A new story for all you kiddies!!! Don't be fooled by my A/N's...this one's full of angst!

ENJOY THE ANGST!!!

jk rowling owns it all but the angst

Debbie Rowlen was a sensible enough person. A woman who prided herself on maintaining a firm grip on her life and on the gossip that surrounded it on the seventh floor of her apartment building in the northern part of London.

Debbie was the kind of person who knew exactly what was happening in all her neighbors' lives the moment anything occurred. And she was more than happy to share this knowledge with anyone who asked, and especially with those who didn't.

For example, she knew that the lovely Irish woman in number 712, Aileen was her name, was expecting her first child, even though she hadn't a boyfriend or a clue. And Peter Collins, the man from 701 had just broken his diet again when Alice from number 710 had brought him a pie.

Oh yes, Debbie Rowlen knew a lot about everybody, some things good and most bad. But when the tall blonde man whose name she didn't quite catch each time she heard it moved into number 715, the apartment at the end of the hall, Debbie found herself stumped.

It was a Sunday and she was coming back from Mass when she found the lift occupied longer than normal, which was saying something. When it finally came back down, Debbie was greeted by the sight of the handsomest man she'd ever seen.

Tall, blonde and dressed in dark colors, the man in the lift looked quite fit in Debbie's eyes, although when she looked again… She knew he was beautiful, but sadly so. A desperate quality about his person…

And then he had looked up.

Deep stormy grey eyes, almost black met her hazel ones and pierced into her soul. Suddenly and overwhelming feeling of despair settled around her, knocking the breath out from her lungs. Debbie felt wetness on her cheeks and she knew she was crying.

"I have never felt this alone before in my life," she remembered crying out to this stranger. "Why did you let me leave? Why did you have to let me go?" Debbie had no idea what she was saying, the only thing that she knew was that these things had to be said, for the pressure building around her heart was too great.

"Why?" Debbie continued to sob, clutching at the wall next to her for support. "I didn't want to leave, but I had to. I couldn't live with it…with what I'd done. Please forgive me!" Debbie reached out to the stranger whose eyes had grown bright with tears throughout her speech.

He refused to shed them, however, or offer her help. All he did was sweep out of the lift and bump past her in his hurry to get away. Debbie was left crying alone in the entrance way of her apartment building, one hand outstretched to the door that the stranger had left through, and one hand on her heart.

She had never seen the man again, only catching glimpses if she was really lucky. Glimpses of him going in his door or in the lift, but that was it, she never looked into his eyes again. And frankly, Debbie shuddered to herself, she didn't want to.

Putting the kettle on Debbie thought back to that day almost a week ago and back to those eyes. They had haunted her dreams for the past couple of days and she hadn't gotten a good night sleep yet.

In fact, Debbie had found out earlier that afternoon, no one had. It was as if the entire seventh floor was depressed. Everyone felt sluggish and that they couldn't be happy.

"No, not couldn't," Samantha, number 714, had told Debbie over tea just a few hours ago. "Just like I shouldn't be, you know? Almost as if I would be breaking some rule or insulting someone…" Sam had trailed off.

"Not someone," Debbie said darkly. "The man at the end of the hall. He's the cause of all this, mark my words Sam. It makes sense that you're so affected, you live closest to him."

"Don't be ridiculous," Sam had said through a sip of her tea. "I'm just going through a rough patch is all. You'll see, maybe just a holiday and I'll be back to normal."

But Debbie knew she was right. She had to be. What else could explain the strange, sad behavior of everyone living on her floor? A contagious depression? Debbie snorted as the kettle began to whistle. Not likely.

She heard a door click open and shut in the distance and knew it was him. She didn't bother to try and catch a glimpse, she knew it was pointless. Just here a week and already the new tenant was causing trouble by not allowing Debbie access to gossip about him.

Somehow, Debbie promised herself, pouring the hot water, she would get to the bottom of this. Now if only she wasn't so bloody sad all the time…

"Oh! I am so sorry!" A tearful voice floated through Draco Malfoy's thoughts as he sat alone at a table in a muggle café.

Rousing his consciousness from the dregs of his mind, Draco struggled to focus on the person in front of him: the one who had spoken. It was a woman standing before him, a plump middle-aged muggle who had just spilt a good amount of the tea she was supposed to be delivering to him.

"'s all right," Draco slurred, his mind still fuzzy with his own thoughts. He began to help mop up the mess with his cloth napkin. "Not a problem." His voice sounded syrupy to his ears, like it was weighed down.

