Blaise and I arrange a meeting with Dolohov for the following Monday after work. I'd been joking with Blaise about having a date on Friday night for his Polyjuice test, but that's exactly what he does on Saturday.

He comes straight through my Floo Sunday morning looking like a teenage boy who just copped his first feel of a set of tits.

Flinging himself onto my bed, he looks around with a faint expression of distaste before moving to a chair.

"Oh, please. I didn't have anyone over last night," I roll my eyes. "And as if I wouldn't have cleaned up afterwards. You're lucky I didn't, though. What if I was still in bed with her?"

Now it's his turn to snort. "You'd never let them stay this late. It's almost nine."

Well, fair play. I try to look dignified.

"Either way, I didn't have anyone over. If I'm about to be spending almost everything I make, I'm going to have to cut back on the dating."

He nods seriously, and I think how we really are in the same boat.

In a little over a week, I've gone from hating the park and thinking about it as little as possible, spending my spare time enjoying after-work drinks and picking up women, and now for the foreseeable future the park is going to occupy my entire life - and vault.

Blaise might be on an even tighter budget. When he realised I couldn't pull from my inheritance, he said he could wrangle an extra 500 galleons to his share, so he'll be in for 2,500 a month to my 4,000. I was surprised he could swing it. I don't think I make much more than he does, but he has living expenditures I don't have.

I'm curious about his night, though. Mine was boring.

I see him looking at my dresser where there is a conspicuous stack of photos on the corner and I clear my throat.

Tossing a balled-up sock at his head, I say, "You're here to tell me about it, aren't you? So tell me."

He bats away the sock easily and ignores my question.

"Spent your night with those, did you?" He points at the photos where a girl in a spinning dress loops from the one on top.

"Don't be disgusting, Zabini. She's fifteen in those." I pull a grimace.

Yes, fine, she looks shockingly pretty - and I'm not the only one staring, I noticed - but it's not sexual. Mostly I spent my time looking at my own fourteen-year-old face, wondering how many times that expression was on it - and how publicly - before I began learning occlumency from Aunt Bellatrix in sixth year.

"Don't you mean fourteen?" Blaise asks, quick as a dart.

"No, fifteen, her birthday is Septemb -" Realising how perfectly he trapped me, I throw the other dirty sock at him. "Shut up and tell me about spending the night as Harry Potter. How did Snape's Polyjuice work?"

Ha. That wipes the smirk off Blaise. Maybe I should start calling him 'Potter.'

"Have you Polyjuiced before?" I shake my head, wondering why it matters.

"It's weird. I don't know if Snape's new version has modified anything but the time limit, but it's bizarre to change into somebody different. It took a long time to get used to. Ginny was confused at first. I guess I wasn't acting like him, even if I looked like him."

That makes sense, and it could be something to consider before Dolohov rolls it out to the public.

"How'd you get around it?"

Blaise shrugs. "I asked her questions instead. How her day was, if her meal was good. I let her talk. It got easier. Then after dinner all she wanted to do was snog on the couch. It was brilliant."

This is leaving out a key Zabini motivation and I raise my eyebrows. "That's it?"

Blaise blushes slightly and I'm astonished by this very uncharacteristic lack of bragging until he says, "It was obvious she's never fucked him. Or if she did at some point late in the war, she doesn't remember it now."

I'm speechless. For all the shit I was giving Dolohov about Ginny Weasley being a complete slag, I knew she wasn't really; but I still assumed she'd let Potter up her robes.

He scrapes his hand back and forth over his hair, clearly feeling awkward. "I went as far as she wanted to go. I started off trying to pull out all the stops, but that was obviously not very Potter-like."

I snort. No, the standard seduction tactics of Blaise Zabini would not align with the general ineptitude of Harry Potter.

"I think that was the hardest part," Blaise says thoughtfully. "Acting like a complete tosser the entire time."

Flipping a Snitch from hand to hand while I rest against my dresser, I ask, "What was the easiest part?"

The twirling dress in the photo lying just to my right keeps catching my eye and I absently move the stack behind me.

He tilts his head, thinking.

"You mean aside from snogging her?" With a satisfied cackle, he goes on, "I don't know that any of it really could be called 'easy.' It feels strange physically to be in someone else's body, and mentally to try and act like someone else. But that doesn't mean it wasn't great."

He gives me a wide grin and I know he'll be going back.

"What was the best part, then?"

A far-off look comes into his eyes and he says with a touch of sadness, "How happy she was. She thought I was acting odd, but she was so happy to see me."

I have a flash of Dolohov saying, 'She's so thrilled to see him, she practically attacks you.'

