Harry Potter and the Way of Reason

Wow.A spokesman for Rowling's literary agency said that Rowling allows the existence of fans, as long as there is no fee, and everyone knows that the copyright of the original work belongs to her?She is so cool.Thank you, JKR, the kingdom is yours!

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I feel compelled to state that some of the content in this chapter is not intended to "hit" anyone.I have no complaints, the story develops on its own, and once you start to lose a character, it's hard to stop.

Several readers who wrote comments asked me if the science in the story was real or made up.That's all true, there's a link in my profile to that popular science site that will teach you everything Harry James Potter-Evans-Verys knows, and more. [1]

Thank you to all the readers who have commented on me. (Special thanks to Chrome Dreams for the comment, "Lung lobes and tea shouldn't touch each other", which gave me unexpected inspiration.)

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"Your dad is almost as good as mine."

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On platform nine at King's Cross Station, Petunia Evans-Verys' lips trembled and her eyes filled with tears as Harry hugged her waist. "Are you sure you don't want me to accompany you, Harry?"

Harry glanced at his father, Mike Verris-Evans, with his typically serious and proud expression, and at his mother, who certainly looked...uncool. "Mum, I know you don't like the magical world. You don't have to go. I mean it."

Penny flinched. "Harry, you don't have to worry about me. I'm your mother, whenever you need someone to be with you—"

"Mom, I have to live independently at Hogwarts for several months. If I can't stand being alone at the train station, it's better to find out now so that I can give up as soon as possible." He lowered his voice. "Besides, Mum, the people there love me. If there's any problem, I just take the sweatband off." Harry nodded the sweatband on his forehead to hide the scar. "I got Help would overwhelm me."

"Oh, Harry," Petunia whispered.She got down on one knee and hugged him tightly, putting her cheek against his.Harry could feel her irregular breathing and a escaping sob. "Oh, Harry, please always remember that I really love you."

As if she was afraid she would never see me again, the thought crossed Harry's mind.He knew that his judgment was right, but he didn't know what his mother was afraid of.

So he made a guess. "Mum, you know I won't be like your sister just because I've learned magic, don't you? I'll do any magic you want me to do--if I can--or if you don't want me to use magic at home, It's okay, I won't let magic stand between us—"

A tight hug cut him off. "You have a good heart," his mother whispered in his ear. "Very well, my son."

Harry himself choked up at this moment.

His mother let him go and stood up, took a handkerchief from her bag, and wiped away the smudged makeup around her eyes with trembling hands.

It was out of the question to get Dad to drive him to the magic area at King's Cross Station.Dad could barely keep his eyes on Harry's suitcase.Magic is genetic, and Mike Verris-Evans has none of it.

So his dad just cleared his throat. "I wish you all the best at school, Harry," he said. "Are the books I bought for you enough?"

Harry had explained to Dad why he thought this was a very rare opportunity that might lead him to some really important and revolutionary research.Professor Vires-Evans nodded after hearing this, put aside his busy schedule for the next two days, and accompanied Harry to complete the largest second-hand book raid in history.They went to four cities and bought thirty boxes of science books, which are now stored in a small room in Harry's suitcase.Most books cost a pound or two apiece, but there were some much more expensive, such as the latest Handbook of Physical Chemistry, and the entire [-] edition of the Encyclopedia Britannica.Harry's dad kept covering the cashier with his body to keep him from showing him the bill, but Harry figured it cost him at least a thousand pounds.He told his dad to pay him back as soon as he figured out how to convert wizarding world gold into Muggle currency, and his dad said, just jump into the lake and forget it.

Now Dad asks him: Are the books I bought for you enough?Harry knew exactly what kind of answer Dad was expecting.

Harry's voice was hoarse for some reason. "Books are never enough," he recited the Verres family motto, and Dad got down on one knee and gave him a quick, firm hug. "But you really tried," Harry said, feeling choked up again. "It's an effort that's very, very, very close to success."

His dad stood up. "Okay..." he said. "Can you see platform nine and three-quarters?"

