What's Really in a Name?
It started near the end of June. The Order of the Phoenix convened for their weekly meeting with the expectation that it would be just like every other meeting they had had lately. And for a while, it seemed as though they would be right in that prediction.
It was a typical British day with stereotypical British weather. The Weasley's chickens clucked outside the Burrow in their usual fashion as the gnomes did the dirty in the garden with their normal enthusiasm. As the time approached six o'clock, the Order members slowly but surely arrived one by one and began crowding around the table of the Burrow's cramped little kitchen. Finally, the last of the expected members arrived and they were ready to begin.
Albus Dumbledore stroked his silky beard and asked if anyone had anything to report. It was all old news. Kingsley Shacklebolt reported that the Minister had taken minimal action to prepare for Voldemort despite his recent appearance at the Ministry. Bill Weasley reported that the goblins would be remaining neutral for now. Severus Snape reported that the Dark Lord was still plotting the demise of that arrogant Potter brat. Fred and George Weasley reported that Severus Snape was a greasy git. Overall, there was nothing that everyone hadn't known already. As expected, the conversation eventually honed in on Harry Potter.
"Albus, I'm concerned for Harry's wellbeing." Mrs. Weasley voiced maternally. "He really shouldn't be left alone with only those…relatives of his as company after what happened to Sirius. He should be here, so we can support him."
"The boy's fine!" spat Snape, annoyed by all the fussing. Nobody ever complained this much for his sake. "There's no use wasting any more time on him. We should be using this time for more important matters."
"Severus, please, calm yourself," Dumbledore stated sternly. "I'm sure that we can all agree that Harry is incredibly important. That being said," He turned to Mrs. Weasley. "I do believe that some alone time may be just what Harry needs to come to terms with Sirius' death. Not to mention, with Ms. Tonks guarding him, he is completely safe. I assure you, Molly. Harry is going to be perfectly fi—"
"Dumbledore!" shouted Tonks as she ran into the room. "Harry's gone!"
IIIIIIIIIIIII
And so began the search for Harry Potter, an endeavor that bared little fruit for quite some time. The Order's only consolation was that the Death Eaters seemed to have less of an idea where Harry was than they did, which was remarkable, considering the Order knew squat. For over a year they searched, following every lead they could get their hands on to find their chosen one. But when Harry vanished, he vanished well, without any apparent trace or sign of where he had gone. It was a hairy situation for the Order.
That is not to say that the order spent all their efforts searching. In actuality, they had made several significant accomplishments concerning the battle against Voldemort. After he had confirmed that Voldemort had indeed made Horcruxes, Dumbledore enlisted the help of Harry's friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, in order to locate and destroy them. With quite a bit of hard work, and a little help from the Grey Lady, the trio managed to locate and destroy three horcruxes: the ring in the Gaunt shack, the diadem in the Room of Hidden Things, and even the locket in 12 Grimmauld Place, which had been moved from its original position in the cave. None of them were exactly sure why Voldemort had deemed a moldy old shack, a filthy cave, and a room full of broken junk as worthy hiding places for his precious soul fragments, however they were happy to take advantage of the artifacts' easy access.
Their success came at a price though. Near the end of the school year, Dumbledore died, just before succumbing to the curse he received from Voldemort's ring. Instead of allowing the curse to kill him, he made Snape frame himself for the murder. No one was really surprised by Snape's apparent betrayal. He was always kind of a douchebag.
Shortly after the funeral, Hermione and Ron (but mostly Hermione) managed to track down another horcrux. Hufflepuff's cup would be a very difficult target to reach, as it was located within the bowels of Gringotts. They had located this particular horcrux thanks to a particularly sleazy goblin named Growlthroat, who was happy to give them knowledge of the artifact for a fee. Unfortunately, they still lacked a plan to break into the well-guarded bank. If there was ever a time they needed a hero to lead them, it was now. Coincidently, this is also about the time that they finally found Harry.
IIIIIIIIIIIII
It was a normal day in Godric's Hollow and that's just how Harry liked it. A normal everyday life. Simple and relaxing. The children played in the park, the weird old man watched the children play in the park, and the parents warily watched the weird old man watch their children play in the park. A bearded Harry sat in his shop looking over his merchandise fondly. Here in this little village the war seemed so far away. Here he could run his little shop in peace. A loud shattering crash from the back room interrupted his relaxing. The clenching of Harry's jaw was not quite hidden behind his messy beard.
