Ron swooped in the second the first dance finished and took his sister's second dance.

"Are you holding up alright?" he whispered. "I know it was you that killed her."

Ginny stared up at him, eyes blank and haunted; there were big bags under her eyes, and her breath smelt of the sherry she'd been drinking all through the wedding breakfast. "I've been better."

Typical Ginny understatement. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her express actual emotion. "I thought so, yeah. And Hermione wasn't even there."

Ginny said nothing.

"She was," said Ron, heart racing. He'd been mere yards from her. What if she'd seen him in his Death Eater robes? "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 snog me. She's not the sort to just fall into bed. I'm going to look for her."

Ginny's grip on his hands tightened. "You can't. It's too dangerous."

"I want to meet my child before I die," Ron told her. And then Rodolphus Lestrange approached, his smile expectant. "Yes, Rodolphus, here you go."

Ron danced with Daphne, because it was expected, then took her for a long walk in the gardens, during which he explained at length what he planned to do.

"I won't try to stop you," said Daphne, biting her lip; she had a nasty cold sore on the left side of her mouth. "Be careful, alright? Don't take any risks, don't say the name, don't get in any fights, don't break the Statute, and whatever you do, don't forget to board the Hogwarts Express. I'm not spending two years loitering in Hogsmeade waiting for you to get your NEWTs and I'm not going to suffer for your mistakes."

"Alright," Ron said. He knew from experience that so long as he actually turned up at Hogwarts around the same time as the rest of the pupils, he'd be fine. "Keep yourself safe, alright? Look after Ginny. Don't do anything stupid. I don't want to come home and find a Dark Mark on that arm."

Daphne gave one of her drainlike giggles. "I'm a witch, Ronald. I'm not a brute like Bellatrix and Alecto, and I'm not a back-stabbing cow like your sister – no offence, but that girl goes through men like I go through shoes."

Since Daphne was the sort of girl who had inherited both shoes and views from her parents, Ron didn't object. "And, um, if you could do my homework –"

"Naughty," said Daphne. "Snape has to excuse you. You're on the Dark Lord's Galleon. And – Ronald, listen to me very carefully. If you are captured, the baby is not yours, Granger was never at your hovel, and we never had this conversation."

"I'm not that much of an idiot," Ron said, somewhat insulted. "I'm not going to throw you off the broom just because I get caught. You're harmless."

Daphne made a face. "Yes, thank you, that makes me feel so much better. Listen, don't go yet, it'll be suspicious. Pretend to be off buying something. I'll cover for you as well as I can, but … don't stay anywhere you can be found, alright?"

"Alright," said Ron. "Are we going back to yours now?"

"No, Draco's parents are putting up the wedding party," Daphne said, grimacing. "We're in the west wing. Most of the other guests are in the east wing. I will warn you, though, we've got the Dark Lord and all three Lestranges – and the baby."

Ron groaned.

Ron didn't get much sleep that night. As best man and maid of honour, he and Daphne had been accorded the room adjacent to Ginny and Theo's, and had thus been forced to listen to some very suspect noises. Then, just as they'd been getting off to sleep (unlike some people, Ron was considerate enough not to have sex when he knew there was someone in the next room, never mind that he'd never had or wanted to have sex with Daphne anyway), the baby had started crying.

The next morning, Ron and Daphne were amongst the last to rise. The dining room was already full of people, most of them rather panicked.

"Daphne," said Mrs Greengrass, springing on them; she was still in her dark green nightgown. "Thank Merlin."

Daphne groaned. "What's wrong, Mum?"

"It's your sister," Mr Greengrass said, his ruddy face even more flushed than usual. "She's disappeared."

Ron supposed that if anything could panic a gang of Death Eaters who had quite cheerfully set four houses on fire and tortured several Muggles just the night before last, the disappearance of Astoria Greengrass would be it. He'd never really spoken to Astoria, but he'd danced with her at his wedding, and her eyes had reminded him of the hunted expression Malfoy had worn in their first sixth year. "How sad."

