"You know," said Daphne Greengrass – Daphne Weasley now – the morning after Ginevra murdered her mother, "I'm so glad Ron's got his title now. Aren't you?"

Ginevra gritted her teeth, transferred Arthur to her other breast, and forced a smile. "Yes, I'm very glad my parents and five of my six brothers are dead."

"They were Order," Daphne said, frowning down at her pale hands. "They deserved what they got."

Ginevra reckoned Daphne wouldn't have said that if she'd been there. Ten Death Eaters had gone out to the Burrow, and only six had come back. It was touch and go whether Dolohov would live to see the New Year. "Yes, of course – yes, thanks, do take the baby, Ron."

Ron took the baby and let it suckle at his thumb. "You getting ready now?"

Daphne giggled like a drain and shooed Ron out of the dressing room. Then she turned her attention to the mirror and began to primp. Ginevra stared at her hollow-eyed reflection and wondered where Ginny Weasley had gone.

Ginevra's wedding raiment was, of course, wonderful. Nothing but the best for the girl who had brought the Dark Lord Harry Potter on a silver platter. Her gown was white organza, whiter than the snow which had turned the little church in Godric's Hollow into something out of a picture postcard. The best stylists Galleons could buy had teased her hair up into a bouffant, and her shoes fit like a dream.

"You look so beautiful," said Pansy Parkinson, when Ginevra arrived outside the church. It didn't sound like she was lying, although that could just be because Ginevra stood so high in Voldemort's favour.

The Dark Lord, Ginevra reminded herself fiercely, glancing down at her left arm, where the Dark Mark reposed beneath her elbow-length black mourning gloves. He's my lord and my master. It's an honour to serve him. "I've been granted that honour, yes. I don't deserve it."

More to the point, she didn't want it. She had a new dress and a fancy hairstyle and expensive shoes and a husband who would die for her, but she would have given it all up in a second to walk down the aisle on Dad's arm, to see Mum in the front row and Harry and Hermione grinning their hearts out on her side of the church, to whirl some faceless girl in a white dress round the dance floor and party with her brothers and not be forced to share her one remaining brother, who was half a stranger to her, with Daphne.

"Ooh, you do," cooed Astoria Greengrass. "Hello, boys." She giggled obnoxiously and waved at the groomsmen.

And then the Dark Lord and Bellatrix appeared. There was much curtseying and bowing.

"I believe we are ready to begin," said the Dark Lord, after about twenty seconds. "If you would."

Ron smiled, to all appearances earnestly. "Bottoms up, Daphne."

Daphne sniffed, took Ron's arm, and marched him inside. Pansy and Blaise Zabini went next, followed by Rodolphus Lestrange and Astoria Greengrass. Luna Lovegood, who very plainly didn't want to be there, had to be practically dragged down the aisle by Hermes Selwyn, who was two heads taller than her and a deal heavier.

"Many happy returns of the day, dearie," said Bellatrix, beaming, and swept in, resplendent in silver.

The Dark Lord offered Ginevra his arm. "You look radiant, my dear. Perhaps a girl this time?"

Ginevra willed herself to smile. "We can only wonder, my lord."

The walk down the aisle seemed to take forever, but at last the Dark Lord released her to Theodore and departed, smiling, for the front row.

After the ceremony, there was a reception at Malfoy Manor. Ginevra and Theodore were given seats at the head table, although of course, with the Dark Lord present, they could not claim to be the guests of honour.

"Not for me," said Theodore, when the sherry and the port came along. "And not for Ginevra, either. We'll have Butterbeer."

Ginevra rolled her eyes. "Don't listen to him. I'll have it. Lots of it."

She and Theodore had the first dance, as was right and proper. Her second dance was with Ron.

"Are you holding up alright?" he whispered, as they waltzed around the floor. "I know it was you that killed her."

Ginevra swallowed. "I've been better."

"I thought so, yeah," said Ron, with a bitter smile. "And Hermione wasn't even there."

Ginevra willed herself not to say anything. Hermione had been there. Ginevra and Theodore had let her and Neville walk right past them.

"She was," Ron said, smile sliding off his face. "Fuck, she was there – listen, Ginny, I've been thinking, there's no way the baby's Neville's. Hermione took five and a half years to get up the courage to snog me. She's not the sort to just fall into bed. I'm going to look for her."

"You can't," Ginevra told him. "It's too dangerous."

