Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality (175 page)

Minerva took another breath, and continued. “However, the Headmaster has declined to accept my resignation,” she said. “So I will continue to serve, and try to undo what I have wrought. Somehow I must find a way to teach my students how to do what is right. Not what is safe, not what is easy, not what we are told to do. If all I can teach you is to turn in your essays on time, there might as well not be a House Gryffindor. This road will be more difficult for me, and maybe for all of us. But I know now that before I was only taking the easy path.”

She stepped down from the lectern, moved down to where the Weasley twins stood.

“Fred Weasley, George Weasley,” she said. “The two of you have not always done what is right. The path of wisdom does not lie in flagrant and needless defiance of authority. And yet today you proved to be the last of our House to survive my mistakes. Because it was the right thing to do, you defied a threat of expulsion and risked your lives to face a mountain troll. For your astounding courage that honors your House to have you, I award each of you two hundred points for Gryffindor.”

Again the look of shock on their faces, again the pain like a knife through her heart.

She turned to face the other students.

“I will not award any points to Ravenclaw,” she said. “I suspect that Mr. Potter would not want them. If I am wrong, he may correct me and take as many House points as he pleases. But for whatever it is worth, Mr. Potter, I am,” her voice faltered, “I am sorry -”

“
Stop!
” Harry screamed, and then, again, “Stop.” The word sticking in his throat. “You don’t have to, Professor.” Something inside him was twisting, threatening to split him open, like a giant’s hands wrenching at him to tear him in half. “And, and you shouldn’t forget Susan Bones, and Ron Weasley - they also helped, they should get House points too -”

“Miss Bones and the young Weasley?” said Professor McGonagall. “Rubeus said nothing of that - what did they do?”

“
Miss Bones tried to stun Mr. Hagrid when he tried to stop me, and Mr. Weasley shot Neville when Neville tried to stop me. They should both get points, and, and so should Neville,” Harry hadn’t thought to imagine it before, the way Neville must be feeling now, but the instant he’d thought, he knew, “because Neville tried to do something, even if it wasn’t the right thing, doing what’s right is the
second
lesson, you can start practicing that after you learn to do anything at all -”

“Ten points to Hufflepuff, Miss Bones,” Professor McGonagall said, her voice breaking in the middle. “Ten points to Gryffindor, Ron Weasley, your family has done itself exceeding proud, this day. And ten points to Hufflepuff for Neville Longbottom, for standing up to Mr. Potter and doing what he thought was right -”

“You shouldn’t!
” screamed a young voice from the Hufflepuff table, followed by a single choking sound.

Harry looked there, and then quickly looked back at Professor McGonagall and said, as steadily as he could, “Neville’s right, actually, you can’t award literally zero points for the part where you get the action correct, that sends the wrong message too, but he was halfway there so it could be five points instead.”

Professor McGonagall looked, for a moment, like she couldn’t think of what to say; but then her eyes went to Neville’s place at the table, and she said, “As you wish, Mr. Potter. What is it, Miss Bones?”

Harry looked and saw that Susan Bones had stepped forward, wiping at her own eyes, and the Hufflepuff girl said, “Actually - Professor McGonagall - General Potter didn’t see it - but Captain Weasley and I weren’t the only ones who tried to get in Mr. Hagrid’s way, after he ran out. Before some of the older students stopped us. But we managed to slow Mr. Hagrid down a minute, so General Potter could get away.”

“You’ve got to give them points too,” said Ron Weasley from the Gryffindor table. “Or I won’t take any.”

“Who else?” said Professor McGonagall, her voice a bit unsteady.

Seven other children stood up.

What was that our Slytherin side was saying about predicting nothing would ever work?
said Hufflepuff.

Something in Harry cracked, so that he had to exert all his force to hold himself together.

When all had been said, and all had been done, Minerva went to where Harry Potter stood. Though it was not her greatest skill she cast a ward about them to blur vision, and muffled sounds with another thought.

“You, you didn’t have to -” said Harry Potter. “You shouldn’t have said -” He sounded like he was choking. “P-Professor, everything I said to you was hurtful, and hateful, and wrong -”

“I already knew that, Harry,” she said. “Even so, I wished to do better.” There was a feeling of lightness in her chest, much as one might experience after stepping off a cliff, when your legs no longer had to hold your body upright. She wasn’t sure she could do this, she did not know the way; and yet for the first time it seemed possible that Hogwarts wouldn’t become a sad ghost of its former self, when she became its Headmistress.

