Hermione took a sip from her wine glass. 'This one is better than the last time, Ron,' she praised.

Ron nodded, aware that his lips were twitching as if he were in pain. 'It's, um, Charlie helped me picked it.'

Hermione propped her chin on her elbows. 'What's the occasion, Ron?' She waved at the room in general. 'The wine is one thing, and we both do like Italian food.' Here Ron's chest unwound slightly—the food hadn't been easy to procure and for some reasons it had involved a literal running around with its head chopped off. 'The candle is new. I also like the new design of your flat. Is it Harry's idea?'

'Yes.' A red stain had appeared on the wall after what Ron had understood to be Ginny helping Harry cleaning their flat. Under pain of death from both Mum and Hermione, "Ginny's relationship(s) is (are) her business and hers alone", he had barely resisted from demanding the story from Harry, because there was a chance that whatever the story was would make him punch Harry. So he just threatened Harry to hide the stain somehow. 'Well, it's Ginny's scheme, actually…'

'It's nice.'

Ron shifted his leg under the table. 'Uh, thanks.' He shifted the other leg. And scratched his hair. And his eyes kept wandering around at anywhere but Hermione, who was gorgeous that night but looking at her would for all intents and purposes ruin the night, when it logically should have helped.

He felt as though the bulge in his trousers had grown heavier and pointier, to the point that the rest of his leg was rather dead. A lot of his functions was rather dead, actually.

'Ron?' Hermione tilted her head slightly. 'What's wrong?'

'Wrong? What do you mean? Ha-ha, nothing is wrong.' Ron swept his hair (since when was his hand so sweaty?) while his face was stuck doing a re-assuring grin. Which, of course, meant that it didn't seem that way to Hermione, because she frowned almost immediately.

'Are they sending somewhere?' Hermione sighed exasperatedly. 'Lichtenstein? How long is it going to be?'

It took Ron several moments before understanding exactly what she thought. 'Oh, that…that's…' He swore loudly, remembering something. 'Oh, Merlin, it's Turkey.'

Hermione's expression became alarmed. 'Turkey? That far—When are you leaving?'

'Tomorrow!' Ron swore again, earning himself a scowl from Hermione. Well, right now he felt like bashing his head to the wall anyway.

'Please don't tell me you haven't prepared yet,' Hermione said coolly.

Ron blinked owlishly. Hermione's lips thinned. 'Oh, honestly.' She shook her head, and in a swift movement she was already waiting expectantly at his side. 'I'm going to help you pack right now,' she said, folding her arms, 'because otherwise it'll not be done until after you've returned from Turkey, and then you'll be complaining from having to spend your money for the bare essentials.'

Ron, defeated, just hung his head and slowly got up; the bulge was now very, very heavy and pricking his leg. Hermione impatiently dragged him to his room.

Later on, a week after his trip to Turkey, a smug Harry told Ron that he didn't really need to know what made the dent on the kitchen's wall as long as Ron fixed it. Ron's response was to chuck his duffle bag at Harry.

'You're pathetic.'

'Excuse me?' Ron fumed. 'What give you the right to say that, o saintly one who keeps getting his butt whipped by Angelina?'

George whistled, counted the displays, and put a satisfied tick on his paper before answering, 'I stand corrected. See how many words that took you? Nowadays, there are two things that make the business: effortlessly quick and ecstatically funny.' He went to the "Dream Glasses: Never Fall Asleep In Class Again!", pointing his quill at each item on he had counted. 'Course, knowing you, even the quick part would require much effort. Probably why you're the Auror.'

Ron grumbled under his breath.

'And don't touch that stuff unless you want to sleep with spiders.'

Ron paled, pulling his finger away like it was on fire. 'What?'

