Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality (160 page)

“It’s so
sad,
” said Sherice Ngaserin, who actually had tears in her eyes. “They were just - they were just so
obviously
meant to be together!”

“You mean Potter and Malfoy?” said a second-year named Colleen Johnson. “I know - their families hated each other so much, there’s no way they
couldn’t
fall in love -”

“No, I mean all three of them,” said Sherice.

This produced a brief pause in the huddled conversation. Dean Thomas was quietly choking on his lemonade, trying not to make any sounds as it trickled out of his mouth and soaked into his shirt.

“
Wow,
” said a dark-haired witch by the name of Nancy Hua. “That’s really…
sophisticated
of you, Sherice.”

“Look, you all, we need to keep this realistic,” said Eloise Rosen, a tall witch who’d been General of an army and hence spoke with an air of authority. “We
know
- because she kissed him - that Granger was in love with Potter. So the only reason she’d try to kill Malfoy is if she knew that she was losing Potter to him. There’s no need to make it all sound so complicated - you’re all acting like this is a play instead of real life!”

“But even if Granger was in love, it’s still funny that she’d just
snap
like that,” said Chloe, whose black robes combined with her night-black skin to make her look like a darkened silhouette. “I don’t know… I think maybe there’s more to this than just a romance novel gone wrong. I think maybe most people haven’t got any idea at all what’s going on.”

“
Yes! Thank you!
” burst out Dean Thomas. “Look - don’t you realize - like Harry Potter
told
us all - if you didn’t
predict
that something would happen, if it took you completely by surprise, then what you believed about the world when you
didn’t
see it coming, isn’t enough to explain…” Dean’s voice trailed off, as he saw that nobody was listening. “It’s
completely hopeless,
isn’t it?”

“You hadn’t figured that out yet?” said Lavender Brown, who was sitting across the table from her two fellow former Chaotics. “How’d you ever make Lieutenant?”

“Oh, you two be quiet!” Sherice snapped at them. “It’s obvious you both want the three of them for yourselves!”

“I mean it!” Chloe said. “What if what’s
really
going on is different from all the, you know,
normal
things that all the
ordinary
people are talking about? What if somebody -
made
Granger do what she did, just like Potter was trying to tell everyone?”

“I think Chloe’s right,” said a foreign-looking boy wizard who always introduced himself as ‘Adrian Turnipseed’, though his parents had actually named him Mad Drongo. “I think this whole time there’s been…” Adrian lowered his voice ominously, “…a
hidden hand
…” Adrian raised his voice again, “shaping all that’s happened. One person who’s been behind
everything,
from the beginning. And I don’t mean Professor Snape, either.”

“You don’t mean -” gasped Sarah.

“Yes,” Adrian said. “The
real
one behind it all is -
Tracey Davis!
”

“That’s what I think too,” Chloe said. “After all -” She glanced around rapidly. “Ever since that thing with the bullies and the ceiling - even the trees in the forests around Hogwarts look like they’re
shaking,
like they’re
afraid -
”

Seamus Finnigan was frowning thoughtfully. “I think I see where Harry gets his…
you know…
from,” Seamus said, lowering his voice so that only Lavender and Dean could hear.

“Oh, I totally know what you mean,” Lavender said. She didn’t bother to lower her own voice. “It’s a wonder he didn’t crack and just start killing everyone
ages
ago.”

“Personally,” Dean said, also in a quieter voice, “I’d say the really scary part is - that could’ve been
us.
”

“Yeah,” said Lavender. “It’s a good thing
we’re
all perfectly sane now.”

Dean and Seamus nodded solemnly.

Hypothesis: G. L.
(April 8th, 1992, 8:08pm)

The Floo-Fire of the Headmaster’s office blazed a bright pale-green, the fire concentrating in on itself into a spinning emeraldine whirlwind, and then flared even brighter and spit a human figure into the air -

There was a blur of motion as the resolving figure snapped up a wand, smoothly spinning with the Floo’s momentum like a ballet dance step, so that his firing arc covered the entire 360-degree arc of the room; and then just as abruptly, the figure stopped in place.

In the first instant that Harry saw that man, before Harry even took in the eye, he noticed the scars on the hands, the scars on the face, like the man had been burned and cut over his entire body; though only the man’s hands and face were visible, of all his flesh. The rest of the man’s body was hidden, encased not in robes, but in leather that looked more like armor than clothing; dark gray leather, matching the man’s mess of grayed hair.