Harry stared at her, then made a odd noise that sounded like it had been forced from his throat, and covered his face in his hands.

So she knelt down, and hugged him. It might go wrong, but it might also go right, and she would not let that uncertainty stop her; it was time she began to learn a Gryffindor’s courage, so that she could teach it in turn.

“I had a sister once,” she whispered. Just that, and nothing more.

Just to make sure,
said some part of Harry, while the rest of him sobbed into Professor McGonagall’s arms,
this doesn’t mean we’ve accepted Hermione’s death, right?

NO
said all the rest of him, every part of his mind in unanimous agreement, warmth and cold and a hidden place of steel.
Never, ever, forever.

And an ancient wizard to whom that ward meant nothing gazed upon them both, the witch and the weeping young wizard. Albus Dumbledore was smiling with a strange sad look in his eyes, like someone who has taken one more step toward a foreseen destination.

The Defense Professor watched them both, the woman and the crying boy. His eyes were very cold, and very calculating.

He did not think that this would be enough.

It wasn’t until the next morning that it was discovered that Hermione Granger’s body was missing.

The first meeting:

At 6:07am on April 17th, 1992 the Sun was just rising above the horizon as seen from the castle Hogwarts, filtering in through drawn curtains in the Ravenclaw first-year boys’ dorm to provide a gentle light, red-orange for dawn and little-changed by the white fabric covering the windows, not yet waking boys more accustomed to winter’s schedule.

In one bed among many, Harry Potter slept the sleep of the just exhausted.

Quietly the door opened.

Quietly a figure walked across the floor.

That figure came to Harry Potter’s bed.

The figure laid a hand on the shoulder of the sleeping boy, who started and shrieked.

No others heard.

“Mr. Potter,” the small man squeaked, “the Headmaster has requested your presence immediately.”

Slowly the boy sat up in bed, his hands momentarily fiddling beneath the covers. He’d expected to feel much worse, waking up this morning. It felt… wrong, that his brain functioned now, that his thoughts still moved, that he wasn’t incapacitated with weeping for at least a week. The boy knew that it wouldn’t have been an adaptive response, for brains to evolve to do that. His dark side, certainly, would not do that. Even so, it still felt wrong to be alive and lucid, this morning.

But his resolution to revive Hermione Granger felt - sufficient, like he was already doing the right thing, bent on the right path, and she would be brought back, and that was all there was to it; grief would have been giving up. There was nothing left to decide, no ambiguity, no conflict to tear at him, and no need to remember what he’d
seen
-

“I’ll get dressed,” Harry said.

Professor Flitwick looked rather reluctant, but said in his high voice, “The Headmaster specified you were to be brought to his office directly and without pause, Mr. Potter. I’m sorry.”

Less than a minute later - Professor Flitwick had sent him straight to the Headmaster’s office through the Hogwarts internal Floo - Harry found himself, still in his pajamas, facing Albus Dumbledore. The Deputy Headmistress was also sitting in another chair, and the Potions Master lurked nearby amid the weird devices, caught in a gaping yawn just as Harry had entered through the fireplace.

“Harry,” the Headmaster said without preamble, “before I say what I must say next, I tell you that Hermione Granger did truly die. The wards recorded it and informed me. The very stones spoke that a witch had died. I tested her body where it lay and those were Hermione Granger’s true mortal remains, not any doll or likeness. There is no way known to wizardry by which death may be undone. All this being said, Hermione Granger’s remains are now missing from the storeroom where they were placed, and where you guarded them. Did you take them, Harry Potter?”

“No,” Harry said, narrowing his eyes. A glance showed him that Severus was watching him intently.

Dumbledore’s gaze was also keen, though not unfriendly. “Is Hermione Granger’s body in your possession?”

“No.”

“Do you know where it is?”

“No.”

“Do you know who took it?”

“No,” Harry said, then hesitated. “Besides the obvious probabilistic speculations which are not based upon any specific knowledge of mine.”

The old wizard nodded. “Do you know why it was taken?”

“No. Besides the obvious speculations etcetera.”

“What would those be?” Sharp the ancient eyes.

“If the enemy can notice you running off to consult the Weasley twins during class after Hermione was arrested, and find out about that magic map you said was stolen, then the enemy can wonder why I was guarding Hermione Granger’s body. My turn. Did you arrange for Hermione’s death in hopes of getting the money back from Lucius?”

“
What?
” said Professor McGonagall.

“No,” said the old wizard.

“Did you know or suspect that Hermione Granger would die?”