Ron made a face. "I want to meet my child before I die – yes, Rodolphus, here you go."

Ginevra danced once with each of the three groomsmen, once with Theodore's father, and once with the Dark Lord. And then Michael Corner cut in.

"Hello," said Ginevra, trying to sound less scared than she felt.

"Hello, pretty girl," said Michael, under his breath. His thumbs dug unerringly into the most delicate part of her hips. "Where've you been?"

Ginevra stared down at her feet. "Having a baby."

"And how very pretty it makes you," Michael muttered. "We're still on, I suppose?"

Ginevra forced herself to look him in his handsome face. I don't love you, she wanted to say, but she'd seen the sort of mess he made of people he didn't like. It had been three years now, one full of lies and sneaking around, one with no contact at all. She couldn't remember the last time she'd told him the truth. Why start now? "Alright."

The next morning, Ginevra awoke alone and hurried downstairs to find the Malfoys' dining room full of panicked people.

"What's wrong?" Ginevra asked Theodore, who was lurking in a corner, already drinking his way through a large bottle of Firewhiskey. "Can I have some?"

Theodore shrugged and handed her the bottle. "Astoria's disappeared. Greengrass, you know – oh, thank Merlin, it's Rodolphus. Maybe we'll get some sanity now."

Rodolphus, though, was in pyjamas. "Don't you all have homes to go to?" he demanded.

Most of the crowd sheepishly dispersed, leaving only those of them who both didn't have jobs and didn't need to reassure anyone that they weren't really Death Eaters.

"Now, I'm sure the Malfoys want to clean up after that delightful wedding," Rodolphus continued. "Nott, Mrs Nott, you look comfortable. Let's go to yours."

Those of them who remained went back to Mortis House. Ginevra bullied the house-elves into producing a rather substandard breakfast and sat at the foot of the table, drinking sherry, while her guests debated what was to be done. Theodore sat at the head of the table, reading The Daily Prophet and getting through vast quantities of Firewhiskey.

"Do you two have a radio?" Rodolphus asked Ginevra, after about ten minutes; half the guests had already made their excuses and gone home. "I'd ask him but he's three sheets to the wind already."

Ginevra had to admit that Theodore was rather deeper into his second bottle of Firewhiskey than she would have liked; his drinking habits were beginning to remind her of Sirius Black's. "Yeah, I think so. Why?"

"The insurgents have their own radio station," said Bellatrix, who didn't even seem to notice that the house-elves had put too much pepper in the runny, cold scrambled eggs. "If they have her, they'll gloat."

Ginevra went upstairs, fetched the radio, and set it up on the sideboard. This took some doing; she wasn't nearly as drunk as Theodore, but she had definitely got past the warm glow stage and firmly into tipsiness, and she didn't get radios anyway.

"Right, let's see, which channel is it?" Rodolphus asked Ron. "Did it ever get discussed back when –"

"Harry says it's 311081," Ron said, rolling his eyes. "Date of our lord's … embarrassment. They broadcast at seven pm. Password is Arthur."

Arthur, who was in his basket atop the table, gurgled.

"Yes, yes, good baby," said Ron, tickling Arthur's stomach. "Oh, um, that reminds me, I have to pick up some toys for him. Excuse me." He got up and left.

"He's so forgetful," Daphne said, wrinkling her nose. "Well, if he's going, I might as well too – are we still on for dinner tonight?"

"Yes, of course," said Ginevra. It was Christmas, after all. "Shall we say eight, give us time to find Astoria?"

And so at seven, when they settled down to listen to the rebels' radio station, it was only Ginevra, Theodore and the Lestranges, all of them armed with full glasses of wine.

"Hello, and welcome back," said a familiar voice which Ginevra recognised, after several seconds, as belonging to Lee Jordan. "This is Leo, and you're listening to basically the same unpromising news you heard the night before last and will hear tomorrow. This is a special broadcast, and we are very angered to have to report this news, but – here is our Order liaison, Prometheus."

"Thank you, Leo," said a slow, sad voice which could hardly belong to anyone but Remus Lupin. "I am disgusted to announce that last night, the Death Eaters attacked the half-wizarding village Ottery St Catchpole, in Devon, home to the Weasleys, the Lovegoods, the Fawcetts, and the Diggorys. Both the Diggorys and the Fawcetts had their homes torched; nobody was seriously injured, but all of them are very shaken.

