"Don't be such a Gryffindor!" Daphne snapped.

Weasley wrinkled his nose and flicked the nearest wine glass with a grubby fingernail. "I am a Gryffindor, remember?"

"Hear, hear," said Potter, who was engrossed in his second serving of roast beef.

"Oh, shut up, all of you," Ginevra said, poking unenthusiastically at her carrots.

Theodore poured himself some more brandy. He was getting through the stuff like water these days; it was hard not to, considering the Lestranges had practically taken up residence.

Tonight, for example, Bellatrix had somehow worked out that the best tea service was enchanted to be unbreakable (always a sensible precaution with Gryffindors around). She was transfiguring each piece of china into a mouse, introducing every inch of the poor benighted creature to her knives, then transfiguring what little was left back into a pristine bit of crockery. It did not make for pleasant dinnertime entertainment.

"Must you, Black?" Rodolphus asked, without looking up from Transfiguration Today; as usual, he hadn't eaten a thing. "You know I despise mice."

Bellatrix snorted, but she transfigured her rather battered mouse back into a cup at once and started doing ferrets instead.

"Can you teach us how to do that?" Ginevra asked.

"Yeah," Potter said, brightening; alarmingly, this was the happiest he'd been all summer. "Barty Crouch Junior was going to teach me, but he never got round to it. What happened to him, anyway?"

"Died in the Azkaban raid," said Rodolphus dismissively.

Weasley got up and left. Daphne went after him.

"Well, if they're leaving, I shall too," Rodolphus said, rising. "Nott, may I have a word?"

Theodore followed Rodolphus into the next room.

"It's perfectly safe," Rodolphus said gently, or as gently as he ever got; a gentle wizard would not have survived a week married to Bellatrix. "Black has experience with these things, you know, and she likes the young lady. Perhaps you might want to practice not looking so irritated every time somebody talks to the poor little thing."

Theodore stared. "You can tell?"

"I know I married Black, but I'm not a complete idiot," said Rodolphus, pouring both of them generous measures of scotch. "A bit of advice: don't try to control her. If you're lucky, you'll get due decorum in public. In private, prepare to do battle with your best silver and your ugliest heirlooms."

"I'm not scared of cutlery or ornaments," Theodore said, staring. He was rather intimidated by Ginevra, who had a knack for convincing perfectly moral people to quite dizzying heights of evil simply by moralising at them, but he was hardly going to admit it. "I presume you speak from experience."

Rodolphus shrugged. "Black and I shared a year and a House, but the principle's probably much the same. You're doing rather well. The poor creature's miserable as hell, of course, but it takes a lot of looking to see it – though that could just be her acting. She's acted herself into that big belly, I hear."

Theodore threw caution to the wind. "She'd hex you if she knew you spoke about her like that."

"Then she's braver than many," said Rodolphus, grinning. "Don't fret. You'll have a lifetime to tame her."

The Dark Lord paced back and forth, his cloak swishing around his feet. "Tell me, Severus, Rodolphus, ought Theodore, Draco, Ronald and Miss Weasley to return to Hogwarts?"

"There is nothing whatsoever preventing the three boys from returning," said Professor Snape, with obvious reluctance. "The school has long allowed students to retake a year which they did not complete to the satisfaction of the professors; admittedly, such students have usually been irrecoverably ill, not runaways, but the rules are clear. And, although it would be very irregular, no clause in the rules forbids Miss Weasley from joining them. After all, she was pregnant last year. She was even permitted to present herself for examination. Again, though, she will have to retake the year."

"I'm worried about her health," Potter said, face shining with earnestness. "OWLs are really stressful, you know, and stress isn't good for the baby, right?"

Theodore thought it was very rich of Potter to worry about Ginevra's health only after he'd got her pregnant twice in the span of a single year.

"It isn't," Rodolphus Lestrange agreed. "Didn't I hear a rumour she miscarried last year?"

"You probably did," Theodore had to admit. "She lost the baby five months in."

The Dark Lord looked absolutely appalled. "Then there is no question of her returning until the baby is born. Does the school still forbid students to return midway through the year?"

"I understand so, my lord," said Professor Snape, staring blankly at the walls. "Potter should also note that if he wishes to marry the girl, which I understand is his intention, and if she should then return to Hogwarts, the rules require them to cohabit. The quarters for cohabitation, sadly, are in the dungeons."

Theodore stared. "Beg pardon, but Ginevra won't like that one bit."