“I did not know. As for suspicions, I placed her in the most strongly defended position I could, against Voldemort. I did not will her death, nor allow it, nor plan to benefit from it, Harry Potter. Now show me your pouch.”

“It’s in my trunk -” Harry began.

“Severus,” said the old wizard, and the Potions Master moved forward. “Check his trunk as well, every compartment.”

“My trunk has wards.”

Severus Snape grinned mirthlessly and strode into the green flame.

Dumbledore took out his long dark-grey wand and began to wave it close around Harry’s hair, looking like a Muggle using a metal-detector. Before he had reached as far as Harry’s neck, Dumbledore stopped.

“The gem upon your ring,” Dumbledore said. “It is no longer a clear diamond. It is brown, the color of Hermione Granger’s eyes, and the color of her hair.”

A sudden tension filled the room.

“That’s my father’s rock,” Harry said. “Transfigured the same as before. I just did it to remember Hermione -”

“I must be sure. Take off that ring, Harry, and place it upon my desk.”

Slowly, Harry did so, removing the gem and setting the ring off to the other side of the desk.

Dumbledore pointed his wand at the gem and -

A large, undistinguished grey rock jumped into the air from the force of its sudden expansion, hit some invisible barrier in the air above, and then fell with a loud crack upon the Headmaster’s desk,

“There’s another half-hour of work for me, Transfiguring it again,” Harry said evenly.

Dumbledore resumed his examination. Harry had to remove his left shoe, and take off the toe-ring that was his emergency portkey if someone kidnapped him and took him outside the wards of Hogwarts (and didn’t put up anti-Apparition, anti-portkey, anti-phoenix, and anti-time-looping wards, which Severus had warned Harry that any inner-circle Death Eater would certainly do). It was verified that the magic radiating from the toe-ring was indeed the magic of a portkey, and not the magic of a Transfiguration. The rest of Harry was deemed clear.

Not long after, the Potions Master returned, bearing Harry’s pouch, and several other magical things which had been in Harry’s trunk, which the Headmaster also examined, one by one, even to all the items remaining within the healer’s kit.

“Can I go now?” Harry said when it was all done, putting as much cold as he could into his voice. He took up his pouch, and began the process of feeding the grey rock into it. The empty ring went back on his finger.

The old wizard breathed out, slipping his wand back into his sleeve. “I
am
sorry,” he said. “I had to know. Harry… the Dark Lord has taken Hermione Granger’s remains, it seems. I cannot think of anything he would gain thereby, except to send her corpse against you as an Inferius. Severus shall give you certain potions to keep about your person. Be warned now, and be prepared for when you must do what must be done.”

“Will the Inferius have Hermione’s mind?”

“No -”

“Then it’s not her. Can I go? At least to change out of my pyjamas.”

“There is other news, but I shall be brief. The wards of Hogwarts record that no foreign creature has entered, and that it was the Defense Professor who killed Hermione Granger.”

“Um,” Harry said.

Thought 1: But I saw the troll kill Hermione.

Thought 2: Professor Quirrell Memory-Charmed me and set up the scene that Dumbledore saw when he arrived.

Thought 3: Professor Quirrell can’t do that, his magic can’t touch mine. I saw that in Azkaban -

Thought 4: Can I trust those memories?

Thought 5: There was clearly some sort of debacle at Azkaban, we wouldn’t have needed a rocket if Professor Quirrell hadn’t fallen unconscious, and why’d he be unconscious if not -

Thought 6: Did I ever actually go to Azkaban at all?

Thought 7: I clearly practiced controlling Dementors at some point before I scared that Dementor in the Wizengamot. And
that
was in the newspapers.

Thought 8: Am I accurately remembering the newspapers?

“Um,” Harry said again. “That spell seriously ought to be Unforgiveable. You think Professor Quirrell could have Memory-Charmed -”

“No. I went back through time and placed certain instruments to record Hermione’s last battle, which I could not quite bear to watch in my own person.” The old wizard looked very grim indeed. “Your guess was right, Harry Potter. Voldemort sabotaged everything we gave Hermione to protect her. Her broomstick lay dead in her hands. Her invisibility cloak did not conceal her. The troll walked in the sunlight unharmed; it was no stray creature, but a weapon pure and aimed. And it was indeed the troll who killed her, with strength alone, so that my wards and webs to detect hostile magics went for naught. The Defense Professor never crossed her path.”