"The Lovegood residence was also set on fire, but thankfully neither of the Lovegoods were home. Latest news is that 16-year-old Luna Lovegood is, in fact, alive and well; she's been taken into custody by the less orthodox wing of our beloved government, where she has several relatives and is therefore probably not too miserable. Nevertheless, she has our sympathies."

Ginevra imagined Lupin wouldn't have said that if he'd ever actually met Luna, who had always been a first-class bitch and was rumoured to be on hunger strike.

"The big story, however, is the Weasleys," Lupin continued. "While the majority of our charming Death Eaters merely set fire to the houses of the village's wizarding residents and headed down into the Muggle half for some wholesome Muggle-baiting, a small group apparently decided to harass the widowed Molly Weasley, who lives alone. When Molly's three sons came to her aid, the Death Eaters murdered them in cold blood, murdered their mother, and left all four bodies out in front of the flaming house for our people to find. We will be moving the bodies and burying them tomorrow. Respects should be sent to The Quibbler; do not send your respects to Ron and Ginny Weasley, we have reliable reports that they partook in the, ahem, festivities."

"I never congratulated you for that, by the way, dear," said Bellatrix, beaming. "Well done."

Ginevra forced herself to smile; Rodolphus had been a lot more understanding. "Thanks, Mrs Lestrange. That means a lot."

"Moving on, in happier news, Antonin Dolohov is in St Mungo's and is widely rumoured to be inches from death."

A muffled, vaguely feminine cheer came from the radio.

"The Carrow twins, Amycus and Alecto, are dead," Lupin carried on. "And now – kindly do not giggle, Ariadne, this is serious – for some slightly sadder news, but only very slightly. We have received reports of the deaths of Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter. A minute's silence, please."

The silence was broken ten seconds in by the jubilant giggles of the mysterious Ariadne.

"Right, moving on," said Lee, "we're doing some pamphlets on strategies to protect yourself and your Muggle neighbours. If you'd like one, write in to The Quibbler. We're saddened to report yet another Muggle family have been murdered, in Cardiff this time; their names haven't been released yet, but we do know the Death Eaters have claimed responsibility. Still no news of Muggle-born Dean Thomas, who is travelling in the area accompanied by a goblin. For more on the Muggle world, we go over to Ladon, also from the Order."

"Thank you, Leo," said a deep, sonorous voice – Kingsley Shacklebolt, if Ginevra had to guess. "Muggles continue to sustain heavy casualties from Death Eater attacks. We are trying our best, but we cannot be everywhere at once. Protect your neighbours. If you should stumble across Muggles dead of obviously magical causes, do nothing, leave at once, and do not report the death. The new Supreme Mugwump has confirmed you won't be prosecuted for wasting the Ministry's valuable time in this manner. Indeed, you ought to waste the Ministry's time at every opportunity."

There was a snicker.

"Now back to Prometheus, who will bring you the latest news on Hermione Granger," said Lee. "For those of you who don't know, she's the closest thing to Harry Potter we have left."

"Thank you, Leo," Lupin said. "We're relieved to confirm that she was sighted in Ottery St Catchpole last night. She was accompanied by Neville Longbottom, and reports state that her infant child, born last month, still appears to be in her custody.

"Now for some very good news: our dear leader is believed to have left the country in the late hours of last night. Bellatrix Lestrange hasn't gone anywhere, so don't do anything too drastic. In less good news, we've so far seen an upsurge in Death Eater attacks on both Muggles and wizards this holiday, and also an increased number of Death Eaters carrying out said attacks. It has been suggested Hogwarts students are operating as Death Eaters, and I think the deaths of Potter and Malfoy are proof enough of that. I can't point any fingers at students, obviously, but I imagine those of you still at Hogwarts already know who to look out for."

Lee snorted. "Thank you, Prometheus. Now over to our newest contributor, the lovely Ariadne, for the socials."

"Thanks, Leo," said a crisp, clipped voice. A distinctly Greengrass voice.

"Gotcha," said Rodolphus, and turned the radio off. "Right, back to winning the war."

Ginevra topped up her wine glass with sherry.

Michael Corner came to dinner the day before Ginevra was due to wave Theodore back off to Hogwarts. Ginevra made the house-elves pull out all the stops and dug out some of the nicer wine and prayed the Lestranges wouldn't want to stay for dinner; sadly, they did. Ginevra just counted herself lucky Daphne had agreed to take Arthur.

"Where's your brother?" Michael asked, poking at his food. "Doesn't he usually lurk somewhere in the background?"

