Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality (16 page)

That’s unfair! Now you’re just dragging up inner fears that
aren’t
necessarily real! I
worried
that I
might
be thinking like that, but in the end I decided it would probably
work
to help Neville -

“That was, in fact, a rationalisation. I know. I cannot know what the true outcome will be for Neville - but I know what was truly happening inside your head. The decisive pressure was that it was such a clever idea you couldn’t stand
not
to do it, never mind Neville’s terror.”

It was like a hard punch to Harry’s entire self. He fell back, rallied:

Then I won’t do that again! I’ll be extra careful not to turn evil!

“Heard it.”

Frustration was building up inside Harry. He wasn’t used to being outgunned in arguments, at all, ever, let alone by a Hat that could borrow all of his own knowledge and intelligence to argue with him and could watch his thoughts as they formed.
Just what kind of statistical summary do your ‘feelings’ come from, anyway? Do they take into account that I come from an Enlightenment culture, or were these other potential Dark Lords the children of spoiled Dark Age nobility, who didn’t know squat about the historical lessons of how Lenin and Hitler actually turned out, or about the evolutionary psychology of self-delusion, or the value of self-awareness and rationality, or -

“No, of course they were not in this new reference class which you have just now constructed in such a way as to contain only yourself. And of course others have pleaded their own exceptionalism, just as you are doing now. But why is it necessary? Do you think that you are the last potential wizard of Light in the world? Why must
you
be the one to try for greatness, when I have advised you that you are riskier than average? Let some other, safer candidate try!”

But the prophecy…

“You don’t really know that there’s a prophecy. It was originally a wild guess on your part, or to be more precise, a wild joke, and McGonagall could have been reacting
only
to the part about the Dark Lord still being alive. You have essentially no idea of what the prophecy says or even if there
is
one. You’re just speculating, or to put it more exactly,
wishing
that you have some ready-made heroic role that is your personal property.”

But even if there is no prophecy, I’m the one who defeated him last time.

“That was almost certainly a wild fluke unless you seriously believe that a one-year-old child had an inherent propensity to defeat Dark Lords which has been maintained ten years later. None of this is your real reason and
you know it!”

The answer to this was something that Harry would not regularly have said out loud, in conversation he would have danced around it and found some more socially palatable arguments to the same conclusion -

“You think that you are potentially the greatest who has yet lived, the strongest servant of the Light, that no other is likely to take up your wand if you lay it down.”

Well… yeah, frankly. I don’t usually come out and say it like that, but yeah. No point in softening it, you can read my mind anyway.

“To the extent you really believe that… you must equally believe that you could be the most terrible Dark Lord the world has ever known.”

Destruction is always easier than creation. Easier to tear things apart, to disrupt, than to put them back together again. If I have the potential to accomplish good on a massive scale, I must also have the potential to accomplish still greater evil… But I won’t do that.

“Already you insist on risking it! Why are you so driven? What is the real reason you must not go to Hufflepuff and
be happier
there? What is your true fear?”

I must achieve my full potential. If I don’t I… fail…

“What happens if you fail?”

Something terrible…

“What happens if you fail?”

I don’t know!

“Then it should not be frightening. What happens if you fail?”

I DON’T KNOW! BUT I KNOW THAT IT’S BAD!

There was silence for a moment in the caverns of Harry’s mind.

“You know - you aren’t letting yourself think it, but in some quiet corner of your mind you know just exactly
what
you aren’t thinking - you
know
that by far the simplest explanation for this unverbalisable fear of yours is just the fear of losing your fantasy of greatness, of disappointing the people who believe in you, of turning out to be pretty much ordinary, of flashing and fading like so many other child prodigies…”

No,
Harry thought desperately,
no, it’s something more, it comes from somewhere else, I know there’s something out there to be afraid of, some disaster I have to stop…

“How could you possibly know about something like that?”

Harry screamed it with the full power of his mind:
NO, AND THAT’S FINAL!

Then the voice of the Sorting Hat came slowly:

“So you will risk becoming a Dark Lord, because the alternative, to you, is certain failure, and that failure means the loss of everything. You believe that in your heart of hearts. You know all the reasons for doubting this belief, and they have failed to move you.”

