Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me. If you look hard enough, even the general thought doesn't belong to me. But the way it happens is all mine, and probably the most redeeming point for this story.

A/N: These will eventually get longer...I think. It's just sort of a trial I'm sticking out there to see if it works. And it sets up the story. Something interesting will happen. I promise. Review?

The Problem

Ronald Weasley sat in his apartment. It was a tiny, but cosy setting, though the effect (courtesy of Hermione's influence) was slightly ruined by the mess everywhere. Unclean clothes were present on the barely visible bedroom floor, and this morning's toast crumbs were still covering the table, to be hastily wiped away when Hermione said she was coming to visit.

Ron, at present, was not worried about that. Hermione, he knew, was off with her parents today, who had insisted upon weekly visits ever since being returned from Australia, memories properly corrected. Ron thought they still seemed a little betrayed. They generally did not speak of their time in Australia, and since nobody else wanted to explain the wizard's war in detail to them, they got their wish. Now that some years had passed, nobody really wanted to talk about that war.

Hermione's absence gave Ron the opportunity to pull out the engagement ring he had bought her, and turn it over obsessively in his hands. There were days that Ron thought he'd rather break into Gringotts again, or infiltrate the Ministry (not that it would be a challenge now; they'd open their doors eagerly) rather than propose to Hermione.

He wanted to, of course. It wasn't that he was scared of living with her. They'd done that before, both in a little tent and at Hogwarts. He had no problems with that. He just couldn't actually get the words out of his mouth, no matter how he encouraged them. They always came out as something else. A lot like their fourth and fifth years, actually, he thought. He had wanted to ask her out then, but was by far too tongue tied to ask her properly.

Ron groaned loudly. An internal debate had been going on for a rather long time now.

Ron sighed, and instead of putting the ring properly away under all its enchantments, he slipped it into his pocket. He was going to meet Harry, George and Charlie, to celebrate Charlie's brief stay in Briton. He had gotten leave from his boss in Romania to come and see his neice, Victoire, who had just celebrated her second birthday. All the girls were fussing with her, and she herself had raised her imperious, two year old voice and firmly told Bill that "Daddy not leave. No." She had pleadingly looked at him until he had given in, a record of about three milliseconds.

Ron pulled on a sweater and went out into the cold night air, regrettably leaving the ring tucked into his pocket, something he would regret a little later on in the night.