Women

I keep reading stupid nonsense online and hearing feedback to my articles that characters, especially women, are unrealistically smart and pure.

I get where people are coming from. I read all those “red pill” texts based on poorly understood evolutionary biology and psychology. I watched youtube videos where they invite strippers, online prostitutes and other horrible female characters and they are all idiots.

However, I also watch videos by female astrophysicists and mathematicians. If you think women can’t be that smart, you’ve been hanging out with the wrong crowd. There’s that idea in the “red pill” or “manosphere” circles, that women are emotional, and men are rational, that men base their decisions on facts and evidence, while women base their decisions on feelings.

So, let me make this absolutely clear. This is complete nonsense. Women are intellectually almost completely equal to men. By almost completely I mean that some men, like, a micro-percentage, will be smarter than all women. However, if you’re not Einstein, Bohr, Heisenberg, Landau or Feynman, there’s a woman out there who earns money by giving instructions to men smarter than you in order for them to figure out stuff that’s just too hard for them. And she’s a soft, feminine, romantic creature who likes to feel pretty.

The reason why men underestimate women’s brains is because they think that assertiveness and dominance, and mental ability are the same thing. They are not. In fact, they are not even related; they are different like taste and colour. So, when they see a female ballet group, they tend to make certain conclusions that are completely wrong, because one of those women is an organic chemist, a PhD who works at a scientific institute. Another is an architect. The third is a doctor, fourth is a lawyer. And they are all soft, pretty, gentle creatures in frilly outfits, and they like nice shoes and hand bags. And all are likely smarter than literally every single man who thinks women are emotional and men are rational.

The idea that women are more emotional and men are more rational is complete nonsense. What’s actually different is that women are more like children in a sense that they can’t hide their emotions. It’s because their emotions are extremely socially significant and when they are visible, people know what’s going on and will assist them. Men have a certain part of the brain developed after puberty that makes them more capable of hiding their emotions and functioning despite them. It’s an evolutionary thing. However, men and women have equally rich, diverse and sophisticated emotional lives. Men who say they don’t either lie or are stunted idiots. It’s just that with women, you can see it on their faces and bodies. With men, it’s much harder to read. Also, women are incredibly smart; well, at least women I tend to hang out with are. It’s just that women’s intellect is as easy to underestimate as men’s emotional richness; in both cases, the outward appearance masks it. It’s easy to look at a serious stoic guy and think he’s not emotional, and it’s easy to see a girly girl smiling and being cute and underestimate her intellect. She might be an excellent mathematician, a doctor or an astrophysicist, for all you know. Looking serious and focused is an act. It’s something you can learn even if you’re a dumb sack of shit. Just look at the politicians. On the other hand, having your system full of female hormones that make you soft, gentle and cute tells you absolutely nothing about the intellectual capacity of the brain in that soft, beautiful and gentle body. She might be dumb as a brick, or she might be earning money by giving lessons in college mathematics.

Also, men often say that women are difficult to understand. That’s completely wrong. In fact, women are extremely easy to understand. Just imagine yourself being one. You have the same mind, same intellectual power, same emotions, it’s just that your body is soft, vulnerable, feminine, and you can control your emotional displays about as well as you could when you were ten years old, meaning you break into tears when something hurts. You also have a different energy, slightly different desires. You are the same person you are now; lost, confused, trying to figure yourself out, trying to feel loved, respected, powerful, successful, admired. You learn things because you desire knowledge, you desire to be more than you are, to know more, to see things. The difference is, you are looking for a boss. You’re looking for someone to admire, someone who will be a figure of authority – someone wise, kind, powerful, gentle, who will guide you through your confusion, lead you towards the right goal in the right way, keep you safe from harm while exposing you to new and great things, and bring your soul back to God, safe, pure and unharmed.

