This chapter is a continuation of the last one (Theme 6: Break Away - aka, Draco informing his parents he plans to propose to Hermione). I warn you, being a proposal scene, the end of this chapter is unbelievably corny. But I think the sentimentality fits well with the situation, the setting, and the conversation Draco and Hermione are having. =) Thank you for reading. I would be super appreciative if you left a review!


Theme Seven: Heaven

Even though they spent all of their free time together, Hermione insisted that they did not go on enough "proper dates." Draco had come to understand that this meant they were not seen together in public enough, engaged in usual couple activities. She enjoyed the stuff of typical muggle dates – romantic dinners and movies, strolling hand in hand through gardens and galleries, afternoons in art museums, and evenings spent attending theatre productions or carnivals. Draco preferred the times they spent practising magic or exploring new destinations, walking arm-in-arm down Diagon Alley, or drinking and laughing, and – his absolute favourite – snogging in a dark corner of a wizard pub.

Draco wanted his proposal to Hermione to be absolutely perfect. He decided in order to do this, he should focus on a few of her favourite activities, and hopefully end the night with an affirmative answer and a good deal of snogging. He planned the date two weeks in advance, and reminded her everyday of the preceding week of their upcoming plans on Friday. She laughed and dismissed his reminders with a wave of her hand, but he noticed that her excitement did not seem to equal his. In fact, she seemed rather distracted.

The evening finally arrived, and Draco was beside himself with anticipation. He picked Hermione up at her London flat. She was even more beautiful than the eve of the Yule Ball of their fourth year. Her hair was slicked back in a half-up do, with a few stray strands that curled around her face, giving her the appearance of a goddess just awoken from sleep. She wore dangling silver earrings, to match the silver bracelet that had been a birthday present from him. Her lipstick was a dark shade of red – the colour, he thought, of passion. And she wore an emerald green dress – his favourite colour – that clung to every curve of her waist, but fell softly around her hips and legs. It swished when she walked, reminding him of a gently rippling river. She smiled her toothy grin – and he noticed, not for the first time, that her teeth were no longer too big for her mouth, though he couldn't remember when that had happened.

God, she was beautiful.

They started with dinner at a swanky restaurant in London's West End. It was a popular spot for wizards and muggles alike, with its wide selection of wines and five star rating. There was a special section for wizards, in the back "VIP" area of the restaurant, which included candles floating over the tables and music from self-playing instruments. Draco knew it was Hermione's favourite place – perhaps because the kitchens were manned by wizards and not enslaved house elves – but she couldn't afford to eat there regularly. They ate vegetable ratatouille and roast lamb in an apricot-citrus sauce, washed down with a ₤55 bottle of Pinot Noir.

"Would you like to share a pudding?" Draco suggested. He wondered if perhaps this would create an ideal opportunity to bring up the prospect of sharing the rest of their lives.

"Sure," Hermione smiled, but he noticed it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"What would you like"?

"Actually," she glanced out the high, stained-glass windows and noticed the sun sinking slowly in the horizon. "Can we skip pudding?"

Draco snapped his fingers to call over their waiter, and checked his pocket watch – a Malfoy heirloom given to him by his father when he came of age. "We have more than an hour before we need to be at the theatre, maybe we could go for a walk?"

"That sounds lovely."

Draco paid the cheque, and they left through the back exit, where wizards and witches could apparate and disapparate. "Mi'lady," with a flourish, he offered her his arm. She smiled her troubled smile again, and placed a manicured hand on his bicep. They disappeared instantly, reappearing in St. James's Park. They wandered slowly along the lake, Buckingham Palace looming ivory and majestic in the distance, and the blue lights of the London Eye already twinkling in the dusk.

After they had walked a short distance, Draco noticed that Hermione was trembling. "You're cold. Here." He shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. She pulled it tighter around herself, and Draco watched as a single tear escaped from the corner of her eye, and slipped down her cheek. "What's wrong, love?" At the same time, they reached to wipe it away, and their hands collided. Hermione laughed, and allowed him to rub the liquid away with his thumb.

Draco led her over to a bench, and watched her face intently, waiting for an answer. She sighed, and leaned her head against his shoulder. He put his arm around her, and murmured, "You can tell me."

