Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality (67 page)

The Headmaster rose from his seat, his face now stern, saying no word as yet; but the command was clear.

“I do not say
what
threat will come,” said Professor Quirrell. “But you will not live all your lives in peace, not if the past history of the world is any guide at all to its future. And if you do in the future as you have seen three armies do this day, if you cannot throw aside your petty bickering and take the Mark of a single leader, then indeed you might wish that the Dark Lord had lived to rule over you, and regret the day that ever Harry Potter was born -”

“
Enough!
” bellowed Albus Dumbledore.

There was silence.

Professor Quirrell slowly turned his head to gaze at where Albus Dumbledore stood in the fury of his wizardry; their eyes met, and a soundless stress pressed down like weight upon all the students, as they listened not daring to move.

“You, too, failed this country,” said Professor Quirrell. “And you know the peril as well as I.”

“Such speeches are not for the ears of students,” said Albus Dumbledore in a dangerously rising voice. “Nor for the mouths of professors!”

Dryly, then, Professor Quirrell spoke: “There were many speeches made for the ears of adults, as the Dark Lord rose. And the adults clapped and cheered, and went home having enjoyed their day’s entertainment. But I will obey you, Headmaster, and make no further speeches if you do not like them. My lesson is simple. I will go on doing nothing about traitors, and we will see what students can do for themselves about that, when they do not wait for professors to save them.”

And then Professor Quirrell turned back to his students, and his mouth quirked up in a wry grin that seemed to dissipate the dreadful pressure like a god blowing to scatter the clouds. “But do please be kind to the traitors up until now,” said Professor Quirrell. “They were just having fun.”

There was laughter, though it was nervous at first, and then it seemed to build, as Professor Quirrell stood there smiling wryly and some of the tension released itself.

Draco’s mind was still whirling through a thousand questions and a daze of horror, as Professor Quirrell prepared to open the envelopes in which the three had inscribed their wishes.

It had never before occurred to Draco that moon-traveling Muggles were a greater threat than the slow decline of wizardry, or that Father had proven himself too weak to stop them.

And even stranger, the obvious implication: Professor Quirrell believed that
Harry
could. The Defense Professor claimed to have made no recommendation, but he’d mentioned Harry Potter over and over in his speech; others would already be thinking the same thing as Draco.

It was ridiculous. The boy who had covered a stuffed chair in glitter and called it a throne -

The boy who faced down Snape and won,
whispered a traitorous voice,
that boy could grow into a Lord strong enough to rule, strong enough to save us all -

Harry had been
raised
by Muggles! He was practically a mudblood himself, he wouldn’t fight against his adopted family -

He knows their arts, their secrets and their methods; he can take all of the Muggles’ science and use it against them, alongside our own power as wizards.

But what if he refuses? What if he’s too weak?

Then,
said that inner voice,
it will have to be you, won’t it, Draco Malfoy?

And then there was a renewed hush from the crowd, as Professor Quirrell opened the first envelope.

“Mr. Malfoy,” said Professor Quirrell, “your wish is for… Slytherin to win the House Cup.”

There was a puzzled pause from the watching audience.

“Yes, Professor,” said Draco in a clear voice, knowing that it was once again being amplified. “If you can’t do that, then something else for Slytherin -”

“I will not award House points unfairly,” said Professor Quirrell. He tapped a cheek, looking thoughtful. “Which makes your wish difficult enough to be interesting. Would you like to say anything about why, Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco turned from the Defense Professor, gazed out at the crowd from against that backdrop of platinum and emeralds. Not all of Slytherin had cheered for Dragon Army, there were anti-Malfoy factions who had expressed that dissatisfaction by supporting the Boy-Who-Lived, or even Granger; and those factions would be encouraged greatly by what Zabini had done. He needed to remind them that Slytherin meant Malfoy and Malfoy meant Slytherin -

“No,” said Draco. “They’re Slytherins, they’ll understand.”

