Disclaimer: Of course I don't own it… sadly.

Author's Note: This is the beginning of a collection of drabbles/one-shots about the new generation and relationships between it and the generation of the novels. There will be a variety of styles, pairings, and times… I hope you enjoy! If you do, or don't, please let me know why in a review! Don't ever underestimate the power of a couple of words…

Percy Weasley had no doubt when he chose to name his first child—a daughter—Molly. He briefly consulted his wife, Audrey, about the decision, but she could tell from the way his jaw was set that he had already quite made up his mind about the matter. There was no arguing with Percy once his mind was made up… even if he was cordial enough to act as though you had a say in it.

You see, the young wizard never quite stopped feeling guilty for abandoning and disowning his family a few years back when Voldemort rose again. They had forgiven him in very little time [far less time than he had deserved to be forced to squirm]—and although he had his private trepidations, Percy knew that once the Weasley family—and Hermione and Harry for that matter—expressed an emotion, they genuinely meant it.

His mother was the one of the first to wordlessly welcome him with open arms and tear tracks on her dusty face, right after the final battle.

His father was a little bit slower to embrace him, but he soon did. "There is too much pain present here in this family caused by the loss of one dear one," he murmured to his long estranged son. "How can we possibly allow more pain to enter in when we're getting another dear one back again?"

Percy knew he didn't deserve the ready forgiveness his family—and parents especially—so willingly gave him. That's what made the decision of his child's name so easy.

The wizard knew that there was nothing his mother wanted more than grandchildren. Any grandchild at all would be thanks enough, perhaps—but when Percy saw his baby's tiny wisps of red curls and the barest spattering of freckles across her cheeks, he was instantly swept up in gratitude for the mother that was so wonderful to him. And that's when he knew.

"Audrey, dear," he said, not even looking at his wife, instead entranced by his daughter's beautiful pale brown eyes, "her name is Molly, if it's quite alright by you."

And what could Audrey do but smile with pride and accept? "Molly it is, my dear."