I'm stunned at the wonderful reception to FOTW! Thank y'all so much for every kudo. I would love to hear any thoughts!
I'm going to try my hardest to post every Thursday like I've been doing!
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, Father of the Bride, or Party City.
.......
"Did he have to be an American?"
Forty-eight hours later, the wedding was still on, and we were on our way to meet Bryan's parents.
In Bel-Air.
In America.
Somehow, Annie had convinced Bryan that we already had prior business to take care of in Los Angeles. I personally thought we were getting way ahead of ourselves, not to mention I never counted my dragon eggs before they hatched, but I had a feeling that Annie wouldn't be explaining Portkeys to Bryan anytime soon. Besides, Hermione had agreed before I could even refuse, jumping at the chance to bond with potential future family like the bloody Gryffindor that she was.
"Oh, please, Draco..." Hermione sighed, in the tone of voice she adopted when she was developing a migraine.
"I mean, I don't see why we have to have brunch with total strangers." I lowered my voice and glared out the passenger window. Hermione was driving the Jaguar—I had shrunk it for our trip, but I hated driving on American roads.
"Because their son is marrying our daughter?" Hermione asked me rhetorically—and as if I needed to be reminded again. "It's not exactly an unusual custom, you know, meeting the in-laws."
"And that's another thing," I growled. "I hate that term. 'In-laws.' Bloody made-up Muggle concept..."
"You don't have a problem with my parents," she pointed out absently, and craned her neck to casually scrutinize the Californian mansions as we drove past them.
"Don't put words in my mouth, Hermione. I don't want to be a 'Father-In-Law—'"
"No?" Hermione gasped sarcastically. "You don't?"
"No." I shot her an aggravated look behind my sunglasses. "Especially not to people who live in Bel-Air. Who lives in Bel-Air?"
"Rich people," Hermione laughed.
Rich people. God, but I hated New Money. They didn't have any class.
"Okay...I think this is it," Hermione mused, making a gentle right. "Yes, here we are..."
The car idled in front of an electronic iron gate surrounded by tall green shrubs and palm trees. Behind it, a tan-colored Spanish-style mansion covered in flowering vines—and the biggest house on the bloody street.
Great.
"Wow..."
The gate rolled smoothly aside for us. Did they open for any car that just drove up? What was the point of even having a gate, then?
"They were expecting us, Draco," she reminded.
"Hmph..."
Pressing on the gas pedal gently, Hermione eased the car forward to park in a long, circular drive. I immediately got out and moved around to the other side of the car to open the door for her before she could.
"Thank you," she smiled softly, accepting my hand. She closed the car door and, ignoring my glower, reached up and gently removed my Ray-Bans. "There you are."
I grimaced. "Hermione, do we have to? We could turn around right now. They won't have known we were even here."
"Yes, we do." She raised my hand to her lips and kissed my palm. "They already saw us on the security camera."
I bit back a groan. Damn. Hermione took that opportunity to take hold of my wrist and begin to drag me toward the door.
"I think you look very handsome, Draco," she complimented.
In harsh contrast to her soft, pale pink dress, I had selected an unforgiving charcoal three-piece with the sole purpose of intimidation. But I didn't feel like preening at her praise right now. I didn't. And it worried me.
"And you look beautiful, baby, but I'm not here to win their approval," I stated firmly.
Hermione rolled her eyes at me and while I rapped the heavy knocker. Then I pounced.
"Like you didn't change your outfit five times."
"Oh, like you didn't try nine different suits!" she immediately cried.
"Two," I snarled.
"Two?" she challenged.
"Two black suits, two grey suits." Still less than five.
"I see!"
I opened my mouth to respond, but the MacKenzies opened the door and we were instantly swept inside and engulfed in tight hugs.
Over their shoulders, Hermione and I exchanged a glance. I was instantly severely uncomfortable, and although I had a part to play, I made sure that my returning embraces only lasted nanoseconds. Hermione hugged and shook hands with reserved enthusiasm. Hogwarts house traits still withstanding, she had slipped into her role as a Lady with inspiring alacrity and grace.
"Hello, I'm John!" Bryan's father was a red-faced, beaming man with an easy, trusting sort of handshake that made me wonder how he had ever made all of this money with such an attitude.
"Hi, I'm Joanna..."
Dressed entirely in draping cream and gold, Joanna looked like a prettier version of Mrs. Weasley. She seemed tolerable for now.
