Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality (148 page)

A storm seemed to be raging inside Lucius, the face beneath the flowing white hair threatening to crack open and spill something unguessable. The Lord of Malfoy seemed to almost speak once and then twice again, swallowing three unheard sentences before his lips parted for true. “A plot, you say?” Lord Malfoy said at last. His face was twitching, hardly controlled. “And whose plot would that be, then?”

“If I knew,” said the boy, “I would have said so a good deal earlier. But anyone who had ever been Hermione Granger’s classmate could tell you that she is a most unlikely murderess. She does, in fact, help Hufflepuffs with their homework. This was not a natural event, Lord Malfoy.”

“Plot - or no plot -” Lucius’s voice was trembling. “This mudblood filth has touched my son and for that I will end her. You should know that full well,
Harry Potter
.”

“It is questionable,” the boy said, “to put it mildly, whether Hermione Granger actually cast that Blood-Cooling Charm. I do not know the exact circumstances or what spells were involved, but simple trickery would not have sufficed to make her do it. She did not act of her own will, and perhaps did not act at all. Your vengeance is being misdirected, Lord Malfoy, and deliberately so. It is not a twelve-year-old girl who deserves your ire.”

“And what do
you
care for her fate?” Lucius Malfoy’s voice was rising. “What is
your
stake in this?”

“She is my friend,” the boy said, “as Draco is my friend. It is possible that this blow was aimed at me, and not at House Malfoy at all.”

Again the muscles jumped in Lucius’s face. “And now you are lying to me - as you lied to my son!”

“Believe it or not,” the boy said quietly, “I never willed anything but that Draco should know the truth -”

“
Enough!
” cried the Lord Malfoy. “Enough of your lies! Enough of your
games!
You do not understand - you would never understand - what it means that he is my son! I will not be denied this vengeance! No more! Never again! For the blood this girl owes House Malfoy, she shall go to Azkaban. And if I ever find another hand at work - even if it is your own - that hand shall be cut off as well!” Lucius Malfoy raised his deadly silver cane as though in command, his teeth clenched and his lips drawn back in a snarl, like a wolf facing a dragon. “And if you have nothing better to say than that - be silent, Harry Potter!”

Harry’s blood was hammering even beneath the ice of his dark side, the fear for Hermione, the part of him that wanted to lash out at Lucius and destroy him where he stood for his insolence and his
stupidity -
but Harry didn’t have the
power,
he didn’t even have a single vote in the Wizengamot -

Draco had said that Lucius was scared of him, for some unknown reason. And Harry could see it in the rictus that Lord Malfoy’s face had become, drawn and tight, that it was taking all his courage for him to tell Harry to shut up.

So Harry said, his voice cool and deadly, hoping to hell that it meant something, “You will earn my enmity if you do this thing, Lucius…”

Someone in the lower rows of what was evidently the blood-purist side of the Wizengamot, who was looking down at the young boy rather than up at Lord Malfoy, laughed in outright incredulity. Other plum-colored robes began to laugh as well.

Lord Malfoy gazed at him with hard dignity, as that laughter spread. “If you want the enmity of the House of Malfoy, you shall have it,
child
.”

“Now really,” said the woman in too much pink makeup, “I think this has gone on quite long enough, wouldn’t you say, Lord Malfoy? The boy will miss his classes.”

“Indeed he will,” said Lucius Malfoy, and then raised his voice again. “I call the vote! By show of hands, let the Wizengamot acknowledge the blood debt owed to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Malfoy, for the attempted murder of its last scion and ending of its line, by Hermione, the first Granger!”

Hands shot up one after another, and the secretary who sat in the bottom circle began to make marks on parchment to tally them, but it was obvious which way the majority had gone.

And Harry screamed inside his mind, a frantic call for help to any part of himself that would offer a way out, a strategy, an idea. But there was nothing, there was nothing, he’d played his last cards and lost. And then with a last convulsive desperation Harry plunged himself into his dark side, pushed himself into his dark side, seizing at its deadly clarity, offering his dark side anything if it would only solve this problem for him; and at last the lethal calm came over him, the true ice finally answering his call. Beyond all panic and despair his mind began to search through every fact in its possession, recall everything it knew about Lucius Malfoy, about the Wizengamot, about the laws of magical Britain; his eyes looked at the rows of chairs, at every person and every thing within range of his vision, searching for any opportunity it could grasp -

In rising half-circles of dark stone, a great sea of upraised hands.

The Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot, in plum-colored robes marked with a silver ‘W’, stared down in stern rebuke at a young girl trembling in chains. If they had, in any particular ethical system, damned themselves, they clearly thought quite highly of themselves for having done so.

Harry’s breath was trembling in his chest. His dark side had come up with a plan - and then rotated itself back out again because speaking too icily would not be to Hermione’s advantage; a fact which the only-half-cold Harry had somehow not realized…

“The vote carries, in favor,” intoned the secretary, when all the tallying was done, and the upraised hands fell back down. “The Wizengamot recognizes the blood debt owed by Hermione Granger to House Malfoy for the attempted murder of its scion and ending of its line.”

Lucius Malfoy was smiling in grim satisfaction. “And now,” said the white-maned wizard, “I say that her debt shall be paid -”

Harry clenched his fists beneath the bench and shouted, “By the debt owed from House Malfoy to House Potter!”

“Silence!” snapped the woman in too much pink makeup sitting next to Minister Fudge. “You’ve disrupted these proceedings quite enough already! Aurors, escort him out!”

“Wait,” said Augusta Longbottom from the top tier of seats. “What debt is this?”

Lucius’s hands whitened on his cane. “House Malfoy owes no debt to you!”

It wasn’t the world’s most solid hope, it was based on one newspaper article from a woman who’d been False-Memory-Charmed, but Rita Skeeter had seemed to find it plausible, that Mr. Weasley had allegedly owed James Potter a debt because…

“I’m surprised you’ve forgotten,” Harry said evenly. “Surely it was a cruel and painful period of your life, laboring under the Imperius curse of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, until you were freed of it by the efforts of House Potter. By my mother, Lily Potter, who died for it, and by my father, James Potter, who died for it, and by me, of course.”

There was a brief silence within the Most Ancient Hall.

“Why, what an excellent point, Mr. Potter,” said the old witch who’d been identified as Madam Bones. “I, too, am quite surprised that Lord Malfoy would forget such a significant event. It must have been such a happy day for him.”

“Yes,” said Augusta Longbottom. “He must have been so grateful.”

Madam Bones nodded. “House Malfoy could not possibly deny that debt - unless, perhaps, Lord Malfoy is to tell us that he has misremembered something? I should take quite a professional interest in that. We are always trying to improve our picture of those dark days.”

Lucius Malfoy’s hands gripped the silver snake-handle of his cane like he was about to strike with it, unleash whatever power it kept -

Then the Lord Malfoy seemed to relax, and a chill smile came over his face. “Of course,” he said easily. “I do confess I had not understood, but the child is quite correct. But I do not quite think the two debts cancel - House Potter was only trying to save itself, after all -”

“Not so,” Dumbledore said from above.

“- and therefore,” intoned Lucius Malfoy, “I demand monetary compensation as well, for the redemption of the blood debt owed my son. That, too, is the law.”

Harry felt a strange inward flinch. That had also been in the newspaper article, Mr. Weasley had demanded an additional ten thousand Galleons -

“How much?” said the Boy-Who-Lived.

Lucius was still wearing the cold smile. “One hundred thousand Galleons. If you have not that much in your vault, I suppose I must accept a promissory note for the remainder.”

A roar of protest went up from Dumbledore’s side of the room, even some of the plum-colored robes in the middle looked shocked.

“Shall we put it to vote of the Wizengamot?” said Lucius Malfoy. “I think few of us would like to see the little murderess go free. By a show of hands, that additional compensation of one hundred thousand Galleons would be required to cancel the debt!”

The clerk began tallying, but that vote was also clear.

Harry stood there, breathing deeply.

You’d better not even have to think about this,
Harry’s inner Gryffindor said threateningly.

It’s a major purchase,
observed Ravenclaw.
We ought to spend a lot of time thinking about it.

It shouldn’t have been hard. It
shouldn’t
have. Two million pounds was only money, and money was only worth what it could buy…

It was strange how much psychological attachment you could have to ‘only money’, or how painful it could be to imagine losing a bank vault full of gold that you hadn’t even imagined existed just one year earlier.

