Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality

by Eliezer Yudkowsky

  And from that day onward, no matter what Hermione tried to tell anyone, it would be an accepted legend of Hogwarts that Harry Potter could make absolutely anything happen by snapping his fingers.

  Chapter 19: Delayed Gratification

  Blood for the blood god! Skulls for J. K. Rowling!

  Draco had a stern expression on his face, and his green-trimmed robes somehow looked far more formal, serious, and well-turned-out than the same exact robes as worn by the two boys behind him.

  "Talk," said Draco.

  "Yeah! Talk!"

  "You heard da boss! Talk!"

  "You two, on the other hand, shut up."

  The last session of classes on Friday was about to start, in that vast auditorium where all four Houses learned Defense, er, Battle Magic.

  The last session of classes on Friday.

  Harry was hoping that this class would be non-stressful, and that the brilliant Professor Quirrell would realize this was perhaps not the best time to single out Harry for anything. Harry had recovered a little, but...

  ...but just in case, it was probably best to get in a bit of stress relief first.

  Harry leaned back in his chair and bestowed a look of great solemnity upon Draco and his minions.

  "You ask, what is our aim?" Harry declaimed. "I can answer in one word. It is victory. Victory at all costs - Victory in spite of all terrors - Victory, however long and hard the road may be, for without victory there is no -"

  "Talk about Snape," Draco hissed. "What did you do?"

  Harry wiped away the fake solemnity and gave Draco a more serious look.

  "You saw it," Harry said. "Everyone saw it. I snapped my fingers."

  "Harry! Stop teasing me!"

  So he'd been promoted to Harry now. Interesting. And in fact Harry was fairly sure that he was meant to notice that, and feel bad if he didn't respond somehow...

  Harry tapped his ears and gave a significant glance at the minions.

  "They won't talk," said Draco.

  "Draco," Harry said, "I'm going to be one hundred percent honest here and say that yesterday I was not particularly impressed with Mr. Goyle's cunning."

  Mr. Goyle winced.

  "Me neither," said Draco. "I explained to him that I ended up owing you a favor because of it." (Mr. Goyle winced again.) "But there is a big difference between that sort of mistake and being indiscreet. That really is something they've been trained from childhood to understand."

  "All right then," Harry said. He lowered his voice, even though the background noises had gone to blurs in Draco's presence. "I deduced one of Severus's secrets and did a bit of blackmail."

  Draco's expression hardened. "Good, now tell me something you didn't tell in strict confidence to the idiots in Gryffindor, meaning that was the story you wanted to get all over the school."

  Harry grinned involuntarily and he knew that Draco had caught it.

  "What is Severus saying?" Harry said.

  "That he hadn't realized how sensitive the feelings of young children were," Draco said. "Even in Slytherin! Even to me!"

  "Are you sure," Harry said, "that you want to know something your Head of House would rather you not know?"

  "Yes," Draco said without hesitation.

  Interesting. "Then you really are going to send your minions away first, because I'm not sure I can believe everything you believe about them."

  Draco nodded. "Okay."

  Mr. Crabbe and Mr. Goyle looked very unhappy. "Boss -" said Mr. Crabbe.

  "You've given Mr. Potter no reason to trust you," Draco said. "Go!"

  They left.

  "In particular," Harry said, lowering his voice even further, "I'm not entirely sure that they wouldn't just report what I said to Lucius."

  "Father wouldn't do that!" Draco said, looking genuinely aghast. "They're mine!"

  "I'm sorry, Draco," Harry said. "I'm just not sure I can believe everything you believe about your father. Imagine it was your secret and me telling you my father wouldn't do that."

  Draco nodded slowly. "You're right. I'm sorry, Harry. It was wrong of me to ask it of you."

  How did I get this promoted? Shouldn't he hate me now? Harry had the feeling he was looking at something exploitable... he just wished his brain wasn't so exhausted. Ordinarily he would have loved to try his hand at some complicated plotting.

  "Anyway," Harry said. "Trade. I tell you a fact that isn't on the grapevine, and does not go on the grapevine, and in particular does not go to your father, and in return you tell me what you and Slytherin think about the whole business."

  "Deal!"

