Ilse lets me know this week that Dolohov himself has asked for a meeting. This shouldn't be surprising. He did tell me he wanted me to test out the modified Polyjuice potion this week.

I'd hoped I'd cut that off at the knees with my request for realistic duelling with Potter, but apparently I didn't.

I tell Ilse to put him on my calendar for Wednesday, hoping if he requests another in-person visit to the park we can do it Thursday and it'll leave my Friday and weekend open for Eloise or other personal pursuits.

Blaise surprises me. He books his own meeting with me through Ilse, bypassing the usual stepping-into-my-office conversation and making something official instead.

On Wednesday, Dolohov wants to ensure that I'm a legitimate potential investor - if he can meet my terms.

My only stated term is the actual duelling with Potter and that can be accomplished easily enough if they set Potter's memory to a certain time frame and permit the wand they allow him to perform certain functions.

It's not perfect, nowhere near what I asked for, but I can test the parameters and provide feedback, moving things forward. This sort of progress is all Dolohov really wants.

'We'll just get rid of them' has been making unwelcome appearances in my mind since last week, and I agree to the new testing without really thinking too deeply about it.

The warring motivations of 'I hate the park' and 'I can really curse Potter' and 'they'll get rid of all of them' jumble around until I can't separate them well enough.

Unfortunately for me, I can't accommodate Blaise until after I meet with Dolohov.

Dolohov has told me he needs a minimum of 6,500 galleons a month to stay afloat until revenue can begin to close the gap. I tell him I'll consider it while mentally reviewing the conversation I'll need to have with my father.

I decided to have this conversation without really deciding it. It's just… a necessary step, suddenly, taking me by surprise.

That won't do - my father will eat me alive if I ever face him unprepared - and I find myself welcoming Blaise's private talk to get myself ready.

Blaise and I have been friends since school. Unlike Greg and Vince, whose fathers were also Death Eaters, I gravitated towards someone who wasn't quite so ingrained in the Dark culture.

I needed an outlet, a way to disconnect. I never trust myself to be completely open with anyone, but I'm closest with Blaise.

He knows me better than anyone else and sometimes it's a relief - to not have to explain everything, to justify what I do or don't do.

Even so, there are some things that aren't wise to say out loud.

"Are you going to do it?"

My brain clicks into overdrive and I curse it. I never allow wild speculation, even internally. "Do what?"

"Invest. I thought you hated it."

I say nothing. I only look at him.

We stay silent for a few long, uncharacteristic moments.

"I can help."

This is unexpected and I raise an eyebrow, my hands folded on my desk as I stare at him. "Help with what?"

"Dolohov gave me the same pitch last night, I think."

My pride flares immediately. Even if Blaise's mother married seven times and murdered all seven husbands to have the money they do, the Zabinis don't have near the resources the Malfoys have. Not even close.

What is Dolohov playing at? Does he think I'm not good for it?

Blaise must see something in my eyes because he holds up a hand. "Neither of us want Dolohov to… get rid of them. Right?"

I stare at him, my eyes narrow. Blaise glances around the room, subtly checking to see if I have a silencing charm in place already. I do; I silence at least half of my closed-door meetings. Ilse is used to it.

"But we don't know how long the infusions of galleons will be needed. I want to help but I can't do it alone. I don't have enough."

I don't like talking before thinking and I'm still trying to sort through the implications of this. I can tell Blaise is trying, but he's getting impatient.

"Come on, Drake," - a stupid nickname I allow no one but Blaise - "help me out, here. Are you investing in it or not? That Dolohov came to me at all makes me think you aren't."

"I don't know why he did come to you," I say finally. "I met with him again Wednesday."

Blaise shrugs a little self-consciously. "I think he needs more money than he thought he did. Maybe he didn't want to tell you."

"Well, he told me he needs around 6,500 galleons a month to start." Blaise nods, not surprised. "So that hasn't changed. Maybe he just wants to cover his bases. What are you able to put towards it?"

