Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality (80 page)

The books his father had bought him.

Mum’s smile when Harry had handmade her a mother’s day card, an elaborate thing that had used half a pound of spare electronics parts from the garage to flash lights and beep a little tune, and had taken him three days to make.

Professor McGonagall telling him that his parents had died well, protecting him. As they had.

Realizing that Hermione was keeping up with him and even running faster, that they could be true rivals and friends.

Coaxing Draco out of the darkness, watching him slowly move toward the light.

Neville and Seamus and Lavender and Dean and everyone else who looked up to him, everyone that he would have fought to protect if anything threatened Hogwarts.

Everything that made life worth living.

His wand rose into the starting position for the Patronus Charm.

Harry thought of the stars, the image that had almost held off the Dementor even without a Patronus. Only this time, Harry added the missing ingredient, he’d never truly seen it but he’d seen the pictures and the video. The Earth, blazing blue and white with reflected sunlight as it hung in space, amid the black void and the brilliant points of light. It belonged there, within that image, because it was what gave everything else its meaning. The Earth was what made the stars significant, made them more than uncontrolled fusion reactions, because it was Earth that would someday colonize the galaxy, and fulfill the promise of the night sky.

Would they still be plagued by Dementors, the children’s children’s children, the distant descendants of humankind as they strode from star to star? No. Of course not. The Dementors were only little nuisances, paling into nothingness in the light of that promise; not unkillable, not invincible, not even close. You had to put up with little nuisances, if you were one of the lucky and unlucky few to be born on Earth; on Ancient Earth, as it would be remembered someday. That too was part of what it meant to be alive, if you were one of the tiny handful of sentient beings born into the beginning of all things, before intelligent life had come fully into its power. That the much vaster future depended on what you did here, now, in the earliest days of dawn, when there was still so much darkness to be fought, and temporary nuisances like Dementors.

Mum and Dad, Hermione’s friendship and Draco’s journey, Neville and Seamus and Lavender and Dean, the blue sky and brilliant Sun and all bright things, the Earth, the stars, the promise, everything humanity was and everything it would become…

On the wand, Harry’s fingers moved into their starting positions; he was ready, now, to think the right sort of warm and happy thought.

And Harry’s eyes stared directly at that which lay beneath the tattered cloak, looked straight at that which had been named Dementor. The void, the emptiness, the hole in the universe, the absence of color and space, the open drain through which warmth poured out of the world.

The fear it exuded stole away all happy thoughts, its closeness drained your power and strength, its kiss would destroy everything that you were.

I know you now
, Harry thought as his wand twitched once, twice, thrice and four times, as his fingers slid exactly the right distances,
I comprehend your nature, you symbolize Death, through some law of magic you are a shadow that Death casts into the world.

And Death is not something I will ever embrace.

It is only a childish thing, that the human species has not yet outgrown.

And someday…

We’ll get over it…

And people won’t have to say goodbye any more…

The wand rose up and leveled straight at the Dementor.

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!”

The thought exploded from him like a breaking dam, surged down his arm into his wand, burst from it as blazing white light. Light that became corporeal, took on shape and substance.

A figure with two arms, two legs, and a head, standing upright; the animal
Homo sapiens,
the shape of a human being.

Glowing brighter and brighter as Harry poured all his strength into his spell, blazing with incandescent light brighter than the fading sunset, the Aurors and Professor Quirrell shielding their eyes in shock -

And someday when the descendants of humanity have spread from star to star, they won’t tell the children about the history of Ancient Earth until they’re old enough to bear it; and when they learn they’ll weep to hear that such a thing as Death had ever once existed!

The figure of a human shone more brilliant now than the noonday Sun, so radiant that Harry could feel the warmth of it on his skin; and Harry sent out all his defiance at the shadow of Death, opening all the floodgates inside him to make that bright shape blaze even brighter and yet brighter.

You are not invincible, and someday the human species will end you.

I will end you if I can, by the power of mind and magic and science.

I won’t cower in fear of Death, not while I have a chance of winning.

I won’t let Death touch me, I won’t let Death touch the ones I love.

And even if you do end me before I end you,

Another will take my place, and another,

Until the wound in the world is healed at last…

Harry lowered his wand, and the bright figure of a human faded away.

Slowly, he exhaled.