Yes. And even if going to Ravenclaw
strengthens
the coldness, that doesn’t mean the coldness will
win
in the end.

“This day is a great fork in your destiny. Don’t be so sure that there will be other choices beyond this one. There is no road-sign set, to mark the place of your
last
chance to turn back. If you refuse one chance will you not refuse others? It may be that your fate is already sealed, even by doing this one thing.”

But that is not certain.

“That
you
do not
know
it for a certainty may reflect only
your
own ignorance.”

But still it is not certain.

The Hat sighed a terrible sad sigh.

“And so before too long you will become another memory, to be felt and never known, in the next warning that I give…”

If that’s how it seems to you, then why aren’t you just
putting
me where you want me to go?

The Hat’s thought was laced with sorrow.
“I can only put you where you belong. And only your own decisions can change where you belong.”

Then this is done. Send me to Ravenclaw where I belong, with the others of my own kind.

“I don’t suppose you would consider Gryffindor? It’s the most prestigious House - people probably expect it of you, even - they’ll be a little disappointed if you don’t go - and your new friends the Weasley twins are there -”

Harry giggled, or felt the impulse to do so; it came out as purely mental laughter, an odd sensation. Apparently there were safeguards to prevent you from saying anything out loud by accident, while you were under the Hat talking about things you would never tell another soul for the rest of your life.

After a moment, Harry heard the Hat laughing too, a strange sad clothy sound.

(And in the Hall beyond, a silence that had grown shallower at first as the background whispers increased, and then deepened as the whispers gave up and died away, falling finally into an utter silence that no one dared disturb with a single word, as Harry stayed under the Hat for long, long minutes, longer than all the previous first-years put together, longer than anyone in living memory. At the Head Table, Dumbledore went on smiling benignly; small metallic sounds occasionally came from Snape’s direction as he idly compacted the twisted remains of what had once been a heavy silver wine goblet; and Minerva McGonagall clenched the podium in a white-knuckled grip, knowing that Harry Potter’s contagious chaos had somehow infected the Sorting Hat itself and the Hat was about to, to demand that a whole new House of Doom be created just to accomodate Harry Potter or something, and
Dumbledore would make her do it
…)

Beneath the brim of the Hat, the silent laughter died away. Harry felt sad too for some reason. No, not Gryffindor.

Professor McGonagall said that if ‘the one who did the Sorting’ tried to push me into Gryffindor, I was to remind you that she might well be Headmistress someday, at which point she would have the authority to set you on fire.

“Tell her I called her an impudent youngster and told her to get off my lawn.”

I shall. So was this your strangest conversation ever?

“Not even close.”
The Hat’s telepathic voice grew heavy.
“Well, I gave you every possible chance to make another decision. Now it is time for you to go where you belong, with the others of your own kind.”

There was a pause that stretched.

What are you waiting for?

“I was hoping for a moment of horrified realisation, actually. Self-awareness does seem to enhance my sense of humor.”

Huh?
Harry cast back his thoughts, trying to figure out what the Hat could possibly be talking about - and then, suddenly, he realised. He couldn’t believe he’d managed to overlook it up until this point.

You mean my horrified realisation that you’re going to cease to be conscious once you finish Sorting me -

Somehow, in some fashion Harry entirely failed to understand, he got a nonverbal impression of a hat banging its head against the wall.
“I give up. You’re too slow on the uptake for this to be funny. So blinded by your own assumptions that you might as well be a rock. I suppose I’ll just have to say it outright.”

Too s-s-slow -

“Oh, and you entirely forgot to demand the secrets of the lost magic that created me. And they were such wonderful, important secrets, too.”

You sly little BASTARD -

“You deserved it, and this as well.”

Harry saw it coming just as it was already too late.

The frightened silence of the hall was broken by a single word.

“SLYTHERIN!”

Some students screamed, the pent-up tension was so great. People startled hard enough to fall off their benches. Hagrid gasped in horror, McGonagall staggered at the podium, and Snape dropped the remains of his heavy silver goblet directly onto his groin.

