Snape stops me after the meeting and we step into a side room that he silences.

"Dolohov wants to know why you're limiting Granger. He's going to ask you himself when he gets a private moment."

"Like you just did?" I smirk but I'd much rather Severus was asking me than Dolohov. What's a logical reason?

"Tell him - or I will, if he finds me first - I'm testing scarcity with Granger. Basic economics of supply and demand. If people think she's rarely available, they'll pay more for her."

Snape nods slowly. "If that doesn't pan out, what then? You'll lose your reason to keep her limited."

"I don't know yet. But she's definitely remembering things. There's no doubt about it. Zabini saw it, too." I sigh and lean against the wall. "Nothing is clear to her - yet, anyway. But she's having severe reactions to being touched, even casually. If someone hasn't mentioned it after a fic yet, they will soon."

Snape considers this. "Since the vast majority of the fics are violent, they may not have noticed yet. They expect her to be afraid and to try and fight back. It's half the fun for them."

My stomach rolls and I remember Dolohov talking about Lovegood several weeks ago.

('It's like her brain can't comprehend it. It takes her forever to even get afraid. She's so confused.')

"There are a few other things I want to test out with her - Zabini going in as Ron, maybe, to see if her stupid prat of a boyfriend can touch her without her going mental. Or maybe going in as Harry myself, her best friend, just having a calm experience."

Snape assesses me shrewdly. "Why wouldn't you go in as Weasley? Why Zabini?"

I pull a face. "I can't. I can't be that tosser, not around her."

He doesn't ask me to elaborate and I'm grateful.

But what Snape said a moment ago is turning in my mind. I don't want to ask, but I have to. I have to know. "What you said about the violent fics, about participants not noticing. What about the fics where she's essentially Confunded?"

Tilting his head, Snape considers. "I don't know. I don't even know how often that option is chosen," and I think that's another metric I need to have the team start tracking. Requested level of awareness of the companions. How popular is each option? How often are they used?

"Do you want me to find out?" Snape asks and I realise he's still talking about Granger being Confunded specifically.

"I can't think of a good way to ask if someone's had her Confunded recently without piquing interest in why I'm curious. And I certainly don't want to send someone into a fic with her to find out."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Severus looks at me evenly. "You could test it. See what happens. I know you hate the Confunded option, but you aren't going to hurt her. See if she reacts at all. See if she's afraid."

I realise reluctantly this is probably the best idea. But what if she does react? What am I supposed to do to distract her if I can't quiz her about Hogwarts: a History, or give her more fish and chips? "Can I take in a Calming Draught, just in case?"

"If she's that afraid, she probably won't take it from you, even Confunded," Snape says, and I know he's right. "But it's worth a shot. Would you like to try it now?"

I nod, taking a deep breath. I really don't want to. I hate these, but I hate not knowing how she'll react in one with someone else worse. "Give me two Draughts. I'll keep one on me and put the other near her before I try anything. Maybe she'll accept one that doesn't come directly from me."

Snape gives an approving nod. He leaves and returns shortly with two vials of Calming Draught, and we walk to one of the empty cubicles.

He fidgets with the pad on the wall and looks at me. "Where do you want to go?"

I haven't thought about it. "Er - send us to one of the generic locations. Somewhere neutral. A kitchen in a flat or something, maybe. Nothing with a sexual connotation to it; you choose."

Snape chooses nothing. Granger and I land in the exact scenario I threw out to him, a random kitchen in what looks like a random flat.

I look over and Granger is staring at the wall. I walk around her slowly, twice. Her eyes notice my presence but she doesn't bother following my movement around behind her.

This kitchen is cramped and I wish we had more space, but she doesn't seem fazed by my nearness.

"Hello, Granger," I say cautiously.

"Hello, Malfoy," she responds, a little slowly, but pleasant. She almost sounds like Luna and it's creepy.

"How are you?"

"Fine," she says after a pause, and blinks once. "Thank you."

Bloody hell, this is weird. I hate it. People who like this option have something truly fucked in their brains.

It's odd just standing in a kitchen. I think 'I need a chair,' and a small one appears. "Would you like to sit down?"

"Yes, please," she tells me, but I'm willing to bet she's been programmed to be agreeable. I feel a wave of revulsion.

