Eliezer Yudkowsky: Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality

Professor that I never should’ve thought.” “Um,” Harry said.

Hermione nodded solemnly, her hands clasped in front of her as though in penitence. “I know you’re probably too nice to say the things to me that you have a right to say now, so I’ll say them for you, Harry. You were right about Professor Quirrell, and I was wrong. You told me so. David Monroe was a little bit Dark and a whole lot Slytherin, and it was childish of me to think that was the same thing as being evil.”

“Ah…” Harry said. This was very hard to say. “Actually, the rest of the world doesn’t know this part, not even the Headmistress. But in point of fact you were one hundred and twelve percent correct about him being evil, and I’ll remember for future reference that although ‘Dark’ and ‘evil’ may not technically be the same thing, there’s a great big statistical correlation.”

“Oh,” said Hermione, and fell silent again.

“You’re not saying that you told me so?” said Harry. His mental model of Hermione was yelling: I TOLD YOU SO! DIDN’T I TELL YOU SO, MR. POTTER? DIDN’T I TELL YOU? PROFESSOR QUIRRELL IS EEEEVIIIL, I SAID, BUT YOU DIDN’T LISTEN TO ME!

The actual Hermione just shook her head. “I know you cared about him a lot,” she said softly. “Since I was right after all… I knew you’d probably be hurting a lot after Professor Quirrell turned out to be evil, and that it wouldn’t be a good time to say I told you so. I mean, that’s what I decided when I was thinking that part through several months earlier.”

Thank you, Miss Granger. Harry was glad she’d said that much, though, it just wouldn’t have felt like Hermione otherwise.

“So, Mr. Potter,” said Hermione Granger, tapping her fingers on her robe at around thigh level. “After the medi-witch drew my blood, it stopped hurting right away, and when I brushed away the little bit of blood on my arm, I couldn’t find where the needle had poked me. I bent some of the metal in my bedframe without trying hard, and though I haven’t had a chance to test it yet, I feel like I should be able to run really fast. My fingernails are pearly-white and shiny even though I don’t remember painting them. And my teeth look like that too, which, being the daughter of dentists, makes me nervous. So it’s not that I’m ungrateful, but just what exactly did you do?”

“Um,” Harry said. “And I’m expecting you’re also wondering why you’re radiating an aura of purity and innocence?”

“I’m WHAT?”

“That part wasn’t my idea. Honestly.” Harry’s voice went small. “Please don’t kill me.”

Hermione Granger raised her hands in front of her face, staring somewhat cross-eyed at her fingers. “Harry, are you saying… I mean, my radiating innocence and being all fast and graceful and my teeth being pearly

white… is it alicorn my fingernails are made of?”

“Alicorn?”

“It’s the term for unicorn horn, Mr. Potter.” Hermione Granger seemed to be trying to nibble her fingernails, and not having much luck. “So, I guess if you bring a girl back from the dead she ends up as, what did Daphne call it, a Sparkling Unicorn Princess?”

“That’s not exactly what happened,” Harry said, though it was frighteningly close.

Hermione took her finger out of her mouth, frowning at it. “I can’t bite through it either. Mr. Potter, did you consider the problems now that it’s literally impossible for me to trim my fingernails and toenails?”

“The Weasley twins have a magical sword that should work,” Harry volunteered.

“I think,” Hermione Granger said firmly, “that I would like to know the whole story behind all this, Mr. Potter. Because knowing you and knowing Professor Quirrell, there was some sort of plan going on.” Harry took a deep breath. Then he exhaled. “Sorry, it’s… classified. I could tell you if you studied Occlumency, but… do you want to?”

“Do I want to study Occlumency?” Hermione said, looking slightly surprised. “That’s at least a sixth-year thing, isn’t it?”

“I learned it,” Harry said. “I started with an unusual boost, but I doubt that really mattered in the long run. I mean, I’m sure you could learn calculus if you studied hard, regardless of what age Muggles usually learn it. The question is, um.” Harry was having to control his breathing. “The question is, do you still want to do… that kind of stuff.”

Hermione turned, and looked at where the sky was lightening in the east. “You mean,” she said quietly, “do I still want to be a hero now that it’s earned me a horrible death that one time.”

Harry nodded, then said “Yes” because Hermione wasn’t turning toward him, though the word felt blocked in his throat.

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Hermione said. “It was, in fact, an exceptionally gruesome and painful death.”

“I, um. I did set some things up just in case you still wanted to be a hero. There were some short windows of opportunity where I didn’t have time to consult you, I couldn’t let you see me because I expected you to be given Veritaserum later. But if you don’t like it, I can undo most of what I did and you can just ignore the rest.”

Hermione nodded distantly. “Like making everyone think that I…

Harry, did I actually do anything to You-Know-Who?”

“No, that was all me, though please don’t tell anyone that. Just so you know, that time the Boy-Who-Lived supposedly defeated Voldemort, on the night of Halloween in 1981, that was Dumbledore’s victory and he let everyone think it was me. So now I’ve defeated a Dark Lord once, and gotten credit for it once. It all balances out eventually, I guess.”

Hermione went on gazing to the east. “I’m not really comfortable with this,” she said after a while. “People thinking I defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort, when I haven’t done anything at all… oh, that’s the same thing you went through, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Sorry about inflicting that on you. I was… well, I was trying to create a separate identity for you in people’s minds, I guess. There was just the one opportunity and everything was sort of rushed and… I realized afterwards that maybe I shouldn’t have, but it was too late.” Harry cleared his throat. “Though, um. If you’re feeling like you want to do something that’s actually worthy of the way people think about the GirlWho-Revived, um. I might have an idea for what you can do. Very soon, if you want.”

Hermione Granger was giving him a look.

“But you don’t have to!” Harry said hastily. “You can just ignore this whole thing and be the best student in Ravenclaw! If that’s what you prefer.”

“Are you trying to use reverse psychology on me, Mr. Potter?”

“No! Honestly!” Harry took a deep breath. “I’m trying not to decide your life for you. I thought I saw, yesterday, I thought I saw what might come next for you—but then I remembered how much of this year I’d spent being a total idiot. I thought of some things Dumbledore said to me. I realized it genuinely wasn’t my place to say. That you could do anything you wanted with your life, and that above all, the choice had to be your own. Maybe you don’t want to be a hero after this, maybe you want to become a great magical researcher because that’s who Hermione Granger really was all along, never mind what your fingernails are made out of now. Or you could go to the Salem Witches’ Institute in America instead of Hogwarts. I won’t lie and say I’d like that, but it really is up to you.” Harry turned to the horizon and swept his hand wide, as though to indicate all the world that lay beyond Hogwarts. “You can go anywhere from here. You can do anything with your life. If you want to be a wealthy sixtyyear-old merman, I can make it happen. I’m serious.”