Like waking up from a dream, like opening his eyes after sleep, Harry’s gaze moved away from the cage, he looked around and saw that everyone was staring at him.

Albus Dumbledore was staring at him.

Professor Quirrell was staring at him.

The Auror trio was staring at him.

They were all looking at him like they’d just seen him destroy a Dementor.

The tattered cloak lay empty within the cage.

The last tip of the Sun was sinking below the horizon, the red light fading from the treetops, only the blue sky illuminating the six people standing upon the winter-dried and snow-spotted grass, near a vacant cage on whose floor lay an empty, tattered cloak.

Harry felt… well,
normal
again. Sane-ish. The spell hadn’t undone the day and its damage, hadn’t made the injuries as if they had never been, but his hurts had been… bandaged, meliorated? It was hard to describe.

Dumbledore was also looking healthier, though not fully restored. The old wizard’s head turned for a moment, locked eyes with Professor Quirrell, then looked back to Harry. “Harry,” Dumbledore said, “are you about to collapse in exhaustion and possibly die?”

“No, strangely enough,” Harry said. “That took something out of me, but a lot less than I thought it would.”
Or maybe it gave something back, as well as taking…
“Honestly, I expected my body to be hitting the ground with a thud about now.”

There was a distinct body-hitting-the-ground-with-a-thuddish sort of sound.

“Thank you for taking care of that, Quirinus,” said Dumbledore to Professor Quirrell, who was now standing above and behind the unconscious forms of the three Aurors. “I confess I am still feeling a bit peaky. Though I shall handle the Memory Charms myself.”

Professor Quirrell inclined his head, and then looked at Harry. “I will omit a good deal of useless incredulity,” said Professor Quirrell, “remarks to the effect that Merlin himself failed to do that, et cetera. Let us go straight to asking the important question. What the sweet slithering snakes was
that?
”

“The Patronus Charm,” Harry said. “Version 2.0.”

“I rejoice to see that you are your usual self again,” said Dumbledore. “But you are not going
anywhere
, young Ravenclaw, until you tell me what exactly was that warm and happy thought.”

“Hm…” said Harry. He tapped a contemplative finger on his cheek. “I wonder if I should?”

Professor Quirrell suddenly grinned.

“Please?” said the Headmaster. “Pretty please with sugar on top?”

Harry felt an impulse and decided to go with it. It was dangerous, but there might not ever be a better opportunity until the end of time.

“Three sodas,” Harry said to his pouch, then looked up at the Defense Professor and the Headmaster of Hogwarts. “Gentlemen,” Harry said, “I bought these sodas on my first visit to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, on the day I entered into Hogwarts. I have been saving them for special occasions; there is a minor enchantment on them to ensure they are drunk at the right time. This is the last of my supply, but I do not think there will ever come a finer occasion. Shall we?”

Dumbledore took a soda can from Harry, and Harry tossed another to Professor Quirrell. The two older men each muttered identical charms over the can and frowned briefly at the result. Harry, for his part, simply popped the top and drank.

The Defense Professor and the Headmaster of Hogwarts politely followed suit.

Harry said, “I thought of my absolute rejection of death as the natural order.”

It might not be the right kind of warm feeling you needed to cast a Patronus Charm, but it was going into Harry’s Top 10 nonetheless.

The looks he got from the Defense Professor and the Headmaster briefly made Harry nervous, as the spilled Comed-Tea faded out of existence; but then the two of them each glanced at the other and both apparently decided that they couldn’t get away with doing anything really awful to Harry in the other’s presence.

“Mr. Potter,” said Professor Quirrell, “even
I
know that is not how things are supposed to work.”

“Indeed,” said Dumbledore. “Explain.”

Harry opened his mouth, and then, as realization hit him, rapidly snapped his mouth shut again. Godric hadn’t told anyone, nor had Rowena if she’d known; there might have been any number of wizards who’d figured it out and kept their mouths shut. You couldn’t forget if you
knew
that was what you were trying to do; once you realized
how
it worked, the animal form of the Patronus Charm would never work for you again - and most wizards didn’t have the right upbringing to turn on Dementors and destroy them -

“Erm, sorry about this,” said Harry. “But I’ve just this instant realized that explaining would be an
incredibly
bad idea until you work some things out on your own.”