Of course you don’t know all this intellectually. Nobody knows anything intellectually, people are just ignorant and are trying to wing it blindly through life, occasionally crashing hard and trying to pick themselves up again; however, men are forced to figure things out themselves, and they need a woman who will stand by them while they do it and make them feel it’s all worth it – they need to feel needed, respected, acknowledged and seen. Women need almost the same things; they just need a man to break the ice and protect them when they are vulnerable. A frighteningly smart woman will still need a man who will help her cut through the noise, filter out the confusion and find them both a path. She needs to know that someone is at the wheel when she’s distraught, or nine months pregnant, giving birth or nursing. She knows instinctively there will be times she’s down for the count, and she needs you to keep everything running and keep her safe while that’s happening. She knows she’ll be confused and needs you to have perspective, make a choice and get them safely out.

That’s all there is to it, really. Regarding the other thing men keep talking about, how easy it is for women to get men, and how hard it is for men to get women, that’s all nonsense. It’s easy for women to get all the wrong men – those who just want to use them for sex because they are attracted, those who don’t see them as a person, those who don’t actually care for who she is, just what they can get from her. Those who are weak and want her to be their mommy, adding to their burdens in life instead of making it easier. Women are in the same position as those rare, super wealthy or otherwise desirable men, who are constantly annoyed by women hitting on them because they don’t see them as a person, but they see them as a source of things they can get from him, or they otherwise have nothing substantial to offer him. Basically, men and women are in identical situation; it just looks different. It looks like a woman has all the choice in the world, but it’s mostly of all the wrong things. A man looks like he has no choice, but his probability of getting just the right girl is identical to a woman’s probability of getting just the right man. It’s just that women have noise where men have silence, and it appears different. A woman’s abundance of wrong choices is merely abundance of opportunity to ruin her life by choosing a wrong man, or dick surfing until she turns into a messed-up free prostitute. A man’s lack of choice just means he needs to work on becoming a person some wonderful woman is praying for.

It’s all very easy to figure out. You just need to put yourself in other person’s skin and see what it feels like, instead of trivialising people. Of course I write smart, emotionally rich female characters – I actually know and understand real, smart women. I know what makes them tick, how their minds and emotions work, what their souls look like when stripped of appearances. It’s actually my job to know.

Wandless

“When we mentioned the Dementors yesterday, I had an idea”, she whispered in his ear as they lay intertwined in bed.

“?”

“They multiplied in the dark years. There’s much more of them than there used to be, and it’s a problem. Of the kind that’s our job to solve, now.” She kissed his earlobe.

“Since I don’t think you mean going to all the dark places and blasting them with the Patronus charm, forcing them to relocate to a different dark place, I assume you have a better idea”, he whispered back, smiling.

“I think they are not multiple entities. They are connected in a mesh of sorts. Each individual Dementor feels more like a node in a network, or a tear in space, than a being. That’s why they can’t be killed”, she mused.

He kissed her nose. “Interesting. And if they are all connected, something that kills one could spread across the entire mesh, wiping out all the nodes. And I have something you might find interesting. Since we’re together, like, really together, I never had to use the Patronus charm. It’s like it’s always on. You’re my Patronus without even needing a spell.”

“I’m the Mistress of Fear”, she nodded. “And I’m always yours. That would do it.”

“I can see you have a theory, I just don’t see what it is.” He kissed her temple.

“We make a new spell. You and I together, like this. Perfectly happy. Perfectly home. Nowhere to go. Nothing to do. No fear. Death is irrelevant because it would change nothing, we would be in the same place just without the bodies. No threat. Fulfilment. You breathe me in. I breathe you in.” She closed her eyes, and worked something with her finger, as if weaving. He felt deep magic stirring. She whispered a word: “Exalto!” and made a fist. Light exploded in his soul with such power that he put his head on her breasts and wept.

It took him minutes to get his bearings. “What did you do to me? This was absolutely wonderful. It felt like our concentrated love, but not just that – also the memories of my parents, of Dumbledore, of the King’s Cross station representation of Heaven, the moment when I realised that I loved you more than anything, the moment you said ‘yes’, our first kiss, all the times we had sex and came together, all in one moment. My heart exploded”, he whispered.

“I tried it on you first”, she smiled. “I’m glad it works as intended”.

“Wow”, he managed.

“Let’s go to work; we have a captured Dementor there”. She pulled him out of bed.

