It was a perfectly normal Sunday morning. Euphemia Potter woke at seven in the morning and called for Tippy. The little elf appeared with a pop at her bedside. “Tea and some lightly buttered toast, Tippy.” Said Euphemia sitting up straight.
“Yes, Mistress Effie.” Squeaked the little elf popping out the bedroom and quickly returning with a loaded breakfast tray.
“Thank you Tippy, that will be all.” She said as she sipped at her piping hot tea. She gazed out across the grounds of Potter Manor resolutely ignoring the empty space beside her as she had for the past two months.
Fleamont Henry Potter was the love of her life and she knew right from when they started Hogwarts at eleven when she was still Euphemia Morello Gamp that one day, she would marry him. They were barely three months out of Hogwarts before they married and it was one of the happiest days of her life, second only to the day her son was born. She was forty-three when James was conceived and the healers had said she would never have another child after he was born.
Knowing that while she had her head in a toilet bowl with morning sickness and the constant fear that a miscarriage was still possible her husband, the love of her life, the father of her son, had lain with another woman and produced a child after how hard she had fought to give him James and this girl was born just like that. It wasn’t fair. Fleamont refused to talk about it so she refused to let him sleep in their bed until he did.
In two months, the couple had not exchanged a word. Euphemia tugged the quilt to the side and swung her legs out of bed. She made her way to the bathroom to shower and then dressed in of a deep purple cloth that shimmered in the light. She needed to go to Diagon Alley so she could buy sweets and chocolate to be packaged and sent to James.
She stepped into the floo and called out for the Leaky Cauldron. She quickly headed into the alley hoping to get her shopping done before it got too busy as it was known to on a Sunday. First, she went into The Candid Chocolatiers and placed a large order to be sent to James. The basket she chose was full to the brim with chocolate frogs, cauldron cakes, fizzing whizzbees and liquorice wands. It should arrive before lunch thought Euphemia happily, James did so love Halloween and it was quite a relief that she would not be bearing the brunt of his pranks this year though she would never say so aloud.
She decided she ought to go to Slug and Jiggers as she was running low on a specific herb, she used in her nightcream. “Euphemia?” called a voice as she exited the apothecary. She turned towards the voice and realised it was Lucretia Prewett. The younger woman clearly had the Black colouring with black hair and grey eyes but like her mother, her hair fell in soft waves and her features looked far softer as her mother’s did being a Macmillan.
“Lucretia.” Responded Euphemia with a nod. Darn, the woman was walking over to her now.
“I’m meeting Dorea for a morning tea at Tea and Tarts, I feel as though I haven’t seen you in much to long, what with Ignatius and I travelling so much recently, you simply must join us.” She said gesturing to the shop with a pale yellow store front down Horizon Alley.
“I really ought to get home, Lucretia and I couldn’t possibly impose.” She said demurely. Tea with Lucretia or Dorea alone was one thing but everyone knew that being outnumbered by the Blacks is a disaster waiting to happen even if Dorea and Lucretia seemingly leant more to the light, their family was as dark as their name.
“Truly Euphemia, it wouldn’t be an imposition.” Said Dorea silkily as she appeared beside the pair. “I feel we are long overdue a good gossip. I think you have been misplacing my owls.”. Euphemia felt her heart sink as she realised, she was cornered. It would be the height of rudeness to decline after that little jab.
“I suppose I could join you for a short while though I am truly quite busy today.” She responded carefully.
“Oh excellent.” Smiled Dorea with a glint in her grey eyes. Euphemia followed the two women across the cobbles towards Horizon Alley when suddenly the throng of people all around them seemed to still.
“What in Circe’s name?” whispered Lucretia looking up and that was when she saw it. A barn owl was carrying a bright scarlet envelope overhead and suddenly dropped it right in front of her. Her eyes widened as she cast her head down reaching frantically into her bag for her wand.
“Boo Bitch!” shouted the howler in a complete monotone but instead of shredding itself up into little pieces it exploded covering her in a bright pink liquid that tingles where it dripped onto the skin of the back of her neck making her want to itch at it.
“Evansco.” She hissed jabbing her wand at the liquid. It did nothing and the liquid continued to seep into her beautiful purple robes like ink. Looking up, Euphemia saw that the only person in the vicinity of the letter that had been splattered with the liquid was her which meant it was targeted. She heard whispers all around her.
“Who would do that?”
“It’s all over her hair?”
“Maybe it was the mistress?”
“Didn’t you hear, her husband has a bastard.”
“She sent the girl a howler.”
“Imagine that. She must only be eleven.”
“Cosmic justice I say.”
Without bothering to look at Dorea or Lucretia, Euphemia turned on the spot and disapparated back to Potter Manor landing dripping in the foyer. “Oh, Mistress Euphemia, whats be happening to you?” Cried Tippy wringing her hands.
“Just get rid of it Tippy.” She whispered. The little elf snapped her fingers instantly vanishing the mess although the back of her neck still felt itchy. “Thank you Tippy.”
“Mistress bes welcome. Is there anything else Tippy can do for Mistress?”
“No thank you Tippy.” She said quietly heading up the stairs. She kept climbing until she reached a wing of the manor that she hadn’t visited in many years. Before she had James, she used art to deal with the pain and the anger over her inability to have a child or her fear when Grindelwald was on the rise. Her art studio was at the top of the east wing of the manor and it was covered in dust. She trailed her hands across the old paintings that hung on the wall, the melancholy blues and shaking purples that adorned most of them.
She picked up a canvas from within a cupboard and placed it on an easel. She picked up a palette, balancing it against her forearm as her muscle memory kicked in and she placed blobs of misty grey, forest green, lime, vermillion and crimson paint upon it. Her paintbrush tickled the canvas spreading the colours beneath it in spiralling colours, showcasing her beautiful pain. Yes, she was angry. Yes, she was hurt. Yes, she was jealous. With each stroke of the brush, she felt better about it. She had every right to feel that way and truly she should see if she could order paint in that brilliant shade of bright pink, it was truly quite pretty.