*AN: this story takes place four years after Ron, Harry, and Hermione graduate from Hogwarts. Voldemort has been defeated. Any other info will be given within the story. Enjoy!

Summary: When Ron "pops the question" to Hermione, neither of them can imagine the challeges that face them on the way to the alter. And they're not the only ones having promblems...

Part One:

When Hermione reached door number 52, she breathed a sigh of relief. Usually, she enjoyed the short walk from St. Mungo's to her flat: That's why she didn't both to Aparate. But today, she was really tired after her long and exciting day.

When she opened the door, the comfortable warmth of the flat hit her. You wouldn't be able to tell how comfortable the apartment building was from the outside: like St. Mungo's, it was disguised as a rundown old building to fool the Muggles. In reality, it housed hundreds of witches and wizards. In fact, it was only one of five other all-wizard apartment buildings in London.

Hermione threw her cloak carelessly onto the rack by the door. "Ron?" she called. "I'm home!" Ever since graduation from Hogwarts, she and Ron had been living in the small, one-bedroom flat together (they'd been dating since year six at school). It was affordable living space, which was good for the young couple. Hermione didn't make much while training to be a Healer, and Ron worked with his father at the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts department at the Ministry of Magic (he replaced old Perkins when he died). They didn't make much money.

Well, that was about to change.

Hermione went into the small living room. Ron, who had been sitting in his favorite chair, stood up quickly. "So? Did you...?" Hermione nodded, and Ron let out a whoop of triumph. He rushed over to his girlfriend and lifted her in the air, twirling her around. He stopped and kissed her, then put her down. "A Healer. Wow."

"I know." Hermione plopped down onto the couch. "Oh, man, I'm beat. Those tests took hours." She smiled at Ron, who sat down beside her. "How was your day?"

Ron groaned. "Horrible. Dad and I had to take care of a bunch of magically-tinkered shower-heads in Surrey."

"What was wrong with them?"

"Whenever the Muggles turned them on, it would shot motor oil at them." He suddenly smiled. "But guess who one of the victims in Little Whining was? Harry's fat cousin Dudley!"

Hermione gasped, but she couldn't hide a grin. "What'd you do?"

"Well, Dad and I had to disguise ourselves as, um, publers-"

"Plumbers."

"Whatever. Anyway, I think he recognized us. You should see his flat: huge place, and it's just him and his bloke of a roomate. I don't even think either of them work."

Hermione tutted: she had no tolerance for lazy people. "So," she said, "what do you want me to fix for dinner?" She and Ron always took turns cooking meals. Actually, Ron's idea of "cooking" involved going to the Muggle take-out place around the corner. Hermione, on the other hand, liked to cook...without magic.

But Ron shook his head. "Not tonight. I'm taking you out for dinner. Go get your best dress robes on: I'm taking you to Le Charme Magique."

Hermione gasped. "Oh, Ron! That place is so..." She wanted to say "expensive", which was right: the all-wizard resturant was the most expensive in the country. But she didn't want to insult him, especially since she was now the "bread winner" of the household.

"Don't worry, I've got the money," Ron said with a careless wave of his hand. Actually, he'd borrowed some from his brothers Fred and George, who were much better off then he was. But Hermione didn't need to know that. "Now, go! Our reservation is for seven-thirty."

Half an hour later, Hermione was ready to go in her new dress robes of plum. Ron wore his stormy grey ones. They put on their cloaks and made the short walk to Le Charme Magique.

The resturant was a sight to behold. Built out of solid gold bricks, and decorated with fairy lights. A red carpet led the way inside. But Muggles didn't know this: to them, the resturant that was so infamous in the wizard world was invisible.

The interior looked like any really nice Muggle resturant...except that there were platters of food flying around. The resturant had no need for waiters or waitresses: the food delivered itself.

The small waiting room was packed with witches and wizards. Hermione was worried that it would take forever to get a table as she and Ron went over to the host's table. "I have a reservation: Weasley, party of two."

The snooty-looking host checked his list. "Ah, yes. It will be at least a forty-five minute wait."

"Thank you." Ron shook the host's hand. As he did so, he slipped ten galleons into his hand.

"Um...wait, sir," the host said hastily. "Yes, a table for two has just cleared out." He grabbed two menus. "Right this way, please."

"Ron!" Hermione hissed as she and Ron were led into the back of the resturant.

Ron grinned. "What? George told me that it insures good service." George would know: he was infamous in the London magical community as a playboy. In fact, just that past week he'd been on the cover of "Witch Weekly" as "Bachelor of the Year": "Exclusive interview with the rich and suave George Weasley, business tycoon".

The host led them to a small table. The centerpiece of the table was two floating candles, casting a blue glow around them, and a small crystal vase of lilies. Ron pulled a chair out for Hermione, and the host gave them their menus.

Though Ron had been chatty all the way to the resturant, he grew quiet during dinner. After Hermione finished her chicken, she looked at him. He'd barely touched his food, but Hermione suspected that it was only half-way because he'd ordered slugs (reminding him of a bad experience during his second year of school). "Ron? What's the matter?"

"Um...I have to tell you something," Ron mumbled, staring down at his plate. He cleared his throat nervously and looked at her. "Hermione, we've been together for a really long time. Six years."

"I know, Ron." She felt her heart begin to race.

"And I've never regretted a second, Hermione. I love you more then anything in the world."

"I love you, too, Ron." Hermione felt tears fill her eyes.

"I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Hermione." Ron got out of his chair, and pulled a small velvet box out of his cloak. He got down on one knee by her chair. "Hermione," he whispered, opening the box to review a diamond ring. "Will you marry me?"

"Oh, my God," Hermione whispered. She looked into Ron's eyes. The love of her life. "Yes, Ron," she said. She got to her feet, and he did, too. Ignoring the "AW"s and clapping of the other resturant patrons, they kissed. And Hermione was the happiest she'd ever been in her whole life.