Ginevra shrugged. She hadn't seen Ron since right after Astoria Greengrass had disappeared. "He'll turn up. He knows the consequences of not getting back to Hogwarts in time for the beginning of the term. He won't want to repeat sixth year a third time –"

"I don't know about that," said Theodore, who had been drinking steadily since the Lestranges had arrived at noon and was now very drunk. Ginevra, who was on her ninth – or was it tenth? – glass of sherry, could hardly talk, but she flattered herself that at least she wasn't drinking near-continuously, the way Theodore drank. "It's very relaxing."

"Oh, don't be horrible," Ginevra said. "I'm having the baby once I have my OWLs whether you're there or not, and if you aren't there, I shan't be held responsible for what I do."

"She's not a tame lioness, you know," Rodolphus observed. "Is that the time? Come on, Black, traitors to murder."

The Lestranges got up and left, laughing.

"Brutes," Theodore observed, finishing off his glass of Firewhiskey. "Right, Ginevra, break out the cream soda – and the Sober-Up, as well, if you'd be so kind, I don't quite want to embarrass myself in front of your charming dirty little secret."

Ginevra unlocked the tall cabinet where they kept the non-alcoholic drinks and the Sober-Up Potion. "Do you want cream soda, Michael?"

"No," said Michael curtly. "I'm not your dirty fucking secret, Ginevra, and I'd appreciate if your fucking wanker husband would keep that in mind."

"Touchy, touchy," Theodore said. "Actually, I'll have some of that revoltingly cheap plonk your brother gave us. I don't think this is a cream soda occasion. Give him some too, please."

Ginevra opened a bottle of the admittedly rather cheap Bulgarian wine Ron had given them as a wedding present and poured the men two large glasses; for herself, she found a bottle of sherry hidden behind the cream soda. "How much will you have, Michael?"

"I'll have as much as he's having," said Michael, moving to Ginevra's end of the table. "Don't let him get near it, Ginny, I don't trust him."

Ginevra brought him his wine and showed him her left arm. It was the scar she wanted to show him, but the Dark Mark seemed to be the more effective warning, judging by how pale he went. "He's my husband, Michael. If you don't trust him, how can you trust me?"

"I don't trust you," Michael said, in a very cold voice. "I can't trust you. Does it therefore matter if I trust your lapdog?"

"Lock the doors, Ginevra," said Theodore sharply. "Accio goblet!"

Ginevra let Theodore's goblet fly from her hand and went around the room, locking the doors with her skeleton key.

"What are you two doing?" Michael demanded. "Don't lock the fucking doors, you clowns! What if something happens?"

Theodore smirked. "Ginevra, darling, sit down."

Ginevra sat down atop the sideboard and crossed her ankles the way Mrs Lestrange had taught her. She did not think this was going to end well; even in company, Theodore usually treated her just as he always had, like his best friend rather than his wife. She took a fortifying gulp of sherry and topped herself off. "Yes, dear."

Perhaps that had not been the best thing to say; Michael had gone very pale. "What are you two doing?"

"We're just having a private conversation, that's all," said Theodore amiably. "People treat my house like it's theirs. Why do you think Dad's so keen on skeleton keys? We just don't want to be … disturbed." He glanced pointedly at his watch. "I think I've drunk too much. I'll be heading to the lavatory. You two entertain yourselves."

He got up and left, by the white door to the left of the sideboard; since this door led to the kitchens, and thence nowhere, Ginevra knew he was lying. But why? Was he trying to catch Michael saying something against the Dark Lord? They themselves had spoken out against him often enough in the privacy of their own dining room, and Theodore and Michael had, on the rare occasions they'd spoken, been perfectly civil.

"He's definitely drunk too much," Michael observed, rising. "Come here, pretty girl."

Ginevra slid off the sideboard, headed over, and waited.

"You are so fucking beautiful," Michael whispered, fingers digging into her hips, face inches from hers. "So motherfucking … why didn't you come back? I missed you. I haven't got off in so long … I've been saving myself for you. Have you been saving yourself for me?"

Ginevra rolled her eyes. "Don't be fucking daft, Michael. In case you forgot, not only did I get married since we last saw each other, but Theodore wasn't even the man I planned to marry."

"Don't swear at me, pretty girl," said Michael. "Where's this baby of yours, then?"

