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Draco stepped into the pub at a quarter to six, raking his hands through his hair in a move that caught and held the attention of more than one witch. He saw it of course, his day job was an auror but he’d been trained long before that to clock his surroundings. That's why, with some trepidation that he buried beneath a cold smirk (Hermione called it his princling face, the meddlesome little swot) he made his was to the far corner of the pub where Potter sat with Red, Zabini and all the rest of their friends, despite the early hour.
It had taken more than one night of getting rip roaring drunk to make that a thing.
He’d known Hermione was a packaged deal when they’d decided to make a go at the whole dating thing, and even if he hadn't she had told him in no uncertain terms that if he ever made her choose between the Wonder Duo and himself, Draco would be the one out on his arse. Not that he would ever. He more than anyone knew the connection that formed when people stuck with you through hell or high water. He had his own, though less rowdy, bunch of merry men -- er, men and Pansy-- no wait, Pansy, Theo and men-uh man -- Fuck it! He brought Pansy, Theo, and Blaise into the little group that were so quintessentially Gryffindor it was nauseating. Oh, there was also Lovegood, kinda hard to forget her. A Ravenclaw in school she defied classification and was her own entity within the tidal storm that was the Slytherin and Gryffindor dichotomy.
Now, coming up on five years later they were all relatively amicable. Too amicable as they ganged up on him the moment he sat down.
“If you don’t propose soon mate, you’re going to lose her,” Harry told him over a pint of ale. Out of sheer frustrations he had been the one to call to order this intervention.
“She’s told you this?” Draco questioned, one pale brow reproachfully arched, flagging a waiter down to bring his usual. He had a feeling he would need it more than normal.
“She doesn’t have to say anything! It’s common knowledge that after a certain number of years a proposal is expected,” Ginny scolded over her husband’s shoulder.
“They’re right mate,” Blaise intervened. “We might not think that stuff’s important but some chicks think of this their whole life. If you’re planning on staying, you need to pop the question before she gets tired of waiting and leaves you.”
“You’ve been dating five years,” Pansy scolded, leaning up against Nott, left hand obscenely on his thigh showing off the engagement ring he'd placed there two months ago after they became more then fuck-buddy last summer. “You’ve been half in love with her since third year. I don’t see what’s taking you so long.”
“It’s complicated.” He shot down his drink and ordered another, promising himself he'd switch to butterbeer after. He and Hermione had plans to take brunch with his mother tomorrow and he wanted to avoid being totally hungover for it.
“What? Is it Lucius? Is he threatening you? Because I know a hag--”
“No,” Draco quickly dissuaded Theo before he had to arrest his best friend for abetting the assassination of his father. “He and Hermione get along swimmingly, better than I do half the time. That’s where she is now, with him, getting feedback on her next legislation.”
Blaise froze in raising his drink to his lips, eyes cutting sharply over to Draco. “You don’t think…”
“That my father is fucking my partner?” Draco inferred blandly, hissing through his teeth as he once again downed the last of his drink. “No. But thank you for that mental image I’ll now have to scrub from my brain. I’ll be sure to repay the favor.”
“She has been spending a lot of time over there,” Pansey piped in with a scowl. “Just last week she was leaving around lunch time. And the month before that she came in through the floo while Narciassa and I were having tea to see him. He does look an awful lot like you, Draco. Or you look a lot like him, as the case may be," she said already planning out how she would take her vengeance. Noone disrespected her friend and got away with it.
Draco sat forward, face hard. “I’m going to say this once, and we are never to speak of this again. One, I very much satisfied Hermione.”
“Ew,” Potter deadpand, pulling a face.
“Two, my father has not looked at another woman since before he and my mother were officially engaged. And three, you honestly think Heremione, bleeding heart Gryffindor, has the ability to cheat on anyone. And not just anyone but me, with my own father? Are you serious?”
Blaise and Pansy had the decency to look ashamed.
“If she were unhappy in our relationship, she’d have brought it up well before now.”
“That’s what I’m saying.” Harry took this moment to redirect the conversation back to its original topic. “Maybe she’s still waiting for you to pop the question. That is typically the man’s job. Are you sure she hasn’t been trying to drop hints?”
