HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY

Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.

CHAPTER 18: Team-Building Exercises (Pt 2)

2:00 p.m.

Team Counterstrike

Draco strode imperiously into the DADA classroom just before two o'clock and then stopped abruptly. Counting him, there were sixteen students in the room which was completely empty of all furniture other than a large green table divided in the middle by a small barrier made of some woven material. Draco looked around the room and immediately realized three things. First, he was the only Slytherin present. Second, with the exceptions of the Ravenclaw Cho Chang and the Hufflepuff Cedric Diggory, he was the only Pureblood in the room. In fact, if he was not mistaken, nearly half of the students in the room were either Muggle-born or Muggle-raised. Third, standing next to Chang and Diggory was Jim Potter who was actually sneering at him ... as if any Gryffindor ever had any business sneering at a Slytherin! Why it was practically a perversion of the natural order!

Undaunted, Draco made his way over to that group. He realized that the four of them represented all four of the school's Seekers. He also realized that no one outside his House was supposed to know that he was the Slytherin Seeker.

"I was expecting Harry instead of you, Malfoy. None of us have any idea how we got assigned to this group, so I'd assumed it was a Seeker thing."

"Well," Draco sniffed contemptuously. "It should be fairly obvious that I should be the Slytherin Seeker. Perhaps Lockhart took that into account."

Jim laughed. "Please. If my brother beat you as awful as he was yesterday, I don't even want to think about how bad you must be."

Draco's face reddened, but before he could retort, Chang spoke up. "Oh, cut it out, both of you! It's bad enough I'm giving up my Sunday afternoon to learn how to play ping-pong without having to listen to a bunch of Snake-vs.-Lion sniping!"

Draco did a double-take. "Ping ... pong?"

"Yeah," said Diggory. "It's a Muggle game. Justin knew what the table was immediately. He's got one at home. Says he's pretty good at it."

Malfoy looked over in the direction of the Muggleborn Justin Finch-Fletchley, who appeared to be demonstrating some sort of odd wand movements to the other students. The Pureblood gritted his teeth at the thought of fraternizing with such Mudbloods, particularly since he was under an Unbreakable Vow not to use that word in the presence of anyone who might be offended by it ... which appeared to be everyone in this room. However, the alternative to fraternizing with Mudbloods and Halfbloods in order to learn some poxied Muggle children's game was getting up at the crack of dawn every day for fitness training. He shuddered at the thought of running around Black Lake through six inches of snow once December arrived. Suddenly, the door opened, and Lockhart entered with a flourish, carrying two small oddly-shaped wooden bats (like tiny round Beater's bats, the four Seekers noticed) and a white ball about the size of a Snitch.

"Good afternoon, students. Welcome to the introductory meeting for Research Team Counterstrike. Also known as 'Ping-Pong 101,' ha-Ha!" A few of the students laughed nervously, but most just stared at the man. "Now, I assume you all know what this is, but just in case some of you aren't up to speed, I shall explain. Ping pong, also known as table tennis, is a Muggle sport dating back just over 100 years. Its three components are the ping pong ball, the bat (or paddle in some countries) and the table." He held up the ball with one hand and one of the bats with another. "Mr. Finch-Fletchley, would you step forward please?"

A bit surprised, Justin stepped forwarded and accepted one of the bats which Lockhart offered him. "Now, Mr. Finch-Fletchley, you indicated that you have actually played this game competitively?"

"Yes, sir. The private academy I attended before Hogwarts had a table tennis club. I've also played in youth tournaments and even won a few in my age bracket."

"Excellent! Now, would you mind explaining the rules for the game for those unfamiliar with it. I'd do so myself, but I'm not too proud to defer to someone more experienced than I, regardless of their youth."

Justin nodded before turning and giving a brief description of the rules of ping pong before the dubious crowd. As he did so, Lockhart removed his cloak and the jacket he wore underneath and then rolled up his shirt sleeves. By the time Justin was done, Lockhart had taken a position at one end of the table with the other bat in hand.

"Well summarized, Mr. Finch-Fletchley. Now, would you care to play against me for a bit to demonstrate?" The boy nodded and took up a position on the opposite side. "Now, do take it easy on an old man, Finch-Fletchley. I am an amateur at this, after all."

