Written for The Suicide Challenge by sick-atxxheart.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, it all belongs to a writer called JK Rowling.

Have a Little Hope by LooneyLovey

"Hermione," I yelled, my voice horse with emotion, "please don't do this. Think of all the people you that love you, don't they matter?"

We were stood on top of the Astronomy tower building yelling at one another. I was trying to make her see sense and she was trying to make me see why life wasn't worth living any more, while inching precariously close to the ledge.

"Severus, you don't understand. I know you've tried to, but you don't. You can't," she whispered to me, her voice nearly getting lost in the blustery winds.

I should have seen this coming, ever since that night she hadn't been the same.

A stormy November night, five months ago (General POV)

"Hermione I need you to push," the Matron said, watching the young woman with pity shining in her eyes.

"I can't," she cried. "I won't."

Severus tried pleading with her, "please Hermione. Please push for me." But, her face was set in a stony mask of resolution, the sight of which brought tears to the usually apathetic man's face.

"Hermione," Poppy said, her voice stern and commanding, "if you don't push then you will die, do you really want to die?"

Poppy thought that would work; she thought it would make her push. But, she thought wrong.

"And if I wanted to?" came a broken reply.

Poppy and Severus looked at each other; there was no way she was going to push if she didn't want to. It had been hard enough coaxing her to get this far.

It was with a heavy heart and a lingering sigh the Matron knew exactly what she had to do.

"Hermione, I'm so sorry," she said as she cast a spell over the witch, sending her into a dreamless, painless slumber.

"What did you do that for Poppy," Severus yelled, "she needs to push, she needs to...?" he said, collapsing into a fit of sobs, "she needs to," he muttered.

"She doesn't need to Severus; magical midwifery has come a long way in a few short years. It was Hermione's choice to push Severus, not mine. Had it been left up to me I would have done this from the start."

"Then why didn't you," he yelled, anguish filling his features.

"It was her decision," she repeated, smiling sadly down at the man. And with another wave of her wand, he too was in a magical induced slumber.

Poppy Pomfrey did one of the hardest things a mediwitch could do that night, she delivered a stillborn baby into a world which could do everything, but revive the dead.

Severus' POV

Hermione was mere inches away from the edge now. Too closer for my taste, but I knew if I tried to bring her back or moved any further into the room it would only serve to anger her further. It would make her more unpredictable, and send her further into the darkness she called life.

"You didn't have to live all those months knowing your child was dead inside you, a child you made out of hope and joy."

After our son had been born, we had named him Lucian which meant 'light' in Latin. There were two reasons why we had named our son Lucian; the first one being that light and hope were two of the things sorely lacking in our life during that time – and to some extent still were. The second reason being that it was a nod of respect to Lucius, who had helped her when I could not during those last few months.

"How am I supposed to do this?" she yelled at me, "how am I supposed to carry on living when I'm a failure as a woman, and as a wife-"

"You're not a failure," I whispered harshly, interrupting her.

"How am I not?" she said incredulously. "I couldn't even... I couldn't even carry a baby to full term without something going wrong Severus. And it's not just that, I haven't been there for you when your suffering too. Tell me how that doesn't make me a failure. I can't live like this. I won't."

Many people – even after the war had ended – thought me to be a cold-hearted bastard, and they would have been right if they had met me before my new life with Hermione. I call it my 'new life' because that was what it was. She gave me a new outlook on the world and helped me to love again, even though I didn't think I could. The whole thing sounded completely cheesy and cliché, but it was the truth.

"I'll be waiting for you when you decide you can live again Hermione, because you will decide to. Maybe not today, and maybe not tomorrow, but some day you will. I'm not going anywhere, and I'm not about to let you do this to yourself."

From my position by the door I saw many conflicting emotions pass over her face; anger, sadness, remorse and even love, but the one I wanted to see, the one I had to see never appeared. She had to have hope. I needed her to have hope, even if it was just a little. I would do whatever it took to help her, but she had to have hope.

