Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality (137 page)

“Then you don’t know half of what you pretend to know,” Hermione said, her voice a little firmer. “I’m scared of Harry too. But not because of what he might ever do to
me
. I’m scared of what he might do to
protect
me -”

“Wrong.” The whisper was flat, and hard, as if to brook no possibility of denial. “Harry Potter
will
turn against you in time, Hermione, when the darkness takes him fully. He will not shed a tear, he will not even notice, on the day his footsteps finally crush you underneath.”

“
Double
wrong!” she said back in a rising voice, even though there were chills going down her spine. One of Harry’s phrases came to her. “Just what do you think you know, and how do you think you know it, anyway?”

“Time -” The voice seemed to catch itself. “Time enough for that later. For now, for today, indeed Harry Potter is not your enemy. And yet you are in gravest danger.”

“I can believe
that
,” said Hermione Granger. She desperately wanted to shift her wand to her other hand, she felt like she needed to grab her right arm just to keep it up, her head ached like she’d been staring at the black mist for days; she didn’t know why she’d gotten tired so quickly.

“Lucius Malfoy has taken notice of you, Hermione.” The whisper had risen, departed from its tonelessness, taken on a note of audible concern. “You have humiliated Slytherin House, you have defeated his son in battle. Even before then you were an embarrassment to all who stand with the Death Eaters; for you are a Muggleborn and yet you possess a power of wizardry greater than any pureblood. And now you are becoming known, the eyes of the world on you. Lucius Malfoy seeks to crush you, Hermione, to hurt you and perhaps even kill you, and he has the means to do it!” The whisper had grown urgent.

There was a pause.

“Is that all?” Hermione said. If she was ex-Colonel Zabini or Harry Potter, she’d probably be asking clever questions to gather more information; but her mind felt slow and fatigued. She really needed to get out of here and go lie down for a while.

“You don’t believe me,” the whisper said, softer and sadder now. “Why not, Hermione? I
am
trying to help you.”

Hermione took a step backward, away from the shadowy alcove.

“
Why not, Hermione?
” demanded the voice, rising to a hiss. “You owe me that much! Tell me, and then -” The voice caught, and came back quieter. “And then you can go, I suppose. Only tell me -
why
-”

Maybe she shouldn’t’ve answered; maybe she should’ve just turned and fled, or better yet, cast a Prismatic Wall first and then screamed at the top of her lungs as she ran; but it was the note of real pain in the voice that caught her, and so she answered.

“Because you look incredibly dark and scary and suspicious,” Hermione said, keeping her voice polite, as her wand stayed level on the towering black cloak and the faceless black mist.

“That’s
all?
” whispered the voice incredulously. Sadness seemed to infuse it. “I hoped for better from you, Hermione. Surely such a Ravenclaw as you, the most intelligent Ravenclaw to grace Hogwarts in a generation, knows that appearances can be misleading.”

“Oh, I know it,” said Hermione. She took another step back, her tired fingers tightening on the wand. “But the thing that people forget sometimes, is that even though appearances
can
be misleading, they’re usually
not.
”

There was a pause.

“You
are
the clever one,” said the voice, and the black mist evaporated away, no longer obscuring; she saw the face beneath, and recognition sent a jolt of terrified adrenaline bursting through her -

(fleeting disorientation)

- and then a rush of shock and fear hit her like a Stunning Hex over her whole body, she found that without any thought or any conscious decision her wand had leaped into her hand and was already pointed at…

…a shining lady, her long white dress billowing about her as though in invisible winds; neither her hands nor her feet were visible, her face hidden beneath a white veil; and she was glowing all over, not like a ghost, not transparent, just surrounded by soft white light.

Hermione stared open-mouthed at the gentle sight, wondering why her heart was already hammering, and why she felt so scared.

“Hello again, Hermione,” the kindly whisper emanated from the white glow behind the veil. “I’ve been sent to help you, so please don’t be afraid. I am your servant in all things; for you, my Lady, are the bearer of a most marvelous destiny -”

…

…

…

It was Saturday, on the 4th of April, in the year 1992.

Mr. and Mrs. Davis looked rather nervous, as they sat in a certain special section of the Hogwarts Quidditch stands - though today the cushioned benches did not look upon flying broomsticks, but rather viewed a gigantic square of something like parchment; a great white blankness soon to flicker with windows into grass and soldiers. For now it showed only the reflected dull gray color of the surrounding overcast skies. (Looking rather stormy, though the weather-wizards had promised that the rain wouldn’t break before nightfall.)

