Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality (129 page)

There was another pause.

“How very cunning,” said the Headmaster. He leaned back in his throne and sighed. “I have spoken to the Defense Professor. Just before you, indeed. I did not quite know what to say. I told him that this was not the approved Hogwarts policy for dealing with infractions of hallway discipline, and that I did not feel it was appropriate for a Hogwarts professor to do what he had done.”

“And what did Professor Quirrell say to that?” said Harry, who was not impressed with Hogwarts’s current policies for enforcing hallway discipline.

The Headmaster wore a look of resignation. “He said:
Fire me
.”

Somehow Harry managed not to cheer out loud.

The Headmaster frowned. “But
why
did he do it, Harry?”

“Because Professor Quirrell doesn’t like school bullies and I asked very politely,” said Harry.
And he was feeling bored and I thought this might cheer him up.
“Either that or it’s part of some incredibly deep plot.”

The Headmaster rose up from behind the desk, began to pace back and forth before the hatstand that held the Sorting Hat and the red slippers. “Harry, do you not feel that all of this has gotten a bit…”

“Awesome?” offered Harry.

“
Utterly and completely out of hand
would say it better,” said Dumbledore. “I am not sure there has ever been a time in the whole history of this school when things have become so, so… I don’t have a word for this, Harry, because things have never become like this before, and so no one has ever needed to invent a word for it.”

Harry would have tried to invent words to express how deeply complimented he felt, if he hadn’t been snerkling too hard to speak.

The Headmaster was regarding him with increasing graveness. “Harry, do you understand
at all
why I find these events concerning?”

“Honestly?” said Harry. “No, not really. I mean, of course Professor McGonagall would object to anything that breaks up the dull monotony of the Hogwarts school experience. But then Professor McGonagall wouldn’t set a chicken on fire.”

The frown lines deepened on Dumbledore’s wrinkled face. “That, Harry, is not what disturbs me,” the Headmaster said quietly. “There was a full battle fought in these halls!”

“Headmaster,” Harry said, trying to keep his voice carefully respectful, “Professor Quirrell and I did not choose for that battle to happen. The bullies did that.
We
just decided to have the Light side win. I know there are times where the boundaries of morality are uncertain, but in this case the line separating the villains and the heroines was twenty meters tall and drawn in white fire. Our intervention may have been
weird
, but it certainly wasn’t
wrong
-”

Dumbledore had gone back to his desk, sat down in his padded throne with a dull thump, and was now covering his face with both his hands.

“Am I missing something here?” Harry said. “I thought you’d be secretly on our side, Headmaster. It was the Gryffindor thing to do. The Weasley twins would approve,
Fawkes
would approve -” Harry glanced at the golden perch, but it was empty; either the phoenix had more important things to do, or the Headmaster hadn’t invited him to today’s meeting.

“That,” said the Headmaster in an old and tired and somewhat muffled voice, “is precisely the problem, Harry. There is a reason why courageous young heroes are not put in charge of schools.”

“All right,” Harry said. He couldn’t quite keep the skepticism out of his voice. “What am I missing this time?”

The old wizard lifted his head, his face now solemn, and calmer. “Listen, Harry,” said Dumbledore, “hear me well; for all who wield power must learn this in time. Some things in this world are, indeed, truly simple. If you pick up a stone and drop it again, the earth will be no heavier for it, the stars will not move from their paths. I say this, Harry, so that you know I am not pretending to be wise, when I tell you that even as some things are simple, others are complex. There are greater wizardries which leave marks upon the world, and marks upon those who wield them, as a simple Charm would
not
. Those wizardries demand hesitation, consideration of consequence, a moment to weigh the meaning of their marks. And yet the most intricate magics known to me are simpler than the simplest soul.
People
, Harry, people are always marked, by what they do and by what is done to them. Do you, then, understand how to say, ‘Here is the line between hero and villain!’ is not enough to say that what you did was right?”