With that, Justin served a volley towards Lockhart who returned it easily. The two went back and forth for several minutes, and Justin quickly realized that while Lockhart might not be ready for competition play, he was no complete amateur either. Soon, Justin had actually moved a few feet back from the table into his competition stance, and Lockhart matched him. Their game play sped up as well, and soon the students who were unfamiliar with the game watched in astonishment at how fast the ball went back and forth. Finally, Justin lunged and hit the ball hard and with a spin, and it slipped past Lockhart's defense, bouncing off at the very edge of the table. Lockhart smiled, dropped his paddle, and applauded the boy, and the audience followed suit. Even Draco allowed himself to be impressed at the Mudblood's skill.

"Well done, Mr. Finch-Fletchley. Well done, indeed. Now, you may return to your fellow students." Justin left the paddle on the table and moved back to the group, where Cedric slapped him on the back genially.

"Now then," continued Lockhart. "You're all obviously impressed with young Finch-Fletchley's skills, but I'm sure you're also wondering what on Earth ping pong has to do with Defense Against the Dark Arts. And the answer is ... well, the answer is something I can't tell you, at least not yet. What I can tell you is this: There is a defensive spell I'll be teaching later this year, probably in late November or early December. Hopefully, all of you will be here to learn it, but we shall see. The spell I'm thinking of is the preferred defense of some of the world's top champion duelists. It is also a spell that can save your life in a firefight against a dark wizard. Unfortunately, it is a spell that requires phenomenal dexterity, eye-hand coordination, and reflexes. And if you are lacking in those areas, the spell I'll be teaching will not help you at all and might very well get you killed if you attempt to rely on it in a life-or-death combat situation."

He turned and gestured towards the ping pong table. "Hence, ping pong! I am of the belief that the skill sets required for a successful ping pong player overlap those required for the mystery spell. If I am correct, I believe that this simple Muggle game can eventually become a valuable part of the auror training program. Or not. That's what research projects are for – to find out what works and what doesn't. That's also why I'm not telling you what the mystery spell is and why I don't want any of you to go looking for it! The whole point of this exercise is to see how well ping pong works as a training tool, and you'll ruin the project's experimental value if you learn the spell before I'm ready to teach it. Now, you'll find there is a room set aside on the third floor which now contains four ping pong tables with balls and bats in a nearby cupboard. Each of you has a bat with your name already on it. You may spend as much free time as you want practicing, and every two weeks, we will meet in that room to evaluate your progress."

He hesitated and then gave a sad expression. "While it's up to you how much practice time you want to spend, I should warn you that any students who clearly have no aptitude for ping pong will eventually be removed from this Team and reassigned to the early morning physical fitness program."

At that, most of the students looked a bit nervous, especially those like Draco who had absolutely no familiarity with the game. Justin Finch-Fletchley also looked a bit nervous, but it was because he now suspected that every single member of Team Counterstrike was going to ask him for ping pong lessons. While the Hufflepuff in him was resigned to being a good sport and helping out whoever asked, the Capitalist Muggle in him said that he should probably consult with Harry for advice on how to leverage the first real advantage he'd had as a wizard since coming to Hogwarts.

Jim then raised his hand. "Sir, is there a reason all the Quidditch Seekers got put into this group?"

"There is, Mr. Potter. While there are, in my opinion, no wizarding sports which are comparable to ping pong for what I have in mind, the skills of a Seeker come closest of anything most wizards are familiar with."

"Well then," Jim continued. "Why isn't my brother here?"

Lockhart glanced at Draco and gave an unreadable expression before replying. "Whatever Harry Potter's skills as a Seeker, he has another characteristic which I thought made him a better fit for a different group."

"Which one?" Jim asked.

"Perhaps you should ask him that question for yourself, Mr. Potter. After all, you are brothers. I'm sure you're both close enough to have no secrets from one another." Lockhart smiled at that, but for once, he didn't give that awful affected laugh. Nevertheless, Draco was sure that his smile was no more sincere than his laugh was.

2:30 p.m.

Marcus Flint's Room

At half past two, while Draco Malfoy was continuing his immersion into the frightening world of Muggle ping pong, Harry Potter was on his way to the Seventh Year prefect's private room. He'd received a note via Theo saying that Marcus wanted to see him in his rooms about some "House matters." The fact that they were meeting in Marcus's rooms instead of the Prince's Lair indicated that someone else would be present who was not already aware of the secret chamber located just a few feet further down the hall.

"Which reminds me," thought Harry, "I need to reset the password for the Lair so that Marcus and Missy can access it to study for their NEWTS."