King's Cross Station is large and busy, with walls and floors covered in plain earth-coloured patterned tiles.The bustling people in the railway station are ordinary people, busy with ordinary things, talking about ordinary topics, making a lot of ordinary noises.There's a platform [-] (where they are) and a platform [-] (next to them) in the station, but there's nothing between platforms [-] and [-] except a thin, hopeless dividing wall .The sun shone down from the large skylight overhead, making it clear to everyone that there was no such thing as Platform Nine and Three Quarters.

Harry stared around, his eyes watering with soreness.He thought, come on, spiritual vision, come on, spiritual vision, but he didn't see anything.He thought about trying to wave his wand, but Professor McGonagall had warned him not to use a wand.Besides, if there were another colored spark coming out of the wand, he might be arrested for setting off fireworks in a railway station.And that's assuming his wand doesn't do anything new, like blow up an entire train station or something.Harry just skimmed through his textbooks (the contents were eccentric enough) to decide what science books to buy for the next 48 hours.

Harry checked his watch. He had an hour to go, and the train left at eleven.Maybe it's an intelligence test that stupid kids who fail aren't allowed to be wizards. (The time you set aside for yourself is a test of your conscientiousness, the second most important factor for success in academia.)

"I'll figure it out," Harry said to his parents, who were waiting beside him. "Maybe it's a test."

His dad frowned. "Hmm...maybe you can look for it and see if there are many footprints on the ground leading to an inexplicable place—"

"Dad!" Harry protested. "Don't say it! I haven't even started thinking about it myself!" Worse still, it's good advice.

"I'm sorry," his dad apologized.

"Um..." said Harry's mother. "I don't think they would do this to students? Are you sure Professor McGonagall didn't say anything?"

"Maybe she wasn't paying attention then," Harry blurted out.

"Harry!" his parents yelled together. "What did you do again?"

"I, uh—" Harry swallowed. "Oops, no time to explain now—"

"Harry!"

"That's right! We're running out of time now! It's a long story and I have to figure out how to get to school!"

His mother put her hand on his forehead. "How bad is it?"

"I, um," I can't say because it's a national security secret, "was about half as bad as the one that went off that science project?"

"Harry!"

"I, um, hey, look how many people there are with owls, I'll ask them how to get on the platform!" Harry ran away from his parents, and ran to the family with bright red hair over there. man; his crate automatically follows him.

The fat woman saw him as he came running. "Hello, dear, first time to Hogwarts? Ron is a freshman too -" Then she gave him a hard look. "Harry Potter?"

Four boys, a red-haired girl and an owl all turned around and stared at him blankly.

"Oh no!" Harry protested.He had originally planned to take the alias of Harry Verres temporarily until he arrived at Hogwarts. "I bought sweatbands! How do you know who I am?"

"Yeah," Harry's dad asked striding up from behind, "how did you know who he was?" There was concern in his voice.

"Your picture is in the paper," said one of the identical twins.

"Harry!"

"Daddy! It's not what you think! That's because I defeated the Dark Lord when I was one year old!"

"what?"

"Mom can explain it to you."

"what?"

"Ah...Mike dear, there are some things I thought it would be better not to bother you—"

"I'm sorry," Harry said to the staring red-haired family, "but I would be very, very grateful if you could tell me how to get to platform nine and three-quarters now."

"Ah..." the woman said.She raised a hand and pointed at the dividing wall between the platforms. "Just walk straight towards the dividing wall between platforms [-] and [-]. Don't stop, don't be afraid that you will hit the wall, this is very important. If you feel nervous, it is better to trot across .”

"And whatever you do, don't think about an elephant."

"George! Leave him alone, Harry dear, there's no need to stop thinking about an elephant."

"I'm Fred, mother, not George—"

"Thank you!" said Harry, running towards the dividing wall—

Wait a minute, won't you make it if you don't believe it?

It was at times like these that Harry hated himself for thinking too fast, before he realized in time that this was a situation where the "reasonable doubt" rule applied, that is, if he believed in the first place that he could get through the dividing wall , he'll make it, but now he's worried that he doesn't believe he can get through the wall, which means he's actually worried about running into—

"Harry! Come back, you owe me an explanation!" Dad yelled from behind.