She sits and I place the Calming Drought on the counter to her right, easily within her reach. She doesn't look over and I move closer, standing over her. Our height difference is pronounced anyway and this could easily make her uncomfortable under ordinary circumstances. Of course, these are anything but.

I'm to her left but she's still staring straight ahead. I take another step towards her and my shadow covers the whole chair.

Nothing.

I move to her front so she can see me clearly, even if she doesn't seem much bothered about where I am. Reaching a hand out slowly, I push her hair behind one shoulder.

Nothing.

It's heavier than I expected, her hair. Softer, too.

"Granger," I say, and she gradually meets my eyes, her face expressionless. "Take off your robes."

She has clothing under them, of course. I'm not going to ask her to take those off, but I want to know if this simple request flags any sense of danger in her mind.

A quiet moment passes and she pulls them over her head obediently, letting them drop on the ground by the chair. I swallow hard and put my face in my hands. This is so fucked.

I actually need a minute. I should be relieved that her breathing is so even, that this scenario is somehow not terrifying her, that she's not on the verge of panic - shouldn't I? But it's so eerie and revolting and… and abominable.

I want the Granger who hits me, smacks me right across the face, screams at me. Where is the fight in her?

Let's get this over with, I think. I can't wait to get out of here. Still perfectly in front of her, I reach a hand out to touch hers, resting peacefully in her lap.

Nothing.

I pick hers up, lifting it, and I pull her to her feet. She follows without complaint, standing in front of me. I step closer to her, definitely in her personal space, and I cup her face in my hands to turn her head from side to side. No resistance at all.

I no longer expect there to be. If she was going to panic, she would have - I think. I'm just going to try one final thing before I go. Leaning down over her, I grip her upper arms in my hands securely and move her back three steps, staying far too close to her for regular comfort.

Her back lands against the wall and she looks up at me serenely. I realise it's the first time she's done that without me first telling her to.

Before I know what I'm doing, I lean down to her ear and whisper, "Why aren't you afraid of me, Granger?"

When I straighten up, she's still looking at me. She blinks several times, and opens and closes her mouth before finally saying slowly, "You don't hurt me."

My mouth goes dry and I eventually manage, "No, Granger. I don't hurt you."

When I'm brought out, Snape is there. His arms are still crossed and I wonder how long I was in the fic - ten minutes, maybe? Fifteen?

I shake my head in response to his unasked question and run my hand backward through my hair. "No fear. But that option is super fucked up. Men who like that are disgusting."

Snape doesn't argue. Standing up, I straighten my robes and say, "I want Blaise to test it too, though. I trust Blaise. She was afraid of him before but I know he won't hurt her. I think it'll be a better test."

"Why better than you?" Snape asks curiously.

"She's remembering - I think - that I don't hurt her. I don't know which occasions she's recalling, but she knows it. At least most of the time."

But thinking on this, I realise it's pretty much all of the time. Sometimes her fear overrides her rationality, but so far I've still been able to convince her I mean her no harm when that happens.

She panicked in Flourish and Blotts with Blaise there, but only after he'd already frightened her. My presence was as the second threatening man outnumbering her, until we were able to calm her down and convince her we had no interest in her.

"Fascinating," Snape says and I have to agree. "I'd test it myself but I don't think she'd see me as a potential rapist. She probably has too many pre-war memories of me as her professor."

"Speaking of memories," I tell him, "is it necessary to Obliviate her after this one? It might be best to limit the Obliviation if it's not urgent."

Snape weighs this, but shakes his head. "No. She's getting shadows of memories from the fics, but it's still better if those stay as abstract as possible. She'll be Obliviated after the next fic anyway, I know, but I think it's best to keep these hazy in her mind."

We're walking towards the exit when he stops and checks our surroundings quickly, casting a muffling charm.

"Draco, you're an excellent occlumens. But how many branches of occlumency have you studied?"

"Nothing beyond what you and Aunt Bellatrix taught me. I just dedicated myself to perfecting them." Why is he asking? I'm curious.

"There's a very obscure branch that could… help her. Possibly. It's an upper-level tactic she could only master after gaining proficiency in the basics, but -"

"- How is she supposed to get that?" I interrupt, frustrated. "We Obliviate her a dozen times a week, at least."