Melissa "Missy" Bulstrode was the sister of Harry's classmate Millicent Bulstrode and also the new female Seventh Year prefect. Her rooms were across the hall from Marcus's, so it was necessary to bring her into the secret of the Lair. After swearing Missy to appropriate oaths of secrecy, it had been surprisingly easy for Harry to win her support. She wanted to ace her NEWTS, she wanted her younger sister Milly to have a fair chance to play Quidditch when she got a few years older (Milly wanted to play Beater, of all things!), and as a Halfblood herself, she didn't care about Pureblood traditions to begin with. In fact, she was actually quite amused at the idea of Harry Potter, brother to the Boy-Who-Lived and the second most prominent Halfblood in the school, being the secret master who ruled Slytherin House from the shadows.

At Marcus's door, Harry knocked respectfully and waited for the prefect to admit him. To his surprise, the other person in the room was a very nervous-looking Gregory Goyle. The hefty boy was actually sweating rather profusely. Marcus gestured for Harry to take a chair opposite Goyle, while he leaned against a wall nearby.

"Malfoy is off with Lockhart for whatever research nonsense he's on, so Goyle here thought it was a good time to come and talk with me. I think you need to hear what he has to say. Out with it, Goyle."

Goyle licked his lips nervously and looked up at Harry. "You ... you probably know that my family is a vassal family to House Malfoy, which is why I have to follow him around and be his ... well, his stooge. But I'm only twelve. I'm the Goyle Heir but I haven't taken any personal oaths to House Malfoy and won't have to until I'm fifteen. So until then, I have some ... liberties." He took a deep breath. "I was wondering if you might possibly be interested in having me to spy on Draco for you till then. I guess you know he's plotting against you, and I could let you know about what plots of his I can overhear. He's... prone to ... ranting about you when no one but me and Vince are around."

Harry crooked an eyebrow. "That's an interesting offer, Mr. Goyle, but I'm a bit curious as to what has brought this on. What do you want in exchange?"

Goyle swallowed at that. Harry was intrigued by the almost ... despairing look the boy gave him. "I ... need help. And I didn't know who else to ask, so I asked Flint, and he told me to talk to you. He said you could ... get things done."

Harry nodded impassively. "Go on."

Goyle hesitated. Then, he took a deep breath and dove right in. "My mother and father are the god-parents of Amy ... Amaryllis Wilkes. They didn't want to be. It was supposed to be Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, but they didn't want the stigma of having the last child of House Wilkes attached to them, so they fobbed it off on my family. I grew up with Amy ... Amaryllis..." He shook his head. "With Amy. She was always kind of like a little sister. My parents didn't care about her at all. They didn't abuse her or anything, but they definitely didn't care about her. They just stuck her off in a small bedroom at the end of the children's wing with some dolls, a lot of books, and a house elf to look after her. But she and I still grew up together. We were both only children, and we were stuck with each other. Maybe that's what gave Father the idea ..."

He paused and rubbed his fingers over his eyes. "The Wilkeses still have money ... somewhere. Vaults full of galleons ... and probably a fortune in dark artifacts and books. But Amy can't touch it because she's a girl and the Wilkes family is patri ... patra..."

"Patrilineal," said Harry gently.

"Yeah, that. She can't inherit, but she might someday give birth to a male heir who would be able to if he shows magic." He hesitated. "Father has drawn up a marriage contract between Amy and me, with himself automatically appointed as regent for any male children born of the marriage. He reckons there must be enough galleons in the Wilkes vaults to pay off the debts we owe the Malfoys and establish House Goyle as a truly independent House."

Harry nodded. "And you are not happy with the idea of marrying Amy Wilkes someday just to please your father?"

"It's not that!" he said excitedly. "I mean, I like Amy. She's a little hard-edged. Who wouldn't be with the life she's led! But she's not as cold as she seems, and anyway, I've known her my whole life. Maybe when we're older ..." He took another shaky breath. "My father's not a patient man, though. He's in a real bad hurry for some reason to get at the Wilkes estate, and he doesn't want to wait until we're graduated and out in the world before he can exercise his contract rights. And I guess, if I were old enough, he wouldn't have regency rights over my son anyway. He ... he wants me and Amy to get married ... right after my OWLs."

At that, Harry did a double-take. "He wants you to drop out of school – you at fifteen, and Amy at fourteen – and start making babies just so he can gain access to the Wilkes fortune?!"

"Oh, just wait," said Marcus darkly. "It gets worse."

