Finance, like time, devours its own children.

- Honore De Balzac

Usually, Blaise Zabini didn't at all mind when he found himself seated across from a curvaceous, sloe-eyed beauty, but it quite ruined the scenario when said beauty was his own mother.

To the outside eye, Ophelia Zabini looked all of thirty years, maybe even twenty-five in the correct light. Upon closer inspection, however, the calculating gleam in her eyes and the studied pretense at a leisurely pose gave away the ruse.

Her skin was a beautiful bronze and her eyes were a deep chocolate brown surrounded by sooty lashes. Black curls tumbled down to the small of her back. She was a celebrated beauty. That beauty had bought her seven husbands and wealth beyond measure.

The tea house, where the mother and son sat, was cozy and warm, with a crackling fire that kept the Christmas chill at bay.

Blaise looked out the window in boredom, watching several witches and wizards pull their robes closer against the biting wind to brave the shops for last minute gifts. He couldn't imagine the reason his mother wanted to see him, and frankly, he didn't want to try. He dreaded her summons. It usually involved a distasteful gathering that she wished he would attend, or she tried to finagle the source of his funds from him. Ophelia detested the fact that he kept the information from her. Money was the love of her life, the thing she loved most and beyond anything else. Perhaps second would be her small teacup Chihuahua, Cleo, with a close third being her delight in tormenting him.

His attention was pulled from the window when a young waiter approached the table. Blaise's lip curled as he watched the waiter, who didn't look like he was much older than Blaise's own nineteen, ogle his mother's cleavage. Finally, when it seemed that the waiter would stay mute, he cleared his throat.

"I would like an Irish coffee sans the whipped cream and chocolate shavings," he said.

The waiter wrote down the order, never looking from Ophelia. "And for your sister, sir?"

Ophelia gave small giggle. "Dear boy, you do know how to work for your tip. I think I shall have the same as my son, but include the whipped cream and shavings."

The waiter goggled, looking from mother to son. Realizing his mistake, he blushed hotly and left with a stammered assurance that he would return promptly with their orders.

"Must you play with the wait staff, mother?"

Ophelia shrugged, picking at an imaginary spec of lint on her flawless violet robes. "Why not?" She looked at her son with an assessing look. She loved to prick at his composure.

Blaise knew Ophelia was aware of his sensitivity regarding the stigma that followed their family, and she loved to throw it in his face, it was probably one of her favorite pastimes. It was the taint and the disapproving looks shown them from polite magical society that had made Blaise seem such the snob for so long. Blaise knew from experience that the staid, superior mask he showed in public was one of his best defenses; that and the loads of money under his name in Gringotts.

After the waiter returned with their drinks, Blaise, leaning back in his chair, finally asked, "So Mother, what is the occasion for this lovely family outing?" Thick sarcasm laced his voice and he enjoyed the slight flinch his mother betrayed at her title. She hated being called mother and only wanted to be referred to as Ophelia by her only child. Blaise figured that it reminded her of her actual age, a fact that good genes and permanent magical enhancements couldn't change.

"Does it have to be an occasion for me to want to visit with my only dearly loved child?" Ophelia rallied back quickly.

Blaise smirked. "In the interest of expediency, just tell me what you want."

Ophelia dropped the pretense of motherly affection. "I want you to get married. In fact, I've already chosen the perfect bride."

Blaise couldn't have been more shocked if his mother had just announced that Professor Slughorn was his long lost biological father. In fact, it took a full ten seconds before he could school his face back into its society mask.

Ophelia smiled, twirling an inky black curl around her finger.

Despite the thoughts twirling and crashing against each other within his mind, Blaise calmly reached for his coffee and took a sip. Setting the mug back against the table he said, "Mother, it may have escaped your notice, something that I have no doubt very well could have, but I have reached the age of majority. And the fact that it isn't the bloody sixteenth century, precludes you from the right to choose my bride." Blaise allowed a smug expression to appear on his face.