There was some laughter from the audience, especially in Slytherin, even from some students who would have called themselves anti-Malfoy a moment earlier.

Flattery was a lovely thing.

Draco turned back to look at Professor Quirrell again, and was surprised to see an embarrassed look on Granger’s face.

“And for Miss Granger…” said Professor Quirrell. There was the sound of a tearing envelope. “Your wish is for… Ravenclaw to win the House Cup?”

There was considerable laughter from the audience, including a chuckle from Draco. He hadn’t thought Granger played that game.

“Well, um,” said Granger, sounding like she was suddenly stumbling over a memorized speech, “I meant to say, that…” She took a deep breath. “There were soldiers from every House in my army, and I don’t mean to slight any of them. But Houses should still count for something, too. It was sad when students in the same House were hexing each other just because they were in different armies. People should be able to rely on whoever’s in their House. That’s why Godric Gryffindor, and Salazar Slytherin, and Rowena Ravenclaw, and Helga Hufflepuff created the four Houses of Hogwarts in the first place. I’m the General of Sunshine, but even before that, I’m Hermione Granger of Ravenclaw, and I’m proud to be part of a House that’s eight hundred years old.”

“Well said, Miss Granger!” said Dumbledore’s booming voice.

Harry Potter was frowning, and something tickled at the edge of Draco’s recognition.

“An interesting sentiment, Miss Granger,” said Professor Quirrell. “But there are times when it is good for a Slytherin to have friends in Ravenclaw, or for a Gryffindor to have friends in Hufflepuff. Surely it would be best if you could rely both on your friends in your House, and also your friends in your army?”

Granger’s eyes flicked briefly toward the watching students and teachers, and she said nothing.

Professor Quirrell nodded as though to himself, and then turned back to the podium, and took up and tore open the last envelope. Beside Draco, Harry Potter visibly tensed up as the Defense Professor drew forth the parchment. “And Mr. Potter wishes for -”

There was a pause as Professor Quirrell looked at the parchment.

Then, without any change of expression on Professor Quirrell’s face, the sheet of parchment burst into flames, and burned with a brief, intense fire that left only drifting black dust sprinkling down from his hand.

“Please confine yourself to the possible, Mr. Potter,” said Professor Quirrell, sounding very dry indeed.

There was a long pause; Harry, standing beside Draco, looked rather shaken.

What in Merlin’s name did he ask for?

“I do hope,” said Professor Quirrell, “that you prepared another wish, if I could not grant that one.”

There was another pause.

Harry drew a deep breath. “I didn’t,” he said, “but I already thought of another one.” Harry Potter turned to look out at the audience, and his voice firmed as he spoke. “People fear traitors because of the damage the traitor does directly, the soldiers they shoot or the secrets they tell. But that’s only part of the danger. What people do because they’re
afraid
of traitors also costs them. I used that strategy today against Sunshine and Dragon. I didn’t tell my traitors to cause as much direct damage as possible. I told them to act in the way that would create the most distrust and confusion, and make the generals do the most costly things to try and stop them from doing it again. When there are just a few traitors and a whole country opposing them, it stands to reason that what a few traitors do might be less damaging than what a whole country does to stop them, that the cure might be worse than the disease -”

“Mr. Potter,” said the Defense Professor, his voice suddenly cutting, “the lesson of history is that you are simply wrong. Your parents’ generation did too little to unify themselves, not too much! This whole country almost fell, Mr. Potter, though you were not there to see it. I suggest that you ask your dorm-mates in Ravenclaw how many of them have lost family to the Dark Lord. Or if you are wiser, do
not
ask!
Do
you have a wish to make, Mr. Potter?”

“If you don’t mind,” said the mild voice of Albus Dumbledore, “I should like to hear what the Boy-Who-Lived has to say. He has more experience than either of us at stopping wars.”

A few people laughed, but not many.

