Tonight Ignatius was at the ballet studio, waiting to pick up his younger daughter from class. Last school year he'd been working late most of the time and hadn't been able to pick her up from class. This year, that job had fallen to him as he got out of work at just the right time to pick her up. Nervous as he'd been to let Lucy go away, it now gave him the gift of time with his younger daughter.

Molly was standing with her back to him, her red hair pulled up in a bun. The whole class was practicing jumps—petit allegro, Molly called it. It was a whole series of little tiny jumps with delicate footwork and legs kicking out in all directions.

Molly looked up. Though her back was to him, she caught his eye in the mirror and grinned. He grinned back. The music started up again and they started something else—grande allegro, this one was called. Molly was one of the taller ones in the class, having inherited her father's lanky build, and now her long legs propelled her into the air. Ignatius smiled as he watched her. Lucy had his entire personality, including his stubbornness and fiery temper—look where homeschooling had gotten them—but really, she looked more like her mum. Molly was the spitting image of him, but a completely different personality. She was warm and open, like sunshine.

Dimly, he remembered his father once saying something very similar—Fred was like sunshine. He shuddered, resisting the urge to smack himself across the face. That was the thing that terrified him the most—that he would one day become his father.

The class ended and the students bounded toward the door. Ignatius stepped out of the way just in time as a flood of sweaty nine-year-old girls pushed past. In a few minutes Molly had thrown sweats and a jacket over her leotard, picked up her bag, and was ready to go.

"How was class?" Ignatius asked, leading the way back to the car.

"It was good. Miss Irina says I have to practice my ronde de jambe en l'air some more."

"Mm." He wasn't sure what a ronde de jambe en l'air was. "Are you ready for your evening with Mrs. Cox?" Mrs. Cox, their neighbor, had been the girls' babysitter since they were very young.

"I guess." Molly grumbled. "How come I never get to go on date nights?"

Ignatius laughed. "Because the very definition of date night is a nice evening with no kids. Now, your mum and I haven't had a date night in months and we'd like to enjoy our evening. I know, I know, we enjoy your company too. But sometimes it's nice to be just the two of us. And you like Mrs. Cox, right?"

"She's got a nice cat." Molly said. "He's very big and fluffy."

"Well, you can spend the evening with—what was the cat's name?"

"Tiger. It's not a very original name for an orange cat. I think he should be called Harry Potter."

"Oh." Ignatius stiffened at the mention of his brother-in-law. He hadn't spoken to Harry since . . . the triwizard tournament, maybe? "And why do you think the cat should be called Harry Potter?"

"Because Harry Potter is cool! He saved the wizards and killed Voldemort!"

"Not so loud." Ignatius hissed as they passed the entrance to a grocery store. "It's a secret, remember?"

"No, I know!" Molly said in a quieter tone as they got into the car. "The cat should be called Ron Weasley!"

Ignatius flinched. "Where on earth did you hear about him?!"

"He's Harry Potter's best mate." Molly said defensively. "He was mentioned in the book Mum bought in Diagon Alley." Audrey had bought a history book while they were in Diagon Alley, explaining that she wanted to know more about the wizarding world. The book covered the twentieth century through the end of the second war, so logically Ron would have been mentioned. Ignatius hadn't read the book, not wanting to re-live the war, but perhaps he should have. Dear lord, what if they'd mentioned him in it? He'd kept a pretty low profile during the war, but it was still possible.

"I don't think Ron Weasley is a good name for the cat," he said, having finally collected himself. "Wizards are supposed to be a secret, remember? And Mrs. Cox is non magic—a muggle. By the way, how much of that book did you read?"

Molly shrugged. "Most of it."

"Did you understand it?"

"Kind of. Harry Potter killed Voldemort twice and that was cool. But I didn't really understand the horcruxes part. They said Voldemort killed a bunch of people and it helped him live longer and then Harry Potter killed a locket with a sword? I don't get it."

"Molls, you can't just go picking up every book you see. That book is meant for adults, not kids, and it talks about some really dark stuff that happened. Perhaps we'll find a version of that book for you that's meant for kids." Still, he couldn't resist puffing up with pride as he drove. His nine-year-old daughter had read most of a nonfiction book meant for adults! She looked to be headed down the same academic path as her sister.

When they got home Molly slipped away to change out of her dance clothes. Audrey was already dressed for the date, wearing her hair the way Ignatius liked it—pulled up, but with a few strands pulled out to frame her face. "How was ballet class?" She called.

"Molly apparently needs to practice something called a ronde de jambe." Ignatius put and arm around her and kissed her. "I have no idea what that is."

"It's ronde de jambe en l'air." Molly clattered back down the stairs. "Eww, Dad, don't kiss Mum in front of me like that."

"All right, all right." Ignatius stepped back. "Are you ready to go, then?"

"Yeah." Molly picked up a bag she'd packed full of books and headed for the door. Ignatius and Audrey were about to follow when Lucy's owl, Morgana, landed on the kitchen windowsill.

"Oh, Lucy's owl!" Audrey opened the window and Morgana fluttered inside, landing on the perch they'd set up for her. Audrey plucked Lucy's letter from Morgana's talons, then took a dead mouse from the box they kept in the fridge and tossed it to Morgana. "We'll have to read this later, 'Natius, or we won't make our dinner reservation." She washed her hands thoroughly after handling the dead mouse, then hurried out the door.