"She will not be able to return this year," the Dark Lord decreed. "You two will. Harry, you will take your NEWTs this year; Ginevra will return next year and take her OWLs, and Draco, Theodore and Ronald will take their NEWTs. Then Ginevra will be having a legitimate child, and she will be doing so quickly. Theodore, remain. The rest of you are dismissed."

The others trooped out, leaving Theodore alone with the Dark Lord.

"How may I serve you, my lord?" Theodore ventured.

The Dark Lord clicked his teeth. "Potter's wedding is on Christmas Day, is it not?"

"I believe so," said Theodore. Potter had come out with a lot of nonsense about thumbing his nose at Muggle traditions, and Ginevra had complained at length about how cold it would be.

"Good," said the Dark Lord, smirking. "On Christmas Eve, we shall strike Ottery St Catchpole. The Lovegoods, the Fawcetts, the Diggorys, all Muggle-loving fools. And the Weasleys, worst of all. Two of them are dead already, and we have converted two more. You, Potter and the two Weasleys will be in the group who attack the Weasley hovel."

Theodore stared. Ginevra was going to kill him. "Yes, my lord. Of course, my lord."

"During the attack," the Dark Lord continued, "your wand will slip, and Potter will die."

"If my lord so commands," said Theodore automatically. He felt nothing but relief; Potter was only saved from being the most irritating guest Theodore had ever had by the Lestranges. "What will happen to Ginevra?"

The Dark Lord shrugged. "I imagine she will be kept in the manner to which she has become accustomed. I might marry her to Draco. She would make a glorious Mrs Malfoy, do you not think?"

"If you think so," Theodore said, mouth dry. "May – may I have the honour of her hand, my lord? She doesn't like Draco. She likes me."

"But she does not love you," said the Dark Lord dismissively. "Very well, if you wish, you may have her. You may want to pin your slip on someone else – the Carrows, perhaps. They will be with you. Now go. Tell Narcissa to send the Weasley boy in."

Theodore headed out. Potter and Mrs Malfoy were waiting in the antechamber.

"The Dark Lord wants Weasley," said Theodore. "Still here, are you, Potter?"

Potter flushed. "Just Harry. I – I was hoping you'd tell Ginny she's not coming back to school with us. I don't think she'll be pleased."

And indeed, when Theodore told Ginevra, she hexed the dining room table into shards.

"It could be worse," Rodolphus observed, once Ginevra had retired to the garden to hex the lawn into molehills; Potter had gone outside to watch and comfort her. "Black would've put me in St Mungo's if I'd tried to stop her doing something she wanted to do."

"Ginevra's a Gryffindor," Theodore said, topping up his whiskey. "They don't hex people, they hex things."

Rodolphus snorted. "Black would've hexed people if she'd ended up in Hufflepuff. Imagine her a Hufflepuff. Would've burnt down the school within a week. Thank Merlin she'd rather have died than gone anywhere but Slytherin – just as it should be, of course."

Theodore reckoned Ginevra, her brother, and Potter would have had opinions about that, but none of them were there to hear it.

"I'm Head Boy," said Potter smugly, as the Hogwarts Express carried them towards Scotland. "I'm Head bloody Boy. Dumbledore's probably rolling about in his grave, and … oh, Snape must have had such a tantrum."

"He wasn't happy," Draco agreed; he and Potter were sitting oddly close, the same sort of close Granger and Weasley had sat back when they'd all been young, the sort of close Ginevra always sat. "But he's your brother now, Harry. We're all brothers beneath our lord's Mark."

Daphne, the only one in the compartment who didn't yet have the Mark, giggled. "And sisters."

"Yeah, and sisters," said Weasley, who was engrossed in The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 6). "Is it true Head Boy and Girl get their own chambers?"

"No, sadly," Daphne said, glancing down at her shiny new Head Girl badge. "Even if we did, I wouldn't take them – Ginevra would strangle me."

Theodore glanced at his watch. It had only been an hour since they had parted company with Ginevra, who was now so heavily pregnant that she spent most of her time confined to her bed. "I hope you'll be able to keep up with your work."

"Oh, shut it," said Daphne sourly. "I'm perfectly capable. Worry about Harry, if you must; he's Quidditch captain too."

"Really?" Theodore asked. He'd assumed that murdering the old headmaster would put Potter out of the running for Quidditch captain (and, for that matter, Head Boy), but with the school under the Dark Lord's control and Snape in charge all bets were off. "Congratulations, Harry."