"Maybe 2,000."

Even that is more than I would have expected. If Blaise puts in 2,000 a month that takes my portion down to 4,500. If I pull the majority of that from my own income here, I only need to discuss the remaining 2,000 with my father.

If it comes from his money, we'll essentially all three be new partners in it. If Lucius forces me to take it from my trust instead, it'll just be Blaise and me. I can't decide which would be better.

Breaking these two options down to Blaise, I think we'd both rather my father were not involved. I'd rather be out more money than have his awareness of what goes on. Not that he has any interest in the park either, to my knowledge.

Sometimes I'm jealous that my father's stature gives him a broad level of immunity to suspicion.

No one doubts that he supports the Dark movement, even if he doesn't patronise the park. Or maybe it's just that everyone knows Lucius Malfoy is married and would never disgrace Narcissa Black Malfoy by using the park for sex - but I'm not married, so I have to rely on the implication that Malfoys do not need sex slaves.

Replacing the flagging silencing charm on my office, I turn back to Blaise. "If I wasn't inclined to invest, how were you planning to convince me?"

Giving me an incredulous look, he says, "After I saw that library fic, I thought you'd be tempted on your own. If that didn't do it, I don't know how I could have changed your mind."

There's plenty left unsaid here, too, but I'm not anxious to get to it. "What makes you tempted to invest, then?"

He shifts a little. "They've already gotten rid of some of them. Some of the companions. I just - I don't know. I don't think it's right."

Fear shoots through me like a dart before I even realise what it is. But he wouldn't, he… Dolohov is fighting to keep them.

Blaise sees something on my face and hurries to clarify. "Some of the captives are never requested for a fic. No one cares enough. They're selling the ones they can and killing the ones they can't."

I relax at once, feeling like I'd have heard about this if it was true. "What do you mean, selling them? To whom?"

"So far, none of it is local. Dolohov's trying to keep the public image of the park positive. You know, 'spend a day in the park' with your 'favourite companion'. "

We both roll our eyes.

"He wants to keep the worst optics far away from here. He is selling to buyers overseas, using the proceeds to help his bottom line. People buy them for various reasons, I guess - maybe for sex, maybe just for housework. Not every family has a house-elf, you know."

He lifts an eyebrow at me, trying to lighten the mood. Neither of us think it works.

I realise the economics of this makes sense. Blaise might be right.

Plenty of the Resistance fighters were relative nobodies. None of them touch the popularity of the Order of the Phoenix members. And if keeping them is so expensive, why would Dolohov bother? At least if he can sell them he can write off some of it.

"I need a closer look at his books," I say finally. "How much of the revenue comes from the most popular companions compared to the fics that don't need one? The Quidditch, for instance. And I know he's got fics for sex that don't require a specific companion. It could be anybody in a simulation, your ideal girl, designed just for you. No cost to that. How popular are those?"

"They're a lot cheaper, of course," Blaise rubs the stubble on his chin. "They're very popular with people who can't afford the companion fics. I don't know which type brings in more money overall, though."

I mull this over. The companion fics can be extremely expensive, depending on who you take and how long you want to be in it. And if Snape's new Polyjuice can last longer than an hour, those fics could quickly become out of reach for most people.

What Dolohov is doing to expand business is interesting, but he's really only tailoring to the wealthiest clientele.

Even so, Blaise's reason for investing isn't quite ringing true to me. The Zabinis aren't known for kindhearted altruism. Blaise may not have taken the Dark Mark, but he's as self-interested as any other Slytherin.

I have my suspicions. They involve a certain redhead who was raised with six brothers, the prettiest girl in school by a wide margin, popular, tough. Blaise always mocked her and the rest of her family, just like we all did, but the way he'd look at her when he thought no one noticed…

He may be my closest friend, but Blaise and I never talk about these things openly. I decide to side-step into it.

