Harry Potter and the Way of Reason

"Wake up."

Harry opened his eyes suddenly, took a deep breath as if his neck was stuck, and woke up, his body lying flat trembled.He couldn't remember a dream, maybe his brain was too tired to dream, it felt as if he had just closed his eyes and then only a moment later he heard the word.

"You must wake up," said Quirinus Quirrell's voice. "I've given you as much time as I can, but it would be wise to keep at least one use of your Time-Turner. Soon we will have to Go back to four hours ago, go to Mary's, and act exactly like we didn't do anything interesting today. Until then, I have something to say to you."

Harry sat up slowly in the darkness.His body was aching, and not just lying on the hard cement slab.All kinds of images were churning together in his memory, and his unconscious brain was too tired to output everything in his mind into a real nightmare.

Twelve hideous voids floated down the metal corridor, the exposed metal around them tarnished, the light dimmed, the temperature plummeted, while the void tried to suck all the life out of the world—

Pale skin will be taut over the remaining bones, after fat and muscle are gone—

A metal door—

A woman's voice—

No, I didn't mean to, please don't die—

I can no longer remember the names of the children—

Don't go, don't take it away, don't don't don't—

"What's that place?" said Harry in a hoarse voice, the sound coming out of his throat like water from a too-thin pipe, and in the dark his voice sounded almost like Berat's. Ricks is just as broken. "What kind of place is that? It's not a prison, it's hell!"

"Hell?" said the Defense Professor's calm voice. "You mean the Christian fantasy punishment? I think there is a similarity."

"How—" Harry's voice was cut off, as if something huge was stuck in his throat, "how—how could they—" People built that place, someone made it Zkaban, they made Azkaban on purpose, they made Azkaban on purpose, that woman, she had a child, a child she won't remember anymore, some inquisitor decided to let this happen to her, someone needs to put her Dragging into that cell, locking the door even though she was screaming, having her fed every day, and just walking away, not letting her out—

"How do people do such a thing?"

"Why can't it be done?" said the Defense Professor.Then, a pale blue light illuminated the warehouse, revealing a high, hollow concrete ceiling, and a dusty concrete floor; Professor Quirrell sat some distance from Harry, with his back against the painted wall above; the pale blue light turned the wall into a glacier's surface, the dust on the floor into flecked snowfall, and the man himself into an ice sculpture, and the place covered by the black robe was shrouded in darkness. "What use are the prisoners of Azkaban to them?"

Harry opened his mouth and let out a low, hoarse sound, but said nothing.

A faint smile played on the Defense Professor's lips. "You know, Mr. Potter, if that man who can't even be named ruled England and built a place like Azkaban, the reason he built it would be because he liked to see his enemies suffer. ...and if he starts to find their suffering unpleasant, guess what, he'll order Azkaban to be taken down the next day. As for those who made Azkaban, and those who didn't People in the class, they will preach lofty righteousness while imagining that they will not become prisoners... Well, Mr. Potter, I think, if I need to choose between these people and the mysterious person, I will find that the black The devil offends my sanity even less."

"I don't understand," said Harry, his voice trembling, having read about the classic experiments on the psychology of prisons, where ordinary college students become sadistic when they take on the role of prison guard; only now Only then did he realize that the lab tests were not asking the right questions, they weren't testing the most important questions, they weren't looking at the key population—not the prison guards, but everyone else, "I really don't understand, Professor Quirrell, how do people Can just stand by like this, just let this happen like this, why would the British wizarding country do this kind of thing-" Harry's voice stopped.

In the pale blue light, the Defense Professor's eyes were the same color as ever, for the light was the same color as Quirinus Quirrell's irises, like a pair of ice that would never melt. "Welcome, Mr. Potter, for the first time seeing politics for what it is. Could a poor fellow in Azkaban be of any use to any political faction? Who would benefit from helping them? Someone openly on their side Politicians associate themselves with criminals, with weaknesses, with some nasty things people don't want to think about. Politicians, on the other hand, can call for longer sentences as a way of showing their power and cruelty; after all, showing strength If you want them, they need a victim to crush them for. And the public applause always goes intuitively to the winner." He grinned grimly and cheerfully. "You know, Mr. Potter, none of them ever really Think they're going to Azkaban, so they see it as something harmless to them. As for what they make other people suffer... I think someone ever told you people cared? That's a lie, Mr. Potter, people don't care one iota. If you hadn't had that much sheltered childhood, you would have noticed a long time ago. So comfort yourself: those prisoners who are now in Azkaban voted for the Minister for Magic, the one who pledged to move their cells closer to the dementors. I have to admit, Mr Potter, that while I have no hope for the effectiveness of a government formed in a democracy, I appreciate that The poetry—that the victims have led their own destruction."

