This is for round two of The Word Limit Competition by Taragh McCarthy with the limit of 1000 words and the prompt "stop the world." It was sad to write, so I hope I portrayed that accurately enough.

If you want a happy ending, read this chapter. Chapter two is a different take on the same story that I wrote for a different challenge, which required a tragedy. Basically, if you'd like something sad but hopeful, read this. If you want something downright depressing, read that.

Hermione Granger had always been well aware that pregnancy was not all singing to the sky and vibrant, glowing skin. How many times had she listened to Ginny complain about how much her back hurt, James twisting around while she tried to sleep, and morning sickness? Hermione knew all about the horrors of pregnancy and wasn't ready for it.

At least, she thought she wasn't. After seeing James all tiny and new, Hermione wanted her own, no matter the pain it took to get one. Her breath had caught and the world stopped just looking at him. She could already see herself as a mother, sitting in a rocking chair with a little girl in her arms or standing in the kitchen packing a sack lunch for school.

Unfortunately it wasn't that easy. Hermione had inherited from her mother a dry womb that made it difficult to conceive, although obviously not impossible. After about a year of trying, she finally got pregnant. Although she hated the morning sickness that went with it, knowing she carried a life inside her gave Hermione a sense of fulfillment she had not had before. When Ginny approached her with the news that she was having another little one, they celebrated together, ecstatic that their children would be close in age.

Neither predicted that Hermione's world would come to a screeching halt with a miscarriage the very next day.

Unable to get over her shock, Hermione refused to accept that she would be a godmother twice without having a child of her own. She convinced Ron to go with her to a specialist to figure out what they could do to conceive again quickly. Hermione was prescribed a combination of muggle drugs and a fertility potion to take every other day for two weeks. "You should be able to conceive within a month," the specialist promised.

At the end of the month, Hermione cast the spell to see if she was pregnant and almost cried when it came up negative.

"That doesn't mean anything," Ron reminded her. "It'll only sense it if you're a full three weeks along. You probably just aren't there yet."

"You're right," she agreed, but as Ron left the room, she curled up on the bed, clutching her stomach. "Please," she whispered to the air. "Let life grow inside me."

Against the advice of Ron, Ginny, and many of her friends and family, Hermione continued to cast the spell every day. She even turned down dinner at the Burrow one night while feeling particularly depressed. "I've already started dinner," she said to Molly as the older woman popped into the fireplace. In truth, she had not started dinner and didn't even tell Ron that his mother had flooed. Hermione simply couldn't look at Molly's big family or Ginny and Angelina, who already had children of their own. It wasn't fair that they could have so much when she couldn't even have a little.

"This is it," she whispered to herself as she held up her wand. "If it's not positive today, I'm not pregnant." She took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut. As she muttered the spell, she was afraid to look and see. It would be negative; it always was.

"Hermione?" Ron called. "Have you seen my tie or – What's that?"

She opened her eyes and looked over at Ron, who stood in the doorway gaping at her hand. She looked down and nearly freighted. After months of hoping, the wand tip was glowing pink. "We're having a girl," she said weakly as Ron pulled her into a crushing hug.

"We're having a girl," he repeated. He pushed her back slightly, allowing him to look her in the eye. "You'll be a great mom."

But their battle wasn't over yet. Hermione thought she would go mad as Ron refused to let her do anything even remotely strenuous. If she wanted to keep the baby, it was nothing to how Ron felt. He was so afraid of what losing another one would do to his wife that he refused to let it happen.

When she reached six months, they celebrated. "We're going to keep her this time," he said. "We can't lose her now."

He never imagined that a month healing intern would rush into his fireplace to inform him that his wife had taken a fall down the stairs and gone into labor. "You're fine," he told her all during the delivery and immediately after.

"The baby?" she asked as their daughter was whisked away.

"Perfectly fine," he said, but Ron didn't even believe himself. The healers had rushed her out too quickly, and he was sure the next time they would see her, her heart would have stopped. Their whole lives would be over and the world's end would be unimportant.

An hour later, a younger woman slipped into the room. "Mr. and Mrs. Weasley?"

"That's us," Ron replied.

"Your daughter was born very early, and her lungs haven't completely developed." Hermione gripped Ron's hand harder than she had at all in the last few hours. "Luckily, we've been able to take care of the problem. She'll be able to go home in about a month. Would you like to see her?"

Hermione complied with a wheelchair and allowed her husband to wheel her down to see their daughter. She looked even tinier than James, surrounded by the baby bed and tubes. The little girl opened her eyes and looked over to her parents. Hermione felt the world stop. Nothing else mattered but her baby until Ron squeezed her shoulders, restarting the world.

"Rose?" she asked.

"Rose."