"It was interesting about the extended Polyjuice. Dolohov gave you his two favourite scenarios, didn't he? Weasley and Granger, and Potter and Weasley?"

He lifts his head sharply to meet my eyes. Adding his own silencing charm on top of mine for good measure, he asks, "Are you considering it?"

This throws me. Why would he ask me? Polyjuice or not, there's nothing in that park that is going to hold my attention.

"No," I say flatly. "But you are."

I'm right on the mark. I can see it in his eyes and he swallows hard.

"I told him I'd test it for him this week. Snape thinks he's got the potion up to a twelve-hour limit now."

That's a staggering difference. "What do you plan to do for twelve hours, Zabini?"

He's looking at the wall over my shoulder and takes a minute before he responds. Running a hand over his short-cropped black hair, he finally says, "I told Dolohov to prep an extended fic."

Obviously. I try to be patient.

"An overnight, essentially. I'll test it out as Potter and if the potion starts to slip she'll probably be asleep."

Hmm. A slow smile draws along my face. We haven't even mentioned Ginevra Weasley's name but we both know who he's referring to now. "Is there dinner in this scenario?"

Blaise actually blushes, an adorable light pattern of perspiration speckling across his dark brow.

"You're making this like a date, aren't you?"

Oh, this is fantastic. Perfect. He's mortified and I'm delighted.

"Have you told Daphne you'll be busy Friday night?"

In a flash, he's out of his chair and has me in a headlock, and I automatically wrestle him away from mussing up my hair.

"Shut up, Malfoy," he blusters, and I cackle all over again. I'm really under his skin now. He never calls me 'Malfoy.'

Genuinely curious, I ask, "So you really don't mind that she'll think you're Potter?"

Looking embarrassed, he can't meet my eyes again. "I just want to hang out with her. She'd have never even spoken to me before. She still wouldn't now, if it was me."

Very interesting.

"You mean you… want to get to know Ginny Weasley?" I try not to sound too incredulous. I don't want to offend him. This conversation is fascinating.

He nods silently, still looking over my shoulder at the painting on my wall, the one I don't like and keep asking Ilse to replace.

"But… you still can't, not really. Potter would already know everything about her. You can't exactly ask her what it was like growing up in that dump."

"I know." He says it so softly, his mouth barely moving. I almost don't recognise this man in front of me. I decide to take pity on him and give him something else to work with.

"And I don't believe for a minute you don't also want sex. As if you'd spend twelve hours talking to her. Please, Zabini."

He grins up at me now, flashing those white teeth. "I'm counting on it. And look, she'll never know it wasn't Potter. I'm not going to… do anything bad. I wouldn't hurt her. I just -"

Blaise breaks off, uncomfortable again.

"I know that, you stupid tosser. It's why we're not Dolohov's ideal clientele, except for the fact that he's desperate for more money."

Pulling a face, Blaise looks out the window, watching the rain. "Why do you want to invest, then? If you don't want to do exactly what I'm doing."

Caught short, I don't know how to respond. I don't give a shit about the companions, not really, except -

I shake my head almost violently to clear it.

"I don't care how long the Polyjuice lasts, I still don't want to fuck someone who isn't glad it's me."

Which doesn't answer Blaise's question. He looks at me almost pityingly and I wish my wand was in my hand so I could curse that expression off his face.

"You used to spend a lot of time with Granger, and -"

I haven't had this problem since I was twelve years old but I can't stop my mouth.

"Granger?!" I scoff in disbelief. "- and what, Zabini? What? What are you saying?" I'm not even checking the silencing charms and I'm belatedly grateful they're still in place.

Blaise shakes his head sadly, almost as if he's disappointed in me. He starts to talk, then stops. He starts again, uninterrupted, because I can't figure out what to say.

Thank God I'm not facing my father.

"Why did you ever go see her, Drake?"

My mouth opens and closes, twice. I don't know how to respond and… and he capitalises. Just as I would do in his place.

