Harry Potter and the Way of Reason

The ancient halls of the Wizengamot were cool and dark, with simple wooden benches resting on concentric semicircular stone steps rising around the bottom center.There is no source of light, but the auditorium is well lit, with no apparent reason or logic; just the hard fact that the auditorium is well lit.Like the floors, the walls are also made of dark stone, and the inlay between the stones is elegant and magical, which is extremely pleasing to the eye, and the smooth texture seems to flow and drift beneath the surface.This is the Hall of the Ancients, the oldest surviving magical building; all other powerful magical places have been destroyed by wars.This is the Great Hall of the Wizengamot, the oldest place, for it was its construction that ended the war.

Here is the Great Hall of the Wizengamot; there are older places, but those are hidden.Legend has it that these dark stone walls were summoned and created by Merlin with magic, and produced according to his will.He gathered the most powerful wizards in the world together, and with powerful magic, he convinced them to respect him as the head.When (in legend) the prophets predicted that this would not be enough to prevent the end of the world and its magic, (the story goes) Merlin sacrificed his life, his magic, his time, and enforced the Merlin ban.This act was not without cost, and a place like this could never be built with today's spells.Nor was it destroyed, for these dark stone walls would have been undamaged, or perhaps even heated, even in the center of a nuclear blast.Sadly, no one knows how to build them anymore.

At the top of the Wizengamot's semicircular staircase, on the topmost level of dark stone steps, there is a rostrum.In front of the podium stood an old man with a silvery beard that hung down to his waist and a worried, wrinkled face; this was Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore profitable.He holds a powerful wand in his right hand, and a firebird rests on his shoulder.In his left hand he held a thin, short stick, simple in shape, made of the same dark stone as the wall: it was a symbol of Merlin's unbroken heritage, the chief wizard.Karen Dutton bequeathed this legacy to Albus Dumbledore on his deathbed, dying with a bright, burning phoenix by his side, within hours of defeating Grindelwald.And she got the inheritance from the perfectionist Nicodemus Capernaum; each wizard passed on to his chosen heir, after Merlin gave his life, generation after generation, without interruption.That's (in case you're wondering) why Magical Britain has the likes of Cornelius Fudge as ministers, but has a head wizard like Albus Dumbledore.Not by law (for laws can be rewritten), but by the oldest traditions, and the Wizengamots have no right to choose who presides over their follies.Since the day Merlin gave his life, the most important duty of every chief wizard has been to choose with great care a person who is kind-hearted and capable of choosing a suitable heir.You would expect this luminous lineage to take one wrong step over the centuries; at least once, and there is no turning back.But no.Merlin's legacy continues without interruption.

(At least that's what people in Dumbledore's party say. Lord Malfoy will tell you that's not the case. In Asia it's a completely different story, from which the English version is not necessarily wrong. )

On the platform at the bottom of the ancient auditorium was a high-backed chair with legs and armrests, without upholstery, and made of dark metal instead of dark stone. Merlin hadn't put it there.

The Ministry of Magic buildings built around it were paneled and gold-dusted, brightly lit, torched, and bustling with stupidity.Here it is different.This is the stone heart of magical Britain, it is not dusted with gold, it has no solid wood paneling, it has no lighted torches, and it is not bright.

Witches and wizards marched solemnly into the hall, clad in fuchsia robes with a 'W' embroidered with silver thread.From the way they look, they are very aware of how, how important they are.After all, they were meeting in the Hall of the Ancients.They were the lords and mistresses of the Wizengamot, who considered themselves the most important people in the greatest magical nation that ever lived.Little men fall at their feet, bow their knees; they have power, wealth, honor; are they not great?

Albus Dumbledore knew the names of everyone in the room.He has taught many of them, but unfortunately he has learned from so few.Some were his allies, some were his opponents, and the rest were neutral swingers whose support he carefully enlisted.To him, they are all human beings.

As for the current Professor of Defense at Hogwarts, if you ask him what he thinks of these lords and lords, he will say that many of them have ambitions, but very few of them have any ambitions at all.He'd point out that the Wizengamot was the ideal place for that kind of guy—exactly the kind of opportunity you'd take if you had nothing better to do.Such people are basically uninteresting, but often useful; to real gamers, they are pieces to manipulate, points to score.

