Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality

by Eliezer Yudkowsky

  "Think about it," Hermione snapped, "and maybe you'll work it out!"

  And she sped up her stride and left Harry gaping behind her.

  "Professor Quirrell," Draco said in his most formal voice, "I must protest your appointment of Hermione Granger as the third general."

  "Oh?" said Professor Quirrell, leaning back in his chair in a casual and relaxed manner. "Protest away, Mr. Malfoy."

  "Granger is unfit for the position," said Draco.

  Professor Quirrell tapped a finger on his cheek thoughtfully. "Why yes, yes she is. Do you have any further protests?"

  "Professor Quirrell," said Harry Potter beside him, "with all due respect to Miss Granger's many outstanding academic talents and the Quirrell points she has justly earned in your classes, her personality is not suited to military command."

  Draco had been relieved when Harry had agreed to accompany him to Professor Quirrell's office. It wasn't just that Harry was a gigantic blatant teacher's pet where Professor Quirrell was concerned. Draco had also started to worry that Harry actually was friends with Granger, it had been a while now and he still hadn't made his move... but this was more like it.

  "I agree with Mr. Potter," said Draco. "Appointing her as a general turns it into a farce."

  "Harshly put," said Harry, "but I cannot bring myself to disagree with Mr. Malfoy. To be blunt, Professor Quirrell, Hermione Granger has around as much intent to kill as a bowl of wet grapes."

  "That," said Professor Quirrell mildly, "is not a thing I would fail to notice myself. You are telling me nothing I do not already know."

  It was Draco's turn to say something, but the conversation had suddenly hiccupped. That answer had not been in the possibilities he and Harry had brainstormed before coming here. What did you say after the teacher said that he knew everything you knew and he was still going to commit an obvious mistake?

  The silence stretched.

  "Is this some sort of plot?" Harry said slowly.

  "Must everything I do be some sort of plot?" said Professor Quirrell. "Can't I ever create chaos just for the sake of chaos?"

  Draco almost choked.

  "Not in your Battle Magic class," Harry said with calm certainty. "Other places, maybe, but not there."

  Professor Quirrell slowly raised his eyebrows.

  Harry gazed steadily back at him.

  Draco shivered.

  "Well then," Professor Quirrell said. "Neither of you seem to have considered a very simple question. Who could I appoint instead of Miss Granger?"

  "Blaise Zabini," Draco said without hesitation.

  "Any other suggestions?" said Professor Quirrell, sounding quite amused.

  Anthony Goldstein and Ernie Macmillan, came the thought, before Draco's common sense kicked in and ruled out mudbloods and Hufflepuffs no matter how aggressively they dueled. So instead Draco just said, "What's wrong with Zabini?"

  "I see..." Harry said slowly.

  "I don't," said Draco. "Why not Zabini?"

  Professor Quirrell looked at Draco. "Because, Mr. Malfoy, no matter how hard he tries, he'll never be able to keep up with you or Mr. Potter."

  The shock of it staggered Draco. "You can't believe Granger is going to -"

  "He's gambling on her," Harry said quietly. "It's not guaranteed. The odds aren't even good. She'll probably never give us a good fight, and even if she does, it may take her months to learn. But she's the only one in our year with any chance at all of growing to beat us."

  Draco's hands twitched but didn't clench into fists. Showing up as your supporter and then backing out was a classic undermining tactic, so Harry Potter was in it with Granger and that implied -

  "But Professor," Harry went on smoothly, "I'm worried Hermione will be miserable as the general of an army. I'm speaking as her friend now, Professor Quirrell. The competition might be good for Draco and me, but what you're asking her to do isn't good for her!"

  Never mind.

  "Your friendship for Hermione Granger does you credit," Professor Quirrell said dryly. "Especially as you are able to be friends with Draco Malfoy at the same time. Quite a feat, that."

  Harry suddenly looked a little nervous, meaning he probably felt a lot more nervous, and Draco silently swore to himself. Of course Harry wasn't going to fool Professor Quirrell.