A youthful goblin ran out into Harry's field of vision and began to snivel and blub.
"I'm so sorry, sir! I can't help it! I just seem to lose control of my arms! I'm so sorry! Please, give me another chance!"
Harry stared off into the distance and mentally counted to ten. He had come to expect this sort of thing from the annoying little creature. The only reason he kept him along as an assistant was because his father had helped Harry to open this shop in the first place, and in return he expected Harry to look after his son.
He's far more trouble than he's worth, Harry thought bitterly, but he sent the goblin back to work anyway with as much patience as he could muster. He checked his watch and saw that it was nearing closing time, so he got up to get ready. Just then he heard the familiar tinkling of the bell he had attached to his door. He turned around to see who it was…and promptly turned around again to face the opposite direction.
"Harry?" a feminine voice called to him. "Is that really you?"
Harry paused for a moment before sighing and turning to face his visitors once again. He was greeted by the sight of his two former best friends, Ron and Hermione, as well as Remus Lupin. "How…how did you find me?" he questioned.
They seemed startled by the sudden question. Hermione was the first to answer.
"It was actually Mundungus who tracked you down, believe it or not. Apparently, he does some sort of…business with some weird old man who lives here. He was able to point us in your direction." Harry suspected he knew of the weird old man she mentioned and certainly did not wish to hear more of the sort of business they had going on.
"Why did you leave, Harry?" Hermione softly questioned and upon hearing her, Harry felt a pressing guilt in his chest that he thought he had gotten rid of long ago. He quickly squashed the feeling. He looked over and noticed an ant had crawled onto the checkout counter. He squashed that too.
"I had to, Hermione. You see, I came to a realization about how the Wizarding World works and about my real place in it." Harry steadied himself. He knew this day would come, when they would find him and he'd have to tell them the truth.
"Blimey, Harry!" interrupted Ron upset. "We're your friends! Your place is with us!"
"You certainly shouldn't have just run off like that, Harry," admonished Lupin. "We could have talked it over, worked something out."
Harry fidgeted at their comments. "Just…let me explain. I promise that you'll understand why I had to go if you'll just listen."
Lupin and Hermione acquiesced slowly. Ron seemed reluctant to remain silent, but after a pointy nudge from Hermione's elbow, he allowed Harry to tell his story.
"After I got back to the Dursleys after fifth year, I spent a lot of time just sitting in my room thinking about what happened in at the Ministry, as well as what Dumbledore told me about the prophecy. But I just couldn't get it out of my head, this whole idea about my destiny and having to fight Voldemort. I went so far as to read my history of magic textbooks to get my mind off of it. And as I was reading about the goblin rebellions, I began to notice some weird coincidences concerning a lot of the names. For example, the goblin named Bonegrind the Brutal later went on to become famous for smashing the skulls of his foes. Skinpeeler the Sinful became well known for wearing his defeated enemies faces into battle. And we all recall how Buttpicker the Devourer was known for—"
"So what, Harry?" Ron interrupted once again. "Who cares what the goblins are called? They probably just changed their names to sound tough, right?"
"They didn't change their names, Ron. I checked. They were born with names that foretold their futures. And as for how this relates to us; it's because the same thing happens with wizards."
"Wait a minute, Harry," began Hermione. "Sure, what you said is true for some goblins, but what about goblins with names like Urg and Grintlog. Their names don't seem to relate to anything they did."
"I thought about that for a while too," Harry replied. "I suspect that some of the names' significances are more subtle than others. Then again maybe some names are just gobbledygook. Anyway, I was talking about how this applies to wizards also. I'm really surprised that no one noticed this before, because some of the names are really obvious. Like your name Lupin."
Lupin started.
"My name is like that?"
"Definitely. Your first name, Remus, comes from the Roman myth about the founders of Rome, Romulus and Remus, who were raised by wolves. Your last name, Lupin, seems to refer to canis lupus, which is the scientific name of the wolf. It's almost as if your parents expected you to become a werewolf. But the same can be said of Fenrir Greyback, since Fenrir is a giant wolf in Norse mythology."