Kimball Kinnison wouldn’t hesitate,
said Gryffindor.
Seriously. Like, snap decision. What sort of hero are you? I already hate you just for having to think about it for longer than 50 milliseconds.

This is real life,
said Ravenclaw.
Losing all your money is a lot more painful for real people in real life than in heroic books.

What?
demanded Gryffindor.
Whose side are you on?

I wasn’t advocating for a particular answer,
said Ravenclaw,
I was just saying it because it was true.

Could a hundred thousand Galleons be used to save more than one life if spent some other way?
said Slytherin.
We have research to do, battles to fight, the difference between being 40,000 Galleons rich and being 60,000 Galleons in debt is not trivial -

So we’ll just use one of our ways to make money fast and earn it all back,
said Hufflepuff.

It’s not certain those will work,
said Slytherin,
and a lot of them require starting cash -

Personally,
said Gryffindor,
I vote that we save Hermione and then gang up and kill our inner Slytherin.

The clerk’s voice said that the tally had been recorded and the vote had passed…

Harry’s lips opened.

“I accept your offer,” said Harry’s lips, without any hesitation, without any decision having been made; just as if the internal debate had been pretense and illusion, the true controller of the voice having been no part of it.

Lucius Malfoy’s mask of calm shattered, his eyes widened, he stared at Harry in sheer blank astonishment. His mouth had opened slightly, though he wasn’t speaking, and if he was making any peculiar noises it couldn’t be heard over the roar of simultaneous gasps from the Wizengamot -

A tap of stone silenced the crowd.

“No,” said the voice of Dumbledore.

Harry’s head jerked around to stare at the ancient wizard.

Dumbledore’s lined face was pale, the silver beard was visibly trembling, he looked like he was in the final throes of a terminal illness. “I’m - sorry, Harry - but this choice is not yours - for I am still the guardian of your vault.”

“
What?
” said Harry, too shocked to compose his reply.

“I cannot let you go into debt to Lucius Malfoy, Harry! I cannot! You do not know - you do not realize -”

DIE.

Harry didn’t even know which part of himself had spoken, it might have been a unanimous vote, the pure rage and fury pouring through him. For an instant he thought that the sheer force of the anger might take magical wing and fly out to strike the Headmaster, send him tumbling back dead from the podium -

But when that mental voice had spoken, the old wizard was still standing there, gazing at Harry, long dark wand in his right hand, short black rod in his left.

And Harry’s eyes also went to the red-golden bird with its claws resting on the shoulder of Dumbledore’s black robes, silent when no phoenix should have been silent. “Fawkes,” Harry said, his voice sounding strange in his own ears, “can you scream at him for me?”

The fiery bird on the old wizard’s shoulder didn’t scream. Maybe the Wizengamot had demanded that a spell of silence be put on the creature, otherwise it probably would have been screaming the whole time. But Fawkes hit his master, one golden wing buffeting the old wizard’s head.

“I cannot, Harry!” the old wizard said, the agony clear in his voice. “I am doing as I must do!”

And Harry knew, then, as he looked at the red-golden bird, what he had to do as well. It should have been obvious from the beginning, that solution.

“Then I too will do what I must,” Harry said up to Dumbledore, as though the two of them stood alone in the room. “You do realize that, don’t you?”

The old wizard shook his trembling head. “You will change your mind when you are older -”

“I’m not talking about that,” Harry said, his voice still strange in his own ears. “I mean that I will not allow Hermione Granger to be eaten by Dementors under any circumstances. Period. Regardless of what any law says, and no matter what I have to do to stop it. Do I still need to spell it out?”

A strange male voice spoke from somewhere far away, “Be sure that the girl is taken directly to Azkaban, and put under extra guard.”

Harry waited, staring at the old wizard, and then spoke again. “I will go to Azkaban,” Harry said to the old wizard, as though they stood alone in the world, “before Hermione can be taken there, and start snapping my fingers. It may cost me my life, but by the time she gets there, there won’t be an Azkaban anymore.”

Some members of the Wizengamot gasped in surprise.

Then a greater number started laughing.

“How would you even get there, little boy?” someone said, from among those who were laughing.

