Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality (96 page)

His ears, automatically, strained to make out the words.

“…please don’t…”

“…didn’t mean…”

“…don’t die…”

Then his brain knew
who
he was hearing, and in almost the same moment, figured out
what
he was hearing.

Because Professor Quirrell wasn’t there to keep the silence any more, and Azkaban was not, in fact, silent.

Faint the woman’s voice, repeating:

“No, I didn’t mean it, please don’t die!”

“No, I didn’t mean it, please don’t die!”

It got louder with every step Harry took, he could hear the emotion in the words now, the horror, the remorse, the desperation of…

“No, I didn’t mean it, please don’t die!”

…the woman’s worst memory, rehearsing over and over again…

“No, I didn’t mean it, please don’t die!”

…the murder that had sent her to Azkaban…

“No, I didn’t mean it, please don’t die!”

…where she was sentenced by the Dementors to watch whoever she’d killed, die and die and die in an infinite repeating loop. Though she must have been put in Azkaban recently, from the amount of life left in her voice.

The thought came to Harry, then, that Professor Quirrell had passed those doors, heard those sounds, and given not the slightest sign of disturbance; and Harry would have called it a positive proof of evil, if Harry’s own lips hadn’t remained silent in the presence of Bellatrix, his breathing regular, while something inside him screamed and screamed and screamed.

The Patronus brightened, not out of control, but it brightened, with every step Harry took forward.

It brightened further as Harry and Bellatrix descended the stairs, she stumbled and Harry offered her his left arm thrust outside the Cloak, braving the sense of doom from being that close to the snake draped around her neck. There was a surprised look on her face, but she accepted it, and said nothing.

It helped Harry, being able to help Bellatrix, but it wasn’t enough.

Not when he saw the huge metal door in the center of that level’s corridor.

Not when they came closer, and the woman’s voice fell silent, because there was a Patronus near her now, and she wasn’t reliving her worst memory any more.

Good,
said a voice inside him.
That was step one.

Harry’s steps carried him inevitably forward toward the metal door.

And…

Now unlock the door -

…Harry kept walking…

What do you think you’re doing? Go back and get her out of there!

…kept walking…

Save her! What are you doing? She’s hurting YOU HAVE TO SAVE HER!

The portkey Harry was carrying could transport two humans, only two, plus or minus a snake. If they’d had Professor Quirrell’s portkey too… but they
didn’t
, Professor Quirrell’s human form was carrying that, there was no way to get it… Harry could only save one person today, and there was only one person on the lowest level of Azkaban, in the most desperate need…

“DON’T GO!” The voice came in a scream from behind the metal door. “No, no, no, don’t go, don’t take it away, don’t don’t don’t -”

There was a light in the corridor and it grew brighter.

“Please,” sobbed the woman’s voice, “please, I can’t remember my children’s names any more -”

“Sit down, Bella,” Harry’s voice said, somehow he kept his voice in a cold whisper, “I must deal with this,” the Hover Charm diminishing and switching off even as Bella obediently sat down, her skeletal form dark against the brightening air.

I’ll die,
thought Harry.

The air went on brightening.

After all, it wasn’t a
certainty
that Harry would die.

It was just a probability of death, and weren’t some things worth a probability of dying?

The air went on brightening, the greater Patronus was beginning to form around him, the brilliant human shape was becoming indistinct within the burning air, as Harry’s life went to feed the fire.

If I wipe out the Dementors, then even if I live, they’ll know it was me, that I was the one who did this… I’ll lose my support, lose the war…

Yeah?
said the inner voice that was urging him on.
After you destroy all the Dementors in Azkaban? I’d think that’d tend to prove your credentials as a Light Lord, actually, so SAVE HER SAVE HER YOU HAVE TO SAVE HER -

The humanoid shape could no longer be seen as a separate entity.

The corridor couldn’t be seen.

Harry’s own body was invisible within the Cloak.

There was only a bodiless viewpoint within an infinite expanse of silver light.