Lupin blanched. Then suddenly his widened eyes narrowed.
"Excuse me," he said to the store's occupants. "I have to pee." At which point he promptly apparated next to two gravestones inscribed with the names Lyall and Hope Lupin respectfully and did so.
Once Lupin had returned, Harry continued his explanation.
"You can see meaning in tons of names in the wizarding world," reiterated Harry. "The name Malfoy means 'bad faith' unsurprisingly, Sirius is the name of the dog star, which conveniently matches his animagus form, Voldemort translates to 'flight from death' and Weasley sounds like weasel, which matches the family hair color and…undignified reputation, no offense, Ron."
Normally such a remark would have evoked an incredibly violent reaction out of our resident ginger, however, just this once; it seemed that he was too surprised to respond.
"But what about my name, Harry?" Hermione questioned. "Hermione isn't a very common name, for sure, but I hardly see how it reveals anything about who I am."
"Yeah, I had trouble with that one too. It seems to me that this whole naming…thing is more of a magical business than a muggle one. It certainly explains why so many wizards have such weird names. Since you were named by muggles, your name might not influence you as much. Then again, in the muggle book Fahrenheit 451, there is a person named Granger who would memorize books, so perhaps there is some influence after all.
"As for me, my name is incredibly clear. Harry Potter. That is why I had to go, Hermione. My destiny has never seemed so clear to me until that moment. In order to be satisfied with my life, I would have to become a hairy potter." Harry finished his speech with a reassuring smile to show them that he knew what he was doing.
Hermione, Ron, and Lupin didn't know what to say.
"Harry, that's…" started Hermione. "that's completely ridiculous."
Harry's smile drooped.
She continued. "It's just that," she looked to Ron and Lupin for support. "what actual reason would you have to do that? It's absurd. Honestly Harry, you could be so much better than a...uh…hairy…potter."
"And what's wrong with being a hairy potter?" Harry questioned coldly.
"Well…nothing…It's just that—"
"Listen. I enjoy being what I am. And I've been happy with my life here. If you're really my friends then you'll respect that." And with that, Harry headed into the back room, leaving his friends to gape after him.
"Bloody hell," whispered Ron in shock. "He's gone completely mental!"
IIIIIIIIIIIII
It was with great regret that Harry's friends left the shop. As much as they wanted to take Harry away, they knew that it would be in his best interest to leave him in his new home where he has been safely hidden for so long. He didn't exactly seem to be in good Voldemort-fighting condition, after all.
Speaking of Voldemort, he was torturing a goblin.
"Yaaaaaaaaaaaarrghhhh!"
"Come now, Growlthroat. You must have expected this when you chose to oppose me. Did you really think that you could reveal my secrets to my enemies and I wouldn't know?"
Lord Voldemort sneered an awful sneer. "Fortunately, however, there is one way you could still serve me."
"Anything my Lord! Anything! I live to serve you!"
"Not quite," the Dark Lord said dryly. "Nagini. Feast!"
"Wait. Wha—aaaaaaaaaaaarrghhhh!"
As Nagini slowly devoured the goblin alive, Voldemort considered the bad news he had just learned.
So, the Order has learned of my horcruxes. But how much could they know? Have they found any? Slytherin's locket? Gaunt's ring? Ravenclaw's diadem? Nagini at least is safe in my care, and they have yet to find a way into Gringotts…but still…I must be sure of its protection. I will have to retrieve it and move it to somewhere unknown to them. But until I find a place, I need somewhere to store it. Something that is worthy of holding a part of Lord Voldemort's power.
"Goblin!" Voldemort called to the head protruding from Nagini's gaping maw. "Where can I find a container of the highest quality? One whose fine craftsmanship makes even the goblins green with envy?"
"Well," replied the head thoughtfully. "There is this one really nice place in Godric's Hollow…"
IIIIIIIIIIIII
Harry stood in his shop, just trying to take in the majesty of his newest creation. He fell short on the first attempt, so he braced himself, and tried once again. Ah! There it is: the majesty! The pot was perfection in pot-form. Hours of molding with the finest clay, of careful chiseling, of careful heating at the exact temperature had turned this piece of earth into the finest piece of pottery ever seen by man or goblin. To Harry, it seemed to give a whole new meaning to life. The goblin was just afraid that he'd break this pot too.
