Hermione apparated from her flat to the outer edges of the wards protecting the Burrow and stood for a moment enjoying the silence. Silence was something she had been lacking in her life recently, what with her promotion, her annoying new partner at the ministry, and the everyday commotion that was the Weasleys. It was nice to drink in the sunset alone, and she felt the weight sludge off her shoulders.

Slowly she began the long walk along the path that took her through the fields that would eventually lead her to Ron's home. She was looking forward to seeing George again because she had had an inquiry at work pertaining to some species similar to their Pygmy puffs and she was utterly befuddled by it.

Hermione groaned, even outside of work she had trouble turning it off. She made a silent promise to herself that she wouldn't pick George's brain until after dinner, once everyone settled into their various nightly routines and she was on her way home.

No, tonight work could wait.

Ron had told her to dress nicely, that they were having an important family dinner and she had stared at her grossly overflowing closet for ages before settling on a green floral dress that hung just above her knees. She had pulled out last minute stops, including small studs in her ears and a delicate silver chain that her mom had given her for the past christmas.

A growing suspicion had been gnawing at Hermione for the last couple weeks; Ron had been withdrawn and nervous every time she had popped by. Either he was going to break up with her or he was about to propose and honestly, she didn't know which one scared her more.

She arrived at the house just as the sun completed its descent and opened the side door without knocking. The Burrow had always been a second home to her, she had practically grown up here with Harry. Taken in and woven into the fabric of the family that lived here. The three of them joked that Molly had taken to collecting lost children, given how many faces came and went each year. Friends of Fred and Georges, friends of Rons, friends of Ginnys. There was always a place at the table for anyone who needed it and she would forever be grateful for that; especially when times had gotten hard and the war had been in full swing. Safety was never guaranteed but home and comfort could be found when you spotted a lanky redhead in the crowd.

Now though, the home was quiet and she wondered where everyone was. Looking up the central stairway she called out, with no reply. It wasn't like the house to be empty, especially not on a Friday night.

"Ron," she called, waiting a moment for a response, "Harry? Ginny?"

Silence.

She put her purse down on the table that had not been set and set out exploring the house. She looked in nooks and crannies she knew no one in their right mind would be hiding in, knocking and opening bedroom doors, bathrooms, closets, any space a wizard could hide; she checked.

Hermione had never been fond of games, not these kinds anyways. They wore on her nerves and frayed a part of her sanity she didn't even know existed. "Ronald Weasley, come out right now, I'm not playing anymore," she shouted into the still house.

"Wotcher Mione," George Weasley said, coming around the corner from where she had just come.

"How did you… nevermind, have you seen Ron?" She shook her head.

"Not since this morning. He was here with Harry and they were talking quietly, real cloak and dagger-like." He raised his eyebrows, prompting her to roll her eyes.

"I'm serious, he said we were having dinner tonight but no one seems to be here."

"Dinner… really? That's news to me," he said, crossing his arms and smirking. "How come you're invited to family dinners and I'm not, you're not even a red head."

She laughed, "beats me… But it could be because of my wonderful personality and my ability to not scare your mum half to death."

George scoffed, "ya i'll have to remember that for next time. I'm gonna head upstairs, shout if you need me."

She said goodbye and went back to searching for Ron. With the whole house --more or less-- clear, she turned her focus outside. Picking up her purse she went back into the garden the same way she had come in. Her throat was getting dry from all her shouting and she was getting ready to go home.

Frustrated, she called for him once more as she rounded the last wall of the Burrow and stopped where she stood when she saw him.

Ron Weasley stood before her, dressed in his finery in front of a glowing candle lit scene. The table was set for two, with three candles burning slowly in the middle. Above them small spheres of light wafted on the breeze, casting the garden in a warm glow in the dying light. Rose petals had been scattered across the ground and a tray with domed lids sat in wait.

If she thought her throat was dry before, she now wondered when she had swallowed sandpaper.

"Ron… what is…"

"Mione," he said, taking her hands gently when she got close enough.

He led her to the table, pulling out her seat for her and she nodded her thanks because she didn't trust her voice. Clearly, she had been right about him acting odd and clearly it wasn't because he was breaking up with her.

She found herself gazing around the back garden, taking in all the small details he had somehow managed to incorporate. She held back a nervous smile and wondered how many people he had helping him set this up; when she happened to look towards the top floor of the Burrow.

The windows that lined the top floor of the Burrow were filled with half hidden heads, and every so often a pair of eyes would appear and duck again, hoping they hadn't been caught.

"We appear to have an audience," she said thinly, trying to find some well of internal resolve to get her through this.

Ron looked up and laughed, "sorry bout that, they're pretty nervous… They have no idea."

Hermione laughed, but it didn't sound right and she tried to cover it with a cough. She watched as he pulled out an old bottle of expensive wine.

"Where did you get that?" she asked incredulously.

She had taken a sommelier class last summer and she didn't think he had even heard her when she spoke about that bottle. She gushed for days about how good it had been and grimaced everytime someone would ask her the price. It wasn't that she couldn't afford it, it just felt like something she would only want to purchase in the event of a celebration; and now here it was in front of her.

"I remembered you mentioning it, and I thought it was fitting for tonight." his cheeks flushed, nearly matching his hair.

"Mione, I've thought about this day for so long and I have practiced a million different ways to say all of this to you but none of it felt right."

He was nervous, and it was endearing but was he nervous because his family was watching or because he worried she would say no, she wondered. She willed herself to feel something, anything, she tried to force herself to feel what she thought she was supposed to feel for him. Nothing came.

This was what she was scared of, and as much as she loved him, she wasn't in love with him. The love that had ravaged her mind and consumed her with jealousy when they were sixteen had fizzled out and while she cared deeply for him, she knew she couldn't say yes. She couldn't marry him.

He was gripping her hand in his now and all she could think about was how sweaty it was. Slowly, as if it were a movie he got down on one knee and she realized she had missed his entire speech.

Nausea rolled around in her stomach, and her eyes began to prickle. He was smiling up at her now, expectation and tentative happiness written across every line and freckle on his face.

"Mione…" he said, his voice barely a whisper, "what do you say?"

Her eyes landed on the box in his hand, the ring that sat on it's bed of red velvet and she felt like a coward.

"I'm… I'm not…" she stammered and his face faltered, "I'm sorry."

The last words she managed to say to the man who had laid himself bare to her were i'm sorry. She briefly saw the confusion flicker across his face before she was out of her seat and running. He was calling after her but she kept running. Voices were shouting after her, a loud jumble of noise that her own heartbeat was doing it's best to drown out. She needed to reach the edge of the property, she needed to get out of here. Humiliation and sadness burned through her, spurring her on. More than once she lost sight of the pathway through the onslaught of tears that had taken control and her head felt as though she had been drinking firewhiskey.

Once she knew she had reached the point where she could apparate, she stopped to consider where to go. She couldn't go home… no home was out of the question. He would come by, or Harry would and she wasn't in the state to see either of them, not now.

The only other option that came to mind in the moment was her partner. That will be a lesson in humility, she thought bitterly; but it was still better than the alternative.

With her mind made up and ignoring the approaching sound of her now ex boyfriend she apparated away, with a crack loud enough to mask the sound of two hearts breaking.