Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality

by Eliezer Yudkowsky

  "Stop it!" shouts the sixth boy.

  The boy in the red-trimmed robes wobbles as he aborts the kick. "Um," he says, "do you know who this is?"

  The sixth boy's breathing sounds strange. "Lesath Lestrange," he says, his breath coming in short pants, "and he didn't do anything to my parents, he was five years old."

  Neville Longbottom stared at the four huge fifth-year bullies in front of him, trying very hard to control his trembling.

  He should have just told Harry Potter no.

  "Why are you defending him?" said the handsome one, slowly, sounding puzzled with the first hints of offense. "He's a Slytherin. And a Lestrange."

  "He's a boy who lost his parents," said Neville Longbottom. "I know how that is." He didn't know where the words had come from. It sounded too cool, like something Harry Potter would say.

  The trembling went on, though.

  "Who do you think you are?" said the handsome one, starting to sound angry.

  I am Neville, the last scion of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Longbottom -

  Neville couldn't say it.

  "I think he's a traitor," said one of the other Gryffindors, and there was a sudden sinking sensation in Neville's stomach.

  He'd known it, he'd just known it. Harry Potter had been wrong after all. Bullies wouldn't stop only because Neville Longbottom told them to stop.

  The handsome one took a step forward, and the three others followed.

  "So that's how it is for you," Neville said, amazed at how steady his voice was. "It doesn't matter to you if it's Lesath Lestrange or Neville Longbottom."

  Lesath Lestrange let out a sudden gasp, from where he was lying on the floor.

  "Evil is evil," snarled the same boy who'd spoken before, "and if you're friends with evil, you're evil too."

  The four took another step forward.

  Lesath rose, wobbling, to his feet. His face was gray, and he took a few steps forward, and leaned against the wall, and didn't say anything. His eyes were fixed on the turn in the hallway, the way out.

  "Friends," Neville said. Now his voice was going up a bit in pitch. "Yes, I have friends. One of them is the Boy-Who-Lived."

  A couple of the Gryffindors looked suddenly worried. The handsome one didn't flinch. "Harry Potter isn't here," he said, his voice hard, "and if he was, I don't think he'd like to see a Longbottom defending a Lestrange."

  And the Gryffindors took another long step forward, and behind them, Lesath crept along the wall, waiting for his chance.

  Neville swallowed, and raised his right hand with his thumb and forefinger pressed together.

  He shut his eyes, because Harry Potter had made him promise not to peek.

  If this didn't work, he was never trusting anyone again.

  His voice came out surprisingly clear, considering.

  "Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres. Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres. Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres. By the debt that you owe me and the power of your true name I summon you, I open the way for you, I call upon you to manifest yourself before me."

  Neville snapped his fingers.

  And then Neville opened his eyes.

  Lesath Lestrange was staring at him.

  The four Gryffindors were staring at him.

  The handsome one started to chuckle, and that set off the other three.

  "Was Harry Potter supposed to step around the corner or something?" said the handsome one. "Aw. Looks like you've been stood up."

  The handsome one took a menacing step forward toward Neville.

  The other three followed in lockstep.

  "Ahem," said Harry Potter from behind them, leaning against the wall by the window, in the dead end of the hallway, where nobody could possibly have gotten to without being seen.

  If watching people scream always felt this good, Neville could sort of understand why people became bullies.

  Harry Potter stalked forward, placing himself between Lesath Lestrange and the others. He swept his icy gaze across the boys in red-trimmed robes, and then his eyes came to rest on the handsome one, the ringleader. "Mr. Carl Sloper," said Harry Potter. "I believe I have comprehended this situation fully. If Lesath Lestrange has ever committed a single evil himself, rather than being born to the wrong parents, the fact is not known to you. If I am mistaken in this, Mr. Sloper, I suggest you inform me at once."

  Neville saw the fear and awe on the other boys' faces. He was feeling it himself. Harry had claimed it would all be a trick, but how could it be?

  "But he's a Lestrange," said the ringleader.

