AN: My mum once told me that I'd end up proposing to my future husband, you know, because I was assertive (*lung-hacking cough* bossy * lung-hacking cough*) like that. But I said no. And it got me thinking, what kind of proposal would I want? What kind of relationship would I want?

And of course, I ended up producing Scorose, my oh-so reliable baby that gives me oh-so many feels.

Enjoy!

xxxicls

"Scorpius," I grumbled, shifting my boyfriend's rather large arm from its uncomfortable position around my petite shoulders. "Why do you insist on drinking so much at your family events?"

He turned around to face me, and even though he was completely plastered, and wore a sluggish smile, his face was still a striking picture, the dim light from a street lamp illuminating half his face, reflecting off his sharp cheekbones, the other half thrown into darkness.

"Just to piss off ol' Gramps," he said happily, stumbling on the pavement as I attempted to keep his limbs in control.

I couldn't help but smile at that.

"You know," I said thoughtfully, adjusting his arm on my shoulders with my small hands, "I think he likes me more than he likes you."

He chortled. "That, dear Rosie, is the point."

I tilted my get to look him in the face. "How so?"

He laughed loudly, retracting his arm from where it rested on my shoulders, and pranced forward, looking ridiculous in his formal wear – muggle formal wear, of course; the main purpose was to royally brass off Lucius Malfoy after all – suit and tie askew.

"I'm so plastered!" he called out happily, raising his arms and looking up at the twinkling stars above us.

He hollered gibberish at the cloudless sky, ending off with a rather violent "wooooooohoooooo!" and a kick, aimed nowhere in particular.

As he stumbled around, I hurriedly scurried forward, grasping his forearm. "You are going to fall," I chided, as he grasped my shoulder with his free hand, attempting – rather unsuccessfully – to stabilize himself.

I dragged him to a secluded park nearby, seating him on the swings. I got ready to cast a disillusionment charm on us before I apparated him back home. I couldn't walk him back to our apartment, not in the state he was in.

He grinned at me goofily as I began adjusting my dress, making sure he hadn't unknowingly pulled down the sleeves.

"Rosieeeee," he said loudly.

"Hmm?" I looked down at him amusedly, and from where he sat he looked ridiculously child-like.

"You're so pretty."

I blushed despite myself. "You're quite the charmer, aren't you?" I laughed.

He remained silent for a while, and he pulled me forward, winding his arms around my small waist. He rested his cheek against the flat plain of my stomach, and I gingerly twirled his platinum hair between my fingers.

What could I say?

I was inexplicably attracted to him, drunk or not.

Suddenly he pulled away from me, hands dropping from my waist.

"ROSE!" he exclaimed urgently.

"Bloody hell, Scorpius, wake up the entire neighbourhood, why don't you?" I muttered, backing away from him as he flapped his hands excitedly.

He fell of the swings clumsily, dropping to his knees.

"What on earth-"

"Rose Weasley," he began slowly, gesturing to me dramatically – and drunkenly, may I add.

I'm pretty sure my eyes widened to the size of quaffles.

"WILL YOU MARRY ME?"

I froze for abit, staring at him.

"You are only saying this because you are drunk," I stated, trying to convince myself more than him.

"I beg to differ!" he hollered loudly.

"Do you?"

"I do!" he nodded eagerly, hand reaching into his suitcoat pocket.

Whatthebloodyfuckinghell-

He pulled out a small velvet box. My eyes widened and I pulled away from him.

"You're joking."

"Not really, Rosie," he slurred loudly. "Been carrying this little thing around for about a month, now."

"A month?"

He nodded exaggeratedly. "I even asked your Dad about it! Just been trying to work up the nerve to ask you!" he told me in a loud whisper. He began to open the box, but I snapped the lid close before he could open it fully.

"Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, you are not proposing to me when you're drunk out of your wits!" I exclaimed indignantly.

He asked my Dad permission! Ron Weasley gave me, his little Rosie, permission to marry Scorpius Malfoy!

Oh dear Merlin.

He looked at me sadly and pouted, stuffing the velvet box back into his suit coat.

Then he passed out.