…

They got all the permissions and went together into the enclosure. The Dementor hissed at them, but there was no reaction. Both of them had permanent and complete immunity. She closed her eyes and pointed her finger at the Dementor. “Exalto!”, she whispered.

The Dementor shivered, exploded with light where there used to be a dark, shrouded appearance, stayed like that as tiny wires of light expanded from it everywhere through space… and the dark fissure in space closed. Everywhere.

…

“You didn’t even need a wand”, Hermione was incredulous.

“I don’t need a wand any more”, Lyra explained. “Humans are naturally only partially magical. We need a conduit, something that is between ourselves and the magical layer of the world beneath the visible. Something that harmonises us with it, allows us to touch it. I first learned to do it without spells, and then I learned that I don’t need the wand if my mind is in the right state. I can tug at the layer of pure magic with my naked mind, without intermediaries”.

“That’s just incredible”, Hermione whispered. “The house Elves can do it that way, I knew that already. Humans can do wandless magic sometimes. Other magical species don’t use wands at all. But I don’t know if any human ever achieved this before. Can you show me? Both the wandless spellcasting, and that new spell? Please?” Hermione cuddled with Lyra, mock-begging with a wide smile.

Lyra smiled back and ruffled her hair. “OK, but be warned: this will be emotionally intense. Really intense.”

“Will it be bad?” Hermione raised an eyebrow.

“No. It will be the opposite of bad, but so powerful, that I wouldn’t do it outside a private environment because it will leave you completely exposed and vulnerable for a while”, she warned.

Hermione thought about it. “I trust you. Do it.”

Lyra closed her eyes, smiled, touched Hermione’s heart and whispered “Exalto!”.

It took Hermione fifteen minutes to stop crying. Then she hugged Lyra and whispered “I love you so much”.

“I know, sweetheart. I know. I love you too”.

“You were right. I wouldn’t want to feel this outside an intimate setting. I don’t know what God is supposed to feel like, but it can’t be better than this”, Hermione sobbed.

Breakup

“Hello Dudley”, Harry greeted the big man who opened the apartment door for them. “I’d like you to meet my wife, Lyra”.

“Mr. Dursley”, Lyra smiled and nodded.

Dudley stood there with mouth open, until he finally understood that he should invite them in and offer them a seat.

He looked at Lyra, then at Harry. “You got married, huh?”

“Yes”, Harry nodded. “I sent you an invitation”.

“Must’ve misplaced it”, Dudley fumbled. “So, what are you two doing in life? Got a job?” He looked at both of them.

“In fact we did.”, Lyra nodded. “We work in magical law enforcement”.

Dudley whistled. “You’re cops?”

“Well, sort of.”, Harry confirmed. “We’re Aurors.”

“Aurors? What’s that?”

“Highly trained special forces unit. We locate and apprehend dangerous dark wizards who broke the law. Usually armed murderers and terrorists”, Lyra answered.

Dudley’s eyes spread wide and looked like they would pop out of their sockets. “Special forces? But I thought…”

“You thought Harry was harmless”, Lyra smiled. “Harry is indeed harmless to you. We have a law against hurting Muggles. Even letting you know all this is possible only because you’re family and already know some of it, so it doesn’t go against the Statute of Secrecy. Hurting a Muggle is one of those crimes one would get in trouble with the Auror office, in fact.”

“You mean, you and Harry get sent to deal with terrorists with magical wands?”, Dudley managed to put his confusion into words.

“That’s correct. We find them, we apprehend them, and if they resist arrest, their bodies get delivered to the Ministry of Magic for identification purposes”, Lyra smiled.

Dudley looked at the two slender young people. “But…”

“You seem to think we don’t look dangerous enough. That, I’m afraid, is very far from the truth. You see, Harry qualified for his job by challenging the most dangerous magical terrorist and murderer in the world and killing him in a duel in front of the entire school of Hogwarts. He is universally considered to be the most powerful and dangerous wizard in the magical community.”, she looked at Dudley seriously, and then smiled at her husband. “They call him The Master of Death”.

“She’s not telling it like it is”, Harry grinned. “She’s much tougher and more dangerous than I am. She had the highest grades on the Auror entry exam in history.”