The next thing that Harry’s vision comprehended was the brilliant blue eye occupying the right side of the man’s face.

One part of Harry’s mind realized that the person whom Professor McGonagall had named ‘Mad-Eye Moody’ was the same as the one Dumbledore had called ‘Alastor’, within the memory Dumbledore had shown Harry; an image from before whatever event had scarred every inch of the man’s body and taken a chunk out of his nose -

And another part of his mind noticed the jolt of adrenaline. Harry had drawn his wand in sheer reflex when the man had spun out of the Floo like that, there’d been something about it that felt like
ambush,
Harry’s hand had already started to level his wand for a
Somnium
before he’d managed to stop himself. Even now the armored man was holding his wand level, not pointed at any particular person but covering the whole room, and that wand was already in perfect line with his eyes, like a soldier sighting down a gun. There was danger in the man’s stance and the set of his boots, danger in the leather armor he wore and danger in that brilliant blue eye.

When the scarred man spoke, addressing the Headmaster, his voice was edged. “I suppose you think this room is secure?”

“There are only friends here,” Dumbledore said.

The man’s head jerked toward Harry. “That include
him?
”

“If Harry Potter is not our friend,” Dumbledore said gravely, “then we are all certainly doomed; so we may as well assume that he is.”

The man’s wand stayed level, not quite pointing at Harry. “Boy almost drew on me just then.”

“Er…” Harry said. He noticed that his hand was still tightly holding the wand, and consciously relaxed his hand and dropped it back to his side. “Sorry about that, you looked a bit… combat-ready.”

The scarred man’s wand moved slightly away from where it had almost pointed at Harry, though it didn’t lower, and the man let out a short bark of laughter. “Constant vigilance, eh, lad?” said the man.

“It’s not paranoia if they really are out to get you,” Harry recited the proverb.

The man turned fully toward Harry; and insofar as Harry could read any expression on the scarred face, the man now looked
interested
.

Dumbledore’s eyes had regained some of the brilliant twinkle that they’d had before the Azkaban breakout, a smile beneath his silver mustache as though that smile had never left. “Harry, this is Alastor Moody, called also Mad-Eye, who will command the Order of the Phoenix after me - if anything should happen to me, that is. Alastor, this is Harry Potter. I have every hope the two of you shall get along
fantastically
.”

“I’ve heard a good deal about you, boy,” said Mad-Eye Moody. His one dark natural eye stayed fixed on Harry, while the point of brilliant blue spun frantically, seeming to rotate all the way around within its socket. “Not all of it good. Heard they’re calling you the Dementor Spooker, in the Department.”

After some consideration, Harry decided to reply with a knowing smile.

“How’d you pull off that one, boy?” the man said softly. Now his blue eye was fixed on Harry as well. “I had a little chat with one of the Aurors who escorted the Dementor there from Azkaban. Beth Martin said it came straight from the pit, and no-one gave it any special instructions along the way. Of course, she could be lying.”

“There wasn’t any sneaky trick to that one,” Harry said. “I just did it the hard way. Of course, I could also be lying.”

Dumbledore was leaning back in his chair, chuckling in the background, like he was just another device in the Headmaster’s Office and that was the sound he made.

The scarred man turned back to face the Headmaster, though his wand stayed pointed low and in Harry’s general direction. When he spoke his voice was gruff and businesslike. “I have a lead on a recent host of Voldie’s. You’re certain his shade is in Hogwarts now?”

“Not
certain
-” Dumbledore began.

“Say
what?
” Harry interrupted. After having nearly concluded that the Dark Lord didn’t exist, it was a shock to hear it being discussed that matter-of-factly.

“Voldie’s host,” Moody said shortly. “The one he possessed before he took over Granger.”

“If the tales speak true,” Dumbledore said, “there is some device of power which binds Voldemort’s shade to this world; and by that means he may bargain with a host for possession of their body, conferring on them some portion of his power and his pride -”

“So the obvious question is who’s gained too much power too quickly,” Moody said abruptly. “And it turns out that there’s a fellow who’s gone and banished the Bandon Banshee, staked an entire rogue vampire clan in Asia, tracked down the Wagga-Wagga Werewolf, and exterminated a pack of ghouls using a tea-strainer.
And
he’s milking it for all it’s worth; there’s been talk of the Order of Merlin. Seems to have turned into a charmer and a politician, not just a powerful wizard.”

