For the Quidditch League, Tutshill Tornados, Round 8, write about the following headcanon: [Beater 2, BellaAlexis92 (Alexis), Kestrels]-When James Sirius Potter is born, his parents (Ginny and Harry) find a familiar looking package and open it to see a well-knit wool sweater with the singular letter "J."

Word Count: 1153 by Google Docs

rejected names include:

jelly potter

jacket potter

joking 'lol' potter

jukebox potter

jogging potter

He looked like him. Harry blinked.

He looked like him, except he didn't have the emerald green eyes that people always commented on. He didn't know what they reminded him of, but it made Harry's eyes, the famous ones that looked so much like his mother's eyes, tear up. It didn't even make any sense. Why was Harry tearing up over a child's eyes that didn't look that much like his or Ginny's? The eyes were way different. It was really just the little patch of black hair that made him look like Harry, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to tell that the baby was his own.

Stop crying, Goddammit, he doesn't even look like you! he shouted at himself.

"Harry, do you want me to take him?" Harry didn't even know who was talking, but he handed the baby off to the person who was gently touching his shoulder. He was shaking so badly, he was probably going to drop his first child, which would be a great way to enter parenthood.

The eyes were hazel. Not emerald. Not Ginny's bright brown. Hazel.

Someone wrapped their arms around Harry and as he took in their scent, he started to calm down. He didn't know if it was the feel of the familiar, warm hug, or the smell of his childhood spent at the Burrow, but Harry felt instantly warm at the touch.

"I'm sorry, Mrs Weasley," he said, pulling away and sniffing. "I don't know what came over me."

He was still shaking, but the tears were no longer coming out of his eyes. He wiped his glasses off, and for a moment, the world went out of focus. Then suddenly, Harry saw something in his own mind, bright as day.

"This'll liven you up, Padfoot. Look who it is."

Harry knew that voice, and Harry knew where he was standing. He was near the Black Lake, right after his father's Defense against the Dark Arts O. W. L.

"Excellent. Snivellus."

And there was his father, along with Sirius, Remus, and Peter, lounging near the old oak tree.

No, not this memory. Not now. Harry hated this memory. He was supposed to be happy, but he hated the thought of his father and Sirius being such bullies. And Remus, just watching. He cringed as he watched the scene, unable to make his brain stop.

Why was his even thinking of this now?

Harry turned to face his father as he got up to tease Severus, and was met with a shock when he noticed his eyes. Hazel.

Everything seemed to hit Harry at once, and suddenly he was back at St Mungo's, sitting on the floor next to Ginny's bed.

"I expect you're tired of hearing this all the time Harry...But you look so like your father...Except for your eyes...You have—" "My mother's eyes."

Five years of biology and his own, private reading had taught Harry enough about genetics to know that he had a hazel-eyed recessive gene from his father, and there was a chance it would either get passed onto his children or become dominant in them.

It became dominant.

A hand appeared in front of Harry's face. It was Mrs. Weasley, offering to help him up. He took it and looked into her eyes. They were a warm brown, the same shade as Ginny's.

He knew it seemed silly, but he felt so much like a Weasley that he almost forgot his own father's eye color. He didn't spend much time looking into them, but he always saw Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's eyes. It even seemed silly to him that Ginny had changed her last name to Potter—shouldn't he have changed his last name to Weasley, as he was the one who spent most of his life at the Burrow? He never really knew what it meant to be a Potter, but had known, since he was twelve, what it was like to be a Weasley.

As she helped him up, Mrs. Weasley pulled him into another hug.

"For the last time, call me Molly or Mum. And it's okay, Harry, dear," she said, letting him lean into her chest. "Do you know how much I cried when Bill was born? Or Charlie? Or any of them? It's normal for you to feel emotional."

Harry laughed, muffled by her chest. "Yeah, but you were the one giving birth," he said, pulling away from her. "You were the one in physical pain."

"That's not the only reason I cried, dear." When Harry continued to look skeptical and unsure, she added, "Arthur also cried over them. I think he still does."

Harry cracked a smile at her. He did feel happy, as he should, but it was also mixed with an inexplicable sadness—how could he miss someone he didn't really know?

"Thanks Mrs. Wea—Mum."

Mrs. Weasley beamed at being called 'Mum'. "I'm going to go get some tea, for when she wakes up," she said, nodding towards Ginny, who was, understandably, sleeping. "Oh!" She paused with one foot out the door. "I almost forgot." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small white package. "I know it's a bit early, but I assumed...Of course, if it was a girl...but I had a feeling."

Harry took it from her, confused, and she gave him one last smile before leaving the room. Harry was left alone in silence, clutching the package.

"Harry?" came a weak whisper from behind him. Harry turned around to see Ginny lifting her head up, half-awake.

"Gin," he whispered, going and crouching down beside her.

"Where is he, Harry?"

"I think Hermione and Ron have him. At least, I think it was Hermione's voice who offered to take him."

Ginny nodded. "Is he cute?"

"Very," Harry said with a wide, genuine grin. "And your mum gave us this for him." Harry held up the package higher, so Ginny could see it.

"Well, open it," she demanded. Even after giving birth to a human being, she was still the feisty ginger Harry fell in love with.

Harry tore off the white packaging, to reveal a small, green, baby-sized sweater, hand-knitted, Molly Weasley style. Sewed onto the front was a little, gold 'J'.

'J.'

"Harry?" Ginny asked, looking at him, unsure. Harry had gone silent, looking at the sweater intently. They both knew what the 'J' stood for, and, as Harry looked into Ginny's eyes, they both nodded as they came to an agreement on his name.

Harry clutched the sweater tightly in his hand, and sat down on the floor next to the hospital bed, ignoring the chair as he leaned his head onto Ginny's pillow, as close as he possibly could. New tears were forming in his eyes, but instead of being solely sad ones, they were mixed with tears of joy.

"He really does look look like him," Harry whispered.