…

Harry couldn’t stop laughing as they came home. “Did you see his face?”

“I thought it was appropriate payback for his abominable treatment of you during your childhood”, Lyra smiled and kissed his hand. “I couldn’t just let this go”.

“Unfortunately, the next house visit will not be as pleasant”, he reminded, kissing her back.

“I know”, her shoulders fell. “I hate visiting the Weasleys”.

“Want to talk about it?”

“You know most of it already. Arthur is a man-child playing with toys rather than taking care of his family properly, and Molly is a devouring mother who refuses to let her children grow up and keeps acting as if they are all seven years old so that she would keep having a purpose in life. The entire atmosphere they are creating is suffocating, oppressive slop that is centred around avoiding every single important and serious issue, and their reaction to touching any such issue is defensive, self-righteous and disproportionally violent. They are terrible people disguised as a loving, care-free family”, she allowed herself the freedom to blow off steam.

“When I was a small child, after my terrible experience with the Dursleys, the Weasleys looked like heaven. Molly was kind, gentle and treated me like a son. Arthur was kind, calm and nice. Their kids were all very nice to me, treated me like one of them, and it was the first proper family I had, and I would lie if I said I didn’t love them. But when I hear your perspective, I can’t say you’re wrong. I just never looked at it that way”, Harry mused. “When I look at it from where you come from, I can see why Charlie, Bill and Percy went their own way and why they keep their distance. Molly even managed to antagonise Fleur before their wedding, and you know what a wonderful lady Fleur is.”

“They fear being devoured and deprived of their life”, she noted. “Even Fred and George, who couldn’t take anything seriously to save their life, became respectable businessmen, with your help, and went their own way. Poor George.”, she sighed. “Just look what happens to Ron when he visits. He turns from a war hero who lived in a tent in the woods, hunted Horcruxes and learned enough Parseltongue to open the Chamber of Secrets, into a couch potato, when he’s there. It’s like his soul leaves his body. They are worse than the Dementors. With the Dementors, you at least know what they are. Molly and Arthur are like two Dementors that look like a loving, happy family”.

“Ready to face the Dementors?”, Harry smiled, rubbing her palm with his thumb.

“I guess”, she smiled painfully. “I endured worse”.

…

“Kreacher, please open the door”, Lyra whispered, looking exhausted after a stressful evening. “It’s Hermione”.

“Yes, Young Mistress”, the house Elf croaked respectfully. “I will bring her right in”.

“Hello Lyra. Harry”, Hermione tried a smile. Her eyes were red and puffy and she’d obviously been crying. They both rose in alarm. “What happened?”

“I broke up with Ron”, she started crying again, and Lyra embraced her and held her.

“You saw it. We came there, and he turned into a child as usual. It’s like his brain regressed to the point where he’s still nursing when he’s there. He’s never really serious and focused, but at least he’s trying. But when he sees his mother, he’s five. And then I looked at the two of you – the way you are with each other, how relaxed but sharp and focused you are, the way you talk to each other exchanging complex ideas and telling love poetry to each other, and my heart broke. I look at him and think, why am I doing this to myself? I don’t want my life to be like this. So I gave him an ultimatum, and it became an ugly fight where he was defending his mother and accusing me of all sorts of things the Weasleys accuse people who tell them to clean up their act, and I was done. I broke up with him.”, she sobbed.

…

It was three weeks since she was alone. It wasn’t good, but it wasn’t horrible any more either. Lyra and Harry were life savers; they pulled her through the worst of it. It also helped to vent in letters to Viktor; her heart went warm at the thought of him. He was such a good friend.

The door rang and she went to see who that is. Hope it’s not Ron.

“Viktor?”, she stood stunned.

“Hello Hermione.”, he smiled. “Mind if I come in?”

“Sure, of course”, she smiled back. “Where did you come from?”

“Bulgaria, believe it or not.”, he laughed. “It’s not the easiest travel with either the broom or apparition, but trains help”.