Harry's eyes widened at that, and he turned back to Goyle. "Go on, Mr. Goyle. Please tell me the rest."

Goyle looked down at the floor as if to collect himself before looking back up at Harry, who was surprised to see a depth of feeling in the boy's expression there that he'd never noticed before. "I ... I'm not a smart guy. I know that. Not like you or Draco. I try, but I'm not smart. Miss Granger worked really hard with me and Vince last year, and we passed everything, but neither of us did especially well. Father ... he let me know the night before we got on the train... if it looks like I'm gonna flunk my OWLs ... he has a backup plan."

Harry grimaced. If Plan A was to marry his son and his god-daughter off as teenagers, he shuddered to think what Plan B was. Goyle's sickened expression didn't reassure him either.

"If my grades don't pick up, he's gonna dissolve the marriage contract between me and Amy and set up a new one ... with the House of Nott. He figures he can get a big enough bride price to cover his needs from Old Tiberius. "

Harry sputtered uncontrollably. "He wants to marry Amy Wilkes off to Theo!"

"Even worse," sighed Marcus.

Harry's head snapped around at that. "What ... Alexander Nott? The Heir?"

Goyle shook his head despairingly, and suddenly, Harry realized the truth: not either son, but the father! Instantly, Harry felt a a sudden sharp pain from both his hands. He looked down and was startled to realize it came from clenching his fists so tight that his nails had dug into his palms almost hard enough to draw blood. He could not remember the last time he had been so angry.

"So," thought Harry as he ran through a quick Occlumency exercise to bring his temper under control. "Amy Wilkes, currently aged twelve, is to be married off to Tiberius Nott, a fifty-year-old ex-Death Eater. Who also murdered his last wife outright after first nearly killing her on accident with a potion designed to influence the gender of their children, a potion he would almost certainly force upon Amy to get the male heir he needs to seize the Wilkes fortune. And it was all Amy's god-father's idea!"

The Occlumency finally washed away Harry's fury, and he regarded Goyle coolly.

"Does she know?" he asked. Goyle shook his head no. Harry considered that along with all the other information Goyle had provided. "Why have you come to us with this? You're friends – sort of – with Draco Malfoy. Do you think it would somehow be worse if Lucius Malfoy became aware of this?" He thought for a second. "Or do you think he already is?"

Goyle shook his head helplessly. "I don't know. I don't think so, but it's possible. I know Draco is out to get you, but he has to be careful about how he does it. And I know that somebody tried to kill you not long ago with one of Wilkes' toys. I guess it's possible that Draco's parents were behind that and they want to use Amy to get more weapons from whatever legacy Wilkes left. I figured better safe than sorry."

Harry nodded at that. He could imagine scenarios in which Lucius Malfoy was out to kill him, though probably not by any means as clumsy and messy as the ones he'd seen so far. Still Dobby obviously knew something, and from what he knew of the Wilkes estate, there were enough assets to attract Lucius's attention.

"What do you ask of me, Mr. Goyle?"

"I want ... I want Amy to be free and safe, with a chance to live her life without all this," the boy made a face, "stupid Death Eater crap!"

"Does that mean you also want to be free of ... 'stupid Death Eater crap'?

Goyle looked down again. "I dunno. I don't think I have a choice. I've been raised to believe the things a Pureblood should, but then, I got here and found out that I can't hold a candle to a Mud ... to a Muggleborn like Granger. Not only that, but I'd have probably flunked out my first year if Draco hadn't hired her to tutor me." He shuddered. "Father didn't like that at all, but since Draco set it up, he couldn't say much about it. Honestly? Right now, I'm just doing what I'm told. Just like I'll do what I'm told when I'm Lord Goyle and I still have to do whatever Lord Malfoy says."

"Even if Lord Malfoy says he wants you to get a snake tattoo on your arm?"

Goyle paled and then looked away. "Probably," he said quietly.

Harry stared at him intently before speaking. "You will swear a secrecy oath not to reveal any of my secrets without my consent. In particular, you will not reveal anything you have heard or said or learned in this meeting. I will make arrangements for your tutoring to continue, whether by Miss Granger or someone else your father wouldn't object to. You will push yourself to whatever extremes are necessary to get your grades up to the appropriate level. In return, I will do everything I can to protect Miss Wilkes and free her from your father's influence. Do we have a deal?"

"Yes!" The other boy shook his head excitedly. "Yes, we do! Thank you!"

