Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality (101 page)

The Defense Professor laughed, low and humorless, emptier than the void between the stars, dangerous as any vacuum filled with hard radiation. “No, Mr. Potter, you have not learned your lesson, not at all.”

“I thought of losing many times, in Azkaban,” said the boy, his voice level. “That I ought to simply give up, and turn myself over to the Aurors. Losing would have been the sensible thing to do. I heard your voice saying it to me, in my mind; and I would have
done
it, if I had been there by myself. But I could not bring myself to lose
you
.”

There was silence, then, for a time; as though even the Defense Professor could not quite think of what to say to that.

“I am curious,” said Professor Quirrell at last. “What do you think that I should apologize for, precisely? I gave you explicit instructions in the event of a fight. You were to stay down, stay out of the way, cast no magic. You violated those instructions and brought down the mission.”

“I made no decision,” the boy said evenly, “there was no choice in it, only a wish that the Auror should not die, and my Patronus was there. For that wish to have never occurred, you should have warned me that you might bluff using a Killing Curse. By default, I assume that if you point your wand at someone and say Avada Kedavra, it is because you want them dead. Shouldn’t that be the first rule of Unforgivable Curse Safety?”

“Rules are for duels,” said the Defense Professor. Some of the coldness had returned to his voice. “And dueling is a sport, not a branch of Battle Magic. In a real fight, a curse which cannot be blocked and
must
be dodged is an indispensable tactic. I would have thought this obvious to you, but it seems I misjudged your intellect.”

“It also seems to me imprudent,” said the boy, continuing as though the other had not spoken, “to not
tell me
that my casting any spell on you might kill us both. What if you had suffered some mishap, and I had tried an Innervate, or a Hover Charm? That ignorance, which you permitted for purposes I cannot guess, played also some part in this catastrophe.”

There was another silence. The Defense Professor’s eyes had narrowed, and there was a faintly puzzled look on his face, as though he had encountered some completely unfamiliar situation; and still the man spoke no word.

“Well,” said the boy. His eyes had not wavered from the Defense Professor’s. “I certainly regret hurting you, Professor. But I do not think the situation calls for me to submit to you. I never really did understand the concept of apology, still less as it applies to a situation like this; if you have my regrets, but not my submission, does that count as saying sorry?”

Again that cold, cold laugh, darker than the void between the stars.

“I wouldn’t know,” said the Defense Professor, “I, too, never understood the concept of apology. That ploy would be futile between us, it seems, with both of us knowing it for a lie. Let us speak no more of it, then. Debts will be settled between us in time.”

There was silence for a time.

“By the way,” said the boy. “Hermione Granger would never have built Azkaban, no matter who was going to be put in it. And she’d die before she hurt an innocent. Just mentioning that, since you said before that all wizards are like You-Know-Who inside, and that’s just false as a point of simple fact. Would’ve realized it earlier if I hadn’t been,” the boy gave a brief grim smile, “stressed out.”

The Defense Professor’s eyes were half-lidded, his expression distant. “People’s insides are not always like their outsides, Mr. Potter. Perhaps she simply wishes others to think of her as a good girl. She cannot use the Patronus Charm -”

“Hah,” said the boy; his smile seemed realer now, warmer. “She’s having trouble for exactly the same reason I did. There’s enough light in her to destroy Dementors, I’m sure. She wouldn’t be able to
stop
herself from destroying Dementors, even at the cost of her own life…” The boy trailed off, and then his voice resumed. “
I
might not be such a good person, maybe; but they do exist, and she’s one of them.”

Dryly. “She is young, and to make a show of kindness costs her little.”