Theo arrived, with a bottle of Firewhiskey already firmly in hand. "What's going on?"

Ron let Daphne explain. Well, at least searching for Astoria gave him a good reason to be gone for an undetermined length of time to parts unknown.

"Oh, bother," said Theo, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Bother and drat." He sidled off into the nearest corner and took a gulp of Firewhiskey. Theo was always drinking these days, except when they were at school, and even then Ron had heard rumours about the sort of games the Slytherins played. Ron would have done the same if he'd known he was going to spend the rest of his life playing host to the Lestranges, but still, it made his skin crawl to think of his sister married to a man who drank that much, that often. Ginny had once let slip that Theo's dad had been drunk the night Theo's mum had died, and the last thing Ron wanted was Ginny ending up like Theo's mum.

Some minutes later, just as the hysteria was mounting to yet unreached heights, Ginny arrived, wearing a rumpled nightgown and a rather dazed expression. She joined Theo in his corner, said something to him, and took a gulp of his Firewhiskey.

"I do worry about them," said Daphne, taking Ron's arm. "They do realise it's not even nine o'clock?"

Ron shrugged. "Theo drinks like a bloody fish no matter what time it is, Daphne – oh, bugger, it's Lestrange."

Rodolphus Lestrange was wearing pyjamas, and thankfully appeared to have misplaced his wife. "Don't you all have homes to go to?"

The majority of the crowd disappeared off to their workplaces, presuming of course that any of them had jobs. Ron was pretty sure that he and Daphne were the only ones whose parents had ever done a day of honest work.

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

The remaining Death Eaters and their wives retired to Mortis House, Theo's cavernous and depressing home. Ginny organised breakfast, which Ron thought went rather below the usual standard (he didn't like Slytherins, but their house-elves could definitely cook). Theo engrossed himself in the newspaper. Both of them drank copiously. Daphne sat back and watched them, lips pressed tightly together.

"Do you two have a radio?" Lestrange asked, after ten minutes of debating where Astoria could possibly have gone; the general consensus, unsurprisingly, was that she'd either been kidnapped by the Order or had run away to them. "I'd ask him," he nodded at Theo, "but he's three sheets to the wind already."

Ginny looked about as peeved as anyone who'd already drunk rather a lot of sherry could. "Yeah, I think so. Why?"

"The insurgents have their own radio station," said Bellatrix, whose arrival five minutes into their debate had precipitated the departure of a good half of the remaining Death Eaters; she didn't seem to have noticed the drastic drop in the house-elves' standards. "If they have her, they'll gloat."

Ginny disappeared upstairs, and returned some minutes later with a small, dusty radio which she set up on the sideboard and proceeded to fumble with.

"Right, let's see, which channel is it?" Lestrange asked, staring at Ron like he expected him to know. "Did it ever get discussed back when –"

"Harry says it's 311081," Ron said, rolling his eyes; it wasn't like his defection to You-Know-Who was a secret. Harry said, Hermione's voice corrected in the back of his head. She'd always been such a stickler for grammar. He wondered if she knew Harry was dead. Did she even know Ginny had been pregnant again? "Date of our lord's … embarrassment. They broadcast at seven pm. Password is Arthur."

Baby Arthur, who was in a basket atop the table, gurgled.

"Yes, yes, good baby," said Ron, tickling Arthur's stomach. The baby's eyes were so similar to Harry's that Ron's own stomach churned. "Oh, um, that reminds me, I have to pick up some toys for him. Excuse me."

He fled into the next room and Flooed to the Leaky Cauldron. The place was empty except for Tom the bartender, who looked him up and down with naked hope then spat pointedly.

"Fuck you too," Ron mumbled, heading out into Muggle London. Where would Hermione be? He supposed he should check the ruins of the Burrow, just to make sure … just to check if it was really true nobody had buried Mum, Percy and the twins. Percy had never been his favourite brother, but even he hadn't deserved to die like that. Now he just needed to find somewhere deserted to Apparate … why were there so many Muggles?

