"When paying for information, you will frequently overpay.

This is unavoidable, and do not fret about it (unless tricked).

Consider it a balance for the times a crucial fragment falls into your lap because the seller is unaware of its value.



After all, If you knew how much to pay, you wouldn't be buying."

- Lucius Malfoy

"Anyway, the trick to it is to flick your wand right as you..." Blaise Zabini froze when Harry Potter walked into the second year boys' room. Theodore Nott looked over his shoulder, following Blaise's eyes.

Harry asked "Theodore. Am I interrupting? I'd like to talk to General Zabini."

"We can finish later," Theodore said. "It's no problem."

"Thanks," said Harry. "Do you mind if we walk? I have to go somewhere and this way we won't be disturbed..." Blaise stood up, smoothing out his robes, and walked beside Harry. They quickly went through the common room, past the prefect's room, and into the dungeons. All through the trip Potter asked his opinion about last weekend's battle. The fourth year armies had fought on the roof of Hogwarts, but hadn't been allowed any brooms. Blaise recognized it as small talk, which did seem like Potter's typical style.

"Anyway, General," said Harry, "What I really wanted to talk about is a small conspiracy I'd like you to join. We're disguised as a study group. I suppose we're actually studying something." They crossed the creaking bridge over the main stream, air brackish but not unpleasant. Harry quieted as they passed three first years returning from classes.

"What do you study?" Blaise asked. His brown eyes warily darting around. Potter was Draco's friend and had a reputation narrowly outrunning the chaos which followed him constantly around, but this didn't feel like a trap. Still, you couldn't be too careful.

"Decision making. Science. Problem solving. How to think and how to avoid mistakes. 'Rationality' is the technical term." They passed the Bloody Baron, who was talking to several of the paintings lining the Hall.

Blaise considered for twenty-five steps. "That sounds useful. What's the catch?"

"There are two. First, You have to learn to admit mistakes. That sounds easy, but it's surprisingly hard. One conspirator likened it to a 'Dark Ritual,' you sacrifice the ability to lie to yourself. Lots of people can't do that, and they suffer mental anguish," Harry paused then took a lighter tone, "I prefer to think of it as growing pains."

They had exited Slytherin proper and stepped into the common dungeons. They'd diverted from the stone stairs that led up into Hogwarts, and went down a Hallway that glowed slightly with no apparent lights. Blaise recognized the area, Potions was here, but they passed that and went further down the hall, footsteps making small squeeking sounds as their damp footprints connected with the stone. Harry Potter stopped in front of a door.

"As for the second catch." Harry opened the door and walked into the classroom, Blaise following.

"Malfoy," Blaise said flatly, as Draco looked up from the desk, closing a small black book he'd apparently been writing in.

"Don't dismiss it out of hand," said Harry, "Draco suggested inviting you."

"So I can be your lackey?"

"I didn't have to invite you," said Draco harshly, "and lackeys are easy. I put your name up because you are going to be absolutely slaughtered in the battles if you fall too far behind. It's too useful. You have some weaknesses, and you can usually work around them, but Neville's joined and Potter's teaching his special creativity. That's a serious challenge, if Neville learns first. You have potential and this would help," Draco's voice held a hint of anger, "but if you are willing to throw an advantage away just because I'm involved..."

"You are in Chaos now. Why help Basilisk?" Blaise sounded incredulous, but he sat down.

"I wouldn't expect you to believe me, but Basilisk is the de facto Slytherin army and a poor showing looks bad. Not on me personally, but on everyone else. I'm not going to go easy on you if we meet on the field. But all of our armies aren't doing well. It would be nice to have one that everyone could rally behind."

"And of course you are trying to save our House," said Blaise.

Harry watched. He'd expressed worry, but Draco had been right that inviting Blaise could help Slytherin, even if he probably wasn't ready. Draco needed the ally, this would be Draco's olive branch. Harry wanted to jump in and argue this, but Draco had asked for his silence unless things looked hopeless. This might have normally presented a problem - keeping quiet wasn't Harry's strong suit - but some things Draco said tickled a memory, one that Harry couldn't quite place ...