"I know, and it'll take time. But she does get hours and hours of down time in their living quarters - even more now that we're restricting access to her. I could make sure a book on Occlumency is made available. She might spark an academic interest in it, out of boredom if nothing else. And if she is remembering bits and pieces of things, maybe some of it eventually sinks in."

Snape sneaks another furtive glance around us, but we're still alone in the corridor.

I think about this. It can't do any harm. I do think her mental inactivity is probably a large part of the issue here. "But how could the Occlumency itself help her?"

"This particular branch helps isolate negative memories, helping protect the mind from things it rebels from. Instead of blocking your own mind from external penetration, you block your mind from your own bad memories."

"I've never even heard of this," I confess. "Does it work?"

Snape nods. "It's extremely obscure, as I said, and difficult to achieve. I won't lie. But she was always an excellent student, extremely bright. Her ability to absorb information even fleetingly was almost unparallelled at school."

Well, that's hard to miss. Bloody Chimaeras. Manticores.

"It'll take her far longer with the constant Obliviation, but if she can recall even a shadow of information -"

(an echo)

"- from the last time she read the book she'll gradually be building the foundation she needs."

I still don't know if I believe this can work, but I do believe giving her something to do can't be a bad thing. Maybe I'll even mention it when I see her next, maybe bring it up a few times.

The following Sunday, Blaise and I begin to map out our next steps. He spent the weekend with Ginny, of course, and I ask if anything unusual happened.

He shakes his head, but then snaps his fingers. "Yes, actually. Yesterday when we got to the Quidditch pitch, she looked around for a second or two. I asked her what she was thinking and she said 'I thought maybe Ron would be here to play with us.' And I hadn't said a single thing about Ron."

"But nothing else strange, all weekend?" I press.

"Nope," he confirms, but he looks dejected.

"Did you want there to be?" I inquire, honestly curious.

"No, nothing like that," he says quickly. "If she doesn't remember anything, it's for the best. But sometimes -"

He breaks off and looks away, and I think I know what he's going for. I wait a moment and take pity on him when it doesn't seem like he's going to continue.

"You wish she knew it was you?"

Refusing to meet my eyes, he nods slowly. "I'm a little jealous of yours, actually. At least she knows who she's with."

I snort. "Yes, in our best fics, she hates my guts. You're missing out."

Blaise laughs, a loud, almost harsh sound. "You're right. I shouldn't want things reversed. I hope Ginny never starts remembering like Granger is. It must be horrible for her."

We're both silent as we reflect on this, and then he goes on, "But sometimes I'd like to feel like I'm making progress, you know?"

I do, and I nod.

"We start at the same place every time I go in, every Friday. And it's a great weekend, every time, but it's -" he stops and inhales sharply. "- it's not that I can't take her to do other things, either, but -"

He stops for good this time and I know what he doesn't want to say out loud. Emotionally they never get anywhere new. There's no new ground to cover, unless she wants to lose her virginity again, and even that disappears by the following Friday.

I change the subject for him, good mate that I am.

"I need your help with a test for Granger," I say and he looks up at once.

Listening to me explain about the Confunded experiment, he cringes. "Fine. I'll do it, but I don't like it."

"Well, neither did I," I emphasise. "It was creepy. She was creepy and I was creepy for being in it. Everything about it was awful. But she's not afraid of me and I don't trust that she's always like that when she's Confunded. And I can't ask anybody else."

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbles. "I said I'll do it. When?"

"Today?" I prompt and he shoots me a look. "Tomorrow, then."

I offered, but I really would rather it were today. I know he's probably tired, but this is not the last test I want to try with Granger. I debase myself by asking again.

"I also want you to go into a fic with her as Ron. And I want to try one as Harry. See how she reacts."

Blaise looks exhausted. "Come on, Drake. What do you hope to gain?"

My temper flares a little. "I want to know if she's ever afraid of her best friend, for one, and I want to know if she'll let her supposed boyfriend touch her without -"

"And I'm supposed to touch her and test it, am I? And you're not going to get hacked off about it?" Blaise raises his voice.