Harry could feel the life leaving him, fueling the spell; far away, he could feel the shadows of Death begin to fray.

I meant to accomplish more with my life than this… I was going to fight the Dark Lord, I was going to merge the wizarding and Muggle worlds…

Lofty goals seemed very distant, very abstract, compared to one woman begging him for help, it wasn’t
certain
that Harry would ever do anything more important than this one thing, this one thing that he could do now and here.

And with what might have been his last breath, Harry thought:

There are other Dementors, probably other Azkabans… if I’m going to do this, I should do it when I’m closer to the central pit, it will take less of my life that way, which increases the probability that I’ll survive to destroy other Dementors… even assuming this is the optimal thing to do, if there’s a right time and place to do this, it isn’t now and here, IT ISN’T NOW AND HERE!

What?
said the other part of him indignantly, as it searched for a counterargument that didn’t exist -

Slowly the light died back down, as Harry concentrated on that one indisputable fact, the one obvious truth that they weren’t in the optimal place, the time
couldn’t
be
now…

Slowly the light died back down.

Part of Harry’s life flowed back into him.

Part had been lost as radiation.

But Harry had enough left to stay on his feet, and keep the silver human shape bright; and when his wand arm raised and his voice whispered “Wingardium Leviosa”, the magic flowed obediently out of him and helped Bellatrix to her feet. (For it wasn’t his magic he had expended, it had never been his magic that fueled the Patronus Charm.)

I swear,
Harry thought, breathing as regularly as he could in Bellatrix’s presence, while tears streamed down his invisible cheeks,
I swear upon my life and my magic and my art as a rationalist, I swear by everything I hold sacred and all my happy memories, I give my oath that someday I will end this place, please, please may I be forgiven…

And the two of them walked on, as a murderess’s voice screamed and begged someone to come back and save her.

There should have been more time, there should have been a ceremony, for Harry’s sacrifice of that piece of himself, but Bellatrix was beside him and so Harry just had to keep on walking without a pause, saying nothing, breathing evenly.

So Harry walked on, leaving a piece of himself behind. It would dwell in this place and time forever, he knew. Even after Harry came back someday with a company of other True Patronus casters and they destroyed all the Dementors here. Even if he melted the triangular building and burned the island low enough that the sea would wash over it, leaving no trace that such a place as this had ever once existed. Even then he wouldn’t get it back.

The flock of luminous creatures stopped staring downward, and began patrolling the metal corridor as if nothing had happened.

“Just like last time?” Director Bones snapped in the direction of Auror Li, and the young Auror replied, “Yes, ma’am.”

The Director fired off another query to see if the Dementors could now find their target, and looked unsurprised to hear a negative reply a few seconds later.

Emmeline Vance was feeling torn between her loyalties.

Emmeline wasn’t a member of the Order of the Phoenix any more, they had disbanded after the end of the last war. And during the war, she’d known, they’d all known, that Director Crouch had quietly approved of their off-the-books battle.

Director Bones wasn’t Crouch.

But they were hunting Bellatrix Black now, who had been a Death Eater, and who was certainly being rescued by Death Eaters. Their Patronuses were behaving oddly - all the bright creatures stopping and staring off downward, before they’d gone back to following their masters. And the Dementors couldn’t find their target.

It seemed to her that this would be an extremely good time to consult Albus Dumbledore.

Should she just
suggest
to Director Bones that they contact Dumbledore? But if Director Bones hadn’t contacted him already…

Emmeline wavered for a while, probably too long, and then finally decided.
The hell with it,
she thought.
We’re all on the same side, we need to stick together whether Director Bones likes it or not.

At a thought, her silver sparrow fluttered onto her shoulder.

“Drop behind us to guard our rear,” Emmeline murmured softly, almost without moving her lips, “wait until no one is looking directly at you, then go to Albus Dumbledore. If he is not already by himself, wait until he is. And tell him this: Bellatrix Black is breaking out of Azkaban, and the Dementors cannot find her.”

