I give Shepard a hard once-over before we walk into the living room, as if some last-minute adjustment will make him less Normal. Shepard looks like he’s looked every other day since we met: tall and lanky, long face, bright eyes. He’s Black, with hair that’s two inches tall on top but shaved close over his ears. He wears John Lennon glasses and corduroy trousers. (We picked up extra clothes for him at the airport, and somehow he managed to find more corduroy trousers.)

I’ve only seen Shepard without his denim jacket once, the day he showed me his curse tattoos. The jacket’s unbelievably naff, covered in badges that say things like THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE and SOMEWHERE, SOMETHING INCREDIBLE IS WAITING TO BE KNOWN. Honestly, he looks like a complete nerd, but that, at least, won’t be a problem in my house.

“What?” he whispers.

“What,” I whisper back.

“You look like you’re trying to find something wrong with me.”

“I am.”

“Parents like me,” he says. (Smug.)

“My mum won’t.”

“Is she racist?”

“What? No! I’m biracial.”

Shepard shrugs.

“She’s not racist,” I say. “She just doesn’t like people. Fortunately, you’re interesting.”

He grins. “I mean, I think so. But it’s nice to hear you say it.”

I roll my eyes, turning away from him. “Mum!” I shout. “Dad!”

“In here!” Mum shouts back. It sounds like she’s in the kitchen.

I lead Shepard through the living room. Pacey and Priya are playing Nintendo. “Hey,” I say flatly. “This is Shepard.”

Shepard’s ready to launch his usual charm attack, but my siblings just nod and say, “Hey” without looking away from the screen.

Mum’s in the kitchen, standing right under the light, holding Pip’s hand. Pip’s 10, he’s the youngest. He’ll start at Watford in the autumn.

“Penelope,” Mum says. “How’s that reversal spell you’re working on?”

“It’s promising,” I say.

“Pip’s got a splinter. I thought I’d try reversing an ‘Under my skin.’”

“You’re not casting experimental spells on my hand,” Pip says.

“I’m good with splinters,” Shepard says. “Can I help?”

“What spell do you use?” Mum asks.

“I usually use tweezers,” he says.

She looks up at him for the first time. “You’re Penny’s friend with the urgent problem.”

“Mum,” I say, “this is Shepard.”

He holds out his hand, but she’s already looking back at Pip, holding her wand over his palm.

“No experiments,” Pip says. “I play piano!”

“You never practice,” she says.

“I will!” he swears.

She hitches her wand up in a plucking motion. “No trespassing!”

Pip yelps. A bit of something flies out his hand.

“I can’t believe that worked,” Mum says.

Pip yanks his hand back—“Mum, you’re the worst”—and stomps out of the room.

Mum finally gives Shepard and me her full attention.