Dorea Potter

The emerald flames return to normal as Rowan shakes her head at her aunt for leaving her behind. She reaches for the silver vessel that held the sparking powder. Tossing the pinch of powder into the flames with a roar the flames turned emerald green and rose higher and higher.

Taking a step inside, Rowan shouts, "Dorea Potter's home!" Much like last time, it felt as if she was being sucked down a giant green drain as everything seemed to be spinning very fast, while the roaring in her ears grew deafening, but this time around her stomach didn't churn.

With a loud pop in her ears, Rowan was able to steadily stepped out of the fireplace into a cozy hall. Unlike the cool colors of Prince manor, Dorea Potter's home was in warm earthy tones. "Come along now, child," Georgine sniffed as she led Rowan away as though it was her own home.

Rowan peeked around at the home that held happy smiling photographs of the once three-member family. She found her eyes drawn in particular to the boy in the moving images. A bit like James Potter with slightly unruly hair, but a sterner visage than him. Taller and slender, the boy had more of the Black family genes. Handsome and dark with gray eyes that could easily set a girl's heart a flutter. Charlus Potter was quite the looker.

Georgine pushed the two doors open into the inner sanctum of the home. Sitting in a comfy-looking chair, a pale-faced witch with a batch of blue running veins down her neck glances up. Wearing a shawl despite the warm weather, her gray eyes light up. A rare smile appears on the old face as she says, "Why Georgine, this is the seventh visit since our ill-fated meeting last December. If I wasn't to know any better, I'd say you were madly in love with me!"

"As if, Dorea Potter!" Georgine loudly huffed. "If I were to become a lesbian, I'd have taken the offer up of some truly lovely dishes that offered themselves up before me. And besides, I undoubtedly like men so to speak. I believe my wanton phase in my ill misspent youth speaks for itself."

Dorea Potter chuckled as she glanced over to see the stunned figure of Rowan at their exchange. "And who might this lovely young lady be?" Dorea Potter asked.

"This is my niece, my brother's grandchild," Georgine sniffed as she took the seat across from Dorea.

"And what might the child's name be?" Dorea pointedly asked as she arched her brows at Georgine for her lack of manners.

Georgine merely sniffed ignoring the disapproving glance of Dorea. "Her name is Rowan and as for that twin brother of her, Severus. Both are rather terrible names as one is terribly old-fashioned and the other is rather reminiscent of those nature-loving druids. Quite droll really, of little to no imagination."

"Well, Miss Prince, come over here for a closer look," Dorea gestured for Rowan to come over. Rowan walks over to stand before her as the elder witch tilts her head back. "Well, you certainly have the Prince height.

Hmm, the shape of the eyes is neither from the Prince's nor your grandmother's side, I presume that belongs to your muggle father. But you have the lean look and certainly the long nose. I'd say, overall, you've inherited the best out of the Prince's."

"Pookey!" Dorea called out as a rather old-looking female house appears. Not as old as Kreacher, the old female house elf's ears droop as her face sags with wrinkles and loose skin. Her eyes are rather too large for her face now as they seem to swallow everything up. Her forearms are skinny and saggy the rest of her as a neat tea towel is held together by a silver rose pin.

"Yes, Madam?" Pookey asked in a low croaky voice.

"Please bring over some tea and snacks for our guests," Dorea Potter instructed her house elf.

"Yes, Madam!" Pookey croaked as she bowed with a soft small pop.

"I can't believe that old thing is still alive," Georgine murmured in amazement. "That old thing is nearly as old as your now-deceased mother."

"Yes, well, she's held on thus far," Dorea admitted. "And I'd hate to see her head chopped off to be hung on the wall."

"Such a distasteful tradition," Georgine openly grimaced.

"Yes, well, the Blacks still continue it," Dorea lightly said.

"But you're a POTTER," Georgine emphasized with a smirk.

"And so, I am," Dorea sniffed. "And that is exactly why I shan't hang her head on a plaque."

Seeing Rowan glancing around, Dorea smiles fondly recalling her own now-deceased son. "Why don't you go and explore child? Anything dangerous has been locked away. But we do have a nice library if that is more of your suit?" Dorea kindly offered.

"Thank you, Madam Potter, I will," Rowan said, before hurrying out of the room.

"She seems to be rather quiet for her age," Dorea observed as she watched the tall, unusually calm girl go.

"Her muggle father wasn't one for being patient," Georgine flatly said as she glanced at her nails. "My brother would have killed him, but my sister-in-law begged him not to."

"How bad was it, Georgine?" Dorea said through narrowed eyes. "I shan't tell anyone. You know as well as I the kind of a brute I had for a father. That upon his death, I did indeed dance upon his grave a merry little jig, before spitting on his grave."

"Nowhere near as bad as our father's," Georgine sincerely admitted. "But enough that are lingering scars."

Dorea purses her lips, but before she can reply, Pookey arrives with a steaming tray full of tea and food. With care, both women take a sip of their tea as Pookey asks, "Will that be all Madame Potter?"

"Yes, that will be all, Pookey," Dorea dismissed the house elf as it left with a small bow.

"Well, at least the old thing still makes superb tea," Georgine observed as she sipped the rose tea.

"Yes, well, I've never had any reason to complain," Dorea admitted as she took a sip of her own. The two women fall silent for a bit as they enjoy their teas, before chatting again. It was a rather enjoyable afternoon, to say the least.