Written for MissingMommy. I hope you like it :)

Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise.

A/N - Please don't review telling me that this was written wrong. Miscarriage is a very painful thing to happen to a person, and everyone who suffer's from it react's differently. I've drawn from personal experience, so please don't tell me I don't understand what I wrote. Fair ConCrit is of course welcome as always.

He has no idea how it feels. He holds me close and I can feel him shake as sobs wrack his body. He cries for hours, finally drifting off to sleep in the chair beside my bed. I lie staring at the ceiling, my hands folded on my stomach where my baby is no longer nestled safely. I cannot cry, my eyes are dry as a bone in a dusty desert. I feel nothing, emptiness is all I am. My spirit has gone, ripped away with my child, leaving the world for good.

He tells me things are going to be okay, he tells me we can get through this, but I find myself not caring. How can I care what happens to me now? Why should I care if the world keeps on turning, when my life ended the day my baby left me. He tells me we are strong, that we can fight the depression sinking into our very pores, that we can learn to smile and laugh again. He doesn't realise that I have absolutely no wish to smile, no wish to pretend that everything is okay. He doesn't realise that I am not depressed, I do not feel depression, because I cannot feel anything.

The hospital release me the day after it happened, telling me to go home and rest. Rest! That's a joke and if I could feel amusement I would probably be laughing. I swap one bed for another, a hospital bed for my own. It makes no difference, I still cannot feel a thing. James lies next to me, he tries to put his arm around me, and I see him cringe at my flinch. I cannot bear for him to touch me. I see the hurt in his eyes, but I do not care.

He invites Sirius and Remus to see us, the day after I come home, and he cries again when he tells them. I watch as their faces fall, as tears drip down Sirius' face, yet all I feel is anger. At least it is something, anger is the first emotion I have felt, and it actually feels good. I want to storm at them, how dare they cry and look sad when it is MY baby who left, MY baby who will never cry, or smile or need me. MY baby, not their's, and they think they have a right to be upset. I hold it in, feeling alive as the anger courses through me, anger at the world, anger at James, anger at everything and everyone I have ever known.

The doctor told me that no one is to blame, that these things simply happen sometimes. Well, that is all well and good for him to say, but I know different. I know that it is James' fault, and I know it is Dumbledore's fault, and I know it is, no I don't. Anger leaves me as quickly as it comes as a realisation I should have had already takes it's place. It is my fault. It has to be. I am the one who was carrying the baby, I am the one who was supposed to keep him safe, was supposed to look after him as he grew inside of me. I must have done something wrong, I must have kill... I must...

I open my eyes, the pure whiteness in the room telling me I am back in the hospital. I look around to see James in the chair beside me, watching me through sorrowful eyes. I ask him what happened, and he tells me I collapsed in the living room. The doctor's have said it was a panic attack, but I've never known a panic attack to cause such a devastating reaction. It was my guilt, my guilt made me collapse in a heap because it knew that was what I deserved. My body will punish me now, for killing my child, for becoming a murderer.

James is still talking but I have tuned him out, not interested in anything he has to say. Nothing he says or does can ever make things right, so why even bother. The doctor comes into the room, interrupting whatever James is saying. I try to focus on what he is saying, but nothing is making any sense. Oh, a therapist. They think my mind has gone. Well it hasn't doc, only my baby. My mind still works just fine.

They're keeping me locked up in here for a while apparently. They don't think I've 'accepted' what has happened to me, nor do they think I have 'dealt' with it. Shows how much they know, huh. My baby is dead, there, see, I have accepted it. I know it has happened. I am not crazy, so let me the fuck out. I hate doctors, and I hate counsellors. Bunch of uppity arseholes, especially the shrink I'm supposed to talk to.