  Now to make this as vague as possible... something that wouldn't hurt much even if it did get out... "What I said was true. I did discover one of Severus's secrets, and I did do some blackmail. But Severus wasn't the only person involved."

  "I knew it!" Draco said exultantly.

  Harry's stomach sank. He had apparently said something very significant and he did not know why. This was not a good sign.

  "All right," Draco said. He was grinning widely now. "So here's what the reaction was like in Slytherin. First, all the idiots were like, 'We hate Harry Potter! Let's go beat him up!'"

  Harry choked. "What is wrong with the Sorting Hat? That's not Slytherin, it's Gryffindor -"

  "Not all children are prodigies," Draco said, though he was smiling in a sort of nasty-conspiratorial way, as though to suggest that he privately agreed with Harry's opinion. "And it took around fifteen seconds for someone to explain to them why this might not be such a favor to Snape, so you're fine. Anyway, after that was the second wave of idiots, the ones who were saying, 'Looks like Harry Potter was just another do-gooder after all.'"

  "And then?" Harry said, smiling even though he had no idea why that was stupid.

  "And then the actual smart people started talking. It's obvious that you found a way to put a lot of pressure on Snape. And while that could be more than one thing... the obvious next thought is that it has something to do with Snape's unknown hold over Dumbledore. Am I right?"

  "No comment," Harry said. At least his brain was processing this part correctly. House Slytherin had wondered why Severus wasn't getting fired. And they'd concluded that Severus was blackmailing Dumbledore. Could that actually be true...? But Dumbledore hadn't seemed to act like it...

  Draco went on talking. "And the next thing the smart people pointed out was that if you could put enough pressure on Snape to make him leave half of Hogwarts alone, that meant you probably had enough power to get rid of him entirely, if you wanted. What you did to him was a humiliation, just the same way he tried to humiliate you - but you left us our Head of House."

  Harry made his smile wider.

  "And then the really smart people," Draco said, his face now serious, "went off and had a little discussion by themselves, and someone pointed out that it would be a very stupid thing to leave an enemy around like that. If you could break his hold over Dumbledore, the obvious thing would be to just do it. Dumbledore would kick Snape out of Hogwarts and maybe even have him killed, he'd be very grateful to you, and you wouldn't have to worry about Snape sneaking into your dorm room at night with interesting potions."

  Harry's face was now neutral. He had not thought of that and he really, really should have. "And from this you concluded...?"

  "Snape's hold was some secret of Dumbledore's and you've got the secret!" Draco was looking exultant. "It can't be powerful enough to destroy Dumbledore entirely, or Snape would have used it by now. Snape refuses to use his hold for anything except staying king of Slytherin House in Hogwarts, and he doesn't always get what he wants even then, so it must have limits. But it's got to be really good! Father's been trying to get Snape to tell him for years!"

  "And," Harry said, "now Lucius thinks maybe I can tell him. Did you already get an owl -"

  "I will tonight," Draco said, and laughed. "It will say," his voice took on a different, more formal cadence, "My beloved son: I've already told you of Har
ry Potter's potential importance. As you have already realized, his importance has now become greater and more urgent. If you see any possible avenue of friendship or point of pressure with him, you must pursue it, and the full resources of Malfoy are at your disposal if needed."

  Gosh. "Well," Harry said, "not commenting on whether or not your whole complicated edifice of theory is true, let me just say that we are not quite such good friends as yet."

  "I know," Draco said. Then his face turned very serious, and his voice grew quiet even within the blur. "Harry, has it occurred to you that if you know something Dumbledore doesn't want known, Dumbledore might simply have you killed? And it would turn the Boy-Who-Lived from a potential competing leader into a valuable martyr, too."

  "No comment," Harry said yet again. He hadn't thought of that last part, either. Didn't seem to be Dumbledore's style... but...

  "Harry," Draco said, "you've obviously got incredible talent, but you've got no training and no mentors and you do stupid things sometimes and you really need an advisor who knows how to do this or you're going to get hurt!" Draco's face was fierce.

  "Ah," Harry said. "An advisor like Lucius?"

  "Like me!" said Draco. "I'll promise to keep your secrets from Father, from everyone, I'll just help you figure out whatever you want to do!"