But I have a feeling that unlike Blaise, Dolohov's usual testers would take that up-front enthusiasm into a direct rape - especially if Blaise is right and Ginny has no memory of ever having previously had sex. Thrilled or not, she wouldn't be initiating that far.

"All night, she was so happy. And she's not a prude; she just hasn't had sex."

Well, good. At least Blaise got to get a little handsy, at a minimum. Maybe my first assessment of him this morning was closer to the truth than I thought - he did just cop his first feel of a set of tits. Just of a certain set, not his first ever.

"You obviously spent the night. That was the point to test the longevity of the Polyjuice. No issues?"

He shakes his head. "None. And if there had been, it would have been problematic. She slept on my chest all night."

That far-off look is back in his eyes, but there's no trace of sadness in them now. He looks a little lovesick, in fact, and I throw the Snitch at his chest, right where I imagine Ginny Weasley's red head being only a few hours ago.

"Don't leave here with that look on your face, you wanker. You'll embarrass yourself."

I had intended to string Dolohov along for at least a couple of weeks, out of negotiation habit. Don't want to seem too keen, after all.

But Blaise and I going in together sent a positive message to him, and I'm left emphasising my original term of being able to duel Potter for real.

This seems almost ancillary, now, thanks to Blaise forcing me to acknowledge things I'd rather not. But it's more important than ever to maintain the fiction.

Dolohov's team has made more progress on it than I anticipated and I realise he's quite keen himself to get our first infusion of galleons.

This is good, I decide. If I had dragged things out too long, he might have tried to approach another potential investor and I rather like the way things are tracking as they are.

I head off to test their first round of improvements in duelling while Blaise goes to give Snape feedback on his Polyjuice experiment.

I'm amused to find a significantly improved bathroom setting. Evidently my preferences of how I always used to duel Potter had been stored. This isn't the bathroom we were in when he cut open my chest but it's a much better model.

Potter himself is angry and raving, and I wonder - not for the first time - about exactly how the companions are prepped for a fic. In the original scenario, he'd stumbled across me crying in the loo. I actually struck first out of furious humiliation and the next thing I knew, I was bleeding out on the floor.

But now he's ranting about the Dark Lord and what a piece of shit I am. He thinks we're still in the middle of the war. He knows I killed Dumbledore and he's ready to avenge the old bat.

Aside from the fact that Granger smacks me while Potter tries to curse me, the two fics have a lot in common.

At least Granger can make contact. Although that's exactly why I'm here now - to see if Potter finally can, too.

I fire generically in his direction, a standard jelly-legs jinx, to get his focus off shouting at me. I miss him on purpose and give him a solid chance to retaliate with something other than a harmless stream of light.

He responds faster than I would have expected, faster than he used to. I let his jinx strike me and I actually feel a cut.

I look down in surprise and there's a bleeding line, about five centimetres, on the back of my forearm.

Alright, then. I grin and shoot a furnunculus hex at him, aiming properly this time, and he dodges.

He rolls and comes up on one knee, sending another jet of light my way.

This one is darker, almost black, and I wonder if it was intended to be sectumsempra again. I let it make contact out of masochistic interest and receive another bleeding cut for my trouble.

They're shallow, though. It stings but it won't do real damage.

They've allowed his wand to do a basic slicing hex, limited in depth - they must have done or he could cut my throat with it. It's probably what will come out no matter what spell he's actually saying, and it's probably limited to certain body parts on me.

Interesting developments. There's potential here.

Potter's faster. The fic is better - not that the fic was part of my complaint, but even so.

He can strike me. It's still minor, it's not enough to make me truly want to dodge his efforts, but it's a definite improvement.

If Dolohov really cranks up the possibilities here, it could end up being a great way to practise duelling.

I make a mental note. That's a potential revenue stream - duelling a companion like Potter for fun, sure, but also a realistic fictitious simulation of duelling anybody.

A bad dueller for beginners, a mediocre one, an excellent one as people's skills improve. We could discuss it with Hogwarts for use in their Dark Arts classes, scaling skill level by the age of the students, generating monthly recurring revenue during the school year.

I give Potter a few more back-and-forth hexes, trying this time.

As always, it's tremendously satisfying to make contact with this insufferable arsehole. I have missed it. Maybe I will start coming back into this particular fic.

Enjoying myself, I let it go longer than I'd planned. That was the point, wasn't it? I am not bored.

Finally I request to be brought out and Dolohov is already waiting. He's a terrible negotiator, openly anxious.

I nod approvingly as I heal the bleeding cuts on my arms with my wand. "Find a way to allow certain types of spells. Add a range of possible parameters. I like the slicing hexes, but let people choose how far he can go. Allow jinxes, then hexes, then curses, if people want."