"With my sister-in-law," Ginevra said. Alright, stay calm, remember Ginny Weasley. Ginny Weasley had loved Michael, or at least had been willing to pretend she did. Ginevra couldn't really be bothered, but Ginny Weasley had made the bed and Ginevra was fucked if she was going to throw away all that hard work; Michael was just the sort of person to ruin her plans if she didn't go along with him. "Daphne likes children."

"I don't," Michael said, and kissed her, harder than he ever had before, hard enough to draw blood, fingers digging ever deeper into her hips. "Fuck. I've missed you."

Ginevra swallowed. "Me too," she lied.

Michael let go of her. "Can you lock your husband out?"

"Yes," Ginevra said. She thought it was probably best not to mention that he was perfectly capable of letting himself in, if he wanted to; presumably he was lurking somewhere in the kitchen, waiting for Michael to say something unwise. "Do you want me to?"

"Obviously," said Michael.

Ginevra crossed the room and bent down in front of the keyhole; she'd lived in Mortis House for nearly a year now, and could lock and unlock all the doors by feel, but she wanted to see … yes, she could just about make out the dark red of Theodore's corduroy trousers against the muted browns of the kitchen. He was eavesdropping. As if being with Michael wasn't awkward enough.

When she rose again, she found Michael standing practically on top of her.

"Can I have that key?" he asked.

Ginevra swallowed. She knew Theodore would not want Michael to have the key; he was not a Nott by blood or by marriage. "It's blood-bound. It won't work for you. Sorry."

"Get your husband to make me one later," said Michael. "Right, knickers down and bend over the table."

"Do you have contraception?" Ginevra asked. "I'm not getting in trouble again. If I do, the Dark Lord will probably just throw up his hands and tell me I can live without OWLs."

Michael let out an enormous sigh. "I think there's a spell, yeah. Hang on … Ant was telling me just the other week …" he muttered something inaudible. "There."

Ginevra rolled her knickers down her legs, pulled her skirt up around her hips, and bent over across the table. "Go on then."

His hands dug into her hips and his cock dug into her body with about equal ferocity. Ginevra hung onto the edge of the table, let her hair fall over her face, and prayed for it to be over soon. At least Harry had always been gentle. Harry had been traditional, too; they'd had sex in bed, face to face, slow and steady. With Harry, it had never hurt.

When Michael was finished, he pulled out and began to swear.

"What's wrong?" Ginevra asked, straightening up. Her insides ached, and her hips felt like they'd been hit by a Bludger. "Michael?" She turned around. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," said Michael, tucking his cock away again. "It's just – you're bleeding."

"Where?"

It was Theodore, wand protruding from his clenched fist.

"Below," Michael said, nodding at Ginevra's crotch. "If you – if you get my meaning."

Ginevra stared. "But I'm not due for a week!"

"That's not what he means, Ginevra," said Theodore shortly. "Put yourself to rights." He locked the door which led to the kitchen. "Don't bother drawing that wand, Corner, you won't need it – oh, well, if you insist. Ginevra, take the wand off him. Now."

Ginevra didn't move. "What're you doing?"

"I'm teaching Corner a lesson," Theodore said. He was wearing one of his nastier smiles. "I'm not blind, you know, and I'm not stupid, and – Corner? Put the wand away. I'm a Death Eater. We don't play nice, especially not considering you just bent my wife over my heirloom dining table and left her bleeding. Rather ill-considered of you, don't you think?"

Michael's eyes flashed. "Ginevra, make him shut the fuck up."

Ginevra shook her head. "He won't hurt you."

"Won't I?" Theodore asked. "Put the wand away, Corner. I just want to talk."

"Which is why you've got your wand out and we're locked in," said Michael drily. "Forgive me if I'm not enthused. Ginevra, make him shut up."

"I can't make him do anything," Ginevra pointed out. "I mean, he's my husband. If anything, he's in charge."

Michael snorted. "If you two weren't completely bloody insane, yes, I'd agree with you. But –" he grabbed her left hand and pointed at the scar. "You own him."

"I don't," Ginevra snapped, yanking her hand away. "That's not why I did it and that's not how I treat him. He's my friend."

"Soft-hearted Gryffindor," said Michael, snorting again. "Make him stop, Ginevra. He's off his rocker."

Ginevra hesitated. If she refused Michael, he would make her life a misery … she glanced at Theodore. There was something uncomfortably like the Dark Lord behind Theodore's eyes. "No."

Michael rolled his eyes. "He can't hurt you, remember?"

