A/N: This story is one of a group of loosely related drabbles I'm referring to as the "Daddy's Little Girl" series. I currently have three of them written, but there's one or two more that I'm hoping to get up some time before the end of summer (feel free to pester me if I don't follow through with that). If you like "Pink," keep an eye out for "Scar" and "Thunder." As usual, I don't own any of the characters.
Pink
As he looked down at the little bundle of pink in his arms, he knew he was a goner.
Bill was shocked that so much pink could come in such a tiny little package, actually. Her face, her blanket, even her hair (which had come out as an odd combination of Weasley red and Veela-blond) was tinted pink. And Bill found that he had never loved the color more.
Fleur, after holding their little girl long enough to coo at her and show her off to the family, had started to drift off into well-deserved sleep. She and Bill had gotten up at two in the morning when the contractions started, and now it was nearly noon. However, Bill suddenly found that he wasn't at all tired.
While Fleur rested, he continued to look in awe at the baby in his arms. She had ten little fingers and ten little toes; he'd counted. Her cheeks were rosy and round, and her eyes, which were closed now, he knew to be a bright blue. His mother said that most babies were born with blue eyes, and they could very well change, but Bill felt sure that his little girl would have beautiful blue eyes like her mother.
He moved the tiny wisp of pink-ish hair off her forehead tenderly. Never before in his life could he remember feeling so consumed with such love and affection, and for someone he hardly knew. After all, he'd met this little girl barely an hour before, but already he knew he would do anything for her, even lay down his life if he had to. Bill would protect his little girl from anything and everything if he could. Arthur had tried to warn him, but the full impact of his father's words hadn't hit him until that moment when he first held her. He understood now, though: he was hers completely.
Victoire squirmed a bit, waving her chubby arms at her father, who readjusted his hold on her gently. She had been named the French word for "victory," which he felt was a fitting tribute to the day: May second, exactly two years after the defeat of Voldemort. And even though she hadn't existed back then, Bill knew with startling certainty that this little bundle of pink had been exactly what he'd been fighting for.
He really did love the color pink.