"Yes. I have my plots," Draco was saying, "I've been fairly open about them. Look, I know you think it's not clever to reveal too much to others, and you think I'm making the same mistake. Maybe I am. I look confident on the outside, but sometimes I worry. Did Harry tell you about the cost of admitting you are wrong? It's a real cost, and ... well, maybe it cost me some confidence."

Harry's expression showed confusion, as he tried to remember why this seemed so familiar. It wasn't what Draco was saying, more like how he said it.

Draco saw Harry, but focused on Blaise who still had arms crossed in front of his body. Not a good sign, but he hadn't left yet.

"You don't know much about me," said Blaise. "You don't know what it's like, how I grew up."

"No," said Draco softly, "I just lost my Father recently. But I never excluded you. Not deliberately. Look, at the beginning of last year we were all scrabbling and jockeying. I had a head start. It's not fair, but you can't expect me to give up advantages."

"And you can't expect me to not resent that," said Blaise. "You ignored me, didn't even treat me like a rival."

"Look, I admit I've been distracted. In my defense, I was trying to keep up with the Boy-Who-Lived and the Girl-Who-Revived," Draco held up his hands, "although no, we didn't know that at the time. I was almost murdered! Nobody could compete with that. And, I swear I'll deny this if you ever say it, you are tough to read, Zabini. One day you act shy, lost in your own thoughts, and keep to yourself. The next day you're the life of the party. Most people I can get easily," Draco snapped his fingers, then shrugged. "But you...so yes, I do want your help in saving Slytherin and even just figuring out who is attacking me, but that's not a prerequisite. You are in for this if you want it. I'll even try to teach you the Patronus spell, no strings attached. Although some people just can't learn it."

Blaise considered this, "Who else is in this group?"

"If you join you'll know. But if you do join and rat us out to the others, then you've made an enemy, and not just us." Draco sounded firm.

Blaise unfolded his arms. "No strings attached?"

Robert Jugson sat down next to Draco at the breakfast table. There was plenty of space, just Goyle, Greengrass, and Potter at this end of the table.

"Pass the croissants, please." Draco simply passed them across, then slid a small jar of strawberry jam along with it. Potter and Goyle were discussing the Slytherin Quiddich team's chances. Well, Goyle was talking about it and Potter merely asking a few questions. Robert Jugson ignored the looks from the other end of the table, where the upperclass students normally sat. Draco finished another piece of cantaloupe and took a sip of milk, washing away the fruit's sweetness, not rushing.

"I've been wondering, Mr. Jugson," Draco said, putting down his glass, "when do older students make career decisions? Goyle has his bright future as a professional Quidditch player, but what about the rest of us? How does it work, exactly? I mean, you graduate in the Spring."

Robert finished chewing on his croissant, then swallowed noisily. "I've been thinking about taking a job at Borgin and Burkes, I'd talked with pop about that ... earlier. It isn't difficult, they are family friends. But now it seems pointless. I'm going to spend a century showing wares to customers? It would be one thing if I owned the store. I've been talking to Professor Slughorn, my Potions grades are OK so he might be able to get me an apprenticeship at an Apothecary."

"Do you enjoy Potions," asked Gregory.

"Not really. But at least I'd be making something. Beats selling. In any case, Draco, I don't see that you have to worry. Your family has money."

"Not as much as we did, and a lot of it will be gone by the time I graduate. Best for me to start thinking of it now."

Draco was thinking about other opportunities.

Draco sat up with a start. He'd been asleep, face down. The room wasn't too dark, the full moon had already risen and he could read the letter he'd started, sitting by the desk next to his closed diary.

Mum,

Of course your happiness is important to me - I do not think it is too soon - but I've already explained how precarious my position is and surely there are others ...

Draco crumpled the letter, he could never send that. He leaned down and picked his wand off the floor. What time was it? He groaned to himself, Don't overexert, you need some rest and crawled into bed.

"Harry, is luck real? What's the scientific perspective?" Gregory said, not looking up from his game of (muggle) chess with Draco. Harry had ordered a Muggle set. Draco's pieces protested mightily at the thought of not using their full skills and had mutinied at the thought of obediently following orders. Draco and Gregory's first game where they physically moved the pieces resulted in a dozen small cuts and bites and after the Silver Queen collapsed in a few-blown tantrum they'd just given up and asked Harry for a set.