'And bugs, and bees, and ants...exactly why it attracts spiders as well is anyone's guess,' George said distractedly, 'Budge over.' Ron gladly scuttled away from the display of seemingly harmless patches of gray cloth. 'Lee said a quilt worth of these could attract even the Giant Squid itself. He called it the Spineless Setter.' George was now scrutinising the arrays of colourful jellies next to the patches. 'What're you doing here, anyway? Some inspection I should know of?'

Ron ignored that, since once in a while he did come over just to see how George was doing. It took him some time, even after Fred's death, to realise that George was the creative spirit behind the twins while Fred had always been the business-minded one.

If anything, George's products became wilder after Fred's gone. Ron didn't want to know what that meant.

'I'm wondering...' Ron started, then paused. He shook his head mentally. 'Who handled the books?' He asked, as casually as he could.

George's quill had a momentary lapse in its scratching. 'Snuffing out, whatsit, money laundering? Nice try.' He waggled the quill. 'But you'll be surprised at how stupid those smugglers can be. And Lee's on the accounting stuff, by the way.' He returned to scowling at the scroll in his hand.

'Oh.' Ron's mind raced to find another topic. He seized the one he thought of the most. 'How did you propose her?' And immediately kicked himself for it.

George's smirk didn't help. 'Oh, you know, the standard stuff. I took her out for a dinner, had a lovely evening, then knelt on one knee and recited the poem while slowly opening the ring box. Voila, she accepted immediately.' George tapped his temple while his stupid grin grew wider. 'Knowing our ickle Ronniekins—how far have you got? I bet you didn't even have a lovely evening.'

'It was lovely, thank you very much,' Ron growled, 'and I wasn't...Look, I'm not you, alright? I wouldn't do that—I haven't even told her I'm considering resigning!'

'You what, Ron?'

Ron let out a soft 'meep' as he nearly jumped out of his skin. Neither he nor George seemed to have heard Hermione entering the shop; the WWW was insulated so well against the cold of the outside that the winter breeze didn't even enter the shop as the main entrance was opened.

Hermione brushed the snow off her hat and rubbed her gloved hands together. 'Well? What is it that you haven't told me?'

'Um...' Maybe she'll say it anyway and by some weird fate all he would need to do is popping the ring into her finger. Highly unromantic and not exactly the best of all ideas, but it would certainly save a lot of his nerves.

She pursed her lips. 'Quitting the Department of Aurors, perhaps?'

Oh . Ron glanced at George, who left to "tend to his storage". He swore George was not his brother. Hermione was still waiting for an answer, so he sighed and said, 'Just been thinking about it, mind you. Just having a fancy now and then.'

She frowned. Uh-oh. 'Really? It sounds like you've given a lot of thought for it to be a passing fancy.'

Since when did she learn to read me so well? 'Like I said, it was just a passing fancy. You know, the usual "what if". I don't have to tell you about everything, do I?' Her brows furrowed further, so he hurriedly added, 'I was going to tell you, but I had to make sure that there's another opportunity for me!'

She still didn't look too convinced. Ron groaned. He walked up to her, muttering, 'Look, George hasn't been doing well, so I thought—'

Her eyes widened. 'I have no idea. Is it...?' She trailed off, as if expecting George to join their conversation.

Ron looked behind his shoulder. No George. 'Not really...but it hasn't exactly advanced, you know. Not that Lee is bad, mind, but...I reckoned I could do better, already have some plans, see...Er, what are you doing here, Hermione?'

She gave him the "nice try changing the topic" though her reply was 'Looking for you. We could go out for lunch—'

'Could?' This is it, he thought desperately, I'll do it now, or during the lunch—

An owl suddenly burst through the owl hole like a feathery bomb. It went straight to Hermione, landing on her shoulder and sticking out its leg.

Ron swore. Hermione's frown worsened as her eyes scanned the letter. Ron glared at the owl, who returned his glare haughtily.

Hermione, too, had a disappointed look on her face. 'I'm sorry, Ron, but there's an emergency.' She read the short parchment again. 'The Centaur Office is used for the first time and it's not exactly a good start.'

