Eliezer Yudkowsky - Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality

(one day David Monroe had mysteriously disappeared, presumed dead at the Dark Lord’s hands)

An awful intuition had come over Harry, something separate from all the reasoning he’d done so far, an intuition that Harry couldn’t put into words; except that he and the Defense Professor were very much alike in certain ways, and faking a Time-Turned message was just the sort of creative method that Harry himself might have tried to bypass all of a target’s protections—

And that was when Harry finally realized what should have been obvious from the very, very beginning.

Professor Quirrell was smart.

Professor Quirrell was smart in the same way as Harry.

Professor Quirrell was smart in exactly the same way as Harry’s mysterious dark side.

If you had to guess when the Boy-Who-Lived had acquired his mysterious dark side, the obvious guess was the night of October 31st, 1981.

And

And

And Professor Quirrell had known a password that Bellatrix Black had thought identified the Dark Lord and his presence gave the Boy-WhoLived a sense of doom and his magic interacted destructively with Harry’s and his favorite spell was Avada Kedavra and and and—

The realization blasted through Harry like a vast dam breaking, releasing out all its water, bursting through his mind in an irresistible flood that swept everything away.

There is only one reality that generates all of the observations.

If different observations seem to point in incompatible directions, it means the true hypothesis is one you haven’t thought of yet.

And in those cases, when you finally think of the correct hypothesis, everything aligns behind it, beyond denial or horror, tearing away every doubt and every emotion that might stand in its path.

—and then ‘David Monroe’ and ‘Lord Voldemort’ had just been one person playing both sides of the Wizarding War and that was why the Monroe family had been killed before they could meet ‘David Monroe’ just like Moody had suspected—

Reality settled down into a single known state, one coherent state-ofaffairs that compactly generated the observation set.

Harry didn’t jump, didn’t change his breathing, tried not to show a single sign of the horror and agony flooding his mind.

The Enemy was behind him, watching him.

“All right,” Harry said out loud, as soon as he dared trust his voice to sound normal. He kept on staring at the bodies, looking away from Professor Quirrell, because Harry didn’t trust his own face. Harry lifted a sleeve to wipe away the sweat on his forehead, trying to make the gesture look casual; Harry couldn’t control the sweat, or the rapid hammering in his chest. “Let’s go get the Philosopher’s Stone.”

All Harry needed was a single moment of distraction anywhere along the way to use his Time-Turner.

There was no reply from behind him.

The silence stretched.

Slowly, Harry turned around.

Professor Quirrell was standing upright and smiling.

In the Defense Professor’s hand was a shape of black metal pointed at Harry’s wand arm, held with the sure grip of someone who knew exactly how to use a semiautomatic handgun.

Harry’s mouth was dry, even his lips were trembling with adrenaline, but he managed to speak. “Hello, Lord Voldemort.”

Professor Quirrell inclined his head in acknowledgement, and said, “Hello, Tom Riddle.”

Tom Riddle.

The words seemed to echo inside Harry’s head, sparking resonances that as quickly died away, broken patterns trying to complete themselves and failing.

Tom Riddle is a

Tom Riddle was the Riddle

There were other priorities occupying Harry’s attention.

Professor Quirrell was pointing a gun at him.

And for some reason Lord Voldemort hadn’t fired it yet.

Harry’s voice came out in more of a croak. “What is it that you want from me?”

“Your death,” said Professor Quirrell, “is clearly not what I am about to say, since I have had plenty of time to kill you if I wished. The fateful battle between Lord Voldemort and the Boy-Who-Lived is a figment of Dumbledore’s imagination. I know where to find your family’s house in Oxford, and I am familiar with the concept of sniper rifles. You would have died before you ever touched a wand. I hope this is clear to you, Tom?”

“Crystal,” Harry whispered. His body was still shaking, running programs more suited to fleeing a tiger than casting delicate spells or thinking. But Harry could think of one thing the person pointing a gun at him obviously wanted him to do, a question that person was waiting for him to ask, and Harry did so. “Why are you calling me Tom?”

Professor Quirrell regarded him steadily. “Why am I calling you Tom? Answer. Your intellect is not everything I hoped for, but it should suffice for this.”

Harry’s mouth seemed to know the answer before his brain could manage to focus on the question. “Tom Riddle is your name. Our name.

That’s who Lord Voldemort is, or was, or—something.”

Professor Quirrell nodded. “Better. You have already vanquished the Dark Lord, the one and only time that you will ever do so. I have already destroyed all but a remnant of Harry Potter, eliminating the difference between our spirits and enabling us to reside in the same world. Now that it is clear to you that the battle between us is a lie, you might act sensibly to advance your own interests. Or you might not.” The gun jabbed slightly forward, causing prickles of sweat to appear on Harry’s forehead. “Drop your wand. Now .”

Harry dropped it.

“Step away from the wand,” said Professor Quirrell.

Harry obeyed.

“Reach toward your neck,” said Professor Quirrell, “and remove your Time-Turner, touching it by the chain only. Place the Time-Turner on the ground, then step away from it as well.”

This also Harry did. Even in his state of shock, his mind still looked for a way to spin the Time-Turner in the process, a sudden move that would win; but Harry knew that Professor Quirrell would already be imagining himself in Harry’s position, looking for the same possible opportunities. “Remove your pouch and place it also on the ground, then step away.” Harry did this.

“Very good,” said the Defense Professor. “Now. It is time for me to obtain the Philosopher’s Stone. I mean to bring along these four first-years here, suitably Obliviated of their most recent memories so that they still recall their original purpose. Snape I shall control and set to guard this door. After this day’s work is done, I intend to kill Snape for the betrayals he has offered my other identity. The three heir-children I shall take with me afterwards, to shape their future loyalties. And know this, I have taken hostages. I have already set in motion a spell that will kill hundreds of Hogwarts students, including many you called friends. I can stop that spell using the Stone, if I obtain it successfully. If I am interrupted before then, or if I choose not to stop the spell, hundreds of students will die.” Professor Quirrell’s voice was still mild. “Do you yet perceive any interests you have at stake, boy? I would smile to hear you say ‘no’, but that is too much to hope.”

“I’d like,” Harry managed to say, through the horror, and the heartbreak, and the knives slicing away at an emotional connection that hurt like living flesh as it was cut, “for you not to do those things, Professor.” Why, Professor Quirrell, why, why did it have to turn out like this, I don’t, I don’t,

I don’t want this to be happening…

“Very well,” Professor Quirrell said. “I grant you permission to offer me something I want.” The gun gestured invitingly. “That is a rare privilege, child. Lord Voldemort does not usually negotiate for what he wants.”