“Is that the truth, Harry?” Dumbledore said slowly. “Or are you just pretending to be wise -”

“
Headmaster!
” said Professor Quirrell, sounding genuinely shocked. “Mr. Potter has told you that this spell is not spoken of with those who cannot cast it! You do not press a wizard on such matters!”

“If I told you -” Harry began.

“No,” Professor Quirrell said, sounding rather severe. “You don’t tell us
why,
Mr. Potter, you simply tell us that we are not to know. If you wish to devise a hint, you do so carefully, at leisure, not in the midst of conversation.”

Harry nodded.

“But,” said the Headmaster. “But, but what am I to tell the Ministry? You can’t just
lose
a Dementor!”

“Tell them I ate it,” said Professor Quirrell, causing Harry to choke on the soda he had unthinkingly raised to his lips. “I don’t mind. Shall we head on back, Mr. Potter?”

The two of them began to walk the dirt path back to Hogwarts, leaving behind Albus Dumbledore staring forlornly at the empty cage and the three sleeping Aurors awaiting their Memory Charms.

Aftermath, Harry Potter and Professor Quirrell:

They walked for a while before Professor Quirrell spoke, and all background noise dropped into silence when he did.

“You are exceptionally good at killing things, my student,” said Professor Quirrell.

“Thank you,” Harry said sincerely.

“I am not prying,” said Professor Quirrell, “but on the off-chance that it was
only
the Headmaster who you did not trust with the secret…?”

Harry considered this. Professor Quirrell already couldn’t cast the animal Patronus Charm.

But you couldn’t untell a secret, and Harry was a fast enough learner to realize that he ought to at least
think
for a while before unleashing this one upon the world.

Harry shook his head, and Professor Quirrell nodded acceptance.

“Out of curiosity, Professor Quirrell,” said Harry, “if your bringing the Dementor to Hogwarts had been part of an evil plot, what would have been its goal?”

“Assassinate Dumbledore while he was weakened,” Professor Quirrell said without even hesitating. “Hm. The Headmaster told you he was suspicious of me?”

Harry said nothing for a second while he tried to think of a reply, and then gave up when he realized he’d already answered.

“Interesting…” Professor Quirrell said. “Mr. Potter, it is not out of the question that there
was
a plot at work today. Your wand ending up that close to the Dementor’s cage
could
have been an accident. Or one of the Aurors could have been Imperiused, Confunded, or Legilimized to exert an influence. Flitwick and myself should not be excluded as suspects, in your calculation. One notes that Professor Snape canceled all his classes today, and I suspect he is powerful enough to Disillusion himself; the Aurors cast detection charms early on, but they did not repeat them immediately before your turn. But most easily of all, Mr. Potter, the deed could have been plotted by Dumbledore himself; and if he
did
, why, he might also take steps in advance to cast your suspicion elsewhere.”

They walked on for a few steps.

“But why
would
he?” Harry said.

The Defense Professor stayed quiet a moment, and then said, “Mr. Potter, what steps have you taken to investigate the Headmaster’s character?”

“Not many,” said Harry. He’d only recently realized… “Not nearly enough.”

“Then I will observe,” said Professor Quirrell, “that you do not find out all there is to know about a man by asking only his friends.”

Now it was Harry’s turn to walk a few steps in silence on the slightly beaten dirt path that led back to Hogwarts. He’d really been supposed to know better than that already. Confirmation bias was the technical term; it meant, among other things, that when you chose your information sources, there was a notable tendency to choose information sources that agreed with your current opinions.

“Thank you,” Harry said. “Actually… I didn’t say it earlier, did I? Thank you for
everything
. If another Dementor ever threatens you, or for that matter, slightly annoys you, just let me know and I’ll introduce it to Mister Glowy Person. I don’t like it when Dementors slightly annoy my friends.”

That got him an indecipherable glance from Professor Quirrell. “You destroyed the Dementor because it threatened me?”

“Erm,” Harry said, “I’d sort of decided on it before then, but yes, that would have been sufficient reason by itself.”

“I see,” said Professor Quirrell. “And what would you have done about the threat to me if your spell
hadn’t
worked for destroying the Dementor?”

“Plan B,” said Harry. “Encase the Dementor in dense metal with a high melting point, probably tungsten, drop it into an active volcano, and hope it ends up inside Earth’s mantle. Ah, the whole planet is filled with molten lava under its surface -”

“Yes,” said Professor Quirrell. “I know.” The Defense Professor was wearing a very odd smile. “I really should have thought of that myself, all things considered. Tell me, Mr. Potter, if you wanted to lose something where no one would ever find it again, where would you put it?”