The next morning, I woke up groggily due to a repetitive poking in my side.

"Hngh," I muttered, swatting whatever was doing the poking away. Someone laughed.

"Good morning, Rosie," he said, leaning down to kiss my cheek.

Bloody morning people.

I rolled over in bed. "I'm assuming you got your hands on a hangover potion?" I asked into the pillow.

Scorpius laughed. "Big words for so early in the morning," he mused. "I'm impressed. And you're right. I knew keeping a spare was a good idea."

I raised my head from the pillow and looked up at his handsome face grinning down at me.

"You passed out on me, you big oaf," I complained as he stretched out on the bed next to me. "How is a midget like me supposed to carry someone like you?"

"I'm sorry," he mumbled against my neck, hands wrapped around my waist. I relaxed into his body, although I muttered "Horny bastard."

He chuckled. He smelled like peppermint and soap. He must have been up for a while now. "Are you really complaining?"

I shook my head turning around so I could face him.

Mhmm. He was shirtless.

"Didn't think so," he said, leaning in to kiss me on the nose.

And then it hit me.

Yesterday night, he had tried to propose to me, drunk. The ring must be in this very room. I looked at his coat, strewn on the floor. It must be still in his pocket. I abruptly froze in his arms. He obviously didn't remember he what he had said.

Scorpius noticed, and leaned away from me, obviously trying to get a better look at my face. "Rosie?" he questioned incredulously. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I squeaked, pushing my body away from his, putting my hands on his chest. I tumbled out of bed, standing away from him, and he lay on our bed, head propped up by his hand, shirtless – Merlin, those muscles – and the waistband of his sweatpants deliciously low on his hips.

"I have never seen you get out of bed so quickly. Something's wrong," he stated, looking rather amused.

"Morning breath!" I made up, grabbing underwear and rushing in the direction of the bathroom.

"That never was a problem before," Scorpius noted, watching me scurry into the bathroom and slam the door shut.

"Things change!" I called back, my voice sounding rather high-pitched.

We spent the Sunday – after I got over my little fit – alone. Completely alone. We even cooked dinner and ate it in the apartment. We watched a movie – hey, I like muggle stuff okay? I insisted we get a muggle apartment, with electricity and whatnot – together. Alone.

We even did it a few times!

It was a perfect day.

There was only one issue though.

He didn't propose.

WHY THE HELL DIDN'T HE PROPOSE YET?

I mean, the ring was just sitting there. And I was just sitting here.

PROPOSE SCORPIUS, PROPOSE!

It has been a week.

And I still haven't seen that damn ring.

Why is it even taking him so long?

Of course I'll say yes! Yes, Scorpius, yes yes yes yes, YES.

I am sitting here, trying to read my book but instead, getting distracted, trying to send Scorpius mental signals as he sits on the floor, clearing up some paperwork from the Ministry.

Propose, propose, PROPOSE NOW!

"Scorpius?" I ask.

"Yeah?" he smiles up at me.

"What are we doing tonight?"

"I think the rest might be coming over," he says, returning his attention to his paper work, smirking. "You know, Christian and Lily have that big thing they want to tell us."

I laugh – it's been obvious they've been together for months now.

By 'the rest' he means Lily and Albus, my cousins, Christian Turner, and Shayne Selwyn, our friends from Hogwarts. In other words, half the Gryffindor quidditch team of my graduating year.

But then I realise I want to tell them our big thing.

I want to be engaged to Scorpius, now.

I can't shake it off – the urge consumes me, and before I know it, I'm getting off the couch, scrambling into the bedroom. This is when I'm finally grateful that Scorpius is so messy – he's always had house elves clean up after him, and I told him before moving in that, no, there is no way in hell we are employing a house elf – because his pants are slung over the chair.

I scoop them up, thrusting my hand into all the pockets until I feel the velvet box. It is surprisingly well-concealed – he must have used some spell to prevent the box from being visible from the outside, explaining how I didn't notice him carrying it around for 'months', as he put it. I decide to do him a favour, and fold his pants before running out of the bedroom, into the sitting room, where Scorpius is.

