A.N: So this chapter is quite contoversial, and could affect a lot of people, the topic it's about. My mum suffered through this, six times, and I know how heartbreaking it can be. I just hope I can write this with the compassion and delicacy it deserves. If I haven't, please tell me - all the advice I get is extremely helpful. This chapter is inspired by a story my mum told me, when she first experienced this. Except, in her case, it wasn't my dad who ran after her.

For the first time in days, Ginny forgot.

Sparkling light shone through the window panes, and reflected off of a cerulean, glass dragonfly, swinging from the curtain pole, spilling dazzling blue light into the room. The room itself was cream, and full of homely trinkets, such as moving photographs of a beaming family of redheads, an array of sea shells lined along the window sill, a beautiful wooden, rocking chair in the corner, and a glorious, woven laundry basket at the foot of the bed.

Painted a remarkable beige colour, the guest bedroom at Shell Cottage was considerably beautiful, an epitome of serenity and peace.

Ginny bathed in the light, smiling, her eyes still closed. Running a hand along her stomach, the soft cotton smooth under her fingertips. Waiting, she anticipated movement of any kind. The kick of a tiny foot, a hiccup from a minisule mouth, the touch of a little hand.

Suddenly, a breath hitched in her throat. A tear rolled down her cheek, as her hand slipped off of her body. Once one tear slipped out, she found that she couldn't stop the rest.

Rolling over onto her side, she curled up into a ball, kicking the pristine sheets off of her. Her pyjamas consisted of a thin white tank top, and long, red checkered pyjama bottoms. Flaming auburn hair was sprawled out across the pillow.

Ginny stayed in this position for another hour, silently sobbing, alone. She only pulled herself together when the voices downstairs grew. Despite it being the beginning of August, and the scorching summer heat launching into it's prime, she shrugged on her dressing gown anyway, and took one hesitant step out of the door.

Slowly making her way down the slanting staircase, the volume of her family's voices increased. She could start to make out what they were saying.

" . . . and to think, she's going to be twenty-one in just under two weeks" sighed Hermione's voice, filled with pity and sympathy.

Drawing in a harsh breath, Ginny realised she had forgotten that her birthday was a mere nine days away, on the eleventh.

"Merlin's beard mum, stop knitting that! She could come downstairs at any moment!" That voice was distinctively Bill's.

"I can't help it Bill, once I start something, I have to finish it" her mother replied, in a shaky voice.

"Even it's for someone who's never going to get to wear it?" Ron spat, bitterly. Ginny heard a sharp clap! and knew immediatley that her mum had slapped him.

"Now you listen here, Ronald! You're little sister is up there, grieving the loss of the child she is never going to meet. She is in goodness knows how much pain, and rather than - "

Molly never finished her sentance, as the arrival of her daughter through the doorway to the kitchen cut through all their thoughts.

Everyone was dressed, and Ginny spotted their breakfast things all washed up and placed on the drying rack. Glancing over at a large grandfather clock, she saw that the time was twelve thirty. This would usually have been counted as a lie-in, if Ginny had gotten much sleep that night. Or any night really, since she miscarried.

"Ginny, dear" her mum sighed, misty eyed as she went to hug her daughter. "Could I make you a cup of tea or anything?"

Shaking her head, Ginny pulled away from Molly, and crossed her arms. She could feel every eye on her, and it was unnerving.

Hermione crossed the room, and hugged her, tightly. Then she realised how tight she was holding onto Ginny, and pulled away, full of apologies.

"Don't worry about it, Hermione, you couldn't possibly kill her again" Ginny answered, with a weak smile.

Immediatley an ear-shattering clatter erupted from the corner of the room. Molly had dropped a china mug on the floor, spilling the contents all over the tiles.

"Mum, I told you I didn't want any - "

"Why would you say something like that?" Molly asked, shock evident on her aging face.

Before Ginny could reply, a sombre-looking figure entered the room. Behind his rounded glasses, the tears had gathered, peppering his eyelashes. The bags under his piercing green eyes were evidence that he hadn't had enough sleep. Clearly, something was troubling him too. Being the father of the unborn child, you would have thought so.

"What did you just say?" he asked, in a hoarse voice.

Feeling a lump rise in her throat, and tears prickle the back of her eyes, she couldn't look at her husband.

