Harry Potter and all its indicia are © JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. I own none of the copyright, and this fanfiction makes no money

Pairings: Harry/Ginny, Harry/Draco (main pairing), Ron/Hermione

Warnings/possible triggers: Heavy angst in the opening couple of chapters, references to foetal anomalies and late-term abortion (20 weeks). The abortion does NOT happen 'on stage', but is mentioned in the story frequently. Moderate, non-explicit slash sex. Infidelity (on Harry's part, past references) Usual bad language.

A/N: Whilst this starts off depressing, it will have a happy ending. Please do heed the warnings and triggers before reading, as it covers a topic some may find upsetting. This story was written after a friend, who feeds me so many plot bunnies (nom nom), asked me very, very nicely (and persistently!) to write this one. So, Brittany my love, this one is for you.

I have no clue yet as to final word count, but it will be more than likely novel length. It will be irregularly updated, so please don't expect a chapter a week.

Chapter One: Fate's Cruellest Blow

"Fascinating creatures, phoenixes. They can carry immensely heavy loads, their tears have healing powers, and they make highly faithful pets."
—Albus Dumbledore

The 'room in use' sign attached to the heavy grey door belonging to an examination room at University College Hospital, London, gave an audible, ominous snap as the professor of foetal medicine and obstetrics slid it into its hold. Harry Potter followed her, a midwife, and his pregnant spouse into the ultrasound room, carrying a folder of parchment spelled to look like ordinary Muggle paper notes in his right hand. He swallowed loudly, desperately trying to dampen his mouth, which was bone-dry from nerves.

The hospital was far too hot and clinical, and the air had a faint tinge of disinfectant, furniture polish and laundry detergent. The hurried footsteps from overworked members of staff echoed loudly off the plain white walls and vinyl floors as they dashed through the corridors. It had been sixteen years since Harry had set foot inside a Muggle hospital, and the smell had instantly transported him back in his mind's eye, to when he was a young boy of just nine and had to have stitches in his chin after falling in the school playground. It left Harry feeling faintly sick.

"Please lie down on the examination table, Mrs Potter," the doctor said kindly, and Ginny- looking pale and exhausted- nodded numbly, doing as she was told. The midwife held out a hand to Harry for the notes but with a knowing look at Harry, the doctor shook her head and took them instead. She dismissed the slightly bemused midwife then and waited until she had exited the room before speaking.

"Now as you know, Mr and Mrs Potter, your Healer in St Mungo's found an anomaly with your baby during routine diagnostic spells this morning, at Mrs Potter's twenty week check-up, and referred you here to UCH for assessment," she said in a low voice. The professor was a kind woman. She was a Muggle, but had a wizard cousin who was a Healer at St Mungo's, and had worked closely with the magical hospital for over ten years. She dealt with complex and problematic pregnancies for which magic couldn't help, whilst helping to keep the Statute of Secrecy in place. She opened the folder and scanned over the now- visible handwritten notes, jotted down onto the parchment in bottle green ink. Harry held his breath as he saw a frown of concern cross the doctor's face as she read. His eyes flittered to Ginny's face. Her lips were pressed together and her chocolate- brown eyes were huge and frightened.

"Okay," the doctor said after a few minutes, "I'm going to perform an ultrasound scan of your baby and have a look at what's going on. Are you aware of what this procedure entails, Mrs Potter?"

Ginny nodded. "Harry told me about them," she said in a tiny voice. It was the first words she'd uttered since the pair had arrived at the London hospital by taxi just under an hour ago. She reached out a pale, freckly arm, clearly searching for Harry, and he took her hand, holding it tightly in his own. Harry noticed her fingers were trembling. The doctor gave her a small reassuring smile and dimmed the lights. Instantly the monitor of the ultrasound machine became brighter, and looked like the old fashioned black and white television that Harry remembered Mrs Figg owning when he was a young boy. The doctor entered Ginny's name and date of birth into the computer, and tucked some tissue into the band of her trousers. She applied some cool jelly to her bare abdomen, and pressed the wand of the scanner against it firmly.