Harry closed his eyes, tried to forget all the theories he knew about legitimate doubts, and tried desperately to believe that he would get through the wall—

— the voices around him changed.

Harry opened his eyes and stopped in his tracks, feeling a little ashamed in his heart for deliberately believing something just now.

He was standing on a bright, open-air train station platform, and there was a huge train parked beside the platform, with fourteen long carriages, a red metal steam locomotive, and tall chimneys, which would surely pollute the air to death .The platform was starting to get a little crowded (although Harry actually arrived a full hour early), with many children and their parents gathering in groups around the benches, tables, and various vendors.

Needless to say, there is no way such a place exists at King's Cross Station, and it cannot be hidden at all.

Okay, so, the possibilities are (a) I'm teleported to a completely different place (b) they can fold space as they please or (c) they can just outright ignore all laws.

There was a sliding sound behind him, and Harry turned to see his suitcase with claw-like tentacles following him.Apparently, his chest was also confident enough to pass through the dividing wall for magical purposes.Harry felt a little uneasy when he thought about it.

After a while, the youngest red-haired boy ran in through the iron archway (iron archway?) pulling the luggage and almost ran into Harry.Calling himself an idiot for standing still, Harry quickly left the area by the door.The red-haired boy tugged on the handle of the suitcase, trying to follow him.After a while, a white owl flew over from beyond the arch and landed on the boy's shoulder.

"Christ," said the red-haired boy, "are you really Harry Potter?"

No way, here we go again. "I have no way of confirming this logically. My parents raised me to believe my name was Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres, and a lot of people here say I look a lot like my parents, I mean my other parents, though," Harry frowned, realizing something, "God knows, maybe there's some kind of spell that can make a child look a certain way— —”

"Uh, what are you talking about, man?"

Not Ravenclaw stuff, I guess. "Yes, I am Harry Potter."

"I'm Ron Weasley," said the tall, thin, freckled boy with the long nose, offering a hand which Harry shook politely.The owl hooted to Harry with strange deliberation and politeness (actually something like eh-ee-ee, which surprised Harry.)

Harry suddenly realized that a terrible disaster was imminent. "Wait for me," he said to Ron, and opened a drawer in his suitcase where he remembered his winter clothes were kept - and sure enough - he found the thinnest scarf in there, and Tuck it under your winter coat.Harry undid his sweatband, quickly unwrapped the scarf around his head, and tied it in a knot near his face.It was too hot to dress like this in summer, but Harry could bear it.

He closed this drawer, opened another, pulled out a black wizard's robe, slipped it over his head, and now he didn't look like he was from the Muggle world.

"Okay," Harry said.His voice was muffled from behind the scarf.He turned to face Ron. "How do I look? I know it's silly, but do you recognize Harry Potter?"

"Er," said Ron.He closed his open mouth. "I don't recognize it, Harry."

"Great," said Harry. "However, in order to prevent this effort from being meaningless, please call me in the future," Viris might not be able to get along, "Mr. Sibu."[2]

"Okay, Harry," said Ron hesitantly.

The force is not very strong on this one. "Call...I...Mr. Spoo...."

"Okay, Mr. Spoon—" Ron stopped. "I can't do it, it makes me feel so stupid."

It's not just a feeling. "Okay. Then you choose a name."

"Mr. Cannon," Ron said quickly. "On behalf of the Chudley Cannon team."

"Um..." Harry knew he would regret asking that question. "Who is Chadley Cannon, or what?"

"What are the Chudley Cannons? The greatest Quidditch team ever! They were last in the league last year, yes, but—"

"What is Quidditch?"

Asking this question is also a mistake.

"Let me make sure," Harry said at the end of Ron's gesticulating explanation. "The score for catching the Snitch is 150 points?"

"yes--"

"If you don't include the Snitch, how many times does each ten typically occur in a game?"