Ophelia leaned forward in her chair. "Oh Blaise, my pet, you didn't think that you would be able to keep your business dealings from me forever did you? You must have realized that I would eventually discover the fact that you are CEO of Prospero Gaming and Entertainment Incorporated. Granted, it did take me a moment to align my son with the owner of a wizarding game console empire. Really dear, using Pascal Blasius, was very telling to someone willing to do a bit of digging into Muggle history. Blaise Pascal, the famous mathematician and philosopher. French in origin I believe. You really should have chosen a more dissimilar name for your alias. Admittedly, most wizards don't probe into Muggle history and especially not teenage wizards intent on defeating Grendel. Isn't that your newest game release? Beowulf?" Ophelia reached in front of her to crunch into a chocolate biscuit Blaise didn't remember the waiter bringing.

He closed his eyes. "How?"

Ophelia was like a cat in cream. "Honestly Blaise, I don't know how you managed to keep the secret this long. Perhaps, because of the Voldemort business. Without that this probably would have been outed long ago. The story is just too interesting. A young wizard no one has ever seen, save for his lawyer, bursting onto the magical entertainment scene three years ago to take the world by storm. Introducing an innovative magical device that allows the player to involve himself or herself in an entirely interactive role playing world. To be Beowulf defeating Grendel, or Arthur in combat against Mordred and pitting wills against Morgan Le Fay. Even the games of virtual worlds simulating Muggle life. Keeping your identity a secret only increased the interest. Genius. Bravo, my boy."

Blaise's entire world teetered on an abyss. "What do you intend to with this information?" Ophelia could ruin his credibility with one interview with Rita Skeeter. Seventeen was the age of adulthood within the wizarding world, but Blaise instinctively knew that none of his board or stockholders would take a -young CEO seriously. Seventeen was old enough to participate in a war against the defeated Dark Lord, but apparently people got nervous with billions of Galleons resting with the whims of a Hogwarts dropout. That was the sole reason Blaise paid his barrister, Simon Cosgrove, an insane salary to keep his secret and to carry out his directives, as well as sign an iron clad confidentiality contract. He knew that Cosgrove hadn't betrayed him. The fact remained that someone had.

"I hired a private detective some months back. I wanted to know what my son was so intent on keeping a secret, and frankly, it made me angry. I thought perhaps it was something illegal. But lo and behold, my son is swimming in legality. And filthy rich to boot. Really Blaise, you should have pretended to be less secure financially and continued to accept the stipend that I sent you. It piqued my curiosity, when three years in a row you refused my aid. It was a bit startling to find that my own son's fortune is ten times that of my own," Ophelia said, not quite hiding her sneer.

"Do you have even an ounce of maternal affection within you, madam? So you intend to marry me off to a horse-face ninny with a fat purse to suit your fancy. What? Your pool of rich bastards drying up?" Blaise said in a caustic tone.

"Quite the opposite, actually. I have no end of suitors should I choose to go in that direction. You shouldn't keep secrets from your mother. And your so called horse-face ninny is actually very beautiful. It doesn't hurt that your bride will be bringing an obscene amount of money to the marriage. Of course, since you yourself are so well off, the dower your wife brings should go to your mother in her autumn years."

Blaise snorted. So, she wanted to punish him. "Why don't I just give you a billion Galleons to never contact me again. Of course, you would have to sign a contract to that effect."

"What would be the satisfaction in that? Perhaps I also want to see my son in wedded bliss and to dangle grandchildren on my knee."

"It would be far from wedded bliss, madam, so you can refrain from spouting more of the excrement that you just aired. You know as well as I that you are doing this strictly for spite and for your own sick amusement. As for grandchildren, I will not be put to stud for your enjoyment. I have more than enough money to retire in peace and never want for a thing in my life." Blaise decided to call her bluff.