Harry swallowed, shut his eyes, and thought. “So this was an attempted frame on Professor Quirrell. Somehow. It does seem to be the enemy’s
modus operandi.
Troll eats Hermione Granger, check the wards, oh look actually the Defense Professor did it, same as last year… no. No, that can’t be right.”

“Why not, Mr. Potter?” said the Potions Master. “It seems obvious enough to me -”

“That’s the problem.”

The enemy is smart.

Slowly the fog of sleep was drifting out of Harry’s mind, and after a full night’s sleep his brain could see the things which hadn’t been obvious the day before.

Under standard literary convention… the enemy wasn’t supposed to look over what you’d done, sabotage the magic items you’d handed out, and then send out a troll rendered undetectable by some means the heroes couldn’t figure out even after the fact, so that you might as well have not defended yourself at all. In a book, the point-of-view usually stayed on the main characters. Having the enemy just bypass all the protagonists’ work, as a result of planning and actions taken out of literary sight, would be a
diabolus ex machina,
and dramatically unsatisfying.

But in real life the enemy would think that they were the main character, and they would also be clever, and think things through in advance, even if you didn’t see them do it. That was why everything about this felt so disjointed, with parts unexplained and seemingly inexplicable. How had Lucius felt, when Harry had threatened Dumbledore with breaking Azkaban? How had the Aurors above Azkaban felt, seeing the broomstick rise up on a torch of fire?

The enemy is smart.

“The enemy knew perfectly well that you’d turn back time to check what really happened to Hermione, especially since the troll getting into Hogwarts at all tells us that somebody can fool the wards.” Harry shut his eyes, thinking harder, trying to put himself into the enemy’s shoes. Why would he, or his dark side, have done something like - “We’re meant to conclude that the enemy has control of what the wards tell us. But that’s actually something the enemy can only do with difficulty, or under special conditions; they’re trying to create a false appearance of omnipotence.”
Like I would.
“Later, hypothetically, the wards show Professor Sinistra killing someone. We think the wards are just being fooled again, but really, Professor Sinistra was Legilimized and she
did
do it.”

“Unless that is precisely what the Dark Lord expects us to think,” said Severus Snape, his brow furrowed in concentration. “In which case he does have control of the wards, and Professor Sinistra will be innocent.”

“Does the Dark Lord
really
use plots with that many levels of meta -”

“Yes,” said Dumbledore and Severus.

Harry nodded distantly. “Then this could be a setup to either make us think the wards are telling the truth when they’re lying, or a setup to make us think the wards are lying when they’re telling the truth, depending on what level the enemy expects us to reason at. But if the enemy is planning to make us trust the wards - we would have trusted the wards anyway, if we’d been given no reason to distrust them. So there’s no need to go to all the work of framing Professor Quirrell in a way that we would realize we were intended to discover, just to trick us into going meta -”

“Not so,” said Dumbledore. “If Voldemort has not fully mastered the wards, then the wards had to believe that some Professor’s hand was at work. Else they would have cried out at Miss Granger’s injury, and not only upon her death.”

Harry reached up a hand and rubbed at his brow, just beneath his hair.

Okay, serious question. If the enemy is that smart, why the heck am I still alive? Is it seriously that hard to poison someone, are there Charms and Potions and bezoars which can cure me of literally anything that could be slipped into my breakfast?
Would the wards record it, trace the magic of the murderer?

Could my
scar
contain the fragment of soul that’s keeping the Dark Lord anchored to the world, so he doesn’t want to kill me? Instead he’s trying to drive off all my friends to weaken my spirit so he can take over my body? It’d explain the Parselmouth thing. The Sorting Hat might not be able to detect a lich-phylactery-thingy. Obvious problem 1, the Dark Lord is supposed to have made his lich-phylactery-thingy in 1943 by killing whatshername and framing Mr. Hagrid. Obvious problem 2, there’s no such thing as souls.

Though Dumbledore also thought that my blood was a key ingredient in a ritual to restore the Dark Lord’s full strength, which would require keeping me alive until then… now there’s a cheery thought.

“Well…” Harry said. “I’m sure of one thing.”

“And that is?”

“Neville needs to be taken out of Hogwarts
now.
He’s the obvious next target and no first-year student can survive this level of offense. We’re lucky Neville wasn’t assassinated yesterday evening, the enemy doesn’t have to wait until we’re finished mourning to make their next move.”
Why didn’t the enemy strike while we were distracted?

Dumbledore exchanged glances with Severus, and then with the suddenly tight expression of Professor McGonagall. “Harry,” said the old wizard, “if you send all your friends away yourself, that is just the same as if Voldemort -”