And then Voldemort stopped by the shop.
As he entered the bell on the door gave a merry tinkle. Voldemort stopped a moment to glare at it.
"Uh, can I help you?" Harry asked the Dark Lord nervously. But it seemed that Voldemort didn't recognize him now that Harry had a beard. Honestly, he felt a bit insulted.
Lord Voldemort, with his goblet in his hand and Nagini on his shoulders, strutted into the room and looked down his metaphorical nose at Harry. But not his actual nose because he doesn't have one. When Voldemort was done with pretending he had a nose, he looked passed Harry and beheld the prized pot.
"I want that one," he said immediately, for even Dark Lords can have good taste in pottery.
"I am afraid," Harry responded carefully, "that that pot is not for sale."
"Then why is it out on display in the middle of the shop?" questioned Voldemort.
Harry started to speak but then stopped. That was actually a good point. Why had he put the pot on display if not to sell it?
Ah, yes, Harry recalled. I wanted to share my beautiful creation with the world.
Harry looked over to see Voldemort staring lustfully at his pot.
I've change my mind, Harry decided.
"My assistant must have brought it out by mistake," Harry lied to Voldemort while glaring at his goblin worker to keep him quiet. The goblin squeaked at the attention.
"Take the pot to the back room" he ordered the goblin.
"You will give that pot to me!" demanded the Dark Lord. The goblin backed away from the crazed wizard in fear, but he would dare not hand it over out of loyalty to Harry.
"I'd rather die!" squealed the faithful but highly annoying goblin.
"So be it," allowed Voldemort. "Avada Kedavra!"
The green beam of light sped toward the little goblin, who involuntarily lifted the pot in self-defense.
"Nooo!" Harry cried out after seeing his beloved pot put in such danger. And with a dizzying leap, he placed himself between the curse and the pot and was, quite dramatically, struck down. Quite remarkably, as soon as Harry was struck by the curse, Voldemort himself fell as if he had been hit.
This, of course, left only one creature standing in the room. This little creature, an annoying little goblin whose name happens to be Potflinger, was horrified by the events that had just occurred. And, seeing his boss lying unresponsive on the floor and Voldemort slowly regaining consciousness, he had no idea what he was supposed to do. So he did the first thing that came to mind.
Crash! went the pot as it smashed into the wall. Voldemort looked up just in time to see deadly shards of pot descending angrily upon him. He instinctually raised his wand and cast a repelling charm at the pieces, but discovered to his horror that his magic had no effect on them. The shards continued downward and impaled not only Voldemort, but also Nagini and Hufflepuff's cup, thus destroying the Dark Lord once and for all.
Harry woke up a few minutes later just fine, that is, until he discovered what had become of his lovely pot. He wasn't fine with that. It took a while, but eventually Harry was able to move on past the loss of his pot, and it wasn't until then that Harry fully understood exactly what had transpired that day. When Harry jumped in front of the curse, the bit of Voldemort left in Harry was destroyed, leaving Harry himself in one piece. Yet Harry performed action with the intent of giving his life for his little pot. This in turn created a magic protection based on love, which protected the pot from Voldemort, just as Harry had been protected by his mother's love as a child. This protection made it so that Voldemort could not touch the pot, not even with his magic. So when the shards fell upon him, there was little he could do but watch as he was impaled and burned by the unyielding power of Harry's love.
In the end, Harry was content with his life, even after the loss of his pot. He lived a simple life from thereon out, without too much excitement or adventure. Eventually, he also forgave Potflinger for his actions on that dark day and allowed him to return to work as his assistant. In an effort to become less of a hazard at the shop, Potflinger had even changed his name to Pothead; however that name ended up causing even more problems than it fixed.
Yes, Harry had truly come to terms with his fate. He had fulfilled the destiny given to him by prophecy, and was now happily doing his best to live up to his name. In the end, he had focused his life on the destiny that made him happy. After all, that's always the one worth living, isn't it?
The End.