"Is that what you want?" Dolohov asks, a little surprised.

"I want him to be able to do anything to me that won't cause permanent damage. It'll be fun to allow him a level of creativity. But well done. The fic is loads better than it used to be, too."

Dolohov shrugs agreeably. "Thanks. We've been working hard. I'll see what the team can do as far as options for ability range." He points over my shoulder. "Time to switch."

I look behind me to see Blaise and Snape. Snape motions for me to follow him as Blaise approaches Dolohov.

We hadn't discussed swapping out, but why not? I should speak with Snape anyway. I've got a number of things to ask him, but I turn back to Dolohov.

"I need to take a look at the park's books," I call. "Let me take some things home. I'll bring everything back in a few days after I've had a chance to review some numbers."

He gives me a funny little salute and Snape snaps, "Come on. I don't want to be here all night."

Somehow, Snape's robes always seem to have extra fabric. That was always my impression at Hogwarts and now that I'm an adult, nothing has changed. It's almost as if he has a second layer on, both black coats of fabric flapping around his ankles as he walks.

The dim hallway doesn't help, providing a narrow line of creeping shadow and I wonder how far we are going. Another thing that hasn't changed - how fast he walks.

I can finally keep up since I think I'm now slightly taller than he is. It's hard to tell; he hasn't held still yet.

We pass several closed doors marked 'laboratory' and I think Snape must enjoy being here. It has to be better than teaching a bunch of dunder-headed students. At least here he can stretch his legs - figuratively and literally, as we finally reach what must be his office.

It's also dark, clearly after-hours, and I wonder what people around here have against basic lighting.

With a flick of his wand, Snape slams the door shut behind us and I feel the distinct settling of a silencing charm.

Interesting.

Never taking my eyes off him, I settle into a chair in front of his desk. He clearly wants to speak with me. I might as well let him start things off.

He seems content to study me, though. One thing I know about Severus Snape: any silence on his part is purposeful, not awkward or uncomfortable deliberation. He knows exactly what he wants to say, he's just picking his moment.

I can wait.

He also knows I'm a superb occlumens.

I haven't been relying on it as much with Dolohov since a productive conversation was in my best interests. But Snape seeing too much of me makes me nervous. He knows me much better than Dolohov.

So I keep myself tightly buttoned up and I welcome his eye contact, feeling his probing attempts to get inside.

I haven't been well tested in a while. Snape gets nowhere and it feels good to know I haven't lost my touch.

Another of Snape's talents: he knows a lost cause when he sees one. He abandons his legilimency efforts and asks me outright, instead.

"Why the sudden renewed interest in the park, Draco? You haven't been here in almost a year and now Dolohov says you're investing."

I weigh my words carefully but before I can speak, he holds up a hand. I always hated this habit of his in school. "I don't believe for a minute it's about cursing Potter again, so spare us both the waste of time."

I'm not startled by this directness, not exactly, but it does derail my planned excuse. My only excuse.

He sees me hesitate slightly and without warning, he attacks my mind again. An old trick, but a good one. Wait until the occlumens is distracted, even a little can be enough to show a crack in the wall.

He still meets nothing and I see the warring frustration and pride flash across his pointy face.

"Good. It's solid," he favours me with a rare compliment. "You're going to need it."

"Oh?" I raise my eyebrows politely.

"You're here because we're at a financial crossroads. You're here because you've heard Dolohov has had to start selling some of the captives that don't produce enough to keep. And if the trend continues, you're concerned about what could happen to the rest."

"No. I'm not. Not really. Let them be sold," I cross an ankle over one knee. "I'm here because I'd rather the park didn't have them. If I can find a way to move the revenue stream entirely to simulations, profits will skyrocket. I know a good investment when I see it."

"Not bad, Draco," he says, "but not good enough. Not for me."

Stretching my arms up and behind my shoulders to hear a satisfying pop, I do my best to sound bored. "Well, enlighten me, then, Severus. Why am I here?"

"It's true you don't want the park to use the captives as companions. But not all of them. You don't mind Potter being here, or Weasley. I think you enjoy it. Maybe you're indifferent to the vast majority, but I know you have an actual fondness for Lovegood."

"I'll admit, when I was tasked with keeping an eye on her while she was imprisoned in my dungeons, she's not bad. She's no real Resistance fighter and I don't feel any sort of vindictiveness towards her. You're right. I'd rather Lovegood wasn't here."

A half-truth might get me out of this, but I doubt it. Regardless, I'm not volunteering anything else.

Snape changes tactics, probably designed to keep me out of step. "Did you know the Healers never had to work on Lovegood after your fics with her?"

