𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑

desert flower

"It stopped," Hermione gasped. "Skylar, it stopped! Skylar—you are alive!"

Skylar opened her eyes, hazel meeting the empty space where the air previously sizzled, wind blowing the grass before them. There was nothing there. Skylar's constricted chest heaved as she stumbled a little, grip on Draco loosening. "I'm alive."

A chorus of relief echoed around them as Skylar glared at the spot. Her father had come, had attempted to put here there, but was unsuccessful. He wasn't able to materialize here with her, because she was already there. You cannot exist in two places at the same time. . . Maybe she was placed way more into the future. . . Or into the past. Either way, she wasn't brought here. She wasn't a paradox. She existed. She exists. She's alive. . .

"Draco!"

Hermione's gasp brought her out of her reverie and she turned her wide eyes towards the ground, where Draco Malfoy now kneeled, afraid of what could have happened, her fingers clenching around her wand—

"Skylar," he said, his long-ish blond hair whipping around his forehead, as his grey eyes, as light as blue, peered up at her. Skylar stumbled back a little, and Hermione grabbed her back steadying her, her sniffles turning to little gasps.

"Malfoy what—"

"Shut up, Harry!" Ron slapped a hand over his mouth.

"Here's to all the places we went," he said, a twitch of a smile on his lips. "To all the adventures we had, and to the many more quests we'll go to. You have bewitched my mind," he said, his face flushed and lips pink from from the dusky cold. "My soul and you've set me alight since the day I have known you." Skylar's hands were around her mouth, her eyes watery as she looked at him. "You are the loveliest, tenderest, bravest and fiercest person I know, therefore," his hands went into his pocket from where he pulled out a delicate black box, topped with a silvery bow. He opened it with slightly shaky fingers, pulling out the finest ring Skylar ever saw—a large bluish, almost white stone, surrounded by flaky gold encasement, studded on a gold band—and shoved the box to Ron, who was closest to him, and on a verge of a seizure. He held up the ring, between his lithe fingers, towards Skylar, who was still wide-eyed, hands around her mouth, and said, "I offer you my hand, my life, and everything I own and stand for. I ask you to pass through life at my side, be my second self, my companion, my friend, my betrothed—" his eyes were just as wide and watery as Skylar's, "—Would you like to stumble through life with your best friend? Will you marry me?"

For a few seconds, only wind blew; Harry had stopped struggling around Ron, and Hermione's sniffled had stopped as she gripped Ron's arm. The Golden Trio stared at them, as Skylar red hair flamed in contrast to his pale blonde, her scars calling out to his, waiting to be mixed, to be one, to walk through the remnants of their life together. For a few seconds, Skylar stared at the magnificent ring in his hand, waiting to be wrapped around her fingers—two people, war heroes, who have been through hell by each other's side, unafraid, unyielding and ferociously in love. A cosmic miracle, that's what he was to her. A fairytale, that's what she was to him.

"Yes," she choked out, her hand dropping from her mouth, her lips curling into a smile, a wide, illuminating smile. "I already said I would marry you Draco—"

"I was waiting for the right moment to do this," he said with a laugh, gripping her hand with his. "For the moment when I knew everything was alright, all was fine." He slipped the ring into her finger, where it fit perfectly with magic, practically glowing around her tan skin.