"Bloody hell, Zabini, she's not going to let you fuck her, anyway. That's not her. I want to know if she has any… any unusual, unexpected sort of reluctance about having him around her at all. Yes, kiss her, feel her up if she'll let you. I don't care."

I'm pacing now, angry. "Is there any situation where she does get uncomfortable about it? Does he ever trigger a fear reaction from her?"

Blaise stands now, too, and his volume is rising to match mine. "And I'm supposed to press her, try to frighten her? Fuck you, Drake. I don't do that." He points his finger at me.

"And if you think you won't care if I come out saying, 'No, no problem at all, she let me do anything I wanted,' that you wouldn't give a fuck about it, I know better. You might say you don't care about Weasley being with her, but you'll care if you know it was me.

"Fuck you," he says again, stalking towards my fireplace, but he turns back for a final parting shot. "And you don't need to go in there as Potter. If she's not afraid of you, Draco Malfoy, she isn't going to be afraid of Potter. If you want to go into a fic where she's excited to see you, just say it."

And with that, he throws a fistful of Floo powder in front of him and vanishes.

I swallow hard as I watch him leave. He might have me there. Did I really think she'd be afraid of Potter? No. Not really.

Although I would like to know if she exhibits any of the same repetition with Potter that she does with me. I want to know if their 'war preparation' involves talking about Dark creatures - specifically a certain few breeds - and as Potter, I can gently lead that conversation to see what happens.

But to have her excited to see me? It hadn't crossed my mind. My favourite Granger is the one that shouts in my face, finger jabbing at my chest, red and angry. The one full of fight and fire.

After a few minutes, I realise I'm just sitting here. Blaise is gone and I'm just sitting here.

Fuck it. I jump up, in a split-second decision. I'm going back in. Why waste the day?

I walk up to the park from the standard Apparition point trying to decide if I've lost my mind. Is this impulsive, or would I have done it anyway? I have to get my head on straight.

What am I doing here? Think, focus.

Occlude.

I'm here to see if she shows any echoes with Potter. Anything, even a tiny shadow of an echo. I can do this.

Where should I take us?

Where, indeed? Where would she and Potter do most of their war strategising? If at school, probably either the Hogwarts library or the Gryffindor common room. I don't even know if the common rooms have been designed as fic locations yet. Should I go for the library?

Blaise's warning rings in my mind. But maybe Granger having potentially serious bad memories from the library is helpful right now. If she's going to freak out with Potter, this would be it - right? At least now, I know I'm testing the most extreme bounds.

Okay. I breathe in deeply. Polyjuice for a basic hour as Potter. Library fic. We'll see what happens.

Dolohov gives me a leer when I ask for what I want and I don't have the energy to disavow his notions. All I want is Polyjuiced Potter and Granger in the library fic.

('Okay, sure, yeah, anything you want, Malfoy. What else?')

I want to hit him but I make myself focus. Severus, from now on. If Severus isn't here, I'll make myself wait. No more Dolohov.

('Want Lovegood, too?')

No, you fucking prick. I don't want Lovegood. Bugger off.

I land in the library and immediately duck behind a shelf to gather my thoughts - and my body.

Bollocks, this is weird. I'm Potter. Somehow this is stranger than becoming Ron Weasley for Quidditch play; maybe because I know Granger is here somewhere and I have to do this right.

Potter's eyesight really is awful. How does Blaise do this every weekend?

He's much shorter than I am. Shorter than Weasley by a good bit, too, much closer to Granger's height. No; that's not fair. Granger probably only comes up to his shoulders but it feels like a huge difference to me. Granger barely comes up to my chest.

He's scrawny, too. Weasley is taller, a little bulkier. Not stocky like his older brothers, but definitely stockier than Potter. Much closer to my own size.

Short and scrawny. What does Ginny see in Potter? Blaise really should have a chance, especially since Ginny seems to put absolutely no stock into Potter's fame. He's just another guy.

Then I remember how Blaise left my house only an hour or two ago and I stiffen my resolve. Ginny can take care of herself. She can make her own choices.

I move my - Potter's - glasses up and down my nose a couple of times, getting used to the catastrophic eyesight. Isn't there something magic can do about this? If my eyesight were like this, my parents would have searched everywhere for a magical solution.