In the arched auditorium on one side of the auditorium, not in the middle of the semicircular staircase, sat a witch wearing a pointed hat, with a wrinkled face full of worry.Sitting next to her was a boy, wearing his most formal black robe, his eyes were like green ice, his expression was indifferent, and he almost didn't even glance at them when the lords and lords walked into the auditorium one after another.To him, they were just a group of fuchsia robes talking in low voices, the visual set used to decorate the wooden benches in the scene in the Halls of the Ancients.If there's an enemy here, or something to manipulate, it's just the Wizengamot.The wealthy elite of magical Britain have collective power, but are not independent individuals; their goals are too alien and trivial to merit a single role in this story.At this moment, at this moment, the boy felt neither liking nor dislike for these fuchsia robes, because his brain had not assigned them agency enough to make them objects of moral judgment.He's the player character, and they're just wallpaper.

This perception is about to change.

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Harry looked around the Wizengamot Great Hall without seeing it; it looked rather old and rich in history, and Hermione could no doubt give him lessons and tell him about the place for hours on end.The fuchsia robes had stopped coming, and Harry's pocket watch - ticking every three minutes as slowly as half an hour - showed that the interrogation was about to begin.

Professor McGonagall sat next to him, and she never took her eyes off him for 20 consecutive seconds.

Harry read the Daily Prophet that morning.The headline reads "Muggle-Born Crazy Tries to Sever Ancient Blood", and the rest is the same.When Harry was nine years old, the IRA bombed a British barracks[1] and he watched all the politicians compete on TV to see who was more outraged.Harry used to think this way - even then, when he didn't know much about psychology - it seemed like everyone was in a race to see who was the angriest, and no one could point out that anyone was too angry, even if they proposed nuclear weapons Fried Ireland.Even then, the hollow nature of politicians' indignation had struck him—although at that age he didn't know how to describe it—he felt that the reason these politicians joined others in attacking a safe target was simply Just for easy scoring.

Harry had always felt the hollowness of politicians' outrage, but it was still odd, and it was even more apparent when you read the dozen or so articles in the Daily Prophet slamming Hermione Granger. many.

The leading article, written by someone Harry didn't know, called for the minimum age limit in Azkaban to be lowered so that this freaking Mudblood could be sent to the Dementors because she was in the hallowed sanctuary of Hogwarts The savage and unprovoked attack against the last heir of an ancient family, which so gravely insulted the dignity of Scotland, was the only punishment worthy of her unspeakable horrific crime.Only by doing so, can other non-human races, inhuman beasts understand in their perverted madness that no threat to a decent nobleman can escape the inevitable and merciless cleansing of the noble Wizengamot, etc. .

The second article was less eloquent, but said the same thing.

Earlier, Albus Dumbledore had said this to him:

"I will not try to prevent you from participating in the trial," said the old wizard's voice quietly but firmly. "I can fully foresee the consequences of that. But in return, I ask you to pay me the same respect. The Wizengamot Politics is delicate, and you don't know anything about it. If you make a rash mistake, it's Hermione Granger who pays the price; and you'll never forget your mistakes, Harry James Potter— Evans-Verys."

"I understand," said Harry, "I understand. It's just—if you're planning on pulling a rabbit out of a hat and turning it around in the last minute when everything seems hopeless, please tell me now and don't let the I sat there worrying—"

"I wouldn't do that to you," said the old wizard, looking very tired as he turned away, "not to Hermione. But I don't have a rabbit in my hat, Harry. We'll just have to look at Lou What Hughes Malfoy wants."

Then there was a small, sharp tap, a short sound that for some reason silenced the room, causing Harry to turn his head sharply and look up.High up, Dumbledore had just tapped the podium with the dark stone club in his left hand.

"At the request of His Excellency Lucius Malfoy, the No.90 meeting of the two hundred and eighth Wizengamot is now held," the old wizard said in a flat tone without emotion.

On the highest floor, far away from the podium, a tall man stood up immediately, wearing a purple-red robe, with long silver hair hanging down to his shoulders. "I've brought in a witness for questioning under Veritaserum," said Lucius Malfoy, his words echoing through the room coldly, his tone controlled with just a hint of righteous anger. , "Bring up Hermione Granger."