Harry looked at the screen, and his first emotion was one of relief. There was a baby on the screen: a live baby who was clearly moving. His relief was short-lived, however, when he looked at the doctor's solemn face. She wasn't looking at either him or Ginny, instead focussing on what appeared to be the baby's head. She was silent as she typed a lot of information onto her computer and appeared to be taking measurements of the baby's skull, nose and neck. She also seemed to be paying close attention to the arms and hands. Eventually, after what seemed an eternity, she turned to them. Her expression was grim.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Ginny said, but the doctor simply shook her head, handing Ginny some more tissue to clean up the gel. After a minute, in which time the tissue had done nothing more than smear the gel around further, Harry's fragile temper snapped. He snatched the tissue from Ginny's hands and waved his wand, which removed all traces of the gel from his wife's skin, and then Vanished the sticky wad with an angrily called out "Evanesco" in the blink of an eye. The Muggle doctor's eyes widened momentarily as she watched the display of magic, but she quickly regained her professionalism.

"Let's discuss my findings away from here," she said. "The Quiet Room will be perfect for me to talk privately with you both." Harry felt his heart drop extremely unpleasantly at those words. Good news would have been shared there and then. Couples receiving reassuring, positive news are not herded into something called the fucking Quiet Room to get the results from their scans. The grip on his arm from Ginny's hand was painful, but he made no attempt to remove it.

They followed the consultant out of the scanning room, pointedly ignoring the couples in the waiting room who were excitedly gazing at the scan pictures of their babies- perfectly healthy, no doubt- and made the small walk to a room at the end of the corridor, away from the main goings-on of the department. The doctor opened the door for them, and as they stepped inside, it became painfully clear that Harry's worst fears had just been confirmed; the room was set up for parents to be told the worst possible news. It was neutral in décor, with calming prints of landscapes and famous landmarks adorning the large pale walls, and large spider plants and orchids in pots. There was also the tell-tale box of tissues on top of a small pine table, next to a squashy leather sofa. The doctor gestured for Harry and Ginny to sit on the sofa, whilst she took the free armchair opposite it.

"Please," Harry said as soon as the doctor had sat down. He could hear the fear in his own voice. "No beating around the bush. Please just tell us what's going on with our baby."

The doctor smiled at them both then, but not in a way that could have reassured Harry in any way shape or form. It was the same smile that Hermione had given him just after the loss of Sirius, and it was full of sympathy and completely devoid of amusement.

"St Mungo's," she began, her tone full of compassion, "identified an anomaly with the chromosomal make-up of the foetus this morning, and referred you here for a more detailed assessment. I've conducted a thorough ultrasound examination of your baby, and I regret to inform you that my findings are the same. Mrs Potter, Mr Potter, I believe your baby has a condition called Trisomy 13, commonly known as Patau's syndrome."

"And what is that?" Ginny asked, a tear track forming on her pale cheeks. "How can you treat it?"

Harry only needed to look at the doctor's face to know the answer: You can't. He closed his eyes, bit his bottom lip and tried in vain to keep his breathing even and calm, as a large buzzing sound began to flood his ears.

"Mrs Potter, Trisomy 13 is a chromosomal abnormality," the doctor said gently. "And it's an extremely severe condition. The majority of babies with the condition do not survive pregnancy, and for those that do, life expectancy is extremely limited. Most infants that survive pregnancy die within a few days of birth. Only ten percent of babies with the condition live to their first birthday, and all have serious, life-limiting health problems."

Ginny burst into tears, her hand pulling sharply out of Harry's grip and going to her stomach, where she cradled the small bump in her hands. Harry watched the scene stoically, feeling oddly detached. No. This is not happening.

"And you're positive, are you? That the baby has this condition?" he heard himself ask. The doctor nodded grimly.

"The foetus has many of the markings I would expect to see in one with this condition," she said. "The skull is extremely small and measuring only fifteen weeks in gestation, and there is a large pool of fluid at the back of the neck. At twenty weeks we would expect this nuchal fold to be no more than six millimetres thick, however in your baby it is ten. The foetus also has a cleft palate and lip, and there is an absence of the nasal bone. In addition to these findings, your baby also has a condition called polydactyly, which means there are extra fingers on each hand. Combined with the information about chromosomal abnormality from St Mungo's, I'd say I'm about as certain as I can be that your baby has Patau's. I would like, with your consent of course, Mrs Potter, to perform an amniocentesis test to confirm the diagnosis, but I would be incredibly surprised at this stage if the foetus didn't have the condition."