She laughed. “I got that part. What I mean is…”

“Why now? Well, I got a few of your tear-stained letters and I decided that we have this thing upside down, and I decided to make it right. You see, there’s a name for a man in your life whose shoulder you cry on when something hurts you. The name is ‘husband’, not ‘pen pal’, so I decided that the character of our relationship is due for a serious revision. Will you be my wife, Hermione Granger? I love you, and I loved you since the Yule Ball, but somehow you sorted me into your friend zone, and that needs to change. Will you marry me?”, he opened a small box with an engagement ring.

Hermione stood there, in shock first, then in thought, and then a smile appeared, and became wider until she looked like she swallowed a small sun. “Yes. Yes I will. For someone who called Ron dense, it sure took me long enough.”

…

“The relationship with the Weasleys is going to become tense now”, Lyra noted.

“I’m afraid that’s inevitable”, Harry nodded. “However, it’s either that, or we watch Hermione slowly die within, and it breaks our hearts. Honestly, I see no part of this that they didn’t bring onto themselves.”

“True, but that’s not going to make it any nicer”, Lyra shrugged.

“I think I’m done with ‘nice’. ‘Nice’ always seems to be a chocolate-covered turd”, he grinned, as she burst into laughter.

“Why, Mr. Malfoy-Potter, that language is unbecoming of your sublime grace”, she managed.

“My Princess, while that may or may not be so, seeing how immensely done with their shit we both became, it surely is appropriate”, he kissed her.

“Finally, you managed a proper reply”, she fumbled. “Well, almost”.

“I had a good teacher, your graceful highness”. He kissed her again.

Priorities

“I have to apologise to you”, she looked at him seriously. They found their old spot by the lake and took their time now that the castle was still in ruins and people were counting the dead and mourning. However, they had their own priorities. Winning the war was first, and that was now done. This came second.

“No, you don’t”, he was adamant. “In fact, I have to apologise to you”.

“You can do that later. However, the fact that you were at fault doesn’t mean that I’m blameless. I refused to believe you. I was faced with the person who bore a scar on his forehead from Voldemort trying to kill him as a baby in the crib, while stepping over the corpse of his mother to do it, and I defended him because it suited me. He literally tried to murder an innocent baby who was the last offspring of a great noble family while talking nonsense about pureblood supremacy and what not. In hindsight, it was obvious as day, and I refused to admit it because it would make my father look bad, and my father could do no wrong because he would sing me lullabies and tell me stories and tales when I was a baby. Harry, I wronged you by not believing you and I’m deeply sorry”.

“Thank you”, he smiled and wiped a tear from her cheek. “My turn”, he sighed. “I wronged you horribly. I don’t even know whether I should explain what I was thinking, because it was so worthless and undignified, but I think you deserve to hear it. You see, I wanted to experiment. I wanted to see what other girls would feel like. With you, I couldn’t actually say what we were. I didn’t have a word. ‘Girlfriend’ wouldn’t fit. ‘Friend’ was too superficial. I wanted to see if what I felt with you was something that happened with any pretty girl, because I thought it couldn’t be just you. After all, you were in the enemy camp. I feared you would turn on me when Voldemort came back, and I already felt he was coming back for a year. When he did, I wanted to force myself away from the emotional danger of falling for you the way I knew I should if I allowed it. I wanted to be on the right side of the war when it happened. So, I tried to reproduce what we had as closely as possible with Cho, and I didn’t feel anything. It was just nice. That was around the time when Voldemort was actively trying to influence my mind through the scar, and I was afraid that my mind was damaged, and I was turning cold and empty like he is, so I doubled down on my stupidity and tried harder, to no effect. I was just constantly angry, hurt, abandoned, complaining, blowing off steam on my friends who didn’t do anything. Then Sirius died, and I felt it was my fault, because it kind of was, and I wished I could die, truly. I wished for it when Voldemort tried to possess me, and Dumbledore said it was love and it hurt Voldemort like nothing else. I missed you, and I hated missing you because I thought you were the enemy, so how can I miss the enemy, there must be something wrong with me. Then you took the dark mark and started conspiring to kill Dumbledore, and I said yeah, that’s what she is now, and I hated you until I almost killed you, and then I held you and realised that you are everything to me, and that I loved you and would give anything to get you back. But I couldn’t sit at your bedside and see that you are well, because Dumbledore called and I had to go with him on a mission, and you know what happened when we returned. He was half dead from some terrible potion he had to drink, and then he petrified me under my cloak and you came.”, he sighed and closed his eyes. “Then I saw you weeping and begging him to save your family, and I saw the full reality of what you actually were while I hated you and lived in my imaginary world that justified my betrayal of your love and trust. I am incredibly sorry.”

