Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality

by Eliezer Yudkowsky

  Everyone else backed away.

  Harry swallowed. He knew in broad outline what he wanted to do, but it had to be done in such a way that no one understood what he'd done -

  "All right," Harry said loudly. "And now..." He took a deep breath and raised one hand, fingers ready to snap. There were gasps from anyone who'd heard about the pies, which was practically everyone. "I call upon the insanity of Hogwarts! Happy happy boom boom swamp swamp swamp!" And Harry snapped his fingers.

  A lot of people flinched.

  And nothing happened.

  Harry let the silence stretch on for a while, developing, until...

  "Um," someone said. "Is that it?"

  Harry looked at the boy who'd spoken. "Look in front of you. You see that patch of ground that looks barren, without any grass on it?"

  "Um, yeah," said the boy, a Gryffindor (Dean something?).

  "Dig it up."

  Now Harry was getting a lot of strange looks.

  "Er, why?" said Dean something.

  "Just do it," said Terry Boot in a weary voice. "No point asking why, trust me on this one."

  Dean something kneeled down and began to scoop away dirt.

  After a minute or so, Dean stood up again. "There's nothing there," Dean said.

  Huh. Harry had been planning to go back in time and bury a treasure map that would lead to another treasure map that would lead to Neville's Remembrall which he would put there after getting it back from Mr. Goyle...

  Then Harry realised there was a much simpler way which didn't threaten the secret of Time-Turners quite as much.

  "Thanks, Dean!" Harry said loudly. "Ernie, would you look around on the ground where Neville fell and see if you can find Neville's Remembrall?"

  People looked even more confused.

  "Just do it," said Terry Boot. "He'll keep trying until something works, and the scary thing is that -"

  "Merlin!" gasped Ernie. He was holding up Neville's Remembrall. "It's here! Right where he fell!"

  "What?" cried Mr. Goyle. He looked down and saw...

  ...that he was still holding Neville's Remembrall.

  There was a rather long pause.

  "Er," said Dean something, "that's not possible, is it?"

  "It's a plot hole," said Harry. "I made myself weird enough to distract the universe for a moment and it forgot that Goyle had already picked up the Remembrall."

  "No, wait, I mean, that's totally not possible -"

  "Excuse me, are we all standing around here waiting to go flying on broomsticks? Yes we are. So shut up. Anyway, once I get my hands on Neville's Remembrall, the contest is over and Gregory Goyle has to relinquish all claim to the Remembrall he's holding and give it to me. Those were the terms, remember?" Harry stretched out a hand and beckoned Ernie. "Just roll it over here, since no one's supposed to get close to me, okay?"

  "Hold on!" shouted a Slytherin - Blaise Zabini, Harry wasn't likely to forget that name. "How do we know that's Neville's Remembrall? You could've just dropped another Remembrall there -"

  "The Slytherin is strong with this one," Harry said, smiling. "But you have my word that the one Ernie's holding is Neville's. No comment about the one Gregory Goyle's holding."

  Zabini spun to Draco. "Malfoy! You're not just going to let him get away with that -"

  "Shut up, you," rumbled Mr. Crabbe, standing behind Draco. "Mr. Malfoy doesn't need you to tell him what to do!"

  Good minion.

  "My bet was with Draco, of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Malfoy," Harry said. "Not with you, Zabini. I have done what Mr. Malfoy said he'd like to see me do, and as for the judgment of the bet, I leave that up to Mr. Malfoy." Harry inclined his head towards Draco and raised his eyebrows slightly. That ought to allow Draco to save enough face.

  There was a pause.

  "You promise that actually is Neville's Remembrall?" Draco said.

  "Yes," Harry said. "That's the one that'll go back to Neville and it was his originally. And the one Gregory Goyle's holding goes to me."

  Draco nodded, looking decisive. "I won't question the word of the Noble House of Potter, then, no matter how strange that all was. And the Noble and Most Ancient House of Malfoy keeps its word as well. Mr. Goyle, give that to Mr. Potter -"

  "Hey!" Zabini said. "He hasn't won yet, he hasn't got his hands on -"

  "Catch, Harry!" said Ernie, and he tossed the Remembrall.