"You went, several times. Loads of times. And then you stopped. Why?"

My heart is galloping along, unchecked. His fixation on Weasley is one thing. This - this - this, whatever it is is something else entirely, and we both know it.

But he won't give up. I know Blaise. I have to admit to something, even a half truth. He didn't take the Mark; he might understand this.

"It got boring. But at first, I could be myself with her. She tells me exactly what she thinks, she tells me the truth about myself. She hates everything about me and sometimes it's refreshing to get yelled at. Sometimes she even smacks me; you should try it."

My attempt at a lighthearted redirect fails miserably.

Blaise considers this for several long moments. He stares at the shitty carpet of my office while I consider how many breaths I could hold before I suffocate.

"I'm telling you the truth about yourself right now. Should I smack you, too?" His open eyes meet mine and I have to face the first truly honest conversation I've had in maybe ten years.

My reflexes are strong, though. I have to deflect. "Try to smack me if you like, but you aren't telling me shit."

I stand up and move towards my door, meaning to imply it's time this meeting ends.

I don't want to fight with my best friend but I also don't want to continue down this path we're on. I wish I'd let him keep his Ginny Weasley secrets. I don't care this much to face the same scrutiny myself.

Ever the diplomat, he can't quit. "Okay, so that's why you went. Why did you stop going?"

"I told you, it got boring."

I know this isn't good enough but he plays along. "Didn't like getting slapped around anymore?"

I have to appreciate his efforts and I tell the truth. He knows this anyway, really. We've never talked about it, but he feels the same way I do about it.

"I stopped going when Dolohov rolled out the option to make them Confunded. The violent rapes were bad enough, when they'd be fighting back. But fucking them when they're practically unconscious was -"

I rake my hand backwards through my hair. It's longer than it used to be, over the tops of my ears. I don't keep it long like my father, but I grew out of keeping it styled in place, too.

Blaise is like I am, though. We both pride ourselves on wooing women.

Maybe it's juvenile, but right after the war ended we used to compete. Who could sleep their way through London first? We needed an outlet at the time, something to enjoy.

Even now, the whole attraction of it is how enthusiastic the women are.

"I know they don't remember it afterwards, and the time she spent with me wasn't time spent getting hit or raped. But I knew that plenty of the others were. So I stopped going. Maybe part of me hoped the whole park would fail."

He's nodding thoughtfully. I wonder if he had the same hope.

"But we didn't know what would happen if it did. Now, you don't want Dolohov to get rid of them - to get rid of her. Admit it, and we can work together. We want the same thing."

He's smart enough not to use my most hated nickname again right now. I do need allies here. Or one ally, anyway. Sometimes it seems like I've spent my whole life without one. But I don't know what to say to him.

What he's asking for is something I've never said, ever. Not even to myself.

Granger is a waste of magical space, a bushy-haired waif, a needy little bitch who trips all over herself for approval. That sort of desperation is completely unappealing in every way to me. Her longing to be here, to belong, is pathetic. Disgusting.

The fact that I find her outlook interesting is a personal weakness, a failing. Nothing I should indulge, which is another reason why I stopped visiting the park. She has nothing I could ever want, nothing worth having. She should be sold to the highest bidder.

Maybe Lovegood will slap me if I provoke her enough.

Blaise gives me a couple of silent moments to consider the situation - the one where he knows my motivations and I know his.

I put my hand on the doorframe and lean into it, letting my forehead touch the wall. "We don't want the same thing. Not really. Yours is a passing fancy. Implying I have one with Granger could get me killed."

It's the closest I've come to admitting a secret buried so deep I don't even acknowledge it's there. But now it's out, I can't stop. Maybe it's Blaise, maybe it's the relief of having said it, maybe it's just this silenced office, but I can't stop.

"Yours was the prettiest girl in school. Everybody fancied her. Your infatuation mimics a hundred other men."