"What's an amniocen-whatsit?" Ginny asked. Her voice was breaking with the effort of trying to control her tears, and her eyes were red and blotchy. Harry continued to sit numbly as the doctor explained the procedure to her, staring at one of the pictures on the wall. It was of Niagara Falls. Harry had always wanted to go there. He'd read an article once in a Muggle magazine about a boat trip called the Maid of the Mist…

"…Harry!"

Harry snapped out of his thoughts and returned to the present. It still didn't seem real. Any moment now and he would wake up, realise that this had all just been a hideous dream, and they'd not yet gone to St Mungo's for their check-up, and he would laugh at himself for his ability to conjure such vivid and disturbing dreams. Because he was not currently sitting on a sofa in a Muggle hospital, being told his unborn child was going to die. He just was not.

"I was just telling Dr Carmichael that I will agree to this amniocentesis test," Ginny said, somewhat waspishly. "It's good that you were listening to something so important."

"I can perform this test now if you like, Mrs Potter," the doctor said. "I have a clear schedule this afternoon for once." Ginny agreed and stood up, wiping her eyes furiously on the back of her hand. The doctor opened the door to the Quiet Room, and they all exited.

It would have been obvious to anyone at that moment just what the nature of the news he and Ginny had just received was, and Harry felt as if every pair of eyes in the vicinity was on them. He may as well been ringing a bell and wearing flashing lights to attract attention, given how much everyone was staring, effectively making him feel like an animal in the zoo. He ignored the long- and wholly unwelcome- glances of sympathy he and Ginny were receiving from both staff and expectant mothers alike, only just biting down the urge to yell at them all to fuck off. They returned to the main area of the maternity unit and entered yet another room. It was smaller than the one where the scan had taken place, with a more comfortable bed, but had another ultrasound machine located within it.

Ginny signed the consent form then lay on the bed, and the doctor swabbed her stomach with alcohol. Then she applied more gel.

"I need to perform an ultrasound at the same time," she explained. "It's so I can guide the needle accurately."

For the second time that day, Harry saw the image of his baby on the screen, and he felt a sob rise in his throat, which he quickly swallowed. The doctor removed a long and extremely thin needle from its sterile pack, and explained the procedure to Ginny once more. Ginny gasped and cried out when the needle penetrated her abdomen, crushing Harry's hand in her grasp. Harry uttered soothing nonsense he didn't believe himself and stroked her hand with the pad of his thumb.

It was all over a few minutes later.

"I will have the results for you tomorrow," the doctor said, removing the gel for Ginny herself this time and handing her an aftercare leaflet. "You may have some vaginal spotting, and this is normal, but if you experience heavier bleeding, please do come back here, or make your way to St Mungo's." She gave them both that irritating, sympathetic smile again and Harry- his anger incredibly close to the surface right now- fought the urge to hex her. This bitch who had just given him the worst news of his life. He didn't care if the rational part of his brain told him it wasn't the doctor's fault, and she was doing her best to help them; it was easier to feel blame, fury, towards someone, than allow the grief in that was threatening to overcome him at the news that the baby they'd so desperately wanted was almost certainly going to be taken from them.

He and Ginny made an appointment for the following morning to return for the results and then numbly headed for the exit. They climbed into a taxi which was waiting on the rank and Harry told him the address for Grimmauld Place, which was no longer under the Fidelius Cham. The journey didn't take too long. Once they arrived, Harry paid the driver with a Muggle note, told him to keep the change, and escorted Ginny inside.

As soon as the front door closed behind them, Ginny broke down in huge, noisy sobs, causing the portrait of Sirius' mother to burst open and shriek. The rest of Grimmauld Place was unrecognisable from its time as the headquarters to the Order, but that bloody painting remained, still unable to be removed from the wall. And the mood Harry was in, he was suddenly glad for it. He drew his wand and cast every curse he knew, from a simple Stinging Hex to the Cruciatus Curse at the woman. He knew it couldn't actually hurt her, given she was just a painting, but she screamed and shrieked most satisfactorily all the same as Harry vented his feelings.

