What's in a Name

Hello. My name is...no, I don't think I'll tell you my name. Not just yet. You'll soon figure it out anyway. I'd like a few moments of normal anonymity, if you'd let me.

My life has been haunted by one man. I've never met him. I'm not sure I want to now. They say you should never meet your heroes. Bit of a strange sort of hero though. One that's made my life, my very existence, inconsequential and a joke. Poor guy, I'm blaming him for far too much. It's not like he did this intentionally, even knowingly. He is entirely ignorant of my annoyed existence. But you've got to laugh, right? Laugh to keep from crying.

I went for a job interview yesterday. Let me tell you about it.

"Excuse me; I'm here for an interview. With Mrs Laud." I leant over the edge of the desk, trying to get the attention of the bored looking receptionist.

"Sure you are. Sign here please."

She handed me a clip board and quill. I filled in the visitor's sheet and handed it back with a tight smile. I knew what was coming. She glanced down at my signature disinterestedly, and did a double take.

"Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't realise it was you, can I get you a magazine? Would you like a cup of tea, Mr-"

I cut her off before the whole reception heard. "Its fine, I'll just wait over here." I took a seat at the far end of a row of hard plastic chairs, as far from the receptionist as possible. A couple of other interview candidates, who were sat eagerly close to the office door, peered at me in ill-disguised curiosity. The secretary began scribbling on a scrap of parchment. She kept glancing at me. She was writing about me. Gossiping? The parchment tugged itself from under her fingers and folded itself into a dart, then sped off out the door to some other office. So it was gossip then. About me. "Actually," I said abruptly, standing up, "Is it okay if I go in now? I'm in kind of a hurry you see."

The secretary looked flustered. "Umm, I'll have to check with Mrs Laud, she could be busy-"

"But you see, I am busy. And I'd be ever so grateful if I could get this done quickly."I smiled charmingly at her, she giggled nervously, "I'll just show myself in. Don't worry; I'll let her know you tried to stop me." A shared conspiratal smile, a little secret, just between us, isn't that fun? She gazed at me breathlessly, and nodded. "Thanks." I grinned. My name may be my curse, but I can use it advantageously, every once and a while.

As I crossed the small room with quick strides, I could practically hear the other candidates craning their necks to see me better. I knocked on Mrs Laud's door briskly and entered without waiting. As I closed the door, I glanced back. I met a candidate's eyes. He blushed with shame at being caught. The woman next to him dropped her handbag in confusion. I hate this.

Needless to say, I left the interview with the eyes of everyone fixed upon and no job offer. Mrs Laud was disappointed. Apparently I 'wasn't who she thought I was'. Three guesses to who she was expecting.

"Oh, Potter, you sneak!

You smooth headed freak!

Where are your glasses?

Where are the masses,

Of your simpering fans,

Of your reckless plans?

I'll tell you, you copy-cat zero-

They're with Harry Potter, the Real Boy Hero!"

Oh yes, Peeves had a right laugh with me at Hogwarts. Those annoying girls in Gryffindor found this song hilarious; they used to quote parts of it to me across the hallways if I got on their nerves. Of course, I ended up dating one of them a few years later, so I suspect the mal-intent behind those words was missing. For the most part the student body found it amusing. My friends used to suggest I used it to pick up girls. And when he arrived at Hogwarts three years later, my friends set up a campaign to have him ousted from Hogwarts as an imposter. I don't think he even noticed. I wouldn't have, if I was him. The professors, at least, seemed to know who was who. Professor McGonagall even seemed to be slightly sympathetic. I think it was because she knew his family already, she knew full well I wasn't him. But still, even she gave a start as my name was read out at my Sorting.

The Great Hall had fallen silent after my name had been read out. I shuffled nervously from foot to foot. I'm hardly over-flowing with confidence as it is, having already been subjected to my name for several years I was rather sensitive about it, but I like to think having several hundred pairs of eyes fixed upon you, and just you, would be daunting to anyone. I froze under their stares. My mind had gone blank. I genuinely can't remember a thought in my head – and everyone remembers their Sorting. Then Professor McGonagall took a step forward and fixed me with a shrewd look. "Hm." She said through pursed lips as she turned back to the students. "I don't know what you're all being silent for. You've never shown this level of obedience or respect before." As one the student body did a double take and realised its mistake, its assumption of who I was. Everyone laughed, and my paralysis was broken. I tripped over to the stool. As Professor McGonagall handed me the Sorting Hat, I swear she sent me a reassuring smile and a wink.

The public really should be better educated. They should publish his birthday in the paper; get a more close up photo rather than old early high school shots or distant grainy images. I know, I understand that he must hate the publicity in his life, must want more privacy and his own life for once, but his privacy just makes my life worse. If they knew more about him, we wouldn't get confused when I introduce myself, or when I submit my C.V. It doesn't help we were born within a couple of years of each other. My poor parents. They had no idea what they were setting me up for.

My mother, flushed and still tired, sat in the comfy chair in our small living room, practically glowing whilst she held a baby me, my father with my then two year old sister on his hip, restraining her from poking me to see my reaction. Our extended family and friends all crowd round, smiling and holding glasses of champagne. "Be still, Amelia." He murmured. "Now that my wriggling daughter is under control, I can continue. Yesterday my lovely wife, Fiona, gave birth to our son. Our son." He beamed, a picture perfect proud father. Everyone cheered. "He's 8lbs, and we've decided to name him Harry." He lifted his glass of champagne, and toasted my mother and me. "To Harry, the newest member of the Potter family!"

Of course, Potter's a common name – our family isn't even one of the old ones. We've only been magical for the past two generations. Harry's a pretty common name too. It was just bad luck that those Potter's gave birth to a baby boy three years later, it was just worse luck that they named him Harry, and it was just the worst luck that he was made famous.

I just wish people wouldn't confuse us.