  Harry easily snapped the Remembrall out of the air, he'd always had good reflexes that way. "There," said Harry, "I win..."

  Harry trailed off. All conversation stopped.

  The Remembrall was glowing bright red in his hand, blazing like a miniature sun that cast shadows on the ground in broad daylight.

  Thursday.

  If you wanted to be specific, 5:09pm on Thursday afternoon, in Professor McGonagall's office, after flying classes. (With an extra hour for Harry slipped in between.)

  Professor McGonagall sitting on her stool. Harry in the hot seat in front of her desk.

  "Professor," Harry said tightly, "Slytherin was pointing their wands at Hufflepuff, Gryffindor was pointing their wands at Slytherin, some idiot called wands out in Ravenclaw, and I had maybe five seconds to keep the whole thing from blowing sky-high! It was all I could think of!"

  Professor McGonagall's face was pinched and angry. "You are not to use the Time-Turner in that fashion, Mr. Potter! Is the concept of secrecy not something that you understand?"

  "They don't know how I did it! They just think I can do really weird things by snapping my fingers! I've done other weird stuff that can't be done with Time-Turners even, and I'll do more stuff like that, and this case won't even stand out! I had to do it, Professor!"

  "You did not have to do it!" snapped Professor McGonagall. "All you needed to do was get this anonymous Slytherin back on the ground and the wands put away! You could have challenged him to a game of Exploding Snap but no, you had to use the Time-Turner in a flagrant and unnecessary manner!"

  "It was all I could think of! I don't even know what Exploding Snap is, they wouldn't have accepted a game of chess and if I'd picked arm-wresting I would have lost!"

  "Then you should have picked wrestling!"

  Harry blinked. "But then I'd have lost -"

  Harry stopped.

  Professor McGonagall was looking very angry.

  "I'm sorry, Professor McGonagall," Harry said in a small voice. "I honestly didn't think of that, and you're right, I should have, it would have been brilliant if I had, but I just didn't think of that at all..."

  Harry's voice trailed off. It was suddenly apparent to him that he'd had a lot of other options. He could have asked Draco to suggest something, he could have asked the crowd... his use of the Time-Turner had been flagrant and unnecessary. There had been a giant space of possibilities, why had he picked that one?

  Because he'd seen a way to win. Win possession of an unimportant trinket that the teachers would've taken back from Mr. Goyle anyway.

  Intent to win. That was what had gotten him.

  "I'm sorry," Harry said again. "For my pride and my stupidity."

  Professor McGonagall wiped a hand across her forehead. Some of her anger seemed to dissipate. But her voice still came out very hard. "One more display like that, Mr. Potter, and you will be returning that Time-Turner. Do I make myself very clear?"

  "Yes," Harry said. "I understand and I'm sorry."

  "Then, Mr. Potter, you will be allowed to retain the Time-Turner for now. And considering the size of the debacle you did, in fact, avert, I will not deduct any points from Ravenclaw."

  Plus you couldn't explain why you'd deducted the points. But Harry wasn't dumb enough to say that out loud.

  "More importantly, why did the Remembrall go off like that?" Harry said. "Does it mean I've been Obliviated?"

  "That puzzles me as well," Professor McGonagall said slowly. "If it were that simple, I would think that the courts would use Remembralls, and they do not. I shall look into
it, Mr. Potter." She sighed. "You can go now."

  Harry started to get up from his chair, then halted. "Um, sorry, I did have something else I wanted to tell you -"

  You could hardly see the flinch. "What is it, Mr. Potter?"

  "It's about Professor Quirrell -"

  "I'm sure, Mr. Potter, that it is nothing of importance." Professor McGonagall spoke the words in a great rush. "Surely you heard the Headmaster tell the students that you were not to bother us with any unimportant complaints about the Defence Professor?"

  Harry was rather confused. "But this could be important, yesterday I got this sudden sense of doom when -"

  "Mr. Potter! I have a sense of doom as well! And my sense of doom is suggesting that you must not finish that sentence!"

  Harry's mouth gaped open. Professor McGonagall had succeeded; Harry was speechless.