  "And I doubt Miss Granger would appreciate your friendly concern," said Professor Quirrell. "She asked me for the position, Mr. Potter, I did not ask her."

  Harry was quiet at this for a moment. Then he flashed Draco a quick look that mixed apology and warning, saying at the same time, Sorry, I did my best and We'd better not press it any further.

  "As for her being miserable," Professor Quirrell went on, a slight smile now playing about his lips, "I suspect that she will have a much easier time with the rigors of her position than either of you suspect, and that she will put up a good fight much sooner than you think."

  Harry and Draco both gasped in horror.

  "You're not going to advise her, are you?" said Draco, utterly aghast.

  "I never signed up to fight you!" said Harry.

  The smile playing around Professor Quirrell's lips grew wider. "As a matter of fact, I did offer to share a few suggestions regarding Miss Granger's first battles."

  "Professor Quirrell!" said Harry.

  "Oh, don't worry," Professor Quirrell said. "She turned me down. Just as I expected."

  Draco's eyes narrowed.

  "Dear me, Mr. Potter," said Professor Quirrell, "didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to stare?"

  "You're not going to secretly help her some other way, are you?" said Harry.

  "Would I do that?" said Professor Quirrell.

  "Yes," said Draco and Harry at the same time.

  "I am wounded by your lack of trust. Well then, I promise not to help General Granger in any way that the two of you don't know about. And now I suggest that both of you be about your military affairs. November approaches, and swiftly."

  Draco saw the implications before the door had closed all the way behind them on their way out of Professor Quirrell's office.

  Harry had once spoken dismissively of "people stuff".

  And now that was Draco's only hope.

  Let him not realize, let him not realize...

  "We should just attack the Granger girl first and get her out of our way," said Draco. "After we crush her, we can have our own contest without any distractions."

  "Now that doesn't really seem fair to her, does it?" said Harry in a mild voice.

  "What do you care?" said Draco. "She's your rival, right?" Then, with just the right note of suspicion in his voice, "Don't tell me you've started really liking her, after being her rival all this time..."

  "Founders forbid," said Harry. "What can I say, Draco? I merely have a natural sense of justice. Granger does too, you know. She has a very firm grasp on good and evil, and she's probably going to attack evil first. Having a name like 'Malfoy' is just asking for it, you know."

  DAMN IT!

  "Harry," said Draco, sounding wounded and maybe a little superior, "don't you want to fight fairly against me?"

  "You mean rather than attacking you after you've already lost some of your forces beating Granger?" said Harry. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe after I get bored with just winning I'll try that 'fair' thing."

  "Maybe she'll attack you," Draco said. "You're her rival."

  "But I'm her friendly rival," Harry said with an evil grin. "I bought her a nice birthday present and everything. You wouldn't go around sabotaging your friendly rival like that."

  "What about sabotaging your friend's chance at a fair fight?" said Draco angrily. "I thought we were friends!"

  "Let me rephrase that," said Harry. "Granger wouldn't sabotage a friendly rival. But that's because she has the killing intention of a bowl of wet grapes. You would. You totally would. And guess what, so would I."

  DAMN IT!

  If it had been a play, there would have been dramatic music.

/>   The hero, impeccably turned out in green-trimmed robes and perfectly combed white-blonde hair, faced the villain.

  The villain, leaning back in a simple wooden chair with her buckteeth clearly visible and stray chestnut curls drifting over her cheeks, faced the hero.

  It was Wednesday, October 30th, and the first battle was coming up on Sunday.

  Draco was standing in General Granger's office, a room the size of a small classroom. (Why each general's office was so large, Draco wasn't quite sure. A chair and a desk would have worked for him. He wasn't even clear on why the generals needed offices at all, his soldiers knew where to find him. Unless Professor Quirrell had deliberately arranged the huge offices for them as a sign of status, in which case Draco was all for it.)