There was a pause at this. Then the boy said, “Professor, I have to ask, when you see something all dark and gloomy, doesn’t it ever occur to you to try and
improve
it somehow? Like, yes, something goes terribly wrong in people’s heads that makes them think it’s great to torture criminals, but that doesn’t mean they’re truly evil inside; and maybe if you taught them the right things, showed them what they were doing wrong, you could change -”

Professor Quirrell laughed, then, and not with the emptiness of before. “Ah, Mr. Potter, sometimes I do forget how very young you are. Sooner you could change the color of the sky.” Another chuckle, this one colder. “And the reason it is easy for you to forgive such fools and think well of them, Mr. Potter, is that you yourself have not been sorely hurt. You will think less fondly of commonplace idiots after the first time their folly costs you something dear. Such as a hundred Galleons from your own pocket, perhaps, rather than the agonizing deaths of a hundred strangers.” The Defense Professor was smiling thinly. He took a pocket-watch out of his robes, looked at it. “Let us depart now, if there is nothing more to say between us.”

“You don’t have any questions about the impossible things I did to get us out of Azkaban?”

“No,” said the Defense Professor. “I believe I have solved most of them already. As for the rest, it is too rare that I find a person whom I cannot see through immediately, be they friend or foe. I shall unravel the puzzles about you for myself, in due time.”

The Defense Professor shoved himself up, pushing back on the wall with both hands and rising to his feet, smoothly if too slowly. The boy, less gracefully, did the same.

And the boy blurted out the last most terrible question which he had earlier been unable to ask; as though to say it aloud would make it real, and as though it were not, already, vastly obvious.

“Why am I not like the other children my own age?”

In a deserted side-road of Diagon Alley, where scraps of un-Vanished trash could be seen lodged into the edges of the brick street and the blank brick building-sides that surrounded it, along with scattered dirt and other signs of neglect, an ancient wizard and his phoenix Apparated into existence.

The wizard was already reaching within his robes for his hourglass when, in habit, his eyes jumped to a random spot between the road and the wall, to memorize it -

And the old wizard blinked in surprise; there was a scrap of parchment in that spot.

A frown crossed Albus Dumbledore’s face as he took a step forward and took the crumpled scrap, unfolding it.

On it was the single word “NO”, and nothing more.

Slowly the wizard let it flutter from his fingers. Absently he reached down to the pavement, and picked up the nearest scrap of parchment, which looked remarkably similar to the one he had just taken; he touched it with his wand, and a moment later it was inscribed with the same word “NO”, in the same handwriting, which was his own.

The old wizard had planned to go back three hours to when Harry Potter first arrived in Diagon Alley. He had already watched, upon his instruments, the boy leaving Hogwarts, and that could not be undone (his one attempt to fool his own instruments, and so control Time without altering its appearance to himself, had ended in sufficient disaster to convince him to never again try such trickery). He had hoped to retrieve the boy at the first possible moment after his arrival, and take him to another safe location, if not Hogwarts (for his instruments had not shown the boy’s return). But now -

“A paradox if I retrieve him immediately after he arrives in Diagon Alley?” murmured the old wizard to himself. “Perhaps they did not set in motion their plan to rob Azkaban, until after they had confirmed his arrival here… or else… perhaps…”

Painted concrete, hard floor and distant ceilings, two figures facing off across from each other. One entity who wore the shape of a man in his late thirties and already balding, and another mind that wore the form of an eleven-year-old boy with a scar upon his forehead. Ice and shadow, pale blue light.

“I don’t know,” said the man.

The boy just looked at him. And then said, “Oh, really?”

“Truly,” said the man. “I know nothing, and of my guesses I will not speak. Yet I will say this much -”

Through green flame they whirled, through the Floo network they spun, Minerva’s heart racing with a pounding horror that she hadn’t felt in ten years and three months, the corridors between space coughed and spit them out into the lobby of Gringotts (the safest Floo receiver in Diagon Alley, the connection most difficult to intercept, the fastest way out of Hogwarts without a phoenix). A goblin attendant turned toward them, his eyes widened, he began a slightly respectful bow -

Determination, Destination, Deliberation!

And the two of them were in the alley just in back of Mary’s Place, wands already out and raised, spinning around back-to-back and the words of an Anti-Disillusionment Charm already rising to Severus’s lips.