Potter coughed. "Yeah. The Dark Lord was telling me I should start throwing my weight around. Make people treat me like the lord I am, rather than just Harry."

"If the Dark Lord says so, do it," said Daphne, tossing her golden hair. "Duke. I'll back you right up. I'm the Earl of Withington's daughter. People will listen to me."

"They'll listen to you because you're a stone-cold bitch, more like," Weasley said. "Oh, look lively, Malfoy, it's your girlfriend."

Pansy made a face and sat down next to Daphne. "We're not interested in each other that fucking way."

"Yeah, didn't you hear?" Blaise asked, seating himself practically on Weasley's lap; the compartment was getting rather crowded. "Draco's loose and looking. How about you, Weasley, want to make an honest witch of Draco?"

Draco spluttered. "I'm not Theo."

"I don't know, you'll make somebody a lovely wife one day," said Blaise. "Theo, would you go for Weasley?"

Fuck, yes. "Far be it from me to get between him and Daphne."

"There's nothing to get between," Daphne snapped.

Weasley nodded fervently. "And I'm not gay, so the question's pretty irrelevant anyway. Sorry, Theo."

"I'm not interested," Theodore lied. He'd had Weasley's sister, after all; fucking Weasley would skirt uncomfortably close to incest.

It was strange being back at Hogwarts again, after so long away, and it was almost terrifying to have Snape in the headmaster's chair instead of Dumbledore. The usual exuberant start-of-term chatter was muted, even over at the Gryffindor table; everyone was huddled into groups of friends or acquaintances, whispering. All of the Mudbloods were gone, and a few of the more stridently Dumbledore-aligned half-bloods with them.

"Granger's gone," said Draco, pointing over at the Gryffindor table. "So's Longbottom."

"They've probably eloped," Pansy said snidely, taking some more vegetables. "Wouldn't she be about to pop by now?"

Theodore still doubted Granger would have left by choice. "At least this way she isn't going to go poking her nose in."

"Luna Lovegood's not gone anywhere," Blaise pointed out, jerking his head at Luna Lovegood, who was deep in sour-faced conversation with Padma Patil. "When she finds out Potter's one of our lot, she'll throw a bloody tantrum."

"Oh, he'll handle her," said Theodore, spooning mint sauce over his lamb. He didn't know how, exactly, Potter handled Luna – Ginevra had never said – but he gathered it involved a lot of threatening and occasional violence. "Don't worry."

Daphne snorted and poured herself more pumpkin juice. "Potter's hardly going to go waving his arm under her nose. Is he?"

"I wouldn't put it past him," Draco said gloomily; he hadn't yet taken any food. "He hates her. I bet she's got a Quibbler article up her sleeve for when he does –"

"I tell you, that girl's heading for a battering," said Pansy. "Oh, do eat something, Draco. Fuck, Yaxley's back. Kill me now. Who d'you reckon that is?"

Theodore squinted up at the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, a black-haired man with a face that looked like melted wax. "Your guess is as good as mine."

Once the meal was over, Snape rose.

"Welcome back, students," he said, scowling down at them. "A special welcome back to Theodore Nott, Ronald Weasley and Draco Malfoy, who are joining our sixth year after early departures in February, February and June respectively. You should all please note that Mr Weasley has been cleared of the charges which caused him to leave the school, and remember that bullying is not tolerated at Hogwarts. Quidditch try-outs are in the second week of term. Mr Filch has a list of banned objects which you must all familiarise yourself with. You will all be taught Defence Against the Dark Arts by Professor Thomas Riddle. Dismissed."

Theodore's breath clogged in his throat. Surely it was a coincidence. The Dark Lord wouldn't really want to teach at Hogwarts, would he? Everyone knew the Defence Against the Dark Arts position was cursed, and –

"Come on, Theo," Daphne said, yanking him to his feet. "Move your arse."

They all headed down to the common room.

"It'll be strange not having you two in our dormitory," said Blaise. "Have fun in sixth year."

"We won't," Draco said glumly. "Tell Crabbe and Goyle from me they're not to harass you."

Being back in sixth year was … awkward. Theodore and Draco had been squeezed into a dormitory with the actual sixth-years, four very terrified boys who had pointedly moved their beds as far away from Theodore's and Draco's as the tiny room allowed. The work was boring and familiar, and it was an effort for Theodore to keep from skiving off.

"I've written this essay before," Draco complained, adding the finishing touches to his Transfiguration essay. "What's McGonagall playing at?"