"Harry I - "

"No, don't dodge the question. What did you say?"

Desperate for an answer, he pressed on. Falling into her seat behind her, she closed her eyes, the tears slipping between her eyelids.

"Don't make me say it, Harry" she muttered.

Bounding forward, he knelt down, and clutched her hands in his, tentatively.

"Was it a girl? Was . . . she going to be a girl?" Harry asked, trying to sound as brave as he could, when really, it was taking his every ounce to keep it together.

Her hands trembling in Harry's, she nodded, sobbing. Harry allowed the tears to streak down his cheeks now, pressing his forehead against his wife's.

In the corner, Molly clasped her hand to her chest, and gasped. Besides Ginny, this baby would have been the first girl in a long line of Weasley's.

"Harry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry" she murmered through whimpers. "I wasn't strong enough, it's my fault she - "

"Ginny, no" Harry told her, sternly. "This is not your fault, you hear me? This baby, our baby, wasn't strong enough. She wasn't strong enough. And that is not your fault."

Shaking her head, Ginny refused to listen. She was adamant she was the reason their daughter didn't survive.

Pulling away from Harry, she got up, and opened the front door, a warm summer breeze sweeping through. Her brothers, Bill and Ron, sped over and tried to get her to come and sit down. Ignoring them, she clutched hold of the door for support. Their voices were drowned out by the throbbing in her head. Fleur's and Hermione's too, when they attempted to get her to come inside and sit down.

The only thing she could think about was running. Running away from them all, from her husband, who she had failed. She couldn't bear standing in a room with them all, all their eyes watching her, waiting for her to break. Well this was it; this was her breaking.

Barefoot, she tore away from the house and ran towards the placid sea. Sand like velvet under her toes, she kept sprinting, her legs unwavering. The appeasing sound of waves rolling onto the shore, and the appeasing sound of seagulls in the distance, Ginny could have kept going. It was all so calming, so ataractic, that she didn't hear her husband come up behind her, nor did she realise she was standing in the ocean, knee high, and had in fact stopped running.

His gentle touch, however, was enough to snap her back to harsh reality, and to the pain that was consuming her.

She didn't turn to face Harry, but spoke anyway, calling to him above all the commotion.

"I failed you, didn't I."

"Of course you didn't."

"I did. I can't forgive myself, for what I've done to you."

"You haven't done anything to me, love."

"Me, I've always been surrounded by Weasley's, by my family. But you, you had no one for so long. You are the only Potter left, and I wanted this child so badly, not just for me, but so you wouldn't be alone. So you could have somebody else. But I couldn't give you that, and I hate myself for it."

His heart swelled with love, but broke at the same time, at her words. Never did he think he could be so in love, but so saddened simultaneously. Stepping foward, water spalshing around him, he stood in front of Ginny, and didn't take his eyes off of her.

"You, and your family, are the reason that I've not been alone since I was eleven. For the past ten years, I've had you to look out for me, to care for me, and I feel as though I can never repay you for the kindness and compassion you've shown me" he said, holding his wife's hands. "I'm not alone any more. I have you, Mrs Potter."

Smiling through her tears, Ginny kissed Harry, her fingertips grazing his cheeks as he held her waist. It was soft, and comforting.

As she pulled away, Harry found that Ginny was the most heavenly thing on earth, and he was enamored by her. The way her flaming red hair danced about her face in the wind, and how rosy her cheeks had become from running a great distance, were just examples of what beauty truly is.

"I love you Ginny Potter, so much so that at times it feels as though my heart has ceased beating, and only when I see you lying in the bed next to me does it start again. What has happened does not define us, it does not limit us. It is merely a bump in the road, something we can conquer, and come out better, and wiser. Our loss is heartbreaking, yes, but it does not mean failure, and it is not a means for an end. I love you, and you love me, and we will get through this together, hand-in-hand. I promise you, because I believe in miracles. I have done since the day our lips first touched, and I continue to believe in them, for here you stand, my wife, and that in itself is a phenomenon if ever there was one."

Reaching out a hand, Harry wiped away Ginny's tears. She nuzzled her cheek against his touch, closing her eyes.

Walking hand-in-hand, the pair made their way back up to Shell Cottage.

Three year later, Harry's promise rang true, as they welcomed into the world, James Sirius Potter.