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“Not that I’m complaining,” Ron said, following Hermione over the third hill that evening. “But where are you taking me, and how long have we got left?”
Hermione laughed, reaching out to grab his hand. “Not much further, I promise.”
They traipsed up to the top of the next hill, taller than the last three but with no trees for shelter, either, and whilst there were no clouds and a lower chance of rain, Ron still didn’t fancy his chances of getting wet. He loved Hermione, really, and their dates were wonderful, but it wouldn’t be the first time they’d gotten caught in heavy downpour.
When they’d first started dating, he’d prevented himself from showing his surprise when Hermione took him other places than the library or a bookshop. In hindsight, he didn’t know why he was surprised, really. She’d always been brilliant, and interested in a lot of things, and she’d clearly known how to camp. He supposed that a part of him had clung onto the belief that Hermione only read books, even when he knew better.
“Is this it?” he teased. “You’ve finally gotten around to murdering me?”
She shoved him, lightly. “Don’t be silly. I thought we might try stargazing.”
“Is this the part where I’m supposed to say you’re more beautiful than the stars?”
“I won’t stop you if you want to.”
“Hermione Granger,” he said, taking both her hands in his and staring into her eyes deeply. “The stars are beautiful, but you’ve always been more beautiful than the stars to me.”
They stood there, holding hands, and then the pair of them cracked at the same time and started laughing.
“I love you,” she said with a grin. “But I bet I can point out more constellations than you can.”
Ron turned his gaze to the sky, squinting at the starts and trying to make patterns. “There’s a W there, I think.”
“Cassiopeia,” she replied. “And that line there is Orion’s belt.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“You know,” Hermione said, glancing back at him. “Of all the people to date, it always surprises me that I chose you.”
“Thanks, Hermione.”
“No, seriously,” she laughed. “Logically, there were a hundred different choices for people to date, and you didn’t even touch the list. But I fell in love with you anyway.”
Ron turned to face her fully, sensing that there was something she needed to say, holding out a hand to her.
“I think that, somewhere in between my heart and yours, logic stopped mattering.” She traced the outline of Ron’s knuckles, eyes searching his face. “And I think that – well, that’s why I’m doing this.” And then she opened her palm, ring glittering against her skin – no box, she was done with being normal. “Will you marry me, Ron Weasley?”
He froze, his hands shaking, clasping hers tighter. “Of course I will. Yes, a thousand times yes.”
Hermione had a bright grin on her face, the kind when she’d just achieved something brilliant, the one Ron loved the most. “Take the ring and kiss me, then.”
He did, and the stars above them shone all the brighter.
(When they got home, later that day, engagement rings on their fingers, Harry, who was camping in their attic, raised his eyebrows at them. What came out of his mouth was, “Finally,” and Hermione hadn’t quite figured out whether to be insulted or proud that Harry had learnt how to see more than an inch in front of his face yet.)