"So? Have you decided what you'll name her yet?"

Harry looked up from his History of Magic homework to find Hermione and Ginny standing in the infirmary doorway. Ginny was holding a bag of what Harry hoped was chocolate frogs.

Hermione was holding books.

Harry rolled his eyes and set aside his scroll and quill. "Not yet."

Hermione huffed and strode over to the bed, Ginny trailing along behind. "You've had ages to decide Harry. It's not like you've been doing much in the last two weeks."

It had been two weeks since Hermione and Ron had first been allowed in to see Harry. In that time, Harry had ceased to suffer hallucinations (much to his relief – he was seeing Jason in them far too often), become less sensitive to stimuli and regained much of his strength. But not enough just yet that Madam Pomfery was willing to let him out of her tender care. Even if he would be moving directly into a suite just down the hall from her domain.

Hermione pushed aside Harry's scrolls and put down all but one of her books. This last she dumped in Harry's lap. "Well Ginny and I are here to help you now. You've only got three weeks to go before she's due. And what if she came early? Then where would you be? You know how important the Naming Ceremony is! You can't afford to be caught without a name ready. You'd probably blurt out some thing like Brunhilde or Gertrude!"

Hermione paused to take a breath and Harry looked at Ginny, "Gin. Help?"

Ginny smirked and plonked herself down on the end of Harry's bed. She shook her head. "Uh-uh. Nothing doing. She's been worrying over this for days now. Malfoy finally got sick of it interrupting their 'private time' and told her to just talk to you about it. I decided to tag along and watch you suffer – er, I mean visit you."

Hermione glared at Ginny and poked Harry in the ribs, "Harry, pay attention. These" – she gestured at the small library she'd brought with her – "are some books on names. I found the one you're holding to be the best. It has the names cross-referenced by culture and meaning."

Harry bent to look at the name of the book, but it was obscured as Hermione placed a scroll on top of it. "I made a list of names I thought you'd like, too."

Harry picked up the scroll and it un-spooled in his lap. There was at least three feet of names in Hermione's small, precise writing. Harry blinked.

"Hermione, there's got to be at least three hundred names here! I only need two."

She huffed mildly, "Well you've got to start somewhere."

Ginny took pity on him and handed him the bag she had brought. "Here Harry. I thought you might need some chocolate while you tried to decide."

Harry eagerly took the bag and ripped open a chocolate frog. He bit the head off and sighed dramatically before picking up the scroll of names.

"Anthea… not really. Arachne… Ron'd kill me…"

* * * * * *

Ginny and Hermione weren't the only ones to 'help' Harry over the next three days. Ron, Blaise, Draco, Dean, Sirius, Remus… Even Madam Pomfery put in her two cents worth.

* * * * * *

"My sister had some beautiful names picked out for girls when she was pregnant," Madam Pomfery said, putting clean sheets on the bed next to Harry's. "Of course, she didn't end up using them since she had a little boy. But they were such lovely names."

"What were they?" Harry asked, setting aside the book he was flicking through.

The matron paused in her task and looked over at Harry, "Now mind I don't remember them all. Just my favourites."

She sat down on the edge of the bed and began ticking them off on her fingers, "There was Williamina, and Paige and Sabina – I really do like that name. Then there was Latisha. Natasha. Demelza – such an interesting name, that. Abigail and… and… now what was that last one..? Felicity! That was it."

"What does Demelza mean?"

"Nothing really," Madam Pomfery replied. "It's a place, a fortification in southern England I think."

"And Felicity?"

"Great happiness, if I remember correctly."

"What about Abigail?"

"Gives joy. That is perhaps my favourite."

"Hmm, mine too." Harry wrote the name down on the back of Hermione's list. After a moment's thought, he wrote down Demelza too, starting a list of his own.

* * * * * *

"What about Cameron?" Ron suggested.

"Honey, that's a guy's name," Blaise said, patting his arm.

"So?" Ron retorted, "I think it's a good name."