“Headmaster,” Harry said evenly, “this is not a decision I made at random. No, I don’t know what exact effect this will have on every single one of the bullies present. But if I always waited for perfect information before I acted, I would never do anything. When it comes to the future psychological development of, say, Peregrine Derrick, beating up eight first-year girls probably wouldn’t have been good for him. And it wasn’t enough to just stop them quietly and quickly, since then they would just try again later; they had to see that there was a protective power worth fearing.” Harry’s voice stayed level. “But of course, since I
am
a good guy, I didn’t want to permanently injure them or even cause them any pain; and yet the penalty had to be enough to weigh on the minds of anyone thinking about trying it again. So, after weighing the expected outcomes as best I could with my boundedly rational intellect, I thought it would be wisest to strip the bullies naked and glue them to the ceiling.”

The young hero stared directly into the old wizard’s gaze, unflinching green eyes locked with the blue behind the spectacles.

And since I wasn’t there and didn’t do anything personally, there’s no lawful way to punish me under the Hogwarts school rules; the only one who acted was Professor Quirrell, and he’s fireproof. And just breaking the rules to get at me wouldn’t be a wise thing to do to the hero you’re grooming to fight Lord Voldemort…
This time Harry actually
had
tried to think through all the ramifications in advance, before he’d made the suggestion to Professor Quirrell; and for once the Defense Professor hadn’t called him a fool, just slowly smiled and then begun to laugh.

“I understand your intentions, Harry,” the old wizard said. “You think you have taught the bullies of Hogwarts a lesson. But if Peregrine Derrick could learn that lesson, he would not be Peregrine Derrick. He will only be provoked more by what you do - it is not fair, it is not right, but that is the way it is.” The old wizard closed his eyes, as though in brief pain, and then opened them again. “Harry, the most painful truth any hero must learn is that the right cannot, should not, must not win every battle. All of this began when Miss Granger fought three older enemies and won. If she had been content with this, the echoes of her deed would have died away in time. Yet instead she banded together with her classmates and raised her wand in open challenge to Peregrine Derrick and all his kind; and his kind cannot but raise their own wands in answer. So Jaime Astorga went hunting her, and in the natural course he would have beaten her; it would have been a sad day, but it would have ended there. There is not enough magic in eight first-year witches all together to defeat such a foe. But you could not accept that, Harry, could not let Miss Granger learn her own lessons; and so you sent the Defense Professor to watch over them invisibly, and pierce Astorga’s shields when Daphne Greengrass struck at him -”

What?
thought Harry.

The old wizard went on speaking. “Each time you intervened, Harry, it escalated matters further and yet further. Soon Miss Granger was facing Robert Jugson himself, the son of a Death Eater, with two strong allies at his side. Painful indeed it would have been for her, if Miss Granger had lost that battle. And yet again by your will and Quirinus’s hand, this time shown more openly, she won.”

Harry was still struggling with the notion of the Defense Professor watching invisibly over S.P.H.E.W., guarding the heroines from harm.

“And so,” the old wizard finished, “that is how we came to today, Harry, to forty-four students attacking eight first-year witches. A full battle in these halls! I know it was not your intent, but you must accept some measure of responsibility. Such things did not happen before you came to this school, not through all my decades in Hogwarts; neither when I was a student nor when I was a Professor.”

“Thank you very much,” Harry said evenly. “Though I think Professor Quirrell deserves more credit than me.”

The blue eyes widened. “Harry…”

“Those bullies were attacking victims long before this year,” Harry said. Despite his best efforts, his voice was starting to rise. “But nobody seems to have taught the students that they’re allowed to fight
back.
I know it’s much harder to
ignore
a two-sided fight than some helpless victims getting hexed or almost pushed out of windows, but it’s not exactly
worse,
is it? I wish I’d read more of Godric Gryffindor’s writings so I could quote him, there’s got to be something in there about this. Open battle may be
louder
than the victims suffering in silence, it may be harder to pretend that nothing is happening, but the final result is better -”

“No, it is not,” Dumbledore said. “It is not, Harry. To
always
fight the darkness, to
never
let evil pass unchallenged - that is not heroism, but simple pride. Even Godric Gryffindor did not think that every war was worth fighting, though he went his whole life from one battle to another.” The old wizard’s voice went quieter. “In truth, Harry, the words you speak - they are not evil. No, not evil, and yet they have frightened me. You are one who might someday wield great power, over wizardry, over your fellow wizards. And if, come that day, you still think that evil must never pass unchallenged -” Now a note of real worry had entered the Headmaster’s voice. “The world has grown more fragile since the age when Hogwarts was raised; I fear it cannot bear the fury of another Godric Gryffindor. And he was slower to his wrath than you.” The old wizard shook his head. “You are too ready to fight, Harry. Much too ready to fight, and Hogwarts itself is becoming a more violent place around you.”

