A/N: Hey all! Sorry, I know this is really annoying. The fic itself isn't changing, just the way it's written. I wasn't happy with how it was turning out. This story just holds too much meaning for me for it to stay as it was in its original form.

Chapter 1

I sit here holed up in my bathroom staring anxiously at a piece of plastic to give me answers. It's not what one might think. This isn't the first time I've been in this position. I can't even count the number of times I've taken one of these bloody things. I stopped keeping track somewhere around fifteen.

I've alternated between magical and Muggle tests thinking that one above the other would give me the result I desperately want. I'll admit, for the brightest witch of my age, my logic when it comes to this is rather… interesting. My torture of choice this time is a Muggle test.

I take a deep breath, and put the tester back on the counter. Standing, I shake the tension from hands, and try unsuccessfully to pace in the confined space.

As I glance over at the little window on the test for the telltale blue line, I find myself praying against all reason and experience. I hope for two blue lines instead of the lonely solitary one I've grown accustomed to.

I did get that result once. Oddly enough, it was my very first test. I was so ecstatic, I bounded around the flat throwing myself into Ron's arms. We'd only been trying for a couple months, and it seemed almost too good to be true.

You know what they say though. When something seems too good to be true, that's probably because it is. Four days later, I had some pretty severe cramping, and my period started out of nowhere.

When I spoke to my Healer, she said she couldn't say for sure but was fairly certain I had miscarried based on my description of the pain. She ran a test and confirmed that I was definitely not pregnant. We also did more tests, and found that I was still suffering slightly from the remnants of curses I took during the final battle. Nothing that would have really been apparent or stood out, but were still causing problems with my cycle. She said they would eventually work their way out of my system.

I went home after that, and just sat on my couch. I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I just sat there and stared at the wall much like I'm doing now. That was the day my battle began. My mind and my body decided to wage an all out war with one another.

I was so angry with my body for flushing out something that was so dear to me. But my body fought back. It's been a full two years, and I've never seen those two thin blue lines again. I sit here now and briefly wonder how I'll react this time to the inevitable single thin blue line.

My reactions have honestly run the emotional gamut. I've curled up on the cold bathroom tiles, and cried myself into a stupor. I've screamed, and thrown shampoo bottles. I've even laughed, completely bitter with my cervix for being so useless. The worst is when I simply resign myself to the fact that I've failed once again, and walk away.

Ron was wonderful at the beginning. He was the picture of loving support. But let's face it, we're talking about a man that comes from a family of breeders. The Weasleys are known for their virility like the Malfoys are known for being haughty pricks. The longer we kept trying, the more defeated and emasculated he'd act.

It's ridiculous really. I've tried to explain to him several times that this is about my womb's volatile nature, and not his inability to step up and be a man.

He says it makes no difference to him; that he'll love me regardless of whether we can have children or not. I know I should believe him, but he's a Weasley like I said. It's a core part of his nature and upbringing to procreate and have a large family. He's never pressured me, or made me feel to blame, but he's just so quiet and withdrawn now. I feel like it's just a matter of time before this rips us apart if it hasn't already.

These thoughts have rambled through my mind in the last thirty seconds while waiting. Waiting for an additional little blue line to change my life forever.

I don't want to raise my hopes up too much, because I know what the result will in all likelihood be. Deep down though, there is this small voice that whispers, 'Maybe this time.'

Closing my eyes, I reach over and fumble for the small tester. Holding it in front of me, I try to gather my courage to look. Do I really want to open my eyes? In this moment, I can imagine I have something special growing inside me. I can pretend my world is going to change. I revel in the uncertainty. I love this fantasy, but I know it can't last.

I take a deep breath, and open my eyes.