After a few minutes of peering into inevitably-occupied alleyways, he found himself in the one which held the visitors' entrance to the Ministry. It was the way Dad had occasionally taken him, back when they'd all assumed he'd find himself a desk somewhere in the Ministry and lead a blameless life with some nice half-blood girl who cooked like Mum and gossiped incessantly. Daphne was a bitch, but he'd take her over someone like Lavender Brown any day.

And there were no Muggles. Ron got out his wand, thought home, and Apparated. He found himself ten feet in the air. "Arresto momentum!" he muttered, thanking Merlin for Hermione, who had taught the Defence Association the oddest spells. His fall slowed, and his feet hit the ground where the kitchen floor should have been. He didn't even need to think; he knew that his magic had been trying to take him to his Chudley Cannon orange bedroom at the very top of the stairs. Wizards don't cry, chanted the twins in the back of his head. Real wizards don't cry, Ronnie.

And then he turned and forced himself to look at the four bodies which lay crumpled on the ground, just beyond the circle of charred earth which marked where the Burrow had once stood. There lay Mum and the twins, faces calm in death, and Percy, the grass dark with his blood. The Order's people hadn't even bothered to put his guts back inside his chest.

"I'm sorry," Ron managed, through the lump in his throat. Selfhood begins with a walking away, Great-Aunt Muriel had always said, which translated to Try to be less of a disappointment than your brothers. "I'm so fucking sorry."

They stared up at him, their very blankness condemning. He'd never seen the twins look anything other than mischievous.

"I'm sorry," said Ron again, and Apparated to the twins' grubby little flat in Exeter. It was empty. He tried Percy's flat in Hackney, too, even though Percy hadn't been in the Order last time Ron had checked. Percy's flat was just as empty as the twins', although much neater; the twins had left their dishes unwashed and piles of paperwork all over the kitchen table, and there were still water stains on their bathroom floor. It occurred to Ron that he didn't even know what the twins had done for a living. Maybe they hadn't done anything. That wouldn't have surprised him.

Next on the list was Bill's flat over a greengrocer's in Peckham. He didn't think Hermione had ever even been there, but it was worth a try. He found it occupied by a ridiculously pale Muggle girl with bruises all over her arms who squinted blearily at him and told him to fuck off, a request with which he gladly cooperated.

12 Grimmauld Place, where he knew Hermione had talked about staying (if we have to leave school next year, she'd always said, arms around her knees in Neville's dark corner of the common room, but all three of them had known it hadn't been an if), was locked up tighter than a Slytherin's knickers. He tried Harry's house, just in case, but Harry's aunt took one look at him and slammed the door in his face. Since he wasn't wearing anything that aligned him with the Death Eaters and had made very sure not to have his Dark Mark on show, he presumed it was just that Harry's relatives hated magic.

The only other place he could think of was Hermione's house. He'd only met Hermione's parents the once, and he'd never actually spoken to them beyond exchanging pleasantries, but they struck him as decent sorts; they had to be, to raise a daughter as wonderful and beautiful and … to raise a daughter like Hermione. Hermione wasn't Ron's to call wonderful and beautiful anymore. He'd helped Dad pick her up back before everything had gone to shit in fourth year. He visualised the wide street, the big detached houses, the neat lawns, and Apparated.

Hermione's house was in the middle of the street. Ron took off his robes, ducked behind a car, shrunk them, went up to Hermione's door, and knocked. He didn't recognise the woman who opened the door.

"Who're you?" she asked.

Ron stared. "I – hi, I'm Ron. I'm looking for the Grangers?"

"Who, sorry?" the Muggle asked.

"The people who live here – used to live here," said Ron. "Sorry to have bothered you." He headed off down the road, turned the corner, sat down on a bench, and considered. Hermione wasn't likely to just … hang on. Did he still have it? He scrabbled through his pockets. Lint, Galleons, Dreamless Sleep Potion … there. Silver lighter. "Neville," Ron said, flicking the lighter on and off. "Hermione." Just to illustrate the point, he sent them his Patronus. Hermione had always said it was a boa constrictor, but what mattered to Ron was that it was a snake. The Hat had suggested Slytherin to him, and he'd refused it, but sometimes he wondered if he should have.

