Eliezer Yudkowsky - Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality

They sat in silence for a while.

"I could be wrong," said Professor Quirrell. "In the end it is only a guess. But I did wish to warn you, Mr. Potter, so that you would not be too sorely disappointed."

Harry nodded shortly.

"One might even regret your infant self's victory," said Professor Quirrell. His smile twisted. "If only You-Know-Who had lived, you might have persuaded him to teach you some of the knowledge that would have been your heritage, from one Heir of Slytherin to another." The smile twisted further, as though to mock the obvious impossibility, even given the premise.

Note to self, thought Harry, with a slight chill and an edge of anger, make sure to extract my heritage out of the Dark Lord's mind, one way or another.

There was another silence. Professor Quirrell was looking at Harry as though waiting for him to ask something.

"Well," said Harry, "so long as we're on the topic, can I ask how you think the whole Parselmouth business actually -"

There came a knock at the door, then. Professor Quirrell raised a cautionary finger, then opened the door with a wave. The waitress entered, balancing a huge platter with their meals as though the whole assembly weighed nothing (which was in fact probably the case). She gave Professor Quirrell his bowl of green soup, and a glass of his usual Chianti; and set down before Harry a plate of small meat strips smothered in a heavy-looking sauce, plus a glass of his accustomed treacle soda. Then she bowed, managing to make it seem like sincere respect rather than perfunctory acknowledgment, and departed.

When she was gone, Professor Quirrell held up a finger for silence again, and drew his wand.

And then Professor Quirrell began performing a certain series of incantations that Harry recognized, making him take a sharp breath. It was the series and ordering that Mr. Bester had used, the full set of twenty-seven spells that you would perform before discussing anything of truly great import.

If the discussion of the Chamber of Secrets hadn't counted as important -

When Professor Quirrell was done - he'd performed thirty spells, three of which Harry hadn't heard before - the Defense Professor said, "Now we shall not be interrupted for a time. Can you keep a secret, Mr. Potter?"

Harry nodded.

"A serious secret, Mr. Potter," Professor Quirrell said. His eyes were intent, his face grave. "One which could potentially send me to Azkaban. Think about it before you reply."

For a moment Harry didn't even see why the question should be hard, given his growing collection of secrets. Then -

If this secret could send Professor Quirrell to Azkaban, that means he's done something illegal...

Harry's brain performed a few calculations. Whatever the secret, Professor Quirrell did not think his illegal act would reflect badly on him in Harry's eyes. There was no advantage to be gained from not hearing it. And if it did reveal something wrong with Professor Quirrell, then it was very much to Harry's advantage to know it, even if he had promised not to tell anyone.

"I never had very much respect for authority," Harry said. "Legal and governmental authority included. I will keep your secret."

Harry didn't bother asking whether the revelation was worth the danger it would pose to Professor Quirrell. The Defense Professor wasn't stupid.

"Then I must test whether you are truly a descendant of Salazar," said Professor Quirrell, and stood up from his chair. Harry, prompted more by reflex and instinct than calculation, shoved himself up out of his own chair as well.

There was a blur, a shift, a sudden motion.

Harry aborted his panicked backward leap halfway through, leaving him windmilling his arms and trying not to fall over, a frantic flush of adrenaline running through him.

At the other end of the room swayed a snake a meter high, bright green and intricately banded in white and blue. Harry didn't know enough snakelore to recognize it, but he knew that 'brightly colored' meant 'poisonous'.

The constant sense of doom had diminished, ironically enough, after the Defense Professor of Hogwarts had turned into a venomous snake.

Harry swallowed hard and said, "Greetings - ah, hssss, no, ah, greetingss. "

" Sso, " hissed the snake. " You sspeak, I hear. I sspeak, you hear? "

" Yess, I hear, " hissed Harry. " You are an Animaguss? "

" Obvioussly, " hissed the snake. " Thirty-sseven ruless, number thirty-four: Become Animaguss. All ssensible people do, if can. Thuss, very rare. " The snake's eyes were flat surfaces ensconced within dark pits, sharp black pupils in dark gray fields. " This iss mosst ssecure way to sspeak. You ssee? No otherss undersstand uss. "

" Even if they are ssnake Animagi? "

" Not unlesss heir of Sslytherin willss. " The snake gave a series of short hisses which Harry's brain translated as sardonic laughter. " Sslytherin not sstupid. Ssnake Animaguss not ssame as Parsselmouth. Would be huge flaw in sscheme. "

Well that definitely argued that Parseltongue was personal magic, not snakes being sentient beings with a learnable language -

" I am not regisstered, " hissed the snake. The dark pits of its eyes stared at Harry. " Animaguss musst be regisstered. Penalty is two yearss imprissonment. Will you keep my ssecret, boy? "

" Yess, " hissed Harry. " Would never break promisse. "

The snake seemed to hold still, as though in shock, and then began to sway again. " We come here next in sseven dayss. Bring cloak to passs unsseen, bring hourglasss to move through time - "

" You know? " hissed Harry in shock. " How - "

Again the series of short quick hisses that translated as sardonic laughter. " You arrive in my firsst classs while sstill in other classs, sstrike down enemy with pie, two ballss of memory - "

" Never mind, " hissed Harry. " Sstupid question, forgot you were ssmart. "

" Foolissh thing to forget, " said the snake, but the hiss did not seem offended.

" Hourglasss is resstricted, " Harry said. " Cannot usse until ninth hour. "

The snake twitched its head, a snakish nod. " Many resstrictionss. Locked to your usse only, cannot be sstolen. Cannot transsport other humanss. But ssnake carried in pouch, I ssuspect will go with. Think posssible to hold hourglasss motionlesss within sshell, without dissturbing wardss, while you turn sshell around it. We will tesst in sseven dayss. Will not sspeak of planss beyond thiss. You ssay nothing, to no one. Give no ssign of expectancy, none. Undersstand? "

Harry nodded.

" Ansswer in sspeech. "

" Yess. "

" Will do as I ssaid? "

" Yess. But," Harry gave a wobbling rasp that was how his mind had translated a hesitant 'Ahhh' into snakish, " I do not promisse to do whatever thiss iss, you have not ssaid - "

The snake performed a shiver that Harry's mind translated as a severe glare. " Of coursse not. Will disscusss sspecificss at next meeting. "

The blur and motion reversed itself, and Professor Quirrell was standing there once more. For a moment the Defense Professor himself seemed to sway, as the snake had swayed, and his eyes seemed cold and flat; and then his shoulders straightened and he was human once more.

And the aura of doom had returned.

Professor Quirrell's chair scooted back for him, and he sat down in it. "No sense in letting this go to waste," Professor Quirrell said as he picked up his spoon, "though at the moment I would much prefer a live mouse. One can never quite disentangle the mind from the body it wears, you see..."