Harry Potter’s gaze moved to Dumbledore, and he looked considering for a moment. “I’m not saying you’re wrong, Professor Quirrell. In the last war, people didn’t act together, and a whole country almost fell to a few dozen attackers, and yes, that was pathetic. And if we make the same mistake next time, yes, that’ll be even more pathetic. But you never fight the same war twice. And the problem is, the enemy is
also
allowed to be smart. If you’re divided you’re vulnerable in one way; but when you try to unite, then you face other risks, and other costs, and the enemy will try to take advantage of those, too. You can’t stop thinking at just one level of the game.”

“Simplicity also has a great deal to commend it, Mr. Potter,” said the dry voice of the Defense Professor. “I do hope that you have learned something this day about the dangers of strategies more complicated than uniting your people and attacking your enemy. And if all this does not tie into your wish somehow, I shall be quite annoyed.”

“Yes,” said Harry Potter, “it was pretty difficult coming up with a wish to symbolize the costs of unity. But the problem of acting together isn’t just for wars, it’s something we have to solve all our lives, every day. If everyone is coordinating using the same rules, and the rules are stupid, then if
one
person decides to do things differently, they’re breaking the rules. But if
everyone
decides to do things differently, they can. It’s exactly the same problem of everyone needing to act together. But for the
first
person who speaks out, it seems like they’re going against the crowd. And if you thought that the only important thing was that people should always be unified, then you could never change the game, no matter how stupid the rules. So my own wish, to symbolize what happens when people unite in the wrong direction, is that in Hogwarts we should play Quidditch without the Snitch.”

“
WHAT?
” screamed a hundred voices in the crowd, as Draco’s jaw dropped.

“The Snitch ruins the whole game,” said Harry Potter. “Everything the other players do ends up being irrelevant. It would make overwhelmingly more sense to just buy a clock. It’s one of those incredibly stupid things you don’t notice just because you grew up with it, that people only do because everyone else is doing it -”

But by that point Harry Potter’s voice could no longer be heard, because the riot had started.

The riot ended around fifteen seconds later, after a gigantic spout of fire blasted out of the highest tower of Hogwarts to the sound of a hundred thunders. Draco hadn’t known Dumbledore could
do
that.

The students sat down again very carefully and quietly.

Professor Quirrell was laughing, without pause. “So be it, Mr. Potter. Your will be done.” The Defense Professor paused deliberately. “Of course, I only promised
one
cunning plot. And that is all that the three of you will get.”

Draco had been half-expecting the words earlier, but now they still came as a shock; Draco exchanged rapid glances with Granger, they would have been the obvious allies but their wishes were directly opposed -

“You mean,” said Harry, “we have to all agree on a wish?”

“Oh, that would be
far
too much to ask,” said Professor Quirrell. “The three of you have no common enemy, do you?”

And for one brief moment, so fast that Draco thought he might have imagined it, the Defense Professor’s eyes flicked in the direction of Dumbledore.

“No,” said Professor Quirrell, “I mean that I shall grant three wishes using a single plot.”

There was a confused silence.

“You can’t do that,” Harry said flatly from beside Draco. “Not even
I
can do that. Two of those wishes are mutually incompatible. It’s
logically impossible -
” and then Harry cut himself off.

“You’re a few years too young to tell me what I can’t do, Mr. Potter,” said Professor Quirrell, with a brief dry smile.

Then the Defense Professor turned back to the watching students. “Truthfully, I have no confidence in your ability to learn this day’s lesson. Go home, and enjoy your time with your families, or what’s left of them, while they still live. My own family is long since dead at the Dark Lord’s hand. I shall see you all when classes resume.”

In the speechless silence that resulted, Professor Quirrell already turning to walk off the stage, Draco heard the Defense Professor’s voice say, quietly and no longer amplified, “But you, Mr. Potter, I would speak to now.”

They had gone to the Defense Professor’s office, and Professor Quirrell had sealed the door before he leaned back in his chair and spoke.

The Defense Professor’s voice was very calm, and that unnerved Harry a good deal more than if Professor Quirrell had been shouting.