Harry sat there frozen, his life in ruins, feeling the absolute fool, and wishing wretchedly that he had made any other choices for any other reasons but the ones he had. That he had done something,
anything
differently before it had been too late to turn back.

As the first moment of shock was wearing off and people began to react to the news, the Sorting Hat spoke again:

“Just kidding! RAVENCLAW!”

Hail the Dark Lord Rowling.

“Omake” is a non-canonical extra.

OMAKE FILES #1: 72 Hours to Victory

(A.k.a. “What Happens If You Change Harry But Leave All Other Characters Constant”)

Dumbledore peered over his desk at young Harry, twinkling in a kindly sort of way. The boy had come to him with a terribly intense look on his childish face - Dumbledore hoped that whatever this matter was, it wasn’t
too
serious. Harry was far too young for his life trials to be starting already. “What was it you wished to speak to me about, Harry?”

Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres leaned forward in his chair, smiling grimly. “Headmaster, I got a sharp pain in my scar during the Sorting Feast. Considering how and where I got this scar, it didn’t seem like the sort of thing I should just ignore. I thought at first it was because of Professor Snape, but I followed the Baconian experimental method which is to find the conditions for both the presence and the absence of the phenomenon, and I’ve determined that my scar hurts if and only if I’m facing the back of Professor Quirrell’s head, whatever’s under his turban. While it
could
be something more innocuous, I think we should provisionally assume the worst, that it’s You-Know-Who - wait, don’t look so horrified, this is actually a priceless opportunity -”

OMAKE FILES #2: I Ain’t Afraid of Dark Lords

This was the original version of Chapter 9. It was replaced because - while many readers did enjoy it - many other readers had
massive
allergies to songs in fanfics, for reasons that should not much need belaboring. I didn’t want to drive readers away before they got to Ch. 10.

Lee Jordan is the fellow prankster of Fred and George (in canon). “Lee Jordan” had sounded like a Muggleborn name to me, implying that he would be capable of instructing Fred and George on a tune that Harry would know. This was not as obvious to some readers as it was to your author.

Draco went to Slytherin, and Harry breathed a small sigh of relief. It had
seemed
like a sure thing, but you never did know what tiny event might upset the course of your master plan.

They were approaching the Ps now…

And over at the Gryffindor table, there was a whispered conversation.

“What if he doesn’t like it?”

“He’s got no right to not like it -

“- not after the prank he played on -”

“- Neville Longbottom, his name was -”

“- he’s as fair a fair target now as fair can be.”

“All right. Just make sure you don’t forget your parts.”

“We’ve rehearsed it often enough -”

“- over the last three hours.”

And Minerva McGonagall, from where she stood at the speaker’s podium of the Head Table, looked down at the next name on her list.
Please don’t let him be a Gryffindor please don’t let him be a Gryffindor OH PLEASE don’t let him be a Gryffindor…
She took a deep breath, and called:

“Potter, Harry!”

There was a sudden silence in the hall as all whispered conversation stopped.

A silence broken by a horrible buzzing noise that modulated and changed in hideous mockery of musical melody.

Minerva’s head jerked around, shocked, and identified the buzzing noise as coming from the Gryffindor direction, where They were
standing on top of the table
blowing into some kind of tiny devices held against Their lips. Her hand started to drop to her wand, to
Silencio
the lot of Them, but another sound stopped her.

Dumbledore was chuckling.

Minerva’s eyes went back to Harry Potter, who had only just started to step out of line before he’d stumbled and halted.

Then the young boy began to walk again, moving his legs in odd sweeping motions, and waving his arms back and forth and snapping his fingers, in synchrony with Their music.

To the tune of “Ghostbusters”

(As performed on the kazoo by Fred and George Weasley,
and sung by Lee Jordan.)

.

There’s a Dark Lord near?
Got no need to fear
Who you gonna call?

“HARRY POTTER!” shouted Lee Jordan, and the Weasley twins performed a triumphant chorus.

With a Killing Curse?
Well it could be worse.
Who you gonna call?

“HARRY POTTER!” There were a lot more voices shouting it this time.