  "Mr. Potter," said Professor McGonagall, "if you have discovered anything that seems interesting about Professor Quirrell, please feel free not to share it with me or anyone else. Now I think you've taken up enough of my valuable time -"

  "This isn't like you!" Harry burst out. "I'm sorry but that just seems unbelievably irresponsible! From what I've heard there's some kind of jinx on the Defence position, and if you already know something's going to go wrong, I'd think you'd all be on your toes -"

  "Go wrong, Mr. Potter? I certainly hope not." Professor McGonagall's face was expressionless. "After Professor Blake was caught in a closet with no fewer than three fifth-year Slytherins last February, and a year before that, Professor Summers failed so completely as an educator that her students thought a boggart was a kind of furniture, it would be catastrophic if some problem with the extraordinarily competent Professor Quirrell came to my attention now, and I daresay most of our students would fail their Defence O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s."

  "I see," Harry said slowly, taking it all in. "So in other words, whatever's wrong with Professor Quirrell, you desperately don't want to know about it until the end of the school year. And since it's currently September, he could assassinate the Prime Minister on live television and get away with it so far as you're concerned."

  Professor McGonagall gazed at him unblinkingly. "I am certain that I could never be heard endorsing such a statement, Mr. Potter. At Hogwarts we strive to be proactive with respect to anything that threatens the educational attainment of our students."

  Such as first-year Ravenclaws who can't keep their mouths shut. "I believe I understand you completely, Professor McGonagall."

  "Oh, I doubt that, Mr. Potter. I doubt that very much." Professor McGonagall leaned forward, her face tightening again. "Since you and I have already discussed matters far more sensitive than these, I shall speak frankly. You, and you alone, have reported this mysterious sense of doom. You, and you alone, are a chaos magnet the likes of which I have never seen. After our little shopping trip to Diagon Alley, and then the Sorting Hat, and then today's little episode, I can well foresee that I am fated to sit in the Headmaster's office and hear some hilarious tale about Professor Quirrell in which you and you alone play a starring role, after which there will be no choice but to fire him. I am already resigned to it, Mr. Potter. And if this sad event takes place any earlier than the Ides of May, I will string you up by the gates of Hogwarts with your own intestines and pour fire beetles into your nose. Now do you understand me completely?"

  Harry nodded, his eyes very wide. Then, after a second, "What do I get if I can make it happen on the last day of the school year?"

  "Get out of my office!"

  Thursday.

  There must have been something about Thursdays in Hogwarts.

  It was 5:32pm on Thursday afternoon, and Harry was standing next to Professor Flitwick, in front of the great stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the Headmaster's office.

  No sooner had he made it back from Professor McGonagall's office to the Ravenclaw study rooms than one of the students told him to report to Professor Flitwick's office, and there Harry had learned that Dumbledore wanted to speak to him.

  Harry, feeling rather apprehensive, had asked Professor Flitwick if the Headmaster had said what this was about.

  Professor Flitwick had shrugged in a helpless sort of way.

  Apparently Dumbledore had said that Harry was far too young to invoke the words of power and madness.

  Happy happy boom boom swamp swamp swamp? Harry had thought but not said aloud.

  "Please don't worry too much, Mr. Potter," squeaked Professor Flitwick from somewhere around Harry's shoulder level. (Harry was grateful for Professor Flitwick's gigantic puffy beard, it was hard getting used to a Professor who was not only shorter than him but spoke in a higher-pitched voice.) "Headmaster Dumbledore may seem a little odd, or a lot odd, or even extremely odd, but he has never hurt a student in the slightest, and I don't believe he ever will." Professor Flitwick gave Harry an encouraging smile. "Just keep that in mind at all times and you'll be sure not to panic!"

  This was not helping.

  "Good luck!" squeaked Professor Flitwick, and leaned over to the gargoyle and said something that Harry somehow failed to hear at all. (Of course, the password wouldn't be much good if you could hear someone saying it.) And the stone gargoyle walked aside with a very natural and ordinary movement that Harry found rather shocking, since the gargoyle still looked like solid, immovable stone the whole time.

  Behind the gargoyle was a set of slowly revolving spiral stairs. There was something disturbingly hypnotic about it, and even more disturbing was that revolving the spiral ought not to take you anywhere.

