Okay, so this is quite a short chapter,, and it's in a bit of an odd style...I don't usually write in the present, but I wanted to try something new. I will be adding the chapter containing the proposal very soon, so look out for that! Please leave a review:)

It was early June, and Hermione Granger was nineteen years old. She would be twenty in the autumn, and was nervous about entering a new decade, but also hopeful. Her life was turning out to be wonderful. She had Ron, a flat together, and a job that she enjoyed and that paid well, as did Ron, and together they were happy. Happy to be alive, to be together, and to have survived. Not everyone had…a month previously, a memorial had been held, on the first anniversary of the battle. The first year without Fred, without Tonks, without Lupin, had passed. Commemorating the day they had died had been excruciating, and had threatened to bring back the grief they had barely overcome. But they had been strong, and remembered those they had lost with dignity, and knowing that they would not want them to dwell, but make the most of the better world they had helped create.

Now it is early morning, a Saturday, and she is stretching, and yawning. She sits up, looking down at the tangled red mess of hair that is all she can see of Ron. She smiles, gets up, and opens the curtains. It's a beautiful, sunny day. She wants to get out of London today. To the country, somewhere where the air is fresh and she can feel the breeze. Somewhere they can spend a lazy day, sunbathing and picnicking, and she can read to Ron. That had become a habit of theirs. Ron did not always enjoy the books she read to him – most were related to the rights of underprivileged non-human magical creatures – but he listened anyway, simply for the sake of hearing her voice. She decides that she will talk to Ron about this when he wakes up, and looks down at him once more, smiling, before silently heading into the bathroom, stroking Crookshanks as he pads through the bedroom door, which has been left slightly ajar.

Ron awakens to the sound of the shower, and a low, off-key humming. Hermione. He smiles widely, and strokes the cat on the bed. He appreciates these moments, in the morning, when he wakes up in their shared bed, in their shared flat, in their shared lives. He is blissfully happy, nauseatingly so – or so George makes out. He glances surreptitiously around the room, focusing on the bathroom door, and decides that his girlfriend will be in there for a while yet. He opens the drawer by his side of the bed, and finds the small, cube, velvety black case that he has hidden under some parchment and a Quidditch magazine. This he holds carefully, and opens it, stroking the beautiful diamond ring inside it. The ring is white gold, and holds a single diamond – nothing too large, but big enough – flanked by tiny, delicate pearls on each side. Harry agreed that it was perfect for Hermione; he even helped him choose, three months ago. Three months, Ron has been waiting to propose to Hermione, but had not found the right time. He had wanted to do it before the memorial, but felt like an engagement would distract everyone from that important event, and since then there had not been an opportune moment. He knows he can't wait much longer – he keeps nearly introducing her as 'my fiancée', and if he slips up, it will spoil everything. He looks out the window, because the sun is falling on the bed, a rare occurrence in an English summer. It's a glorious summer's day. Perfect, he thinks. He wants to propose somewhere other than London though, somewhere cosy, and peaceful. He thinks immediately of his childhood home, the surrounding countryside, and the secluded areas. Today, they would be visiting the Burrow, and he would find somewhere near there to propose. For now though, the ring is put back in its hiding place, and Ron prepares to start the day. He stretches and climbs out of bed, and gets up gingerly, making his way towards the bedroom door, heading to make two cups of tea.

Hermione steps out of the shower, and faces the mirror. She feels fresh and clean. Her damp hair tickles her shoulders. She looks at herself in the mirror, considering herself. Hermione has never deemed herself to be a great beauty, and she still does not. Since she has been with Ron, though, she has felt beautiful. He praises all of her, and makes her believe, almost, that she is as perfect as she says. She smiles at the thought of the many compliments Ron has paid her in the year that they have been officially together, and for a split second, she sees what he sees. Someone radiating happiness, looking perfectly lovely, even though her hair is damp and she is not wearing any makeup at all. Happy with herself, Hermione opens the door to their bedroom, and finds Ron sat up in bed, stroking Crookshanks, and reading the latest issue of Quidditch Weekly, with a cup of tea on his beside. He looks up at her and grins. She smiles back, and thanks him for the tea that is on her bedside. He tells her she looks beautiful as she moves about the room, and she thanks him, before ordering him into the shower, telling him her plans for the day whilst he hauls himself out of bed. He readily agrees, and adds his own idea for the location, for which she agrees, as she secretly misses Mrs Weasley's cooking. Then he moves towards her, puts his hands around her waist, kissing her softly on the mouth, and tells her he loves her. She loves him too, but wants him to go and shower.