The Weasley Horrors went off into an extended wailing, now accompanied by some of the older Muggleborns, who had produced their own tiny devices, Transfigured out of the school silverware no doubt. As their music reached its anticlimax, Harry Potter shouted:

I ain’t afraid of Dark Lords!

There was cheering then, especially from the Gryffindor table, and more students produced their own antimusical instruments. The hideous buzzings redoubled in volume and built to another awful crescendo:

I ain’t afraid of Dark Lords!

Minerva glanced to both sides of the Head Table, afraid to look but with all too good a notion of what she would see.

Trelawney frantically fanning herself, Flitwick looking on with curiosity, Hagrid clapping along to the music, Sprout looking severe, and Quirrell gazing at the boy with sardonic amusement. Directly to her left, Dumbledore humming along; and directly to her right, Snape gripping his empty wine goblet, white-knuckled, so hard that the thick silver was slowly deforming.

Dark robes and a mask?
Impossible task?
Who you gonna call?
HARRY POTTER!

Giant Fire-Ape?
Old bat in a cape?
Who you gonna call?
HARRY POTTER!

Minerva’s lips set in a white line. She would have words with Them about that last verse, if They thought she was powerless because it was the first day of school and Gryffindor had no points to take away. If They didn’t care about detentions then she would find something else.

Then, with a sudden gasp of horror, she looked in Snape’s direction,
surely
he realised the Potter boy must have no idea who that was talking about -

Snape’s face had gone beyond rage into a kind of pleasant indifference. A faint smile played about his lips. He was looking in the direction of Harry Potter, not the Gryffindor table, and his hands held the crumpled remains of a former wine goblet…

And Harry walked forwards, sweeping his arms and legs through the motions of the Ghostbusters dance, keeping a smile on his face. It was a great setup, had caught him completely by surprise. The least he could do was play along and not ruin it all.

Everyone was cheering him. It made him feel all warm inside and sort of awful at the same time.

They were cheering him for a job he’d done when he was one year old. A job he hadn’t really finished. Somewhere, somehow, the Dark Lord was still alive. Would they have been cheering quite so hard, if they knew that?

But the Dark Lord’s power
had
been broken once.

And Harry would protect them again. If there was in fact a prophecy and that was what it said. Well, actually regardless of what any darn prophecy said.

All those people believing in him and cheering him - Harry couldn’t stand to let that be false. To flash and fade like so many other child prodigies. To be a disappointment. To fail to live up to his reputation as a symbol of the Light, never mind
how
he’d gotten it. He would absolutely, positively, no matter how long it took and even if it killed him, fulfill their expectations. And then go on to
exceed
those expectations, so that people wondered, looking back, that they had once asked so little of him.

And he shouted out the lie that he’d invented because it scanned well and the song called for it:

I ain’t afraid of Dark Lords!
I ain’t afraid of Dark Lords!

Harry took his last steps toward the Sorting Hat as the music ended. He swept a bow to the Order of Chaos at the Gryffindor table, and then turned and swept another bow to the other side of the hall, and waited for the applause and giggling to die away…

OMAKE FILES #3: Alternate Endings of ‘Self-Awareness’

The offer to tell the whole plot to anyone who guessed what ‘has never happened before’ spurred a
lot
of interesting attempts. The first omake below is taken directly from my personal favorite answer, by Meteoricshipyards. The second is based on Kazuma’s suggestion for what “has never happened before”, the third on a combination of yoyoente and dougal74, the fourth on wolf550e’s review of chapter 10. The one that starts with ‘K’, and the one just above that, are from DarkHeart81. The others are my own. Anyone who wants to pick up one of my own ideas and run with them, particularly the last one, is welcome to do so. And before I get 100 indignant complaints, yes, I am well aware that the legislative body of the UK is the House of Commons in Parliament.

…In the back of his mind, he wondered if the Sorting Hat was genuinely
conscious
in the sense of being aware of its own awareness, and if so, whether it was satisfied with only getting to talk to eleven-year-olds once per year. Its song had implied so:
Oh, I’m the Sorting Hat and I’m okay, I sleep all year and I work one day…

When there was once more silence in the room, Harry sat on the stool and
carefully
placed onto his head the 800-year-old telepathic artefact of forgotten magic.