She keeps trying to make me see 'reason.' Make me see that my baby didn't die, because it wasn't technically a baby yet. Well screw you bitch. My baby did die, I don't care if he wasn't fully formed yet, he was still alive in me and he died and it's my fault. Why does nobody understand this. My magic understands, that's why it's not working properly. I can't seem to cast any spells anymore. Oh well, who gives a shit anyway.

xxJamesxx

Why can she not see that this isn't her fault. She refuses to allow me in to see her anymore. When the doctor told me she was having a nervous breakdown, I thought he was over reacting. Not my Lil's, she's strong, she wouldn't let this beat her. It seems I'm the one that's wrong, and she is letting it beat her. She lies in her bed all day, staring at the ceiling, completely ignoring everything that is going on around her. Before she barred me from the room, I spent all day there, leaving only when the doctors wouldn't let me stay any longer. I would talk to her, and occasionally, she would look in my direction, but she didn't look at me. She looked through me, as though I wasn't even there.

I don't know how I can help her, the doctors have told me if she doesn't snap out of this then no one can help her. She has to help herself first. What am I going to do if she doesn't? How can I live without my soul mate?When we found out she had lost the baby, she didn't even cry. She nodded, as though she had just been told it was a rainy day. As though it was nothing of any importance. The therapist said she hasn't accepted it, but I don't like that therapist anyway. I heard her, telling Lil's that she didn't lose a baby. Stupid woman, I wonder how she ever got her certificate if that's the way she talks to trauma patients.

Lil's has been in the hospital for three weeks now, and the doctors are hopeful she has hit a turning point. She has a new counsellor now, one that specialises in miscarriage. Today, she actually spoke, for the first time since being taken in. It wasn't a lot, she asked for a glass of water, but the Doctor says it's a good thing and so I will trust his judgement. I still spend a lot of time at the hospital, I sit outside her room, wondering if she knows I'm here.

She asked for me today, and I got so excited. I thought she was finally getting better, I thought she was starting to accept that it isn't her fault what happened. When I walked into the room, she ripped into me, calling me horrible names. Why haven't you been here? She asked me. When I told her she had barred me from the room, she said she hadn't, that she wouldn't do that. It must be that I don't want to see the murderess. I thought she was getting better. I hoped she was getting better.

xxLilyxx

I have a new therapist now. I've been stuck in this place for six weeks they tell me, but I can't remember most of it. Everything is very unclear, blurred even. I remember these last few days better, and I actually spoke to the therapist today. I told her how empty I feel, and how guilty I feel. She talked me through it, and I admit to feeling a little better now. Not much, but a little. Maybe, given time, I can learn to live again, and be happy.

Twelve weeks since the miscarriage, and I find myself able to talk to people. James came to visit me today. It was all very tearful, but he told me he loved me, and I returned the sentiment, knowing that I mean it. There's talk of releasing me soon, and I'm nervous at the thought. What if I can't handle the pressure of being home again, back in the place where it all fell apart at the seams? I feel stronger, but what if it's just an illusion, what if when I get home and everything falls back into tiny little pieces, pieces that can't be fixed next time?

They let me home. Fourteen weeks since the last time I was here, I floo'ed into my living room. James followed on, then followed me as I walked around the house. I could see he was on tenterhooks, almost waiting for me to break. I returned to the living room and sat in my normal seat. He sits next to me and holds out his hand. I hesitate, then take it, offering him a small smile. The smile I receive in return almost breaks my heart. It's full of hope, and full of love as he pulls me into his arms. I hold onto him, as tight as I can, and the tears pour from my eyes.

I can feel it everyday, the healing has begun. I will never truly get over the loss of my baby, but I will, in time be able to move on. I will be able to look forward, and I will be able to smile and be happy. I will never forget, nor would I wish to forget, my baby, but I will get past this sadness. I will do it with my husband by my side, the hope in his smiles will be my strength.

I used to think he had no idea how I felt. Now I understand he lost a baby too. He almost lost his wife in the process. I will spend the rest of my life, remembering, and understanding, that there is nothing more important than the love we feel for each other, and for the children we will have, and that he is as much a parent as I am. The father is often forgotten at such a time, and that was my wrong to commit. I will never do so again. Together, we are stronger than we could ever be apart. I know that now.