It was nine years after the war, and George Weasley had gone off, and gotten married. Not to Angelina Johnson, no, but to a simple girl name Abigail Stone.
And Abigail was pregnant.
And this is where the story begins.
It was pouring down rain, and George Weasley was closing up the shop. He couldn't wait to get home and tell his wife what happened to a stocky fourteen year old when he had eaten their newest product: Concussion Cakes.
He grabbed his coat, and locked up the store with a flick of his wand. George ran across the street and under an awning for protection from the rain. He then Apparated with a loud POP.
He landed right inside their one story house. He had let Abigail pick out the place, being it was in their price range, and a great place to start a family.
"Abigail, I'm home," George called out, hanging his coat on the stand.
No answer.
"Abigail? Abigail? Where are you?" George asked, panicking at the moment. He stopped in their bedroom. From his place by the door, he saw the bathroom door was closed. He walked to the white door, and knocked.
"Abigail? Are you in there?" he asked, knocking slightly on the door.
"Go a-away."
"Abigail, open the door," George said, getting more worried by the second.
"N-no go away, please…"
George was worried sick, and he wasn't taking no for an answer.
He grabbed his wand, and muttered,"Alohomora."
The door quietly swung open to reveal Abigail on the floor, surrounded by blood. George's eyes went wide, and he rushed to her side. He kneeled by her, stroking her arm, whispering sweet things in her ear before he helped her up.
"Why is there so much blood?" she whispered.
George didn't answer, but he asked her quietly if she would be able to clean herself up, and she nodded.
Before she had showered, George cleaned up the fluids by a simple,"Scourgify."
Abigail was twelve weeks pregnant.
Abigail was quiet. She didn't talk throughout the rest day. The only movement she made was going to the bathroom, and then coming out with a blue box. She went outside, in front of a large oak. As she did, George went over what had happened the previous week.
The baby was fine, according to something called an 'ultrasound', some Muggle contraption that Abigail had dragged him to. They knew it was a girl, and had decided to call her Primrose, or 'Prim' for short.
He watched from the window as Abigail had summoned a digging tool, and placing the box inside the hole she had made. She scooped a few handfuls of dirt, before summoning up some flowers.
Primroses, to be exact. They were magenta Evening Primroses.
Abigail had planted them on the make-shift grave, filling the rest with dirt. After she came back inside, she went back to their bedroom, and didn't come out for the rest of the day.
A/N: Erm…I tried my best! I had just watched 'The Help' and was inspired to write about the scene of Mrs. Celia Foote's miscarriage. I looked up a few things on miscarriages, but I really didn't understand it…Yeah, I tried….Review?