"And since you've agreed to keep my secrets, Gregory Goyle, there are something you ought to know. You see, Draco didn't arrange for you to be tutored by Miss Granger out of the goodness of his heart. I engineered that and forced Malfoy to go along with it, in part because I was concerned that it would reflect poorly on Slytherin House if two sons of Noble Houses flunked out their first year. I don't care how dumb other people have told you that you are. You are Goyle of Goyle, and this year, you will step up your game and you will act like the scion of a Noble House, even if your father is unworthy of having such a son. Because there's not a damned thing I can do to save Miss Wilkes if you fail your classes and your father sells her out to Lord Nott before I set a plan in motion. Understood?"

Goyle went pale and nodded affirmatively. Then, he pulled out his wand and swore the secrecy oath.

"Thank you for this, Potter."

"When Draco or his friends aren't around, Mr. Goyle, please feel free to call me Harry."

He smiled. "Only if you will call me Gregory." Then, he paused. "Actually, if you don't mind, I'd prefer it if you called me Greg. Gregory is my Father's name. I don't want to use it."

"Greg it is." With that, the relieved Second Year left Flint's room. Marcus's face hardened as he moved to sit down in the chair Goyle had vacated.

"Do you think Theo would mind terribly if his father were found bludgeoned to death in an alley?" he asked.

Harry shrugged. "Probably not, so long as the killer left a pensive memory of it for his future enjoyment. Of course, Tiberius Nott isn't the real issue. In fact, it's possible he doesn't know about any of this since Goyle Sr. would have to go behind Lucius's back to set it up, and the fealty oaths probably still forbid it at the moment. I am ... reliably informed that Lucius and Tiberius are not as close as they once were."

"Hmm. In other news, you realize you're now signed up as the protector for Erasmus Wilkes's daughter. I'm sure that will make you unpopular in some quarters."

Harry looked away and shrugged. "The oaths we just swore weren't actually reciprocal, and to be honest, I can probably do more to protect Wilkes if no one knows I'm looking out for her. That said, the girl is an orphan being taken advantage of by those who should be protecting her. I have ... issues with that sort of thing."

Marcus snorted. "Teen Witch Weekly has issues, Potter! You're way beyond that!"

3:05 p.m.

Classroom 314 (aka the Ping Pong Room)

After leaving the DADA classroom, Draco stopped off to talk with Daphne Greengrass who was just coming in for the 3:00 p.m. team meeting. Something to do with chameleons, apparently. Then, he made his way upstairs to check out the room that had been set aside for Team Counterstrike's personal training. As he approached, he noticed the sound of a rhythmic tapping coming from inside. Walking through the door, he was pleased to see that the only other person in the room was the Mudblood Puff Justin Whatshisname, who was idly walking around the room inspecting the tables. He had one of the ping pong bats in his hand, and the tapping sound came from the ball that he was almost absentmindedly bouncing up and down on the bat. The boy noticed Draco's entrance and gave him a friendly smile. With some effort, Draco smiled back at him.

"Why hello again, Mr. Malfoy," the Mudblood said. "Fancy a quick game? I promise I'll take it easy on you. I know this isn't exactly a Pureblood's sport."

"Certainly, Mr., um, Finch, I believe?"

"Finch-Fletchley," the Mudblood answered easily.

"Yes, Finch-Fletchley. I must admit I know nothing about this game except what you and Professor Lockhart showed us earlier."

"I believe you'll find a bat with your name on it in the locker over there. It's not a complicated game, just one that requires the development of certain physical skills." The Mudblood gestured over towards a cabinet where Draco did indeed find a bat with the name "D. Malfoy" printed on it. After a quick refresher of the rules, Draco and the Mudblood started their game. Draco actually did pick up the basics fairly quickly, though he was acutely aware of the fact that the Mudblood was completely in control of the game and hardly using a fraction of the speed he displayed against Lockhart earlier.

"I must say, Mr. Finch-Fletchley, your command of this game is most impressive."

"Why thank you, Mr. Malfoy."

"Tell me, would you be interested in providing lessons on this game? In light of what Professor Lockhart said, I'm very anxious to do well at this. I was thinking of, perhaps, a galleon or so every four hours of practice?"

"Hmm, well to be honest, I'm afraid that my schedule is very busy this term, and anyway, I'm not terribly interested in picking up a few extra galleons here and there if it requires too much of a time investment. I'm sure you understand."