“I have my ways of going places,” said the boy’s distant voice. Harry kept his eyes on Dumbledore, on the old wizard staring at him in shock. Harry didn’t look directly at Fawkes, didn’t give his plan away; but in his mind he prepared to summon the phoenix to transport him, prepared to fill his mind with light and fury, to call for the fire-bird with all his might, he might have to do it upon the instant if Dumbledore pointed his wand -

“Would you truly?” the old wizard said to Harry, also as if the two of them stood alone in the room.

The room went silent again as everyone stared in shock at the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, who seemed to be taking the mad threat completely seriously.

The old wizard’s eyes were locked only on Harry. “Would you risk everything - everything - only for her?”

“Yes,” Harry said back in reply.

That’s the wrong answer, you know,
said Slytherin.
Seriously.

But it’s the true answer.

“You will not see reason?” said the old wizard.

“Apparently not,” Harry said back.

The gazes stayed locked.

“This is terrible folly,” said the old wizard.

“I am aware of this,” answered the hero. “Now get out of my way.”

Strange light glinted in the ancient blue eyes. “As you will, Harry Potter, but know that this is not over.”

The rest of the world faded back into existence.

“I withdraw my objection,” said the old wizard, “Harry Potter may do as he wishes,” and the Wizengamot exploded in a roar of shock, only to be silenced by a final tap of the stone rod.

Harry turned his head back to look at Lord Malfoy, who looked like he’d seen a cat turn into a person and start eating other cats. To call the look confused did not begin to describe it.

“You would truly…” Lucius Malfoy said slowly. “You would truly pay a hundred thousand Galleons, to save one mudblood girl.”

“I think there’s about forty thousand in my Gringotts vault,” Harry said. It was strange how that was
still
causing more internal pain than the thought of taking an over-fifty-percent risk to his life to destroy Azkaban. “As for the other sixty thousand - what are the rules, exactly?”

“It comes due when you graduate Hogwarts,” the old wizard said from high above. “But Lord Malfoy has certain rights over you before then, I fear.”

Lucius Malfoy stood motionless, frowning down at Harry. “Who is she to you, then?
What
is she to you, that you would pay so much to keep her from harm?”

“My friend,” the boy said quietly.

Lucius Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “By the report I received, you cannot cast the Patronus Charm, and Dumbledore knows this. The power of a single Dementor nearly killed you. You would not dare venture near Azkaban in your own person -”

“That was in January,” said Harry. “This is April.”

Lucius Malfoy’s eyes remained cool and calculating. “You pretend you can destroy Azkaban, and Dumbledore pretends to believe it.”

Harry did not reply.

The white-haired man turned slightly, toward the center of the half-circle, as though to address the greater Wizengamot. “I withdraw my offer!” shouted the Lord of Malfoy. “I will not accept the debt to House Potter in payment, not even for a hundred thousand Galleons! The girl’s blood debt to House Malfoy stands!”

Again the roar of many voices. “Dishonorable!” someone cried. “You acknowledge the debt to House Potter, and yet you would -” and then that voice cut off.

“I acknowledge the debt, but the law does not strictly oblige me to accept it in cancellation,” said Lord Malfoy with a grim smile. “The girl is no part of House Potter; the debt I owe House Potter is no debt to her. As for the
dishonor
-” Lucius Malfoy paused. “As for the grave shame I feel at my ingratitude toward the Potters, who have done so much for me -” Lucius Malfoy bowed his head. “May my ancestors forgive me.”

“Well, boy?” called the scarred man sitting at Lord Malfoy’s right hand. “Go and destroy Azkaban, then!”

“I’d like to see that,” said another voice. “Will you be selling tickets?”

It went without saying that Harry didn’t pick this particular moment to give up.

The girl is no part of House Potter -

He had, in fact, seen the obvious way out of the dilemma almost instantly.

It might have taken him longer if he hadn’t recently overheard a number of conversations between older Ravenclaw girls, and read a certain number of Quibbler stories.

He was, nonetheless, having trouble accepting it.

This is ridiculous,
said a part of Harry which had just dubbed itself the Internal Consistency Checker.
Our actions here are completely incoherent. First you feel less emotional reluctance to risk your bloody LIFE and probably DIE for Hermione, than to part with a stupid heap of gold. And now you’re balking just at getting married?