"I ask you all to remember that she is a first year student at Hogwarts," said Dumbledore, "and I will not tolerate any ill-treatment of this witness—"

Someone on the bench said rather loudly, "Bah!" Then there were more snorts of disgust, and even a sneer or two.

Harry squinted his eyes as he stared at the fuchsia robes.

Along with the rising anger was something else, a growing sense of uneasiness that something was skewed so badly, as if reality itself had been warped.Somehow, Harry knew this, but he didn't know what was wrong, why his brain thought it was getting worse...

"Order!" Dumbledore yelled.He tapped the podium twice with the stone stick, making two slight clicks that drowned out all the noise. "keep the order!"

The door through which the witnesses were taken was directly below Harry's seat, so it wasn't until the group was fully present in the stone Great Hall that Harry saw—

— A trio of Aurors —

— Hermione was brought up with her back turned to him, he couldn't see her face —

—behind a silvery sparrow and flowing moonshine squirrels—

—and then the source of that terrible evil, half hidden under the tattered cloak.

Harry stood up without hesitation, and Professor McGonagall hurriedly grabbed his wrist to stop him from reaching for his wand; the Transfiguration professor whispered urgently, "Harry is fine, there is a Patronus -"

It took Harry a few seconds to recover.The part that understood that Hermione wasn't directly exposed to the dementors, in persuading the rest of him to return to a semblance of rationality—

But the Patronus is not perfect, said another voice in his head.Otherwise Dumbledore would not have met a naked man who was painful to watch.With or without a Patronus, you'll feel its proximity...

Professor McGonagall tugged down on his wrist, and Harry Potter sat back slowly.

But at that moment, he had already declared war on the country of Magical England, and it seemed to make no difference whether anyone else called him the Dark Lord or not.

When Hermione sat down in the chair, he could see her face from his vantage point.She wasn't upright and defiant like she was when she was facing Snape, nor was she crying like she was when she was captured by the Aurors.She was just sitting there with blank terror on her face when the dark metal chains from the chair stretched out like snakes and bound her limbs.

Harry couldn't stand it.Without thinking, he fled into himself, into his dark side, surrounding himself with a shield of icy rage.It's taken a long time, and he hasn't tried to fully access his dark side since Azkaban.Then, when his blood seemed to turn cold, he looked up again, saw Hermione in the chair again, and saw that his dark side had no idea how to deal with the pain: it pierced the cold barrier like a knife , the damage has not been reduced by a single bit.

"Oh, isn't this Harry Potter!" came a shrill, brisk female voice, full of doting in the cloyingly sweet voice.

Slowly, Harry turned his head away from the direction of the chair, and saw a smiling woman with thick makeup, her skin almost pink, sitting next to a man whom Harry recognized from the photograph. That's Secretary Cornelius Fudge.

"Have you anything to say, Mr. Potter?" the woman asked cheerfully, as if this wasn't an interrogation.

Now other people are looking at him too.

Harry couldn't speak, he couldn't say out loud what was on his mind, it would be too stupid.He couldn't think of anything Neville might say too.Dumbledore had warned Harry that if anyone else wanted the Boy Who Lived to speak, he would have to pretend to be his own age—

"The headmaster said I shouldn't talk," the boy said, barely hiding the anger in his voice.

"Oh, but we allow you to talk!" said the woman, beaming. "I'm sure the Wizengamot would love to hear from the Boy Who Lived!" Beside her, Commissioner Cornelius Fudge nodded.

The woman's face was swollen and fat, and her pale skin couldn't be concealed even with makeup.Almost involuntarily, a word came to his mind, and that word was toad.On this point, part of Harry's logic pointed out, it had absolutely nothing to do with morality.Only in Disney movies are ugly people mostly evil, and vice versa; those movies are presumably written by people who have never been ugly.He's going to give her a chance, and everyone in this room deserves a chance...

"Because I killed the Dark Lord?" the boy asked, pointing at the dementor floating behind Hermione's chair. "There is something darker in this room."

