Harry Potter and the Way of Reason

June [-], [-].

Professor Quirrell is very ill.

He seemed better after drinking the unicorn's blood back in May, but the power aura surrounding him didn't last even a day.By mid-May, Professor Quirrell's hands trembled again, albeit slightly.It appears that the Defense Professor's treatment plan was interrupted too soon.

Six days ago, Professor Quirrell collapsed during dinner.

Madam Pomfrey tried to ban Professor Quirrell from class, and Professor Quirrell yelled at her in front of everyone.The Defense Professor yelled that he was going to die anyway, and it was up to him to decide what to do with the time he had left.

So Madam Pomfrey, blinking hard, forbade the Defense Professor from doing anything but teaching.She enlists a volunteer to help her lead Professor Quirrell into a room in the Hogwarts Infirmary.Hundreds of students stood up, only half of them were wearing green robes.

During the meal time, the defense professor no longer appeared at the guest table.He no longer casts spells during class.He was taught by the oldest seventh-graders with the most Quirrell points, who had passed the NEWTs in defense in May.They took turns drifting him from his room in the infirmary to the classroom, bringing him food at mealtimes.Professor Quirrell oversaw his Battle Magic class from a chair, sitting the entire time.

It was more painful than watching Hermione die, but the pain was over much faster.

This is the real enemy.

After Hermione died, Harry had thought about it.And being forced to watch Professor Quirrell die, day after day, week after week, didn't change his mind much.

This is the real enemy I have to face, Harry thought in Defense class on Wednesday, watching Professor Quirrell slump slowly over the side of his chair before the TA's seventh-year assistant caught him up that day.Everything else is just shadow and distraction.

Harry had been running through Trelawney's prophecy in his head, suspecting that the real Dark Lord might not have anything to do with Voldemort at all.Being born to parents who defended him three times seems to strongly imply the Peverell brothers and the three Deathly Hallows - although Harry isn't quite sure how death would mark him as an equal, it seems to imply that the death side some deliberate act.

Only this one is the real enemy, Harry thought.Later, it would happen to Professor McGonagall, and to Mum and Dad, and even Neville, when his time came; unless the world's wounds could be healed before then.

Harry couldn't do anything.Madam Pomfrey has done everything that magic can do for Professor Quirrell, and in terms of healing, magic does seem to be much more advanced than Muggle technology.

Harry couldn't do anything.

Nothing can be done.

There was nothing he could do.

Totally powerless.

----------------------

Harry raised his hand and knocked on the door, in case those inside could no longer detect him.

"What's the matter?" A haggard voice came from the medical room.

"it's me."

There was a long pause. "Come in," said the voice.

Harry slipped in, closed the door behind him, and cast the Silencer Charm.He stood as far away from Professor Quirrell as possible, just in case his magic would make Professor Quirrell uncomfortable.

But the sense of impending doom was fading, fading away.

Professor Quirrell was lying on a medical bed with only his head covered by the pillows.A red and black cotton blanket covered his chest.A book hung before his eyes; another black cube on the bed was illuminating the book with a soft light.So it's not defense teaching its own magic, but some sort of device.

The book was Epstein's The Physics of Mind[1], the same book Harry had lent Draco a few months earlier.Harry had stopped bothering about the possibility of misuse of the book a few weeks ago.

"This—" Professor Quirrell said, and coughed, and the cough didn't sound very good, "this book is so fascinating... If I had realized..." There was a burst of laughter, mixed with a few coughs , "Why do I feel that Muggle arts... must not belong to me? Think they... have no use for me? Why have I never tried... to use your words...experimental test? Just in case... Was my assumption...wrong? Looking back...it seems like I was just being stupid..."

Harry had a harder time talking than Professor Quirrell.Wordlessly he put his hand into his pocket, took out a handkerchief and put it on the ground; he opened the handkerchief, and inside was a smooth and round white pebble.

"What's this?" said the Defense Professor.

"This is, this is, the transformed unicorn."

