Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality (98 page)

Harry strode forward, not listening to the gasping sounds that came from behind him; he knew Bellatrix was following.

…because the last thing that woman needed, the very last thing she needed to start thinking before the psychiatric healer began trying to deprogram her, was to believe that her Dark Lord could ever love her back.

The old wizard smoothed his silver beard contemplatively, looking at where Auror Bahry was being carried out of the room by two strong Aurors.

“Do you understand this, Amelia?”

“No,” she said simply. She suspected some trap they hadn’t yet been able to fathom, which was why Auror Bahry was going to be kept outside the main party and guarded.

“Perhaps,” the old wizard said at length, “whichever of their number can cast the Patronus Charm, is more than a simple hostage. Someone who was tricked into this, mayhap? For whatever reason, they left your Auror alive; let us not be the first to wield deadly curses, when we find them -”

“I see,” said the old witch in sudden realization, “
that
was their plan. It costs them nothing to Oblivate him and leave him alive, and makes
us
hesitate -” Amelia nodded decisively, and said to her people, “We carry on as before.”

The old wizard sighed. “Any news from the Dementors?”

“If I tell you,” Amelia snapped, “will you run off again?”

“It costs you nothing, Amelia,” the old wizard said quietly, “and may save one of your own people the fight.”

Costs me nothing except my chance at vengeance -

But that was nothing compared to the other, the annoying old wizard was often right in the end, it was part of what made him so annoying.

“The Dementors have ceased to answer questions about the other person they said they saw,” Amelia told him, “and they will not say why, nor where.”

Dumbledore turned to the blazing silver phoenix on his shoulder, whose light illuminated the whole corridor, and received a silent headshake in reply. “I cannot detect them either,” said Dumbledore. Then he shrugged. “I suppose I shall just walk the whole spiral from top to bottom and see if anything turns up, shall I?”

Amelia would have ordered him not to do it, if she thought that would have made the tiniest difference.

“Albus,” said Amelia as the old wizard turned to depart, “even you can be ambushed.”

“Nonsense, my dear,” the old wizard said cheerfully as he strode off yet again, waving as though in admonition his fifteen-inch wand of unidentifiable dark-grey wood, “I’m invincible.”

There was a pause.

(“He didn’t just really say that -” whispered the newest Auror present, a still-prim young lady by the name of Noelle Curry, to the senior member of her trio, Auror Brooks. “Did he?”)

(“He can get away with it,” Isabel whispered back to her, “he’s
Dumbledore,
not even Fate takes him seriously anymore.”)

“And that,” Amelia said heavily, for the benefit of the younger Aurors, “is why we never call him in on anything unless we absolutely must.”

Harry lay very still on the hard bench that served as the bed of this cell, a blanket pulled over him, staying as absolutely motionless as he could while he waited for the fear to return. There was a Patronus approaching, and a powerful one. Bellatrix was hidden by a Deathly Hallow, no easy Charm would penetrate that; but Harry did not know what other arts the Aurors might employ to detect his own self, and dared not reveal his ignorance by asking her. So Harry lay on a hard bed, in a cell with a locked door, and the mighty metal door locked behind him, in absolute darkness, with a thin blanket pulled over him, hoping that whoever it was wouldn’t look in, or wouldn’t look too closely if they did -

That wasn’t a point Harry could affect, really, that part of his fate lay entirely in the hands of the Hidden Variables. Most of his mind was concentrating on the ongoing Transfiguration he was performing.

Listening in the silence, Harry heard the quick footsteps approach; they paused outside his door, and then -

- continued onward.

Soon the fear returned.

Harry didn’t allow himself to notice his own relief, any more than he allowed himself to notice the fear. He was holding in his mind the form of a Muggle device rather larger than a car battery, and slowly applying that Form to the substance of an ice cube (which Harry had frozen using
Frigideiro
on water from a bottle in his pouch). You weren’t supposed to Transfigure things to be burned, but between the original substance being water, and the Bubble-Head Charm to protect their air supply, Harry hoped that this wouldn’t make him or anyone else sick.

Now it was just a question of whether there would be enough time before the Aurors did a detailed check on this cell block, for Harry to finish this Transfiguration, and the partial Transfiguration he would do after that -

When the old wizard strode back empty-handed, even Amelia began to feel a twinge of worry. She and the other two Auror teams had worked a third of the way down the three spirals, in synchrony so as not to allow any gap in their coverage that could be jumped by cutting through a ceiling, and they’d yet to find any sign.