"But it's still a guy's name."

Ron huffed, "What do you suggest then."

"I like Bryony."

* * * * * *

"Olivia?" Dean asked, "It means 'life'. That's a good sentiment isn't it?"

Harry crinkled his nose. "'M not sure I like Oh-livia."

"Livia then. That's a name too," Hermione told him.

Harry cocked his head as he considered. "Livia Potter." He grinned. "I like that." He scribbled it down on his list.

* * * * * *

"What about 'Jaffa'?" Ginny suggested.

Harry, Dean and Hermione looked at each other. They snorted in unison.

"What?" Ginny said indignantly, "It means 'beauty'."

"Yes, but 'Jaffa' is the name of a slave race on a TV show," Hermione explained. "I don't think Harry wants to name his daughter after slaves."

Dean snickered, "Or worse yet, after chocolates."

* * * * * *

"What do you think of Hagar?" Dean asked.

"No," Harry said instantly. "Besides, that's a boy's name."

"This book says otherwise. Apparently it's a girl's name too. It means 'flight'."

"Really?" Harry looked intrigued and Dean passed him the book, pointing out the entry. "Huh. So it does. Still no."

* * * * * *

"Here's another one that means life Harry: Aisha." Hermione piped up.

"Aisha." Harry rolled it around his mouth. "I like that better than Livia." He squeezed it in at the top of his list.

* * * * * *

"Oooo," Draco whistled, "Here's a great one. It means 'spear'."

"Yes?" Harry prodded, "What's the name then?"

"Gertrudis. Doesn't that just have a ri–"

"No."

Draco rolled his eyes and turned a page. "Well what about one meaning 'special friend'?"

"What?"

"Oldwina."

"Ha."

"Is that a no?"

"It's a hell no."

Draco scowled and quietly went back to perusing his book.

"Xalbadora," he said suddenly.

"Uh?" Harry grunted looking up from his list.

"How do you like Xalbadora for a name? It means 'saviour'."

"Draco…" Harry sighed. Sometimes it almost seemed more trouble than it was worth to be friends with such a professional annoyance.

Draco huffed, "Since you don't like my other suggestions, what about Ophelia?"

Harry eyed him warily, "What's it mean?"

Draco smirked, "Serpentine."

Silence.

"You were working up to that, weren't you?"

"It was worth a shot," Draco shrugged.

When Draco was involved in his book again, Harry superstitiously added the name anyway.

* * * * * *

"Oh Harry, here's a perfect name!" Hermione dumped her book in Harry's lap, pointing out an entry.

"It means 'peaceful heroine."

Harry obediently followed her finger. Diplomatically, he bit back his snort. "Halfrida?"

"Don't you think it's brilliant? It would be so symbolic. You're a hero in a time of strife; she's your heir, and hopefully by the time she's our age, everything will be peaceful."

"Um, thanks for the suggestion and all Hermione, but I'm kind of looking for something a little less… esoteric."

* * * * * *

"How's my favourite grand-goddaughter Ignacia doing?" Sirius bent his head over Harry's stomach, caressing the bulge.

"Sirius!" Harry swatted him on the shoulder mock indignantly, "You don't get to name her. You just get to make suggestions."

Remus chuckled as he claimed the chair by Harry's bed. "And at that, he's changed his mind at least three times already. And that was just this morning."

Sirius, deciding not to dignify Remus's comment with a reply, sneered playfully at them both and went back to talking to Harry stomach, calling it 'Ignacia'.

Harry stage whispered to Remus, "What does Ignacia mean?"

"Fire," he replied, "It's a Latin name."

"Spanish," Sirius corrected.

Harry grinned. Remus rolled his eyes, "Either way, it's better than the first name he came up with this morning."

"Hey," Sirius looked up, "What's wrong with Valborga?"

"Valborga?" Harry choked.

Sirius looked miffed, "Yes, it means 'protecting ruler."