I roll my eyes. "As I just said, I have no desire to hurt Lovegood. So I would assume they never had to heal her."

"Or Granger?"

I stop, even though I should have been expecting this. I was, I really was, but hearing him say her name does make me stumble this time.

I feel a stab and I know he's behind my walls and I can't stop him once he's in. I've never been able to. Worse legilimens, yes, but never Severus.

All of a sudden, I'm so grateful that Blaise whacked me over the head about Granger. If Snape was about to hold that mirror up to my face for the first time… I hold in a shudder.

He's sifting through recent memories and I see the Yule Ball photo again, my young face locked onto her. I see her slapping me over and over again from my earliest fics here, see and hear our verbal fights that would give me such a rush.

Snape peruses those slowly and I almost wish he'd linger. But he doesn't.

He's moving backwards now, back to school, and I see the library, her bent over her parchment and me watching her from my hidden table against the wall, her at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall while I glare daggers at Potter and Weasley, her in the stands during Quidditch matches while I was not looking for the Snitch, but looking to find her reading a textbook instead of watching the game.

Instead of watching me.

"Ah, Draco," he sighs, finally releasing me. "I thought it was a school crush, the kind under your skin because you couldn't get rid of her, because she beat you in every exam."

"I thought it was," I say stiffly. "Actually, until a few days ago, I hadn't realised it at all. Evidently other people did."

Snape looks at me sharply, black eyes narrow. "Who did?"

"Zabini, for one. I don't know about anybody else and I'm not planning to ask around."

Snape puts his face in his hand. "So back to my original question. What do you want to do here, Draco? What's the goal of this investment? Purely to keep Granger from being sold as chattel? You must know she's our highest earner. Her, Potter, and the two Weasleys will likely never be sold, even if we get rid of all the rest."

"I… I don't know, sir." It slips out and I hate myself for it. He's not my teacher any longer, even if this feels like I'm being chastised for a poor Potions mark.

"I suggest you figure it out, then," he says snidely. "It's a lot of money."

As if I'm not aware.

"Is Zabini a risk to you?" This question does surprise me, but I suppose it's natural for him to ask. Blaise was his student as well, though, and I can tell he expects my negative response.

"Blaise is… aligned with me on this. Blaise also has no desire to rape any of them, and I don't think he has any personal vendettas to exercise here like I enjoy with Potter."

"By 'aligned,' do you mean he also cares for Granger's personal wellbeing? Because I must say, he did not choose her to test my latest Polyjuice with."

He's eyeing me carefully, eager to see how much I know about Blaise's choices and activities.

This would be a shrewd move anyway; if Blaise knows how I feel about Granger, it's wise for me to know something dangerous about Blaise. Slytherins are wired this way. Even if I didn't already have a perfectly good handle on that, I do feel a slight pang of gratitude to Snape for offering me valuable information.

"I know who Blaise chose. He feels about Ginny Weasley the way I… feel about Granger."

I regret this phrasing at once because Blaise Zabini, my Casanova best friend who has slept his way through at least thirty percent of London's eligible women since the war ended, seems to be halfway in love with Ginny after one fake date.

"Indeed," Snape purrs. "Zabini has negotiated use of that Polyjuice potion as often as he chooses as his requirement for investing. You asked for duelling Potter. Zabini asked for Weasley."

Well, at least that proves that my feelings are superficial.

"Speaking of your duelling capabilities, how did you find Dolohov's enhancements tonight?"

I shift in my chair and look down at my arm where Potter's spells had been able to cut it. "Good. I liked that he could make contact. I think it can be improved on, still. I gave him some more recommendations."

Something strikes me suddenly, and I look down at my arm again. I'd had to heal it.

"The fics aren't in our minds, are they?" I'd nearly convinced myself they were excellent hallucinations, but I disproved it tonight.

"Draco, I expected better," Snape sighs. I've disappointed him. "Of course they aren't. You said it yourself when Dolohov first approached you. 'Let Potter duel me for real, nothing happens.' If it was in your mind, plenty of things could have been happening all along. But we didn't want the captives to actually inflict damage."

I'm stunned. I should have realised this. He's right.

"So… I leave the cubicle to enter the fic? Is it a real place?"

Now I see my old professor snapping at idiot students who fail to grasp what's going on. Tonight, it's me.

"Of course it is, you fool. It's been one of the largest drivers towards expanding the location options, reducing the amount of overlap in requests."

Snape's mist allows me to actually leave the cubicle and reappear in it when I request to end the fic. Astounding.

Every method of instant magical transportation is jarring: Apparition, Floo, portkeys. This is seamless.

He's a genius.