"Oh, you're a dear," the woman said, tears still staining the corners of her words. Draco looked up, finally aware of the sad sounds dogging the waitress's voice.

"Is something the matter?" he asked, polite as ever. His mother had trained him well.

The woman's eyes filled up even more, and threatened to spill over. But she flapped her hands at him. "No, no, I'm sorry for ruining your tea. I'll bring you a fresh cup on the house." She scurried away, wiping her eyes.

Draco stared after her and realized that he wasn't the only one staring. Most of the people in the café were either looking at him or the waitress in typical bystander curiosity that Draco found so tiring. Didn't they have their own lives to worry about?

His fresh cup of tea arrived shortly thereafter, delivered by the same waitress who burst into fresh tears after setting the cup and saucer down carefully.

Now people were really staring.

Draco decided it wasn't worth it. After taking a sip he paid and left the shop, now moving swiftly, no longer bogged down by the weight of his internal musings.

That was the third time today he had made someone cry, and it wasn't helping his efforts at trying to blend in with the muggle community around him. Draco ran a hand through his growing blonde hair, already longer than the proper length expected of a Malfoy male, but he didn't care. In fact, he found that he cared about little these days…

Turning a corner he crossed the street, expertly avoiding those horrendous muggle contraptions called 'cars'. Bloody awful, Draco shuddered when he was safely on the other side of the street.

Avoiding a puddle, Draco soon found himself at the bottom step to the entrance leading up to his apartment. Fishing for his keys in his pocket he unlocked the door and let himself into the entryway.

He checked his muggle post box and pressed the button for the lift. Waiting for the creaky thing to descend, Draco flipped through his mail. It was mostly junk, but he pretended to look interested, like a proper muggle, just in case any of the other tenants in his apartment building happened to see him.

The lift took its damn time and Draco was fidgeting. He could see where the light had stopped on the fifth floor, and it seemed to hover there, teasing him. A round glow of light reminding him of a halo on muggle painting of these things called 'angels'.

A jangling of keys broke his reverie and Draco jumped. Another tenant was coming into the building. Draco swore under his breath. The lift was just at the second floor. Groaning, Draco wished he still kept his wand on him at all times, not locked in a box at the foot of his bed.

The door to the building swung open the same time as the lift's doors slid open and Draco stepped hurriedly into them, hoping that the person in the hallway wouldn't want a ride up right away.

"Hold the door!"

So much for that thought.

Draco slammed an annoyed hand on the lift gate to keep it from shutting as a man Draco recognized from down his hall stepped in next to him. Keeping his shoulders hunched, Draco grunted a hello and braced himself for a very long ride.

As soon as the lift door was closed and secure Draco knew it would happen. It was too enclosed of a space for it not to.

The man next to Draco sniffed deeply, a watery sound catching in the back of his throat. Draco closed his eyes, hoping to Merlin for strength, and then turned to look at the man.

Jeremy? Jensen? Whatever his name was trying unsuccessfully to hold back tears. When the man caught Draco looking at him he sniffed again and started to apologize. "I am so sorry, mate. Dunno what's come over me…" All of a sudden, the man burst into deep, racking sobs.

"It's not fair!" He cried. "It's not bloody fair! They didn't have to do that! No, they didn't." Loud cries exploded from the man's heaving chest, giving the outward impression that his heart was breaking.

"Why?" The man sobbed. "Why did they just ignore him like that? They didn't do anything! Nothing for the one person I loved! WHY?" He slumped to his knees, his nose and eyes running freely with liquid.

Draco couldn't watch anymore. He turned away in order to keep his own tears at bay. The twisting of his heart at each of the man's sobs wasn't helping anything. He hoped that this would be over soon.

But the man kept going. Shuffling on his knees closer to Draco, the man grabbed fistfuls of Draco's long coat, pulling on them until Draco was forced to turn his head and look down into the tear filled eyes.

"You didn't do anything," the man whispered hoarsely. "You just let it happen."

Draco's hands curled around the lift's gated door as if he too was trying not to fall to his knees.

"Why didn't you do anything? You just stood there, how could you? HOW COULD YOU!"

The lift finally stopped at the seventh floor, the doors squeaking open and pinching Draco's fingers. Swearing at the pain, Draco shook off his personal leech and exited the tiny space, grateful for the escape.

As Draco strode quickly away from the lift he heard the man sniffle, getting himself under control. Looking back Draco saw him crawl out of the lift, stand up and dust himself off.

Draco stopped at his door at the end of the hallway and fumbled for his keys. As he inserted the right one into the lock, Draco heard the man say; "Blimey, I dunno what came over me."