"Well. It's complicated," said Harry. "Variance is real. You have streaks of good events and bad events, however you define good and bad. Most people notice some of those streaks and forget the rest or the non-streaky balancing luck. So, from a strictly math point of view, luck just is." Harry paused. "Actually, being lucky is a psychological trait."

"How can that be?" asked Draco, game forgotten for a moment.

"They did studies on people who considered themselves lucky and those who thought they were cursed with bad luck. When it came to random chance - rolling dice or whatever - there was no difference. Random is random. Then they did other tests, and in one of them the researchers handed each subject a newspaper and asked them to count the pictures. The lucky people got it much faster."

"How could they possibly do that?" said Gregory. Draco realized another nice benefit of muggle chess is that the pieces didn't grumble when you ignored them or took too long to move.

"One of the headlines said 'There are 37 pictures.' The answer was literally printed right there on the second page. The people who felt lucky were really just more attentive to non-traditional opportunities. Both groups had the same random things happen, but the 'lucky' noticed good things that happened to them. At least, that's the theory. The researchers built in a short cut, but the lucky people tended to notice it more The 'unlucky' people plodded along and counted the pictures, so focused on what they were supposed to do that they never noticed the opportunity."

"Which means you can train yourself to be lucky, in a way," said Gregory.

Harry nodded. "That's what we've been doing. Learning how to think means learning to take advantage of unexpected situations."

Draco, grumbling, handed Gregory a Knut. Gregory chuckled and made his next move.

Michael MacNair stood in the depths of the dungeon, looking around at the robed figures. He put his hands on his hips, exasperated. "Look, I didn't care one way or the other before. Draco's a twerp, but our twerp. In case you didn't notice, Salazer practically invented arrogant and snooty. If anything, we need Malfoy as a bulwark against Potter, at least until Zabini comes around. I almost turned you into Professor Slughorn, and collected the bounty."

"But then everyone would think you were Malfoy's puppet, or scared," said Flora Carrow, sneering. "But we don't care why you're here, as long as you are now. Isn't that right?" The other six robes nodded. "We should attack him soon," came Hestia's voice, beside Flora.

"No," said Michael, "not now. We'd be expelled." The others gasped, apparently willing to risk grievous injury over expulsion, but he just continued. "I'm not just making this up, Slughorn told me himself at dinner the other night that he'd expel anyone foolish enough to get caught messing with Malfoy. He was very emphatic about that, foolish enough to get caught."

Another robe chimed in, voice husky and muffled by a spell, "We shouldn't hesitate. You can see him, making more and more allies every day. And not just the younger students..."

Michael cut off husky voice. "If we wait just a few weeks, I think we'll have an opportunity, and his allies won't matter."

The robes crowded in to listen.

Draco went flying through the air, then landed with an oomph onto the soft grass. He rolled onto his stomach, robes smudged green and brown, and pulled himself onto his knees, slamming his fist angrily into the grass and taking in deep steady breaths.

"You expect too much," Vince said calmly, with no hint of reproach. "We've been training for years. You've only been practicing a few weeks. Give it time. Your stamina is getting better, too." They watched Gregory instruct Neville and Harry. "They aren't doing any better than you," he said in low tones, "and imagine how Gregory and I feel, seeing what you can do with a wand. A head start is a big deal. Mastery takes time."

Gregory was now sparring with the other two, and even Draco could see they didn't stand a chance, wouldn't stand a chance. But they had gotten better. Neville looked surprisingly comfortable, sparring, and Draco heard him singing "doom doom doom" quietly, before looking up.

"Harry," Neville said, dropping his guard, "The doom song is the bad guy's music!" Gregory chuckled.

"But it's catchy," retorted Harry, launching an attack that Gregory parried easily.

Harry came up from out of his trunk while they were doing homework. Draco and Gregory had agreed that Harry's habit of disappearing down there for hours on end was disconcerting, even though it made sense. He was carrying two books. Draco glanced at the spine of the top book and read off the title. Influence: The Psychology of Persuasion.

