Harry had faced many scary moments through the course of his life. Despite almost dying several times, he could most certainly say that watching those he cared about dying or dead were the scariest.

Nothing, however, could compare to that moment.

When Ginny started complaining about pains he knew something was very wrong. She wasn't one for complain. And then it had been blood and his mind went blank because that was not supposed to happen, not when she was seven, nearly eight months pregnant.

And he was in the hospital in no time and Ginny had soon been taken to a room and he was left behind. No one would tell him anything. Suddenly the Weasleys started to appear, one by one each couple of minutes, and he didn't even know if he had called them or if it'd been the hospital workers. They asked him a lot of things he didn't register and he didn't even know if he was answering it or not. He just wanted a healer to come and talk to him. He wanted to know something, anything.

But, quite honestly, when a healer did come, the question that left his lips made Harry wish he hadn't come at all.

The situation is quite delicate, Mr. Potter. We don't know what made it happen, but we do know that the solution is… well, difficult. Harry swallowed hard at that, more scared than he had ever been. I'm afraid that we need to focus on… who we're saving, Mr. Potter. There are no possible thing we can do that will be effective for both of them. You need to decide if we'll focus on your wife or on your son, and you need to do it now.

And suddenly the floor beneath his feet didn't exist anymore, and neither did the air his lungs were asking for. You need to decide who we're saving. Now. He was pretty sure the whole hospital went quiet at those words, or maybe his brain was just giving up entirely, because of all the questions and decisions he had ever had to make this was by far the worst. How was he even supposed to answer that? Had it been him or them he would know the answer right away, but this?

Couldn't he change his life for that? If there was a divine being above all of humans, couldn't he trade his life for his wife and son? He didn't want to answer that, he couldn't.

He couldn't picture his life without Ginny. Getting home to an empty space and laying on an empty bed. Not seeing her eyes again. But then again, he couldn't imagine his life without little James and the boy hadn't even arrived yet. How could he ever face Ginny again if he let their son die, but how could he let his son grow up without a mother? Who was he to be responsible for such an important decision? The world didn't weight as much as that on his shoulders.

The healer was looking at him, waiting, impatient. He needed an answer and he needed it now because If you don't choose now, Mr. Potter, it may be too late for both of them.

He knew that no child was replaceable. That if he lost James, no matter how many kids he and Ginny may have later, it would never cover up for it. Still, he couldn't let go of Ginny. Family had no meaning if he didn't have her. He grew up without his parents, and even though he would love James more than anything in the world, he didn't want his son to grow without maternal love.

And with an aching heart and a thump on his throat that he knew would be there whatever decision he made, he whispered Ginny's name. The healer nodded and turned on his heels, but Harry grabbed his wrist and turned him to look at him. You save Ginny, but do everything in your power to keep my son alive.

And the healer nodded again and hurried to the room and Harry was left behind feeling guiltier than he had ever felt. He heard voices and felt hands on his shoulders, but he couldn't make himself care. He just wanted it to be over, to have his wife and his son, his little happy family. What if it had been too late?

But it wasn't, it couldn't be. And time passed, how long he never knew, when a different healer came out of the door and simply asked him to come in, without further information, without a hint of emotion in the face.

And he did, shaking, trembling. His knees were so weak he didn't know how he was walking. But then he entered the big, but crowded room and Ginny was laying on a bed, eyes wide looking at a tiny little baby on a glass box. And they were breathing. Both of them.

And for the first time that day he was breathing as well, because they were fine.

They were alive.