Harry's self, which he had just put together, was in danger of being shaken back to pieces again, and these words hit his mind like a hammer, driving him step by step back to the cliff, where some great abyss lurks; He was trying to find something to save himself, some clever retort, to refute those words, but he couldn't find it.

The Defense Professor looked at Harry with more curiosity than command reflected in his gaze. "It's easy to understand how Azkaban was built and lasted, Mr Potter. People care about what they - themselves - expect to suffer or gain; as long as they don't feel they will reap the consequences, their cruelty and indifference will There is no end. All the other wizards in this country are at heart the same as the You-Know-Who who wanted to rule them, only lacking his strength and... directness."

The boy's hands were clenched into fists so tightly that his nails dug into his palms.His fingers or his face might be turning white, but no one can see because the dim blue light casts everything in ice and shadow. "You once suggested that you would support me if my ambition was to become the next Dark Lord. Is that why, Professor?"

The defense professor nodded, a faint smile appeared on his lips. "Learn everything I have taught you, Mr. Potter, and one day you will rule this country. Then you can tear down the prisons built by this democratic system, if at that time you still feel that Azkaban offended you Like it or not, Mr. Porter, you have seen today that your personal will collides with the will of the people of this country, and when it does, you will not bow to their decisions. So To them, whether they know it or not, whether you admit it or not, you are their next Dark Lord."

Under the monochromatic light, the boy and the professor of defense remained motionless, as if they had become static ice sculptures. The pupil membranes in their eyes were simplified into similar colors, and they looked almost identical under blue light.

Harry stared straight into those pale eyes.All those long-suppressed questions he'd told himself to wait until mid-May.Harry knew now that these had been lies, that he had been deceiving himself, that he had kept silent because he was afraid of what he might hear.And now it all comes to the lips at once. "You tried to convince my classmates that I was a killer when we were in our first class."

"You are." amused tone, "but if your question is why should I tell them, Mr. Potter, the answer is that you will find that ambiguity is a powerful ally on your path to power. Send a Slytherin today signal, and tomorrow the opposite Gryffindor signal; that way the Slytherins will be able to believe what they want to believe, and the Gryffindors will talk themselves into supporting you. As long as there is uncertainty, people will It's okay to believe what seems to be in your favor. And as long as you seem strong, as long as you seem to be winning, they'll just intuitively think that their interests depend on you. Walk in the shadows all the time, the light and darkness will follow you.

"And then," said the boy, his voice rising, "what do you want out of it?"

Professor Quirrell sat where he was, leaning against the wall behind him, his face hidden in shadow, his eyes changing from a pale ice color to dark bottomless pits, just like his snake form. "I hope that Britain will be strong under the leadership of a strong leader; that is my hope. As for the reason," Professor Quirrell smiled, but there was no smile. "I think it is better not to say."

"That sense of impending doom I feel all around you." The words were getting harder and harder, because the topic was getting closer and closer to something horrible and taboo, "You always knew what it meant."

"I have a few guesses," said Professor Quirrell, with an inscrutable look on his face, "and I won't give them all. But I'll tell you this much: it's you who will be in trouble when we come near, not me."

Only this time, instead of believing everything he heard, Harry's brain flagged it as a questionable statement and a possible lie. "Why do you turn into a zombie sometimes?"

"Personal reasons." There was no humor in Professor Quirrell's voice.

"What was your underlying motivation for rescuing Bellatrix?"

There was a silence, during which Harry struggled to control his breathing, to keep it steady.

Finally, the Defense Professor shrugged his shoulders, as if it didn't matter. "I've pretty much explained it to you, Mr. Potter. I've told you everything you need to deduce the answer, if you're mature enough to ponder the most obvious of questions. Bellatrix Black is black The most powerful servant of the Enemy, her loyalty most unquestionable; she is the one most likely to be endowed with a portion of Slytherin's lost knowledge, which is rightfully yours."

Anger rose slowly from Harry's heart, slowly turned into fury, something horrible started to make his blood boil, and in a little while, he would say something that really shouldn't be said between them. What he said when he was alone in the abandoned warehouse——

"But she was innocent," said the Defense Professor.He didn't smile. "All her options were taken away, so that she never had the opportunity to suffer the consequences of her mistakes... I think this is too much, Mr. Potter. Even if she didn't tell you anything useful—" The defense professor continued She shrugged slightly, "I don't think I did a white job today."

"You're really selfless," said Harry grimly. "So if all wizards are like You-Know-Who at heart, you're an exception in that regard?"

The defense professor's eyes were still hidden in the shadows, still an invisible dark abyss. "Take it as a whim, Mr. Potter. Sometimes it makes me happy to play the role of a hero. Who knows, maybe You-Know-Who will say the same thing."