Silent, it was thankfully silent, the metal door on the next level down. Either there wasn’t someone behind there, or they were hurting quietly, maybe they were screaming but their voice had given out already, or they were just muttering quietly to themselves in the dark…

I’m not sure I can do this,
Harry thought, and he couldn’t blame the despairing thought on the Dementors either. It would be better to be lower, safer to be lower, his plan would take time to implement and the Aurors were probably already working their way down. But if Harry had to pass any more of those metal doors while staying silent and keeping his breathing perfectly regular, he might go mad; if he had to leave a piece of himself behind at each one, soon there wouldn’t be anything left of him -

A luminous moonlit cat leaped into existence and landed in front of Harry’s Patronus. Harry almost screamed, which wouldn’t have helped his image with Bellatrix.

“Harry!” said the voice of Professor McGonagall, sounding as alarmed as Harry had ever heard from her. “Where are you? Are you all right? This is my Patronus, answer me!”

With a convulsive effort, Harry cleared his mind, repurposed his throat, forced calm, swapped in a different personality like an Occlumency barrier. It took a few seconds and he hoped like hell that Professor McGonagall didn’t notice a problem with that thanks to the communications delay, just as he hoped like hell that Patronuses didn’t report on their surroundings.

A young boy’s innocent voice said, “I’m in Mary’s Place, Professor, in Diagon Alley. Going to the restroom actually. What’s wrong?”

The cat leaped away, and Bellatrix began to chuckle softly, dusty appreciative laughter, but she cut herself off abruptly at a hiss from Harry.

A moment later the cat returned, and said in Professor McGonagall’s voice, “I’m coming to pick you up right now. Don’t go
anywhere
, if you’re not around the Defense Professor don’t go back to him, don’t say anything to anyone, I’ll be there as quickly as I can!”

And the bright cat blurred forward and vanished.

Harry glanced down at his watch, noting down the time, so that after he got everyone out of here, and Professor Quirrell anchored the Time-Turner again, he could go back and be in the restroom of Mary’s Place at the appropriate time…

You know,
said the problem-solving part of his brain,
there’s a limit to how many constraints you can add to a problem before it
really is
impossible, you know that?

It shouldn’t have mattered, and it didn’t really, it didn’t compare to the suffering of a single prisoner in Azkaban, and yet Harry still found himself feeling very aware that if his plan didn’t end with him being picked up from Mary’s Place just like he’d never left, and the Defense Professor looking completely innocent of any and all wrongdoing, Professor McGonagall was going to
kill him.

As their team prepared to eat another bite of territory out of C spiral, shielding and scanning before dispelling the previous shield to their rear, Amelia was tapping her fingers on her hip and wondering if she ought to consult the obvious expert. If only he wasn’t so -

Amelia heard the familiar crack of fire and knew what she would see as she turned.

A third of her Aurors were spinning around and leveling their wands on the old wizard in half-moon glasses and a long silver beard who had appeared directly within their midst, a bright red-golden phoenix on his shoulder.

“Hold your fire!” Polyjuice made it easy to forge the face, but faking the phoenix travel would have been rather more difficult - the wards permitted it as one of the fast ways into Azkaban, though there were no fast ways out.

The old witch and the old wizard stared at each other for a long moment.

(Amelia wondered, in the back of her mind, which of her Aurors had sent the word, there were several former members of the Order of the Phoenix with her; she tried to remember, in the back of her mind, if she’d seen Emmeline’s sparrow or Andy’s cat missing from the flock of bright creatures; but she knew that it was futile. It might not even be any of her people, for the old meddler often knew things he had no way at all of knowing.)

Albus Dumbledore inclined his head to Amelia in a courteous gesture. “I hope I am not unwelcome here,” the wizard said calmly. “We are all on the same side, are we not?”

“That depends,” Amelia said in a hard voice. “Are you here to help us catch criminals, or to protect them from the consequences of their actions?”
Are you going to try to stop the killer of my brother from getting her well-deserved Kiss, old meddler?
From what Amelia heard, Dumbledore had gotten smarter toward the end of the war, mostly due to Mad-Eye’s nonstop nagging; but had relapsed into his foolish mercies the instant Voldemort’s body was found.

