I don't own anything

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It had been a rough night and even rougher morning but, now it is the late afternoon at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. The sun is shining in from the window. This sun shine is not only bathing the content sleeping mother, but also the elated father gently rocking his nameless baby girl. Friends of the couple are not at all surprised that the husband and wife have bickered over her name. Eight hours after her birth, this infant still doesn't have a name to introduce herself to the world.

The father gently sways back and forth with his child pressed to his chest. His tired mind is skimming through all the suggested names he and his wife fought about for months. His eyes fall upon his resting wife, he has never seen her look more frazzled, tired, yet so happy at the same time. He pulled the baby to rest in his hands. She was tiny; he guessed she would grow to be petite like her mother, aunt and grandmother. His daughter had the exact same chin that he watched his wife proudly hold up with every correct answer. Her nose was the same as his mother's side: small round; not like his long freckled one. The baby, as if knowing its father was regarding her so intently, slowly opened her eyes sleepily. The Father gasped his child, his daughter had the same clear blue pools for eyes that he had. But, in her eyes he saw the brilliant determinative spark her mother's eyes held, but his did not.

Running a finger over the baby fine hairs, he began examining the color his mother was so astonished by. His mother was right! No weasley had ever had red hair like hers. The girl's hairs were fine and straight. The hairs were not copper or brown, but a deep dark red, almost like dusk.

The man glanced at his wife; she turned over facing the window. A rose is gradually falling from the huge bouquet the proud uncles gave to the new mother. This said rose is softly hanging centimeters from his wife's face.

That's when the father discovered his baby girl had rose colored hair. His daughter was a rose; the most eluded, poetic and beautiful flower. His daughter though was the most precious, gorgeous, and brilliant rose ever known to man. No matter her age she would be his perfect rose.

" Do you know you remind me of the most perfect rose god ever made?" he told his baby, "Say, how about I call you Rose from now on?"

"Sounds perfect, Daddy." the mother said surprising the man.

"You really like it Hermione?", he wondered, " It's nothing like the long complicated names you picked out earlier"

"Ron, our little girl is the most valuable rose. Who could ever deny it." She said.

The man implored, "It's simple and we cant change her name when she's eighteen."

"A rose by any other name would smell as sweet." Hermione quoted.

"Huh?" Ron had no idea what book she had been reading now.

"Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare, He's a muggle, Ron" Hermione explained.

Thank you...this was a gift to my dear cait