Eliezer Yudkowsky - Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality

THAT, Harry said aloud inside his mind, THAT is what I call Step Two.

“Interesting,” said the cold high voice. “Your Patronus draws upon your life as well as your magic… I guessed that much, for it was too powerful for a first-year to fuel with magic alone. And yet there must be more to the puzzle, since not just any life-fueled spell would have done… was your happy thought the image of her returning to life? Was that all it took?” Lord Voldemort was again toying with his wand, a dark interest in those red-slitted eyes. “I suspect I will feel quite stupid when I finally comprehend that spell, someday in my eternity. Now step away from the girl. There iss more work I intend to do, to give her besst chance of continued life. ”

Harry stepped back, reluctantly, the sense of tension starting to return to him. He almost tripped over one haphazard grave marker, as the Dark Lord continued to walk forward.

Standing before the altar, the Dark Lord laid one finger upon Hermione Granger’s forehead.

Then the Dark Lord tapped his finger upon Hermione Granger’s forehead, and said, in a voice so low Harry almost did not hear, “ Requiescus. ”

Voldemort waved his hand at an obelisk, which began to rotate, turning itself to lay flat upon the ground, pointing outward. “Fascinating indeed,” Voldemort hissed. “She is alive, and magical, and not another Tom Riddle as I feared you might have made her.”

The tension was rising again in Harry. He’d put his wand away into the back belt of his pants, he did not want to remind Voldemort that he still had the wand on him. “What are you doing to her now?”

Another obelisk turned, lay flat upon the ground. “ There iss old, losst ritual to ssacrifice magical creature, transsfer magical nature to ssubject. Limitationss are great. Transsfer iss temporary, only few hourss. Ssubject ssometimess diess when transsfer wearss off. But Sstone will make permanent. ”

Four obelisks lay flat upon the ground, evenly spaced; the other two obelisks had been floated away.

Voldemort began to reach into his own mouth, checked himself, hissed with annoyance again. He gestured at the sleeping mouth of Quirinus Quirrell, and from Quirrell’s mouth floated up two teeth, almost invisible in the falling night. One of these went to the pile of items, the other floated to before the altar.

Moments later, Harry cried out and took a step back.

Huge and misshapen, lumpy skin, legs thick as tree-trunks, a small head that looked like a coconut perched upon a boulder.

A mountain troll stood within the circle of obelisks, motionless as though asleep while standing.

“ What are you doing? ”

Voldemort’s mouth was stretched in a wide smile; it looked horrible on him, like his face had too many teeth. “ Sshall ssacrifice my fallback weapon, and girl-child sshall gain troll'ss power of regeneration. Transsfiguration ssicknesss iss nothing before that, if perchance it wass not fixed by previouss ritual. And no knife sshall sslay girl-child, nor cutting cursse, nor ssicknesss take her. ”

“Why—why are you doing this?” Harry’s voice shook.

“ Have not the tiniesst intention of letting girl-child die again, after going to ssuch lengthss to ressurrect her. ”

Harry swallowed. “I’m very confused.” Was Voldemort practicing being nice? This hypothesis did not seem like a sufficient explanation.

“Stay well back,” Voldemort said coldly. “This ritual is Darker than the last.” The Dark Lord began a new chant, softer syllables that seemed to seethe through the air like living things; and Harry, feeling a new surge of apprehension, stepped backwards.

Then Harry cried aloud, as pain flared again within his scar. The mountain troll crumbled in on itself, becoming ashes hanging in the air, then dust, and then the dust seemed to blow away without going anywhere; it was gone.

Hermione Granger slept on peacefully, whatever spell of repose Voldemort had cast on her being sufficient to the task.

“Um,” Harry said in a small voice. “Did it work?”

“ Diffindo. ”

Harry stepped forward with a choked yell, and then halted, both as the stupidity of his motion caught up with him, and as the sudden cut that the Severing Charm had opened on Hermione’s leg closed almost as quickly as it had been made. In seconds there was only a light stain of blood on the surrounding flesh.

The Stone was laid again on Hermione, and after a time it turned.

Voldemort laughed once more, as he passed his hand over her. “Marvelous.”

Then another tiny tooth was floating within the circle of obelisks; and an instant later, a unicorn stood where the troll had stood before, eyes dull and head lowered.

“What?” Harry said. “Why a unicorn? ”

“ Power of unicorn'ss blood to presserve life makess excellent combination with troll'sshealing. OnlyFiendfyreandKilling Curssesshallgirl-childfear, fromthissday. ” A flicker of snakish laughter. “ Bessidess, had sspare unicorn left over, might ass well usse. ”

“Unicorn’s blood has side effects-”

“ That iss only when power of unicorn'ss blood iss sstolen by another. Thiss sspell willmakepowerofunicornbelonginssidegirl-child, assifsshewassalwayssbornthat way. ”

The grim chant and its seething words began again.

Harry watched, not understanding in the slightest.

Forget understanding, what am I seeing?

I’m seeing the Dark Lord Voldemort going to enormous lengths to resurrect Hermione Granger and keep her alive. It’s like he thinks that his own life depends on Hermione Granger being alive, somehow.

The confused parts of Harry looked around for a procedure to follow. ‘Make a prediction based on your best current hypothesis’ was the first thought that came to mind, but it didn’t seem to lead anywhere. The plot of the story wasn’t going how it ought to, after the villain had won.

Again the blaze of pain in his scar, like a blow to Harry’s forehead. The unicorn swayed, and then disintegrated as the troll had done.

The Dark Lord laid the Stone upon Hermione’s form once more, clasping her hands around it.

Voldemort watched the unremarkable process for a time, then turned while the Stone still laid on her, making a high humming sound in his throat. “Ah, yes,” hissed Voldemort. “That would be most appropriate. Do you still have the diary I gave you, boy? The diary of the famous scientist?” Harry’s brain took a moment to place what Voldemort was talking about. It had been in Mary’s Room, in Mary’s Place, in October, that precious gift from a friend. The thought should have triggered a wave of awful sadness, for the Professor Quirrell that had been lost or never real; but there had been enough of that emotion already, and his brain had set it aside for now.

“Yes,” Harry said aloud. “I think it’s in my pouch, can I check?” Harry knew it was in the pouch. He’d loaded it up with everything that he might possibly conceivably need, that he owned or had bought; everything that could have been a quest item.

From the heap of items by the altar, Harry’s mokeskin pouch was drawn out, tossed to Harry’s feet.

“Roger Bacon’s diary,” Harry said as he reached in a hand, and the diary appeared. Professor Quirrell had said that the diary would emerge unscathed from a fire, so Harry threw it toward Voldemort’s altar. Harry did not wince; there were more important things to worry about than polite treatment of books, even that one.

Voldemort picked up the diary, examining it, appearing quite absorbed.

Harry, as quietly and unobtrusively as he could, attached the pouch to his belt loop in back, where it wouldn’t be visible, near where Harry had put his wand.