  Granger sat on the room's single chair like a throne, all the way on the other end of the office from where the door opened. There was a long oblong table stretched across the middle of the room between them, and four small circular tables scattered around the corners, but only that one single chair, all the way at the opposite end. The room had windows along one wall, and one beam of sunlight touched the top of Granger's hair like a glowing crown.

  It would have been nice if Draco could have walked slowly forward. But there was a table in the way, and Draco had to go around it diagonally, and there was no good way to do that in a dramatic and dignified fashion. Had that been deliberate? If it had been his father, it surely would have been; but this was Granger, so surely not.

  There was nowhere for him to sit, and Granger hadn't stood up, either.

  Draco kept the outrage entirely off his face.

  "Well, Mr. Draco Malfoy," Granger said once he stood before her, "you requested an audience with me and I have been so gracious as to grant it. What was your plea?"

  Come with me to visit Malfoy Manor, my father and I would like to show you some interesting spells.

  "Your rival, Potter, came to me with an offer," said Draco, putting a serious look on his face. "He doesn't mind losing to me, but would be humiliated if you won. So he wants to join with me and wipe you out immediately, not just in our first battle, all of them. If I won't do that, Potter wants me to hold back or harass you, while he launches an all-out attack on you as his first move."

  "I see," Granger said, looking surprised. "And you're offering to help me against him?"

  "Of course," said Draco smoothly. "I didn't think what he wanted to do to you was fair."

  "Why, that's very nice of you, Mr. Malfoy," said Granger. "I'm sorry for how I spoke to you earlier. We should be friends. Can I call you Drakey?"

  Alarm bells started to sound in Draco's head, but there was a chance she meant it...

  "Of course," said Draco, "if I can call you Hermy."

  Draco was pretty sure he saw her expression flicker.

  "Anyway," Draco said, "I was thinking it would serve Potter right if we both attacked him and wiped him out."

  "But that wouldn't be fair to Mr. Potter, would it?" said Granger.

  "I think it'd be very fair," Draco said. "He was planning to do it to you first."

  Granger was giving him a stern look that could possibly have intimidated him if he'd been a Hufflepuff instead of a Malfoy. "You think I'm pretty stupid, don't you, Mr. Malfoy?"

  Draco smiled charmingly. "No, Miss Granger, but I thought I'd at least check. So, what do you want?"

  "Are you offering to bribe me?" said Granger.

  "Sure," said Draco. "Can I just slip you a Galleon and have you beat on Potter instead of me for the rest of the year?"

  "Nope," said Granger, "but you can offer me ten Galleons and have me attack both of you equally, instead of just you."

  "Ten Galleons is a lot of money," Draco said cautiously.

  "I didn't know the Malfoys were poor," said Granger.

  Draco stared at Granger.

  He was starting to get a strange feeling about this.

  That particular reply didn't seem like it should have come from this particular girl.

  "Well," said Draco, "you don't get to be rich by wasting money, you know."

  "I don't know if you know what a dentist is, Mr. Malfoy, but my parents are dentists and anything less than ten Galleons isn't worth my time at all."

  "Three Galleons," Draco said, more as a probe than anything else.

  "Nope," said Granger. "If you want an equal fight at all, I don't believe that a Malfoy wants an equal fight less than he wants ten Galleons."

  Draco was starting to get a very strange feeling about this.

  "No," said Draco.

  "No?" said Granger. "This is a limited time offer, Mr. Malfoy. Are you sure you want to risk a whole year of being miserably crushed by the Boy-Who-Lived? That would be pretty embarrassing for the House of Malfoy, wouldn't it?"

  It was a very persuasive argument, one that was hard to refuse, but you didn't get to be rich by spending money when your heart told you it was a setup.

  "No," said Draco.

  "See you on Sunday," said Granger.

  Draco turned and walked out of the office without another word.

  That had been not right...

  "Hermione," Harry said patiently, "we're supposed to be plotting against each other. You could even betray me and it wouldn't mean anything outside the battlefield."