Twenty minutes later, completely spent, he forced the curtain closed across the paining once more and sank to the floor in an exhausted heap as the portrait fell silent. He noticed that Ginny was no longer there; he wondered when she'd left. He dragged himself up off the floor and headed into the kitchen. Ginny was sitting on a chair, an untouched mug of tea in front of her. Her eyes were swollen and puffy. She was reading the aftercare leaflet the hospital had sent home.

"Sorry," Harry said. Ginny didn't look up. Instead she stood from her chair, tipped the untouched tea down the sink and left the room. Harry sank into her vacated chair, closed his eyes and let his head fall into his hands.

Neither of them had gotten any sleep the previous night. Harry had lain awake on his back, staring blindly at the ceiling, whilst Ginny tossed and turned next to him, or cried softly into her pillow. Neither had spoken much.

At the first sign of dawn, they had risen from bed, dressed, and entered the kitchen. Harry made Ginny some toast, whilst touching nothing himself. He didn't think he'd be able to stomach anything that morning.

"I don't want it," Ginny said, as Harry slide two slices of wholemeal toast with Marmite towards her.

"You need to eat, Gin. It's not good for you or the baby to have an empty stomach." The words came out automatically, and Ginny visibly flinched. It hadn't been the most tactful of remarks, given the circumstances. Harry cursed himself for his stupid mouth and without another word of persuasion for his wife, Vanished the toast with a flick of his wand.

At half past eight, he and Ginny left the house, and Harry hailed a passing black cab. They arrived at the hospital just before nine. Their appointment was at nine-thirty so, as they had a few minutes to kill, they chose to take the stairs rather than the lift, each step echoing their footsteps noisily throughout the deserted stairwell.

Ginny sat next to Harry in the waiting area, and he took her hand firmly in his. He noticed she was trembling, and her skin was white. He knew he didn't look much better; he'd caught sight of his reflection in the bathroom mirror that morning and he was pale, his cheeks were gaunt, and his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. His mouth was like sandpaper, he noticed, and stood abruptly, letting go of Ginny's hand and making his way to the water cooler on the opposite side of the room. He filled two small plastic cups with water, and returned to his seat, handing one of the cups to Ginny, who drank it. Harry suspected she was drinking it merely for something to do, as minor a distraction as it was.

Was it really only twenty four hours since they'd entered this nightmare? This time yesterday, Harry reflected, he and Ginny had been looking forward to their appointment at St Mungo's. They had been hoping to hear the heartbeat for the first time, and maybe even find out the sex of the baby. Harry had been so excited; it was the first of Ginny's antenatal appointments he'd been able to attend due to work commitments. And now, just a day later, they were in a different hospital waiting to be told if their child was going to live or die. Harry let the empty cup fall from his fingers and, with a dry sob, let his head fall into his hands.

"Mr and Mrs Potter?" Harry looked up as Doctor Carmichael appeared at the door. "Would you like to come in please?"

Harry took Ginny's hand and they stood. He noticed that Ginny was leaning on him heavily, and he put his arm around her shoulders.

"It'll be OK," he murmured, words he knew meant absolutely nothing to either of them at that moment, and supported his wife as they made their way into the room.

As soon as they sat down, Harry knew it was bad news. The doctor looked extremely grave.

"I have the results from the amniocentesis," she said, her voice gentle, "and they confirm my suspicions from yesterday. The foetus does have complete Trisomy 13. It's the most common, and severe, form of the condition, I'm afraid." She paused then and gave them both a look of pure compassion. "I am so very sorry."

"What happens now?" Ginny asked. She was crying now, tears glistening on her cheeks, shining in the harsh artificial lighting of the room. "I mean, what do we do?"

"You have two opinions," the doctor said. "You can choose to continue with the pregnancy and allow nature to take its course. This means you will give birth naturally, and is an option that some parents with babies suffering with the condition choose, as it does hopefully allow them some time with their baby and time to bond, if the child is born alive."

"What's the second option then?" Harry asked. He had a horrible feeling he already knew, and, when she spoke, the doctor confirmed it.