“Dear me,” murmured Dumbledore. “Are you certain that he is not relying on his own skills?”

“Checked his grades,” Moody said. “Record shows Gilderoy Lockhart received a Troll in his Defense O.W.L.S., didn’t bother with the N.E.W.T. Just the sort of sucker to take the deal Voldie was offering.” The blue eye whirled crazily within its socket. “Unless you remember Lockhart as a student, and think he had enough potential to do all that by himself?”

“No,” said Professor McGonagall. She frowned. “Not a chance, I should say.”

“I fear I must agree,” Dumbledore said with an undertone of pain. “Ah, Gilderoy, you poor fool…”

Moody’s grin was more like a snarl. “Three in the morning work for you, Albus? Lockhart should be at his home tonight.”

Harry listened to this with increasing alarm, wondering if even the
Ministry
had any rules about magistrates needing to issue warrants - never mind the illegal vigilante organization Harry now seemed to have joined. “Excuse me,” Harry said. “What
exactly
happens at three in the morning?”

There must have been something in Harry’s voice that gave him away, because the scarred man whirled on him. “You have a problem with that, boy?”

Harry paused, trying to figure out how to phrase this to the stranger -

“You want to take him down yourself?” pressed the scarred man. “Get revenge for your parents, eh?”

“No,” Harry said as politely he could. “Honestly - look, if we knew for
certain
he was a willing host for You-Know-Who, that’s one thing, but if we’re
not
sure and you’re heading off to kill him -”

“Kill?” Mad-Eye Moody snorted. “It’s what’s locked up in his head,” Moody tapped his forehead, “that we need from him, boy. If we’re lucky, Voldie can’t wipe the sucker’s memories as easy as in his living days, and Lockhart will remember what the horcrux looked like.”

Harry mentally noted down the word
horcrux
for future research, and said, “I’m just worried that someone innocent - what sounds like a pretty decent person, if he
did
do all that himself - might be about to get hurt.”

“Aurors hurt people,” the scarred man said shortly. “Bad people, if you’re lucky. Some days you won’t be lucky, and that’s all there is to it. Just remember, Dark Wizards hurt a lot more people than we do.”

Harry took a deep breath. “Can you at least
try
not to hurt this person, in case he’s
not -
”

“What is a first-year doing in this room, Albus?” demanded the scarred man, now whirling to face the Headmaster. “And don’t tell me it’s for what he did when he was a baby.”

“Harry Potter is not an ordinary first-year,” the Headmaster said quietly. “He has already accomplished feats impossible enough to shock even me, Alastor. His is the only intellect in the Order which might someday match that of Voldemort himself, as you or I never could.”

The scarred man leaned over the Headmaster’s desk. “He’s a liability. Naive. Doesn’t know a bloody thing about what war’s like. I want him out of here and all his memories of the Order wiped before one of Voldie’s servants plucks them straight out of his mind -”

“I’m an Occlumens, actually.”

Mad-Eye Moody directed a narrow look at the Headmaster, who nodded.

And then the scarred man turned to face Harry, their gazes meeting.

The sudden fury of the Legilimency attack almost made Harry fall off his chair, as a blade of white-hot steel cut into the imaginary person at the forefront of his mind. Harry hadn’t had a chance to practice since Mr. Bester’s training, and Harry very nearly lost his grip on the imaginary person the back-of-his-mind was pretending to be, as that person’s world turned into searing lava and a furious probe of questions. Harry almost lost his grip on only
pretending
to hallucinate, only
pretending
to be the imaginary person that was screaming in shock and pain as the Legilimency tore apart his sanity and reshaped him to believe that he was on fire -

Harry managed to break eye contact, dropping his eyes to Moody’s chin.

“You’re out of practice, boy,” Moody said. Harry wasn’t looking at the man’s face, but his voice was deadly grim. “And I’ll warn you of this but once. Voldie isn’t like any other Legilimens in recorded history. He doesn’t need to look you in the eyes, and if your shields are that rusty he’d creep in so softly you’d never notice a thing.”