Disclaimer: not mine. The end.
Song: "A Prayer for the Unborn" by Gary Numan. I suggest listening to it at least once before reading this. It helps.
Warm sunlight drifted through arched windows, filling vaulted ceilings with a golden glow.
The manor was airy, open, and yet cozy. It was obviously lived in, and filled with moving paintings, memoirs, souvenirs, moving pictures, and various objects of wonder.
But not a noise was made in the manor, except for one person.
So I prayed
But you weren't listening
Making miracles
Screams of pain and anguish echoed in the manor, followed by the sounds of multiple items breaking in a cacophony of glass and ceramics.
So I begged
But you were far away
Saving souls perhaps?
A young man fell to his knees amidst the vases and crystal, bathed in a swath of the golden sunlight as if he were an angel. Tears streamed down his face from jaded, emerald eyes, glasses long thrown away to a corner of the room. His messy, black hair was greasy, his eyes puffy, his face bearing claw marks from his own nails.
So I screamed
But she was very small
And you have worlds to mend
His trembling hands wrapped around his stomach, digging their nails into the fabric of his shirt, paying little heed to the pain they made as they dug into his skin as well.
He gave a small sob, a tiny hiccup, trying to hold in his emotions. Then he bent over, face twisted into a heart breaking expression of pure anguish, set aflame by the sun's rays, screaming upwards at his ceiling and beyond it to the heavens.
So she died
And you were glorious
But you were somewhere else
Harry Potter curled up, falling to his side on the debris littered dining room floor, facing the window and squinting against the bright light and the tears that refused to stop.
Years. He had been trying for years. Ever since the end of the war; he'd even quit his job as an Auror to keep his life relatively stress-free.
It was never a guarantee, especially with males, and a spouse or partner was recommended, giving another magical signature and core to feed off of and an anchor for the carrier, but who the bloody hell would marry him, the Boy Who Lived, for himself? He wasn't romantically or sexually inclined to any of the still-single Weasley boys, and he wasn't romantically or sexually inclined to any woman. He knew no one in his close group of friends that he would want as a partner, and anyone outside of them was more than likely out to use him for his fame, for his name, for his money.
He thought luck was on his side; it took a powerful wizard to carry, and he was, indeed, a powerful wizard. The more powerful, the higher the chance. And he made sure to choose powerful, intelligent, and somewhat handsome donors.
And yet…
If you are my Shepherd
Then I'm lost and no one can find me
If you are my Savior
Then I'm dead and no one can help me
If you are my Glory
Then I'm sick and no one can cure me
If you Light my darkness
Then I'm blind and no one can see me
Fat, hot, angry tears poured sideways down his face.
It was the fifth time in as many years.
It wasn't fair.
Back when he was with the Dursleys, they would take him to church on Sundays. It was one of the few things they did that he liked.
As the minister would read from the Bible, Harry would listen. Harry learned of true faith, of love, through the stories written in the ancient text.
He had wholeheartedly believed in God, even as a student at Hogwarts. Even as a wizard. He would pray at night, curled up in his bed. He had believed that God had chosen him to be the Savior of the Wizarding World. It had been God's will that made him take the burden of facing pure evil incarnate.
And when he had fulfilled his purpose, he would retreat and live his life serving God and with a family.
If you are my Father
Then love lies abandoned and bleeding
If you are my Comfort
Then life is unreal and deceiving
If you are my Answer
Then I must have asked the wrong question
Harry's faith had finally shattered. It was the fifth time he had tried to carry a child, and the fifth time he had miscarried.
All he had wanted was a child, at least just one. Just a family. He would give all his fame, all his money and property, even his accomplishments of defeating the most recent Dark Lord, to have that child.
But where was God when Harry needed His help?
I'd spit on your Heaven
If I could find one to believe in
He clutched his stomach tighter, shutting his eyes against the sunlight.
If there was a heaven, he would watch it burn.
A/N: I've never had a miscarriage. I've never even had kids; I'm an 18 year old not planning to have kids for a few years yet. But I can understand emotional pain, and this song - hell, the album it's from - chronicles Gary Numan's anguish and loss of faith in God when his wife miscarried.
I hope I never miscarry, and my heart goes out to those who have.
Also, I have another version of this same plotline that I just found while trying to save this one. I may or may not post that…I'm not sure.
As a parting shot: PLEASE DO NOT STORY ALERT THIS. Dear lord, people, CAN YOU NOT READ? A one-shot means it's one chapter, and that's it. I'm sick and tired of receiving emails about how all my one-shots are being story alerted. Just favorite it and if you liked it that much, author alert me. But if it's complete, IT'S DONE. THERE IS NO MORE. Like with this one. I might post a second version, but it won't be a second chapter to this. This story is done. There will be no more to it.
Thank you.