fleamont motions to James to pointedly follow them as they stride down the Verninac Hall full of paintings painted by a famous muggle or squib including European artists such as Toulouse, Monet, Renoir, Degas, Van Goh, Le Brun, etc. There were also enchanted portraits, who smugly gazed down at them as they passed, and unfortunately, they really were good-looking charmers.
Already waiting for them in the main foyer is a beautiful French witch with sun-streaked hair and a firm gaze, Louise Verninac. "Velcome Potter'z," Louise said in accented English, "to Verninac Chateau."
"Merci Beaucoup," Sirsa graciously replied thanking the hostess. "Your home is as lovely as ever, Louise."
Louise beams with pleasure, but before she can speak, the door loudly slams open behind them. Louise's smile wilts as firm footsteps can be heard behind them. They turn to see the tall, slender figure of Georgine Prince. Her short, mostly raven-colored hair is swept up like raven wings. She wears a sophisticated silver gown with delicate blue embroidery. The gown is open at her shoulders revealing her silk, pale, taut flesh untouched by age. Even more impressive, she wears an entire ensemble of goblin forged jewelry with embroidered sapphire gemstones including an astounding tiara. Indeed, Georgine Prince is quite literally walking around with a large fortune on her person.
Georgine stares down her nose at Fleamont dismissively, before smiling happily and embracing Dorea. "I am sorry, my petite, but I was discussing a matter of importance," she explained. "I hope you have not been for long."
Dorea chortles at her friend's antics. "Sirsa, you naughty thing, just what were you up too?" She asked with a twinkle in her eye. "We both know that all the important business has already been taken care of?"
Georgine blinks innocently at Dorea. "Whatever are you implying, Dorea?"
Fleamont loudly clears his throat and furrows his brow at Georgine, who presses her lips into a frown. "Fleamont," she said looking down her nose at the much shorter wizard, "well, don't you look proper this evening."
"Thank you, Georgine," Fleamont drily replied. "I am surprised you noticed with the bedazzling sheen emitted from your jewelry."
The air turns frosty as not only Louise, but James glanced between his father and Professor Prince. He hadn't noticed it as much as before since his father had been rather polite during the Godparent Ceremony. However, it truly appeared that his father and Professor Prince did not get along.
Not wanting to interrupt, James wisely stays silent as Georgine and Fleamont trade insipid remarks until Dorea grows bored. Loudly furling her fan shut, Dorea regains their attention and disapprovingly says, "The children will shortly be down behaving yourselves or I shall speak to Reginald. I am certain that Reginald can still wipe the floor with the two of you."
Georgine has the grace to look embarrassed as irritation flashes across Fleamont's face. "I was able to duel Reginald to stand my youth, Dorea, need I remind you," Fleamont fiercely defend himself neglecting to mention the fact that he had been a 7th year at the time and Reginald had only been a 1st year.
Dorea snorts and stares at Fleamont with a hint of pity in her gray eyes. "You have not touched a wand for defensive combat since Hogwarts, Fleamont," Dorea pointedly exclaimed. "The same cannot be said about Reginald, who most certainly does not possess your tender emotional sensibilities."
Georgine refrains from letting out a chortle, but a triumphant smirk appears on her lips at her friend's choice of words. Fleamont wrinkles his nose in irritation, but he cannot counter Dorea's statement. Indeed, he was not the wizard he had once been nor was he in as a good as shape as Reginald as much as it pained him to admit. He really had let himself go….