Now she wiped his tears. “I know you are, and you should be. You broke my heart and left it like that for two years. You could have waited until I calmed down and then talked to me. You could have guessed that my feelings were hurt. You could have apologised. Instead, you acted as if I was nothing to you, I was an enemy who finally showed her true face, while I needed your shoulder to cry on because I had Voldemort, werewolves and villains at home and I was scared. Why didn’t you? I mean, reach out. Apologise. Ask how I felt?”, she sobbed.

“You have to understand that I’m much dumber than you. I didn’t know what we were. We never actually talked about it, we didn’t have words. There was the unresolved allegiance thing. It gnawed on me and stopped me from falling for you or even understanding what we are. I didn’t know that you changed your mind. I was so preoccupied by all sorts of important stuff that was going on, that I couldn’t even deal with something as complex at the moment. My mind was a mess. I had visions from Voldemort every now and then, and even when I didn’t, I had the ever-present darkness in my mind. I was half past insane, to be honest. Also, everybody seemed to be after me, so I was super defensive.”

“That actually sounds somewhat like what I was going through”, she reminisced. “I was feeling miserable and feeding the feeling with everything – if I hit my foot and it hurt, I used the pain to make myself more miserable. I just fed the darkness with more darkness. It looks like this might not be unrelated, or accidental. It might have something to do with the overall darkness enveloping everything after Voldemort’s return, and we just got swallowed by it and invented our own rationalisations as to why we are feeling the way we are”.

“That’s actually a good point, although I wouldn’t wish to use it to excuse myself; merely to understand part of it. I definitely wronged you, and I almost killed you before the lights in my brain started turning on. Eventually, Hermione gave me the word I was looking for, the word that explained what you are to me”, he smiled through tears.

“What is it?”, she looked at him curiously.

“Wife. She said you’re my wife. Not a school girlfriend. Not a friend. She said that I should never play with your heart because you’re a serious person. Will you be my wife, Lyra Malfoy? I love you and I promise to love, cherish and protect you forever”.

“I will”, she sobbed. “I swore to be your wife when I was eleven. I just waited for you to ask. You surely took your time”, she tried a smile.

…

“This was my first kiss, you know”, she smiled later.

“This is going to sound weird, but I think it was mine, too. When I kissed Cho and Ginny, it didn’t feel like I’m actually myself – it felt like I’m watching it from a slightly disembodied position and going through the motions, not actually feeling anything. That’s why I was scared that Voldemort scrambled my brain permanently and I’m turning into a zombie. Now, I felt like my true self, doing what I actually want, choosing my destiny, and it’s no longer scary the way it used to be – in the oh my God, I’m falling for a death eater girl way – but it’s still scary in the sense how important, right and good it is. It feels like kissing my own life. And now I can finally admit to myself that I love you”, he smiled.

“I’m sorry for just assuming things and not saying things in words”, she smiled back. “I assumed it’s all perfectly obvious – what we are, what we’re doing. But I didn’t actually confirm it with you, and it would be the most reasonable thing to do. I think I just expected you to say it, because that’s traditionally how it goes, but I didn’t realise that you wouldn’t know. Too many assumptions. Talking could have saved us from all sorts of heartache.”