Harry checked the book and learned that because he was too young to have sexual thoughts, he could approach unicorns without being afraid.The book doesn't say whether unicorns are intelligent or not.Harry had noticed that all intelligent magical races were at least partially humanoid, from merfolk to centaurs to giants, from elves to goblins to veela.All of these races have human-like affections, and many of them can interbreed with humans.Harry had deduced that magic did not create new intelligent races, but merely altered the form of genetically human beings.Unicorns are horse-like creatures with no part humanoid, don't speak, don't use tools, and are almost certainly just magical horses.If it is right to eat cows to temporarily feed oneself, then it must be right to drink unicorn blood in order to delay death for a few weeks.You can't possibly think that the former is acceptable and the latter is not.

So Harry wore the Invisibility Cloak and went to the Forbidden Forest.He searched for the herd of unicorns until he saw her—a proud creature of pure white skin and violet hair, with three blue spots on its flank.Harry studied her carefully, her sapphire blue eyes fixed on him curiously.Harry tapped his feet on the ground several times in a 2-1-2 sequence.The unicorns showed no sign of responding in the same way.Harry walked over, took her hoof in his hand, and tapped the unicorn's hoof in the same order.The unicorn just looked at him curiously.

And feeding a unicorn a sugar cube with a sleeping potion still feels like murder.

The weight of magic that gives them meaning is not something mere animals can have... Killing innocents to save oneself is a very serious sin.These two sentences, the words of Professor McGonagall, the words of the centaur, had been rolled over and over again in Harry's mind, and at the same time, the white unicorn yawned and lay on the ground, closing its eyes for the last time. eyes.Transfiguration lasted an hour, and Harry's eyes moistened again and again as he worked.Maybe the unicorn won't die now, but it will soon, and any form of buck-passing would be out of character for Harry.Harry could only hope that if killing the unicorn wasn't about saving himself, if it was about saving a friend, it would eventually be accepted.

Professor Quirrell raised his eyebrows to his hairline.His voice was not so soft, but with some of the usual sharpness, he said, "Don't do this kind of thing again."

"I thought you'd say that," said Harry, swallowing again, "but the unicorn is, already dead, so you might as well accept it, Professor..."

"Why do this?"

If the Defense Professor really didn't understand, he was the dullest person Harry had ever met. "I keep thinking I can't do anything," said Harry. "I'm tired of thinking like this."

Professor Quirrell closed his eyes.His head fell back on the pillow. "You are lucky," said the defense professor in a soft voice, "the transformed unicorn form...is not considered a magical creature by the Hogwarts barrier...to use it, I must...put it Take out the castle...but it can be done. I can tell them I want to see the lake...I'll let you do a Transfiguration before you go, and that should last long enough...then, with the last of my strength, Eliminate the death alarm for the herd... because the unicorn is not dead, just deformed, so it hasn't been triggered yet...you are very lucky, Mr. Potter."

Harry nodded.He opened his mouth and stopped again.Words seemed to be stuck in his throat again.

You've calculated expected utility, what happens if you succeed, and what happens if you go wrong.You assigned the probabilities, you did the product, and then you brushed the answer aside and went with your brand-new intuition, which is the same.So go ahead.

"Do you know," said Harry hesitantly, "that there are other ways to save your life?"

The defense professor opened his eyes. "Why...why ask that, child?"

"I've heard... I've heard of a spell, a ritual—"

"Quiet," said the Defense Professor.

A moment later, a snake lay on the bed.

Even the snake's eyes were dimmed.

The snake didn't get up.

"Go ahead," hissed the snake, its only movement being a wagging tongue.

"There's a... there's a ritual, I've heard from the Headmaster, he thinks maybe that's how the Dark Lord survived. The name is—" Harry paused, finding himself aware of how the word used in Parseltongue Say, "Horcruxes. I've heard death is required. But if you're going to die anyway, maybe try to improve it -- even if the new spell is risky -- and try to get it done with other sacrifices. If you succeed , it would change the whole world - although I know nothing about the spell - the headmaster thinks the ritual will tear a soul, though I don't see how that could be true -"

The snake hissed, laughing strangely sharply, almost hysterically. "You told me the spell? Me? You'll have to learn to be more careful in the future, kid. But it doesn't matter. I learned the Horcrux spell a long time ago. The spell makes no sense."