Thinking, just as hard as he could:
Don’t Sort me yet! I have questions I need to ask you! Have I ever been Obliviated? Did you Sort the Dark Lord when he was a child and can you tell me about his weaknesses? Can you tell me why I got the brother wand to the Dark Lord’s? Is the Dark Lord’s ghost bound to my scar and is that why I get so angry sometimes? Those are the most important questions, but if you’ve got another moment can you tell me anything about how to rediscover the lost magics that created you?

And the Sorting Hat answered, “
No. Yes. No. No. Yes and no, next time don’t ask double questions. No.
” and out loud, “RAVENCLAW!”

“Oh, dear. This has never happened before…”

What?

“I’m allergic to your hair shampoo -”

And then the Sorting Hat sneezed, with a mighty “A-CHOO!” that echoed around the Great Hall.

“Well!” Dumbledore cried jovially. “It seems Harry Potter has been sorted into the new House of Achoo! McGonagall, you can serve as the Head of House Achoo. You’d better hurry up on making arrangements for Achoo’s curriculum and classes, tomorrow is the first day!”

“But, but, but,” stammered McGonagall, her mind in nearly complete disarray, “who will be Head of House Gryffindor?” It was all she could think of, she
had
to stop this somehow…

Dumbledore put a finger to his cheek, looking thoughtful. “Snape.”

Snape’s screech of protest nearly drowned out McGonagall’s, “Then who will be Head of
Slytherin?
”

“Hagrid.”

Don’t Sort me yet! I have questions I need to ask you! Have I ever been Obliviated? Did you Sort the Dark Lord when he was a child and can you tell me about his weaknesses? Can you tell me why I got the brother wand to the Dark Lord’s? Is the Dark Lord’s ghost bound to my scar and is that why I get so angry sometimes? Those are the most important questions, but if you’ve got another moment can you tell me anything about how to rediscover the lost magics that created you?

There was a brief pause.

Hello? Do I need to repeat the questions?

The Sorting Hat screamed, an awful high-pitched sound that echoed through the Great Hall and caused most of the students to clap their hands over their ears. With a desperate yowl, it leapt off Harry Potter’s head and bounded across the floor, pushing itself along with its brim, and made it halfway to the Head Table before it exploded.

“SLYTHERIN!”

Seeing the look of horror on Harry Potter’s face, Fred Weasley thought faster than he ever had in his life. In a single motion he whipped out his wand, whispered
“Silencio!”
and then “
Changemyvoiceio!”
and finally “
Ventriliquo!
”

“Just kidding!” said Fred Weasley. “GRYFFINDOR!”

“Oh, dear. This has never happened before…”

What?

“Ordinarily I would refer such questions to the Headmaster, who could ask me in turn, if he wished. But some of the information you’ve asked for is not only beyond your own user level, but beyond the Headmaster’s.”

How can I raise my user level?

“I’m afraid I am not allowed to answer that question at your current user level.”

What options
are
available at my user level?

After that it didn’t take long -

“ROOT!”

“Oh, dear. This has never happened before…”

What?

“I’ve had to tell students before that they were mothers - it would break your heart to know what I saw in their minds - but this is the first time I’ve ever had to tell someone they were a father.”

WHAT?

“Draco Malfoy is carrying your baby.”

WHAAAAAAAT?

“To repeat: Draco Malfoy is carrying your baby.”

But we’re only eleven -

“Actually, Draco is secretly thirteen years old.”

B-b-but men can’t get pregnant -

“And a girl under those clothes.”

BUT WE’VE NEVER HAD SEX, YOU IDIOT!

“SHE OBLIVIATED YOU AFTER THE RAPE, MORON!”

Harry Potter fainted. His unconscious body fell off the stool with a dull thud.

“RAVENCLAW!” called out the Hat from where it lay on top of his head. That had been even funnier than its first idea.

“ELF!”

Huh? Harry remembered Draco mentioning a ‘House Elf’, but what was that exactly?

Judging by the appalled looks dawning on the faces around him, it wasn’t anything good -

“PANCAKES!”

“REPRESENTATIVES!”

“Oh, dear. This has never happened before…”