“I am trying,” said Professor Quirrell quietly, “to make allowances for the fact that you are young. That I myself, at the same age, was a quite extraordinary fool. You speak with adult style and meddle in adult games, and sometimes I forget that you are only a meddler. I hope, Mr. Potter, that your childish meddling has not just killed you, ruined your country, and lost the next war.”

It was very hard for Harry to control his breathing. “Professor Quirrell, I said a good deal less than I wished to say, but I had to say something. Your proposals are extremely alarming to anyone who has the slightest familiarity with Muggle history over the last century. The Italian fascists, some very nasty people, got their name from the
fasces,
a bundle of rods bound together to symbolize the idea that unity is strength -”

“So the nasty Italian fascists believed that unity is stronger than division,” said Professor Quirrell. Sharpness was beginning to creep into his voice. “Perhaps they also believed that the sky is blue, and advocated a policy of not dropping rocks on your head.”

Reversed stupidity is not intelligence; the world’s stupidest person may say the sun is shining, but that doesn’t make it dark out…
“Fine, you’re right, that was an ad hominem argument, it’s not wrong
because
the fascists said it. But Professor Quirrell, you can’t have everyone in a country take the Mark of one dictator! It’s a single point of failure! Look, I’ll put it this way. Suppose the enemy just Imperiuses whoever controls the Mark -”

“Powerful wizards are not so easy to Imperius,” said Professor Quirrell dryly. “And if you cannot find a worthy leader, you are in any case doomed. But worthy leaders do exist; the question is whether the people shall follow them.”

Harry raked his hands through his hair in frustration. He wanted to call a time-out and make Professor Quirrell read
The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich
and then start the conversation over again. “I don’t suppose that if I suggested democracy was a better form of government than dictatorship -”

“I see,” said Professor Quirrell. His eyes closed briefly, then opened. “Mr. Potter, the stupidity of Quidditch is transparent to you because you did not grow up revering the game. If you had never heard of elections, Mr. Potter, and you simply
saw what is there
, what you saw would not please you. Look to our elected Minister of Magic. Is he the wisest, the strongest, the greatest of our nation? No; he is a buffoon who is owned in fee simple by Lucius Malfoy. Wizards went to the polls and chose between Cornelius Fudge and Tania Leach, who had competed with each other in a grand and entertaining contest after the
Daily Prophet,
which Lucius Malfoy also controls, decided that they were the only serious candidates. That Cornelius Fudge was genuinely selected as the best leader our country could offer is not a suggestion anyone could make with a straight face. It is no different in the Muggle world, from what I have heard and seen; the last Muggle newspaper I read mentioned that the previous President of the United States had been a retired movie actor. If you had not grown up with elections, Mr. Potter, they would be as transparently silly to you as Quidditch.”

Harry sat there with his mouth open, struggling for words. “The point of elections isn’t to produce the one best leader, it’s to keep politicians scared enough of the voters that they don’t go completely evil like dictators do -”

“The last war, Mr. Potter, was fought between the Dark Lord and Dumbledore. And while Dumbledore was a flawed leader who was losing the war, it is
ridiculous
to suggest that
any
of the Ministers of Magic elected during that period could have taken Dumbledore’s place! Strength flows from powerful wizards and their followers, not from elections and the fools they elect. That is the lesson of magical Britain’s recent history; and I doubt that the next war will teach you a lesson any different.
If
you survive it, Mr. Potter, which you will
not
do unless you abandon the enthusiastic illusions of childhood!”

“If you think there are no dangers in the course of action you advocate,” said Harry, and despite everything his voice was growing sharp, “then that, too, is childish enthusiasm.”

Harry stared grimly into Professor Quirrell’s eyes, who stared back without blinking.

“Such dangers,” said Professor Quirrell coldly, “are to be discussed in offices like this one, not in speeches. The fools who elected Cornelius Fudge are not interested in complications and caution. Present them with anything more nuanced than a rousing cheer, and you will face your war alone.
That
, Mr. Potter, was your childish error, which Draco Malfoy would not have made even when he was eight years old. It should have been obvious even to
you
that you should have stayed silent, and
consulted with me first
, not spoken your worries before the crowd!”