"No sense?" Harry exclaimed in surprise.

"A meaningless spell from the start, if the soul existed. To tear a piece of the soul? That's a lie. A misleading attempt to hide the real secret. Only those who don't believe the universal lie can make further inferences, see through The truth behind blindfolding, discovering how to cast a spell. The murder required is not at all a sacrificial ritual. Sudden death sometimes creates ghosts; magic erupts, imprinted on nearby things. Horcrux spells transfer the eruption at death to the cast caster, create a ghost of yourself in place of the victim, and imprint the ghost on a special instrument. The second victim takes the instrument, and the instrument imprints your own memories on them. But only Memories up to the time the instrument was manufactured. Have you found any flaws?"

Harry's throat was burning again. "Discontinuous—" There is no word for consciousness in Parseltongue, "—ego, you will continue to think after making Horcruxes, so the self with new memories will die and cannot be recovered—"

"Yes, you found out. And the Merlin ban also prevents powerful spells from being passed on through this instrument, because the instrument is not really alive. So the dark wizards who want to come back this way are weakened and easily killed. No Man has remained this way for a long time. Personality changes, mixes with victim. No real denial of death. True self is lost, as you say. Not to my current taste. I admit I thought about it a long time ago. "

A man lay back on the hospital bed again.The defense professor took a breath, and then let out a painful cough.

"Can you give me the full recipe for this spell?" Harry said after a moment of thought. "Maybe after enough research, there's some way to improve the flaws. Something that's ethical and works." Like transferring memories to a brain-blank clone, rather than an innocent victim, might also improve the fidelity of personality transfers...although there are other issues.

Professor Quirrell made a short sound, a small sound, perhaps a laugh. "Did you know, boy," murmured Professor Quirrell, "that I once wanted to... teach you all... the seeds of all the secrets I know... from one living awareness to the other... so that in Later, when you have found the right book, you will be able to understand... I would have passed on my knowledge to you, my heir... If you asked me, we would have started... But you never asked. "

Even the watery grief surrounding Harry gave way to the sheer importance of his missed opportunity. "Should I-? I don't know I should-!"

There was another coughing sneer. "Ah, that's right... ignorant Muggleborn... non-blood-related successor... this is you. But I... changed my mind... You shouldn't go my way... In the end, It's not a good way."

"It's not too late, Professor!" said Harry.A part of Harry yelled that he was selfish, and then got overwhelmed by the other part's yelling; there were other people in need.

"No, it's too late...and you don't...convince me to do it...I've...changed my mind...as I said before...I know too much...a secret best kept private ……look at me."

Harry looked over almost involuntarily.

What he saw was an unlined face, but it looked old and distressed, and even the temples were now wispy under a head that was losing hair rapidly; Harry looked at the What he had always thought was a chiseled face now appeared thin, with all the muscle and fat gone from the face, as did the arms underneath, looking just like the Bella he saw in Azkaban Trix's scrawny look—

Harry's head turned aside without thinking.

"You see," the professor murmured, "I don't want to be clichéd...Mr. Potter...but the truth is...that art called dark...in the end...is really bad for people."

Professor Quirrell inhaled, exhaled.There was silence in the infirmary, with only the carefully decorated stone walls looking at them.

"Is there anything left to say between us?" said Professor Quirrell. "I'm not going to die today...mind you...not now...but I don't know when I'll be able to talk...yet How long is left."

"Yes," said Harry, swallowing again, "there's a lot, a lot, but... maybe it's wrong to ask about it, but I don't want to - leave the question - -snake?"

The snake lay on the bed.