  "Up you go!" squeaked Flitwick.

  Harry rather nervously stepped onto the spiral, and found himself, for some reason that his brain couldn't seem to visualise at all, moving upwards.

  The gargoyle thudded back into place behind him, and the spiral stairs kept turning and Harry kept being higher up, and after a rather dizzying time, Harry found himself in front of an oak door with a brass griffin knocker.

  Harry reached out and turned the doorknob.

  The door swung open.

  And Harry saw the most interesting room he'd ever seen in his life.

  There were tiny metal mechanisms that whirred or ticked or slowly changed shape or emitted little puffs of smoke. There were dozens of mysterious fluids in dozens of oddly shaped containers, all bubbling, boiling, oozing, changing color, or forming into interesting shapes that vanished half a second after you saw them. There were things that looked like clocks with many hands, inscribed with numbers or in unrecognisable languages. There was a bracelet bearing a lenticular crystal that sparkled with a thousand colors, and a bird perched atop a golden platform, and a wooden cup filled with what looked like blood, and a statue of a falcon encrusted in black enamel. The wall was all hung with pictures of people sleeping, and the Sorting Hat was casually poised on a hatrack that was also holding two umbrellas and three red slippers for left feet.

  In the midst of all the chaos was a clean black oaken desk. Before the desk was an oaken stool. And behind the desk was a well-cushioned throne containing Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, who was adorned with a long silver beard, a hat like a squashed giant mushroom, and what looked to Muggle eyes like three layers of bright pink pyjamas.

  Dumbledore was smiling, and his bright eyes twinkled with a mad intensity.

  With some trepidation, Harry seated himself in front of the desk. The door swung shut behind him with a loud thunk.

  "Hello, Harry," said Dumbledore.

  "Hello, Headmaster," Harry replied. So they were on a first-name basis? Would Dumbledore now say to call him -

  "Please, Harry!" said Dumbledore. "Headmaster sounds so formal. Just call me Heh for short."

  "I'll be sure to, Heh," said Harry.

  There was a slight pause.

  "Do you know," said Dumbledore, "you're the first person who's ever taken me up on that?"

  "Ah..." Harry said. He tried to control his voice despite the sudden sin
king feeling in his stomach. "I'm sorry, I, ah, Headmaster, you told me to do it so I did -"

  "Heh, please!" said Dumbledore cheerfully. "And there's no call to be so worried, I won't launch you out a window just because you make one mistake. I'll give you plenty of warnings first, if you're doing something wrong! Besides, what matters isn't how people talk to you, it's what they think of you."

  He's never hurt a student, just keep remembering that and you'll be sure not to panic.

  Dumbledore drew forth a small metal case and flipped it open, showing some small yellow lumps. "Sherbet lemon?" said the Headmaster.

  "Er, no thank you, Heh," said Harry. Does slipping a student LSD count as hurting them, or does that fall into the category of harmless fun? "You, um, said something about my being too young to invoke the words of power and madness?"

  "That you most certainly are!" Dumbledore said. "Thankfully the Words of Power and Madness were lost seven centuries ago and no one has the slightest idea what they are anymore. It was just a little remark."

  "Ah..." Harry said. He was aware that his mouth was hanging open. "Why did you call me here, then?"

  "Why?" Dumbledore repeated. "Ah, Harry, if I went around all day asking why I do things, I'd never have time to get a single thing done! I'm quite a busy person, you know."

  Harry nodded, smiling. "Yes, it was a very impressive list. Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. Sorry to ask but I was wondering, is it possible to get more than six hours if you use more than one Time-Turner? Because it's pretty impressive if you're doing all that on just thirty hours a day."

  There was another slight pause, during which Harry went on smiling. He was a little apprehensive, actually a lot apprehensive, but once it had become clear that Dumbledore was deliberately messing with him, something within him absolutely refused to sit and take it like a defenceless lump.

  "I'm afraid Time doesn't like being stretched out too much," said Dumbledore after the slight pause, "and yet we ourselves seem to be a little too large for it, and so it's a constant struggle to fit our lives into Time."