Draco rubbed at the throbbing in the front of his head, twenty minutes in and already sorely regretting his commitment towards restraint on the hard alcohol. “I don’t know, Potter, I’ve only been living with the woman for four and a half years now. In all that time I’ve found her to be rather blunt when things need to get done. So no, she has never ‘dropped the hint’ that she was just sitting around waiting for me to propose.”
“But what about--”
“Hey love,” Hermione appeared, interrupting the group by laying a smacking kiss to Draco’s temple before forcing a place at his side. “Sorry I’m late. I set my order with the kitchen staff when I came in. What I miss?”
Draco swiveled his head to keep the witch in sight, sharp chin resting in his palm. “Granger, you got one of your engagement rings on you?” he surly requested.
“Um, yes?” she blinked, caught off guard. “Why?”
“Feel like showing your friends so they don’t think I’m a completely terrible person and have been stringing you along for years with no intention of making an honest witch out of you?”
She frowned at him. “You know I find that grossly misogynistic. My sexual proclivity holds no bearing on my moral leanings,” she griped, reaching under her collar to pull free a chain with a ring looped on it.
Their friends around the table gasped.
Draco caught the swinging chain, studying it carefully. “Why do you feel the need to wear protection today,” he growled, eyeing the dark stone dangerously.
She kissed his cheek, calming him. “I had a press meeting today that I knew Skeeter would be at. Now if someone will fill me in on what is going on?”
“When did he propose!” Ginny demanded.
Hermione’s brow furrowed in though. She shifted to Draco. “When did you propose?”
“With the tourmaline and amethyst? That was about a month after I defected, so February of ‘99.”
“‘99?” Harry gaped. “As in 1999?”
“Well, seeing as none of us were born in 1899, and we haven’t quite reached 2099, I’m going to say yes, it was 1999,” Draco said dryly.
“Oh, sod off Malfoy. Why didn’t you tell us?”
“It wasn’t important,” Hermione was the one to say, completely serious.
“Oh, I very much disagree!” Draco huffed.
“One of,” Harry said quietly, all eyes focusing on the boy who lived. “You said, ‘one of your engagement rings’. Just how many times have you proposed?”
“Eight?” Hermione ventured a guess, turning to Draco for confirmation.
He just smiled, cheek still resting on his hand. “Twelve.”
“You have not! The holly one was a Christmas gift and I said no to the other three.”
“He didn’t ask how many rings, Granger, he asked how many times I proposed and the answer is twelve. You need to catch up.”
“Well sorry you keep hogging on the perfect times to pop the question! New rule, you don’t get to do it anymore until I catch up.”
“Nope. You just have to try harder.” He leaned forward and kissed her nose. She blushed, swotting him away.
“So are you guys married?” Blaise asked.
Draco rolled his eyes. “No--”
“Yes!” Hermione interrupted, triumphant.
“No,” Draco said pointedly, eyeing her.
“He’s just mad that my first proposal came with an actual wedding,” Hermione told the table, a Cheshire Cat grin curling her lips.
“Tying our hands together and jumping through a bonfire in Romania is not a marriage.”
“The Manor’s elves started calling me mistress after that,” she said pridefully.
“And when was this?” Pansy demanded, shooting a scalding glare at Draco.
“Beltane, 2000,” Hermione answered. “Charlie and Fluer did it too.”
“But they were already married per English Wizarding Law,” Draco criticized. “Ours is not legally binding here. I’ve told her this repeatedly.”
“Then let's move to Romania, where it is recognized as a legal form of marriage, live there for the four years needed to gain citizenship then immigrate back to England as a pre-establish partnership. We can set up an international floo connection and commute for work.”
“And that is easier in your mind then having a normal wedding now?” he demanded.
“Normal?” She screeched. “There is nothing normal about having a guest list of twelve hundred people, Draco!”
“That is only for the ceremony, the reception hall can only accommodate three hundred and seventy.”
“Three hundred and seventy-six,” Pansey corrected unhelpfully, still perched on Theo’s lap as they watched the drama unfold in front of them.
“Do you even know three hundred and seventy-six people?” Hermione demanded heated. Their group of friends looked on, bouncing their attention between the couple as if spectators at a tennis match.
Daco scoffed. “Of course; I’m a Malfoy.”