  Wow.

  Harry saw that zombie-Quirrell was staggering in through the doors.

  "Class is about to start," said Harry. "I'll think about what you said, there's lots of times I do wish I had all your training, it's just I don't know how I can trust you so quickly -"

  "You shouldn't," Draco said, "it's too soon. See? I'll give you good advice even if it hurts me. But we should maybe hurry up and become closer friends."

  "I'm open to that," said Harry, who was already trying to figure out how to exploit it.

  "Another bit of advice," Draco said hurriedly as Quirrell slouched toward his desk, "right now everyone in Slytherin's wondering about you, so if you're courting us, which I think you are, you should do something that signals friendship to Slytherin. Soon, like today or tomorrow."

  "Letting Severus go on awarding extra House points to Slytherin wasn't enough?" No reason Harry couldn't take credit for it.

  Draco's eyes flickered with realization, then he said rapidly, "It's not the same, trust me, it's got to be something obvious. Push your mudblood rival Granger into a wall or something, everyone in Slytherin will know what that means -"

  "That is not how it works in Ravenclaw, Draco! If you have to push someone into a wall it means your brain is too weak to beat them the right way and everyone in Ravenclaw knows that -"

  The screen on Harry's desk flickered on, provoking a sudden wash of nostalgia for television and computers.

  "Ahem," said Professor Quirrell's voice, seeming to speak personally to Harry out of the screen. "Please take your seats."

  And the children were all seated and staring at the repeater screens on their desks, or looking down directly at the great white marble stage where Professor Quirrell stood, leaning on his desk atop the small dais of darker marble.

  "Today," said Professor Quirrell, "I had planned to teach you your first defensive spell, a small shield that was the ancestor of today's Protego. But on second thought I have changed today's lesson plan in the light of recent events."

  Professor Quirrell's gaze searched the rows of seats. Harry winced from where he was sitting, in the back row. He had a feeling he knew who was about to be called on.

  "Draco, of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Malfoy," said Professor Quirrell.

  Whew.

  "Yes, Professor?" said Draco. His voice was amplified, seeming to come from the repeater screen on Harry's desk, which showed Draco's face as he spoke. Then the screen shifted back to Professor Quirrell, who said:

  "Is it your ambition to become the next Dark Lord?"

  "That's an odd question, Professor," said Draco. "I mean, who'd be dumb enough to admit it?"

  A few students laughed, but not many.

  "Indeed," said Professor Quirrell. "So while there's no point in asking any of you, it would not surprise me in the slightest if there were a student or two in my classes who harbored ambitions of being the next Dark Lord. After all, I wanted to be the next Dark Lord when I was a young Slytherin."

  This time the laughter was much more widespread.

  "Well, it is the House of the ambitious, after all," Professor Quirrell said, smiling. "I didn't realize until later that what I really enjoyed was Battle Magic, and that my true ambition was to become a great fighting wizard and someday teach at Hogwarts. In any case, when I was thirteen years old, I read through the historical sections of the Hogwarts library, scrutinizing the lives and fates of past Dark Lords, and I made a list of all the mistakes that I would never make when I was a Dark Lord -"

  Harry giggled before he could stop himself.

  "Yes, Mr. Potter, very amusing. So, Mr. Potter, can you guess what was the very first item on that list?"

  Great. "Um... never use a complicated way of dealing with an enemy when you can just Abracadabra them?"

  "The term, Mr. Potter, is Avada Kedavra," Professor Quirrell's voice sounded a bit sharp for some reason, "and no, that was not on the list I made at age thirteen. Would you care to guess again?"

  "Ah... never brag to anyone about your evil master plan?"

  Professor Quirrell laughed. "Ah, now that was number two. My, Mr. Potter, have we been reading the same books?"

  There was more laughter, with an undertone of nervousness. Harry clenched his jaw tightly shut and said nothing. A denial would accomplish nothing.

  "But no. The first item was, 'I will not go around provoking strong, vicious enemies.' The history of the world would be very different if Mornelithe Falconsbane or Hitler had grasped that elementary point. Now if, Mr. Potter - just if by some chance you harbor an ambition similar to the one I held as a young Slytherin - even so, I hope it is not your ambition to become a stupid Dark Lord."