  "He's a boy who lost his parents," Harry Potter said, his voice growing even colder.

  This time all three of the other Gryffindors flinched.

  "So," said Harry Potter. "You saw that Neville didn't want you tormenting an innocent boy on behalf of the Longbottoms. This failed to move you. If I tell you that the Boy-Who-Lived also thinks you are in the wrong, that what you did today was a terrible mistake, does that make a difference?"

  The ringleader took a step toward Harry.

  The others did not follow him.

  "Carl," one of them said, swallowing. "Maybe we should go."

  "They say you're going to be the next Dark Lord," the ringleader said, staring at Harry.

  A grin crossed Harry Potter's face. "They also say I'm secretly betrothed to Ginevra Weasley and there's a prophecy about us conquering France." The smile faded. "Since you're determined to force the issue, Mr. Carl Sloper, let me make things clear. Leave Lesath alone. I will know if you don't."

  "So Lessy snarked to you," said the ringleader coldly.

  "Sure," said Harry Potter dryly, "and he also told me what you did today after you left Charms class, in a private secluded place where no one could see you, with a certain Hufflepuff girl wearing a white ribbon in her hair -"

  The ringleader's jaw dropped in shock.

  "Eep," said one of the other Gryffindors in a high-pitched voice, and spun on his heels and ran around the corner. His footsteps rapidly pattered away and faded.

  And then there were six.

  "Ah," said Harry Potter, "there goes a slightly intelligent young man. The rest of you could stand to learn from Bertram Kirke's example, before you get into, shall we say, trouble."

  "Are you threatening to snark on us?" said the handsome Gryffindor, his voice trying to be angry, and rather wavering. "Bad things happen to snarkers."

  The other two Gryffindors started slowly moving back.

  Harry Potter started laughing. "Oh, you did not just say that. Are you really trying to intimidate me? Me? Now honestly, do you think you're scarier than Peregrine Derrick, Severus Snape or for that matter You-Know-Who?"

  Even the ringleader flinched at that.

  Harry Potter raised his hand, fingers poised, and all three of the Gryffindors leaped backward, and one of them blurted "Don't - !"

  "See," said Harry Potter, "this is where I snap my fingers and you become part of a hilariously amusing story that will be told with much nervous laughter at dinner tonight. But the thing is, people I trust keep telling me not to do that. Professor McGonagall told me I was taking the easy way out of everything and Professor Quirrell says I need to learn how to lose. So you remember that story where I let myself get beaten up by some older Slytherins? We could do that. You could bully me for a while and I could let you. Only you remember that part at the end where I tell my many, many friends inside this school not to do anything about it? This time we'll skip that part. So go ahead. Bully me."

  Harry Potter stepped forward, his arms opened wide in invitation.

  The three Gryffindors broke and ran, and Neville had to sidestep quickly to avoid getting run over.

  There was silence, as their footsteps faded, and then more silence after that.

  And then there were three.

  Harry Potter drew a deep breath, then exhaled. "Whew," he said. "How are you doing, Neville?"

  Neville's voice came out in a high-pitched squeak. "Okay, that w
as really cool."

  A grin flashed across Harry Potter's face. "You were pretty cool too, you know."

  Neville knew that Harry Potter was just saying that, trying to make him feel good, and it still started a warm glow inside his chest.

  Harry turned toward Lesath Lestrange -

  "Are you okay, Lestrange?" said Neville before Harry could open his mouth.

  Now there was something you didn't expect to find yourself saying, ever.

  Lesath Lestrange turned slowly, and stared at Neville, his face tight, no longer crying, tears glistening as they dried.

  "You think you know how it is?" said Lesath, his voice high and shaking. "You think you know? My parents are in Azkaban, I try not to think about it and they always remind me, they think it's great that Mother is there in the cold and the dark with the Dementors sucking away her life, I wish I was like Harry Potter, at least his parents aren't hurting, my parents are always hurting, every second of every day, I wish I was like you, at least you can see your parents sometimes, at least you know they loved you, if Mother ever loved me the Dementors will have eaten that thought by now -"

  Neville's eyes were wide with shock. He hadn't expected this.