A dozen small points of white and silver, reflections of the shining animals, gleamed off the old wizard’s half-moon glasses as he spoke. “Even less than you would I see Bellatrix Black freed,” the old wizard said. “She
must
not leave this prison alive, Amelia.”

Before Amelia could speak again, even to express her surprised gratification, the old wizard gestured with his long black wand and a blazing silver phoenix sprang into existence, brighter perhaps than all their other Patronuses put together. It was the first time she’d seen that spell cast wordlessly. “Order all your Aurors to cancel their Patronus Charms for ten seconds,” said the old wizard. “What darkness cannot find, the light may.”

Amelia snapped off the order to the communications officer, who would notify all Aurors through their mirrors, commanding Dumbledore’s will to be done.

That took a few moments, and it became a period of awful silence, none of the Aurors daring to speak, while Amelia tried to weigh her own thoughts.
She must not leave this prison alive…
Albus Dumbledore wouldn’t turn into Bartemius Crouch without a strong reason. If he’d meant to tell her
why
, he already would have; but it certainly wasn’t a positive sign.

Still, it was good to know they’d be able to work together on this one.

“Now,” said a chorus of mirrors, and all the Patronus Charms winked out except that blazing silver phoenix.

“Is there another Patronus still present?” the old wizard said clearly to the bright creature.

The bright creature dipped its head in a nod.

“Can you find it?”

The silver head nodded again.

“Will you remember it, should it depart and come again?”

A final nod from the blazing phoenix.

“It is done,” Dumbledore said.

“Over,” said all the mirrors a moment later, and Amelia raised her wand and began recasting her own Patronus. (Though it took some extra concentration, with that wolfish smile already on her face, to think of the first time Susan had kissed her cheek, instead of dwelling on the looming fate of Bellatrix Black. That other Kiss was a happy thought indeed, but not quite the right kind for the Patronus Charm.)

They hadn’t even gotten to the end of that corridor before Harry’s Patronus raised its hand, politely, as though in a classroom.

Harry thought quickly. The question was how to - no, that was also obvious.

“It seems,” Harry said in a coldly amused voice, “that someone has instructed this Patronus to speak its message only to me.” He chuckled. “Well then. Pardon me, dear Bella.
Quietus.
”

At once the silver humanoid said in Harry’s own voice, “There is another Patronus which seeks this Patronus.”

“
What?
” said Harry. And then, without pausing to think about what was happening, “Can you block it? Stop it from finding you?”

The silver humanoid shook its head.

No sooner did Amelia and the other Aurors finish recasting their Patronus Charms, when -

The blazing silver phoenix flew off, and the true red-golden phoenix followed it, and the old wizard calmly strode after both of them with his long wand gripped low.

The shields around their territory parted around the old wizard like water, and closed behind him with hardly a ripple.

“
Albus!
” shouted Amelia. “What do you think you’re doing?”

But she already knew.

“Do not follow me,” the old wizard’s voice said sternly. “I can protect myself, I cannot protect others.”

The curse Amelia shouted after him made even her own Aurors flinch.

This isn’t fair, isn’t fair, isn’t fair! There’s a limit to how many constraints you can add to a problem before it really is impossible!

Harry blocked off the useless thoughts, ignored the fatigue he was feeling, and forced his mind to confront the new requirements, he had to think
fast,
use the adrenaline on following the chains of logic quickly and without hesitation, instead of wasting it on despair.

For the mission to succeed,

(1) Harry would have to dispel his Patronus.

(2) Bellatrix needed to be hidden from the Dementors after the Patronus was dispelled.

(3) Harry needed to resist the Dementors’ drain after his Patronus was dispelled.

…

If I solve this one,
said Harry’s brain,
I want a cookie afterward, and if you make the problem any more difficult than this, I mean the slightest bit more difficult, I am climbing out of your skull and heading for Tahiti.

