Eliezer Yudkowsky - Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality

Once Harry had decided to just answer all the questions correctly, the exam had gone by very quickly. The most realistic answer to more than half the questions was ‘Stunning Hex’, and many of the other questions had optimal solutions along the lines of ‘Turn around and walk in the opposite direction’ or ‘Throw away the cheese and buy a new pair of shoes.’

The last question on the test was “What would you do if you suspected there might be a Bogeysnake underneath your bed?” The Ministryapproved answer, Harry could in fact recall from his read-through of the textbook at the start of the year, was Tell your parents. The problem with this had occurred to Harry right away, which was why Harry had remembered it.

After some pondering, Harry wrote down:

Dear Ministry grader: I’m afraid the real answer to that is a secret, but rest assured that a Bogeysnake would present no more trouble to me than a mountain troll, a Dementor, or You-Know-Who. Please inform your superiors that I find your standard answer prejudicial to Muggleborns, and that I expect this failing

will be corrected at once without any need for my direct intervention.

Sincerely, the Boy-Who-Lived.

Harry signed the last parchment with a broad flourish, turned it over into his stack, put down his quill, and sat up.

Looking around, Harry saw that Professor Quirrell seemed to be looking in his rough direction, though the Defense Professor’s head had nodded to one side. The other students were still writing. Some of them were silently crying, but they were still writing. Continuing to fight was also a lesson Professor Quirrell had taught.

Interminably later, the official exam time was up. A seventh-year student went from desk to desk, collecting the exams in Professor Quirrell’s place.

The last exam parchment was collected, and Professor Quirrell sat up straight.

“My young students,” he said softly. The seventh-year student had her wand trained on the Defense Professor’s mouth, so that they all heard his voice seeming to come from right beside them. “I know… that probably seemed very fearsome to some of you… it is a different kind of fear from facing the enemy’s wand… you must conquer it separately. So I… shall tell you this now. It is the custom of Hogwarts… that grades are given in the second week of June. But for my case… they can make an exception, I think.” The Defense Professor smiled his familiar dry smile, tinged now as though by a suppressed grimace. “I know you are worried… that you were not prepared for this exam… that my lessons have not covered this material… and I quite forgot to mention… that it was approaching… though you should have known… it would come in time. But I have just now magically checked… the answers you have given on that… terribly, terribly important final exam… though of course only the Ministry grade is official… and assigned your full-year grades taking the results into account… and magically written your full grades down on these parchments,” Professor Quirrell tapped a stack of parchments on the side of his desk, “which will now be handed out… an incredible spell… is it not?”

A few students on the Ravenclaw side were looking indignant, but for the most part the students just looked relieved, and some Slytherins were chuckling. Harry would have laughed too, if not for the pain of watching Professor Quirrell gasp out the words.

The seventh-year student standing beside Professor Quirrell pointed her wand and spoke an incantation in magical pseudo-Latin. The parchments rose up and started to drift through the air, separating in mid-flow to drift toward each student.

Harry waited until his parchment had arrived on his desk, and then unfolded it.

The parchment said EE+, which stood for Exceeds Expectations. It was the second-highest grade letter, the highest being Outstanding.

In another world, a distant vanished world, a little boy named Harry would have shouted with indignation about receiving only the secondhighest grade. This Harry sat quietly and thought. Professor Quirrell was making some point, and it wasn’t as though the exact grade letter mattered in any other way. Was Professor Quirrell saying that Harry had done relatively well, but not lived up to his full potential? Or was the grade meant to be read literally, that Harry had in fact exceeded the Defense Professor’s expectations?

“All of you… pass,” Professor Quirrell said, as the students all looked at their final grades, as sighs of relief rose from desks and Lavender Brown raised her parchment in a clenched fist held high with triumph. “Every student in first-year Battle Magic has passed… except for one.”

A number of students looked up in sudden terror.

Harry sat there silently. He had seen the point immediately, and even if it was a wrong point, he knew Professor Quirrell would never, ever be talked out of making it.

“All of you in this room… have received grades of at least Acceptable. Neville Longbottom… who took this test in the Longbottom home… received a grade of Outstanding. But the other student who is not here… has had a Dreadful grade entered on her record… for failing the only important test… that was given her this year. I would have marked her even lower… but that would have been in poor taste.”

The room was very quiet, though a number of students were staring angrily at the Professor.

“You may think that a grade of Dreadful… is not fair. That Miss Granger was faced with a test… for which her lessons… had not prepared her.

That she was not told… that the exam was coming on that day.” The Defense Professor drew in a shaking breath.

“Such is realism,” said Professor Quirrell. “The only important test… may come at any time… be better prepared for it… than she was. As for the rest of you… those who have received Exceeds Expectations or above… have received my letters of recommendation… to certain organizations beyond Britain’s shores… where your training might be completed. They will contact you… when you are old enough… if you still appear worthy… and if you have not failed an important test. And remember… from this day… you must train yourselves… you cannot rely… on future Defense professors. Your first year of Battle Magic is over… you are dismissed.”

Professor Quirrell sat back with his eyes closed, seeming to ignore the excited babble that broke out around him.

In time most of the students had departed, and one remained, staying a prescribed distance from the Defense Professor.

The Defense Professor opened his eyes.

Harry raised the parchment with its EE+, still silent.

The Defense Professor smiled, and it went all the way to those tired eyes.

“It is the same grade… that I received in my own first year.”

“Th, th, th,” Harry couldn’t make the words thank you come out, they were stuck in his suddenly closed throat, the Defense Professor tilting his head and giving him an inquiring stare, so Harry just bowed jerkily and then left the room.

Nine days yet remained.

June 13th, 1992.

It was the last week of school in Hogwarts, and Professor Quirrell was still alive, barely. The Defense Professor himself would be in a healer’s

bed, this day, as he’d been for almost the last week.

Hogwarts tradition said that exams were given in the first week of

June, that exam results were released the second week, and that in the third week, there would be the Leave-Taking Feast on Sunday and the Hogwarts Express transporting you to London on Monday.

Harry had wondered, a long time ago when he’d first read about that schedule, just what exactly the students did during the rest of the second week of June, since ‘waiting for exam results’ didn’t sound like much; and the answer had surprised him when he’d found out.