"Ron."

It was Hermione's trembling voice, issuing out of the lighter. And then a tiny ball of light emerged from the lighter too and floated into Ron's heart, and Ron knew with sudden clarity that he needed to Apparate. He did, and found himself in a small clearing in a forest where he'd never been in his life.

"Hello?"

It was Neville, carrying a large bag. He'd managed to grow a beard and lose several pounds.

"Neville," Ron said, holding out his arms. "You look like shit, mate."

Neville laughed. "Yeah. It's him, Hermione!"

Hermione emerged from behind a tree. She, too, had lost weight; she was carrying a bag even larger than Neville's and a blanket-wrapped bundle. She'd bleached all the colour from her beautiful hair, and very odd it made her look too. "Ron."

"Hey," Ron managed. "You look, um –"

"Oh, don't bother," said Hermione, advancing; she sounded like she might cry. "Thank goodness you're alright. How is everyone?"

Ron shrugged. "Define everyone."

"Harry and Ginny," Hermione said. "And, um, your wife? You're married now, aren't you?"

"Only just," said Ron quickly, "and Daphne's sapphic. It's only because I need heirs, you know, what with – have you heard? Me and Ginny are the last of the Weasleys."

Hermione went impressively pale. "They killed your mum?"

Ron swallowed. "Ginny killed Mum. They were torturing her. It was a kindness."

"Mm," said Hermione, not looking convinced.

"Good for Ginny," Neville said, with the fierce conviction of one whose parents still lay, catatonic, in the closed ward at St Mungo's. He'd taken Ron and Hermione to meet them one Hogsmeade weekend, an awkward experience Ron usually tried to forget. "How's P – Harry?"

"Dead," said Ron.

Hermione stared at him, mouth opening and closing. "But – but he was alive the other night, when we were at your mum's. Lee Jordan was making snide remarks about him and Ginny."

"Somebody killed him," Ron said. He knew it wasn't him. He knew it hadn't been Ginny, either; she knew better. Mum and his brothers wouldn't have used the Killing Curse. He'd been trying not to think about what that sort of dissension in the ranks meant, not that he could talk. He'd killed Malfoy, after all. Voldemort had ordered him to do it, but he'd taken pleasure in the long-due revenge for everything Malfoy had ever said about and done to Hermione. "When we were at Mum's. Ginny's gone and married Theo."

"Theo Nott?" Neville said, wrinkling his nose. "Already? I mean, Astoria said so, but we didn't believe her –"

Ron stared. "You've got Astoria, then? Did she run or was she taken?"

"She ran," said Hermione, with something akin to pride. "She just rocked up on Mrs Tonks' doorstep with a bag full of stolen heirlooms. She's working with the radio for now – she's under Trace, obviously, so … is it true you can't find Luna?"

"Nah, we found her ages ago," Ron said. "She's on hunger strike."

Neville made a face. "She's already too thin."

There was a short, awkward pause.

"How's the mission going?" Ron blurted.

"Shit," said Neville shortly. "Oh, um, sorry. Shouldn't swear. Anyway, you know – I think you'd best explain, Hermione."

Hermione snorted. "Yes, I think I'd best. Remember that time Sirius showed us that ugly tapestry with his family tree on it and told us about his little brother who joined the Death Eaters?"

"Vaguely," said Ron. He hadn't set foot in Grimmauld Place for a year. "Reginald, right?"

"Regulus," Neville corrected. "He found a Horcrux and hid it. We've only just managed to find out what Mundungus Fletcher did with the blasted thing. He was in Azkaban. Anyway, we're going to get it from some Ministry witch he flogged it to and then we're popping over to France. Gran knows a fellow who knows a fellow who knows a witch who … anyway, we're getting a basilisk."