"Welcome to our house," she smiled. "Please, come in!"
Furtively, I inspected it. It wasn't as big in person as it seemed on the outside. The ceiling reached about five meters at its tallest. I wouldn't have to compete with them in that arena, at least. They could have parked their whole house in our foyer.
"What a nerve-wracking thing, meeting your future In-Laws!" John declared brightly.
Nerve-wracking? I narrowed my eyes, sensing a lie. He didn't look to be nearly as anxious as he claimed. As a matter of fact, it almost seemed like he expected us to be nervous. I frowned inwardly.
But he continued, "But what a relief it is that you two seem completely normal!"
Hermione laughed sparklingly but I stayed silent. What other kinds of parents Bryan had brought home?
"I have to tell you, we got so nervous about today, about meeting the two of you. I must have tried on three different outfits!" Joanna giggled.
"And I must have tried on four different shirts!" John added. "Can you imagine anyone being that jerky?"
"Come on in, I thought we might have lunch in here..." Joanna segued the conversation in the direction of the meal, and we followed them into an airy room off the foyer. An American Continental-type breakfast spread and empty champagne flutes waited for us on a wicker coffee table. Their housekeeper fluttered around it, laying out linen napkins and bundles of extra flatware.
"Thank you, Marta," Joanna said kindly.
"Marta!" John beckoned their housekeeper forward. "Marta, esta son nuestros in-laws, Draco and Hermione Malfoy."
"Mucho gusto," she smiled at us both. Hermione smiled widely back, and I nodded politely.
Distant barking suddenly echoed down the hallway, and three huge dogs with identical chain-link collars bounded into the room. I shifted automatically to stand in front of Hermione.
"Here's the rest of our family!" Joanna announced.
"Don't worry—they look like killers, but they're actually quite friendly," John assured us. "As long as you're relaxed, they're relaxed."
"Ha," Hermione laughed weakly at John's advice, peering cautiously around my arm but still pressed quite firmly against my back. She had always been a cat person.
I regarded them critically. Two Dobermans, one Mastiff. Still, these dogs were much smaller than my father's Scottish Deerhounds, Odette and Maximilian. I grew up around big dogs; these were basically still puppies, from the looks of it. I reached a hand down to scratch the middle one's ears.
"Hello, mate..."
Almost as soon as I made the motion, though, it launched its flashing teeth toward my hand. I felt Hermione flinch and I jerked it back with a disapproving sneer.
"Alright fellas, that's enough. Go on." John waved them away. "Release!"
They instantly trotted away on his single command, and John beamed. "Good boys..."
Whatever.
"Well, why don't we all sit down?" Joanna prompted.
"Please!" John agreed.
"Thank you," Hermione simpered, eagerly edging in the opposite direction the dogs had left.
"I don't know if the kids told you, but we were over in Europe on business, and we stopped in Rome to see Bryan. We got to spend a few days with Annie. Oh, boy, we just fell in love with her immediately!"
I felt myself swell slightly with pride, but I kept my face carefully neutral. "Of course."
Joanna didn't dispute me, though, and she laughed. "Yes, we just couldn't be happier about this."
"How did you take the news, Draco?" John asked curiously, as he poured the champagne.
It was moderately expensive stuff. No doubt looking to impress. What had Bryan told them about us? I mused over his question, wondering just how much I wanted to reveal to this idiot. A bit of camaraderie probably couldn't hurt in the long run, but like I told Hermione at the door, I wasn't looking to make friends with these people. I could practically feel Hermione's amused glance in my direction after John's innocent question and I ignored her.
"Truthfully, I was a little surprised," I said slowly, choosing the vaguest possible answer.
"I was shocked," John burst vehemently.
Unexpectedly intrigued, I pondered this. Was there a potential ally in John? At the risk of sounding redundant, I agreed with him again. "So was I."
"After all, they've only known each other for a few months," John continued in this vein.
I nodded carefully again. "Yes..."
"Believe me, I tossed and turned over this one, but the bottom line is, they're in love. They're over twenty-one, and whether they're rushing into this or not is maybe not for us to say."
My expression flattened again. Right. Not for us to say. We're only their parents. I was about to say those very words out loud when he hit me with:
"Yeah, sooner or later, you've gotta let your kids go and hope you brought them up right..." He grinned, before handing Hermione and I both champagne glasses.
