What's In A Name?
‘Hi, James,’ I say as soon as he steps over the threshold.

‘Hey, Lily,’ he grins, kissing me on the cheek. ‘Good day?’

‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Great.’ I pause, then: ‘I think you need to sit down.’

He raises his eyebrows, shrugs, and sits down at the dining table.

‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ I ask.

‘Nah,’ he says. ‘I’m good. So, why am I sitting down, exactly?’

I sit down beside him. ‘I need to tell you something.’

‘What’s wrong, Lily, breaking it off after only a month of marriage?’ he jokes. He looks alarmed at my lack of response. ‘You’re not actually doing that, are you?’

‘No,’ I take a deep breath. ‘No. I – I’m pregnant, James.’

‘You’re joking.’ I shake my head.

And then, before I can say anything else, his arms have been thrown around me and he’s kissing me. ‘Parents,’ he says finally. ‘I’m gonna be a dad. You’re gonna be a mum.’ And then he’s back at my lips.

A mum – me? I haven’t even thought about that until he says it aloud, but being a mum makes me sound old. I’m nineteen, and I’ll be a mum by the time I’m twenty.

But there are more pressing matters at hand

‘We’re in the middle of a war, James,’ I say. ‘Our child will grow up in the middle of a war.’

‘Lily,’ he says disbelievingly, ‘you’re not going to ... I won’t let you ... our baby, Lily!’

Abortion.

My baby.

What am I thinking?

‘Names,’ I suddenly choke out. ‘Names. I’m awful at names. What do we call our baby, James?’

Once again, he’s pushing his lips onto mine, apparently relieved I didn’t mention the other option. ‘Nine months,’ he murmurs in my ear. ‘Nine months to think of names.’

*

‘We have a month, James!’ I cry. ‘We need to think of names!’

‘I like Sirius,’ Padfoot suggests. ‘Sirius James Potter.’

I do not have the heart to tell him that there’s no chance in hell my baby will be called Sirius, but he reads my expression anyway. ‘Joking, Lily.’

‘You could save us a lot of trouble and get the gender checked,’ says Remus, rolling his eyes.

‘That,’ says James seriously, ‘would spoil the surprise.’

I don’t know whether I want to know or not, honestly. I’m seeing a girl in my head, although her face isn’t in detail. ‘I want a nice name,’ I say. ‘Not weird or unusual.’

‘Like, Paul; Paul Pott—?’

‘No alliteration!’ I say. ‘Anyway, what if it’s a girl?’

‘How about Rose or something?’ James suggests.

‘No flower names,’ I plead. ‘One in the family is enough, thanks.’

‘Laura?’ Moony offers.

‘Don’t like that,’ James says firmly.

‘Know what I think?’ Padfoot says. ‘You’re both too bloody opinionated.’

*

‘Hey, Alice,’ I say once the Order meeting has finished. ‘When’re you due?’

‘The twenty-eighth,’ she says. ‘Seventeen days. You?’

‘Second of August,’ I say. ‘Alice, neither of us can choose a name. There’s nothing we both like.’

She smiles kindly and pats her stomach. ‘You don’t have it worse than me. Augusta wants it named something really old fashioned. Victoria or something.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘Haven’t told Augusta, but I’m putting Sophie on the birth record whether she likes it or not.’

Sophie Longbottom. I like that. ‘And for a boy?’ I press.

‘Neville,’ she says firmly. I like that too. Neville Longbottom – that was a good name.

‘I’m beyond stumped,’ I admit.

Padfoot invites himself into our conversation. ‘Baby names, you mean? Yeah, they won’t shut up about them.’

‘When we’ve got idiots like you around, suggesting “toothbrush�,’ I mutter.

‘“Toothpaste�,’ he corrects.

‘Hey, Lily,’ James says. ‘What about Claire?’

‘No names that begin with two consonants,’ I say. Padfoot groans and puts his head in his hands. ‘How about Edward?’

‘Don’t like W’s,’ James says. Alice laughs.

‘You’re not a choosy couple, are you?’ she says sarcastically.

‘Sean?’ James offers.

‘Too ... Irish. How about Daniel?’

James makes a face. ‘Oliver?’

‘There’s something wrong with Oliver Potter,’ I say.

‘This – is – ridiculous!’ James exclaims. ‘Let’s just call it Elvendork! It’s unisex – two for the price of one!’

It must be an inside joke – Padfoot is doubled over in laughter. ‘I’ll think about it.’ I smile. ‘Anyway, we can’t do worse than my sister.’