“I don’t think that’s the case”, he mused. “I think I didn’t want to know. The political part was too much of an issue for me, so much so that I turned parts of my brain off rather than face the truth. Lyra, I thought about it all after I almost killed you. I realised that touching your body switched on parts of my brain, because I’m so deeply wired to you. And it’s not just touch. It’s looking at your face while we talk, seeing your thoughts move it, feeling your physical presence that feels like space within my mind. Honestly, I think I can feel your emotions and thoughts from the scent of your sweat, which feels like something fresh, pure and clean. I was always so deeply in love with you that word “love” didn’t match the feeling because it’s too shallow and means all kinds of silly stuff, especially when you’re a messed up kid like me. I have to tell you one thing. When I temporarily died in the forest, before I came back, I was in a place that felt like the King’s Cross station, only obviously non-physical and made of light. It felt like home, like safety, like everything’s finally OK. And what I realised was that I felt that feeling before, because it felt like you. It felt like the look in your eyes, the freshness of your skin, purity of your scent, like the sense of having you physically present beside me. You feel like home. To say it’s merely love is to diminish its dignity.”

“I knew it couldn’t be just me”, she smiled like an exploding star.

“So, what do we do now?”, he raised his eyebrows.

“We get married, finish school, hunt the remaining evil creatures that made our lives hell, and make babies. Not necessarily in that order, though.”, she laughed.

“We can compromise on the order, but we’re definitely making babies”, he kissed her.

“Do you need an instruction manual?”, she joked.

“Yes, in fact. But as always, learning things from you is much more fun”, he laughed.

“I guess school first, then we get married, and then, I guess, we teach each other what goes where. It can’t be that hard to figure out, since everybody does it”, she giggled.

“Well, they obviously don’t do it enough, or we wouldn’t be having a population crisis”, he grinned.

“Three at the minimum”, she lifted three fingers, and he kissed them.

“More if possible”, he agreed. “And I was thinking about another thing. When everything came back to me, I also remembered one of our first proper conversations, where you told me that the Malfoy name will die with you because you’re a girl. Always be proud of being a girl. And your name is not going to die. I’ll make our joint surname Malfoy-Potter. We’re blending two important, ancient lines, and they should be equally represented, but yours goes first, because from now on you always come first. Not after war, not after work. First.”

“Wow”. She kissed him and they just stayed like that, breathing. “I always wanted you to be proud of me. This feels… like that, plus some burden or guilt being relieved. It feels like my ancestors are proud of me, as well. I don’t know if it’s just in my head, but it feels real”.

“Well, why would the fact that it’s in your head mean it’s not real?”, he asked, and kissed her again.

…

“Come. We need to help people clean up the mess. Comfort them”, she prompted.

“Yes”, he nodded. They had the priorities straight: win the war. Put their future on the right tracks. Then everything else.

So, time for everything else.

Almost tragedy

“I thought about your arguments and I think I am ready to offer you my answer”, Harry nodded.

“I will not even try to refute your arguments themselves. They are too well thought out, and statistical data pool is too shallow. I decided that this course will not be productive. Instead, I might offer something else”

Lyra nodded. “Go ahead”.

“I am the only child of my parents. You are the only child of yours. Our lines are at the risk of extinction if either of us is killed in some accident, duel or if we fail to have children. However, the Weasleys are in no such danger, would you agree?”

“I would. There’s too many of them”, she nodded.

“Exactly. So, my argument is that the wizarding families should work on having at least three children per couple. One is an extinction certainty, because it produces half the replacement. Two replaces the couple in question, but any accident, which becomes a certainty on statistically significant numbers, reduces this below replacement. Only three or more children per couple offer a reasonable guarantee of survival of the magical lines”, he finished.

She thought about it for a while. “What about dilution of wealth? If you split property into multiple family branches, it will dilute rather than concentrate”.

“This is of marginal importance, because it is offset by greater earning power of more contributing wizards and witches. Also, the argument is moot because the alternative is biological extinction. For instance, if you had multiple siblings, the greatest problem would be who inherits the big house. If you are alone, the greatest problem is extinction of your line. Literally, pick one or the other”, he offered.

“Your argument, as far as I can tell, is perfectly valid, and I accept it”, she conceded. “The argument that magical families should have at least three children is water-tight, and any opposition to it is not reasonable”.

He couldn’t believe it. “Wait, I won?” He smiled widely.

“No, we won”, she smiled back. “We solved a problem. It benefits both of us. It keeps our community alive. It prevents our extinction. It makes the war irrelevant and unnecessary. It makes the issue of integrating muggle-born wizards moot. The only problem that remains is marrying outright muggles. I think I can say with conviction that I am not at all happy with how that looks, statistically speaking.”