"He won't hurt me," Ginevra corrected. "You will. Expelliarmus!" She caught Michael's wand, thanking Merlin for her rather short stint as one of Gryffindor's Chasers, and handed it to Theodore. "Go on."

Theodore smiled. "Thank you, darling. Stupefy!"

Michael dropped like a stone.

"Not so intimidating when he doesn't have his minions, is he?" Theodore asked conversationally. "Most Dark Lords aren't."

"The Dark Lord is," said Ginevra. Voldemort had once managed to Petrify five students, get Dumbledore on the run, nearly close Hogwarts, and nearly murder both her and Harry, and that had been the sixteen-year-old version, acid-tongued and short-tempered and trapped inside a diary.

Theodore smirked. "Yes, well, that's why we serve him, isn't it, darling? What'll we do now?"

"Bring him back round," Ginevra suggested. "I'll apologise. We'll not speak about it. I'll go to wherever he's staying."

"Oh, yes, charming, just let him beat up my best friend where I can't see it," said Theodore. "No. I'm not letting him … you're hurt, Ginevra. I can't even count how many times we've had this conversation. If Potter didn't have this conversation with you, then he's an even more heartless bastard than I thought."

Ginevra shrugged. "We had it maybe five times. Then he got the hint and shut up. You Slytherins never take a hint."

"I'm very sorry I care for your well-being," Theodore said flatly. "Anyway. Help me carry him down to the cellar."

"Why?" Ginevra asked.

"Because we're going to kill him," said Theodore, as if commenting on the weather. "He hurts you and he hurts my cousin."

Ginevra stared. "He's never touched Loony, and don't you hate her? Besides, she's your mum's cousin."

"I have family pride," Theodore said. "Help me lift him."

Ginevra wordlessly knelt and took Michael's feet. Theodore picked up Michael's shoulders, and together they headed through the silent house to the cellars. Ginevra had never been down here before; there was nothing in the cellars except spirits, wine, beer and coal, and all those things were the responsibility of the house-elves.

"Right," said Theodore. "Put him down – that's it."

They manoeuvred Michael's motionless body so that he was standing at the top of the stairs which led down into the musty darkness of the cellar.

"And now we let go," Theodore added.

Ginevra let go, and so did Theodore. Michael fell and hit the floor with a sickening crack.

"Now we just move him a little so people can't look right in and see him," said Theodore. "Lumos! Right, good, the crates are still there … just stick him behind these. Don't mind the skeletons."

Ginevra helped Theodore heave the corpse across the cellar and behind several dusty crates of beer.

"Won't your father find it?" Ginevra asked; she presumed the beer was for him, seeing as Hermes Selwyn drank vodka, Theodore drank whiskey, and she drank sherry.

Theodore shrugged. "Well, these three were all him. I'm his heir. If he reports the body, both of us go to Azkaban and – well, then it just depends on who dies first. If I die first, you get everything, and if he dies first, which I think we both know is the more likely option, cousin Luna gets everything. And, I mean, nobody wants a Lovegood in charge of their stuff. She'd sell the house, pawn the Dark artefacts, and blow it all on some imaginary creature."

Ginevra laughed. "She would, wouldn't she? So, um, how old are these skeletons, exactly?"

"This one's Caradoc Dearborn," said Theodore, very casually. "And this one's Benjy Fenwick. You can't tell, because he's a skeleton now, but when I was a toddler he was still a corpse and he had a few bits missing. Lungs, tongue, that sort of thing. He talked too much. Dearborn just made the wrong enemies. And this one," his face hardened, "is my mum, see? There's her wand, and there's her skeleton key."

Ginevra squinted down at the skeleton, prone on the dusty stone floor. Around the skeletal neck was a skeleton key exactly like Ginevra's own. "Oh."

"You know what, she doesn't need it and she doesn't deserve it," Theodore said, crouching. "Toss us yours, Ginevra."

Ginevra took off her skeleton key and handed it over. "What're you doing?"

Theodore set her skeleton key alight. "My mum's keys were the master keys. Property of the lady of the house, for the very good reason that my dad's never home anyway and is always trying to blow himself up. They don't do anyone any good down here, so you might as well have them. You're the lady of the house, after all."

Ginevra stood very still and let Theodore drape the master key around her neck. It made her slightly sick to think that this key had spent a dozen years around the throat of a dead woman. "Thank you."

"You're my lady," said Theodore, and they went upstairs and had some more to drink.