“No,” she snarled, grabbing on to the back of the booth behind him and the table, menacingly bringing herself in close. “I’m mean intimately. As in wanting to invite them to your wedding, not out of some social obligation, but because you are about to commit your life to the one person who means the world to you and you want to share that with them. Not to be mocked, or sneered at, or tittered about behind raised hands by backstabbing vipers that would love to see you fail so they can feel validated for once in their miserable lives. Do you know twelve hundred people? Or three hundred and seventy-six? Hell, name fifty and I’ll go to your mother tonight and tell her to get started on the preparations.
“If it really means that much to you to parade our special moment in front of those people for no matter what I do still think of me as an upstart little mudblood, then fine. Let's get married. I hate being the center of attention, but if that’s what you want I’ll suck it up for one day. I’ll even let Narcissa and Pansy stuff me in one of those ridiculous white dresses even though the concept of virginity is a pile of shit and I haven’t been one in nearly a decade. And I promise not to hex the daughter of some foreign wizarding royalty your mother decides to invite for making some snide remark about my blood status or how I’m reaching too far above my station and how we wont even last five years--” her voice broke with tears and he immediately gathered her close.
“Hermione, if anyone is reaching above their station it’s me.” He said, pressing her head to his shoulder as her shoulders heaved. “You daft witch,” he whispered against her temple, more in love with this woman with every passing second he spent with her. “Why’d you think this was an all or nothing arrangement? That we either had to do the big white wedding or not get married?”
“Your mother said it was tradition,” Hermione wailed, overwrought. She’s had a truly terrible day at the office and hadn’t expected to have this conversation tonight.
“So was arranged marriages and following megalomaniacs with an inflated sense of grandeur. Granger,” he brushed the hair out of her face and cupped her cheeks to make sure he had her whole attention, “you’ve changed all of that. I would get married to you right here, right now so long as it meant I get to tell the world I am yours and you are mine.”
She gulped air, trying to get herself together. “What about your mother? And your father-- Draco, they’ll be so disappointed.”
His thumbs swiped under her eyes, leaning in to kiss away the tea drops he missed. “As much as I love my parents, this is none of their business. All that matters is you and your answer. So, Hermione Jean Granger,” he unwrapped himself from around her, easing down on one knee pulling forth a new ring, this one with a rough cut polished garnet, like a brilliant flame, that sat upon the silver band shaped like vines. “You brought me hope when I though the world was dark and cruel. You are the bravest, kindness, most headstrong person I have ever met. Your brilliance has and will continue to change the world and I want to be there by your side helping you; because the world you want to make is the only world I want to live in. Now, for the thirteenth time, would you do me the absolute honor of tying your life to mine and making me Mr. Granger-Malfoy?”
“Yes,” she sobbed, fresh tears, this time of joy, streamed down her face, and she threw her arms around his neck. “Yes, yes, yes, a thousand times yes!”
“Blaise!” Draco turned to his friend, who was startled at having been addressed after such a touching moment. “You’re still a justice of the peace, right?”
“Yes.” He discreetly tried to sniffle and wipe away the moisture in his eye, deeply moved at his friend finding happiness but not wanting to show it in mixed company.
“Then marry us!”
“But Draco,” Hermione gasped “What about your Cissy and Lucien?” Just because the thought of a Malfoy wedding gave her hives didn’t mean she wanted to slight her in-laws by having them miss their only child’s wedding.
Draco kissed her sweetly, soothing her. “They were there for the broom jumping in Romania. It wasn’t a coincidence that the elves started calling you mistress. We’ll let mother throw our introduction ball in a few months and everyone will be happy.”
She wopped him on the chest. “I told you that was a real wedding.”
“I never said it wasn’t real, I said it wasn’t recognized by English Wizarding law, therefor we aren't married. But we’re about to fix that.” He entwined their hand, bringing them up to press a kiss to the back of hers as he stared deeply into her eyes, saying without words all the love he held for her.
“Zabini,” she hollered breathless, never breaking eye contact with Draco.
“Well this was not how I expected this night to go,” Blaise mused dumbstruck into his firewhisky. Slamming it back, he set the empty glass down on the table he clapped his hands together to psych himself up. “Let's get these two crazy kids married! Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to unit these two in holy matrimony. If anybody should have any objections to this Union keep them to yourself, nobody wants to hear it. It’s been eight years for fuck sake! By the power vested in me by a very annoying pdf form I found online, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”