When they pushed through the door into the dinning room the family was already seated- all except Victoire, who came running the moment the door opened. Her light and creamy blonde hair flowing out behind her.

Victoire thrust her arms and and entangled them around Hermione's waist. The tight squeeze of the little girls hands round her tender abdomen had tears prick the corners of Hermione's eyes.

"Victoire," Fleur tutted slightly, giving her six year old a state that reminded her of her manners. Victoire shrunk back into her seat just as Molly rose and ushered Hermione and Ron to their seats. Ron held his wife's hand, a rare sight in a public setting, but he refused to let her go; she needed this. Even as they settled on the large bench which ran down the side of the even larger wood table, Ron's hand refused to leave the soft and clammy grasp it was encompassed in

The table was spread with pretty brown bowls which had a delicate pattern of white flowers on the edges, each bowl was filled with vegetables and potatoes of every kind. In the centre of the table was a shimmering silver platter filled with a very large cooked bird. The bird had no defining features, looking just like a chicken or turkey only much larger, but the skin was browned and to most it would look incredibly appetising. To Hermione, who's abdomen had begun to cramp up, it looked like a pile of nails.

Arthur proceeded to place a slice of the nondescript bird meat onto two plates, passing them over to Ron and Hermione. Hermione's eyes were not on the plate but on her sister-in-law who sat adjacent. Or more, on Ginny's stomach. As was common- or so she had read- Ginny's stomach had grown faster than it had during her first pregnancy, her belly was rounded and protruding gently from the fabric of her dress. Next to Ginny sat Harry, always a comforting sight for the Weasley's with his floppy dark hair and usual smile. In his lap was a very small child, wearing a handkerchief style bib and no shoes. This was James Sirius. Her Nephew. Normally the sight of her little nephew, who was the image of both his Father and Grandfather alike, would have filled Hermione with the delight that a young and smiling child gave to most people but not today.

Next to Harry sat Fleur, followed by six-year-old Victoire, four-year-old Dominique and two-year-old Lois before their father Bill on the Far side. On their own side of the table Ron and Hermione were followed by Percy and Audrey and their little girl Molly then George with a small Fred on his lap and his wife. At either end of the long wooden table sat Molly and Arthur; the proud grandparents.

"So, Ginny, how is the morning sickness?" Fleur asked, unknowingly throwing a dagger at Hermione's heart. Only two weeks previously she had been faking a sickness bug.

Hermione had planned to surprise her husband at the meal, she had planned on announcing her pregnancy that day, on telling the whole family. She was passed the worst stage, the stage where most witch- and muggle- pregnancies would fail. She had even given it an extra few days, just to be sure. It hadn't been enough, Aradia was gone.

"Oh, it hasn't been too bad this time- James was awful but this time I've barely been feeling it at all. Harry reckons it's a girl."

"Oh I wouldn't say so Ginny," Arthur interrupted, making everyone turn their heads comically to his end of the long table, "Your Mother had six boys and none of them made her ill."

"You however," Molly interrupted and turned all the heads to the other end, "I was sick as a gargoyle, when I expected you."

Ron, absorbing the conversation gave his wife a sideways glance out of the corner of his eye, asking her a silent question. Had she felt like that, very ill in the few weeks she had carried their tiny daughter? It set Hermione's mind back. Back to as little as three days after the embryo had caught, when she had felt more ill than she had since the flu in fourth year, or the chicken pox when she was ten. She gave a tiny nod, trying not to look at Ron as she could feel the tears beginning to form in her eyes. She knew if she looked at him, she would lose control and the lump in her throat would dissolve and flow out of her eyes.

"But enough about us, Hermione has some news," Ginny looked straight into Hermione's eyes, hinting that it was time for her to take up the conversation. She could tell that Ginny thought she already knew what the story was. She had told Ginny when she had missed her Period. Ginny wasn't stupid, she had put two and two together and realised what Hermione's news must be.

That was enough for Hermione, the lump dissolved as fast as if it were dissolved by acid and water poured from her eyes, onto her cheeks and continued to run down to her chin. Ron instantly pulled his wife into him, wrapping a strong arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his chest. She took in a deep breath of his smell, his unique Ron-scent, one part Weasley, one part magic blood, and felt Ron take a similar breath.

Ron licked his dry lips, before biting his bottom lip and taking a deep breath. Hermione felt his chest rise under her hands and closed her eyes, knowing what would happen now.

"We did have some news," Ron began, but paused for a second, squeezing Hermione's hand tightly before he continued, with a frog in his throat. "but Hermione miscarried this morning."

The room fell silent around the couple- even the youngest of the children seemed to realise something wasn't right and remained quiet.

"Hermione, I'm so sorry-," the words came in Harry's voice but she couldn't bare to lift her head, to look at him. Her tears were seeping into the light materiel of Ron's shirt, she could feel the jagged edges of chest hair crumpling beneath her through the silky fabric.

There came a whistle from the other side of the table, followed by Arthur's voice,

"Goodness, I'm really sorry- it's never happened in our family before."

Never. The word cut into her, carving into her skin like a blade before plunging into her heart.

Molly Weasley had never lost a baby, not even really early?

Then it hit, like a bolt of lightning or a backfired spell. Was he saying that it was her fault? That she was the reason their baby had passed away. Maybe there was something wrong with her, maybe she was broken inside, whether it was the curse or simply her genetic's, maybe she couldn't carry a baby inside her.

The rebounded spell began to boil inside her, fizzing and cracking as misplaced spells would. She felt herself cracking, spitting like a snapped wand and before she could stop herself her head was up from Ron's chest and she was yelling at Arthur.

"So I'm useless? Maybe I can't carry another grandchild for you. Perhaps I'm not the broken one, perhaps Ron is, he chose me after all!"

Then, like a startled rabbit Hermione was on her feet and away, her feet not even flattening to the ground before they lifted and took another step. She didn't know where she was going, just that she had to go, to get away from there, from the words, the apologies, the accusations; the feelings.

She found herself outside, barely aware of how she got there but she kept going, running through the gaps in the sporadic maze of corn which surrounded the burrows. She tripped over a rock in the soil and fell, crouching in on herself and landing in a hunched heap. Here the leaking tap her eyes had become was turned on, she could feel the water racing down her cheeks and dripping off her jaw onto her neck.

If her family couldn't understand this pain, this frustration then who would? There was too much to pile it all onto Ron, he had tried so hard to understand and support whilst also dealing with his own grief.

Before Ron it had always been Harry, she had told him everything she couldn't tell anyone else. Now though? Now Harry had a second child on the way, he had his own worries- trying to make ends meet after Ginny had resigned from professional Quidditch, bringing up James, being around for his godson, just generally being Harry Potter was more than enough! There was no one else, her Mum wouldn't understand. As much as Monica was supportive of her daughter's witch-hood, she didn't really understand the magical world, or truly understand what her daughter had gone through in her last school years. Mrs Weasley, she adored Hermione - and always had but she didn't know the emotional tole of holding your tiny child in your arms and knowing they were already gone.

No, in this, for the first time since she received her letter, she felt alone.