"Draco, Hermione...Darling..."
Not to mention I didn't like that he was calling me by my first name, my shirt collar was starting to feel like it was tightening like a hand around my neck. I rubbed it discreetly and was about to take a healthy gulp of champagne before I realized he intended to make a toast. I pursed my lips.
John raised his glass.
"To Draco and Hermione, and a future of wonderful memories. First, the wedding of our children, and the happiness we'll share watching their lives. Then, sharing the joy of our grandchildren together. Birthday parties...graduation..."
John took a hasty gulp of champagne—his watery eyes were as red as his stupid face. I rolled my own eyes under closed lids. Now I knew where they got the expression, like father, like son. I desperately needed some air that I didn't share with John.
Standing, I looked to Joanna. "Could you perhaps tell me where the bathroom is?"
"Oh!" Joanna's dreamy expression cleared. "Well, our guest one is down here, but we're remodeling. Why don't you try the one at the top of the stairs? The seventh door on the left."
"Second?" I asked, having not heard her clearly.
"Seventh," Joanna repeated.
"Seventh," John chorused.
"Seventh..." I nodded mockingly—not that they would realize it—and I disappeared up the stairs to the sound of Hermione's easy chatter about jet lag.
.......
The bathroom was hideous. I finished washing my hands quickly and dried them with a charm rather than the germ-ridden hanging hand towel. Glancing around, I noticed that the mirror was oddly...gapped.
I prodded it. It closed. A cabinet?
Easing it back open with my fingertips, I peeked inside. Indeed, it was a cabinet—a medicine cabinet. Hermione kept a variety of Muggle medicines at home, such as anti-inflammatories and headache suppressants that we sometimes used when potions unexpectedly wore off. A lot of them were bitter little beans (not meant to be chewed) with the singular exception of the chalky pastel ones called Tums. Those ones were admittedly pretty useful—especially lately.
These particular Muggles seemed to have rather a lot of ointments and medicines in stock, however. Three shelves full of them, in clear orange and white phials, labeled with long, confusing print. I picked one out at random.
Vatsnik? I frowned, shaking the bottle and watching the round blue pills tumble around inside. I'd never seen it in our personal cabinet.
I replaced it and closed the door. Out of curiosity, I pulled the second cabinet—
It fell right off the wall—it was just a mirror. Swearing colorfully, I briefly fumbled with it, before somehow securing it back to the wall. I hoped that they hadn't heard it. Either way, I muttered a sticking charm. It wouldn't last but an hour or so—the half-life was pretty short for a household spell without a house-elf or myself around to re-cast it—but I didn't plan on staying long enough to find out whether my manual rehanging did the trick or not.
I was just about to head back downstairs when a large archway caught my attention. I tilted my head.
Anything to postpone suffering through a conversation with John...
I strode carefully through—it was an office.
Tossing a cautious look over my shoulder, I proceeded into the open-concept room and around behind the desk. My fingers skimmed the papers on top; ugh, the whole damn desk was cluttered! A bright red notebook embossed with gold rested on the top of the messy documents.
First Security Bank, it read, in all capital letters. A chequebook, then, perhaps?
I picked it up and flipped it open. It was. The figure on the line inside of it was nothing impressive...
A sudden noise off to my left alerted me to another presence in the room.
The maid. What was her name? Mandy? Marie? It certainly didn't matter right then—I dropped down behind the desk in one motion.
And the MacKenzie's largest Doberman met me there.
I froze.
His lips were curled back against his sharp teeth in an exceptionally hateful glare. He definitely did not look happy to see me—a throaty snarl emphasized it.
"I'm leaving," I promised him quietly. "I'm relaxed, and I'm leaving."
I kept eye contact as I backed away on my hands and knees, not caring how undignified I probably looked. Still on the floor, I peered around the wall. The maid was leaving with a woven basket full of dirty laundry. A moment later, the seventh door on the left clicked closed.
It was a good thing she left when she did: the dog under the desk ceased growling and started barking. A second hulking form started toward me from the direction of the bathroom—I'd been effectively cornered.
The other started to bark.
Great!
Very slowly, I stood and turned to look behind me in order to gauge my options. There was at least a twenty foot drop immediately outside the large windows, with a guaranteed hard landing on the brick patio. They were latch-opening, though. I paid close attention to that detail specifically—I couldn't apparate.
