Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality (117 page)

And Professor McGonagall had told her that they needed to talk to the Headmaster.

And Hermione had felt worried, but then the thought had come to her that
Harry Potter
wouldn’t have been scared of the Headmaster. Harry Potter would have just barged ahead doing whatever he was trying to do. Maybe (the thought had come to her) it was worth
trying
to be like that,
not
being scared, just doing whatever, and seeing what happened to her, it couldn’t really be worse.

The Endless Stair stopped turning.

The great oaken door in front of them with the brass griffin knocker opened without being touched.

Behind a black oaken desk with dozens of drawers facing in every direction, looking like it had drawers set
inside
other drawers, was the silver-bearded Headmaster of Hogwarts upon his throne, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, into whose gently twinkling eyes Hermione looked for around three seconds before she was distracted by all the other things in the room.

Some time later - she wasn’t sure how long but it was while she was trying to count the number of things in the room for the third time and
still
not getting the same answer, even though her memory insisted that nothing had been added or removed - the Headmaster cleared his throat and said, “Miss Granger?”

Hermione’s head snapped around, and she felt a little heat in her cheeks; but Dumbledore didn’t appear annoyed with her at all, only serene, and with an inquiring look in those mild, half-glassed eyes.

“Hermione,” said Professor McGonagall, the older witch’s voice was gentle and her hand rested reassuringly on Hermione’s shoulder, “please tell the Headmaster what you said to me about Harry.”

Hermione began speaking, despite her newfound resolution her voice still stumbled a little with nervousness, as she described how Harry had changed in the last few weeks since Fawkes had been on his shoulder.

When she was done there was a pause, and then the Headmaster sighed. “I am sorry, Hermione Granger,” said Dumbledore. Those blue eyes had grown sadder as she spoke. “That is… unfortunate, but I cannot say it is unexpected. That is a hero’s burden, which you see.”

“A
hero?
” said Hermione. She looked up nervously at Professor McGonagall and saw that the Transfiguration Professor’s face had grown tight, though her hand still squeezed Hermione’s shoulder reassuringly.

“Yes,” said Dumbledore. “I was a hero myself once, before I was a mysterious old wizard, in the days when I opposed Grindelwald. You have read history books, Miss Granger?”

Hermione nodded.

“Well,” said Dumbledore, “that is what heroes have to do, Miss Granger, they have their tasks and they must grow strong to accomplish them, and that is what you see happening to Harry. If there is anything that can be done to gentle his pathway, then
you
will be the one to do it, and not I. For I am not Harry’s friend, alas, but only his mysterious old wizard.”

“I -” said Hermione. “I’m not sure - I still want to be -” Her voice stopped, it seemed too awful to say aloud.

Dumbledore closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he looked a little older than before. “No one can stop you, Miss Granger, if you choose to stop being Harry’s friend. As for what it would do to him, you may know that better than I.”

“That - doesn’t seem
fair,
” Hermione said, her voice trembling. “That I’ve
got
to be Harry’s friend because he’s got no one else? That doesn’t seem fair.”

“
Being
a friend is not something you can be forced to, Miss Granger.” The blue eyes seemed to look right through her. “The feelings are there, or they are not. If they are there, you can accept them or deny them. You
are
Harry’s friend - and choosing to deny it would wound him terribly, perhaps beyond healing. But Miss Granger, what would drive you to such extremes?”

She couldn’t find words. She’d never been able to find words. “If you get too near Harry - you get
swallowed up,
and no one sees
you
any more, you’re just something of
his,
everyone thinks the whole world revolves around him and…” She didn’t have the words.

The old wizard nodded slowly. “It is indeed an unjust world we live in, Miss Granger. All the world now knows that it is I who defeated Grindelwald, and fewer remember Elizabeth Beckett who died opening the way so I could pass through. And yet she is remembered. Harry Potter
is
the hero of this play, Miss Granger; the world
does
revolve around him. He is destined for great things; and I ween that in time the name of Albus Dumbledore will be remembered as Harry Potter’s mysterious old wizard, more than for anything else I have done. And perhaps the name of Hermione Granger will be remembered as his companion, if you prove worthy of it in your day. For this I tell you true: never will you find more glory on your own, than in Harry Potter’s company.”