"Well, maybe fifteen or twenty times in professional games—"

"It's totally unreasonable. It would go against every possible rule of game design. You see, the rest of the game sounds roughly reasonable, I mean, reasonable for a sport, but you just Basically, the ownership of the Snitch ball can almost always determine the outcome of the game overwhelmingly. Two Seekers fly around in the sky looking for the Snitch Ball, barely interacting with others, and find the Snitch The ball is basically luck-"

"It's not luck at all!" Ron protested. "You've got to keep your eyes moving in the right rhythm when you're scanning—"

"That's not interaction. There's no cooperation and confrontation with other people. What's the point of seeing who turns his eyes better? Then whoever Seeker happens to see the ball, he jumps up and grabs it, and then all the other people's efforts are lost. Doesn't make sense anymore. It's like someone grafted such a special spot on a real game so that you don't have to actually play and learn the rest of the game to be MVP. First find Who is it, some king's stupid son who wants to play Quidditch but can't learn the rules?" Actually, when you think about it, this guess is surprisingly reliable.Get him on a broom and tell him to grab that shiny thing...

Ron's face scrunched up. "Even if you don't like Quidditch, don't laugh at it!"

"If you can't criticize, you can't optimize. I'm suggesting how to improve the game. Simple. Just remove the snitch part."

"They won't change the game just because you said you would!"

"I'm the 'Boy Who Lived', you know. People will listen to me. If I can convince them to change the rules of Hogwarts intramural games, maybe the innovation will spread."

Absolute horror appeared on Ron's face. "However, if the snitch is removed, how will everyone know when the game is over?"

"Buy...a...clock. Compared with this kind of competition that sometimes takes 10 minutes and sometimes takes several hours, the fixed-length competition is much more fair. For the audience, the timing will also be reduced a lot Uncertainty." Harry sighed. "Okay, don't freak out like this, I probably won't really take the time to destroy this poor national movement and redesign it to be stronger and smarter according to my philosophy. I have far more important things Things to worry about." Harry looked thoughtful. "However, it wouldn't take much time to write a 'Ninety-five Theses on the Cancellation of the Snitch,'[95] and nail it to the church door—"

"Potter," said a little boy in a drawl, "what's that on your face, and what's that standing next to you?"

The horror on Ron's face was replaced by utter hatred. "It's you!"

Harry turned his head; it was indeed Draco Malfoy, probably reluctantly wearing the school's standard uniform, but his suitcase made up for it; it looked at least as magical as Harry's, but more elegantly much; the chest was studded with sterling silver and emeralds, and it bore what Harry suspected to be the sigil of House Malfoy, a beautiful serpent baring its tusks wrapped around two crossed ivory wands.

"Draco!" Harry said. "Well, I could call you Malfoy if you wanted, but that would make me feel like Lucius. I'm glad to see you're doing well after our meeting, uh. This is Ron Weasley. Also, I'm trying to be unrecognizable right now, so please call me, er," Harry glanced at his robes, "Mr Black."

"Harry!" Ron whispered angrily. "You can't use that last name!"

Harry froze for a moment. "Why not?" Sounds cool and dark, like a mysterious alien—

"I think it's a nice name," said Draco, "but it belongs to the noble and oldest House of Black. I'll call you Mr. Silver."

"You're not allowed to approach...Mr. King," said Ron coldly, taking a step forward. "He doesn't need to talk to someone like you!"

Harry raised a hand to reassure the situation. "I'll just call you Mr. Copper, thank you for the pattern. And, Ron, um," Harry struggled to say, "I'm glad you're so...protective of me, but I really don't mind talking to Draco—"

This was clearly the straw that broke the camel's back for Ron, who turned to look at Harry, his eyes burning with incredible anger. "What? Do you know who he is?"

"Yes, Ron," said Harry, "you should remember that he didn't introduce himself just now, so I called him Draco."

Draco snickered.His eyes lit up when he saw the white owl on Ron's shoulder. "Oh, what is this?" Draco said slowly, in a vicious tone. "Where's the Weasleys' famous house mouse?"

"Buried in the backyard," Ron replied dryly.

"Oh, it's so sad. Bo...ah, Mr. Copper, I should have told you that the Weasleys are generally considered to have had the funniest pet stories ever. Would you like to tell, Weasley?"

