Chapter 8: The Outervention

"Well that's morbid." Draco said, raising an eyebrow at the redhead who still towered over him, "There's really no way for me to propose if I die."

"That's the point." Ron growled.

"Actually, I think you're missing the point of this exercise." Draco deadpanned.

"Ron, mate, you can't—" Harry had rubbed the bridge of his nose where his glasses rested so often during Ron's story that the skin there had turned a dull red, "The war is over."

"Ah, yes, an easily overlooked plot point", Draco replied dryly, "So let me get this straight, Weasel, instead of proposing to my girlfriend of three years—"

"—Eight years—" Ginny interrupted, helpfully.

"—You want me to go back to the war, fight Death Eaters, and die?" Draco asked, with careful calm.

"I would have been better if you had." Ron muttered darkly.

There was a flurry of motion and a scuffing of chairs; Blaise raising in a half-crouch with his wand at the ready while Draco remained seated, snapping a hand down over the ring box as his other trained his wand towards Ron. Ginny jumped up to tug on her brother's shoulder, pulling him away from the table, and Harry put himself between the two men, holding one hand up to the Slytherins and the other against Ron's chest.

But it was Pansy who made the most ruckus, her chair clattering into the wall behind her as she stood up sharply, slamming her palms down against the table. Everyone in the immediate vicinity froze to look at her.

"Enough!" She roared, pointing a sharply manicured nail at Ron. She had painted it non-magically for the first time in her life and was a little self-conscious at the results, but as she stared down at Ron over its glossy tip she was proud of her handiwork, "Ronald Weasley! Absolutely no part of that proposal was romantic in the least ."

Ron stared at her flabbergasted, his mouth hanging wordlessly open.

"I called this meeting today so we could help Draco figure out how to propose in a meaningful way. There's nothing meaningful or noble about dying in a war when you leave the one you love to pick up the pieces alone. Ah-ah-ah! " Pansy shook her finger at Harry who had opened his mouth to speak and immediately closed it, "I called this meeting because Draco and Granger are in love . They have been for a very long time. Probably since before the war even started."

"I don't think—" Draco began, but Pansy drew her finger on him next,

"Ahh-ah-AH! I am talking!" Draco snapped his mouth shut as Pansy continued, gesturing around the table, "We all went to school with you! We all saw it! I dated you and I saw it!"

"Chicks always know, mate." Blase whispered out of the side of his mouth to Draco who just stared at Pansy with wide eyes.

"And now— now one of us finally has the chance to move forward in their damn life since the war, to—to bring some goodback into this world, like Potter said. To make amends for the past, and find happiness," Pansy railed, her attention back on Ron, "And you are royally fucking it up, Weasley!"

Ron stared at the smaller witch with a mixture of awe and fear, the anger having drained from him during her tirade. In fact, the entire table stared at Pansy with dawning respect.

"And Salazar's sack, you can't just have Hermione run back to you at the end of your proposal suggestion!" Pansy rolled her eyes.

"I—I didn't—" Just as soon as Ron rediscovered his voice he was once again on the receiving end of Pansy's accusatory finger,

"Oh yes you did, 'there's someone I have to see.'—like you didn't self-insert yourself, Weasley! Honestly. " She finished angrily, blowing her bangs out of her face with a huff.

"I . . . do . . . are—are you seeing anybody?" Ron blinked as if seeing the dark haired witch for the first time.

Pansy sat back down in her chair heavily, the outburst having drained her as she looked up at the redhead in amusement, "No, but Floo me later. Right now, we have a proposal to plan. Run along." She waggled her fingers at him and her nail polish looked rather glossy in the light if she did say so herself.

"I'll . . . catch up with you later, Harry. Gin." Ron awkwardly nodded to his sister and brother-in-law before turning to the rest of the table, "Zabini. Malfoy, just—just don't fuck it up."

"Somehow I'll find it within myself not to." Draco drawled before withering under Pansy's glare.

"And uh, I'll Floo you later Parkinson." Ron mumbled before backing away from the table, leaving a group of stunned witches and wizards in his wake.

"Now where were we?" Pansy tapped her nails on the table.

"Can I slow-clap you?" Ginny asked, glancing around the table, "Is the slow-clap still a thing?"

"Ok, but you should definitely floo Ron." Harry told Pansy, scooting his chair into the table, "Somehow, I think you two would really hit it off."

"And with that," Draco said, standing and scooping the ring box off the table, "I take my leave. It was lovely, really. Let's never do this again."