"Ah, the Hufflepuff work ethic," said Draco as he struggled to conceal his contempt for that same mentality. "Typical," he thought. "A stupid Mudblood Puff who wouldn't recognize a good business opportunity if it bit him on the nose."

"No, not really the Hufflepuff work ethic so much as a Muggleborn perspective. There's a Muggle expression – perhaps you've heard of it – 'Time is money.' It means that even if you profit from spending your time doing something, you may have actually lost money if in doing so you ignored the opportunity to benefit more from doing something else. I mean, would you consider it a profitable use of your time to work for someone else, even at something you enjoyed, for the sum of one galleon every four hours?"

"Well, no," said Draco who was becoming annoyed with the Mudblood's ability to talk about philosophical matters while casually parrying every one of Malfoy's returns. "Of course, it's a bit different for me. Not to sound arrogant or anything, but ... well, I am rather rich."

The Mudblood smiled. "So I've heard, Mr. Malfoy. I'm told your father is considered the sixth wealthiest wizard in Magical Britain, with a net worth somewhere in the neighborhood of 63 million galleons. I reckon that's about £335 million at the current rate of exchange."

Draco blinked at that and nearly missed the Mudblood's return volley. "Hmm. I suppose so," he replied in a neutral voice. "I don't actually know the current galleon to, er, pound exchange rate."

"Really?" the Mudblood replied, sounding almost amused. "You'll find the goblins update the exchange rate between the galleon and every major Muggle currency weekly. It's posted in the Daily Prophet every Monday morning on the first page of the financial section."

"The goblins have a variable exchange rate between galleons and Muggle currencies that they adjust on a weekly basis?" thought Draco. "Why didn't I know that? For that matter, why didn't I know that the Prophet has a financial section?!" But instead of all that, Draco merely said "Um-hmm."

"Anyway, Mr. Malfoy, the thing is, well, not to sound arrogant or anything, but that figure I just mentioned? That £335 million? Well, if you were to multiply that figure by a factor of four, the result would be slightly less than the combined net worth of my own parents."

At that, Draco nearly lost his balance, as the ping pong ball slipped past his defense and, in fact, the paddle itself slipped from his grasp and landed on the floor. He starred at the ... (incredibly rich?) Mudblood for several seconds in amazement.

"Your parents' net worth is over ...?" Draco stopped, suddenly unable to perform basic maths in his head.

"About £1.3 billion. Just north of 250 million galleons. Of course, that's without considering my maternal grandfather's assets. His name is Jonathan Woodnutt, but he's better known among British Muggles as His Grace, the Duke of Forgill. He's 72, and while I hope he continues to live to a ripe old age, when he dies his own wealth and his Dukedom will pass to my mother, who is his sole heir. As I understand it, that's expected to raise my parents' net worth to something just over £3 billion. So you can see, Mr. Malfoy, why I'm not terribly excited at the thought of teaching ping pong for a quarter-a-galleon per hour." The (no longer a) Mudblood smiled at Draco. "Is there perchance anything else you might be able to offer me in exchange for lessons, Mr. Malfoy?"

The Pureblood stood almost frozen, as beliefs he'd held his entire life but which were now suddenly brought into contradiction strove for dominance. Had the son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy been asked a week earlier, he'd have never guessed which of those beliefs would win out. Finally, he smiled at the Wizard. It was surprisingly genuine. "Please," he said amiably. "Call me Draco!"

The next chapter will be uploaded on Monday, October 26, 2015. "Team-Building Exercises," in which Harry and George each attend their first team meetings, Harry shows Missy Bulstrode around his Lair, Ron and the Twins bury the hatchet, and Lockhart reads a book.

AN 1. The Dukedom of Forgill is fictitious. The Duke of Forgill was an important character from the late-1970's Doctor Who serial "Terror of the Zygons," and Jonathan Woodnut was the now deceased character actor who portrayed him.

AN 2. The canon books are vague on how rich the Finch-Fletchleys are beyond the fact that Justin was set for Eton before he got his Hogwarts letter. I was amused by the idea of how Draco would react to learning that a classmate who was both a Muggleborn and a Hufflepuff was much richer than him by a whole bunch. Still not entirely sure how the Draco-Justin relationship is going to go, but we'll all found out together. (And I just updated this because previously I had used the phrase "by several orders of magnitude" as an attempt at amusing hyperbole and didn't realize it would bring out all the math-majors in force. Yeesh.)