For one, it was way too loud—like a Muggle handgun going off. Experimentation by the Auror Department even demonstrated that in high-stress situations like this one, the tell-tale cracks were always significantly louder. It's not as if I weren't skilled or anything, but silencing charms and apparition tended to have an unfortunate flash-freezing effect of the immediate vicinity of the caster. I'd never be able to explain it away, not without Obliviating a Muggle, which I wasn't at all below, but was pretty illegal. At least, it was in America, where romantic films about amnesia were stupid popular, and their Ministry took advantage of the easy propaganda they created.
The dog on my right took a step forward.
I rolled my eyes deeply. Argh! What was the word that John had used to call them off? I racked my brain—I couldn't bloody remember.
"Relent!" I tried, but immediately grimaced—that wasn't it. "Re...coil. Reverse!"
Neither dog seemed to like that—and the one on my left jumped onto the messy desk.
.......
"I hope Draco hasn't gotten lost up there!"
"Oh no, he'll be fine!" Hermione laughed—more so, really, at the thought of Draco getting lost in a house like the MacKenzie's, in comparison to a house like theirs.
"O-kay..." John joked.
She smiled at him again and draped her linen napkin across her lap, idly wondering what he was getting himself into upstairs. Snooping, no doubt—
A sudden sunburst of fuchsia petals raining down outside followed shortly by long flailing legs nearly gave her whiplash.
It was Draco.
Damn it...
Thinking fast, Hermione quickly directed their attention to the other side of the room.
"What a...lovely sculpture," she complimented, choosing a piece of modern art entirely at random. It wasn't lovely in the slightest—she had more traditional tastes—but anything to distract John from her idiotic free-hanging husband.
The rest of Draco's body swung into view, and Hermione tried very hard not to look in his direction.
"Oh! Doesn't it have such a wonderful sense of motion?" John agreed.
"Mhmm!"
Sure, whatever! Hermione thought desperately.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Draco finally drop down on the patio, red-faced. The flagstones had an odd bounce to them, and she was grateful he at least had the foresight to cast a cushioning charm so he wouldn't shatter his ankles from the impact.
"We bought it in Denmark. Quite a lot of my family is from Copenhagen," Joanna inserted.
"Is that right?" Hermione smiled, probably too brightly, trying not to panic. Draco was gesturing frantically at her through the large windows.
Don't look at him...do not, Hermione.
Thankfully, John was still admiring his statue—it was an undeserved stroke of luck. "Doesn't it have such a wonderful sense of balance?"
"Oh—amazing!" Hermione demurred.
"I was going to put it in the garden—"
John turned his head just as Draco darted out of view.
Hermione huffed in relief under her breath—but where had he gone?
"You know, actually, Bryan spent a few summers in Denmark. He now speaks better Danish than Joanna," John laughed.
Draco appeared once more, this time through the windows behind John. He waved his arms at her again—then something in his hand seemed to catch his eye, and his face slackened in shock.
Hermione's own eyes bugged—because it couldn't possibly be what she thought was in his hand, but knowing well Draco's nosy tendencies, it was probably exactly what she suspected. But she recovered in time to answer. "Is that a fact?"
"Yes. In fact, we're planning a trip back there next summer."
Behind John, Draco wound his arm back and pitched the little book straight up—
Only for it to unexplainably fly right back, in a perfect arc over her tall husband's head, and into the MacKenzie's swimming pool.
Hermione winced hard. She was going to kill him after this...
"Um...This is a lovely spread," she said—and with that, she had officially run out of topics.
"Thank you," John said. "Well, should we wait for Draco?"
Hermione furtively glanced over his shoulder at Draco's sorry, magic-less progress at retrieving John's chequebook. Currently, he was waving a long-handled metal pool filter, with no luck.
"Perhaps I should go and check on him," John continued.
Hermione shook her head weakly, still watching Draco.
John made to get up—and at the same time, from opposite directions, the MacKenzie's gigantic dogs rocketed toward Draco, pinning him in between themselves on the terracotta pool deck.
Oh Merlin, they were going to attack him—!
Hermione, her wand in the sleeve of her pink suit, prepared to stand with both a Stupefy and an Obliviate on her lips, but in a motion almost too quick to catch, Draco panicked. The filter went flying—
He flailed, yelling, wheeling dangerously over the pool—
Hermione closed her eyes.
And just barely audible over an almighty splash:
"Release!"