J. S. Potter
His name is my name and when I think about it, I always feel as if I'm being watched. I guess sometimes when you love somebody who has gone away; you do funny things like name your children after them. But what of me? Am I to live up to this name? Can I live up to the name I have been given? I didn't choose this name, I had no say, but it is mine and it was his.
Sometimes when I look at Dad, I see the hope in his eyes and I feel the confusion. I see the hurt, the pain, the far off glare that he thinks I don't notice. I do notice these things though, and they hurt. They hurt me. They hurt him. I'm not sure why he did it to himself, why he should be reminded of them when he looks at me. It pains me to think I cause him discomfort, but what can I do? He named me.
Looking in the mirror, I see him and his father staring back at me. The only difference is the eyes and I hear it constantly. I have my mother's eyes, but that is all I'll ever have. No, I do have her love, her comfort, her companionship, but I am stuck with the name I have been given and can I live up to it?
Who could ever live up to such a name? A name of battles fought both inside and out of the body. A name that holds sacrifice with every syllable, every letter. Why should I be forced to bare it, wear it, and not be able to take it off? Why am I the one who must cry over the past.
When they look at me, mother, father, the Weasley's, Hugo, Rose, Albus and Lily, when all of them look at me, I feel their eyes challenging me to make a mistake and mark the name of my father's father. They expect great things of me, but can I live up to the name? Will I prevail, will I fight for another day, will I show them all? Am I worthy enough, good enough?
Can I be called, James Sirius Potter?