The woman's face pulled down and became a little stern. "I know a little boy like you might be afraid of them, Mr Potter, but Dementors are pretty tame to the Ministry. And of course, we need them to guard—"

"A little girl of twelve?" cried the boy. "These are the darkest creatures in the world, and even with the protection of the Patronus, I can feel it approaching—the feeling of evil approaching—it is incomparable. Sinful, and it - if it could, it would eat everyone in this room! It should not be near any child, ever! Not me, or her, or anyone! You should vote Take it away!"

"Of course we won't vote for this kind of vote—" Toad Girl snapped.

"That's enough, Ms Umbridge, Mr Potter," said Dumbledore's stern voice from above.After a brief pause, the old wizard went on, "But, of course, the boy is quite right."

Some members of the Wizengamot looked ashamed at the Boy Who Lived's rebuke, and a few nodded vigorously when the old wizard spoke.Yet too little.Harry could see it.There are too few.

That's when the Veritaserum was brought, and for a moment Hermione seemed on the verge of tears as she looked at Harry - no, at Professor McGonagall - and Professor McGonagall was speaking to her silently, from Harry I can't see what she's talking about.Then Hermione drank three drops of Veritaserum, her cheeks relaxing.

"Galdwin Robards," said Lucius Malfoy in a smooth voice, "you are a recognized expert on interrogation. Would you please come?"

One of the three Aurors stepped forward.

After the first few questions, Harry looked away, plugged his ears with his fingers, and stopped listening to Hermione's brain playing back the contents of the false memory.He couldn't bear the excruciating pain in Hermione's drug-dulled voice as she relived the false memory, and neither could his dark side, and he'd already heard the synopsis.

Harry's mind flashed back to another terrible day. Although Harry was almost sure that Voldemort was still alive was just an old wizard's faint imagination, at this moment he suddenly felt that this hypothesis had a very terrifying and unique rationality, which was very important to Harry. Min had cast the Memory Charm on the very man who had - used - Bellatrix Black.These two things have a certain quality in common.Choosing to let this happen, planning for this to happen—it's not just evil, it's emptiness.

That's when Harry looked up for a moment and saw the fuchsia robes just looking, just looking.

After some time, when the stars in the night sky were all cold and dark, and the last light in the universe burned out and sank into darkness, Hermione's interrogation was finally over.

"If your lords are willing," said Lord Malfoy's voice, "I wish to read now the testimony of my son Draco after he drank two drops of Veritaserum."

I had no plans for Granger until she had that fight against me.But after that day, I really felt insulted that I had helped her so much—

The sound in Hermione's throat was as if she had been hit by a boulder falling from the sky, so huge that she couldn't cry out, couldn't breathe, and could only make a small, mournful gasp.

"Sorry," said a witch in the room who seemed to be siding with Malfoy, "but Lord Malfoy, why is your son helping this mudblood girl?"

"My son," said Lucius Malfoy in a heavy voice, "seems to have taken some theories that have misguided him. He's young—now that he's learned his lesson, and our country has seen it, it's The price of a mistake."

A few rows below the gallery benches, a man wearing a reporter's hat and a "Daily Prophet" ID was eagerly writing with a long quill.

The few people who nodded following Dumbledore's words showed disgusted expressions.A witch in a fuchsia robe deliberately stood up unhurriedly, and walked from Dumbledore's side of the auditorium to Malfoy's side.

The Auror continued reading in a monotonous tone.

"I was so tired after casting so many Locking Curses that I had no strength by the last one. I thought I was stronger than Granger, but I wasn't sure, so I offered to duel her, trying to use the experimental way to find out, that's why I do it - do it - and also because if I win, I'm ready to beat her again in public the next day. Damn Veritaserum. But she didn't when she murdered me Know this! And what she did insulted me, I did help her before, and I didn't mean to hurt her at all, and she attacked me in front of everyone!"

After the testimony of all witnesses was concluded, the deliberations of the Wizengamot began.

If that can be called deliberation.

It appears that many members of the Wizengamot strongly believe that murder is evil.

In this room, Dumbledore's fuchsia robes remained silent on one side, and these so-called righteous parties were ready to save their political capital for more promising battles.Professor Quirrell's dry voice sounded in Harry's mind, as if he was standing next to him, explaining to him that it would not do these politicians themselves any good to stand up at this time.

But there was also a wizard in the room who seemed high enough to outweigh his fears of humiliation; this wizard alone was high enough to say a reasonable word without getting hurt.Only he spoke in defense of Hermione, the man with the phoenix as bright as a fire resting on his shoulders.