Harry opened his mouth for the last time—

Then he couldn't speak, he couldn't ask the last question, the last and most important question, he couldn't let the words slip out of his mouth.Even if a refusal like this is forbidden to the rationalist, even for Tarski's litany[1] or Gendling's litany[2] or "All that can be destroyed by the truth" he once recited should be destroyed" [3], at this moment, he could not bring himself to say the last question aloud.Even if he knew that his idea was inappropriate, even if he knew that he should do better, he still couldn't say it.

"Now it's my turn to question you." Professor Quirrell straightened his back from where he had just leaned, the ice wall covering the painted concrete, "I'm curious, Mr. Is there anything to say about killing me and ruining all our hard work. My understanding is that an apology would be seen as a sign of respect in a situation like this. But you didn't apologize to me. Just because Haven't you taken the time, Mr Potter?"

His tone was calm, and the edge of that calm was so sharp, so sharp, it would cut right through you before you knew you were killed.

And Harry just looked at the Defense Professor, his hard eyes would never flinch from anything, not even death would deter him now.He was no longer in Azkaban, no longer afraid of the fearless part of himself; Harry turned like a hard gem against the pressure, smooth from facet to facet, from light to dark, from Warm to cold.

Is it calculated by him to make me feel guilty and put me in a position where I must obey?

Are his feelings real?

"I see," Professor Quirrell, "I think that answers—"

"No," said the boy in a grim, controlled voice, "I'm not going to let you frame this conversation so easily, Professor. After I thought about how you tried to kill a police officer, it took me so much Kung Fu protects you and gets you out of Azkaban safely. This includes facing twelve dementors without a Patronus. I was thinking that if I apologized when you asked, you would respond Come over and say thank you? Or am I right: you want my obedience, not just respect?"

There was a pause, and then Professor Quirrell replied, his voice was blatantly cold, with the danger of not concealing it anymore, "It seems that you still can't let yourself admit defeat, Mr. Potter."

The darkness in Harry's eyes did not flinch, and in his eyes the Defense Professor himself had been reduced to a mortal thing. "Oh, and have you thought about it now, should you pretend to lose to me, pretend to bow your head before I get angry, so as to keep your own plan? Did the idea of ​​deliberately pretending to apologize even once in your mind? Neither have I, Professor Quirrell."

The Defense Professor laughed, a low, non-smiling laugh that was hollower than the void between the stars and as dangerous as a vacuum filled with intense radiation. "No, Mr. Potter, you haven't learned your lesson at all."

"I've thought about throwing in the towel many times, in Azkaban," the boy said, his voice rising. "I've thought about just giving up and surrendering to the Aurors. It's wise to throw in the towel. I hear your voice so Said it to me, in my head; and if I was there alone, I would have thrown in the towel like that. But I can't lose you."

There was a long silence that followed; it seemed that even the Defense Professor couldn't think of anything to say about it.

"I'm curious," said Professor Quirrell at last, "what do you think I should apologize for? I have given you clear instructions on what to do in the event of a fight. You will lie down, don't mess it up, don't cast magic. You violated I did not follow the instructions, which made the mission fail."

"I didn't make up my mind," the boy said quietly, "there was no choice but the wish that the Auror shouldn't die, and then my Patronus was there. To prevent that wish from happening, you should have warned I you might bluff people with death curses. By default, I assume if you point your wand at someone and say Avada Kedavra, it's because you want them dead. Isn't that Unforgivable Curses security the first rule of the

"Rules are for dueling," said the Defense Professor, his voice returning some coldness, "and dueling is a sport, not a branch of combat magic. In real combat, the unstoppable curse that must be avoided is an integral strategy. I thought it was obvious to you, but it looks like I misjudged your intellect."

"And it seems to me," continued the boy, as if the other hadn't spoken, "that it would be unwise not to tell me that casting any spell on you would kill us both. If you had a little accident, and What if I tried to use quick recovery or the levitation spell? You allowed this ignorance for a purpose that I can't guess, and this is one of the reasons for this tragedy."

There was another silence.The Defense Professor narrowed his eyes and looked vaguely puzzled, as if he had encountered some completely unfamiliar situation; he still didn't say anything.

"Well," said the boy, his eyes unmoved by those of the Defense Professor, "I'm really sorry for hurting you, Professor. But I don't think this situation requires me to be subordinate to you. I never really understood The concept of an apology, let alone used in this situation; if you get my apology, but not my obedience, does that count as saying I'm sorry?"

Another cold, icy laugh, darker than the void between the stars.

"I don't know," said the Defense Professor, "and I've never understood the concept of an apology. It doesn't look like this tactic works between us because we both know it's a lie. So stop talking about it .Time will settle the friendship between us."

Silence lasted for a while.