"The second option, Mr Potter, is that the pregnancy is terminated in utero," she said. "Many parents cannot face continuing with the pregnancy knowing that their baby die very soon after delivery, and opt for a medical abortion. They feel it is the lesser of two evils and that they're preventing their baby from suffering. They also feel they'd find it harder to cope if they lost the child after carrying them to term and spending time with them after birth, or if the baby died in utero and they had to have their labour induced and deliver a stillborn child."

"Oh God," Ginny whispered. "And we have to choose? I don't even know how to do that!"

"I will not persuade you in either choice," the doctor said. "There is no right decision. Only what is best for you both personally, and what you feel is best for your baby. We can arrange for you both to speak with councillors if you wish, but ultimately it has to be your decision."

"How is an abortion carried out?" Ginny asked. Harry's head snapped up to look at her.

"Gin," he began, not knowing how to finish his sentence. Surely she wasn't actually considering that as an option?

"Well, it would depend on whether you chose to have the termination here or at St Mungo's," Doctor Carmichael said. "I'm not completely familiar with the procedure there, but as I understand it, it's very similar to how we carry out a termination here. You're given medication- a potion if you choose St Mungo's, I believe- which stops the foetal heart-"

Harry had heard enough. Without looking at the doctor or his wife, he stood abruptly and stormed from the room. He was not going to sit there and listen to the doctor explain to him and his wife how she or a St Mungo's Healer would terminate their child.

Ginny hadn't followed him out of the room. Harry began pacing the waiting area, desperately trying to calm down. He realised he was shaking violently. With a quick check for watching Muggles, and finding none, Harry drew his wand discreetly and performed a Cheering Charm on himself. Whilst the result didn't leave him feeling at all cheerful, it did at least have the desired effect of calming him enough to stop the trembling and allowed him to think straighter. He re-entered the room.

"I'm sorry for walking out," he said. "But that was just too much to hear at the moment." He sat back down and took Ginny's hand in his. Doctor Carmichael gave him that irritating sympathetic smile again but said nothing about it.

"It has to be your decision," she said, "but I urge you both to make it quickly. While it's not a decision that can be rushed, equally it's not one that you have the luxury of time to make. You're already 20 weeks and three days' pregnant, Mrs Potter, and if you choose a termination, it becomes more traumatic the further into pregnancy you are when it's performed."

"We're not terminating," Harry said. "You said yourself that ten percent of babies with the condition survive to their first birthday. I'm quite good at defying odds."

"Harry…" Ginny said, and Harry looked at her. He was shocked to see that she was far from agreeing with him, and felt a shard of ice-cold dread pierce his chest. His earlier fear was confirmed: Ginny was indeed considering abortion as an option. He snatched his hand from her grip.

"Ten percent of babies who survive pregnancy live to their first birthdays, Mr Potter," the doctor corrected. "And those that do survive have the less severe mosaic or partial forms. Your baby has complete Trisomy 13, meaning it affects every cell in the body, and it is fatal. Most babies with this form will die in utero, or during birth. And can I please remind you that those who do survive birth have an extremely poor, limited quality of life, suffering with life-threatening conditions. There have been no documented cases of exceptions to this, anywhere in the world to date. If you decide to continue with the pregnancy, we can only offer palliative care to your baby upon birth."

"Take me home, Harry," Ginny said, standing up abruptly. She was in tears again, and her voice was hoarse and barely more than a whisper. "Side-along me from here. Please. I can't face Muggle transport, not today."

"Gin, you know the risks of Apparition- Splinching the baby-" Harry said as he stood to join her, but Ginny interrupted him, angry.

"It's a tiny risk, you know that!" she snapped, "and I hardly see what difference it's going to make now, if the baby's going to die anyway!" She burst into tears. "That was horrible. I shouldn't have said that, I'm sorry."

"Go home and discuss things with each other," Doctor Carmichael said. She handed them a series of leaflets. He caught the cover of the top one in Ginny's shaking hand- it was bright green and contained detailed facts about Patau's syndrome. 'Information for Parents', it said simply, in a plain white font, as if it was perfectly normal and routine to be told your child was going to die. "Do you have access to a telephone?" Harry nodded. There was a phone box on the corner of the square Grimmauld Place was situated. "Once you've made your decision, telephone me, and I'll arrange for you to come back in. And we'll take it from there, based on what you decide."