Dinner was Mexican food. Ignatius had no idea if this restaurant was authentic or not, but they liked it well enough. He'd heard the best place to get authentic Mexican outside Mexico itself was California, and he had no desire to visit the states.

Audrey had brought Lucy's letter with them. "Might as well read it here." she said. "That way we can write back when we get home." She slit the letter open and began reading. Audrey always poured over Lucy's letters, soaking in every little detail and puzzling over every comma and word choice. Ignatius knew his wife was desperate to know about the world he'd come from, the world their daughter now inhabited.

"Anything interesting in her letter?"

Audrey chuckled and set the letter down. "She says the halloween feast went well. I guess the school choir did some sort of performance for it. She also says, and I quote, 'Dad needs to stop telling me his horrible stories about halloween. There's no more war going on and the feast was perfectly safe.'"

Ignatius chuckled. "I suppose she's right. The war's over now. It's just, finding out an escaped mass murderer has broken into your school on halloween is the kind of thing that sticks with you."

"You're not sorry we sent her, are you?" Audrey asked.

"No, no. I was so scared at first, but she seems to be ok."

"Good, good." Audrey kept reading. "Oh. Oh my."

"What?"

"She wants to know why we don't have any pictures of your parents, or of Dead Uncle Fred. She says she can understand not having pictures of Alive Uncle George, but she's confused about the others."

Ignatius nearly jumped out of his skin. "Why does she want to know that?"

"Says she met a classmate who has an uncle who died in the war, and they were trading stories and Lucy realized she's never even seen a picture of Fred. Come to think of it, neither have I. You do have pictures, right?"

Ignatius swallowed. "I have one of my parents. It's me and my parents at my Hogwarts graduation. You've seen it once, many years ago. It's in the attic. And I might have a picture of the twins somewhere."

Audrey put the letter down. "Do you think we should tell her about her grandparents? Show her the picture, explain that they're alive?"

Ignatius sat up a little straighter. "Absolutely not."

"I know we agreed to lie to the girls because it's not easy to explain that level of familial discord to a child. But Lucy's not so little anymore. She might be ready to hear about it."

"I . . ." Ignatius sighed.

"Look, I've told you about my Aunt Lynn, who my parents didn't talk to for a long time because she said they could just have another kid after David died. My mum sat me down and explained it all to me one day when I was about Lucy's age. It was hard, hearing that a family member had said those kinds of things. But I appreciated my mum telling me the truth."

Ignatius nodded. "I know, I know. But this—this is different. My own father told me things would be easier if I was dead. He didn't want me, and he definitely wouldn't want the girls either. Especially Lucy. She is me—you say it all the time, that she's stubborn like me. I can't have her knowing my dad exists in the world, at all."

"What do you think she's going to do, contact him?" Audrey asked. "She's twelve. Besides, she's not rebellious. I don't think we have anything to worry about."

"It's more the principle of the thing. I don't want her knowing anything about him."

Audrey sighed. "Ignatius, the girls aren't porcelain dolls. You can't keep them in a glass case forever. No, we need to tell Lucy. She deserves to know about her family, she deserves to know where you come from. I barely know where you come from, for crying out loud!"

"I don't know." Ignatius moaned. "We tell her one detail, then another, and then this whole thing spirals beyond our control."

"Control." Audrey said. "That's just it, 'Natius. You don't get to control who Lucy is or what she does. We don't get to decide who she is. You're a little bit of a helicopter parent—you want to clear the way for Lucy and control what happens to her, so that nothing bad ever happens. But that's not how the world works. We can't prevent bad things from happening."

"We can try."

"I think we lose a lot by trying, though. Lucy missed on an entire year at school with her friends because we tried so hard to keep her safe. What did we gain? A whole year of knock-down drag-out fights between you two. Our girl is so bloody stubborn—gets it from you. I don't think we gain much from continuing to lie about her grandparents, either. She's ready to know."

Ignatius pondered what his wife was saying. She made a lot of sense. After all, that's why he'd married her. Audrey was right—they'd gained very little by keeping Lucy at home for a year. They'd gain little by continuing to lie to her about her grandparents, only confusion on Lucy's end. And besides, what would Lucy do with that information? Audrey was right, Lucy was only twelve and would be under the impression that her grandparents were called Prewett. She wouldn't do anything rash, and certainly would not bump into her grandparents anywhere at school. "You're right, Audrey." he said. "You've been right about all of this. What do we gain by sheltering her, especially as she gets older? I think she's ready to hear about her grandparents. Not what my father said—I don't know if I ever want her to know that—but she's ready to hear most of it. Let's tell her when she comes home for Christmas. I think this is a conversation that needs to happen in person."

Audrey was smiling, her eyes sparkling in the candlelight. With all the stress of the last several months, he'd forgotten how beautiful she was. "I can lead the way, if you want, since I had a similar conversation with my mum when I was Lucy's age. But this is a good idea. She deserves to know, and you'll survive telling her."

Ignatius smiled at her. "I love you."

"I love you too."