Ron groaned. "And that's it?"

"We think there must be one in Hogwarts," Hermione said primly. "I mean, it's You-Know-Who. It makes sense. He loved Hogwarts, it doesn't take an idiot to tell that, and it'd be the perfect way to thumb his nose at Dumbledore. Neville's even suggested he might have enchanted that Special Award for Services to the School he got for getting Hagrid expelled."

"Nah," said Ron, at once. He'd scrubbed that trophy until it sparkled back in second year, and not once had he spotted anything wrong with it. Horcruxes tended to have something just slightly off. "What's in the bundle?"

Hermione went very red. "It's, um, yours."

"Really?" Ron said, staring. "But Harry had all my stuff sent on to Mortis House."

"She's yours," Hermione corrected, unwrapping the bundle slightly. Inside the bundle was a baby. It was very clearly Hermione's baby. "Luna Veronica Granger, we've named her."

Ron's heart shattered. "You've had his baby?"

"It's yours, Ron," said Neville, hands high in the air. "I've not touched Hermione. She's your daughter through and through."

"Would you like to hold her?" Hermione asked.

Ron wordlessly held out his arms and let Hermione deposit his daughter into them.

Crack.

Lee Jordan appeared from thin air, Astoria Greengrass hanging off his arm.

"Hi," Ron ventured, mouth dry. "You alright, Astoria?"

Astoria glared at him. She was wearing ill-fitting jeans and a lumpy maroon jumper which Ron was pretty sure had once been his. "You know he's a Death Eater, right?"

"I don't believe that shit," said Ron quickly. "I had to. He would've killed me otherwise."

"Come with us," Lee suggested. "You don't have to go back."

Ron swallowed. "I do. I promised my wife I would. I'll stay for the holidays, if you like, but I have to keep term at Hogwarts."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Fine."

And so Ron spent the last week of December and the first week of January with Hermione and Neville, staying in cheap service station hotels and eating fast food and waiting for Neville's passport application to go through. The Death Eaters weren't monitoring Muggle transport yet, Hermione had heard through Emmeline Vance who had heard through … the Order grapevine said so, anyway, and so Hermione and Neville were going to take the Channel ferry to their shady-sounding procurer of basilisks. The problem was that, so far as the Muggles were concerned, Neville didn't exist. Hermione had apparently done a lot of Obliviation and procured several tons of forged paperwork, and now they were just dealing with bureaucracy.

On January 5, Ron accompanied Hermione and Neville to an Order meeting, after which a Phoenix Station broadcast would follow. They all ate greasy Muggle takeaway in Fleur Delacour's grotty flat, and then Fleur dictated at them for a good half hour. Ron reckoned Bill had really missed a trick, getting himself murdered; Fleur was so clearly wound up that Luna Veronica kept fussing, and only stopped when Ron rocked her and sang Mum's old lullabies under his breath.

And then came the knock on the door, and the authoritative voice of Rodolphus Lestrange: "Miss Delacour?"

"That's Lestrange," Ron hissed.

Hermione and Neville, on the other side of the room, Apparated away at once, leaving Hermione's coat and one of Neville's shoes. And the baby. All around them, people were Apparating away with loud cracks, some of them leaving behind minor appendages, until it was only Ron and Fleur and Astoria and the wailing baby gathered around a truly horrendous amount of empty plastic boxes.

"Oui?" Fleur called; she had gone white, and her voice trembled.

"Open the door," Lestrange called.

Help, Astoria mouthed. But Ron couldn't do Side-Along Apparition. Yaxley was trying to teach him, but so far all he'd managed to do was kill several mice. He was hardly going to try now; stress, Hermione had always said, made everything more dangerous. And so he shook his head and watched Astoria's pretty face crumple.

Fleur opened the door a few inches. "Can I 'elp you?"

Ron reckoned she'd thickened her accent on purpose; Fleur spoke the Queen's English these days.

"I'm looking for Hermione Granger," said Lestrange. "Muggle-born girl, brown hair, brown skin?"