I pat down my robes, trying to adjust to a much smaller body. Weird. My robes are too long, of course, dragging, and I pull them off. I'd rather go in my also-overlong pants, which I can roll up, and shirt, which I can tuck in. I drape my - Draco Malfoy's - robes over a nearby chair. My shoes are now too big, too, and I vow to not walk too much.

Taking two deep breaths, I try to see if I'm ready. Am I? I'm weirdly nervous. I'm never nervous.

Maybe because I expect her to hate me, when I'm me. She won't hate Potter, which should give me a sense of security, but it feels so odd I can't rely on it. I should rely on it but I can't. It's bizarre. What if I fuck this up?

I force myself to step back behind my shelf. I'm not going to fuck it up - there's nothing to fuck up.

Potter is her best friend. Granger might think I'm acting oddly, like Ginny first did with Blaise, but she won't suspect anything.

I just need to do my best to get in the mentality of a positive, happy-go-lucky arsehole who has nothing to think about but war preparations for a war he doesn't know he's already lost.

Granger automatically hating me as Draco Malfoy is oddly reassuring. I know what to expect. I should be able to expect this reaction too, but it feels so foreign it's throwing me off.

Like a total prat - like Potter is, so it works - I peer between books to see Granger selecting a book from a shelf across from me, several tables between us.

Should I act like I just got here? Move towards the entrance like I just arrived?

What do I do? What should I do?

I smack myself across the face, with my own hand, like she might have done. This is absurd - I know what to do.

I've been doing it for weeks in her fics, without a second thought. And Malfoys do not second-guess themselves. I will not let being in the body of this incompetent war-losing arsehole dictate my own confidence level.

Refusing myself any further whinging time, I stride out from the shelf. "Hello, Gr- Hermione," I say, cursing myself. I can't balls it all up this early. Potter would never call her 'Granger.'

Get it together, Malfoy.

She turns to look around from the books and her face lights up. I mean, it transforms entirely. The biggest smile I've ever seen on her face is here, just for me, and she practically flings herself at me for a hug.

"Harry!" she nearly shrieks, face pressed into my neck, wild hair akimbo. "Harry, how are you?"

I'm stunned.

I… I had no idea she'd do this. And I had no idea it would feel like this, to be hugged by her like this, to have her throw herself into my arms, to have to catch her. To hug her back.

Her cheeks are pressed into my neck on one side and my shoulder on the other, and I can feel her smiling.

I can feel it.

My hands grip around her automatically, squeezing. "Fine, Gr - Fine, Hermione. How are you? It hasn't been that long," I say, trying to brush off the intensity of this greeting, but she squeezes tighter.

"It feels like ages, though!" She finally lets go and I feel the loss of her. She's almost bouncing on her toes as she looks up at me, her wide beaming grin matching her eyes.

Has it been so long, for her? I wonder. It shouldn't feel like more than a few days, a day or two, but… that's not what I just felt from her.

I have no idea what to say next. The past thirty seconds have wiped any semblance of a plan from my mind.

Did I have any plan for an actual conversation at all? I don't think I did. How do I start this? Any intro I can think of feels horrible and awkward. But I have to say something.

"I thought you'd be here, so we could talk about… the next step of the war," I say lamely. That was good, right? That could mean anything. Let's see what it means to Granger.

She nods intently and maybe I hit the right mark. "I've found some things on…" she drops her voice and looks around surreptitiously, "on Horcruxes."

"Here?" I say, genuinely surprised. Dumbledore would have never allowed this. I wasn't joking in our first recent fic.

"No, no," Granger whispers, tugging at my sleeve in secret solidarity. "I found it…" she stops and I wait, intensely curious. "I found it… somewhere."

She looks down at the table she's claimed to find it bare. "Oh no, I forgot my notes, I had a book and -"

She's getting upset and I can't help it. She 'forgot' those things because they existed outside of this fic. It's not her fault.

"Hermione, it's okay," I say, feeling completely bizarre and not least because I'm forced to use her first name. "I'm sure you remember what was important."

She looks slightly mollified and I continue, "It's alright. We'll figure out the Horcrux bit and we'll find them. It's okay."