I discreetly grab a pillow from the couch and throw it in his face.

He splutters indignantly as the pillow makes contact with his face, saying, "What the bloody-" but when he looks up at me, the words die on his lips.

I am leaning over the couch, propped up by my elbows. My face rests on my left hand, and I am lightly holding the velvet box in my right hand. I am rather pleased with the theatricality of this all.

His eyes are wide, his mouth is shut and he looks panicked. Pink is creeping up his neck, and his cheekbones are beginning to colour – are rare phenomenon for Scorpius.

I desperately want to take a photograph.

"Look what I found," I teased.

He swears.

I try not to laugh because now I can see that he really was nervous about asking me. I walk toward him slowly, and he seems to be unable to speak, just watching me as I move toward him, as rigid as a piece of wood. I join him on his side of the coffee table and I kneel next to him.

"Hey there," I say softly, and he swallows, and this quietness, this stillness, is so unlike him that I feel an immense rush of warmth as I notice his adam's apple bob up and down anxiously. The only time he was remotely this nervous was when he was first telling me how he felt about me, four years ago.

I kiss him lightly on the lips and he seems to lose some of his tenseness.

I move away and he takes a deep breath. I hand him the box without looking, finding his hand with mine.

"I can only say yes if you ask me first," I whisper, slowly moving away from him.

He blinks at me, murmuring, "Yes?"

"Ask me first," I insist.

His face abruptly splits into a smile, and I feel the warmth inside me grow until I feel it radiating out of my fingertips and my toes. I stand up.

I am teasing him now, grinning as I sidle away, waiting to see if he will give chase. I turn away from him, feeling happier than I have in a while.

Abruptly, his hand reaches out and secures around my wrist. He tugs me back, and I smile as I notice he is still on the floor, only he is on one knee now.

"Rose Weasley?" he says, and I notice there is a light behind grey eyes, shining as I have never seen them. "I love you."

I manoeuvre myself so I am facing him now. "I love you too," I say, and heart is bursting as I say this – I realise I will spend the rest of my life with this man, and nothing, nothing, could make me happier than I am as I discover this.

"Rose," he says again, cupping my hand, and then letting it fall, gently, against my thigh.

He then brings the velvet box forward, and I suddenly feel like I can't breathe.

He opens it, asking, as I have dreamt it to happen since I was a little girl, "Will you marry me?"

I drop to my knees immediately, nodding, saying yes, saying yes until it feels foriegn on my tongue – is yes even an English word?

I lean forward to kiss him, but he shakes his head, instead pulling the ring out of its box and taking my hand. I realise my hand is shaking and so is his, and we try our best to slide it up my ring finger – it fits. It fits perfectly, like it was made for my finger.

I cup his cheeks with my hand, not missing the glint of the amazing diamond in the corner of my eye. But now all I can see is his face, his lovely, bright, grey eyes, shining with warmth and happiness and love.

Then I kiss him, and I'm glad it happened this way – it's a story to tell our children, our grandchildren.

"How did you know?" he asks at night, just as I slip into bed next to him. I take the ring out and place it on the bedside table – I don't want to lose it in the sheets. "How did you figure it out?"

I laugh. "Do you really want to know?"

He nods, turning around to face me fully. I mirror him, and now we're facing each other.

"A week ago, you almost proposed to me," I tell him.

"I – what?" he splutters, and I laugh.

"You were drunk."

He groans and flops over, burying his head in his pillow. "Sorry," he mutters into the pillow.

I laugh out loud. "For what?"

He unplasters his face from his pillow and looks up at me. "It was an arse move," he says incredulously.

"It's a story to tell."

"You're going to tell people?" he groans helplessly.

"Of course I am," I say, leaning over to kiss him lightly before extinguishing the light.

"We were in a playground when you did it," I add, unable to help myself.

"Merlin," he groans, and it seems like he was talking into his pillow again – his voice was hilariously muffled.

I laugh, and then lean over to kiss his bare shoulder. In that moment, I don't care if I, Merlin forbid, never wake up tomorrow. I have enough happiness to last me an eternity.

Don't forget to review!