Only Albus Dumbledore spoke.

The Head Wizard didn't raise the possibility that Hermione Granger was completely innocent.Regarding this, the headmaster explained to Harry that no one would believe it, and it would only be counterproductive.

But Albus Dumbledore spoke, gently reminding everyone again and again that the prisoners were Hogwarts first-year girls; that many people did stupid things when they were young; that Hogwarts first-year girls were too young , unable to comprehend the consequences of her actions.He himself (the Chief Wizard said quietly) had done stupid things as a child, when he was much older than she was.

Albus Dumbledore said Hermione Granger was adored by all of the Hogwarts staff, who tutored four Hufflepuff girls in Charms and taught Ravenclaw this school year. The Academy earned one hundred and three Academy points.

Albus Dumbledore said that anyone who knew Hermione Granger would only be shocked by the fact.They had—all of them—heard the horror in her voice as she repeated her testimony.If strange madness took hold of her for a moment, then—his voice rose to a serious demand—she deserved nothing but sympathy and the attention of the paramedics.

In the end, Albus Dumbledore reminded the Wizengamot, loudly in protest, that the charge for this deliberation was attempted murder, not murder.Amid a rising tide of protest, Albus Dumbledore said that no one had been permanently harmed yet.Albus Dumbledore begged them not to make things worse—

"Enough!" roared Lucius Malfoy, and a show of hands concluded the deliberations.The silver-haired man stood tall and menacing, holding his silver cane aloft as if it were a judge's gavel about to fall. "For what this crazy woman tried to do to my son—for the blood debt she owed for trying to sever a noble and oldest family line—I said she must—"

"Azkaban!" A man with a scar on his face sitting on Lord Malfoy's right hand yelled, "Send this mudblood lunatic to Azkaban!"

"Azkaban!" yelled another man in a purple robe, and another, and another—

There was a click of the stick in Dumbledore's hand, and the entire hall fell silent. "You have disturbed the order," said the old wizard sternly, "and your proposals are too barbarous and desecrate the dignity of this council. There are certain things we cannot do. Your Excellency Malfoy?"

Lucius Malfoy listened impassively. "Okay," said Lord Malfoy after a moment's silence.There was a cold gleam in his eyes. "I didn't plan to ask for it. But since it's the Wizengamot's wish—let her be punished for her crimes. Then Azkaban."

A cheering roar rang out—

"Are you all confused?" cried Albus Dumbledore. "She's so young! Her mind won't take it! Nothing like this has happened in England for nearly 300 years!"

"What will people from other countries think of us?" said a woman in a high-pitched voice, which Harry recognized as Neville's grandmother.

"Will you guard Azkaban when she's gone, Lord Malfoy?" said a stern old witch Harry didn't know. "I'm afraid my Aurors will Refuse to guard."

"The deliberations are over," said Lucius Malfoy icily. "If you are unable to find an Auror who can obey the Wizengamot resolution, Ms. Burns, you may choose to resign; we can easily find one." Take your place. The intent of this hall is very clear. For her brutal crimes, this girl is to be tried and sentenced as an adult; the sentence for attempted murder is ten years in Azkaban."

When the old wizard spoke again, his voice dropped. "Is there no other possibility, Lucius? If necessary, we can talk privately in my room."

At this time, the tall man with long silver hair turned around and faced the old wizard standing on the podium; the two gazed at each other for a long time.

When Lucius Malfoy spoke again, his voice trembled imperceptibly, as if the tight grip on it had failed. "The blood debt owed to my family will be paid in blood. No price will make me sell the blood debt owed to my son. You won't understand, you have never had a loved one, and you have no children of your own. However, to Mal The Fu family has more than one blood debt, and I think my son, if he stood among us, would rather claim back his mother's blood debt than his. Confessing your crime before the Wizengamot is like As you have admitted to me, I-"

"Don't even think about it, Albus," said the stern old witch who had spoken before.

The old wizard stood on the podium.

The old wizard stood on the podium, his face was distorted and recovered——

"Come," said the old witch, "you know what answer you have to give, Albus. No amount of pain will change anything."

The old wizard spoke.

"No," said Albus Dumbledore.