  Lesath turned to Harry Potter, whose eyes were full of horror.

  Lesath flung himself on the floor in front of Harry Potter, touched his forehead to the ground, and whispered, "Help me, Lord."

  There was an awful silence. Neville couldn't think of a single thing to say, and from the naked shock on Harry's face, he couldn't think of anything either.

  "They say you can do anything, please, please my Lord, get my parents out of Azkaban, I'll be your loyal servant forever, my life will be yours and my death as well, only please -"

  "Lesath," Harry said, his voice breaking, "Lesath, I can't, I can't really do things like that, it's all just stupid tricks."

  "It's not!" said Lesath, his voice high and desperate. "I saw it, the stories are true, you can!"

  Harry swallowed. "Lesath, I set the whole thing up with Neville, we planned it all out in advance, ask him!"

  They had, though Harry hadn't said how he was going to do any of it...

  When Lesath looked up from the floor his face was ghastly, and his voice came out in a shriek that hurt Neville's ears. "You son of a mudblood! You could get her out, you just won't! I got down on my knees and begged you and you still won't help! I should have known, you're the Boy-Who-Lived, you think she belongs there!"

  "I can't!" Harry said, his voice as desperate as Lesath's. "It's not a question of what I want, I don't have the power!"

  Lesath rose to his feet, and spat on the floor in front of Harry, and then turned and walked away. When he was around the corner the sound of his feet sped up, and as they faded Neville thought he heard a single sob.

  And then there were two.

  Neville looked at Harry.

  Harry looked at Neville.

  "Wow," Neville said quietly. "He didn't seem very grateful for being rescued."

  "He thought I could help him," Harry said, his voice hoarse. "He had hope for the first time in years."

  Neville swallowed, and said it. "I'm sorry."

  "Wha?" said Harry, sounding totally confused.

  "I wasn't grateful when you helped me -"

  "Every single thing you said before was completely right," said the Boy-Who-Lived.

  "No," Neville said, "it wasn't."

  They simultaneously gave brief sad smiles, each condescending to the other.

  "I know this wasn't real," said Neville, "I know I couldn't have done anything if you hadn't been here, but thanks for letting me pretend."

  "Give me a break," said Harry.

  Harry had turned from Neville, and was staring out the window at the gloomy clouds.

  A completely ridiculous thought came to Neville. "Are you feeling guilty because you can't get Lesath's parents out of Azkaban?"

  "No," said Harry.

  A few seconds went by.

  "Yes," said Harry.

  "You're silly," said Neville.

  "I am aware of this," said Harry.

  "Do you have to do literally anything anyone asks you?"

  The Boy-Who-Lived turned back and looked at Neville again. "Do? No. Feel guilty about not doing? Yes."

  Neville was having trouble finding words. "Once the Dark Lord died, Bellatrix Black was literally the most evil person in the entire world and that was before she went to Azkaban. She tortured my mother and father into insanity because she wanted to find out what happened to the Dark Lord -"

  "I know," Harry said quietly. "I get that, but -"

  "No! You don't! She had a reason for doing that, and my parents were both Aurors! It's not even close to the worst thing she's ever done!" Neville's voice was shaking.

  "Even so," said the Boy-Who-Lived, his eyes distant as they stared off into somewhere else, some other place that Neville couldn't imagine. "There might be some incredibly clever solution that makes it possible to save everyone and let them all live happily ever after, and if only I was smart enough I would have thought of it by now -"

  "You have problems," said Neville. "You think you ought to be what Lesath Lestrange thinks you are."

  "Yeah," said the Boy-Who-Lived, "that pretty much nails it. Every time someone cries out in prayer and I can't answer, I feel guilty about not being God."

  Neville didn't quite understand that, but... "That doesn't sound good."

  Harry sighed. "I understand that I have a problem, and I know what I need to do to solve it, all right? I'm working on it."

  Harry watched Neville leave.