“Well,” Harry said carefully, after weighing his words. “I don’t know if it will help to say this, but I think you’re getting the wrong impression of what I’m all about. I don’t like real fighting either. It’s scary, and violent, and somebody might get hurt. But I
didn’t
fight today, Headmaster.”

The Headmaster frowned. “You sent the Defense Professor in your place -”

“Professor Quirrell didn’t do any fighting either,” Harry said calmly. “There wasn’t anyone there strong enough to fight him. What happened today wasn’t fighting, it was winning.”

It was a while then before the old wizard spoke. “That may be as it may be,” the Headmaster said, “but all these conflicts must end. I can hear the strain in the air, and with each of these clashes, it rises. All this must end, decisively and soon; you must not stand in the way of its ending.”

The old wizard gestured toward the great oaken door of his office, and Harry departed through it.

It was with some surprise that Harry stepped out from between the huge grey gargoyles which had made way for him, and saw that Quirinus Quirrell was still slumped against the stone of the corridor wall, a thick thread of spittle drooling from his slack mouth onto his Professorial robes, in just the same position he’d occupied when Harry had first gone up into the Headmaster’s office.

Harry waited, but the slumped man didn’t rise up; and after long awkward seconds, Harry began to walk down the corridor again.

“Mr. Potter?” came a soft call, after Harry had turned two corners; a quiet voice carrying unnaturally through the halls.

When Harry had returned he found Professor Quirrell still slumped against the wall, but the pale eyes now watched him with keen intelligence.

I’m sorry to have tired you out -

It was something that Harry couldn’t say. He’d noticed the correlation between the effort Professor Quirrell expended and the time he had to spend ‘resting’. But Harry had reasoned that if the effort was too painful or detrimental, surely Professor Quirrell would just say no. Now Harry was wondering if that reasoning had actually been correct, and if not, how to apologize…

The Defense Professor spoke in a quiet voice, the rest of the body unmoving. “How went your meeting with the Headmaster, Mr. Potter?”

“I’m not sure,” Harry said. “Not the way I predicted. He seems to believe the Light should lose a lot more often than I’d consider wise. Plus I’m not sure he understands the difference between trying to fight and trying to win. It explains a lot, actually…” Harry hadn’t read much about the Wizarding War, but he’d read enough to know that the good guys probably
had
acquired a pretty accurate picture of who most of the worst Death Eaters were, and
hadn’t
just owled them all hand grenades over the course of five minutes.

A soft, soft laugh from the pale lips. “Dumbledore does not comprehend the enjoyment of winning, just as he does not comprehend the enjoyment of the game. Tell me, Mr. Potter. Did you suggest this little plan with the deliberate intention of relieving my tedium?”

“That was among my many motives,” Harry said, because some instinct had warned that he couldn’t just say
Yes
.

“Do you know,” the Defense Professor said in soft reflective tones, “there are those who have tried to soften my darker moods, and those who have indeed participated in brightening my day, but you are the first person ever to succeed in doing it deliberately?” The Defense Professor seemed to straighten up from the wall with a peculiar motion which might have included magic as well as muscle; and the Defense Professor began to walk away without a look back in Harry’s direction. Only a single small gesture of one finger indicated that Harry was to follow.

“I particularly enjoyed that chant you composed for Miss Davis,” said Professor Quirrell after they had walked a short distance. “Though you might have been wiser to consult me in advance, before giving it to her to memorize.” One hand bestirred itself to within the Defense Professor’s robes and drew forth a wand, which traced a small gesture in the air, after which all the faraway sounds of the castle Hogwarts fell silent. “Tell me honestly, Mr. Potter, have you somehow acquired a familiarity with the theory of Dark rituals? That is not the same as confessing an intent to cast them; many wizards know the principles.”