Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality (135 page)

(Some time later, an earlier version of Harry, who had invisibly waited next to the gargoyles since 9PM, followed the Deputy Headmistress through the opening that parted for her, stood quietly behind her on the turning stairs until they came to the top, and then, still under the Cloak, spun his Time-Turner thrice.)

Aftermath: Professor Quirrell and -

In a shadowy clearing the Defense Professor waited, his back leaned negligently against the rough grey bark of a towering beech tree as yet unleaved in the late March days, so that its trunk and crown seemed like a pale arm reaching up from the ground and exploding into a hand of a thousand fingers. Around the Defense Professor and above him were branches so dense that even in the earliest spring, with few trees so much as budding, you could have hardly seen the sky from the ground. The strands of the wooden net crossed and proliferated so many times that if you were on a broomstick above, searching for someone below, you would have found it easier to follow your ears than your eyes. Nor would it have helped that it was almost dark amid the prohibited woods, the unseen sun almost set, so that only a few glows of fading sunlight illuminated the tops of the tallest trees.

Then came the faintest sound of footsteps, almost inaudible even on the forest ground; the gait of a man accustomed to passing unseen. No twig snapped, nor leaf rustled -

“Good afternoon,” said Professor Quirrell. The Defense Professor did not trouble to move his eyes, or his hands from where they rested negligently at his side.

A figure clad in a black cloak shimmered into existence, his head turning to look left and then right. In the figure’s right hand, gripped low, was a wand of wood so grey it was almost silver.

“I do not know why you wished to meet
here
of all places,” said Severus Snape, his voice cool.

“Oh,” Professor Quirrell said idly, as though the whole matter was of the least importance, “I thought you would prefer privacy. The walls of Hogwarts have ears, and you would not wish the Headmaster to know of your role in yesterday’s affair, would you?”

The March chill seemed to grow deeper, the temperature further fall. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the Potions Master said icily.

“You know perfectly well what we’re talking about,” said Professor Quirrell in an amused voice. “Really, my good Professor, you should not meddle in the affairs of idiots unless you are ready to defend yourself upon the instant from all their violence.” (The Defense Professor’s hands still lay relaxed and open at his side.) “And yet none of those idiots seem to remember the sight of you falling, nor do the young ladies recall your presence. Which raises the fascinating question of why you would go to the extraordinary length, I dare say the
desperate
length, of casting
fifty-two
Memory Charms.” Professor Quirrell tilted his head. “Would you fear so much the opinions of mere students? I think not. Would you dread the matter becoming known to your good friend, Lord Malfoy? But those fools, upon the very spot, invented a quite satisfactory excuse for your presence. No, there is only one person who holds so much power over you, and who would be most perturbed to find you executing any plot without his knowledge. Your true and hidden master, Albus Dumbledore.”

“
What?
” hissed the Potions Master, the anger plain upon his face.

“But now, it seems, you are moving on your own; and so I find myself most intrigued as to what you could
possibly
be doing, and why.” The Defense Professor regarded the black-clad silhouette of the Potions Master with the scrutiny a man might give an exceptionally interesting bug, even if it was still ultimately just a bug.

“I am no servant of Dumbledore’s,” the Potions Master said coldly.

“Really? What astonishing news.” The Defense Professor smiled slightly. “Do tell me all about it.”

There was a long pause. From some tree an owl hooted, the sound huge in the silence; neither man startled or flinched.

“You don’t want me as your enemy, Quirrell,” Severus Snape said, his voice very soft.

“I don’t?” said Professor Quirrell. “How would you know?”

“On the other hand,” the Potions Master continued, voice still soft, “my friends enjoy many advantages.”

The man leaning against the grey bark raised his eyebrows. “Such as?”

“There is much that I know of this school,” said the Potions Master. “Things you might not think I knew.”

There was an expectant pause.

“How incredibly fascinating,” said Professor Quirrell. The man was examining his fingernails with a bored look. “Do go on.”