Ron shrugged, trying to look nonchalant—Hermione often got called for work starting from settling ghosts squabbling for haunting domains to re-writing her Appropriate Treatment for Elves. It always happened during their time together.

She tiptoed and kissed him on the cheek, giving him a reassuring smile. 'I'll see you tonight. Your place or mine?'

His mood was whipped even more. 'Oh, . I can't, I have to cover Harry's shift.'

She wasn't pleased, either. 'Again? What is it that you can't tell me? No, don't bother; Auror Confidential?'

Ron nodded helplessly. She sighed. 'Oh, well, if that's the case. Just be careful, okay?'

'Don't worry about that.'

They hugged briefly before Hermione stepped through the main entrance and Disapparated.

Ron cursed to the empty room. How hard was it to ask The Question anyway?

'Mr. Weasley said.' He whirled around, hand automatically going for the wand in his belt. It was just Verity, who didn't seem surprised at all. 'That if anything in this room is damaged at all he would know who to pay and how much so.'

'Tell Mr. Weasley that if I wanted to destroy anything I'll start with his room upstairs.'

Ron's head pounded heavier. There was the matter of proposal and the added bonus of sitting through Hermione planning his next career move.

Judging from his expression, Mr. Granger was apparently as surprised as Ron was. There was a second in which they just stared at each other before Mrs. Granger called.

'Ron, what a pleasant surprise.' She nudged Mr. Granger on the back. 'Dear, do let him in; it's quite cold outside.'

Mr. Granger stepped back. As soon as Ron was inside, he offered his hand, which Ron shook woodenly. 'I have to say, Ron, I wasn't expecting you to come alone,' Mr. Granger began, pausing awkwardly. He then gestured. 'Well, come in. Dinner's not quite ready yet, I'm afraid. How about a cuppa instead?'

'Um, thanks.'

'That's good. Good...'

They were now in the living room. It was, like the rest of the house and Hermione's flat, very neat and organised, almost clinically so. Mr. Granger beckoned Ron to sit on an armchair in front of him. Ron nearly fell over in his haste. Mrs. Granger came in to serve them some tea; she had a familiar expression on her face, one which he had often seen on Hermione's face whenever she and Ron were talking about Harry and Ginny. Specifically about when they would get married.

It nearly made him spew his tea.

Minutes after Mrs. Granger had left, Mr. Granger finally said, 'To what honor do I owe your visit?'

Ron gulped. It felt as though only a very small part of his body was left sitting, the rest having flown of Merlin-knows-where.

'I, I, I...' What would Hermione say in this situation? Out with it, Ron; you usually have no problem saying things on your mind?

'You might want to set down that tea cup, son.'

He did so shakily (son?!). Spilling tea on the Grangers' household could probably be considered a crime. 'Sir—' He took a deep breath. 'I come here to ask for your daughter's hand in marriage.'

Mr. Granger blinked, then leaned forward. His face was impassive as he studied Ron's. 'You want to marry Hermione?' He repeated quietly.

Ron nodded, no longer trusting his voice.

'There are rules for that.'

Ron, resigned, nodded.

'You will not divorce her anytime in the future.'

Nod.

'You will not commit any kind of adultery.'

'Never, sir.' Any minute Ron's heart was going to leap out of his chest, he was sure of it. 'I'd sooner die of Blast-Ended Skrewt stampede.'

'You will— what's that?'

'Evil little , sir, monstrous.'

'Oh.' There was a pause. 'You will preferrably not swear too much.'

'Yes, sir.'

'And stop calling me sir. I have a name and it's Andrew.'

'Yes, si—Andrew.'

'You will give me many grandchildren.'

Ron couldn't help it. 'What?'

Mr. Granger looked flushed. 'We-ell, this house is getting a bit too quiet—and it'd be nicer for your kids to grow up with siblings.'

