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Fathers I

She was his little girl. No matter what anyone else said, what anyone else claimed, she was his little girl. She was his Ginny, his precious, sweet little rose. His baby. He loved his sons, too. No man could ever say that Arthur Weasley didn't love his six sons, each with his hair and his eyes and his freckled, gawky face. But when he saw her for the first time, he realized that his little girl wans't him. She was her mother, and he'd never seen anyone more beautiful.

He still remembers the day she was born, the night when he, for a moment, thought he would lose both her and Molly. That terrible, wonderful night. Wizard births were never easy and the innate magical ability of the baby often caused complications that put both the mother and child at risk. But after six sons, he thought that she would be alright, that the birth would be easy, like it was for Ron, that it would be over quickly and that they could come home, he could come home to his boys to tell them the name of their new sister.

He remembers Molly's words, her desperate pleas to the healer, not to get rid of the pain but to give her her wand. "I'll feel better," she had said. "I'll feel better if you just let me curse something. I promise."

He remembers their kind replies, saying, "No, Mrs. Weasley, we can't do that. I'm sorry."

But he also remembers the faces of the healers, their worried expression as they poured over his wife, her labored form, telling him to expect the worst. And at that moment, he knew he would sacrifice his unborn daughter for her. At that moment, though he knew Molly would never forgive him, though he knew she would grieve for the baby, he thought that he would do anything to save her life, to protect her, even if it meant letting his unborn seventh child die.

When he saw Molly smile at him, weakly, a look in her eyes that he'd never seen before, he thought of the night his daughter was conceived and how beautiful she had looked, how magnificent, like a firebird, and he knew he would give anything for a night like that, even his daughter's life.

And then, before he knew it, she was born, and he'd never seen anyone more beautiful than her small, screaming form. If his sons were him in their eyes and features and hair, she was Molly. She looked exactly like her mother, her eyes a deep brown, beautiful, like the earth.

He remembers Molly's tired smile as she leaned back against the pillows of the bed, several hours after she was born, her eyes glittering as he held his baby daughter. She had only said one word to him as he stared down at her, his baby's name. "Ginevra." And he knew he wouldn't trade her life for anything, even Molly.

He was distraught when the time came for her to go to Hogwarts. He was lost without his little baby girl, and he saw the same sense of loss in Molly's eyes. He threatened to go to Hogwarts himself to see her when he received Percy's letters that she wasn't herself.

And when she was taken into the chamber…….it was the worst hours of his life, knowing that he could lose her, lose his innocent baby, his daughter, his last baby. But she was alive, and when she ran to him at the end of the year, he had never been happier to see her tiny form.

And every year, without fail, he was the first person she ran to when she got off the train from Hogwarts. Every year, he was the first person she hugged and clung to as she came home and the last person she said goodbye to when she left again.

But then………at the beginning of her seventh year, she said goodbye to him as she said goodbye to every other family member. It was Harry she clung too, waved goodbye to, even as the train curved around the bend and he knew he'd lost his baby.

When she came home that year, it was Harry she ran to first. It was the boy he loved as his own son whom she held the closest, kissing him with a fire and passion, the man she looked to for comfort and love. And he knew he wasn't the main man in his daughter's life.

When he gave her away at her wedding, when he saw her, looking exactly like her mother, blazing in white and silver, taking Harry's arm, vowing to be Mrs. Ginevra Potter for the rest of her days, when he kissed her, he knew he'd lost his little girl forever.

And he knew, then, that he could finally let her go.

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