"I know how the Death Curse works. It takes real hate to cast, not too deep, but you have to kill the target, that's what they say. When you're in prison with the Life Eaters, you're The guard cast the death curse - said you didn't mean to kill him - is that a lie? Here, now, at this point - you might be able to tell the truth - even if you're afraid it will damage your image - —It shouldn't matter now, teacher. I want to know. Must know. No matter what the truth is, I won't abandon you."

A man is lying on the bed.

"Listen carefully," murmured Professor Quirrell, "I will tell you a riddle... a riddle of dangerous spells... When you understand the answer to this riddle...you will know...you question The answer is...listen?"

Harry nodded.

"The death curse... has a limit. In battle... cast it once... you must have enough hatred... to want the opponent to die. Cast Avada... kill twice... you must hate enough... ...kill them twice...slit their throats with your own hands...watch them die...then do it again. Few people...have enough hate to...kill someone...five times...they will... ... bored." The Defense Professor took a few breaths, then continued. "But if you look at history... there are Dark wizards... who can cast the Death Curse over and over again. A nineteenth century witch... who claims to be the Gospel of Darkness... the Aurors call her A · K. McDowell [3]. She can cast... twelve times in one battle... the death curse. Ask yourself... as I ask myself... what secret does she know... ? What is more deadly than hatred...and can output endlessly?"

The second layer of Avada Kedavra, like the second layer of the Patronus Charm...

"I don't care at all," Harry replied.

The defense professor sneered, with a phlegm. "Fine. You're... learning. So you know..." A distorted pause. "After all, I didn't want the guard to die. I cast the death curse, but there was no hatred." Then he turned back into a human.

Harry swallowed heavily.The answer was both better and worse than Harry suspected; and very Professor Quirrell.A broken soul, indeed; but Professor Quirrell never claimed to be whole.

"Is there anything else... to say?" said the man lying on the bed.

"Are you sure," said Harry, "that you haven't heard of something that might save you, Professor? All the rumors you've heard? Find and unite all three Deathly Hallows, one The ancient artifact that Merlin sealed with a riddle that no one has yet solved? You've seen what I can do. I'm good at deciphering. You know I can sometimes figure out things that other wizards can't figure out. I— —" Harry's voice became hoarse, "I prefer you alive to your death, Professor Quirrell."

There was a long pause.

"There's one thing," murmured Professor Quirrell, "there's one thing...maybe it can be done...maybe it can't be done...but to get it...is beyond our ability..."

Oh, it's just side questing, says Harry's inner critic.

All the other components screamed for it to shut up.Life doesn't work that way.Ancient artifacts can be found, but not in a month, or when you can't leave Hogwarts and are still in first year.

Professor Quirrell took a deep breath.exhale. "I'm sorry...to make this...too dramatic. Don't...get your hopes up...Mr. Potter. You're asking for...anything...no matter how unlikely it is. There's a... Specific objects . . . called . . . ”

The snake lay on the bed.

"The Philosopher's Stone," hissed the snake.

If there had always been a way to mass-produce safe immortality and it had been ignored, Harry would have lost control and killed everyone.

"I've read it," Harry hissed, "and the conclusion is that it's clearly a fiction. There's absolutely no reason for the same instrument to offer both immortality and endless gold coins. Unless it's just someone trying to make up happy stories .Not to mention, all sane people should find a way to make more stones, or kidnap the maker to make more stones. Especially considering you, Master."

There was a hissing sneer. "The deduction is clever, but not clever enough. Like the Horcrux spell, the absurd story hides the real secret. The real stone is not what the legend says. The real power is not what the story tells. The man who is believed to have created the stone is not Not the real maker. Now the name of the stone bearer is not the same as the name at birth. Yet the stone is a powerful healing instrument. Have you ever heard this thing mentioned?"

"Only in books."

"The one who holds the stone knows many legends. Taught the headmaster many secrets. Didn't the headmaster mention the holder of the stone and the stone? No hint?"

"Nothing I can think of right away," Harry replied honestly.