Ron's face contorted. "If it happened in your house, it wouldn't be funny to you!"

"Oh," said Draco, grinning, "but that would never happen to the Malfoys."

Ron's hands clenched into fists—

"Enough," said Harry, trying to sound calm and authoritative.Apparently, whatever it was, it was a painful memory for the redheaded kid. "If Ron doesn't want to say it, he doesn't have to, and I hope you don't."

Draco looked at Harry in surprise, and Ron nodded. "That's it, Harry! I mean, Mr. Copper! You see what he's like? Now tell him to go away!"

Harry counted silently to ten in his head, which was a quick 12345678910 for him—a strange habit his mother had taught him when he was five, and Harry felt his way was faster and just as effective. "I wouldn't tell him to go away," Harry said quietly. "If he wants to talk to me, I'm more than welcome."

"Well, but I don't want to be friends with anyone who hangs out with Draco Malfoy," Ron announced coldly.

Harry shrugged. "It's up to you. I don't want others to decide who I can or can't be with." He prayed silently in his heart, go away, go away...

Ron's face was blank with surprise, as if he really thought what he had just said would work.Then he turned around, pulled his luggage, and walked angrily to the other side of the platform.

"If you don't like him," Draco asked curiously, "why don't you just walk away?"

"Well..his mum did me a favor and told me how to get to this platform from King's Cross, so I was too embarrassed to tell him to go away. And I don't hate this Ron guy," said Harry "I just, just..." Harry searched for the right words.

"Don't see why he exists?" Draco said for him.

"That's about it."

"Anyway, Potter... if you were really Muggle-raised—" Draco paused, as if waiting for Harry to deny it, but Harry said nothing "—you might not Know what it's like to be famous. People want to take up all of our time. You have to learn to say no."

Harry nodded, letting a thoughtful expression appear on his face. "Sounds like a good suggestion."

"If you try to be nice to everyone, you end up spending most of your time with the thickest-skinned people. Figure out who you want to spend time with and let everyone else go away. You're just here, So people judge you by who you hang out with, Potter, and you don't want to be seen hanging out with someone like Ron Weasley."

Harry nodded again. "How did you recognize me, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Mr. Copper," Draco replied drawn out, "I've seen you before, remember. I saw people walking around with scarves over their heads, looking ridiculous. So I Just guessed."

Harry bowed his head and accepted the compliment. "I'm very, very sorry," said Harry, "I mean, about our first meeting. I didn't mean to embarrass you in front of Lucius."

Draco waved his hand to show he didn't mind, and gave Harry an odd look. "If only Dad saw how you flatter me—" Draco laughed. "But thank you for what you said to Dad. It would be harder to explain to him otherwise."

Harry bowed deeply. "Thank you also for what you said to Professor McGonagall as a reward."

"You're welcome. But there is an assistant who probably told her best friend not to spread the word, because Dad said there were some strange rumors circulating outside, such as you and I had a fight."

"Oops," Harry flinched. "I am very sorry--"

"It doesn't matter, we are all used to it. Merlin, there are enough rumors about the Malfoy family anyway."

Harry nodded. "I'm glad you're out of trouble."

Draco smiled smugly. "Dad's sense of humor is, well, more refined, but he does know what it's like to make friends. Very good. Last month, he made me say every night before I went to bed, 'I'll make friends at Hogwarts.' When I explained everything to him and he understood what I was doing, he bought me an ice cream."

Harry's jaw dropped. "Can you make ice cream out of such a thing?"

Draco nodded, as smug as the achievement deserved. "Oh, of course Dad knows what I'm doing, but he's the one who taught me how to do it, so I just have to smile the right way and it becomes a bond between us. He has to buy me ice cream, Otherwise I'd put on a pitiful look, as if I felt like I'd let him down."

Harry eyed Draco appraisingly and realized he had encountered an expert. "Have you been taught how to manipulate people?"

"Of course," Draco said proudly. "I'm a Malfoy. Dad hired me a private tutor."