But Granger looks alarmed at this again, insistently putting out a hand to stop me. "No, no, he's making more, Voldemort, he's making more Horcruxes. Even if we find some of them, the list is getting longer."

I curse my own smart mouth. I said that before as a final parting comment, something to rile her up. It was funny. I hadn't fully realised that anything I said could be internalised.

And to make it worse, I have no idea if it's true. For all I know, it could be. I can say it isn't, in our next fic as myself, but I might be lying to her. But isn't that the best thing for her, right now? Put her mind at ease? Bollocks, I don't know. Probably, because even if the Dark Lord is making more Horcruxes, she'll likely never know about it.

I revert back to my tactic in our previous fics: if she's unsettled, distract her. But with what? Dark creatures are a bad idea. Even Hogwarts history calls back an echo I'd rather not encourage. Can't I get her onto something helpful?

Then, I know. I'm such an idiot.

I stand up abruptly and walk away, scanning the topics of rows until I find what I want.

Occlumency.

She's following me curiously as I figured she would. I read the titles and pick out one of basic starting occlumency and techniques and two more of slightly higher-level theory.

Granger looks interested as I bring them back to one of the central tables. I sit down and think for food - but something different, this time. I find that I want her favourite dish to be something only I give her, not Potter. I stutter over it for a minute before coming up with 'bangers and mash, two plates, silverware' and it appears.

As usual, this provokes no suspicion and I push a meal towards her as I start to talk about occlumency. She digs in.

"I thought you hated occlumency, Harry," she says around a mouthful of food. I smile. She has a habit of it, evidently, probably from spending so much time around Weasley, who never stopped shovelling food into his mouth.

"Hmm?" I ask innocently.

"You hated occlumency with Snape in fifth year. You said it made things worse."

This was probably true and I barely manage to switch things around enough in my response. "I wasn't very good at it. I didn't have enough patience and persistence to get better at it then, but I think it could be helpful now."

Granger's eyeing me suspiciously and I feel an odd recognition of how she'd look at me as Draco Malfoy.

"Really, Gr - Hermione," I try to emphasise convincingly. "Occlumency is fascinating. It's really difficult, too, but I bet you'd be great at it. Have you ever tried?"

She shakes her head in dissent and I nudge the basics book at her. As she scoops up another bite, she flips it open and starts to peruse the table of contents.

If she were a Slytherin, I'd emphasise how almost no one is good at it and if she could be, she'd immediately be the best. And while Granger does have a healthy portion of Slytherin motivations, I can't rely on those exclusively. What else drove her at school?

At the moment, I can't think of anything. I think she wanted to be the best because she was capable of it, nothing more. She knew she could, so she settled for nothing less. That drive of competition might be my best ally here.

"You know who is a very good occlumens?" I say, waiting until she looks up from the book to continue. "Draco Malfoy. Wasn't he right behind you in every exam?"

Granger's eyes narrow slightly and she blinks a couple of times, brow slightly furrowed. "So? So what if he's good at it? What does that matter?"

As she's speaking, she winds her hair back behind her and knots it. I wish she'd leave it down.

I have an unsettling feeling that this angle isn't going to work on her. She did beat me; what possible reason does she have to compete now?

But I've forgotten about Gryffindor selflessness. I make a big show of looking down at my hands, Potter's hands, uncomfortable, worried, defeated, maybe?

"Hermione, if we're - if we lose this war, we need to be able to protect and hide our memories, our minds. I'm terrible at it and I need a lot of work, but if you could get good at it, maybe you could help me. And I know you could be good at it. You're good at everything you try. I know you could teach me better than Snape."

I look at her and her eyes meet mine, large and brown, earnest. Hopeful. Promising. "Will you learn so you can help me?"

Granger nods once, quickly, eagerly. "Of course I will, if it'll help. I'll do my best. We'll do it, Harry. I know we can."

I stand up now. I've done what I can do. She's not afraid and maybe she'll remember occlumency being important when she sees the books Snape is going to place for her in the girls' dorm. Best to end on this.

But she looks upset at my intended departure and I wonder again at how long it feels like to her.

She stands as well and throws her arms around me again. She squeezes tight around my middle, tighter than I'd have expected of such a small witch, and then tugs at my hand.

