This may turn into a series of one-shot/drabbles about different Romione marriage proposals, but I'm not sure. For now it shall remain just a cute little pice of fluff.

Disclaimers are irrelevant.(:

Hermione Granger got up bright and early every morning and read the Daily Prophet. It kept her up to date on the daily happenings of the magical community although the bias tendencies of the newspaper writers irked her to no end on numerous occasions.

Imagine Hermione's surprise when she woke one dreary Sunday morning to find Ronald Billius Weasley – Mr. Sleep til lunchtime – lounging in her kitchen with a newspaper in his hands.

Hermione didn't let her shock show as she took a seat across from her boyfriend at the table.

"Good morning, Mione!" Ron greeted happily, grinning at her over the newspaper clutched in his calloused hands.

"Uh... hello." Hermione glanced at the clock, running a hand through her beyond frizzy bedhead, "You are aware that it's only six in the morning, correct?"

"Yes, I can read a clock." Ron chuckled.

"... Okay, I'm going to be brutally honest. Are you on any new medication I should be aware of?"

Ron's chuckle turned into a bellowing laugh, "Nope! I just thought I'd get up early this morning and come see my favorite girl."

Hermione's eyes narrowed, "You're acting suspiciously out of character, Ronald."

Ron ignored the statement, "So... help me with the crossword puzzle?"

"I'm sure you're fully capable of doing it yourself." Hermione huffed.

Ron ignored her, again, "What is the best house at Hogwarts?"

"That is a matter of opinion."

Ron sighed, "Hermione..."

Hermione smiled, shifting in her seat, "Gryffindor."

Ron grinned, "Correct! Okay, here's the next question! Ron Weasley is..."

"I highly doubt the Daily Prophet would put anything about you in their crossword puzzle."

"Do you need proof?" Ron held the paper up to his girlfriend's face and pointed to number seven across. It was there all right, plain in black and white.

Hermione crossed her arms, "Ron Weasley is a prat?"

"Ouch!" Ron said in mock hurt, placing a hand over his chest, "Incorrect."

"Ron Weasley is a Keeper?"

"Ron Weasley is an Auror?"

"Ron Weasley is a Gyrffindor?"

"Ron Weasley is... ginger?" Hermione questioned hopelessly.

"There ya go!" Ron filled in the little boxes with his big messy letters.

"You have got to be kidding me."

"Me? Kid you? Never!"

"You're getting on my nerves, Ron!"

"Next question! Where did Ron and Hermione share their first kiss?"

Hermione blushed deeply, "That's a highly personal question for a crossword puzzle to ask!"

"Are you deflecting the question, Mione? Did you forget where we had our first kiss?" Ron questioned jokingly.

"Of course not! We had our first kiss in the Room of Requirement! Right after we destroyed Helga Hufflepuff's cup in the Chamber of Secrets!"

"Good, I almost thought you forgot."

Hermione blushed an ever brighter shade, "I could never forget that..."

Question after question, answer after answer, the two worked on the crossword puzzle together. When they reached the final question Hermione found herself wondering is she would have a permanent blush on her cheeks. All of the wizard world would know about their romantic relationship...

Oh Merlin...

Ron gulped audibly. His previous enthusiasm had just vanished and been replaced with jittery nerves.

"If Ron Weasley was to ask Hermione Granger to marry him, what would she say?"

Hermione's mouth fell open in shock, the only sound in the room being the strangled breath of air that left her mouth and the ticking of the clock above their heads.

"...You... You want me to marry you?"

Ron nodded silently, the sweat on his face glistening in the new beams of morning sun entering the kitchen through the lace curtains.

"Yes... Yes! A thousand times yes! Hermione Granger would be honored to marry Ron Weasley!" Hermione found herself nearly screeching, glistening happy tears sliding down her rosy cheeks. She flew off her chair and practically leaped over the table to throw her arms around her boyfriend's – fiance's – neck.

"Hermy... I don't think all that will fit in the box. How about just yes?"

"Fine, you prat! Yes! Yes! Yes! I'll marry you!"