"Do you know what today is?"

"May 2nd?"

"Yes," she whispered sadly. "Which makes it the fifth anniversary of the end of the Second Wizarding War – the battle at Hogwarts, the day Voldemort was defeated." Draco flinched slightly. Even after all this time, hearing the Dark Lord's name spoken still bothered him.

"Woah," he breathed. "I can't believe it's been five years." The day was as fresh in his memory as if it had been only yesterday, and yet, at the same time, it felt like centuries ago that he had been that young, scared boy, who hadn't been able to see a future for himself, let alone one of as much joy and healing as he had found with Hermione.

How would he ever approach the subject of his proposal now?

He felt ashamed that he had not remembered the date that had been so important in both their lives.

"We lost so many friends – Tonks, Remus, Fred, Colin."

"Crabbe," Draco added, thinking of how his lackey, one of his few friends at Hogwarts, had met a fiery end.

"Professor Snape."

"Snape," Draco repeated, thinking sorrowfully of his favourite professor, his Head of House, the man who had done everything in his power to protect Draco, though he had been a suspicious and ungrateful kid, who had believed Snape out to gain favor with the Dark Lord. Potter may have been responsible for revealing Snape for the hero he was, but he would never have the almost fatherly relationship Draco had enjoyed with the late headmaster.

They shared a moment of respectful and tragic silence.

Finally, glancing up at a weeping willow, through which the wind blew a mournful song making the leaves dance, Hermione pondered, "What do you think happens to us when we die?"

The question was unexpected, but Draco had contemplated the answer himself a million times. His last two years at Hogwarts had been completely consumed with fear over his imminent death. He would lie in the dark, imagining how it would be to draw his last breath, whether it would be quick or slow, how much pain he would suffer. He pictured his parents' faces, as they clung to his corpse, and his own blank eyes staring up at them. He wondered where he would go, whether the people who had gone before him would greet him, or if he would enter the void alone – and remain alone for eternity. Maybe he deserved everlasting solitude, after all the deaths he had caused. Perhaps he would have preferred death to completely end his being, to slip into nonexistence as easily as falling asleep. But he had met enough ghosts in his life to know he would continue in some form or other.

"I don't know," he answered honestly.

"I have been thinking about it a lot this week," Hermione confided. "About everyone we lost, about what it would be to reunite with them," she was thinking particularly of Fred and George Weasley. "I asked Harry about when he died, but he couldn't tell me much. He hadn't 'gone on,' so he hadn't seen that next stage. He had met Dumbledore in a kind of limbo. It's just so permanent, isn't it, death? In the muggle world, they use the word 'heaven' for their concept of an afterlife. The word means different things to different people, but generally it seems to be a place of supreme beauty and happiness. Devoid of pain and hate. Surrounded by the people you love. Paradise."

"Paradise..." Draco repeated the word.

"I hope it's like that," she admitted. "It's very frustrating, trying to research something no one has any first-hand knowledge of. I suppose I will have to wait until the time comes. I'm not sure how I feel about that." She shook her head and laughed. "Listen to me! I'm ruining our date with all this dismal talk."

"Hermione," Draco grabbed both of her hands in his, stroking her knuckles with his thumbs. He looked into her eyes, and she gasped, surprised at the intensity and love she discerned in their depths. "I don't know what happens when we die, but this idea of heaven...If I had to describe paradise, it would be these last few years spent with you. You have made me happier than I have ever thought possible. But you could make me even happier, if you would do me the honour of spending the rest of your life with me."

"Draco..."

"I promise to love you until the day I die – maybe even longer. I promise, with every breath I take, that I will take care of you, work to ensure your happiness. I want to spend every day with you, to grow old with you, and finally slip out of this life with you by my side. Hermione Granger, will you marry me?"

He paused and gazed at her anxiously. She was staring at him with wide, wet eyes. Finally, she broke into a wide grin that lit her entire face. "Yes," she released a sound between a laugh and a sob. "Yes, I will."

And there, in the fading sunlight of St James's Park, Hermione gave Draco a piece of heaven on earth.