The unspoken opposite is that mine didn't. Mine wasn't… universally attractive. Mine was the wild-haired, large-toothed, teacher-attention-seeking swot, the one everyone wanted to hex or worse - especially if it was in public.

Blaise is looking at me from his chair by my desk. He hasn't moved.

He gives us both two excruciating minutes of silence and I still haven't thrown him out. It's a mistake because he finally says, "I have some photos from the Yule Ball in fourth year. Would you like to see?"

This is so out of nowhere I'm thrown completely off my defensive game. Photos? How? "Yes, I'm sure Ginny Weasley looked hot as hell; I don't remember who she went with, but -"

"It was Neville Longbottom -" he interrupts quietly and I almost snort after our double date with Daphne and Eloise last Friday.

"- but that's not the point of this right now." Blaise recites a specific summoning spell in a low voice, and a handful of pictures appear in his hand. He sifts through the first two and hands me the third.

It's Granger and her stupid date, the one no one could figure out how the fuck she got - Krum. They're mid-twirl on the dance floor, her dress spinning up high enough to nearly show her knees, and -

- and I'm in the background. Pansy is on my arm, turned to look at Millicent Bulstrode saying something to her, and I'm openly watching Granger.

The look on my face is ravenous. My eyes are dark, almost black, and fixated on her. At the end of the photo's loop, my tongue takes the quickest dart to the edge of my lip and back in, but my eyes never move.

There's no way Blaise is the only one who noticed. I'm fourteen and I couldn't have been more obvious.

I feel like I took Blaise's fist to the stomach and I can't catch my breath.

He takes pity on me, not unlike I did for him not long ago this afternoon, and says, "You've had a thing for Granger for years. Can we talk honestly for once? I won't say anything, just like I trust you won't say anything about me."

Allowing me my mental overload, he moves to stand between my office door and me.

"All the time you spent in the library? Come on, Drake - you didn't need that much study time. Everyone knew you were the brightest student in the house. You could have swept the floor with the rest of us and never left the common room."

He reaches out to my arm and thinks better of it, tucking his hand back to his side as he still blocks me from exiting. "So you don't want to trick her into fucking you. Fine. But the options don't have to be her hitting you or nothing."

I actually laugh, a hilarious sound I can't control. "Don't they, though? How else is it supposed to go?"

Blaise shakes his head. "I don't know, really. I hadn't really thought this through."

He cracks a smile at me, his Zabini smile with all his teeth, and I can't help but return a small one myself. It's a tiny lifting of one corner of my mouth, but I can't stop it.

"But the first step is not letting Dolohov get rid of them, right? With enough money, we can manage that much, can't we?"

And like that, it's decided. It was decided anyway, on my part, but I find I'm glad to have Blaise along for the ride.

I'm extra-glad once my father tells me I can't have anything from my trust at all, until the park begins to see revenue growth. Then my monthly investment can slowly shift from my personal income to the trust.

As he puts it, he'll only let me invest my inheritance in things that will grow. As long as I'm just 'spending money,' it'll have to be my own.

My mother purses her lips at this but I can see his point. Hopefully that won't take too long. I don't argue, which pleases him.

After dinner I retire to my wing of the Manor, glad I don't have the monthly expense of renting a flat now that I'm handling the burden of the park investment myself, solely from my own salary.

Moving to my own wing was the biggest perk of coming of age. I can Apparate in and out as I please - which I could do anyway, but it's helpful to be able to bring women home in private rather than walking them right through the main wing and risk running into my parents.

I would never want to date a woman who still lived at home. How childish.

But they never seem to mind me living at home. The idea of coming back to Malfoy Manor is a draw all on its own.

I also have my own Floo fireplace and that's helpful too, for sending women back home in a timely manner, but I foresee many meetings with Blaise that I'd rather not have overheard.

Speaking of privacy and of Blaise, he let me keep the Yule Ball photos.