"Don't insult my intelligence. The fact that you went to such trouble to keep your identity secret speaks for itself. You care very much for Prospero Incorporated. So you will do as I wish. You will report to my home in France after one month's time to meet Jacqueline Forsberg and you will court her. Jacqueline is very sensitive, so I had better not hear even a whisper of scandal or I won't hesitate to ruin you." Ophelia stood, snapping at the nearest help, and donning her purple mink coat stepped out into the swirling snow without a single word further to her shocked son.

After about two hours in a Muggle pub, Blaise had to admit that drowning oneself in alcohol just wasn't the cure for his ills. He hated to admit to himself that he was afraid. The wizarding world was fraught with prejudice, and just a bad word about the way he did business could ruin him. Oh, not financially of course, but it would end his dream. Prospero Inc. was like his child. His blood, sweat, and energy had raised the company from the dirt into what it was today. Developing Mirage, the name he eventually gave his invention, had saved him. It had literally saved him from going down a dark path or letting ignorance drive him into joining Death Eaters out of fear. He had spent countless hours researching and studying alchemy until he finally came to a valid product that embodied his dream.

Mirage looked simple in appearance, but it was so much more. When one opened the emerald green box containing Mirage, one might be disappointed with the clear crystal cube resting on a gold base within. What the buyer might not necessarily know is that the simple cube before them was infused with several different crystals not ordinarily used for the purpose of gaming. Blaise implemented a patented spell of his own creation to fuse and slightly change the properties of the crystals. He used Scolecite to enhance a dreamlike state, Agate for dream variation, Malachite for a richer dream experience, Dioptase for vividness, and Danburite for lucidness. All these crystals, with magically purified quartz coalesced into a powerful magical item. With the insertion of the accompanied crystal card into the golden base, the viewer is able to immerse themselves into a fully interactive adventure that they can stop and start with a few simple commands: Incipere to begin, Mora to pause, and Subsisto to stop. With the purchase of more crystal cards, the viewer could take as many adventures as their Galleons could buy.

Blaise knew that the popularity of the Mirage gaming system and the games that were continually being developed ensured his financial security. Ophelia's threat would more than just affect Blaise. It could potentially cause the loss of jobs for the game spell employees, cube engineers, and the other many and varied workers that were loyal to his corporation. Literally hundreds of people's livelihoods balanced on his decisions. It was quite the weight for a wizard not yet out of his teenage years, but Blaise maintained his executive control over the corporation. That, and the fact, that he was an equal opportunity employer solidified the adoration and devotion of his employees. Prospero was an attractive and much sought career path for both young older wizards and witches.

The success of his business life didn't help his current situation. What concerned him was that the nubile blonde eyeing from the bar had failed to draw his interest. That, after his mother's plan, was his next biggest problem. Not specifically the blonde, but the fact that a hot girl that obviously wanted in his pants didn't do a thing for him.

It had been exactly five days since his encounter with Jeanette and he was still thinking of her. That was not like Blaise in the least. He wasn't exactly a womanizer, but he did pull in his share of women. He easily was able to seduce and step away without his feelings becoming entangled at all. He wasn't cruel about it. Slightly older women who knew the score were per usual. Not to say that he hadn't been with girls his own age, but that usually had its own share of problems. They caught feelings and expected things of him that he was just not willing to give. It wasn't that he didn't believe in love, or was incapable, which was a miracle if you thought about how his mother disregarded the notion. Love was just something that Blaise didn't believe was in the cards for himself. Wealth, yes. Women, definitely yes, but love no. Most people wouldn't know love if it walked if front of them, surrounded by neon lights and slapped them in the face. Blaise wasn't an expert at discerning real love and there was the rub. How would you ever know if the witch wanted you for yourself, or for the Galleons in your bank vault? Better to have a mutually satisfying encounter than muck it up with contrived feelings. Jeanette hadn't said she loved him. Blaise hadn't even given her his real name. The sex had been amazing, the best that he had ever had. Simply, the thought of her body, the way she had moaned, and her response to him had him waking up in the middle of the night with his cock hard as a rock. It pissed him off. The witch had seemingly ruined him for the foreseeable future. He was too young for this shit. Only nineteen and he felt like a fucking eunuch.