Hermione shook her head rapidly. “But that’s
not
-” She’d known she wouldn’t be able to explain. “It’s not about
glory,
it’s about being - something that belongs to someone else!”

“So you think you would rather be the hero?” The old wizard sighed. “Miss Granger, I have
been
a hero, and a leader; and I would have been a thousand times happier if I could have belonged to someone like Harry Potter. Someone made of sterner stuff than I, to make the hard decisions, and yet worthy to lead me. I thought, once, that I knew such a man, but I was mistaken… Miss Granger, you have no idea at
all
how fortunate are those like you, compared to heroes.”

The hot burning feeling was creeping up her throat again, along with helplessness, she didn’t understand why Professor McGonagall had brought her here if the Headmaster wasn’t going to help, and from a glance at Professor McGonagall’s face, it looked like Professor McGonagall also wasn’t sure now that it had been a good idea.

“I don’t want to be a hero,” said Hermione Granger, “I don’t want to be a hero’s companion, I just want to be
me.
”

(The thought came to her a few seconds later that maybe she
did
in fact want to be a hero, but she decided not to change what she’d said.)

“Ah,” said the old wizard. “That is a tall order, Miss Granger.” Dumbledore rose from his throne, stepped out behind his desk, and pointed to a symbol on the wall, so ubiquitous that Hermione’s eyes had glossed right over it; a faded shield on which was inscribed the heraldry of Hogwarts, the lion and snake, and badger and raven, and in Latin engraved words whose point she’d never understood. Then, as she realized where that shield was, and how old it looked, it suddenly occurred to Hermione that this might be the
original
-

“A Hufflepuff would say,” said Dumbledore, tapping his finger on the faded badger and making Hermione wince for the sacrilege (if it
was
the original), “that people fail to become who they are meant to be, because they are too lazy to put in all the work involved. A Ravenclaw,” tapping the raven, “would repeat those words that the wise know to be far older than Socrates,
know thyself,
and say that people fail to become who they are meant to be, through ignorance and lack of thought. And Salazar Slytherin,” Dumbledore frowned as his finger tapped the faded snake, “why, he said that we become who we are meant to be by following our desires wherever they lead. Perhaps he would say that people fail to become themselves because they refuse to do what is necessary to achieve their ambitions. But then one notes that nearly all of the Dark Wizards to come out of Hogwarts have been Slytherins. Did they become what they were meant to be? I think not.” Dumbledore’s finger tapped the lion, and then he turned toward her. “Tell me, Miss Granger, what would a Gryffindor say? I do not need to ask whether the Sorting Hat offered you that House.”

It didn’t seem like a hard question. “A Gryffindor would say that people don’t become who they should be, because they’re afraid.”

“Most people
are
afraid, Miss Granger,” said the old wizard. “They live their whole lives circumscribed by crippling fear that cuts off everything they might accomplish, everything they might become. Fear of saying or doing the wrong thing, fear of losing their mere possessions, fear of death, and above all the fear of what other people will think of them. Such fear is a most terrible thing, Miss Granger, and it is terribly important to know that. But it is not what Godric Gryffindor would have said. People become who they are meant to be, Miss Granger, by doing what is right.” The old wizard’s voice was gentle. “So tell me, Miss Granger, what seems to you like the
right
choice? For
that
is who you truly are, and wherever that path leads, that is who you are meant to become.”

There was a long space filled with the sounds of things that could not be counted.

She thought about it, because she was a Ravenclaw.

“I don’t
think
it’s right,” Hermione said slowly, “for someone to have to live inside someone else’s shadow like that…”

“Many things in the world are not right,” said the old wizard, “the question is what is right for
you
to do about them. Hermione Granger, I shall be less subtle than is usual for a mysterious old wizard, and tell you outright that you cannot
imagine
how badly things could go if the events surrounding Harry Potter turn to ill. His quest is a matter you would not even
dream
of walking away from, if you knew.”

“
What
quest?” said Hermione. Her voice was trembling, because it was very clear what answer the Headmaster was looking for and she didn’t want to give it. “What
happened
to Harry back then,
why
was Fawkes on his shoulder?”