Theodore reckoned McGonagall was just enjoying making them suffer; there were very few flies on McGonagall, and Theodore wouldn't have been at all surprised if she knew that three of her sixth-years were Death Eaters. "At least we've got our Apparition licences."

Potter and Weasley arrived and sat down. Both of them looked tired, and Weasley was holding a bloodied handkerchief to his nose.

"What happened?" Daphne asked, paling. "Do we need to go after someone for you, Ronald?"

Weasley snorted. "I'll be fine. Seamus punched me. Madam Pomfrey says it serves me right."

"Who?" Daphne asked.

"Seamus Finnigan," said Draco, rolling his eyes. "The Irish. The one I tutored in Potions, remember? He's half-blood. Gryffindor. Hot-headed."

"He called Ron a traitor," Potter said, between gritted teeth. "And me too. I was almost tempted to show him the gift our lord gave me. Listen, Theo, can I have a word?"

Theodore let Potter drag him into the Divination section.

"Listen, Uncle Theo," Potter hissed, green eyes alight, "you know who our new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor really is, right?"

Theodore nodded. Fuck. So the Dark Lord was willing to put his ambitions on hold to teach in a school.

"Good," said Potter. "He says Ginny was fine when he last saw her, by the way. Will you – will you look after her next year? I might not be here all the time. Grandfather thinks he'll have lots of use for me."

Theodore imagined he very well might; it wasn't common knowledge that Potter had switched sides yet. "Of course I will."

"And the baby?" Potter pressed; there was something very close to agony on his handsome face. "I spoke to him, and he says Ginny will have to keep the baby with her. You'll be godfather, unofficially of course, Grandfather wants to be the legal godfather, so knowing you Slytherins you'd look after the baby anyway, but do you promise –"

"I promise," said Theodore hastily. Godfather. He prayed he wasn't the actual father; that would just be an irony to top all ironies. "Of course I promise. I'll treat her as I would my own."

Potter bit his lip. "Will you ever – ever have children? I know you're not a fan of the witches, and … I heard a rumour wizards can get pregnant."

"That's rot," Theodore told him. Where in Merlin's name had he even heard such rubbish? It was probably off some Mudblood. Mudbloods had all sorts of absurd ideas. "Witches get pregnant. Sometimes witches decide they like being a wizard better. That's about as close as you can get. Why, are you worried?"

"No, just curious," said Potter, flushing. "I – I thought I was gay for a few weeks back in fifth year. Then it turned out I just didn't fancy Pansy. Cho Chang walked in on us, which didn't help matters. All the Ravenclaws hate my bloody guts – that reminds me, Loony Lovegood's related to you, right? Legally, I mean, not actually."

They were related by blood, not that Theodore had got round to telling Potter. "Her mother was my cousin on the Nott side. Terribly sad what happened to her."

"Yes, yes, very sad," Potter said, not sounding at all sorry. "Do – do you mind that I hate her?"

"She's hardly my favourite person," Theodore pointed out. "I haven't spoken to her since fourth year."

Potter made a face. "When she told you I'm a filthy cheating liar. Yeah, I remember. But – she just doesn't give up. I've set Michael Corner on her more times than I can count. You won't mind if I have to do it again this year?"

"No," said Theodore. Michael Corner was uncomfortably like Bellatrix Lestrange, but he seemed pretty well leashed, and Potter liked Theodore these days. He would have to wait to get rid of Corner; perhaps his wand could accidentally slip during a raid. "Why, has she started up already?"

"It's a matter of time," Potter said, grimacing. "Come with me and talk to Michael, will you? It's easier when I'm not alone. Oh, and by the way, just between us two – you're to consider the child yours as well. You and Ginny seem practically married at times anyway, and the baby needs someone sensible. You're my uncle, you're the godfather, you're Ginny's best friend – it's your baby too, is what I'm trying to say."

Theodore's throat closed up. "Thank you. That means a lot."

"Hello."

It was Luna, who was wearing an unflattering sunflower-yellow gown and an expression of deepest loathing.

"Loony," said Potter, stiffening. "What a delightful surprise. Your dad started any new vendettas lately? I remember he didn't publish that article Rita sent him about Charlie Weasley."

"Daddy doesn't like to speak ill of the dead," Luna said curtly, folding her arms. "That article was full of rubbish, as we all know. I'm very disappointed in you."