"I do not know anyone who looks like zat," Fleur said, not even attempting to sound apologetic. "And I do not know anyone named 'Ermione. Goodnight."

Lestrange pushed his way past her. "Well, I do have a duty to search your flat anyway – good evening, Weasley. Miss Astoria. Are you ladies going to – yes, you are going to fight. Oh well. My wife's just down the corridor – thought that might stop you, Miss Astoria. Clever girl. Stupefy! Come along, Weasley, help me get Miss Astoria down the corridor. We'll send the Aurors for Miss Delacour later – and what is that?"

Ron ignored the flush which he was certain had to be rising up his cheeks. "This is my daughter, Luna Veronica."

"Oh, yes, very pretty," said Rodolphus distractedly. "If you just take my arm, Miss Astoria – that's it. Can you Side-Along, Weasley?"

"I'm learning," Ron admitted. "I always Splinch the mice."

Rodolphus laughed. "Don't worry, I'll take the baby. Come on, you two."

Bellatrix was indeed loitering in the corridor, looking very odd indeed in a long black dress which Ron presumed she'd borrowed off Mrs Malfoy. Some of the local Muggles were peering out of their flats, giving them strange looks, but Rodolphus didn't seem to care; he marched them out of the building and into a deserted back alley, handed Astoria over to Bellatrix, took Luna Veronica, and announced, "Off we all go. Mortis House, alright, Weasley?"

Ron obediently Apparated to Ginny and Theo's back garden, which faced out at a closed factory and so was never really observed. Lestrange appeared beside him a second later, Luna Veronica quiet as a mouse in his arms.

"She's lovely, this one," Lestrange remarked, as they fought through the ankle-length grass; Ron was pretty sure the lawn hadn't been cut since Ginny had thrown that tantrum over not being allowed back to Hogwarts. "Doesn't take much after you. Sure she's yours?"

"I trust her mother," said Ron.

Lestrange shrugged. "Your funeral, I suppose. Who is the mother?"

"None of your business," Ron snapped. "Give her here – are they in?"

"They're always in," said Lestrange. "The question is how drunk are they?" He rapped loudly on the back door. "Oi! Let us in!"

Ron reflected gloomily that the answer was probably very; it was seven o'clock, and by dinner, which in the Nott household was generally served at six o'clock sharp, Theo had always managed to get through at least two bottles of Firewhiskey. He imagined Ginny was probably pretty drunk too; she seemed to absorb most of Theo's habits, sooner or later. "Let's hope Theo's not passed out yet."

Just then, the door opened, and Ginny peered blearily out. "Ron?"

"Hi," Ron managed. "Can we come in? I want to speak to Daphne."

Ginny made a face and ushered them inside. "She's at her dad's. I'll fetch her for you. Theodore's in the dining room – Theodore, look who it is!"

Theo raised his goblet to them and then downed it. He was surrounded by empty Firewhiskey bottles, and there were quite a few empty sherry bottles at Ginny's end of the long dining table. "Ron. Long time no see."

Ron ventured a wave. "How've you been?"

"Drunk," Lestrange said snidely. "They're always fucking drunk. It's like Black's dearly departed aunt and uncle all over again." He Disapparated with a loud crack.

"I am nothing like Orion Black," Theo protested.

Ron didn't even remember who Orion Black was.

"Of course you aren't," said Ginny, who was trying and failing to extract Floo Powder from the flowerpot. She really was drunk. "Say, Ron, why the baby?"

"It's mine and Hermione's," Ron said. "Luna Veronica."

Ginny made a face. "Fucking Luna – finally. Greengrass House!" She disappeared through, and came back almost immediately. "Daphne says she wants to see you both."

Ron Flooed through to Greengrass House's grubby little parlour. The deer heads on the walls stared dolefully down at him, and several of Mrs Greengrass' dogs came running, barking away, and the baby woke up and began to cry.