‘Oh yeah?’ he asks sceptically. “What did she call her son?�

‘Dudley Dursley,’ I say, straight-faced.

*

There are eight days to go. James and I Apparate to the meeting, still nameless. We’re at a point where we simply think of random names.

‘Ben?’

‘Nah. How about Jemima?’

‘No way. Samuel – Sam Potter?’

‘Nope. Francesca’s all right, isn’t it?’

We’re a few minutes late because James spends a few minutes telling me why Francesca is not all right.

‘Moody’s on the edge,’ Padfoot warns us. ‘He almost had a Death Eater, but he got away. Don’t push him.’

‘Gotcha,’ says James. I look around for Alice, but she’s not there. Nor is Frank.

‘Hey, Marlene,’ I ask. ‘Where’re the Longbottoms?’

‘Alice had her baby last night!’ she says excitedly.

James looks up. ‘Girl or boy?’

‘Boy,’ she says, eyes sparkling. ‘They’ve named him –’

‘Neville Longbottom,’ I say aloud. It was a good choice.

‘Who’re we waiting on?’ Moody calls. ‘Are the Potters here?’

‘Present!’ James replies.

‘That leaves Fenwick,’ I hear Moody mutter. ‘Where is that git? Thought he was supposed to be an organised bloke.’

Five minutes later, Benjy arrives. He opens his mouth to give some excuse, but Mad-Eye doesn’t want to hear it.

‘Everyone sit down – NOW!’

We do as instructed hastily.

‘Right, now that we’re all here, and seated, I’d just like to say –’

And then – it happens. ‘My water just broke,’ I say suddenly.

‘Oh, for the love of God,’ says Moody, putting his head in his hands.

‘Right,’ says James, springing into action. ‘See you next week, Mad-Eye!’

‘I’m coming, too,’ says Padfoot. ‘I am, after all, the godfather!’

‘What do you mean you’re the –’ Moody begins, but we Apparate before he can finish.

*

‘I’m pushing – as hard as I – bloody well – CAN!’

And then it stops. I breathe an audible sigh of intense relief.

‘It’s a boy,’ the Healer says, wrapping it in a blanket, and passing him to James.

No, not it. Him. My baby. My baby boy. I lean back into the pillows, panting.

I watch James stare at the child wrapped in blankets, and tears drip from his eyes.

‘Who does he look like, then?’ I croak.

James holds him out for me. I prop myself up on one elbow, and take my baby tenderly in my arms.

My eyes are copied exactly in my baby’s face. They’re bright, curious and eager.

But the rest of him is all James. Right down to that tiny tuft of black hair. That tiny tuft of messy, ruffled black hair.

Padfoot makes his entrance known. ‘That hair will break hearts, Lily, he says loudly. ‘Don’t try to deny it.’

My cheeks are wet; I only become conscious of it now. I look up at James. ‘Our baby,’ I say. ‘Our darling little baby boy.’

‘Name,’ James says suddenly. ‘Name.’

My moment of bliss is shattered by panic. ‘Charlie?’

‘No way. Darcy?’

Wormtail and Moony burst through the door.

‘Have you – have you –?’ Moony asks, quite breathless. They’ve obviously been running through the wards.

‘It’s a boy,’ James says.

I pass the baby – our baby – to Wormtail. ‘Wow,’ Remus breathes, looking over Wormtail’s shoulder. ‘He already looks like Prongs. But,’ he says, looking at me, ‘he’s got your eyes, Lily.’

‘Your eyes,’ James repeats. ‘I love your eyes, Lily.’

Padfoot pretends to vomit.

‘What’s his name?’ asks Wormtail.

‘Ah,’ says James. ‘Well ...’

I’m panicking. There’s no name on earth that could fit our perfect little boy.

‘Well,’ says Padfoot, tilting his head as if to see my baby from a better angle. ‘I mean, you could always name him after somebody. He sort of looks like that kid that used to be on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. Henry, wasn’t it?’

‘I’m not naming my kid after some git I’ve only met twice,’ says James, looking almost offended.

‘No swearing in front of the baby,’ I murmur.

‘But,’ James continues, ‘I reckon he looks kind of Harvey-y. Or maybe Harold-y.’

‘I’ve got it!’ Padfoot exclaims. ‘He’s Harry!’

James and I look at each other, and we know that it’s right.

‘Harry James Potter,’ I say. ‘The most perfect baby in the world, and owner of hair that will break hearts.’