“I have to agree”, Harry nodded. “Whilst I am pretty convinced that marrying muggle-born wizards will not dilute magical blood, and instead offers a solution to inbreeding of the magical community, marrying non-magical people does solve inbreeding but introduces such a high statistical probability of non-magical births, or reduction of magical potential, that I would be extremely disinclined to play with that kind of fire. So, while this argument isn’t over, I think we can agree that the risk to reward ratio is unfavourable”.

“I have to agree”, she smiled. “So, we now need to start making babies and not stop before three, and hopefully stop killing each other in stupid internecine wars”.

“Look how sweaty we are”, he pointed at their joined hands. “This was stressful”.

“Of course it’s stressful. If we miss something, the price is too big to pay”, she shrugged. “But we can relax now and change the topic to something more soothing”.

“About that; do you want to go with me to the Yule ball?”, Harry smiled sheepishly.

“Of course I do”, she smiled brightly. “I am happy that you thought of me. After all, I was afraid I still occupy a non-girl category for you somehow”.

Harry thought about it. “No, that’s not quite true. Your femininity is an overwhelming force. But you do occupy a special category for me. You are frightening. And I don’t mean it because you’re dangerous or powerful, although you of course are. I mean it because you matter so much, that I get jitters before I come to you with an argument. I hold your hand to see if something hurt you, because I know exactly what your hand does when I do, so I can instantly stop and apologize. I feel that twitch of yours like my own pain. But every other girl somehow fits a completely different group for me, and I don’t know why that is”.

“I don’t like something about this”, she frowned. “It can mean two things, and I really, really don’t like option two”.

…

Lyra walked slowly to their favourite spot overseeing the lake. She wanted to tell him that she understood now about Voldemort. They are now on the same side, but he’s the only one she can tell without fatal consequences. She had a feeling he might be there.

She saw him, but he wasn’t alone. He was with another girl – Cho Chang. She was crying, likely over Cedric Diggory dying. Harry was comforting her. They embraced. Then they kissed.

Lyra’s heart froze. She just stood there and her tears welled up.

It was their place. That was supposed to be her. He never kissed her like that. They were together, they were courting for years. They were so intimate, that their thoughts and bodies worked like a single unit. Everybody told her they look like they are already married, and she felt like they were, like it’s a certainty. She turned and ran, didn’t stop until she was alone and she cried. Then she went out, and saw Harry and Cho holding hands in the corridor. He looked at her, saw her, and she couldn’t bear it, so she turned away and ran again. She didn’t cry again; she felt dead, hard, and anger welled up. This was betrayal. It was ugly, dirty, violent betrayal. He threw away everything they had, everything they were, he trampled on her heart, on her soul, and replaced the scary girl for one of the safe, soft ones, the ones that don’t make him scared. The one from the “actual girls” category. She felt humiliated, dirty and ugly, unlovable and discarded, and she felt such hatred of him for making her feel that way that she never thought herself capable of such emotion. And then she looked at him like that, and he froze. She knew him well enough to be able to read his thoughts from his eyes. He’s thinking I decided for Voldemort now that he’s back. Stupid imbecile. Her anger flared even hotter, and he ran away. I guess I’m truly scary now, she thought. Scary, hurt, discarded, replaced, alone, forever. I will never have children. My family name will die with me. I will never again love, or feel loved.

The light in her heart died. Two years of darkness, anger, humiliation and fury passed, when she kept herself alive only for her parents.

And then he struck her, and he shot to kill. His Sectumsempra against her Crucio, and he won. He held her broken, bleeding body, and begged for her to come back to him, that she’s everything to him. And as her life was fading, the light in her heart came back.

Later, she though she may have imagined it, but the light persisted. And then, at the funeral, he came to her, and told her he loved her and was hers if she would have him, and her heart, her soul, her life, it all came back at once and never again went away. Except for those five minutes when she thought him dead. But let’s never, ever think about that.

…

As their third child was born and she looked at her green eyes, she smiled.

Option one. I really, really like option one.