“Might I ask you to report?” Amelia said, keeping the edge out of her voice.

“First a simple walk from top to bottom,” said the old wizard. He was frowning, wrinkling his face even more than usual. “I examined Bellatrix’s cell, and found a death doll left in her place. This escape was meant to go unremarked, I think. There is something hidden in the corner beneath a scrap of cloth; I left that undisturbed for your Aurors to examine. On the return trip, I opened each door and looked within the cells. I saw nothing Disillusioned, only the prisoners -”

They were interrupted by a scream from the red-golden phoenix, and all her Aurors flinched from it. Condemnation was in it, and an urgent demand that almost started Amelia running from the corridor on the spot.

“- in rather distressing condition,” Dumbledore said quietly. For a moment the blue eyes were very cold beneath the half-moon glasses. “Will any of you speak to me of the consequences of their actions?”

“
I
did not -” Amelia began.

“I know,” said the old wizard. “My apologies, Amelia.” He sighed. “Some of the more recent prisoners had scraps of their magic left, when I looked upon them, but I sensed no uneaten power; the strongest had only as much magic left as a first-year child. I heard Fawkes scream in distress many times, but never challenge. It seems you shall have to continue your search; they can hide well enough to escape my mere glance.”

When Harry finished his first Transfiguration, he sat up, pulled back the blanket that had covered him, cast a quick
Lumos,
glanced at his watch, and was shocked to see that nearly an hour and thirty minutes had passed. How much of that time had gone by since someone had opened the door and then closed it again - Harry hadn’t been looking in that direction, of course - that, Harry couldn’t guess.

“My Lord…?” whispered Bellatrix’s voice, soft and very tentative.

“You may speak now,” Harry said. He’d told her to remain silent while he worked.

“That was Dumbledore who looked upon us.”

Pause.

“Interesting,” Harry said neutrally. He was glad he had not noticed this at the time. That sounded like a
rather close shave
.

Harry said a word to his pouch, and began drawing forth the magical device that he would mate to the product of his hour’s labor. Then, when that was drawn forth, another word brought forth a tube of industrial-strength glue; before using it, Harry cast the Bubble-Head Charm on himself and Bellatrix, and had Bellatrix cast the same Charm on the snake, so that the glue fumes in the enclosed cell would not harm them.

When the glue had begun to set, binding technology to magic, Harry laid it down upon the bed, and sat down on the floor, resting his magic and will for a moment before essaying the next Transfiguration.

“My Lord…” Bellatrix said hesitantly.

“Yes?” said the dry voice.

“What is that device you made?”

Harry thought rapidly. It seemed like a good chance to check his plans with her, under the guise of leading questions.

“Consider, my dear Bella,” said Harry smoothly. “How difficult is it for a powerful wizard to cut the walls of Azkaban?”

There was a pause, and then Bellatrix’s voice came, slow and puzzled, “Not difficult at all, my Lord…?”

“Indeed,” said the dry, high voice of Bella’s master. “Suppose one were to do this, and fly through the hole on a broomstick, and soar up and away. Rescuing a prisoner from Azkaban would seem easy then, would it not?”

“But my Lord…” said Bella. “The Aurors would - they have their own broomsticks, my Lord, fast ones -”

Harry listened, it was as he had thought. The Dark Lord replied, again in tones of smoothly Socratic inquiry, and Bellatrix asked a further question, which Harry had not expected, but Harry’s own counterquestion showed that it should not matter in the end. And in response to Bellatrix’s last question, the Dark Lord only smiled, and said that it was time for him to resume his work.

And then Harry got up from the floor of the cell, went to the far end of the cells, and touched his wand to the hard surface of the wall - the wall of Azkaban, the solid metal that separated them from direct exposure to the Dementors’ pit.

And Harry began a partial Transfiguration.

This spell would go faster, Harry hoped. He’d spent hours and hours practicing the unique magic, which had made it routine, not much more difficult for him than ordinary Transfiguration. The shape he was changing had not all that much total volume, the Transfigured shape might be tall and wide and long, but it was very thin. Half a millimeter, Harry had thought, would be enough, considering the perfect smoothness…

On the long bench that served as a prison bed, where Harry had set down the Transfigured technological device and the mated magic item for the glue to dry, tiny letters in golden script gleamed on the Muggle artifact. Harry hadn’t really
planned
for them to be there, but they’d kept running through the back of his mind, and so seemed to have become part of the Transfigured form.