“I am no friend of Albus Dumbledore,” said Harry, a cold in his voice to match Professor Quirrell’s. “But he is no child, and he did not seem to think my concerns were childish, nor that I should have waited to speak them.”

“Oh,” said Professor Quirrell, “so you take your cues from the Headmaster now, do you?” and stood up from behind his desk.

When Blaise turned the corner on the way to the office, he saw that Professor Quirrell was already leaning against the wall.

“Blaise Zabini,” said the Defense Professor, straightening; his eyes were set like dark stones within his face, and his voice sent a shiver of fear down Blaise’s spine.

He can’t do anything against me, I just have to remember that -

“I believe,” said Professor Quirrell, in a clear, cold voice, “that I have already guessed the name of your employer. But I would hear it from your own lips, and tell me also the price that bought you.”

Blaise knew he was sweating under his robes, and that the moisture would be already visible on his forehead. “I got a chance to show I was better than all three generals, and I took it. A lot of people hate me now, but there’re also plenty of Slytherins who’ll love me for it. What makes you think I’m -”

“You did not devise the plan of today’s battle, Mr. Zabini. Tell me who did.”

Blaise swallowed hard. “Well… I mean, in that case… then you already know who did, right? The only one who’s that crazy is Dumbledore. And he’ll protect me if you try to do anything.”

“Indeed. Tell me the price.” The Defense Professor’s eyes were still hard.

“It’s my cousin Kimberly,” Blaise said, swallowing again and trying to control his voice. “She’s real, and she’s really being bullied, Potter checked that, he wasn’t dumb. Only Dumbledore said that he’d nudged the bullies into doing it, just for the plan, and if I worked for
him
she’d be fine afterward, but if I
did
go with Potter, there was more trouble Kimberly could get into!”

Professor Quirrell was silent for a long moment.

“I see,” Professor Quirrell said, his voice now much milder. “Mr. Zabini, should such an event occur again, you may contact me directly. I have my own ways of protecting my friends. Now, a final question: Even with all the power you took into your hands, forcing a tie would have been difficult. Did Dumbledore instruct you as to who should win otherwise?”

“Sunshine,” said Blaise.

Professor Quirrell nodded. “As I thought.” The Defense Professor sighed. “In your future career, Mr. Zabini, I do not suggest trying any plots that complicated. They have a tendency to fail.”

“Um, I said that to the Headmaster, actually,” Blaise said, “and he said that was why it was important to have more than one plot going at a time.”

Professor Quirrell passed a weary hand across his forehead. “It’s a wonder the Dark Lord didn’t go mad from fighting
him.
You may go on to your meeting with the Headmaster, Mr. Zabini. I will say nothing of this, but if the Headmaster should somehow discover that we have spoken, remember my standing offer to give you what protection I can. You are dismissed.”

Blaise didn’t wait for any other word, just turned and fled.

Professor Quirrell waited for a time, and then said, “Go ahead, Mr. Potter.”

Harry tore the Cloak of Invisibility off his head and stuffed into his pouch. He was trembing with so much rage he could hardly speak. “He
what?
He did
what?
”

“You should have deduced it yourself, Mr. Potter,” Professor Quirrell said mildly. “You must learn to blur your vision until you can see the forest obscured by the trees. Anyone who heard the stories about you, and who did not know that you were the mysterious Boy-Who-Lived, could easily deduce your ownership of an invisibility cloak. Step back from these events, blur away their details, and what do we observe? There was a great rivalry between students, and their competition ended in a perfect tie. That sort of thing only happens in stories, Mr. Potter, and there is one person in this school who thinks in stories. There was a strange and complicated plot, which you should have realized was uncharacteristic of the young Slytherin you faced. But there is a person in this school who deals in plots that elaborate, and his name is not Zabini. And I did warn you that there was a quadruple agent; you knew that Zabini was at least a triple agent, and you should have guessed a high chance that it was he. No, I will not declare the battle invalid. All three of you failed the test, and lost to your common enemy.”

