Father of the Witch

Chapter 3: The Seventh Bathroom on the Left

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."