"How about brunch next weekend? I'm free on Saturday." Ginny said, touching Pansy's arm who smiled and nodded.

"I'm good for brunch if we just get a proper pile of scones again." Blaise grinned.

"I'll tell Hermione." Harry added.

"Brilliant." Draco drawled, slinging his coat on quickly "Can't wait. I will be unfortunately staying at home for it, avoiding all of you."

"See you next Saturday, Draco." Ginny waved.

"Oh, Draco, wait—" Harry stood from his chair and the blonde turned to face him, having walked several steps away from the table in his haste to exit. The table of mixed Gryffindors and Slytherins looked up at him from behind the Boy Who Lived, who gave Draco a cheeky grin, "—don't fuck it up, mate."

"Helpful as always, Potter." Draco rolled his eyes before turning back to the cafe doors and leaving the table to plan their brunches and get-togethers that he would no doubt be sucked into. He groaned internally as he flipped his coat collar up against the cold, walking down the snowy Diagon Alley streets back to the Leaky Cauldron where he could catch a Floo to his flat. The ring box sat heavy in his pocket, and he wrapped a careful fist around it as he walked.

Draco stepped through the fireplace into the apartment he shared with Hermione and found her curled up on the couch in their living room, a mug of tea and a book balanced on the arm of the couch next to her. The sight of her put Draco at a gentle ease for the first time in hours and he felt the tension from the morning's activity slip off his shoulders.

"Hey there. How was coffee with Pansy?" Hermione asked, giving him a smile as he magic'd away the soot and snow on their hearth and hung up his coat.

Draco paused, draping himself across the couch next to Hermione, who scooted over to give him some room, "Eventful." He said carefully, "There were a few party crashers and it drug on from coffee to breakfast to lunch. Also Pansy and the Weasel might start dating, and we might see them next weekend."

"What?" Hermione frowned, looking up from her book at him.

"I'm sure Pans or the She-Weasel will owl you." Draco waved his hand noncommittally, leaning his head back against the couch as he closed his eyes and massaged his temples where a headache had been steadily building.

"Ginny will?" Hermione asked, her frown deepening.

"Yes. Maybe. Probably both of them will owl, just—look out for owls." Draco groaned before feeling Hermione's cool fingertips against his temple and the familiar roll of her magic across his skin. His headache disappeared as he blinked open his eyes to look over at her.

"There, now, tell me again about Pansy and Ron and Ginny?" Hermione asked, but all Draco could see was the tilt of her neck and jawline as she looked over at him, the perfect bow curve of her upper lip, and how the light from the window behind them lit up a halo around her hair and eyelashes as she blinked at him in amusement.

"They are utterly boring and unimportant." Draco drawled. Compared to you .

"You shouldn't talk about our friends that way, Malfoy. They're some of the few you've got." Hermione elbowed him teasingly, and he tugged on a piece of her hair in retaliation, wrapping the curling strand around his finger absently.

"Don't remind me." They sat in silence for a bit, Hermione turning back to reading and Draco carefully spinning pieces of her hair around his fingers, relishing in the calm of her presence. He didn't know how or when it had happened, only that his life had been turned upside-down during the war and the girl that he used to get into earth-shakingly explosive rows with was also the one thing on the planet keeping him sane. It was part of the reason they worked so well together in the war, Number One and Number Two, bickering to keep each other from getting too withdrawn and sitting near each other when they needed comfort. Hermione had saved him more times than she realized.

"Granger," Draco said slowly, sliding a hand into his pocket and watching Hermione's lashes flutter back up towards him, her eyes taking a moment to unfocus from whichever world she had been immersed in and refocusing on his face, "I know it took us a while and I know we've been through some rough patches, but you waited for me. Even when I didn't think I was coming back—physically or mentally. You were there, you've always been there."

"This is for you." Draco took the ring box out of his pocket and opened it for her, watching as Hermione's lips quirked up in a smile. Her eyes sparkled with a flame to match the enchanted stones on the ring and Draco felt the familiar rush of his heart swelling, tearing, and mending all at the same time. It was excruciating and exhilarating and he had hated it at first, but it was a feeling that only Hermione could elicit and so he clung to it, drinking her in as she reached out to touch the ring with careful fingers.

"It's just as beautiful as the first time I saw it." Hermione said, smiling up at him, "Now I can take this thing off."

She waved her left hand between them, flashing the temporary ring she had been wearing on her finger while Draco got the real one resized to fit better. Draco caught her hand and carefully removed the placeholder band, reaching for the custom ring.