"Severus," her plea came as a pained whisper, and she collapsed onto the floor, rocking backwards, and forwards, sobbing. Her arms were crossed in front of her chest, and it looked to me like she was trying to hold the broken pieces of her heart together. But, she wasn't. She was trying to hold the pain of losing a son inside until she didn't have to feel it any longer.

"I can't do this anymore. Please ... don't make me try."

"Hermione," I said, knowing this was my last chance to make her see sense, "It was too much for you. But what if life without you is too much for me? What then?"

She didn't say anything, and I knew I'd lost her. Her eyes were glassy, with what looked to be unshed tears, and her shoulders shook with barely restrained emotion. My angel, my savour had given up.

I sank slowly to the floor, hugging my knees to my chest, watching her. I saw her previously unshed tears fall; they glistened in the moonlight, seemingly oblivious to why they had been shed, but falling nevertheless. A light breeze brushed past her cheeks, and made her hair dance in the stony silence. A few hours ago there had been a thunderstorm – at the time he thought it quite fitting for her chaotic, clashing emotions – and the rain had left a damp, earthy smell in the air. Hermione loved that smell, but she didn't seem bothered by it today. I knew this because usually she would race towards an open window as soon as the first drop of the rain hit the ground. Today she had just sat in the chair beside the fire, and asked me to close the window I had opened in the hopes of getting some response from her, because she found the air to be too cold.

There were ways to deal with Witch's depression, and we had tried them all. None of them had worked, not even a potion which I had brewed especially for her. Albus had once told me that if the person didn't want to be saved, then there was nothing another could do to help them. I hadn't wanted to believe him at the time, but he was right; none of the potions worked because she didn't want them to, if she had then we wouldn't be up here, facing one another on a cold April night, lost in our own thoughts.

It was with a bitterness I had come to accept from myself in the past few months that knew if she wanted to take her own life, then I couldn't stop her. She had lost too much and not even, I could save her.

"I-I want," her voice startled me from my musings and I saw her take a deep breath before continuing. "I want you to help me."

To say I was shocked would be the understatement of the year. She wanted my help. After I had just accepted the fact she would take her own life if I let her.

Our eyes met across the short distance from where we both sat and I saw that her tears had stopped. They had left barely discernible traces on her face which shimmered in the waning moonlight. Her rocking had slowed down until it was barely noticeable, but it was still there. I wanted to believe her, I really did. But I had to make sure.

"Why?"

"I feel like I'm drowning," she answered. "Drowning in a pool of hopelessness ... and I fear I'll never be able to get out. But I want to try, for you. I want to try."

"That's not good enough Hermione."

"What? I just said-"

"I know what you just said. You need to want to try for you. I can't help you if you don't want to live."

We were both lulled back into the serenity the night placed upon us as she mulled over my last words to her. When the silence extended beyond comfortable, I saw her shift slightly on the floor, and I looked at her; the expression on her face was almost pensive. Hermione felt me looking at her and our eyes met again; I was gladly surprised when her face broke out into a small, crooked smile. A few minutes later, she got up, startling me slightly, and started to make her way over to where I sat. When she got close enough to me, she sat down on my lap, and nestled into the many layers of fabric I wore. I brought my hand up to her cheek to wipe away a nonexistent tear, and I heard her sigh with what I hoped to be a small slither of happiness.

"I want to live Severus. I want to try to live again, and I want you to help me."

Those were the words I longed to hear, she wanted to live. My angel wanted to live.

I kissed the top of her bushy mane, and hugged her closer to my chest. We were going to be okay. Maybe not today, and maybe not tomorrow, but someday we would be.

Prompts used:

1) How am I supposed to do this?

3) What do I have to live for? What is left for me now?

9) I feel like I'm drowning. Drowning in a pool of hopelessness... and I fear I'll never be able to get out.

16) It was too much for you. But what if life without you is too much for me?

Tell me what you think? :)