“He grew up,” said the old wizard. His eyes blinked several times, beneath the half-moon glasses, and his face suddenly looked very lined. “You see, Miss Granger, people do not grow up because of time, people grow up when they are placed in grownup situations. That is what happened to Harry Potter that Saturday. He was told - you are not to share this information with anyone, you understand - he was told that he would have to fight someone. I cannot tell you who. I cannot tell you why. But that is what happened to him, and why he needs his friends.”

There was a pause.

“
Bellatrix Black?
” Hermione said. She couldn’t have been more shocked if someone had plugged an electrical cord into her ear. “You’re going to make Harry fight
Bellatrix Black?
”

“No,” said the old wizard. “Not her. I cannot tell you who, or why.”

She thought about it some more.

“Is there any way I can
keep up
with Harry?” said Hermione. “I mean, I’m not saying it’s what I’ll
do
, but - if he needs friends then can we be
equal
friends? Can I be a hero too?”

“Ah,” said the old wizard, and smiled. “Only you can decide that, Miss Granger.”

“But you’re not going to help me like you’re helping Harry.”

The old wizard shook his head. “I have helped him little enough, Miss Granger. And if you are asking me for a quest -” The old wizard smiled again, rather wryly. “Miss Granger, you are in your first year of Hogwarts. Do not be too eager to grow up; there will be time enough for that later.”

“I’m twelve. Harry’s
eleven.
”

“Harry Potter is special,” said the old wizard. “As you know, Miss Granger.” The blue eyes were suddenly piercing beneath the half-moon glasses, and she was reminded of the day of the Dementor when Dumbledore’s voice had said, inside her mind, that he knew about Harry’s dark side.

Hermione put up her hand and touched Professor McGonagall’s hand, which had stayed strong on her shoulder this whole time, and Hermione said, she was surprised that her voice didn’t break, “I’d like to go, now, please.”

“Of course,” said Professor McGonagall, and Hermione felt the hand on her shoulder gently turning her around to face the oaken door.

“Have you chosen your path yet, Hermione Granger?” said Albus Dumbledore’s voice from behind her, even as the door slowly creaked open to reveal the Enchantment of the Endless Stair.

She nodded.

“And?”

“I’ll,” she said, her voice stuck, “I’ll, I’ll -”

She swallowed.

“I’ll do - what’s right -”

She didn’t say anything else, she couldn’t, and then the Endless Stair began revolving around her once again.

Neither she nor Professor McGonagall spoke on the way down.

When the Flowing Stone gargoyles stepped out of their way, and the two of them stepped out into the corridors of Hogwarts, Professor McGonagall finally spoke, and she said in a whisper, “I’m so terribly sorry, Miss Granger. I did not think the Headmaster would say such things to you. I think he truly has forgotten what it is like to be a child.”

Hermione glanced back up to her and saw that Professor McGonagall looked like
she
was about to burst into tears… only not really, but there was a tightness in her face that was like that.

“If I want to be a hero too,” said Hermione, “if I’ve decided to be a hero too, is there anything
you
can do to help?”

Professor McGonagall rapidly shook her head, and said, “Miss Granger, I’m not sure the Headmaster is wrong about
that.
You
are
twelve.”

“Okay,” said Hermione.

They walked forward a bit.

“Excuse me,” said Hermione, “is it okay if I walk back to the Ravenclaw tower by myself? I’m sorry, it’s not your fault or anything, I just want to be by myself right now.”

“Of course, Miss Granger,” said Professor McGonagall, her voice sounding a little hoarse, and Hermione heard her footsteps stop, and then turn around behind her.

Hermione Granger walked away.

She climbed a flight of stairs, and then another, wondering if there was anyone else in Hogwarts who would give her a chance to be a hero. Professor Flitwick would say the same thing as Professor McGonagall, and even if he didn’t, he probably couldn’t help, Hermione didn’t know who
could
help. Well, Professor Quirrell would come up with something clever if she used up enough Quirrell points, but she had a feeling that asking him would be a bad idea - that the Defense Professor couldn’t help anyone become the sort of hero that was worth becoming, and that he wouldn’t even understand the difference.