"The jeweler in Diagon stopped me when I went to pick it up this morning." He teased, slipping the ring onto her finger where it sat snugly, "Said that I still had a chance to back out if I was unsure."

"And are you unsure?" Hermione asked wryly, wiggling the fingers on her left hand experimentally.

"I've never been more sure of anything in my entire life." Draco said solemnly, his words echoing with the weight of having crossed a war and a world to be with her. Hermione brushed a peck against the hollow of his cheek and Draco felt his heart squeeze painfully with life.

"How are we going to tell everyone? It's a fun secret for now," Hermione admitted, leaning back against Draco's shoulder and admiring the new ring on her finger as it danced in the light, "but we see most of them in two weeks for early Christmas at the Burrow."

"Let's worry about that later, Hermione Granger-Malfoy." Draco hummed, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her into him, dropping his nose into her hair.

"Just Granger. Let's hyphenate if we have kids, hm?" Hermione mused, twisting her hand in the light.

Draco groaned, dropping his head back against the couch, "Potter knows you pretty well, huh?"

"He always has, why do you ask?"

"Nothing, nothing." Draco mumbled, sinking his nose back into her hair. He could handle having Potter and the She-Weasel and even Weasley—if he stopped being such an insufferable git—in his life as long as Hermione was by his side. He had spent too much time without her to waste any time he could be spending with her.

A memory floated to the surface of his mind, buoyed by Hermione's familiar scent. It was from early in the war, his team had arrived back at a safe house several fewer than when they first set out—brave members of the Order struck down in a gamble to distract Voldemort's forces while another contingency raided an important Death Eater command point. Draco hated planning these distraction missions, much more in favor of the "get in, get out" mentality that raids or intelligence-gathering assignments supported. Running distraction was dirty and messy and sloppy. Lives were always lost, under hiswatch.

The moment Draco had finished debriefing with Lupin—Astoria Greengrass and Anthony Goldstein dead, Flora Carrow wounded—he had stalked down the hallways of the house, uncaring of the muddy tracks he left. He had stomped into the darkness of the backyard ready to scream or hex something inanimate when he heard a sniffling from the dark.

Squinting and waiting for his eyes to adjust, it took Draco a few moments to recognize Hermione standing a few feet away in her socks, swiping furiously at her eyes. His hot anger ebbed as he watched the weak lights from the house illuminate the streaks of tears against her cheeks, the intense dark of the rural night enveloping most of her form.

"They just . . . just . . . Astoria and Tony—they . . ." Hermione choked out between sobs, taking deep lung-rattling breaths, on the edge of a panic attack, but Draco heard the rest of her sentence echo in his head.

They're just gone.

The two of them weren't close—Hermione had made her reluctance to work with him quite clear, and Draco reminded her of her Number Two position every chance he got. And yet he could see the palpability of her grief, that she was taking the loss of their teammates even worse than he was.

And so he did something that Draco Malfoy never liked; he reacted before thinking.

"Come here." Draco said, holding open his arm to her begrudgingly. The hug was stiff and awkward at first, both of them unused to the closeness of the other, but it soon melted into something different. Her forehead fit against his collarbone and Draco felt his senses climb into overdrive as he rested a tentative hand against her back, feeling the warmth seep into his chilled limbs.

Draco's heart constricted painfully and he went to pull away but Hermione had fisted her hands in his shirt as she cried he felt something inside of him shift irreparably. And suddenly he was reacting without thought again, burying his nose in her hair which still held the smoke-smell of killing curses from the battlefield. But under it was a softer smell, more feminine, more Hermione.

From that night until now, years later on the couch in their shared London flat, it felt to Draco as if a string had stretched taut, pinning and connecting the two of them across various moments in time.

And time was the crux of it, wasn't it? It had taken them a long time to find each other but he was always supposed to end up with her, even when he didn't know it yet. Across the years, across the globe, across battlefields, courtrooms, and classrooms—it was only a matter of time until they were suddenly side by side again.

Three years, eight years, fourteen years . . . none of it mattered when compared to a lifetime.

A/N: And that's all folks! Thanks to everyone who followed along on this goofy fic. The reviews and follows really made me smile over the past few weeks!
Special shoutout to Shibalyfe and anon for guessing the "twist". Thanks for following along!
I came out of fic retirement to write some good good Dramione drama, so I'm not sure if this is the kick to me rear to dive headfirst back into ficlife, or if I'll lie dormant for another decade. Either way, thank you for reading :)