Remus reached out a hand and patted Sirius's arm reassuringly. "I did tell you that he likely wouldn't like it, Siri."

"What names do you like, Remus?"

"Amaris," Sirius immediately answered for him.

Remus frowned at him, "I never said I liked that name for Harry's child. I said that if I had a daughter, I would like to call her that."

"Why?" Harry wondered, "What does it mean?"

"It's a Spanish name meaning 'child of the moon'. It was a fit of whimsy." Remus flapped a hand idly, dismissing the notion, but he looked so sad for a moment that Harry wondered if he didn't want a child of his own.

There was a small silence. Sirius broke it – a little over-brightly – saying, "I do have other names I like. Others I think you would like too."

Harry looked askance at him.

"No, really! What do you think of Alaina? 'Dear child' or 'beautiful'."

Harry cocked his head, "I do like that one."

Sirius smiled smugly at Remus. "See? I told you he would like my names."

Remus snorted, "I never said he wouldn't. I just said I didn't think he would like Jenda and Intizara."

"Intizara? Actually, I like the sound of that one. What's the meaning?"

"Triumphant," Sirius smirked… well, triumphantly.

Harry grimaced a little.

"What? You don't like it any more?"

"It's not that…"

Remus looked sidelong at him, "Then what is it?"

"It's just… everyone keeps on suggesting names with meanings that are just so… so very symbolic. Like 'triumphant'. And 'protecting ruler' and 'peaceful heroine'. Or worst yet 'saviour'. I don't want her name to be something that will remind me of… of all this." Harry gestured broadly, referring to what had landed him in the infirmary in the first place.

Sirius and Remus were silent for a moment. Harry superstitiously blinked rapidly, cursing, once more, his unstable hormones.

"Of all the names Sirius read out to me," Remus calmly said, "I like the name Bonita. It means 'pretty little one."

Harry smiled gratefully at Remus for ignoring his small outburst. "Bonita? I like that."

"What was that other one?" Sirius chimed in quietly, "The one that meant 'clever'?"

"Cassidy," Remus said.

* * * * * *

Harry sat in the rocking chair and dapped at his eyes. It was ridiculous really, to burst into tears like that. He was just glad Remus had herded everyone out into the sitting room to give him a moment. He hugged the stuffed toy in his lap closer, and set the chair to rocking.

He hadn't expected to react like this when his friends had first shown him his new rooms. It was just that he'd never had anywhere that he could really call his own before. And, even though these rooms were only temporary, they had been done up with him in mind.

It wasn't the sitting room that had brought him to tears, though it was a gracious, warm and comfortable room, done in the colours of autumn: a leaf-red, over-stuffed couch covered in orange and brown pillows, a worn deep green armchair, a walnut desk and matching chair, rugs in various shades of burnt umber.

And it wasn't the bedroom, in cool, relaxing shades of blue, with it's massive four-poster bed and walls covered with photos of his friends and family.

It was the nursery.

The moment he'd stepped into it, he knew that most of the work had been done in here. One entire wall was windows with a south-east aspect, perfect to catch the morning sun. Calico blinds adorned the windows, ready to be drawn at night. The cold stone walls had been plastered smooth and painted in the welcoming colour of spring's first leaves. A metre shy of the high ceiling, the walls slowly shaded to sunrise's gold. The vaulted ceiling met them in morning's colours, then moved upwards through a summer day's perfect cerulean and, at the highest point, into a midnight starscape.

The wall opposite the windows, the only other without a door in it, was a mural. It was done in the muggle fashion in the sense that its subjects did not move. But it was so very realistic that Harry was sure he would be able to step into the glade it depicted. Huge trees surrounded a forest glade in early summer. Small, white star-shaped flowers Harry didn't know the name of sparsely decorated the lush grass that carpeted the dell, and purple-blossomed vines draped themselves over moss-mantled rocks. A robin redbreast and a jobberknoll calmly shared the feast of red berries that covered one the bushes under the trees. Opposite them, peering out from behind an oak, was a stag that looked suspiciously like Prongs (and Harry had started blinking rapidly when he noticed that detail). In the fork of a fore-ground tree, there was an eagle-owl, and slinking through the underbrush in the background, there was a kneazle stalking an oblivious pixie.