The alley was empty.

When she turned back to look at Severus, his wand was already cracking down on his own head with a sound like smashing an egg, as his lips chanted words of invisibility; he took on the colors of his surroundings, became a blur of his surroundings, the blur moved and matched what was behind him and then there was nothing there.

She lowered her wand and stepped forward to receive her own Disillusionment -

From behind her, the unmistakable sound of a burst of flame.

She spun and saw Albus there, his long wand already drawn and raised in his right hand. His eyes were grim beneath the half-circles of his glasses, and Fawkes upon his shoulder had spread his fire-colored wings in readiness for flight and fight.

“Albus!” she said. “I thought -” She’d just seen him depart for Azkaban, and she’d thought not even phoenixes could return from there so easily.

Then she realized.

“She escaped,” said Albus. “Did your Patronus reach him?”

The pounding in her heart grew stronger, the horror in her veins solidified. “He said he was here, in the washroom -”

“Let us hope he spoke true,” said Albus, the wand tapped her head with a sensation like water trickling over her, and a moment later the four of them (even Fawkes had been rendered invisible, though sometimes you saw a flicker of something like fire in his air) were racing to the front of the restaurant. They paused before the door while Albus whispered something, and a moment later one of the customers visible through the windows stood up with a vague look on his face and opened the door as though taking a quick look outside for some friend; and the three of them were through, racing past the unwitting customers (Severus was marking their faces, Minerva knew, and Albus would see any Disillusioned) toward the sign that pointed to the washroom -

An old wooden door marked with the sign of a toilet burst open with a slam, and four invisible rescuers stormed through it.

The small but clean wooden room was empty, fresh droplets of water showed in the sink but there was no sign of Harry, only a sheet of paper left on the closed lid of the toilet.

She couldn’t breathe.

The sheet of paper rose up into the air as Albus took it, and a moment later was thrust in her own direction.

M: What did the hat tell me to tell you?

- H

“Ah,” Minerva said aloud in surprise, her mind taking a moment to place the question, it wasn’t the sort of thing you’d forget but she hadn’t been thinking in that
mode,
really - “I’m an impudent youngster and I should get off its lawn.”

“
Eh?
” said the air in Albus’s voice, as if even he could be shocked.

And then Harry Potter’s head appeared, suspended next to the air beside the toilet, his face was cold and alert, the too-adult Harry she’d seen sometimes, eyes darting back and forth and around.

“What’s going on -” the boy began.

Albus, now visible once more along with her and Fawkes, was moving forward in an instant, his left hand reached forward and plucked a hair from Harry’s head (producing a startled yelp from the boy), Minerva accepted the hair in her own hand, and a moment later Albus swept up the mostly-invisible boy in his arms and there was a flash of red-golden fire.

And Harry Potter was safe.

Minerva took a few steps forward, leaned against the wall where Albus and Harry had been, trying to recover her poise.

She’d… lost some habits, in the ten years since the Order of the Phoenix had disbanded.

Beside her, Severus shimmered into visibility. His right hand was already drawing forth the flask from his robes, his left hand already stretching forth in demand. She gave him Harry’s hair, and a moment later, it dropped into the flask of unfinished Polyjuice, which at once began fizzing and bubbling as it settled into the potency that would enable Severus to act his part as bait.

“That was unexpected,” the Potions Master said slowly. “Why did our Headmaster not retrieve Mr. Potter
earlier
, I wonder, if he was going so far as to twist Time? There should have been nothing preventing him from doing so… indeed, your Patronus should have found Mr. Potter already safe…”

She hadn’t thought of that, a different realization having jumped to the forefront of her mind. It wasn’t nearly as horrifying as Bellatrix Black having escaped from Azkaban, but still -

“Harry has an
invisibility cloak?
” she said.

The Potions Master did not answer; he was shrinking.

