A/N: For Fire the Canon. We are so grateful to you for creating QLFC and for all the effort you put into the running of this wonderful forum.
"Nothing complicated," Hermione mused aloud as she skimmed through the baby name book that Luna had given them for Christmas. Luna being Luna, it was filled with unusual suggestions that were rich in meaning but not in practicality. Hermione had been looking forward to brainstorming ideas with Ron, but it was proving to be more stressful than she had thought. The first twinges of a headache were building up in her brain, threatening to spill over and take her down with it. "I love my name — "
"I love your name." Looking up from the list he was compiling, Ron shot her a fond smile.
" — but having to teach everyone how to spell it is a pain that I would rather not inflict on anyone else," she finished.
Ron frowned and leant forward to peer down at the book in her hands. "They can't be that bad," he reasoned, even though they'd already spent fifteen minutes arguing over the usefulness of a book that was dedicated to something that was — to him — as innate as a name. But the moment he saw the word her finger was hovering next to, his eyebrows shot up towards his hairline. "Eliabalazor? Is that even real?"
She sighed. "Apparently."
"You're going about this the wrong way. You're trying to go through every name in the world to make sure she doesn't miss out, but she won't — as long as we love the name, she won't."
"Alright." Hermione set the book aside. "Let's try it your way. What have you got so far?"
"Beatrice. Poppy. Marguerite. Winifred."
Her head collided with the back of the lounge with a soft thud.
"What?" he asked, looking genuinely perplexed.
She shook her head in exasperation. "They're all so old-fashioned."
"But we like old-fashioned," he protested.
("It's going to be a surprise," they told everyone who asked them whether they had decided on a baby name yet. "You'll have to wait and see."
"We'll know when she's born," they told one another whenever a well-meaning colleague or friend had asked them the question that was quickly becoming the bane of their existence. "We'll see her and we'll just know.")
-x-
Ron had never realised how exhausting something as simple as choosing a name could be. There were so many of them out there, after all; how hard could stumbling across a decent one be?
Now that they were actually experiencing the process firsthand, he was discovering just how overwhelming it could be. He liked pretty names; Hermione liked simple ones. She liked the idea of naming children after their ancestors or favourite characters; he liked the idea of the child's name being hers and hers alone. Even when they found names that technically filled most of those requirements, there was always something wrong with them. They were either too long for a toddler to learn to write or too outdated for the Muggle world or too trendy for the wizarding one. Nothing seemed to fit.
Hanging over them was the added pressure of it being the first major, lasting decision they were making on the baby's behalf; whatever they decided would follow her around for the rest of her life. It was their responsibility to make sure it was a blessing rather than a curse.
He was beginning to think they would just have to put all the alright ones into a hat, draw two out, and make them her first and middle names respectively — or ask his mother. She had plenty of experience with naming children.
Then again, given Ginny's full name, he wasn't sure his daughter would ever forgive them if they did.
("I would like two or three," he had told her when they first started dating. "I couldn't imagine a life without siblings, but… but I really don't want as many as Mum and Dad had."
She had agreed. She would have liked a sibling, but she didn't want the kind of chaos that wrapped around the Weasleys like a second skin.)
-x-
As soon as they held her, gazing down at her blotchy face, months of debates and perspective-taking ("If you were a bully —") faded away into one simple word: Rose. Rose Weasley; no middle name. When they looked back on it years later, neither of them could quite remember who had suggested it. It had felt almost intrinsic — like lightning in a bottle, everything coming together in one perfect moment of clarity. And once they'd thought of it, they could never imagine naming her anything else.
Ron's hand settled on Hermione's shoulder as she cradled their daughter in her arms, content smiles lingering on both of their faces. The soft beeping of the wards the Healers had cast to monitor Hermione and Rose was like a lullaby, soothing his remaining anxieties and reminding him that, for once, all was well. Never again would he cast a Patronus and worry that it might not come; not with this memory to cling to for hope. His heart was filled with so much joy that it felt like it would overflow, yet when Rose's eyes scrunched up in her sleep, he was hit with yet another wave of happiness.
"I love you," he said under his breath, careful not to wake the sleeping baby. "Both of you. So much."
Hermione kissed his hand. "I love you, too," she whispered back.
To everyone else, they were extraordinary: the war hero couple who had fought by one another's side, surmounting all odds to be together.
To them, they were just two ordinary people who'd had the good fortune to not only survive the war but to have a second chance at living.
("Are you sure, Hermione?" her father had asked when she'd told him she was engaged. "He's nice enough, but he isn't particularly clever, is he?"
"There are different types of cleverness," she'd replied, fighting to keep her tone steady; it wasn't her parents' fault that they hadn't been around during those crucial few years. "And, yes, Dad, I am sure — I love him."
There had been a time when Hermione would have agreed with her father. Back then, studiousness had seemed like the epitome of all things good and right in the world. But times had changed and the couple had changed with them, the furnace of life smelting them down from ore to shining bars of gold.
They weren't finished yet, but they were on their way.
She had never been more sure of anything in her life.)