Chapter Three: The Fiancé
Not too far away from the Evans family home, a frazzled witch and wizard were trying to convince their son to join them in the fireplace. The boy sat on the couch opposite them and sulked prettily.
"Please, son. We're going to be late if we don't leave now. What sort of impression will this have on your fiancé?" His mother pleaded from the other side of the brilliant green flames. The boy scowled.
"Who cares what she thinks! I don't even know her! Why would you arrange a marriage for me anyway! Arranged marriages are so passé!"
"Son, please. It was either this, or have you marry one of the girls from the Black line. And you know how inbred that line is getting! I want to be sure that our Heir is going to be as normal as possible! The fact is, son, that there are just not enough pure-blood witches left! It would do our line good to have a little variety," his father explained.
"VARIETY? A bag of Bertie Botts Beans, dad. That's variety. Forcing me to marry some muggle-born bird is not variety, dad. It's mental." The boy ended his rant and returned to sulking.
"Professor Dumbledore says she's a lovely girl, son. Bright, clever, and near the top of your class!" his mother offered lamely.
"Oh great…so she's a Ravenclaw too, on top of being a mudbl-"
"DON'T YOU DARE SON! DON'T-YOU-DARE-SAY-THAT-WORD! NEVER... EVER...IN THIS HOUSE HAS THAT WORD BEEN UTTERED! HOW dare you!"
"I-I'm sorry mum... It's just I know she'll be PERFECT. Besides, Professor Dumbledore's a loon."
"THAT IS IT!" his father roared, stepping quickly out of the fire and grabbing his son by the collar of his robes. "I WILL NOT HAVE YOU INSULTING ALBUS DUMBLEDORE IN THIS HOUSE!" He shoved the teen into the fire and followed after.
"Would you like to do the honors, Albert?"
"Of course, dear," Albert Potter cleared his throat and spoke loud and clear, "EVANS RESIDENCE."