I turn towards her obediently, looking down into her eyes and she says, "I miss you. Come back soon, alright?"

It sends chills up my spine.

I can't do anything but nod stupidly and squeeze her hand like an idiot as I ask to be brought out.

Monday at work, Blaise is ignoring me. This is juvenile and I'll address it later, but for now I'm too preoccupied.

I didn't sleep at all, couldn't stop the scene in my head of Granger first seeing me, beaming like she did, throwing herself into my hug. Telling me she missed me, to come back. The memory plays

(echoes)

over and over, and even though I know it was Potter she was reacting to, I can't stop it.

I understand Blaise better now. How he felt after his first twelve-hour overnight with Ginny. How the best part, he'd said, was how happy Ginny had been to see him.

I'd thought it was stupid to believe in that, to let himself feel like it could be for him. But it's impossible not to.

He still felt like him, after all. I still felt like me.

And Granger looked at me like that… and to know I made her that happy.

But it wasn't me.

Fucking Potter. Lucky fucking Potter.

I can never go in there as Weasley. I'd probably throw myself off the roof afterwards.

If Granger looks like that at Potter, how does she look at Weasley? I can't imagine a more enthusiastic reaction.

This gives me pause. She isn't… into Potter, is she?

Is she? I always took everyone's word for the fact that it was Weasley she fancied even though it seemed incredible to me. Who would choose Weasley? But maybe she only did because Potter fancied Ginny.

A knocking on my office door makes me look up and Ilse is standing there. She must have been trying to get my attention for a few minutes now. Her curly hair is back in a harsh ponytail and she's tapping her foot.

I clear my throat, trying to look dignified.

"Mr Malfoy, you have a meeting in the conference room in…" she checks the time. "Ten minutes, now. I know you like a fifteen-minute notice to get ready."

So she's been standing there for roughly five minutes. Lovely. Ilse gives me a knowing look as she turns to leave and I wonder what she thinks she knows. It had better be nothing. It had better be that she caught me woolgathering instead of preparing for a meeting and is delicately reminding me to focus.

And I do need to focus here, more. She's not wrong.

Pulling my occlumency back into play, I shove thoughts of Granger and Potter and Weasley into a corner and block them all in. This is successful, as it always is, and I wonder idly whether this is the sort of tactic Snape was talking about.

It probably is, at a higher level. I can still remember everything, of course; I just push it to the back of my mind and force it to stay there. But it seems like a similar concept.

I'd intended to speak with Blaise this afternoon but after rededicating myself to my actual salaried employment, I lost track of things. He still meets me at the lifts at 6.30, our unspoken arrangement time

In a gruff voice, he says, "Let's get this over with. You still want me to test both?"

He's still looking straight ahead and I try to show some gratitude for the gesture. "Yes, if you don't mind. I appreciate it, Zabini. Thank you."

Blaise scrapes his hand over his hair back and forth twice, his awkward tic when he's uncomfortable. My impression that he might actually feel bad about how he left the Manor yesterday is confirmed when he glances around and quietly admits, "If it was Ginny, I'd want your help too."

The lift opens and there are two witches already inside, so we don't speak again. It gradually fills, then slowly empties, and we file out with the last stragglers into the lobby to walk to the Apparition point.

As soon as we're alone again, Blaise speaks back up. "I've been… worried. You know, that Ginny is starting to remember things, too. I can't stop thinking about her looking around for Ron before we played Quidditch. I don't like it."

Walking alongside Blaise, I consider this too.

I'd asked him to check Ginny for anything unusual largely to see if I was going mental. Imagining things. Also, my working theory is that Granger's enormous brain is inventing ways to circumvent her Obliviation.

But what if they're all gradually getting cognizant?

Maybe Granger is just ahead of the curve. She would be, of course. No surprises there.

I have no idea how bright Ginny Weasley is. She was a year below us, of course, and in an entirely different house. Any attention I paid to her was mostly looking at her arse in the Great Hall as she passed by.

But if they're all starting to remember - or will be soon, that's disturbing. I have no idea what to do with the information, though. They can't all learn high-level occlumency. Even Granger has a thin shot at that.