Ordinarily it was the ancient tradition of Hogwarts that mere parents were to Stay Out - for much the same reason that impatient children are told to get out of the kitchen and not meddle in the cook’s affairs. The only reason for a parent-teacher conference was if a teacher felt that a parent wasn’t shaping up properly. It took an exceptional circumstance to make the Hogwarts administration feel that it had to justify itself to
you.
On any given occasion, generally speaking, the Hogwarts administration was backed up by eight hundred years of distinguished history and you were not.

Thus it had been with some trepidation that Mr. and Mrs. Davis had insisted on an audience with Deputy Headmistress McGonagall. It was hard to muster a proper sense of indignation when you were confronting the same dignified witch who, twelve years and four months earlier, had given both of you two weeks’ detention after catching you in the act of conceiving Tracey.

On the other hand, Mr. and Mrs. Davis’s courage had been helped by angrily waving about a copy of
The
Quibbler
whose headline showed, in bright bold text for all the world to see:

PACTS WITH POTTER?
BONES, DAVIS, GRANGER
IN LOVE RECTANGLE OF FEAR

And so Mr. and Mrs. Davis had argued their way into the Faculty Box of the Hogwarts Quidditch stands, where they were now ensconced with an excellent view of Professor Quirrell’s enchanted screens, so that the two of them could see for themselves “Just what the Fiddly-Snocks has been going on in this school, if you’ll pardon the expression, Deputy Headmistress McGonagall!”

Seated to the left of Mr. Davis was another concerned parent, a white-haired man in elegant black robes of unmatchable quality, one Lucius Malfoy, political leader of the strongest faction of the Wizengamot.

To the left of Lord Malfoy, a sneeringly aristocratic man with a scarred face who had been introduced to them as Lord Jugson.

Then an elderly but sharp-eyed fellow named Charles Nott, rumored to be nearly as wealthy as Lord Malfoy, seated on Lord Jugson’s left.

On the right of Mrs. Davis, one would find the comely Lady and yet handsomer Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Greengrass. Young they were as wizards counted age, garbed in grey silken robes set with tiny dark emeralds embroidered into the shape of grass blades. The Lady Greengrass was considered a key swing vote on the Wizengamot, her own mother having retired from the body with surprising speed. Her charming husband, though his family was not noble or wealthy of itself, had taken a seat on the Hogwarts Board of Governors.

To their right, a square-jawed and incredibly tough-looking old witch, who had shaken hands with Mr. and Mrs. Davis without the slightest hint of condescension. This was Amelia Bones, Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

To Amelia’s right was a seniorish woman who had set the fashion scene of magical Britain on its ear by integrating a live vulture into her hat, one Augusta Longbottom. Though she was not addressed as Lady, Madam Longbottom would exercise the full rights of the Longbottom family for so long as their last scion had yet to attain his majority, and she was considered a prominent figure in a minority faction of the Wizengamot.

At the side of Madam Longbottom was seated none other than Chief Warlock Supreme Mugwump Headmaster Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, legendary defeater of Grindelwald, protector of Britain, rediscoverer of the fabled twelve uses of dragon’s blood, the most powerful wizard in the world &c.;

And finally, on the far right, one would find the enigmatic Defense Professor of Hogwarts, Quirinus Quirrell, who was leaning back on the cushioned benches as though resting; seeming entirely and naturally at ease in the rarefied company of a voting quorum of the Hogwarts Board of Governors, which had dropped by on this fine Saturday to learn just what the Fiddly-Snocks had been going on at Hogwarts in general and with Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Daphne Greengrass, Susan Bones, and Neville Longbottom in particular. The name of Harry Potter had also been much discussed.

Oh, and one mustn’t forget Tracey Davis, of course. Director Bones’s eyebrows had climbed in some interest upon hearing the young couple introduced as her parents. Lord Jugson had given them a brief, incredulous stare before dismissing them with a snort. Lucius Malfoy had greeted them politely, his smile containing a hint of grim amusement mixed with pity.