  Hermione shook her head. "It wouldn't be nice, Harry."

  Harry sighed. "I don't think you're getting into the spirit of this at all."

  It wouldn't be nice. She'd actually said that. Hermione didn't know whether to be insulted at what Harry thought of her, or worried about whether she really did sound like that much of a goody-two-shoes usually.

  It was probably time to change the subject.

  "Anyway, are you doing anything special for tomorrow?" said Hermione. "It's -"

  Her voice cut off abruptly as she realized.

  "Yes, Hermione," Harry said a little tightly, "what day is it?"

  Interlude:

  There was a time when October 31st had been called Halloween in magical Britain.

  Now it was Harry Potter Day.

  Harry had turned down all the offers, even the one from Minister Fudge which might have been good for future political favors and which he really should have gritted his teeth and taken. But to Harry, October 31st would always be The Dark Lord Killed My Parents Day. There should have been a quiet, dignified memorial service somewhere, and if there was one, he hadn't been invited.

  Hogwarts got the day off to celebrate. Even the Slytherins didn't dare wear black outside their own dorm. There were special events and special foods and the teachers looked the other way if anyone ran through the hallways. It was the tenth anniversary, after all.

  Harry spent the day in his trunk so as not to spoil it for anyone else, eating snack bars in place of meals, reading some of his sadder science fiction books (no fantasy), and writing a letter to Mum and Dad that was much longer than the ones he usually sent.

  Chapter 30: Working in Groups, Pt 1

  J. K. Rowling if a man tries to bother you, you can think blue, count two, and look for a red shoe.

  The day was Sunday, November 3rd, and soon the three great powers of their school year, Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, and Hermione Granger, would begin their struggle for supreme dominance.

  (Harry was slightly annoyed by the way the Boy-Who-Lived had been demoted from supreme dominance to one of three equal rivals just by entering the contest, but he expected to get it back soon.)

  The battleground was a section of non-Forbidden forest, dense with trees, because Professor Quirrell thought that being able to see all the enemy forces was too boring even for your very first battle.

  All the students who were not actually in a first-year army were camped out nearby and watching on screens that Professor Quirrell had set up. Except for three Gryffindors in their fourth year, who were currently sick and confined to healer's beds by Madam Pomfrey. Aside from that, everyone was there.

  The students were dressed, not
in their ordinary school robes, but in Muggle camouflage uniforms that Professor Quirrell had obtained somewhere and supplied in sufficient quantity and variety to fit everyone. It wasn't that students would have worried about stains and rips, that was what Charms were for. But as Professor Quirrell had explained to the surprised wizardborns, nice dignified clothing was not efficient for hiding in forests or dodging around trees.

  And on each uniform's breast, a patch bearing the name and insignia of your army. A small patch. If you wanted your soldiers to wear, say, colored ribbons so that they could identify each other at a distance, and risk the enemy getting their hands on the ribbons, that was all up to you.

  Harry had tried to get the name Dragon Army.

  Draco had pitched a fit and said that would confuse everyone completely.

  Professor Quirrell had ruled that Draco could lay prior claim to the name, if he wished.

  So now Harry was fighting Dragon Army.

  This probably wasn't a good sign.

  For their insignia, instead of the too-obvious dragon's head breathing fire, Draco had elected to simply go with the fire. Elegant, understated, deadly: This is what's left after we've passed. Very Malfoy.

  Harry, after considering alternate choices such as the 501st Provisional Battalion and Harry's Minions o' Doom, had decided that his army would be known by the simple and dignified appellation of the Chaos Legion.

  Their insignia was a hand poised with fingers ready to snap.

  It was universally agreed that this wasn't a good sign.

  Harry had earnestly advised Hermione that the young boys serving under her were probably nervous about her being a girl with a reputation for being nice, and that she should pick something scary that would reassure them of her toughness and make them proud to be part of her army, like the Blood Commandos or something.

  Hermione had named her army the Sunshine Regiment.