The boys – well, they weren’t boys, really, but men, but because we’d known each other since we were eleven, I thought of them as my boys – leaned in, one over each shoulder, to look at the sleepy baby cradled in my arms.

“She’s beautiful,” one of the boys whispered.

“What are we going to name her?”

“Lily?”

A polite shoving match occurred behind me.  “We are not naming the baby after anyone.  My entire family is full of people named after people and I’m sick of it.  I hate my middle name.  No, the baby gets her own name.”

They looked over my shoulders again.  “Which of us do you reckon is the father?”

I began laughing softly to myself, doing the best I could not to rock the baby too much or attract the notice of the boys behind me.  I knew they thought I was asleep, though how they thought I was supposed to sleep through the racket they were making was beyond me.

“I don’t think it matters, do you?”

Silence for a moment, then, “Nah.  ’Course, if she has red hair, it’s mine.”

Another shove.  “My mum had red hair!  So that’s not an automatic thing, you know.”

I heard scratching and mumbling and had to bite my lower lip to keep from laughing aloud.  I knew who the father was – they only had to count back weeks to figure out which one of them had been away on a Quidditch tour when I conceived – but neither one of them had asked me during the entire pregnancy, preferring instead to bicker about it for the last eight months.  When I had talked to Molly about it, she merely patted my head and said boys needed to come to some conclusions on their own or they’d never believe it.  I reckon it really doesn’t matter who the father is, though I’m amused by knowing.

The baby stirred, stretching and yawning.  She snuffled a bit, beginning to root.  I couldn’t pretend to be asleep any longer.  Adjusting my clothing, I bared one breast and offered it to the baby before she could even cry.  She latched on hungrily, hand fisted against my skin, eyes sleepily locked to mine.  The fierce love I felt for this little one almost surpassed the love I had for my boys.

“Oh, and boys?”  They sheepishly moved to stand in front of me, now obviously aware I was awake the whole time.  “The baby’s name will be Minerva.”

“Yes, dear,” they chorused.