Tick-snick, drip-blip, ding-ring-ting-

It still annoyed her, though it faded past attention after a while; and when and if she became Headmistress, she intended to Silence the whole lot. Which Head of Hogwarts, she wondered, had first been so inconsiderate as to create a device that made
noise
, to pass on to their successors?

She was sitting in the Headmaster’s office with a quickly Transfigured desk of her own, doing some of the hundred little pieces of necessary paperwork that kept Hogwarts from grinding to a halt; she could lose herself in it easily, and it prevented her from thinking about other things. Albus had once remarked, sounding rather wry, that Hogwarts seemed to run even more smoothly when there was an outside crisis for her to avoid thinking about…

…ten years ago, that was the last time Albus had said that.

There was the chime that indicated an approaching visitor.

Minerva kept reading her current parchment.

The door slammed open, revealing Severus Snape, who took three steps inward and demanded without the slightest pause, “Any word from Mad-Eye?”

Albus was already rising from his chair, even as she tucked away her parchments and dispelled the desk. “Moody’s Patronus is reporting to the me in Azkaban,” Albus said. “His Eye saw nothing; and if the Eye of Vance does not see a thing, then that thing does not exist. Yourself?”

“No one has tried to forcibly take my blood,” Severus said. He gave a quick grimace of a smile. “Except the Defense Professor.”

“
What?
” said Minerva.

“He saw me for an impostor before I could even open my lips, and quite reasonably attacked me on the spot, demanding to know the whereabouts of Mr. Potter.” Another grimace of a smile. “Shouting that I was Severus Snape did not seem to reassure him, for some reason. I do believe that man would kill me for a Sickle and give back five Knuts change. I had to stun our good Professor Quirrell, which was not easy, and then he reacted poorly to the hex. ‘Harry Potter’, naturally alarmed, ran out and told the owner, and the Defense Professor was taken to St. Mungos -”

“
St. Mungos?
”

“- which said he had probably been overworking himself for weeks before he collapsed, such was his state of exhaustion. Your precious Defense Professor is fine, Minerva, the stunner may have helped him by forcing him to take a few days off. Afterward I declined the offer of a Floo to Hogwarts, and went back to Diagon Alley and wandered; but no one seems to have wanted Mr. Potter’s blood today.”

“Our Defense Professor is in the best of hands, I am sure,” said Albus. “Greater matters command our attention, Minerva.”

It took considerable effort for her to wrench her attention back, but she sat back down, and Severus gestured up a chair for himself as well, and the three of them drew together to begin their council.

She felt like a Polyjuiced impostor, sitting with those two. War was not her art, nor plotting. She had to strain to keep one step ahead of the Weasley twins, and sometimes she failed at that. She was sitting here, ultimately, only because she had heard the prophecy…

“We are faced,” the Headmaster spoke first, “with a rather alarming mystery. I can think of only two wizards who might have engineered this escape.”

Minerva drew in her breath sharply. “There is a chance it is
not
You-Know-Who?”

“I’m afraid so,” said the Headmaster.

She glanced to her side and saw that Severus looked as puzzled as herself.
Afraid
the Dark Lord was not rising again? She would have given almost anything for that to be true.

“So,” Albus said heavily. “Our first suspect is Voldemort, risen again and seeking to resurrect himself. I have studied many books I wish I had not read, seeking his every possible avenue of return, and I have found only three. His strongest road to life is the Philosopher’s Stone, which Flamel assures me that not even Voldemort could create on his own; by that road he would rise greater and more terrible than ever before. I would not have thought Voldemort able to resist the temptation of the Stone, still less because such an obvious trap is a challenge to his wit. But his second avenue is nearly as strong: The flesh of his servant, willingly given; the blood of his foe, forcibly taken; and the bone of his ancestor, unknowingly bequeathed. Voldemort is a perfectionist -” Albus glanced at Severus, who nodded agreement, “- and he would certainly seek the most powerful combination: the flesh of Bellatrix Black, the blood of Harry Potter, and the bone of his father. Voldemort’s final avenue is to seduce a victim and drain the life from them over a long period; in which case Voldemort would be weak compared to his former power. His motive to spirit away Bellatrix is clear. And if he is keeping her in reserve, to use only in case he cannot attain the Stone, that would explain why no kidnap attempt was made on Harry this day.”

