Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality (171 page)

Albus shimmered into existence beside her, taking on a brief garish hue as the Disillusionment wore off.

She did not jump, quite. “I’ve told you, stop doing that,” Minerva said. Her voice sounded dull in her own ears. “That was private.”

Albus flickered his fingers at the door behind her. “I was afraid Mr. Potter might do you some harm.” The Headmaster paused, then said quietly, “I am very surprised that you stood there and took that.”

“All I had to do was say ‘Mr. Potter’, and he would have stopped.” Her voice had dropped almost to a whisper. “Just that, and he would have stopped. And then he would have had no one to say those awful things to, no one at all.”

“I thought Mr. Potter’s remarks were entirely unfair and undeserved,” Albus said.

“If it had been you, Albus, you would not have threatened to expel anyone leaving the room. Can you honestly tell me otherwise?”

Albus’s brows rose. “Your role in this disaster was tiny, your decisions quite sensible at the time, and it is only Harry Potter’s perfect hindsight that lets him imagine otherwise. Surely you are wiser than to blame yourself for this, Minerva.”

She knew perfectly well that Albus would be placing a picture of Hermione in that awful room of his, that it would occupy a place of honor. Albus would hold
himself
responsible, she was certain, even though he hadn’t even been in Hogwarts at the time. But not her.

So you also don’t think it’s worth the trouble of holding me responsible…

She slumped against the nearest wall, trying not to let the tears emerge again; she’d never seen Albus weep save thrice. “You have always believed in your students, as I never have. They would not have been afraid of you. They would have known you would understand.”

“Minerva -”

“I am not fit to succeed you as Headmistress. We both know it.”

“You are wrong,” Albus said quietly. “When the time comes, you will be the forty-fifth Headmistress of Hogwarts and you will do an excellent job of it.”

She shook her head. “What now, Albus? If he will not listen to me, then who?”

It was perhaps half an hour later. The boy still guarded the door to where his best friend’s body lay, sitting his vigil. He was staring downward, at his wand as it lay in his hands. Sometimes his face screwed up in thought, at other times it relaxed.

Although the door did not open, and there was no sound, the boy looked up. He composed his face. His voice, when he spoke, was dull. “I don’t want company.”

The door opened.

The Defense Professor of Hogwarts entered into the room and shut the door behind him, taking up careful position in a corner between two walls, as far away from the boy as the room permitted. A sharp sense of catastrophe had risen in the air between the two of them, and hung there unchanging.

“Why are you here?” said the boy.

The man tilted his head slightly. Pale eyes examined the boy as though he were a specimen of life from a distant planet, and correspondingly dangerous.

“I’ve come to apologize, Mr. Potter,” the man said quietly.

“Apologize for what?” the boy said. “Why, what could
you
have done to prevent Hermione’s death?”

“I should have thought to check for the presence of yourself, Mr. Longbottom, and Miss Granger, all of whom were obvious next targets,” the Defense Professor said without hesitation. “Mr. Hagrid was not mentally equipped to command the student contingent. I should have ignored the Deputy Headmistress’s request for silence, and told her to leave behind Professor Flitwick, who would have been better able to defend the students from any threat, and who could have maintained communication via Patronus.”

“Correct.” The boy’s voice was razor-sharp. “I’d forgotten there was someone else in Hogwarts who could be responsible for things. So why didn’t you think of it, Professor? Because I don’t believe that
you
were stupid.”

There was a pause, and the boy’s fingers whitened on his wand.

“You did not think of it either, Mr. Potter, at the time.” There was a weariness in the Defense Professor’s voice. “I am smarter than you. I think faster than you. I am more experienced than you. But the gap between the two of us is not the same as the gap between us and them. If you can miss something, then so can I.” The man’s lips twisted. “You see, I deduced at once that the troll was but a distraction from some other matter, and of no great importance in itself. So long as nobody sent the students wandering pointlessly through the halls, or uncaringly dispatched the young Slytherins to those very dungeons where the troll had been spotted.”

The boy did not seem to relax. “I suppose that is plausible.”

