“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.