Potter seemed perversely pleased. "I don't bloody care." He rolled up his sleeve and, just as Draco had predicted, waved his Dark Mark under Luna's nose. "That disappointing enough for you?"

Luna turned her wide, wide eyes on Theodore. "Tell me you haven't."

"I haven't," said Theodore, not trying to sound like he meant it; she'd assume the worst anyway.

Luna turned on her heel and marched off, nose in the air.

"Oh, fuck," Potter said, yanking his sleeve back down again. "Fuck. We have to get to Michael. C'mon, let's go – there he is. Excuse me, Padma, sorry to bother you lot – Michael, I need a word. Now."

Michael Corner stared up at them. "Alright," he said. "Terry, Anthony, fuck off."

Corner's friends fucked off.

"I'll leave you to it," said Padma Patil tartly, and swept off after them, her long braid of black hair swinging from side to side.

"Can you join us in the stacks?" Potter asked. "It's … a bit confidential."

"Oh, yeah, sure," said Corner, eyes flinty. "Let's go."

They retreated back into the stacks.

"Loony's on my case again," Potter said, leaning against the bookshelf. "I showed her this." He drew up his left sleeve. "She's not to go talking to anyone about it, understand?"

"We'll teach her," said Corner, as calmly as though people showed him their Dark Marks every day. "Don't worry, nobody pays attention to her dad's rag anyway. We could get Rita Skeeter to do a human interest piece, if you like – Lovegoods are all crackpots, and she's pretty well burnt her bridges with old Xeno with that stunt about You-Know-Who not being back anyway. Pretty wicked lie, that, did I ever tell you?" He shrugged and stared hungrily down at Potter's forearm. "Reckon the Dark Lord would take me?"

Potter stared. "Yeah, probably. You're half-blood, right?"

"Muggle-born mother," Corner said, making a face, "but so was yours, I suppose."

"Yeah," said Potter, his voice somewhat strangled. "Yeah, she was. I'll put in a good word for you, alright? You've been a mate." He rolled down his sleeve. "Oh, by the way, have you met Theo? He's Ginny's best mate. Our sort. I stayed at his over the summer. He's going to be godfather. To the baby."

Corner paled. "I – no, we haven't met. How nice to meet you, Theo. Congratulations on making godfather. How is Ginny?"

"Well," Potter said stiffly. "I – I'm not as qualified to talk about her as I'd like. She's a proper pureblood lady now." His face glowed with adoration. "It's bloody wonderful, but a bit frosty. I'll leave you two to chat about her, shall I?" He headed back off to their table.

"Hello, Theodore," said Corner, voice lowering; he had adopted a very nasty scowl quite at odds with the amiable smile he had worn for Potter. "That's what she calls you, isn't it? Why is this the first I'm hearing about a second baby?"

Theodore rolled his eyes. "Her life doesn't revolve around you. It's Potter's."

"You pray," Corner taunted. "I fucked her the day before you two ran off together. Did you?"

"No," Theodore admitted. "Not that night." She hadn't wanted to, and he'd been only too happy to oblige; he adored Ginevra, but still, she was a witch. "Don't worry, the three of us are all much of a muchness."

Corner's eyes flashed. They were brown, which was good; if the baby was his, what difference was there between Ginevra's brown eyes and Corner's? Theodore's own green eyes could easily be mistaken for Potter's. "I am not much of a muchness with you and Potter. You're both weak. Besides, Ginny loves me. Potter is for duty and you're for – fuck knows what she sees in you. You're not even rich."

Theodore highly doubted Ginevra loved Corner; she liked wizards almost as little as Theodore liked witches. Still, far be it from him to shatter Corner's illusions. "Looks-wise, I mean. We're all pale and we all have black hair. That's about as far as the resemblance goes."

"And thank fuck for that," said Corner, sneering. "You're not exactly easy on the eyes."

"I reckon it's just that she has a type," Theodore barrelled on; he might as well go for broke, now that he'd been exposed to Corner's evidently low opinion of him. "Dark-haired and dangerous. You were just first in line."

Corner snorted. "As if she fancies you. Now fuck off."

September crawled by. Theodore received daily letters from Ginevra updating him on how her pregnancy was going (badly) and how her lessons with Bellatrix Lestrange were going (worryingly well). Luna Lovegood once again took to marching about the place with a pile of Quibblers under her arm, pasting up unpleasant posters about Potter, making loud remarks about traitors to anyone who would listen, and generally being an insufferable nuisance. Quite by coincidence, she developed a number of nasty bruises and a terrible habit of falling down the stairs.