“In any case,” said the man, “if there is anyone who can be said to be responsible for Miss Granger’s death, it is myself, not you. It is I, not you, who should have -”

“I perceive that you have spoken to Professor McGonagall and that she has given you a script to follow.” The boy did not bother keeping the bitterness from his voice. “If you have something to say to me, Professor, say it without the masks.”

There was a pause.

“As you wish,” the Defense Professor said emotionlessly. The pale eyes stayed keen and sharp. “I do regret that the girl is dead. She was a good student in my Defense class, and could have been an ally to you later. I would wish to console you for your loss, but I cannot see how to go about doing so. Naturally, if I find the ones responsible I shall kill them. You are welcome to join in should circumstances permit.”

“How touching,” the boy said, his voice cool. “You are not claiming to have liked Hermione, then?”

“Her charms were lost on me, I suspect. I no longer form such bonds easily.”

The boy nodded. “Thank you for being honest. Is that all, Professor?”

There was a pause.

“The castle is scarred, now,” said the man standing in the corner.

“What?”

“When a certain ancient device in my possession informed me that Miss Granger was on the verge of death, I cast that spell of cursed fire of which I once spoke. I burned through some walls and floors so that my broomstick could take a more direct path.” The man still spoke tonelessly. “Hogwarts will not heal such wounds easily, if at all. I suppose it will be necessary to patch over the holes with lesser conjurations. I regret that now, since I was in any case too late.”

“Ah,” said the boy. He closed his eyes briefly. “You did want to save her. You wanted it so strongly that you made some sort of actual effort. I suppose your mind, if not theirs, would be capable of that.”

A brief, dry smile from the man.

“Thank you for that, Professor. But I would like to be left alone now until dinnertime. You of all people will understand. Is that all?”

“Not quite,” the man said. A tinge of sardonic dryness now returned to his voice. “You see, based on recent experiences, I am concerned that you may now intend to do something extremely foolish.”

“Such as what?” said the boy.

“I am not quite sure. Perhaps you have decided that a universe without Miss Granger is devoid of value, and should be destroyed for the insults it has dealt you.”

The boy smiled without any humor. “Your own issues are showing, Professor. I don’t really go in for that sort of thing. Did you, at some point?”

“Not particularly. I have no great fondness for the universe, but I do live there.”

There was a pause.

“What are you planning, Mr. Potter?” said the man in the corner. “You have come to some significant resolution, though you are trying to hide it from me. What do you now intend?”

The boy shook his head. “I’m still thinking, and would like to be left alone to do it.”

“I recall an offer you once made to me, some months ago,” said the Defense Professor. “Do you want someone intelligent to talk to? I will understand if you are not pleasant to be around.”

The boy shook his head again. “No, thank you.”

“Well, then,” said the Defense Professor. “What about someone who is powerful and not particularly bound by naive scruples?”

There was a hesitation, and then the boy once more shook his head.

“Someone who is knowledgeable of much secret lore, and magics that some might consider to be unnatural?”

There was a slight narrowing of the boy’s eyes, so imperceptible that someone else might not have -

“I see,” said the Defense Professor. “Go ahead and ask me about it, then. I give you my word that I will repeat nothing of it to the others.”

The boy took a while to speak, and when he did it was in a cracked voice.

“I mean to bring Hermione back. Because there isn’t an afterlife, and I’m not about to just let her - just
not be
-”

The boy pressed his hands over his face, and when he withdrew them, he once more seemed as dispassionate as the man standing in the corner.

The Defense Professor’s eyes were abstract, and faintly puzzled.

“How?” the man said finally.

“However I have to.”

There was another pause.

“Regardless of the risks,” the man in the corner said. “Regardless of how dangerous the magic required to accomplish it.”

“Yes.”

The Defense Professor’s eyes were thoughtful. “But what general approach did you have in mind? I presume that turning her corpse into an Inferius is not what you -”

“Would she be able to think?” the boy said. “Would her body still decay?”

“No, and yes.”

“Then no.”

“What of the Resurrection Stone of Cadmus Peverell, if it could be obtained for you?”