"Just one more thing before we go," Harry said. "In that leaflet you gave my wife about the amniocentesis test, it mentioned that you can tell the sex of the baby from it. Could you- I mean, if you know- are we having a boy or a girl?"

Doctor Carmichael looked in her notes for a second then took a deep breath.

"The baby is a boy," she replied, and it was all Harry could do to remain standing. He felt Ginny collapse against him.

"Thank you," he forced out. Then, obliging Ginny's easier wish, and he himself not wanting to spend a moment longer in the hospital, he took Ginny by the waist and turned on the spot, whisking them both away from the shocked doctor and Apparating into Grimmauld Place.

"What are we going to do?" Ginny said softly, once they'd made their way to the living room and collapsed onto the sofa. Ginny curled herself into a ball, her legs tucked under her, stroking her bump.

"What do you mean, 'do'?" Harry replied, struggling to keep his voice even. He was perched on the edge of the sofa, his head in his hands, trying to rein in the wrath that was surging through him. "We going to have the baby. And we're going to spend some time with him before he's taken from us. I want to meet my son, and I want him to meet us. A couple of hours is better than nothing at all."

"But, you heard what the doctor said," Ginny said. "Chances are he'll die before then. And then I'll have to give birth to a stillborn baby."

"So we're not even going to give him a chance to meet us, because he 'might' die anyway?" Harry knew he was yelling now, and that he was scaring Ginny, but he couldn't stop himself. The grief he'd tried to keep under lock and key in his mind for the past twenty-four hours had bubbled up to the surface now, and was threatening to burst out of every pore of his skin. "It's OK for you- he's inside you, you can feel him kicking and moving, and you've bonded already, but I've had nothing!"

"So you want me to go through with a pregnancy and a traumatic birth that will only end in tragedy, because it's 'OK for me because he's in me'?" Ginny shouted back. "Can you even hear yourself, Harry? Do you not think that because I can feel him in me moving, that I can feel him alive, that this might actually be harder for me than it is for you?"

Harry realised that his cheeks were wet now, and his vision was blurred. He removed his glasses and swiped his hand across his eyes.

"You sound like you've already made your mind up," he said, defeated.

"The more I think about it, the more I think it's for the best," Ginny said. "Expecting me to carry the baby for another four and a half months, put myself through labour, and all the while knowing he's going to die? I can't do it, Harry. I'm sorry, but I can't."

"And I get no fucking say at all, right? Because I'm only the father, I guess. It's biologically impossible for me to carry the baby, so I get no say at all in what happens to him and can go fuck myself, right?" Harry snapped.

"Don't swear at me, Harry. And of course you get a say," Ginny replied. "But don't turn round and tell me you want what's best for me and him, when you want to put us both through suffering just so you might get the chance to hold him in a few months' time!" At this she dissolved into tears once more. Harry added another emotion to the fury and heartache he was currently feeling: guilt. He edged closer to his wife and put his arms around her.

"Look, I didn't mean that. I'm just upset, OK? We can't fight about this, Ginny. We just can't," he said into her hair. "If there's ever a time we need to stand united, it's now."

"I don't want to abort, you know," Ginny said. "I want to have him and hold him, and maybe dress him and take some photos for us to remember him by. But I don't want him to be born and suffer either. It's a horrible situation and I don't know what to do. And we need to make the best choice for him. Not us. Surely that's what you want too?"

"What I want? What I want is to be excitedly preparing for the birth of my baby with my wife, not planning how he's going to die," Harry rasped. "What I want is to have what everyone else has, just for once. A family of my own. What I want is to not have to make this decision in the first place. What I want my son." At these words, he broke. All the anger, grief, and helplessness spilt out in a tsunami of emotion he couldn't hold back. He was vaguely aware of Ginny holding him as he wept, violent sobs racking his body.

He thought he was done with losing people he loved. It had been seven years since Voldemort's defeat, after all. Apparently he was wrong. And now that which was most precious to him was being snatched away. Whether they aborted or took the pregnancy to term, they were not going to be bringing a healthy baby home from hospital, and the realisation of this had just slammed into him as brutally as if he'd been hit by the Hogwarts Express. And he knew even then that he might not bounce back this time. The famous Potter Resilience had failed him at last. Fate had struck its cruellest blow, and in that moment, Harry didn't know how to recover from it.