'I'll, er, see what I can do.'

'Good. And Ron?'

'Yes?'

Mr. Granger had a sheepish look about him. 'How did I do? I'm not used to this over-protective father gig, but apparently since this is my only daughter getting married...'

'Oh.' Ron's back, aching from the tension the conversation had put on it, relaxed considerably. 'You did a fine job, si—Er, that is...'

'I should hope so, my wife is laughing upstairs.'

'Oh.'

Mr. Granger laid back. 'What did Hermione say?'

Ron's heart skipped a beat. 'I, uh, I may not have asked her.'

Mr. Granger sat up straight in a flash. 'But you're already here? Asking me for my permission?' He asked, as if expecting an April's Fool joke. It made Ron want to crawl into a hole.

'I just want to make sure that you won't have any objections first,' he spluttered, feeling his cheeks burning, 'you know, so that it won't be a problem later on.'

Mr. Granger's brows knitted. 'It would be if Hermione says no.' He stroked his chin, looking thoughtful. 'And if she did, I'd talk to her. It's about time, really.'

'Er, yeah...so is that okay with you?'

'It won't be if you wait until next year to propose.' Mr. Granger's stare pierced into his soul, Ron was sure of it. 'You are going to propose to her tonight, correct?'

'Er...'

When he had put it that way, what else could Ron do? Break an old man's heart?

'Not tonight. Maybetomorrow. And, um...' There was such a thing as dying from embarrassment. This was it. 'Er, thank you for your time, Mr.—Andrew.' He stood and offered a handshake.

Mr. Granger returned it with a hearty thump on the back that made Ron nearly keel over. 'How about that dinner now, Ron?'

When he got home, Harry was already in the living room with a stack of papers that Ron did not envy for the moment. Harry was, as usual, further along the promotional route. Not that it mattered. Harry looked up when Ron closed the door.

'Lo, Ron. Where were you?' He set the papers down to rub his eyes. 'Hermione was looking for you.'

'She was?'

'Said that you will have a dinner with her tomorrow at your usual place.' Harry gave him a shrewd look. 'There's something else.'

Ron, tired, snapped, 'Out with it.'

Harry raised an eyebrow. 'Apparently she believed you'd resign from the Department of Aurors soon.'

'Oh.' Ron threw himself to their only couch, closing his eyes.

'She asked me all kinds of thing, like how they treat you at work, like if the boss puts too many pressure on you or not.' Ron opened his eyes. Harry had a quite serious expression on his face. Ron rolled his eyes—it would take him a long time before he could go to sleep. 'Don't give me that. Now, what rubbish did you imply?'

'Since when did you care?'

Harry snorted. 'Since I'm probably going to lose my partner. Well? Is it just Hermione overanalysing?'

Ron threw his hands in the air. 'See, this is why I'm not telling anyone just yet. No, Harry, I don't even know what it is!'

A genuine worry flickered on Harry's face. 'Wait, what? You're seriously considering it? Ron, I'm your partner, and you're the furthest one from rubbish as far as I'm concerned.'

Ron groaned. 'That's not it—, I can't explain. It's just...' He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. 'Harry, I love being your second, but I'm just...not an Auror. Not really suitable, you know? I'd rather not be chasing anymore Death Eaters.'

It finally dawned on Harry, thank Merlin. Ron was so tired he could have fallen asleep then and there.

Harry's voice drifted through the fog. 'Have you told Hermione?' Ron's mind snapped awake at the mention of Hermione.

'No,' he moaned, 'and that's the problem, isn't it? She went spare this afternoon. Said I should have told her first and foremost. Oh, , that's tomorrow's topic, isn't it?' Ron groaned.

'I think you should probably straighten that bit out before proposing,' Harry said solemnly.

Ron did a double take. 'Okay, what's the bet on now, since every one in the family knows?'