“I know you have been…
investigating…
the third-floor corridor -”

“You know nothing of the sort.” The man’s back straightened against the wood. “Do not bluff against me, Severus Snape; I find it annoying, and you are in no position to annoy me. A single glance would tell any competent wizard that the Headmaster has laced that corridor with a ridiculous quantity of wards and webs, triggers and tripsigns. And more: there are Charms laid there of ancient power, magical constructs of which I have heard not even rumors, techniques that must have been disgorged from the hoarded lore of Flamel himself. Even He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would have had trouble passing those without notice.” Professor Quirrell tapped a thoughtful finger on his cheek. “And for the actual lock, a
Colloportus
laid on an ordinary doorknob, cast so weakly that it could not have kept out Miss Granger on the day she entered Hogwarts. Never before in my existence have I encountered such a blatant trap.” Now the Defense Professor narrowed his eyes. “I know of no one left in the world against whom such fantastic feats of detection would serve any useful purpose. If there is some wizard possessed of ancient lore, of whom I know nothing, against whom this trap is set - you may trade
that
information for as much silence as you like, my dear Professor, and a good serving of my favor left over afterward.”

You could have sworn that Professor Quirrell was watching Severus Snape with keen interest. Not the faintest trace of a smile crossed the man’s lips.

There was another long silence in the clearing.

“I do not know
who
Dumbledore fears,” Snape said. “But I know what bait he has set out, and somewhat of how it is truly guarded -”

“As to that,” said Professor Quirrell, sounding bored again, “I stole it months ago, and left a fake in its place. But thank you kindly for asking.”

“You’re lying,” said Severus Snape after a pause.

“Yes, I am.” Professor Quirrell leaned back against the grey wood again, his eyes drifting up to the dense net of branches, the falling night scarcely visible between the complex crossings. “I simply wished to learn whether you would call me on it, since you are pretending to know so little.” The Defense Professor smiled to himself.

The Potions Master looked like he was about to choke on his own fury. “
What do you want?
”

“Nothing, really,” said the Defense Professor, continuing to gaze at the forest ceiling. “I was only curious. I suppose I shall just watch and see where your plotting goes, and meanwhile I will say nothing to the Headmaster - so long as you are willing to do me a favor now and then, of course.” A dry smile crossed the face. “You are dismissed for now, Severus Snape. Though I wouldn’t mind having another little chat soon, if you’re willing to speak with me honestly of where your loyalties lie. And I do mean
honestly,
not the false faces you’ve shown today. You might find you have more allies than you thought. Take some time to think it over, my friend.”

Aftermath: Draco Malfoy and -

A rainbow hemisphere, a dome of solid force with little chromaticity of its own which sent back the infringing light in splintered reflections, iridescent in many colors, as it fractured the shine of the many-splendored chandeliers of the Slytherin common room.

Sheltered beneath the rainbow hemisphere, the terrified face of a young witch who had never fought bullies, who had not joined any of Professor Quirrell’s armies, who was getting Acceptable marks at best in her Defense class, who could not have cast a Prismatic Barrier even to save her own life.

“Oh, stop it,” said Draco Malfoy, making his voice sound bored despite the sweat that had broken out underneath his robes, as he kept his wand pointed at the barrier that was sheltering Millicent Bulstrode.

He couldn’t remember making the decision, there’d just been the two older boys about to hex Millicent, the common room silently staring, and then Draco’s hand had just drawn his wand and cast the barrier, leaving his heart to pump itself full of shocked adrenaline while his poor sad brain frantically racked itself for explanations -

The two older boys were straightening up from where they’d been looming over Millicent, turning to Draco, looking at him with a mixture of shock and anger. Gregory and Vincent beside him had already drawn their own wands, but weren’t pointing them. All three of them together couldn’t have won, anyway.

But the older boys wouldn’t hex him. Nobody could possibly be stupid enough to hex the next Lord Malfoy.

It wasn’t fear of being hexed that was making Draco sweat beneath his robes, as he desperately hoped the beads of water weren’t visible on his forehead.

Draco was sweating because of the dawning and sickening certainty that even if he got away with this now, if he kept down this path, there would come a time when it would all come crashing down; and then he might not be the next Lord Malfoy anymore.