"Ah," hissed the snake, "ah, all right."

"You can ask the principal—"

"No! Don't ask him, boy. He won't take the question as a kindness."

"But if it's just healing with stones—"

"The headmaster doesn't believe it, and won't. Too many people are looking for the stone, or rumors of the holder. Don't ask. Absolutely don't ask. Don't try to get the stone yourself. I forbid it."

The man appeared on the bed again. "I... reached my limit..." said Professor Quirrell. "I must recover...my powers...before I go to...the forest...with your gift. Now go...but before you Before you go...continue Transfiguration."

Harry reached out, touched the white pebble lying in the handkerchief, and renewed the Transfiguration on it. "It should last another hour and 53 minutes after that," said Harry.

"You... studied very well."

This was much longer than the Transfiguration Harry had maintained at the beginning of the school year.The second-year spell is now easy and stress-free for him; no surprise since he's only two months away from turning 12.Harry could even cast a Memory Charm, if making someone lose all memory of their left arm was a good thing.He is slowly climbing the ladder of strength from the far low end.

There was sadness in the thought, the closing of one door and the opening of another; Harry rejected the thought too.

--------------------------------

The door to the infirmary closed behind Harry, and the Boy Who Lived walked swiftly and determinedly, slipping on the Invisibility Cloak as he moved.Soon, presumably, Professor Quirrell will call for help; and a party of three, made up of the older students, will lead the Defense Professor to some quiet place, perhaps a forest, with a view of the lake or Similar excuse.Where a Defense professor could eat a unicorn undetected after Harry's Transfiguration failed.

Then Professor Quirrell will be healthier, for a while.His powers will be as great as they were before, for a much shorter period of time.

This is not going to last.

Harry's fists clenched as he strode forward, the pressure spreading from the muscles in his arms.If the defense professor's healing ritual hadn't been interrupted by Harry and the Aurors he brought into Hogwarts...

It's stupid to blame yourself, Harry knows it's stupid, and somehow his brain does it anyway.It was as if his mind was searching, looking carefully, and picking a way to make this his fault, however far it went.

As if making it his fault was the only way his brain knew how to be sad.

A small squad of seventh-year Slytherins walked past Harry's invisible form in the corridor to the medical office where the professor waited; their expressions were profoundly serious and concerned.Is this how other people grieve?

Or do they, somehow, not really care, as Professor Quirrell thinks?

There is a second level of death curse.

The instant Harry's brain heard it, it solved the riddle; it was as if the answer had always been inside him, waiting to be known.

Harry had read somewhere that the opposite of happiness is not sadness but boredom; the author went on to say that when looking for happiness in life, what you ask of yourself is not "what makes you happy" but It's "what excites you".In the same way, hate is not the true opposite of love.Even hate is some way you honor someone's existence.If you care enough about someone to prefer them dead to alive, it also means you are thinking about them.

The idea came much earlier, before the trial, during the conversation with Hermione; when she said that the British wizarding world was biased, and it was supported by a large number of recent examples.And Harry was thinking - but not saying it - that at least she had been put into Hogwarts and deserved to be reviled.

Unlike certain people living in certain countries, these people are, allegedly, human just like everyone else; these people are said to be intelligent beings, more important than any mere unicorn.However, none of these people are allowed to live in the British Muggle community.In this regard, no Muggle has the right to look at wizards squarely.British wizarding circles may discriminate against Muggle-born wizards, but at least they are allowed in so they can hear the reviling for themselves.

What is more deadly than hatred, which can be output endlessly?

"Indifference," Harry said aloud, and that was the secret of the spell he could never cast; and then strode off to the library to read everything he could find about the Philosopher's Stone.

-------------------------------------------------- -----

1 appeared in Chapter 35. "Thinking Physics": amazon/Thinking-Physics-Practical-Lessons-Critical/dp/0935218068

2 is also from "My Little Pony", interested students can check it by themselves...

3 Evangeline A.K. McDowell: From "The Magic Teacher Neji"