"Wow," said Harry.Having read Influence: The Science and Practice by Robert Cialdini pales in comparison to this (although that is also a super terrific book). [4] "Your dad is almost as good as mine."

Draco raised his eyebrows high. "Oh? What did your dad do?"

"He bought me a lot of books."

Draco thought about it. "It's nothing special."

"You'd have to see him to know. Anyway, I'm glad to hear that. When Lucius looked at you like that, I almost thought he was going to—crucify you."

"My dad loves me very much," Draco said firmly. "He would never do such a thing."

"Um..." said Harry.He remembered the elegant figure in black robe and silver hair, holding a beautiful and deadly silver cane, rushing into Mrs. McGinn's shop in a rage.It's hard to imagine him being a doting father. "Please don't get me wrong, but how do you know?"

"Huh?" Apparently, Draco rarely asked himself this question.

"I'm asking the most basic questions of rational thought: Why do you believe what you believe? What do you think you know, and how do you think you know? What makes you think Lucius would not power to sacrifice you, as he sacrificed everything else?"

Draco gave Harry another weird look. "What do you know about my dad?"

"Well... a seat on the Wizengamot, a seat on the Hogwarts school board, unbelievable wealth, someone who can talk to Minister Fudge, someone whom Minister Fudge trusts, who may have Minister Fudge The person with the indecent photo, the first blood theorist after the Dark Lord, a former Death Eater, with the Dark Mark on his body, because he claimed to be under the Imperius Curse to avoid legal sanctions, but this possibility is too bizarre, who I don't believe it either...Evil with a capital letter, born killer...I think that's all."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "McGonagall told you, didn't she?"

"No, she refused to say anything about Lucius, she just told me to stay away from him. Then we had a little accident in the potion shop, while Professor McGonagall was busy with losing his temper with the shopkeeper and cleaning up the mess. , I caught a customer and asked them about Lucius."

Draco's eyes widened again. "Are you really?"

Harry glanced at Draco inexplicably. "If I was lying the first time, I wouldn't tell the truth if you asked me one more time."

Draco was stunned for a moment before he understood the meaning of this sentence.

"You'll definitely get Slytherin."

"I'll definitely give it to Ravenclaw, thank you. All I want are books."

Draco giggled. "Whatever you say. Anyway... About your question just now..." Draco took a deep breath, his expression serious. "Daddy missed the Wizengamot vote once for me. I fell off riding a broom and broke several ribs. It hurt like hell. I've never been in so much pain that I thought I was going to die. Daddy was out because of that A particularly important vote because he's going to be with me at St Mungo's, hold my hand and tell me I'm going to be fine."

Harry looked away in embarrassment, then tried to bring his gaze back to Draco. "Why are you telling me this? It feels more... personal..."

Draco looked at Harry seriously. "One of my teachers told me that getting to know each other's more personal things helps build close friendships. The reason most people don't have good friends is because they feel too embarrassed to tell others the really important things about them ’ Draco held out his palm invitingly. "now you?"

Harry noticed that even knowing that Draco's expectant face had probably been practiced over the years didn't make it any less effective.It actually does reduce it a bit, but unfortunately, it doesn't make it completely ineffective.Likewise, Draco cleverly uses the pressure to reciprocate unconditional gifts, a technique Harry has seen in social psychology books (experiment notes, if you want to ask everyone to fill out a questionnaire, give unconditionally Five dollars per person is twice as effective as offering to pay fifty dollars to everyone who completes it).Draco had shared a personal secret unconditionally, and now invited Harry to share a secret in return... The problem was, Harry did feel the pressure.If he refused, Harry was pretty sure, what awaited him would be a look of sad disappointment, perhaps mixed with a little scorn, showing that he had been deducted points.

"Draco," said Harry, "I want you to know that I know exactly what you're doing. It's called a rebate in my book, and they say that if you want someone to do something, do it unconditionally." Giving them two Sickles is twice as good as giving them twenty Sickles..." Harry trailed off.

Draco looked sad and disappointed. "It's not a trick, Harry. It's a real way to be friends."

Harry held up a hand. "I didn't say I didn't respond.