Harry and his brain considered the problem.

Azkaban had stood invincible for centuries, relying upon the impossibility of evading the Dementors’ gaze. So if Harry found
another
way to hide Bellatrix from the Dementors, it would rely on either his scientific knowledge or his realization that the Dementors were Death.

Harry’s brain suggested that an obvious way to stop the Dementors from seeing Bellatrix was to make her stop existing, i.e., kill her.

Harry congratulated his brain on thinking outside the box and told it to continue searching.

Kill her and then bring her back,
came the next suggestion.
Use Frigideiro to cool Bellatrix down to the point where her brain activity stops, then warm her up afterward using Thermos, just like people who fall into very cold water can be successfully revived half-an-hour later without noticeable brain damage.

Harry considered this. Bellatrix might not survive in her debilitated state.
And
it might not stop Death from seeing her.
And
he’d have trouble carrying a cold unconscious Bellatrix very far.
And
Harry couldn’t remember the research on which exact body temperature was supposed to be nonfatal but temporarily-brain-halting.

It was another good outside-the-box idea, but Harry told his brain to keep thinking of…

…ways to hide from Death…

A frown moved over Harry’s face. He’d heard something about that, somewhere.

One of the requisites for becoming a powerful wizard is an excellent memory,
Professor Quirrell had said.
The key to a puzzle is often something you read twenty years ago in an old scroll, or a peculiar ring you saw on the finger of a man you met only once…

Harry focused as hard as he could, but he couldn’t remember, it was on the tip of his tongue but he couldn’t remember; so he told his subconscious to go on trying to recollect it, and refocused his attention on the other half of the problem.

How can I protect myself from the Dementors without a Patronus Charm?

The Headmaster had been repeatedly exposed to a Dementor from a few steps away, over and over throughout a whole day, and had come out of it looking merely tired. How had the Headmaster done that? Could Harry do it too?

It could just be some random genetic thing, in which case Harry was screwed. But assuming the problem
was
solvable…

Then the obvious answer was that Dumbledore wasn’t afraid of death.

Dumbledore
really
wasn’t afraid of death. Dumbledore honestly, truly believed that death was the next great adventure. Believed it in his core, not just as convenient words used to suppress cognitive dissonance, not just pretending to be wise. Dumbledore had decided that death was the natural and normative order, and whatever tiny lingering fear was still in him, it had taken a long time and repeated exposures for the Dementor to drain him through that small flaw.

That avenue was closed to Harry.

And then Harry thought of the flip side, the obvious inverse question:

Why am I so much more vulnerable than average? Other students didn’t fall over when they faced the Dementor.

Harry meant to destroy Death, to end it if he could. He meant to live forever, if he could; he had hope of it, the thought of Death brought him no sense of despair or inevitability. He was not blindly attached to his own life; indeed it had taken an effort
not
to burn away all his life on the need to protect others from Death. Why did the shadows of Death have such power over Harry? He would not have thought himself so afraid.

Was it Harry, all along, who’d been rationalizing? Who was secretly so afraid of death that it was twisting his own thoughts, as Harry had accused Dumbledore?

Harry considered this, preventing himself from flinching away. It felt uncomfortable, but…

But…

But uncomfortable thoughts weren’t always
true
, and this one didn’t sound exactly right. Like there was a grain of truth, but it wasn’t hiding
where
the hypothesis said it was -

And that was when Harry realized.

Oh.

Oh, I understand now.

The one who is afraid, is…

Harry asked his dark side what it thought of death.

And Harry’s Patronus wavered, dimmed, almost went out upon the instant, for that desperate, sobbing, screaming terror, an unutterable fear that would do anything not to die, throw everything aside not to die, that couldn’t think straight or feel straight in the presence of that absolute horror, that couldn’t look into the abyss of nonexistence any more than it could have stared straight into the Sun, a blind terrified thing that only wanted to find a dark corner and hide and not have to think about it any more -