In front of the mural wall was the cradle Remus had carved. Made of pine varnished to a honey-warm colour, it nestled in a matching stand, supported by pivots, one at the head of the cradle, the other at the foot, idle for rocking a fretting child to sleep. The relief carving that decorated the outside of the cradle matched the mural: vines crept languidly across it, and wrens and fairies played hide-and-seek behind the leaves. The headboard, however, played host to the Gryffindor lion. Harry had laughed at that, and then sniffed.

That was about the time Remus had subtly suggested that maybe Harry should have a moment alone to inspect the room. Sirius had lingered after that others had left, not saying anything. He wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders and led him the rocking chair.

"This was my contribution," he said, settling Harry into it, "I'm no good at carpentry, but I could give McGonagall a run for her money when it comes to Transfiguration."

Harry snickered weakly at that. He dropped his head, hiding his tear-bright eyes under the pretense of admiring the red velvet padding on the arms. Sirius allowed him his pretense, just squeezed his shoulder and left to join the others.

There was padding on the seat of the rocking chair too, and at his back, Harry noticed with the intense focus of someone who does not wish to cry. The wood was oak, he thought, and the seat much wider than any rocking chair he'd seen before: almost wide enough for him to sit cross-legged in. The arms curved around to meet the back in a solid piece of wood; there where no slats at all. In fact the whole thing looked far to heavy to rock easily, but Harry supposed magic had to have some use.

Finally, Harry pulled his attention away from the rocking chair, and glanced around the room again, taking in the furnishing he hadn't noticed before. On the wall opposite him, to one side of the door to his bedroom, there was a changing table painted in cheery yellow with matching shelves above it. On the other side of the door, there was a royal blue chest of drawers with red handles, and more shelves. Both sets of shelves were empty, waiting, Harry supposed, for him to actually go out and buy what his daughter needed.

In the same alcove that the rocking chair occupied, there was a door that, presumably, led back into the sitting room. There was also two shelves. Only these two weren't empty. On the top shelf, between two rampant lions acting bookends, there was a collection of perhaps a dozen books. Children's books to judge by the titles.

On the bottom shelf, propped at one end, looking terribly lonely, there was a rather tattered bear. Once upon a time, it had probably been cream, but now it was an undistinguished shade of brown. One brown glass eye was so chipped it was milky, and the left ear sagged pathetically, like it had been chewed to lankness, but the faded pink stitching of the mouth curved welcomingly into a cheery little smile.

Reaching up, Harry lifted the bear into his lap. He stared into its eyes for a moment, then he turned it over, searching for a tag. It was there, underneath the short tail. It boldly proclaimed 'Bunty' which Harry though must be the bear's name. On the other side of the tag, he found the initials H.J. Potter.

Really, he wasn't all the surprised that it was his, even if he didn't remember it. Remus or Sirius probably salvaged it from Godric's Hollow. But it was enough to put paid to all his attempts to not cry.

* * * * * *

"So?" Hermione asked as she and the others helped Harry stock the nursery, "Have you finally decided what you want to name her?"

Harry looked down at his hands as he carefully tucked the baby blanket from Jason into the shelves. He nodded.

"Well, tell us then," Blaise demanded.

Harry smiled hesitantly at her, "Aisha Cearo. Aisha means 'life' and Cearo means –"

"Sorrow," Draco finished for him when Harry paused. "You're going to call your daughter 'sorrow'," he continued, not making it a question.

"Yes," was Harry's only reply.

Hermione briefly touched Harry's hand.

"I like it," said Ron, "Aisha Cearo Potter. It sounds good."

A/N: Bunty is the name of my own teddy bear.