Harry considered this question. “I suppose I shouldn’t ask
what
you’ve found that needs losing -”

“Quite,” said Professor Quirrell, as Harry had expected; and then, “Perhaps you will be told when you are older,” which Harry hadn’t.

“Well,” said Harry, “besides trying to get it into the molten core of the planet, you could bury it in solid rock a kilometer underground in a randomly selected location - maybe teleport it in, if there’s some way to do that blindly, or drill a hole and repair the hole afterward; the important thing would be not to leave any traces leading there, so it’s just an anonymous cubic meter somewhere in the Earth’s crust. You could drop it into the Mariana Trench, that’s the deepest depth of ocean on the planet - or just pick some random other ocean trench, to make it less obvious. If you could make it buoyant and invisible, then you could throw it into the stratosphere. Or ideally you would launch it into space, with a cloak against detection, and a randomly fluctuating acceleration factor that would take it out of the Solar System. And afterward, of course, you’d Obliviate yourself, so even you didn’t know exactly where it was.”

The Defense Professor was laughing, and it sounded even odder than his smile.

“Professor Quirrell?” Harry said.

“All excellent suggestions,” said Professor Quirrell. “But tell me, Mr. Potter, why those exact five?”

“Huh?” said Harry. “They just seemed like the obvious sorts of ideas.”

“Oh?” said Professor Quirrell. “But there is an interesting pattern to them, you see. One might say it sounds like something of a riddle. I must admit, Mr. Potter, that although it has had its ups and downs, on the whole, this has been a surprisingly good day.”

And they continued walking down the path that led to the gates of Hogwarts, quite some distance apart; as Harry, without even thinking about it, automatically stayed far enough away from the Defense Professor not to trigger that sense of doom, which for some reason seemed unusually strong right now.

Aftermath, Daphne Greengrass:

Hermione had refused to answer any questions, and as soon as they’d passed the split leading to the Slytherin dungeons, Daphne and Tracey had peeled off at once, walking as quickly as they could. Rumor traveled fast in Hogwarts, so they’d have to go to the dungeons right away if they wanted to be the first to tell everyone the story.

“Now remember,” said Daphne, “don’t just blurt out about the kiss as soon as we walk in, okay? It works better if we tell the whole story in order.”

Tracey nodded excitedly.

And as soon as they burst into the Slytherin common room, Tracey Davis took a deep breath and shouted, “
Everyone! Harry Potter couldn’t cast the Patronus Charm and the Dementor almost ate him and Professor Quirrell saved him but then Potter was all evil until Granger brought him back with a kiss! It’s true love for sure!
”

It was ordered storytelling of a sort, Daphne supposed.

The news failed to produce the expected reaction. Most of the girls glanced over and then stayed in their couches, or the boys simply kept reading in their chairs.

“Yes,” said Pansy sourly, from where she was sitting with Gregory’s feet in her lap, leaning back and reading what seemed to be a coloring book, “Millicent already told us.”

How -

“Why didn’t
you
kiss him first, Tracey?” said Flora and Hestia Carrow from their own chairs. “Now Potter’s going to marry a mudblood girl!
You
could’ve been his true love and gotten into a rich Noble House and everything if you’d just kissed him first!”

Tracey’s face was a picture in stunned realization.

“
What?
” shrieked Daphne. “Love does not work like that!”

“Of course it does,” stated Millicent from where she was practicing some sort of Charm while looking out a window at the swirling waters of the Hogwarts Lake. “First kiss gets the prince.”

“
It wasn’t their first kiss!
” shouted Daphne. “Hermione was
already
his true love! That’s why
she
could bring him back!” Then Daphne realized what she’d just said and winced internally, but as the saying went, you had to fit the tongue to the ear.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what?” said Gregory, swinging his feet off Pansy’s lap. “What’s this? Miss Bulstrode didn’t tell that part.”

Everyone else was also looking at Daphne, now.

“Oh, yeah,” said Daphne, “Harry shoved her away and shouted, ‘I told you, no kissing!’ Then Harry screamed like he was dying and Fawkes started singing to him - I’m not sure which one of those happened first, actually -”