“Mr. Malfoy,” said the oldest-looking boy. “Why are you protecting her?”

“So you’ve located the mistress of the conspiracy,” Draco said with a Number Two Sneer, “and it’s, let me get this straight now, a first-year girl named Millicent Bulstrode. She’s just a
conduit
, you
niddlewit!
”

“So?” demanded the older boy. “She still helped them!”

Draco lifted his wand and the Prismatic Sphere winked out. Still talking in a bored voice, Draco said, “
Did
you know what you were doing, Miss Bulstrode?”

“N-no,” Millicent stammered from where she was still sitting at her desk.

“Did you know where the Slytherin messages you were passing on were going to?”

“No!” said Millicent.

“Thank you,” Draco said. “All of you please leave her alone, she’s just a pawn. Miss Bulstrode, you may consider the favor you did me in February to have been repaid.” And Draco turned back to his Potions homework, hoping to Merlin and back again that Millicent didn’t say anything incredibly stupid like ‘What favor?’ -

“Then why,” a voice said clearly from across the room, “did those witches go where a note from Millicent told them to go?”

Sweating even more, Draco lifted his head again to look at where Randolph Lee had spoken. “What did the fake note say exactly?” said Draco. “Was it, ‘I command you to go forth in the name of the Dark Lady Bulstrode’ or ‘Please meet me here, sincerely Millicent?’”

Randolph Lee opened his mouth, hesitated for a fractional second -

“I thought so,” said Draco. “That wasn’t a very good test, Mr. Lee, it - it can -” A frantic, nerve-racking moment while he figured out how to say it without using Harry-words like
false positive.
“It can get the witches to go there if any of them is just
friends
with Millicent.”

As though the matter had been entirely settled, Draco looked down again at his Potions homework, ignoring (except for the feeling of sick dread in his stomach) the whispers from around the room.

It was only out of the corner of his eye that he caught Gregory staring at him.

Draco’s eyes rested on his Astronomy homework, but he couldn’t make his mind focus there. If you were trying not to think about things Harry Potter had said, pretty much the worst possible thing you could do was look at your textbook’s pictures of the night sky, and try to remember what you
weren’t
supposed to know about how the planets wandered. Astronomy, a noble and prestigious art, a sign of learning and knowledge; only Muggles possessed secret modern artifacts which could do it a million billion times better using methods that Harry had tried to explain and which Draco still couldn’t begin to understand except that apparently it didn’t even take
magic
to make
things
do
Arithmancy.

Draco looked at the pictures of constellations, and wondered if it was like this in the other Houses, if people were always threatening each other in Ravenclaw.

Harry Potter had told him once that soldiers on a battlefield didn’t really fight for their country. Patriotism might get them to the battlefield in the first place, but once they were there, they fought to protect
each other,
the friends they’d trained with who were right in front of them. And Harry had observed, and Draco had known that it was true, that you couldn’t use loyalty to a leader to power a Patronus Charm, it wasn’t
quite
the right kind of warm and happy thought. But thinking of protecting someone beside you -

That, Harry Potter had said thoughtfully, was probably why the Death Eaters had fallen apart the moment the Dark Lord had departed. They hadn’t been warm enough to
each other
.

You could recruit a group that included Bellatrix Black and Amycus Carrow alongside Lord Malfoy and Mr. MacNair, and keep them in line with the Cruciatus Curse. But the instant the master of the Dark Mark was gone, you didn’t have an army anymore, you had a circle of acquaintances. That was why Father had failed. It hadn’t even really been his fault. There’d been nothing Father
could
have done, after inheriting Death Eaters who weren’t really
friends
with each other.

And even though it was Slytherin House he was supposed to defend - Slytherin House which he and Harry had formed a pact to
save
- sometimes Draco couldn’t help but think that it was just less
wearisome
when he was leading army practices. When he was working with students from the other three Houses that weren’t Slytherin. Once you saw and named the problems, you couldn’t
stop
seeing them, it just got more
annoying
every day.