Draco quickly went inside and locked the many locks behind him before sagging against the door, allowing his knees to bend and his body to slide gently to the ground.

His head fell forward into his waiting hands and for the first time in a week, Draco began to cry softly with no other comfort than his own skin against his face.

Why was this happening to him? He had read about Projection in Applied Theory of Magic seminar at the Ministry some years ago, but had never actually believed in it. Now, however, Draco had his doubts.

It had been only a week. Just a week in this shitty apartment complex and already he could feel it. The sadness, his sadness, had descended upon the seventh floor like a sticky fog; coating everything it touched, leaving a heartbreaking residue behind.

And that man in the lift… Merlin, he hadn't seen anyone that bad yet.

It must have been the proximity, Draco thought, removing his head from his hands. At first he had thought it was skin contact that did it, after seeing what had happened to that old man he had bumped into in the park and helped steady him with his hands. The damn geezer had started bawling right then, drawing suspicious looks and funny questions from the passing muggles.

But that couldn't have been it, not just skin contact, Draco remembered thinking. He had come to the conclusion that it had to do with eye contact. Draco thought back to that nosy woman he had seen on his first day in lift. She had started yelling out his own thoughts back at him in a most disturbing way.

But now, with the whole hall being depressed… Draco knew it was not limited to touching or sight.

Standing up, Draco rubbed his eyes clear of any water and crossed his tiny shit apartment to his bed. Lying down on it Draco was glad for the darkness of his tiny room. He always left the shades shut, it made it easier for him to lose time whenever he was in his apartment. And he wanted to lose time, he wanted to just lie there in the dark and forget everything because living in the real world was just too painful to bear.

Draco grabbed a pillow from beside his head and put it over his face, pressing down upon it until it was hard to draw breath.

This is what it feels like…to slip away forever. The man thought, pressing harder. I want that feeling.

Finally, lungs screaming for air, Draco relented and removed the pillow. Turning on his side, the man gasped, drawing a ragged breath but refusing to cry.

I can't even kill myself. He thought bitterly, his throat clenching until it hurt with unshed tears. I can't even die to be with him. My own son…


Ginny felt something move in her lower belly and she froze. Alone in her kitchen, the red-head gripped the counter furiously, like she had to hold on to it for dear life.

"Oh shit," the woman said and cautiously placed a hand on the underside of her slightly swollen stomach.

It was happening again, she knew it was. And this time it was going to be even worse than the last.

Her womb stirred again, sending a shock wave through her body, right up her spine and ending at the base of her skull, sending pricks of tears to her eyes. "Harry?" she called out, even though she knew he wasn't there. "Harry I need your help!"

The woman waddled to the bathroom, clenching her insides together, trying to hold it in for just a few more moments…

Warmth slid down her legs and Ginny looked down at a steadily growing puddle of deep red blood. "No," she whimpered. "Not again."

A spasm of pain rocked the woman next, driving her to hold on the door frame of the bathroom. She cried out as she took the last few steps to the tub and sank into the dry basin. Bending her knees Ginny moved her legs into the birthing position and waited for the worst.

Searing pain, far greater than before, slammed into Ginny and she gasped her eyes seeing nothing of the white ceiling above her. Her hands clenched at the sides of the tub and flexed with each shock wave of pain. The white-hot sensation spiraled within her, reaching its peak and forcing Ginny to push with all her might.

She felt a rush of warmth again, but this time it had substance; bulk. Already crying hard, Ginny looked down between her legs knowing what she would see.

In a pool of birth liquid and blood floated a tiny fetus: Her baby. Sobbing, Ginny slowly reached out and picked it up. Almost fully formed Ginny could see it was a girl, and unlike like the last two times this would have been her first. No words escaped her lips, only cries. Desperate wails of a mother's loss that caused the sun to hide behind a passing cloud.

Still attached to the umbilical cord the baby curled easily in Ginny's arms and she cradled her, gently rocking and wiping away blood and membrane from the tiny face. The failed mother began to croon a tear-streaked lullaby, one that she remembered from her childhood, memories that seemed so far away.

Ginny didn't hear the opening and shutting of the door to the house, she was too focused on trying to count the number of eyelashes her baby had. She didn't even jump when Harry yelled her name, clearly seeing the trail of blood on the floor.

"Ginny?!" He cried, stepping into the doorway to the bathroom. Ginny looked up into her husbands socked face, one that she could barely see through the tears.

"I lost her," she held out the baby as if it were a sacrifice of proof. "I lost another one, Harry. I'm so s-sorry." Ginny burst into fresh wails, keening her loss to the heavens.