There were many different things Harry could have said before using this particular triumph of technological ingenuity. Any number of things that would be, in one sense or another, appropriate. Or at least things that Harry
could
have said,
would
have said, if Bellatrix had not been there.

But there was only one thing to say, that Harry would only get the chance to say just this once, and probably never get a better chance to say ever again. (Or
think,
anyway, if he couldn’t say it.) He hadn’t seen the actual movie, but he’d seen a preview, and for some reason the phrase had stuck in his mind.

The tiny golden letters upon the Muggle device said,

All right, you primitive screwheads! Listen up!

A/N: A movie trailer for
Army of Darkness,
resembling the one Harry saw, is THV1KkPXIxQ on YouTube.

The key quote is as follows, spoken by a man of modern times to listeners from the Middle Ages:

“All right you primitive screwheads! Listen up! You see this? This… is my
boomstick!
”

In darkness absolute, a boy stood holding his wand to the solid metal wall of Azkaban, essaying a magic that only three other people in the world would have believed possible, and that none save he alone could wield.

Of course a powerful wizard could’ve cut through the wall in seconds, with a gesture and a word.

For an average adult it might have been a matter of a few minutes’ work, and afterward they would have been winded.

But to accomplish the same end as a first-year Hogwarts student, you had to be
efficient.

Luckily - well, not
luckily
, luck had nothing to do with it -
conscientiously
, Harry had practiced Transfiguration for an extra hour every day, to the point where he was ahead of even Hermione in that one class; he’d practiced partial Transfiguration to the point where his thoughts had begun taking the true universe for granted, so that it required only slightly more effort to keep its timeless quantum nature in mind, even as he kept a firm mental separation between the concept of Form and the concept of substance.

And the
problem
with that art having become so routine…

…was that Harry could think about other things while he was doing it.

Somehow his thoughts had managed to not go there, to not confront the obvious, until he was faced with the prospect of
really actually doing it in just a few minutes
.

What Harry was about to do…

…was dangerous.

Really dangerous.

Someone-might-actually-genuinely-get-killed dangerous.

Facing down twelve Dementors without a Patronus Charm had been
scary,
but merely scary. Harry could have cast the Patronus Charm,
would
have cast it as soon as he thought he was in danger of not being able to do so, as soon as he felt his resistance beginning to fail. And even if that hadn’t worked… even so, unless the Dementors had been instructed to Kiss anyone they found, failure shouldn’t have been
fatal.

This was different.

The Transfigured Muggle device could explode and kill them.

The interface between the technology and the magic could fail in any number of ways and kill them.

The Aurors could get in a lucky shot.

It was just, well…

Seriously
dangerous.

Harry had caught his mind trying to argue itself into believing that it was safe.

And sure, the whole thing
could
work, but…

But even leaving out that rationalists weren’t ever allowed to argue themselves into things, Harry knew he couldn’t possibly have argued himself into estimating less than a 20% probability of dying.

Lose,
said Hufflepuff.

Lose
, said the voice of Professor Quirrell in his mind.

Lose,
said his mental model of Hermione and Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick and Neville Longbottom and, well, basically everyone Harry knew except for Fred and George, who would have gone for it in a hot second.

He should just go find Dumbledore and turn himself in. He should, he really really should, it was the only
sane
thing to do at this point.

And if it’d been only Harry on the mission, only his own life that’d been at stake, he would have; he surely would have.

The part that was almost causing him to lose his concentration on the partial Transfiguration he was performing, the part that was threatening to open him to the Dementors…

…was Professor Quirrell, still unconscious, still a snake.

If Professor Quirrell went to Azkaban for his part in the escape, he would die. He probably wouldn’t last even a week. He was that sensitive.

It was that simple.

If Harry
lost
here…

He lost Professor Quirrell.

Even though he’s probably evil,
said the Hufflepuff part of him quietly.
Even so?

It wasn’t a decision that Harry had made in any conscious way. He just couldn’t do it. Losing was for House points, not
people.