"Oh, stop it," said Daphne crossly. She looked like she hadn't been sleeping too well; she, too, was armed with a baby, a much larger baby which Ron presumed was Arthur Fitzhenry. "What've you done, Ron?"

Ron took James and handed over Luna Veronica. "She's mine. Mine and Hermione's. Her name's Luna Veronica."

Daphne collapsed onto the nearest sofa. "Ron, you're an idiot, you know that?"

Ron joined her. "Yeah. But – Lestrange was there, he knows about her. There's no way I can get her back to Hermione now. Besides, Hermione's on the run. The last thing she needs is to raise a child."

"Mm," said Daphne. "Well, she's pretty enough … you can't really tell she's yours, but at least she hasn't inherited your hideous hair. Well, we can't call her Luna, it'll be too confusing, and she'll have to be a Fitzronald, and, well, doesn't Veronica Fitzronald just sound silly?"

Ron admitted it did. "What do you want to call her then?"

"Molly for one of them," Daphne said, at once. "And maybe her middle name could be Astoria …"

"They've found Astoria," said Ron. "She was with the Order."

Daphne made a face. "We both know Astoria's not going to survive much longer. She's a liability. Molly Astoria Fitzronald. That's lovely."

"Yeah," Ron said, heart sinking. "Yeah, that's lovely."

At the end of their first day back at Hogwarts, Ron and Daphne were called into Yaxley's office.

"Congratulations on your marriage, Lord Newton," said Yaxley. He didn't seem to have noticed that somebody from Dumbledore's Army had snuck in at some point and scrawled DEATH EATER SCUM all over the back wall. "Viscounts, isn't it, you Weasleys? And did I hear a rumour that Lord Withington has terminated his title in favour of the charming Lady Newton?"

Ron shrugged. "I think so."

"Daddy has, yes," said Daphne, with a tepid glare. "But you already congratulated Ronald, sir. At our wedding. Don't you remember? There was strawberry blancmange."

"I do remember," Yaxley said, smiling. "I also wish to congratulate you on your unusual method of child acquisition … Molly Astoria, I hear. Am I correct in assuming that your new child is Hermione Granger's daughter?"

Ron stared. "By blood, yeah."

"Oh, good," said Yaxley, leaning back in his chair. "That girl was a talent, Muggle-born or not … it's an absolute sin that a girl like Hermione Granger will never join the Aurors. Blood will out. That little girl will go far, you depend on it."

"Thanks," Ron said, not much reassured; he'd always found Yaxley's interest in Hermione more than a little creepy. "Anything else?"

Yaxley sighed. "Yes, actually. Lady Newton's sister is dead."

"Oh," said Daphne, not sounding particularly upset; of course, they'd known it was inevitable. "What a dreadful shame. May we be excused, sir?"

"Of course, of course," Yaxley said.

The two of them walked down the crowded corridor in silence. People jumped out of their way, or in some cases were pulled; after all, Ron was a known Death Eater now. He'd already had his trunk drenched in Infernal Ink and his broom stolen, even though he wasn't even living in a dormitory, and nobody in Gryffindor was talking to him.

"You know," said Daphne lightly, "this means you'll have to fuck me sometime. Molly Astoria's a lovely girl, and she's welcome to your title, but she's not having mine."

Ron stared. "Why not?"

"She isn't my daughter," Daphne said, with eminent reasonableness. "She's Hermione Granger's. Now, I liked Granger somewhat, but she's no Greengrass, and these things pass down the line."

"What about Blaise?" Ron asked desperately. "Isn't he a Greengrass?"

Daphne snorted. "He doesn't have the surname, and I'm not having my title go to any child of his. No, Ron, I will have a child. Your child, before you think to make me cuckold you. The title is terminated in favour of my children by you, remember?"

Ron swallowed and glanced both ways. They were alone. "Alright." He took his wife back to their rooms, laid her down on the bed, and undressed her. She was trembling.

This isn't you, Ron, Hermione screamed, in the back of his head. This isn't you!

I love you, Ron thought, praying she would somehow know it, and put her out of his mind.