Harry rushed over to her, dropping to his knees and hugging his blood soaked wife and child without hesitation. "Don't apologize, Ginny. I love you and we'll try again."

Ginny pulled away, furious behind her mask of tears. "This is the third time this has happened, Harry. Don't you think that means something?"

Harry blinked his green eyes behind his glasses. "No, Ginny, I don't. How could it? These things just happen. They-"

"They do not just happen," Ginny growled, wrenching the baby away from her husband and clutching it close to her breast where it should be suckling. "Why would you say that? Clearly there's a reason." Ginny paused and looked down at her dead daughter. "There has to be," she whispered gently.

She bent her head and gently kissed the forehead of her stillborn, coating her mouth in bloody lipstick.

She saw Harry grimace out of the corner of her eye. "Honey, don't do that, you could catch something. Who knows how it-"

"She," Ginny snarled, interrupting him again.

"What?"

"It's a she. It's a girl, can't you see?" Ginny didn't even bother to glare at the man she had pledged to love for a lifetime. That love paled in comparison to the love she had just lost, the one still cradled in her arms.

Harry sighed and stood up. "I'm going to Patronus a healer to come over here and get this cleaned up. I love you, Ginny." Harry bent to kiss her on the top of her head and it was all Ginny could do at the moment to not shudder. His sympathy meant nothing. The most famous wizard in world and he couldn't save her baby. Babies. This one, this tiny thing in her arms that should be alive and crying made three.

"Don't bother with the Patronus, dear," Ginny said quietly, making sure Harry couldn't hear. "I'll apparate there myself." Gathering her strength, Ginny stood up in the tub and tried to take a step out. Slipping on the blood Ginny realized she was falling, a sensation that puzzled her.

Why am I falling when I need to be walking forward? I just didn't make sense. But she cradled her little girl to protect her from the impact and instead Ginny hit her head on the soap alcove and smacked her spine roughly against the lip of the tub. The crashing sound of her body against the porcelain was surprisingly loud in Ginny's ears, it sounded like the entire ocean was invading her mind.

"Ginny!" Harry yelled for the second time that day, but Ginny ignored it, slipping into blackness.

The last thing she saw was her baby, her beautiful baby girl…

There was a gentle beeping somewhere in the back of Ginny's thoughts, a sound that pressed on her mind to the point where she had to let it lead her back to consciousness. Her eyes opened and she looked down, expecting to be greeted with the sight of her baby girl.

Instead she saw Harry: A concerned looking Harry holding her hand, but Harry none the less. She turned her head away from him and tried to jerk her hand out of his grasp but found she could only accomplish the first; the rest of her body was too weak.

"Oh Ginny, I am so glad you are awake, you could have been seriously hurt, and I was so worried…" Ginny let her husband continue speaking without hearing a word. All she could think of was how empty her body felt without the growing child within it.

"Where's my daughter?" Ginny asked Harry ferociously.

Harry frowned. "S-she's…dead, Ginny. You know that."

Ginny turned her head and let her eyes go unfocused with tears. They still had no right to take her away from her mother. No right at all… She turned back to her husband.

"Twice," Ginny startled Harry by spitting out.

He blinked. "No, honey, it was the third time. I'm so sorry-"

"Twice," Ginny stated again. "You've cheated death twice, are supposedly the greatest wizard in the world and you haven't figured out a spell to cheat death."

Harry choked back a laugh, but Ginny could still hear it. "Is that what this is about? Ginny, honey, no one can cheat death. You know that. Even Dumbledore-"

"I don't care," she said mechanically. "You should have figured it out."

Harry looked at her oddly. "Ginny, what's gotten into you?"

"What do you think?" shouted Ginny, suddenly bursting out. "I just lost a child, Harry. A child, our little girl. This is the third time this has happened and you're acting like it's no big deal. Well it is a big deal and I'm the only one that has to deal with it. You just get to go off and be innocent and removed from all of this at your work…"

"You think this doesn't affect me?" Harry tried not to roar, the strain affecting the redness in his cheeks.

Ginny finally wrenched her hand back from Harry and crossed her arms

Harry gave a sigh that annoyed Ginny further; it was like he knew that she was going to be like this. "Listen, Gin, you sustained a mild concussion and you bruised your back pretty badly. Not to mention all the blood loss. So why don't you just rest, hmm?"

Ginny wasn't listening anymore. She just put her hand on her stomach, the one that wasn't attached to the beeping heart monitor and wished fiercely that her daughter was still inside her.