If you think your own life is valuable enough that you’re not willing to take on an eighty percent probability of dying in order to protect all the prisoners in Azkaban,
his Slytherin side observed,
there’s no way you can justify taking a twenty percent risk to your life to save Bellatrix and Professor Quirrell. The math doesn’t add up, you can’t be assigning consistent utilities over outcomes here.

The logical side of him noted that Slytherin had just won the argument.

Harry kept the Form in his mind, kept on casting the spell. He could always just abort the mission when he was
done
with the Transfiguration, he didn’t want to lose the effort he’d already invested.

And then Harry thought of something else that suddenly made it very hard to keep the magic going, very hard to keep up his resistance to the Dementors.

What if the portkey doesn’t take us where Professor Quirrell said it did?

It was obvious in retrospect the moment he thought about it.

Even if the planned escape went completely right, even if the Muggle device worked and
didn’t
explode and
didn’t
interact badly with the mated magic item, even if the Aurors didn’t get in a lucky shot, even if Harry made it far enough away from Azkaban to use the portkey…

…there might not be a psychiatric healer at the end of it.

That was something Harry had believed when he’d trusted Professor Quirrell, and he’d forgotten to re-evaluate it after Professor Quirrell was no longer to be trusted.

You can’t do this,
said Hufflepuff.
At this point we’re talking mere stupidity.

Cold seemed to spread through the room, but Harry kept the Transfiguration going, even as his resistance against the Dementors faltered.

I can’t lose Professor Quirrell.

He tried to kill a police officer,
said Hufflepuff.
You already lost him, in that moment. Bellatrix is probably just what everyone thinks she is. Just take your Cloak back, go find Dumbledore and tell him you were tricked.

No,
thought Harry desperately,
not without talking to Professor Quirrell, there might be an explanation, I don’t know, maybe he was standing far enough away from my Patronus that the Dementors got to him… I don’t understand, it doesn’t make sense on any hypothesis, why he would do that… I can’t just…

Harry turned his mind away from that chain of thought before it completely broke his resistance to the fear, because he couldn’t think of feeding Professor Quirrell to Dementors while staying resolved against Death, it was a cognitive impossibility.

Your reasoning is artificially impaired,
observed the logical part of him calmly,
find a way to unimpair it.

All right, let’s just generate alternatives,
Harry thought.
Not choose, not weigh, certainly not commit… just think about what else I might be able to do besides the original plan.

And Harry went on cutting the hole in the wall. He was using partial Transfiguration on a thin cylindrical shell of metal, two meters in diameter and half a millimeter thick, running all the way through the wall. He was Transfiguring that half-millimeter thickness of metal into motor oil. Motor oil was a liquid and you weren’t to Transfigure liquids because they might evaporate, but he and Bellatrix and the snake all had Bubble-Head Charms. And Harry would cast Finite on the oil immediately after, dispelling his own Transfiguration…

…as soon as the separated and lubricated hunk of metal slid out of the wall and onto the floor of their cell, he’d slanted it so gravity would pull it in, once the Transfiguration was done.

If Harry and Bellatrix
didn’t
exit on his broomstick through the resulting hole in the wall…

Harry’s brain suggested that he could try to Transfigure a surface cover over the hole in the wall, leaving a space for Bellatrix and Professor Quirrell to hide in, wearing the Cloak, while Harry turned himself in. And Professor Quirrell would eventually wake up, and he and Bellatrix could try to figure out how to exit Azkaban on their own.

It was, first of all, a dumb idea, and second, there would still be a huge hunk of metal on the floor of the cell, which would give it away.

And then Harry’s brain saw the obvious.

Let Bellatrix and Professor Quirrell use the escape route you invented. You stay behind, and turn yourself in.

Bellatrix and Professor Quirrell were the ones whose lives were at stake.

They were gaining, not losing, from taking the risk.

And there was no reason, no sane reason at all, for Harry to go with them.

A calm came over Harry as he thought it, the cold and darkness that had been wavering around the fringes of his mind retreated. Yes, that was it, that was the creative outside-the-box route, that was the hidden third alternative. The falseness of the dilemma was obvious in retrospect. If Harry turned himself in, he
didn’t
have to turn in Bellatrix and Professor Quirrell. If Bellatrix and Professor Quirrell took a dangerous escape route, Harry
didn’t
need to go with them.