Harry didn’t care about tests at this point. “Dumbledore
blackmailed
Zabini by
threatening his cousin?
Just to make our battle end in a tie?
Why?
”

Professor Quirrell gave a mirthless laugh. “Perhaps the Headmaster thought the rivalry was good for his pet hero and wished to see it continue. For the greater good, you understand. Or perhaps he was simply mad. You see, Mr. Potter, everyone knows that Dumbledore’s madness is a mask, that he is sane pretending to be insane. They pride themselves on that clever insight, and knowing the secret explanation, they stop looking. It does not occur to them that it is
also
possible to have a mask behind the mask, to be insane pretending to be sane pretending to be insane. And I am afraid, Mr. Potter, that I have urgent business elsewhere, and must depart; but I should strongly advise you not to take your cues from Albus Dumbledore when fighting a war. Until later, Mr. Potter.”

And the Defense Professor inclined his head with some irony, and then strode off in the same direction Zabini had fled, while Harry was still standing in open-mouthed shock.

Aftermath: Harry Potter.

Harry trudged slowly toward the Ravenclaw dorm, eyes unseeing of walls, paintings, or other students; he went up stairs and down ramps without slowing, speeding, or noticing where he trod.

It had taken him more than a minute after Professor Quirrell’s departure to realize that his only source of information about Dumbledore being involved was (a) Blaise Zabini, who he would have to be an absolute gaping idiot to trust again, and (b) Professor Quirrell, who could have easily faked a plot in Dumbledore’s style, and who might also think that a little student rivalry was a fine thing; and who had, if you stepped back and blurred out the details, just proposed turning the country into a magical dictatorship.

And it was also possible that Dumbledore
was
the one behind Zabini, and that Professor Quirrell had been sincerely trying to fight the Dark Mark in kind, and prevent the repetition of a performance he saw as pathetic. Trying to make sure that Harry didn’t end up fighting the Dark Lord alone, while everyone else hid, frightened, trying to stay out of the line of fire, waiting for Harry to save them.

But the truth was…

Well…

Harry was sort of okay with that.

It was, he knew, the kind of thing that was supposed to make heroes resentful and bitter.

To heck with that. Harry was very much in favor of everyone else
staying out of danger
while the Boy-Who-Lived took down the Dark Lord by himself, plus or minus a small number of companions. If the next conflict with the Dark Lord got to the point of a Second Wizarding War that killed lots of people and embroiled a whole country, that would mean Harry had
already failed
.

And if afterward a war broke out between wizards and Muggles, it didn’t matter who won, Harry would have already failed by letting it get that far. Besides, who said the societies couldn’t peacefully integrate when the secrecy inevitably broke down? (Though Harry could hear Professor Quirrell’s dry voice in his mind, asking him if he was a fool, and saying all the obvious things…) And if mages and Muggles couldn’t live in peace, then Harry would combine magic and science and figure out how to evacuate all the wizards to Mars or somewhere, instead of letting a war break out.

Because if it did come down to a war of extermination…

That was the thing Professor Quirrell hadn’t realized, the one most important question he’d forgotten to ask his young general.

The real reason why Harry had no intention of being argued into endorsing a Light Mark, no matter
how
much it would help him in his fight against the Dark Lord.

One Dark Lord and fifty Marked followers had been a peril to all of magical Britain.

If all Britain took the Mark of a strong leader, they would be a peril to the whole magical world.

And if the whole wizarding world took a single Mark, they would be a danger to the rest of humanity.

No one knew quite how many wizards there were in the world. He’d done a few estimates with Hermione and come up with numbers in the rough range of a million.

But there were six billion Muggles.

If it came down to a final war…

Professor Quirrell had forgotten to ask Harry which side he would protect.