Father of the Witch

Chapter 4: Bryan Malfoy

A/N: Chapter Four! I really have to say, this one was one of my favorites to write! Please enjoy! And up next: Franck!

XOXO,

HS

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, The Father of the Bride, or Party City.

.......

"Really? It went well?"

I clamped my teeth on my tongue and pasted on an arrogant expression. "It couldn't have gone better."

We were outside on the stone terrace tonight for dinner, looking out on the Manor's back lawn and gardens. It would have been a decent night if Bryan hadn't been invited. Potter and Weasley had also joined, because nothing could have made dinner worse than Bryan and he was already coming. I also got the impression that the only reason they were there at all was that they must've been hounding Hermione about Bryan, and she was no-one's messenger.

Annie breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm so glad. You never know what could happen at those kinds of things, you know?"

Ron nodded. "First time I met Gabrielle's parents, I was so nervous, they probably thought I was a huge idiot."

"You are an idiot," Harry said blandly.

"Out of the two of us, you're not the one with the law degree, now are you?" Ron shot back. "Bloody broom jock..."

I jokingly clapped my hands over Scorpius' ears. "Language."

"I have to say, I am sort of surprised it went as well as it did," Harry said slowly.

"Why?" I brushed off. "They're rich, we're rich."

"He's got a point, you know," Ron told Harry. "They probably get along swimmingly. Miss Annie doesn't have a thing to worry about."

Annie beamed at him, and he winked. Ignoring his suspicious word choice, I sat down at my place at the wide round dining table.

"Now I finally feel like the wedding's officially happening!" Annie declared happily.

"Of course it is," I scoffed affectionately.

For now.

The French back doors opened, and Hermione breezed outside—Perdita levitated juicy steaks, fat white scallops, and ripe yellow corn in front of them.

"Looks wonderful, Perdita," Annie complimented.

"Yes, thank you," I murmured. Perdita bowed and popped away, knowing the plan to make herself scarce tonight.

Hermione looked a little tense, and I bristled. "What's wrong? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Draco." She bent and kissed me, but hesitated just enough to alarm me.

"Hermione," I warned. If something had upset her, I wanted to know about it.

"Bryan's mum called, with the names of her immediate family," Hermione murmured, handing me a folded piece of lined yellow parchment.

I frowned, reached inside my lapel pocket, and put on my reading glasses. I unfolded the paper—then unfolded it again. I gave Hermione a flat look.

"Is this a joke?"

She made a slight face. "Not only is it not a joke, but eight of them are from Copenhagen."

"Very well," I dismissed, understanding what she was trying to tactfully say—the list was entirely made up of Muggles. And a concerning amount of them. At least forty immediate members. I wasn't concerned with the expense of flying them here; I hadn't realistically expected not to pay for every aspect of this wedding either way, and I was no cheapskate. My worry was the million little things that could go wrong inviting that many Muggles to a high-profile Wizarding wedding. But Hermione understood that we would talk about it later.