  Of course Harry hadn't said what the solution was.

  The solution, obviously, was to hurry up and become God.

  Neville's footsteps moved off, and soon could no longer be heard.

  And then there was one.

  "Ahem," said Severus Snape's voice from directly behind him.

  Harry let out a small scream and instantly hated himself.

  Slowly, Harry turned around.

  The tall greasy man in the spotted robes was leaning against the wall in the same position Harry had occupied.

  "A fine invisibility cloak, Potter," drawled the Potions Master. "Much is explained."

  Oh, bloody crap.

  "And perhaps I have been in Dumbledore's company too long," said Severus, "but I cannot help but wonder if that is the Cloak of Invisibility."

  Harry immediately turned into someone who'd never heard of the Cloak of Invisibility and who was exactly as smart as Harry thought Severus thought Harry was.

  "Oh, possibly," said Harry. "I trust you realize the implications, if it is?"

  Severus's voice was condescending. "You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you, Potter? A rather clumsy try at fishing."

  (Professor Quirrell had remarked over their lunch that Harry really needed to conceal his state of mind better than putting on a blank face when someone discussed a dangerous topic, and had explained about one-level deceptions, two-level deceptions, and so on. So either Severus was in fact modeling Harry as a one-level player, which made Severus himself two-level, and Harry's three-level move had been successful; or Severus was a four-level player and wanted Harry to think the deception had been successful. Harry, smiling, had asked Professor Quirrell what level he played at, and Professor Quirrell, also smiling, had responded, One level higher than you.)

  "So you were watching this whole time," said Harry. "Disillusionment, I think it's called."

  A thin smile. "It would have been foolish of me to take the slightest risk that you came to harm."

  "And you wanted to see the results of your test firsthand," said Harry. "So. Am I like my father?"

  A strange sad expression came over the man, one that looked foreign to his face. "I should sooner say, Harry Potter, that you resemble -"

  Severus stopped short.

  He stared at Harry.

  "Lestrange called you a son of a mudblood," Severus said slowly.
"It didn't seem to bother you much."

  Harry furrowed his eyebrows. "Not under those circumstances, no."

  "You'd just helped him," Severus said. His eyes were intent on Harry. "And he threw it back in your face. Surely that isn't something you'd just forgive?"

  "He'd just been through a pretty harrowing experience," Harry said. "And I don't think being rescued by first-years helped his pride much, either."

  "I suppose it was easy enough to forgive," Severus said, and his voice was odd, "since Lestrange means nothing to you. Just some strange Slytherin. If it was a friend, perhaps, you would have felt far more injured by what he said."

  "If he were a friend," Harry said, "all the more reason to forgive him."

  There was a long silence. Harry felt, and he couldn't have said why or from where, that the air was filling up with a dreadful tension, like water rising, and rising, and rising.

  Then Severus smiled, looking suddenly relaxed once more, and all the tension vanished.

  "You are a very forgiving person," Severus said, still smiling. "I suppose your stepfather, Michael Verres-Evans, was the one who taught it to you."

  "More like Dad's science fiction and fantasy collection," said Harry. "Sort of my fifth parent, really. I've lived the lives of all the characters in all my books, and all their mighty wisdom thunders in my head. Somewhere in there was someone like Lesath, I expect, though I couldn't say who. It wasn't hard to put myself in his shoes. And it was my books that told me what to do about it, too. The good guys forgive."

  Severus gave a light, amused laugh. "I'm afraid I wouldn't know much about what good people do."

  Harry looked at him. That was kind of sad, actually. "I'll lend you some novels with good people in them, if you like."

  "I should like to ask your advice about something," Severus said, his voice casual. "I know of another fifth-year Slytherin who was being bullied by Gryffindors. He was wooing a beautiful Muggleborn girl, who came across him being bullied, and tried to rescue him. And he called her a mudblood, and that was the end for them. He apologized, many times, but she never forgave him. Have you any thoughts for what he could have said or done, to win from her the forgiveness you gave Lestrange?"