"Draco, you did well with Blaise the other night," Harry said.

Gregory glanced over at Harry, then went back to the letter he was writing his mother.

"You sound surprised?" Draco's voice said, dripping with sarcastic hurt. "Seriously Harry, the trick with Blaise is to get angry with him, just a little. That let's him know that he's worth my time, that he's important. And he is, just not as much as he hopes. Still, if he'd get over his inferiority complex from last year and those issues with his mother he could do well." Draco had gotten up and started pacing, as he normally did whenever he wasn't writing. Draco worried he spent too much time sitting down, and needed to stretch.

"You say the trick like you used only one," said Harry, and now Gregory put down his quill and slid his chair around, interested.

"A conversation is like a sword fight," said Gregory, "even I know that. How long were you talking? Of course you'd have lots to discuss."

"No," said Harry, dropping one book on his bed and flipping through the hardcover, "I meant technique. It's like you were cold-reading Blaise, I know it's in here somewhere." He kept flipping through pages.

"Cold reading?" Gregory asked.

"Trying to get someone to believe you know a lot about them when you've never met them. Tricking them into telling you stuff and making them think you've said it first."

"But Draco already knows Blaise," Gregory protested. "Why would he need to do that?"

Draco nodded. "Of course I know all about Blaise. As for techniques? Well, let's see. I empathized with him, I showed some weakness but not too much. Admitting that I wore a mask and wasn't as confident as I looked. That let him view us as similar, so more empathy although strictly speaking that's a separate technique. Finding connections between us, points of similarity. Although Blaise brought up the fact that we're both Fatherless first. Let's see ... I appealed to his vanity. I didn't try to hide the fact that I stood to gain something from this. I threatened him if he revealed us which treated him as an equal. What else ... I maybe garnered sympathy with almost being murdered, though I doubt that worked. And standard compliments."

Harry stopped flipping his book pages. "Standard compliments? Standard? I found it. Have you ever heard of the Forer Effect? Or P.T. Barnum?" Draco and Gregory both shook their heads. "I suppose not. Is there a Wizard book you learned this from?"

Draco shrugged, he'd stopped pacing and stretched out his arms above him, pulling them back behind his head, and his spine made a slight crack. "Ah! Better. No, just tutors and Father. Why?"

"Forer demonstrated that people would believe you possessed deep insight into their personalities if you just gave vague, slightly contradictory compliments. You know, stuff like 'Sometimes you feel shy and sometimes you feel outgoing.' You don't say how often, but everyone feels shy sometimes and outgoing other times. Even the biggest introverts and extroverts, even if they don't act on it. You said exactly that to Blaise and that's a standard compliment?"

Harry thrust the book underneath Draco's nose, pointed to Forer's list. Draco read it.

"I wouldn't use the one about sexuality for another few years. I assume Forer was older when he made this? And I wouldn't dare call Zabini's expectations unrealistic, given the circumstances, although they are. He's no Dark Wizard, whatever he thinks. He's not even a Minister of Magic - although I suppose if he works hard and stays useful - and I doubt Blaise is aiming lower than that. Good list, though."

He passed the book over to Gregory, while Harry spoke up, voice rising dramatically.

"Practically everything you said to him was on this list! You used five of these compliments directly. You implied at least two … no three more! Now that I think about it, you used one on yourself, which would create empathy. I'd read this before and I still couldn't remember exactly what struck me as odd until I read it again. How do you know all that?"

"People skills," Draco said in a mocking tone. He'd always wanted to throw that line back into Harry's face, and now seemed like a good time.

"Good list," Gregory agreed, handing Harry the book back and returning to his homework.

"Did you ever notice," said Ginny as she walked out of the first year lecture, passing General Malfoy in the rush to leave class, "that the train ride and first day of school seemed to last forever, but then time just started flying?"

"Of course it does," said Luna airily, "It always does that. The calendar shows all days as equal squares, but that's just a conspiracy perpetrated by gnomes and airlines. Some days are much much longer than others, of course. Why, some days can be longer than entire months."