Harry didn’t even need to face the embarrassment of admitting he’d been tricked, if he ordered Bellatrix to remove the memory. Everyone would just assume he’d been kidnapped, including Harry himself. Admittedly, there was no plausible reason why the Dark Lord would ever ask Bellatrix to do that; but Harry could simply smile and tell Bellatrix she wasn’t allowed to know, and that would be that…

Her Auror team had gotten around three-quarters of the way down Azkaban, as had the other two teams on the other two spirals. Amelia was feeling tenser already, though she was betting on the criminals hiding on the second-to-lowest floor, part of her wished Dumbledore had thought to check that specific floor more carefully and part of her was glad he hadn’t.

And then there was a distant sound, like a tiny ‘tink’ noise coming from far away. Like a very loud sound coming from the second-to-lowest floor, say.

Amelia looked at Dumbledore before she realized, before she managed to stop herself.

The old wizard shrugged, gave her a small smile, said, “Since you asked it, Amelia,” and went off yet again.

“
Finite Incantatem,”
Harry said to the oil coating the giant chunk of metal on the floor. He hardly heard himself speak, his ears were still ringing from the gigantic thud of the solid metal sliding out of the wall and falling. (He should have put up a Quieting Charm, in retrospect, though that wouldn’t have stopped the noise from spreading through the solid metal floor.) And then Harry said it again, “
Finite Incantatem
” to the oil coating the two-meter hole in the wall, spreading the effect wide; it was his own magic Harry was canceling, which made the spell almost effortless. Harry was feeling a bit tired now, but that was the last use of magic he would need. He hadn’t even
needed
to do it, really, but Harry didn’t want to leave Transfigured liquid lying around, and he didn’t want to betray the secret of partial Transfiguration either.

It seemed very…
inviting,
that two-meter hole leading to freedom.

The light from outside coming in… wasn’t exactly the Sun shining on his face, but it was brighter than anything of Azkaban’s interior.

Harry
was
tempted to just go with, just hop on the broomstick with Bellatrix and the snake. Chances were that they
would
get out safely. And if they
did
get out safely, and Harry came with, then he and Professor Quirrell could go back in time and look perfectly innocent, everything could go back to normal.

If Harry stayed behind and turned himself in… then even if everyone assumed Harry had been a hostage, assumed Harry had lied to Professor McGonagall’s Patronus at wandpoint… even if Harry himself got off lightly, well…

It wasn’t likely that the Defense Professor would go on teaching at Hogwarts.

Professor Quirrell would have reached the predestined end of his career, in February of the school year.

And yes, Professor McGonagall would kill Harry, and yes, it would be slow and painful.

But staying behind was the sensible, safe,
sane
thing to do, and Harry was feeling more relaxed than regretful.

Harry turned to Bellatrix; he opened his mouth to instruct her a final time -

And there was a hiss, a weak hiss, a hiss that sounded slow and confused, and the hiss said,

“What wass… that noisse?
”

Through the corridor the old wizard strode. He came to a metal door and opened it, already knowing from memory that the cells within were empty.

Seven mighty and discerning incantations the wizard spoke then, before he moved on; it would be little enough exertion in total, with so few cells left to check.

“
Teacher,
” Harry hissed. So many emotions bubbling up in him, all at once. He knew, though he could not see, that the green snake around Bellatrix’s shoulders, was slowly lifting its head to look around. ”
Are you… all right, teacher?
”

“
Teacher?
” came the weak, confused hiss. ”
Where iss thiss?

“
Prisson,
” Harry hissed, ”
the prisson with life-eaterss, we were to resscue a woman, you and I. You tried to sslay the protector man, I blocked your killing cursse, there was a ressonance between uss… you fell unconssciouss, I had to defeat the protector man mysself… my guardian Charm wass disspelled, the life-eaterss could tell the protectorss that the woman had esscaped. There iss ssomeone here who can ssensse my guardian Charm, probably the sschoolmasster… so had to disspell my guardian Charm, find different way to hide you and the woman from life-eaterss without guardian Charm, learn to protect mysself without guardian Charm, sscare off life-eaterss without guardian Charm, then devisse new esscape plan for you and the woman, and finally, cut hole in thick metal wall of prisson even though I am only firsst-year sstudent. No time to explain, you musst go now. If we never meet again, teacher, then I was glad to know you for a time, even though you are probably evil. It iss good to have the chance to ssay thiss much: Goodbye.
”