Harry smirked. 'Oh, a lot of pools, don't worry. There's which month it'd be, the wedding, I mean. There's what's the first-born going to be. There's what it's going to be named for, someone on Hermione's side, your side, or something completely new.' Harry folded his fingers for each bet. He paused, tapping his chin, then continued, 'There's how long it's going to take you before you realise that there's betting pools going on.'

Ron swore. The Weasley family definite trait, as Charlie had called it. 'And everyone's involved?'

'Even your mum.'

'What?!'

Harry smirked. 'She bets that the wedding's going to be sometime around March, that your first-born would be a girl, and that you'd name your kids for something deep and meaningful because, you know, it's Hermione. Oh, and that they'd be born precisely nine months after your wedding. I personally think it'd be earlier—'

Ron threw the couch pillow at Harry.

'So you're certain about it.'

Ron nodded, licking his suddenly dry lips. Hermione had a pretty much blank expression on, the one she had lately started using whenever she was at work. It said "shut up and don't even think of lying because I can destroy you with my brain." Not something Ron wanted to be subjected to, at any rate.

Oh, they had had a fantastic dinner at their favourite place, the Leaky Cauldron, now managed by former schoolmate Hannah Abbot. Ron had entirely forgotten about his career planning until Hermione brought it up. Fortunately, during his sleep his unconsciousness had apparently worked it out by itself. Or so he thought until he had to present it to her.

Ron shifted, well aware that the ring box in his pocket was pricking again. Perhaps he should have bought some new trousers after all.

Hermione sighed, and his attention was on full alert. 'You're not the only one,' she said quietly, biting her lip, 'Mr. Diggory has been…insinuating that I'll be transferred to the Jurisdiction Office of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.'

Ron's mouth hung open. She quickly added, 'It won't be until next year, because there's so much I still have to do—the Appropriate Treatment of Elves for one, we still have to push it to the Wizengamot—they've been right sneaky bastards about it, no doubt trying to keep their slaves.'

Ron closed his mouth. Hermione looked at him half-hopeful half-apprehensive. So he said, 'That's fantastic.' He grinned. 'That's—really, fabulous, Hermione. You deserve it—should have done that from the start, you know.' He lifted the wine glass. 'I'll have a toast, to the wonderful, brilliant, and absolutely beautiful Hermione Granger.'

She smiled, then giggled, accepting the toast. There was a lull, in which they stared into each other's eyes mesmerised, then a part of Ron's brain said, now's the perfect time, the ring…

'There's something else,' said Hermione abruptly. She looked unusually flustered. 'Er, I know this is not too appropriate, but this is just hypothetical, mind you; I'm not really proposing anything definite yet.' She fumbled for words. 'Er, Ron.' Hermione cleared her throat, finally looking at Ron with such intensity that he found himself unable to think. 'How would you…What do you think of marriage?'

Ron's eyes bulged.

Hermione stumbled on, seizing Ron's hands. 'Hypothetically, what do you think of us, married? I guess I'm saying…Oh, .' She exhaled. 'Would you marry me?'

His hands reflexively drew away from hers. 'No.'

Hermione looked crestfallen. Ron quickly said, 'I mean…I'd want to, but that's not—that's not how it's supposed to be!'

'And how is it supposed to be?' She interjected, her eyes started watering.

Oh, Ron, do you always have to make her cry? 'No, listen! That's…I.' He literally fell on to his knees right next to her, and in a fit of panic managed to get the box out. With shaky hands he showed it to her and opened the box. Hermione gasped. 'Hermione Granger, would you marry me? See, I've already prepared a ring and I've been trying to ask you for weeks now but things happen and that's why I think I should—'

He was abruptly silenced when Hermione tackled him and their lips met.

Hours later, Ron pushed himself off the floor of the Leaky Cauldron (not quite caring that people were staring). 'Is that a yes?' He asked, already knowing the answer.

Her forehead met his. 'Oh, you.'

The ring fit her finger just nice.