Eliezer Yudkowsky - Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality

It had come up much earlier, before the Trial, in conversation with Hermione; when she’d said something about magical Britain being Prejudiced, with considerable and recent justification. And Harry had thought—but not said—that at least she’d been let into Hogwarts to be spat upon.

Not like certain people living in certain countries, who were, it was said , as human as anyone else; who were said to be sapient beings, worth more than any mere unicorn. But who nonetheless wouldn’t be allowed to live in Muggle Britain. On that score, at least, no Muggle had the right to look a wizard in the eye. Magical Britain might discriminate against Muggleborns, but at least it allowed them inside so they could be spat upon in person.

What is deadlier than hate, and flows without limit?

“Indifference,” Harry whispered aloud, the secret of a spell he would never be able to cast; and kept striding toward the library to read anything he could find, anything at all, about the Philosopher’s Stone.

June 4th, 1992.

Daphne Greengrass was in the Slytherin common room, writing a letter to her Lady Mother (who was surprisingly intransigent about power-sharing, despite not even being in Hogwarts to exercise control) when she saw Draco Malfoy stagger in through the portrait door carrying what must have been a dozen books, Vincent and Gregory behind him each carrying a dozen more. The Auror who’d accompanied Malfoy stuck his head in briefly, then withdrew to who-knew-where.

Draco looked around, then seemed to be struck by a bright idea as he staggered toward her, Vincent and Gregory following after.

“Can you help me read these?” said Draco, sounding slightly out of breath as he approached.

“What.” Lessons were over, only the exams were left now, and since when did Malfoys ask Greengrasses for help with their homework?

“These,” Draco Malfoy said importantly, “are all the library books Miss Granger borrowed between April 1st and April 16th. I thought I’d go through them in case there are any Clues there, only then I thought, maybe you should help because you knew Miss Granger better.”

Daphne stared at the books. “The General read all that in two weeks? ” A twinge of pain went through her heart, but she suppressed it.

“Well, I don’t know if Miss Granger finished them all,” Draco said. He held up a cautioning finger. “In fact, we don’t know if she read any of them, or if she really borrowed them, I mean, all we’ve observed is that the library ledger says she checked them out—”

Daphne suppressed a groan. Malfoy had been talking like this for weeks. There were some people who clearly were not meant to be involved with mysterious murders because it did strange things to their minds . “Mr. Malfoy, I couldn’t read all these if I spent my whole summer doing nothing else.”

“Then just skim through them, please?” Draco said. “Especially if there’s, you know, mysterious words scribbled in her handwriting, or a bookmark left inside, or—”

“I’ve seen those plays too, Mr. Malfoy.” Daphne rolled her eyes. “Don’t we have Aurors now for—”

“ We’re doomed! ” shrieked Millicent Bulstrode, as she burst up from the lower chambers into the Slytherin common room.

People paused to look at her.

“ It’s Professor Quirrell! ”

A sudden air of attentiveness, as of long-standing disputes about to be settled. “Well, finally,” someone said, as Millicent tried to catch her breath. “He’s only got, what, ten days left to go bad?”

“Eleven days,” said the seventh-year who was running the betting pool.

“ He’s gotten a little better suddenly and he’s going to summon the first-years for our Defense final! By surprise! In fifty minutes! ”

“A Defense final?” Pansy said blankly. “But Professor Quirrell doesn’t give exams.”

“The Ministry Defense final!” shrieked Millicent.

“But Professor Quirrell doesn’t teach anything from the Ministry curriculum,” objected Pansy.

Daphne was already fleeing to her room, racing for the first-year Defense textbook that she hadn’t touched since September and screaming curses inside her mind.

One desk back of her, someone was crying, their soft sobs providing a background chant of despair for the classroom. Daphne looked back, expecting to see a Hufflepuff and hoping it wasn’t Hannah, and was surprised at first (though not on further reflection) to see it was a Ravenclaw.

Before them were set the exam parchments, turned over, waiting for the bell.

Fifty minutes hadn’t been nearly enough preparation time, but it was something, and Daphne was now feeling ashamed that she hadn’t thought to send messengers to warn the Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor Houses. They’d started giving House Points again just three days ago, at the beginning of June, but the Auxiliary Protective Special Committee still ought to promote House unity.

Another Ravenclaw, sitting four desks to her left, also started to cry. That was Katherine Tung of Dragon Army, if she recalled correctly, whom she’d once seen take on three Sunshine Soldiers simultaneously without a flinch.

Daphne had calmed down after the first couple of minutes of frantic reading. It was just a test, not a murder or anything; and if almost all the first-year students turned in mostly blank parchments then it stood to reason that nobody would be shamed. But Daphne could understand, if not exactly sympathize, that Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs might not see it that way.

“He’s evil,” another Ravenclaw witch said in a shaking voice. “One hundred percent pure Dark Wizard to the bone. The Dark Lord Grindelwald wouldn’t do this, not to children, he’s worse than You-Know-Who.”

Daphne looked reflexively at where Professor Quirrell was sitting, slumped to one side but his eyes alert; and she thought she saw the Defense Professor smile for one tiny instant. No, that had to be her imagination, there was no way the Defense Professor could have heard that.

The bell rang.

Daphne flipped the parchment over.

The top was stamped with the seals for the Ministry, the Hogwarts Board of Governors, and the Department of Magical Education, and runes to detect cheating. Below that was a line for her to write her name, and a list of exam rules with a picture of Lindsay Gagnon, the Director of the Department of Magical Education, shaking an admonishing finger at everyone.

Halfway down the page was the first exam question.

It was, Why is it important for children to stay away from strange creatures? There was a stunned pause.

One student began laughing, she thought it was from the Gryffindor section of the class. Professor Quirrell made no motion to censor it, and the laughter spread.

Nobody spoke aloud, but the students looked around at each other, exchanging glances as the laughter died down, and then as if by some unspoken agreement they all looked at Professor Quirrell, who was smiling down at them benevolently.

Daphne bent over her exam, wearing a defiant evil smile that would have done proud to either Godric Gryffindor or Grindelwald; and she wrote down, Because my Stunning Hex, my Most Ancient Blade, and my Patronus Charm won’t work against everything.

Harry Potter turned over the last page of his Defense exam.

Even Harry had needed to quash a small bit of nervousness, some tiny remnant of his childhood, upon reading the first real question (‘How can you make a Shrieking Eel be silent?’). Professor Quirrell’s lessons had spent roughly zero time on the surprising yet useless trivia that some idiot had imagined a ‘Defense class’ should look like. In principle, Harry could have used his Time-Turner to read through the first-year Defense book after being notified of the surprise exam; but that might have unfairly skewed the grading curve for others. After staring at the question for a couple of seconds, Harry had written down ‘Quieting Charm’, and included the casting directions in case the Ministry grader didn’t believe that Harry knew it.