In her office, Minerva McGonnagal dropped what she was doing and ran over to inspect her strange semi-cylinder, which had suddenly made that noise again.

Draco walked around Peverell, this time in the recovery lounge. He watched as several wizards who'd just taken the cure woke up and went to one of the full length mirrors to examine their recovered youth. They gasped, jumped up and down, shouted and laughed as they examined themselves. Several Aurors, including Li, watched as orderlies brought in still unconscious patients into the newly emptied beds. People didn't need long to recover from the treatment.

Alastor Moody appeared through the doorway from the visitor area, passing one of the exiting patients and growling as he spotted Draco.

Draco did a double-take, recognizing the stance Harry used that morning in the dungeons after Draco's abduction. Moody held his wand up high, near eye level. Just like Harry had. Mad-Eye spun around on his heel, taking in the full room, then barked 'Boy!' as he finished the circle. Draco jumped despite himself, then calmed down.

"Don't like these tests," said the grizzled Auror, "and it's not like you lot are going to think of something I've forgotten."

Draco was inclined to agree, but simply said "Good morning, sir," as politely as possible.

"If you want to do something useful for me," said Moody, "you can just tell me about your cane." Draco started to answer, sneering, when he felt the colors of the world invert, like the room had turned to black with only white outlines. A second later, it snapped back to normal. "That's what I thought," said Moody stomping off even as Draco started yelling after him.

"How dare you!" Draco said, not moving. "Students aren't to be abused by wizards who imagine themselves as warriors of justice ..."

"This isn't Hogwarts, lad. And quiet, or I'll turn you into a ferret," he said, stomping off. Draco, still spluttering, turned to an appalled Auror Li, who just shrugged.

"Harry, he read my mind! We've got to do something about it! That's not right, you more than anyone must see that." Draco's voice, normally so calm, seemed strained, which made sense. A Malfoy must value secrets more highly than almost anyone, and to have them stolen...

Harry sat on his trunk, reading, a concerned look on his face. He'd already heard Alastor's report about the cane. Draco could disappear with it, could make the cane seemingly come to life and - most intriguingly - summon it. And Draco hadn't been lying earlier to Harry, Draco was still investigating the rest of the powers. Alastor had wanted to investigate more, to dig deeper into Draco's mind. He'd said there was "something strange about that's boy's mind," but he'd followed Harry's instructions and only looked for information about the cane. Well, that's what he told me, at least. Moody had asked to investigate further, but Harry had said no, sick at having to have checked in the first place.

Now he had to mollify Draco.

"What do you expect me to do about it," Harry asked plaintively. "I mean, he's technically correct. You were at the hospital, not on school grounds."

"I'm not a fool, Harry. I know you can do something. You consult on security, so he must listen to you, whether he likes it or not. And you aren't in second year classes, or even third or fourth. I've asked around. And if you aren't in classes you've got pull with the Headmistress. I don't mind this, I don't care about your secrets, I just want you to use your power! You and Hermione are both Heads of a Noble House. You could go in front of the Wizengamot and demand redress. I could do it, too, but it would take longer and"

"I need him," said Harry, face flushed. "I wish I didn't, he's got a bad reputation, but you don't hire veelas to run security. You hire cranky old ex-Aurors who'd just as soon as invade your privacy as kill you."

Draco looked at Harry, "Well, I'm not going back there then. Apparently I'll just use my extra time to study for my O.W.L.S. and go in front of the Wizengamot myself."

"I will not go around provoking strong and vicious enemies," Harry said in his best imitation of Professor Quirrell.

"How did I provoke him?" screeched Draco. "He's been after my family for years, well before Voldemort came along."

"And your family did nothing to draw his attention? Sorry, that's not fair to you," said Harry. "But I'll talk to him, get him to back down."

Author's Note - The opening quote is based on a quote from economist (and youngest winner of the Nobel Prize in economics) Kenneth Arrow. "The value of information is frequently not known in any meaningful sense to the buyer; if, indeed, he knew enough to measure the value of the information, he would know the information itself." This is similar to puzzles where knowing that a solution exists (or that another party has solved it), leads to the correct solution.