"And you, Malfoy," continued the stern old witch, "I guess all you really wanted was to ruin—"

"No," said Lucius Malfoy, his lips twisted into a resentful smile, "no, I have no purpose other than to avenge my son. I just want the Wizengamot to see the old man put on The truth behind his heroism and his praise of this girl — he would never have considered sacrificing himself to save her."

"Sure enough, it's as cruel as a Death Eater," said Augusta Longbottom. "Of course, I didn't hint at anything."

"Cruel?" said Lucius Malfoy, still with a resentful grin on his face. "I don't think so. I know what he's going to say. I keep warning you that he's only acting. If you believe him Hesitating, you're stupid. Remember, his answer hasn't changed." The man raised his voice, "Vote, my friends. I think a show of hands will do. I don't think many people will choose Stand with the murderer." When he said the last sentence, his voice became cold, and the threat was clearly revealed.

"Look at that girl," said Albus Dumbledore. "Look at her, look at what you've done! She—" the old wizard's voice broke, "she's afraid—"

The veritaserum potion must have worn off, because Hermione Granger's flabby cheeks twisted, and her limbs trembled visibly under the chains, as if she wanted to run away, from this chair, but a wave These magical chains that bound her were even heavier, pressing her down tightly.Then she made a convulsive effort, Hermione's neck moved, her head turned, her eyes met—

She looked at Harry Potter, and though she didn't speak, her meaning was crystal clear.

Harry

help me

please--

In the oldest Wizengamot Hall, a cold voice, like liquid nitrogen, too high-pitched because the voice came from a throat that was too young, said, "Lucius Malfoy. "

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In the ancient and sacred Wizengamot Hall, everyone looked around, and it took a long time to find the source of the sound.The tone of the voice may be too high and the volume too low for the content of the words; but even so, you would not think that the voice came from a child.

It wasn't until Lord Malfoy answered that everyone realized where to look.

"Harry Potter," said Lucius Malfoy.He didn't bow his head.

Heads were turned, eyes were turned, and attention was drawn to the little boy with tousled hair standing beside the weeping old witch.The boy was dressed in a formal black tunic, and with his shoes on he was only as tall as a grown man's chest.Unless you have very sharp eyes, though, the famous and fatal scar beneath the unruly hair cannot be seen from the other side of the auditorium.

"It's not like you to make a mistake like this, Lucius," said the boy. "Girls of twelve don't go around killing people. You're a Slytherin, and you're smart. You should understand it's a conspiracy." Hermione G. Ranger was pushed onto this chessboard, and the person behind it was the mastermind behind the conspiracy. Of course, the other party expected you to act like this—it’s just that in their plan, Draco Malfoy would have died, and you should have completely Incomprehensible. But he's alive and you're sane. Why would you play the part they made you play in this plot to kill your son?"

There seemed to be a storm in Lucius's heart, and under the fluttering silver hair, the face seemed to be about to burst, overflowing with unpredictable things.Lord Malfoy tried to speak, swallowed again, and did so twice, before speaking after three hesitation. "You said it was a conspiracy?" Lord Malfoy finally said.His face was distorted, almost uncontrollable, "Then, whose conspiracy is it?"

"If I had known," said the boy, "I would have said so. But any of Hermione Granger's classmates will tell you that she is the most unlikely choice for a murderer. In fact, she did tutor Hufflepuff Strange classmate's homework. This is not a natural event, Mr. Malfoy."

"Conspiracy—or not—" Lucius' voice was shaking, "this mudblood rubbish touched my son, and I'll kill her. You should be fully aware of that, Harry Potter. "

"Even to put it mildly," said the boy, "it's doubtful whether Hermione Granger actually cast the Blood-Cooling Charm. I don't know the circumstances, or what magic the killer used, but ordinary scheming won't make it any easier." She did such a thing. It was not her act of her own will, and probably not her act at all. Your vengeance was misplaced, Lord Malfoy, and it was intentional. The one who deserves your hostility is not this 12-year-old girl."

"Why should you care about her fate?" Lucius Malfoy's voice was getting higher and higher. "What is your interest in this matter?"

"She's my friend," said the boy, "as Draco is my friend. The target of this blow is probably me, not the Malfoys."

The muscles in Lucius' face twitch again