"By the way," said the boy, "Hermione Granger would never have built Azkaban, no matter who was in it. And she would die without harming the innocent. Just to mention, because you It's wrong to say that all wizards are like You-Know-Who at heart, it's just a simple fact. I should have thought about it sooner, if it wasn't for just now," the boy smiled firmly, "it's too stressful."

The Defense Professor half-closed his eyes, his expression cold. "People's hearts don't always match their appearance, Mr. Potter. Maybe she just wants other people to think she's a good girl. She can't use the Patronus Charm—" —”

"Ha," said the boy, his smile now more real and warmer, "she's having problems for exactly the same reasons as me. I'm sure there's enough light in her heart for her to destroy the dementors. She won't even be able to stop herself Destroy the dementor, even if it costs her life..." The boy's voice faded, then recovered, "Maybe I'm not such a good person myself; but such people exist, and she is one of them."

Professor Quirrell's tone was cold, "She is still young, and she doesn't need to pay anything to show kindness."

There was a pause.Then the boy said, "Professor, I gotta ask, when you see something that's totally dark and gloomy, do you ever think about trying to improve it in some way? Like, yeah, there's something wrong with people's brains It's outrageous, making them think it's fine to abuse criminals, but that doesn't mean they're all really evil at heart; maybe if you teach them the right things, show them what's wrong, you can change- "

So Professor Quirrell laughed, no longer as empty as before. "Ah, Mr. Potter, sometimes I forget how young you are. Soon you'll be changing the color of the sky." There was another sneer, a little colder this time, "and you forgive that so easily." Bunch of idiots, the only reason you think they're good is because you haven't been seriously hurt yourself, Mr. Potter. You'll like them less the first time their stupidity cost you something valuable Idiots everywhere. Perhaps like a hundred Galleons in your own pocket, rather than a hundred strangers tortured to death." The Defense Professor smiled.He took out his pocket watch from under his robe and looked at it. "Let's go now, if we have nothing more to say between us."

"Aren't you asking me about the impossible things I did to get us out of Azkaban?"

"No," said the Defense Professor, "I think I've solved most of it. As for the rest, I rarely meet a person, friend or foe, who I can't immediately see through. I will solve it myself in due time. of puzzles."

The professor of defense propped himself up, pushing the wall with both hands, and stood up, his movements were smooth, but extremely slow.The boy stood up too, only less gracefully.

Then the boy blurted out the last and most dreadful question, the one that hadn't been able to be asked before; as if speaking it out loud was about to come true, as if it wasn't already terribly obvious.

"Why am I different from other kids my age?"

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On a deserted alley in Diagon Alley, debris of unremoved rubbish can be seen jostling the brick streets and the brick houses that surround them, dust and other signs of neglect .An old wizard and his phoenix apparate.

The wizard had touched the hourglass in his robes, and then, out of habit, his eyes wandered casually somewhere between the road and the wall, to remember—

Then the old wizard blinked in surprise; there was a little piece of parchment in there.

Albus Dumbledore frowned, stepped forward, picked up the crumpled parchment, and unfolded it.

There is only one word on it, "No", and nothing else.

The wizard slowly let it float away from his fingers.He bent absently and picked up the nearest scrap of parchment on the road, which looked exactly like the one he had just held; he held his wand against it, and after a moment the same "no" appeared on it, the same in his own handwriting.

The old wizard had planned to go back three hours before, when Harry Potter had just arrived in Diagon Alley.He has seen the boy leave Hogwarts through his instrument, a part of which he cannot change (he has tried to confuse his own instrument, trying to control time without changing the appearance of time to himself, this attempt The resulting disaster was enough to convince him never to try the trick again).He had hoped to get the boy back as soon as he arrived, and take him to another safe place, if Hogwarts didn't work (since his instruments didn't show the boy's return).but now--

"If I found him immediately after he arrived in Diagon Alley, would it create a paradox?" The old wizard muttered to himself, "Maybe they started their plan to break the prison in Azkaban after confirming that he arrived here ...or...maybe..."

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Painted concrete walls, hard floors and distant ceilings, two figures confront each other.One of the consciousnesses was that of a man in his thirties who had begun to bald, while the other consciousness took the form of an 30-year-old boy with a scar on his forehead.Snow and shadows, light blue lights.

"I don't know," the man said.

The boy just looked at him and said, "Oh really?"

"Really," said the man, "I don't know anything, and I won't give my guesses. But I'll tell you this—"

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1. Tarski's litany: Appeared in Chapter 22.See wiki.lesswrong/wiki/Litany_of_Tarski for details

2. Litany of Gendlin: wiki.lesswrong/wiki/Litany_of_Gendlin

3 "Those things that can be destroyed by the truth should be destroyed" (That which can be destroyed by the truth should be): Appeared at the beginning of Chapter 20.See: goodreads/"es/541138-that-which-can-be-destroyed-by-the-truth-should-be