"How about Pigwidgeon?"

Ginny Potter looked down rather desperately at her beautiful, week-old, currently nameless son. He was wonderful, despite being pillar box red and bearing more than a passing resemblance to a mandrake, and deserved a wonderful name to match. So far, however, his parents were drawing a complete blank. Next to her on the sofa, Harry raised his head from his hands.

"Pigwidgeon? Are you actually suggesting that we name our utterly blameless, innocent son, Pigwidgeon?"

"It's sweet," Ginny replied halfheartedly, "And we can't keep calling him Spawn of Potter. It's a violation of his human rights."

"No, calling him Pigwidgeon, that's a violation of his human rights. What's wrong with Sirius?"

"Are you serious, Harry?"

"Arnold?"

Ginny shot her husband a death glare. Harry moaned and started muttering names of Weaasley clan members and various acquaintances at random,

"Cedric, Billius, Arthur, Muriel…"

"…Don't go there, Harry."

"Brian, Amos, Kingsley, Remus, Tom… oh dear god, no…"

"Bugger it," Ginny interrupted, "We'll go for plan B."

Harry stared at her, horrified.

"Gin… no. Great man though he was… it's just…" he gestured helplessly as an image of his baby son with a long silver beard and half moon glasses floated unbidden into his mind's eye.

"Well then, why don't you come up with a better idea?"

Harry groaned again.

"I'll take that as your blessing. Albus it is."

Her voice was despondant. She felt like a terrible mother. Albus was going to hate her forever. Harry waved a hand feebly in reply, then slumped back into the velvet sofa. Ginny sighed, studying the tiny face.

"Might as well go the whole hog, then. Albus Severus?"

"Why not?" came Harry's gloomy reply, "He's going to hate us anyway. And I suppose he does look a bit like a bearded bat…" he trailed off as he saw Ginny's face, "Or a cherub! Ginny, let's call him Chubby Cheeks!"

"Are you joking?" she replied sourly, "He's as skinny as Fleur's French arse."

Harry snorted and patted his wife on her own shapely behind, but she batted him away.

"Albus Severus, take it or leave it?"

"Go on then," Harry poured himself a goblet of wine from the crystal decanter on the coffee table at raised it, toasting his newest son, "To Albus Severus Potter, Al for short, who'll grow up with a complex because of his stupid name. I mean seriously, Gin, we can't protect him from the crapness of his name. He's going to get crucified."

"Doesn't matter much," Ginny intoned gloomily, "James'll still call him the same thing."

At that moment, little Albus began to squall, and the voice of their eighteen month old son floated into the living room from upstairs.

"Mummeeeee! Pooface is crying!"

Well. There it is.

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