  "Professor Quirrell," Harry said, gritting his teeth, "I am a Ravenclaw and it is not my ambition to be stupid, period. I know that what I did today was dumb. But it wasn't Dark! I was not the one who threw the first punch in that fight!"

  "You, Mr. Potter, are an idiot. But then so was I at your age. Thus I anticipated your answer and altered today's lesson plan accordingly. Mr. Gregory Goyle, if you would come forward, please?"

  There was a surprised pause in the classroom. Harry hadn't been expecting that.

  Neither, from the looks of it, had Mr. Goyle, who looked rather uncertain and worried as he mounted the marble stage and approached the dais.

  Professor Quirrell straightened from where he was leaning on the desk. He looked suddenly stronger, and his hands formed fists and he drew himself up into a clearly recognizable martial arts stance.

  Harry's eyes widened at the sight, and he realized why Mr. Goyle had been called up.

  "Most wizards," Professor Quirrell said, "do not bother much with what a Muggle would term martial arts. Is not a wand stronger than a fist? This attitude is stupid. Wands are held in fists. If you want to be a great fighting wizard you must learn martial arts to a level which would impress even a Muggle. I will now demonstrate a certain vitally important technique, which I learned in a dojo, a Muggle school of martial arts, of which I shall speak more shortly. For now..." Professor Quirrell took several steps forward, still in stance, advancing on where Mr. Goyle stood. "Mr. Goyle, I will ask you to attack me."

  "Professor Quirrell," said Mr. Goyle, his voice now amplified as the professor's was, "can I ask what level -"

  "Sixth dan. You will not be hurt and neither will I. And if you see an opening, please take it."

  Mr. Goyle nodded, looking much relieved.

  "Note," Professor Quirrell said, "that Mr. Goyle was afraid to attack someone who did not know martial arts to an acceptable level, for fear that I, or he, would be hurt. Mr. Goyle's attitude is exactly correct and he has earned
three Quirrell points for it. Now, fight!"

  The young boy blurred forward, fists flying, and the Professor blocked every blow, dancing backward, Quirrell kicked and Goyle blocked and spun and tried to trip Quirrell with a sweeping leg and Quirrell hopped over it and it was all happening too fast for Harry to make sense of what was going on and then Goyle was on his back with his legs pushing and Quirrell was actually flying through the air and then he hit the ground shoulder first and rolled.

  "Stop!" cried Professor Quirrell from the ground, sounding a little panicked. "You win!"

  Mr. Goyle pulled up so sharply he staggered, almost tripping and falling from the aborted momentum of his headlong charge toward Professor Quirrell. His face showed utter shock.

  Professor Quirrell arched his back and bounced to his feet using a peculiar springing motion that made no use of his hands.

  There was a silence in the classroom, a silence born of total confusion.

  "Mr. Goyle," said Professor Quirrell, "what vitally important technique did I demonstrate?"

  "How to fall correctly when someone throws you," said Mr. Goyle. "It's one of the very first lessons you learn -"

  "That too," said Professor Quirrell.

  There was a pause.

  "The vitally important technique which I demonstrated," said Professor Quirrell, "was how to lose. You may go, Mr. Goyle, thank you."

  Mr. Goyle walked off the platform, looking rather bewildered. Harry felt the same way.

  Professor Quirrell walked back to his desk and resumed leaning on it. "Sometimes we forget the most basic things, since it has been too long since we learned them. I realized I had done the same with my own lesson plan. You do not teach students to throw until you have taught them to fall. And I must not teach you to fight if you do not understand how to lose."

  Professor Quirrell's face hardened, and Harry thought he saw a hint of pain, a touch of sorrow, in those eyes. "I learned how to lose in a dojo in Asia, which, as any Muggle knows, is where all the good martial artists live. This dojo taught a style which had a reputation among fighting wizards as adapting well to magical dueling. The Master of that dojo - an old man by Muggle standards - was that style's greatest living teacher. He had no idea that magic existed, of course. I applied to study there, and was one of the few students accepted that year, from among many contenders. There might have been a tiny bit of special influence involved."