I don't own any of this. JK Rowling does.
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"Ron, I cannot. Believe. You. I have been working so hard to get to this place, I FINALLY get the job and you want me to give it up? Do you really think that's fair?" Hermione's eyes were brimming with tears she was determined to prevent from falling.
Ron sighed. He didn't WANT to move to Hogsmeade. He was happy at their apartment in London. He was happy with the nightlife, and he was far from ready to settle down. "We're young, Hermione! I don't want to go to Hogsmeade! Everyone is older there, in bed by 10! I like it here!"
Hermione shook her head. She was beginning to understand what was happening, and the more Ron spoke, the less she wanted to see of his face.
"You don't want any of it, do you? You don't want marriage, or a family, or a bloody white picket fence and a dog. You want to party. You want video games, booze and spliff and Quidditch." Ron hung his head. "Maybe when we're 30, 'Mione, but not now. We're young." He repeated pleadingly.
She shook her messy curls. "I'm sick of taking care of you, Ron. I'm not your mum! I think ... I think we're done here."
She looked back at Ron's shocked face once more before throwing in the floo powder.
"Diagon Alley" she managed through her escaped tears.