The boy shook his head. “I don’t want an illusion of Hermione drawn from my memories. I want her to be able to
live
her
life -
” the boy’s voice cracked. “I haven’t decided yet on an object-level angle of attack. If I have to brute-force the problem by acquiring enough power and knowledge to just
make it happen
, I will.”

Another pause.

“And to go about
that,
” the man in the corner said, “you will use your favorite tool, science.”

“Of course.”

The Defense Professor exhaled, almost like a sigh. “I suppose that makes sense of it.”

“Are you willing to help, or not?” the boy said.

“What help do you seek?”

“Magic. Where does it come from?”

“I do not know,” said the man.

“And neither does anyone else?”

“Oh, the situation is far worse than that, Mr. Potter. There is hardly a scholar of the esoteric who has not unraveled the nature of magic, and every one of them believes something different.”

“Where do new spells come from? I keep reading about someone who invented a spell to do something-or-other but there’s no mention of
how
.”

A shrug of robed shoulders. “Where do new books come from, Mr. Potter? Those who read many books sometimes become able to write them in turn. How? No one knows.”

“There are books on how to write -”

“Reading them will not make you a famous playwright. After all such advice is accounted for, what remains is mystery. The invention of new spells is a similar mystery of purer form.” The man’s head tilted. “Such endeavors are dangerous. The saying is that one should either not have children, or else wait until after they are grown. There is a reason why so many innovators seem to hail from Gryffindor, rather than Ravenclaw as might be expected.”

“And the more powerful sorts of magics?” the boy said.

“A legendary wizard might invent one sacrificial ritual in his life, and pass on the knowledge to his heirs. To try inventing five such would be suicide. That is why wizards of true power are those who have acquired ancient lore.”

The boy nodded distantly. “So much for the direct solution, then. It would’ve been nice to just invent a spell for ‘Raise Dead’, ‘Become God’ or ‘Summon Terminal’. Do you know anything about Atlantis?”

“Only what any scholar knows,” the man said dryly. “If you would like to hear about the top eighteen standard theories - do not glare at me, Mr. Potter. If it were that simple, I would have done it many years earlier.”

“I understand. Sorry.”

There was a time of silence. The Defense Professor’s gaze rested on the boy, the boy stared off seemingly at nothing.

“There’s some magics I mean to learn. Spells I could’ve used earlier today, if I’d thought to study them beforehand.” The boy’s voice was cold. “Spells I’ll need, if this sort of thing goes on happening. Most I expect I can just look up. Some I expect I can’t.”

The Defense Professor inclined his head. “I shall teach you almost any magic you wish to know, Mr. Potter. I do have some limits, but you may always ask. But what specifically do you seek? You lack the raw power for the Killing Curse and most other spells deemed forbidden -”

“That spell of cursed fire. I don’t suppose it’s a sacrificial ritual that even a child could use, if he dared?”

The Defense Professor’s lips twitched. “It requires the permanent sacrifice of a drop of blood; your body would be lighter by that drop of blood, from that day forward. Not the sort of thing one would wish to do often, Mr. Potter. Strength of will is demanded for the cursed fire not to turn upon you and consume you; the usual practice is to first test one’s will in lesser trials. And although it is not a primary element of the ritual, I am afraid that it does require more magic than you shall possess for another few years.”

“Pity,” the boy said. “It would’ve been nice to see the look on the enemy’s face the next time they tried using a troll.”

The Defense Professor inclined his head, his lips twitching again.

“What about Memory Charms? The Weasley twins were acting oddly and the Headmaster said he thinks they’ve been Obliviated. It seems to be one of the enemy’s favorite tricks.”

“Rule Eight,” said the Defense Professor. “Any technique which is good enough to defeat me once is good enough to learn myself.”

The boy smiled humorlessly. “And I once heard about an adult casting Obliviate while she was almost completely drained, so it must not take too much magic to cast. It’s not even considered Unforgiveable, though I can’t imagine why not. If I could’ve made Mr. Hagrid remember a different set of orders -”