Minerva glanced again at Severus, saw him listening attentively but without surprise.

“What is
not
clear,” the Headmaster continued, “is
how
Voldemort could have engineered this escape. A death doll was left in Bellatrix’s place, her escape was meant to be undetected; and even though that went wrong, the Dementors could not find her after their first warning. Azkaban has stood impenetrable for centuries, and I cannot imagine any means by which Voldemort could have accomplished this.”

“That may mean little,” Severus said, expressionless. “For the Dark Lord to do what we cannot imagine requires only that he has a better imagination.”

Albus nodded grimly. “Unfortunately there is now another wizard who laughs at impossibilities. A wizard who, not long ago, developed a new and powerful Charm which could have blinded the Dementors to Bellatrix Black’s escape. And he is implicated for other reasons, as well.”

Minerva’s heart was skipping beats, she didn’t know
how,
or
why,
but a terrible apprehension was dawning on her as to
who -

“Who would
that
be?” said Severus, sounding puzzled.

Albus leaned back and said the fatal words, even as she had feared them: “Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres.”

“
Potter?
” demanded the Potions Master, as much shock in that usually-silken voice as she had ever heard from him. “Headmaster, is this one of your jokes? He is in his first year at Hogwarts! A temper tantrum and a few childish pranks with an invisibility cloak does not make him -”

“It is no joke,” said Minerva, her voice barely above a whisper. “Harry is already making original discoveries in Transfiguration, Severus. Though I did not know he was researching Charms as well.”

“Harry is no ordinary first-year,” the Headmaster said solemnly. “He is marked as the Dark Lord’s equal, and he has power the Dark Lord knows not.”

Severus was looking at her, and you would have needed to know him well to recognize that his glance was pleading. “Am I to take this seriously?”

Minerva simply nodded.

“Does anyone
else
know of this… new and powerful Charm?” Severus demanded.

The Headmaster glanced at her apologetically -

Somehow she knew, she knew before he even said it, and she wanted to scream at the top of her lungs.

- and said, “Quirinus Quirrell.”

“
Why,
” she said, in a voice that should have melted half the devices in the office, ”
did Mr. Potter even TELL our Defense Professor about his brilliant new Charm for breaking out of prisons -
”

The Headmaster passed a weary wrinkled hand across his equally wrinkled forehead. “Quirinus just happened to be there, Minerva. Even I saw no harm in it at the time.” The Headmaster hesitated. “And Harry said his Charm was too dangerous to be explained to either of us; and when I asked him again, this day, he insisted he had still not explained it to Quirinus, nor had he ever dropped his Occlumency barriers in the Defense Professor’s presence -”

“Mr. Potter is an
Occlumens?
You gave him an invisibility cloak and he is immune to Veritaserum
and he is friends with the Weasley twins?
Albus, do you have any idea what you have unleashed upon this school?” Her voice was nearly shrieking, now. “By his seventh year there won’t be anything left of Hogwarts but a smoking hole in the ground!”

Albus leaned back in his great cushioned chair, and said, smiling, “Don’t forget the Time-Turner.”

She did scream then, but quietly.

Severus drawled, “Should I teach him to brew Polyjuice, Headmaster? I ask only for the sake of completeness, in case you are not satisfied with the magnitude of your pet disaster.”

“Perhaps next year,” said Albus. “My dearest friends, the question before us is whether Harry Potter has spirited Bellatrix Black out of Azkaban, which is more than youthful high spirits even by my tolerant standards.”

“Excuse me, Headmaster,” Severus said with one of the dryer smiles she had ever seen him deliver to Albus, “but I will register my opinion that the answer is no. This is the Dark Lord’s work, pure and simple.”