"Very sad," said Potter, not even attempting to contain his smirk; he had just been informed of Luna's latest fall by Parvati Patil. "Very, very sad – Romilda! Oi, Romilda! Practice at six."

The dark-haired Romilda, who Theodore vaguely recognised as one of the Gryffindor Beaters, glared daggers at Potter and pointedly flounced off to join the huddle of fifth-years at the other end of the Gryffindor table.

"Bloody menace," Weasley muttered. "To think she's our sort."

"Yeah, to think," said Daphne.

Daphne had taken to agreeing with everything Weasley said, following him about the place, helping him with his homework, and draping herself over him at every opportunity. Pansy said she talked of nothing but Weasley. Theodore had grave doubts – Daphne, after all, was very definitely not the sort of witch who liked her lovers male – but he supposed that Weasley would be a good match, once his three remaining older brothers were all safely bumped off.

As the last week of September dragged itself, gasping, to a close, Potter became ever more worried. The Dark Lord had promised that Potter and Theodore would be given leave to meet the child the moment it was born, but Potter had apparently calculated that the baby would be due after curfew.

This, however, did not stop Professor Snape, who came barging into the common room shortly after midnight on the first of October and dragged Theodore and Potter back out to Mortis House. Theodore's own bedroom had been converted into a birthing chamber, which would have annoyed him if he hadn't known the house-elves would clean it in the six weeks before he next had to sleep in it.

"It's a boy," said Rodolphus Lestrange, emerging from the bedroom. "The baby's just in there. Your father's holding it, Nott. Don't worry, she had an easy birth. Right, in you two come. Get along with you, Snape."

Theodore followed Potter and Rodolphus into the bedroom. Ginevra was propped up against a wall of pillows, looking like she'd run from Hogwarts to King's Cross then done battle with a Dementor. Theodore's father was seated on the window seat, cooing at a blanket-wrapped bundle which Theodore presumed was the baby.

"Are you alright?" Theodore asked, seating himself on the bed. If this was how she looked after an easy birth, he dreaded to think what a bad birth would do.

Ginevra smiled wanly at him. "I've been better, but Rodolphus says I'll live. It's a boy, you know; aren't you glad?"

Potter, who had taken the baby from Dad, made a noise of agreement. "It's got your hair. Look, Theodore, Weasley red." He sat down on the bed beside Theodore. "And blue eyes. But neither of us have blue eyes." He stared down at Ginevra as if doing so would make her eyes turn blue.

"Most babies have blue eyes," said Rodolphus. "There's a spell that gets past all that messy waiting and turns the baby's eyes the colour they actually are."

Ginevra folded her arms over her engorged breasts. "Well, Harry?"

"Get on with it," said Potter shortly.

Rodolphus muttered a charm under his breath, and the baby's eyes shimmered.

"Green," he said, grinning.

"Green," Ginevra repeated, peering.

"He's got my eyes," said Potter happily.

Ginevra peered closer still, then looked up at Theodore. "Yeah, he's got your eyes."

Theodore peered too. Yes, the baby's eyes were his own damp green, not Potter's glittering emerald. Shit. "Congratulations, Harry."

Potter nodded. "Yeah – he's heavy. Here, Theo, you hold him. I'm popping to the loo." He left.

"About time I had grandchildren," said Dad, the second the door closed. "Well done that boy."

Theodore resolutely kept his eyes on the baby. "Green's green, isn't it? You'll sit above me at dinner, won't you, my little duke?"

"Don't call him that," said Ginevra, with a damp snort. "His head will be the size of Hagrid's giant pumpkins by the time he's five if you carry on like that. Now, about names – we'll have to ask Harry."

They waited in silence for Potter to return from the toilet.

"So, names," Ginevra said. "What were you thinking, Harry?"

Potter shrugged. "Arthur for one, definitely. Maybe James for the other? James Arthur. Arthur James … can we give him the Potter name?"

"You're not married, so probably not," said Theodore. "Fitzhenry, I think you'd say. If you call him anything else, some people will say he isn't yours."

"Well," Potter said, his face a picture of bemusement, "who the hell else's would he be?"

AN to prevent me being burnt at the stake: Theodore's statement that some witches 'decide' they like being wizards better is his own opinion. It is not an opinion shared by the author. Theodore is very sheltered, was raised (rather conservatively) in the 80s, and has never to his knowledge met a trans person, hence his rather shallow understanding of the issue.