Mr. and Mrs. Davis, whose last vote on anything of significance had been touching their wands to the name of Minister Fudge, who had all of three hundred Galleons stored in their Gringotts vault, and who respectively worked at selling cauldrons in a Potions shop and enchanting Omnioculars, were pressed up tightly against each other, sitting rigidly erect upon their cushioned benches, and desperately wishing they’d worn nicer robes.

The sky above was a solid mass of cloud dispersed into darker and lighter grays, grim with the promise of future storms; though no lightning flickered as yet, nor distant rumbles of thunder echoed; and only a few threatening droplets had fallen.

To their designated starting place in a certain forest, the Sunshine Regiment marched, though it was really more like a slow walk; you wouldn’t want to tire yourself out before the battle even started, and the breezes of April were annoyingly humid, though cool. Ahead of them, a yellow flame wandered slowly through the air, guiding them according to their pace.

Susan Bones kept throwing worried glances toward the Sunshine General as they marched through the grayly illuminated forest. Professor Snape’s going after Hermione seemed to have really shaken her. Hermione had even missed her Sunshine Regiment Official Planning Meeting, which seemed understandable enough; but when Susan had offered her sympathy afterward, Hermione had stammered that she’d lost track of time, which wasn’t at all a usual thing for her to say, and the girl had looked exhausted and frightened like she’d just spent three days locked in a bathroom stall with a Dementor. Even now, when all the Sunshine General’s focus should’ve been on the coming battle, the Ravenclaw girl’s gaze was constantly darting in all directions, as though she expected Dark Wizards to jump out of the bushes and sacrifice her.

“The ban on Muggle artifacts cuts down our options a lot,” Anthony Goldstein was saying in the dour tones the boy used to denote deliberate pessimism. “I had the idea of trying to Transfigure nets to throw on people, but -”

“No good,” said Ernie Macmillan. The Hufflepuff boy shook his head, looking even more serious than Anthony. “I mean, it’s just like throwing a hex, they’d
dodge
.”

Anthony nodded. “That’s what I figured, too. Do you have any ideas, Seamus?”

The former Chaotic Lieutenant still looked a bit nervous and out-of-place, marching along with his new comrades in the Sunshine Regiment. “Sorry,” said the newly minted Captain Finnigan. “I’m more the strategic master type.”

“
I’m
the strategic master type,” said Ron Weasley, sounding put-off.

“There are
three
armies,” the Sunshine General said acerbically, “which means we fight
two
armies at once, which means we need more than one strategist, which means shut up, Ron!”

Ron gave their General a surprised and worried look. “Hey,” the Gryffindor boy said in a calming tone, “you shouldn’t let Snape get to you so much -”

“What do
you
think we ought to do, General?” Susan said very loudly and quickly. “I mean, we don’t really have a plan at this point.” Their official planning session had failed
amazingly
with Hermione gone and both Ron and Anthony thinking they were in charge.

“Do we really need a plan?” the Sunshine General said, sounding a little distracted. “We’ve got you and me and Lavender and Parvati and Hannah and Daphne and Ron and Ernie and Anthony
and
Captain Finnigan.”

“That -” began Anthony.

“Sounds like a pretty good strategy,” Ron said with an approving nod. “We’ve got as many strong soldiers now as both other armies put together. Chaos’s only got Potter and Longbottom and Nott left - well, and Zabini too, I suppose -”

“And Tracey,” said Hermione.

Several people swallowed nervously.

“Oh, stop it,” Susan said sharply. “She’s just a battle-hardened member of S.P.H.E.W., that’s all General Sunshine means.”

“Still,” Ernie said, turning to look seriously at Susan, “I think you’d better go with whatever group fights Chaos, Captain Bones. I know you can’t use your double magical powers except when innocents are in danger, but I mean - just in case Miss Davis
does,
you know, go out of control and try to eat someone’s soul -”

“I can handle her,” Susan told him, keeping her voice reassuring. Admittedly, Susan hadn’t been replaced by a Metamorphmagus at the moment, but then Tracey probably wasn’t Polyjuiced Dumbledore or whoever.

Captain Finnigan intoned in a deep, sort-of-rumbling voice, “I find your lack of skepticism disturbing.” He raised his hand with his thumb and forefinger almost touching, pointed at Ernie.

For some reason Anthony Goldstein seemed to be having a sudden choking fit. “What’s that supposed to mean?” said Ernie.

“It’s just something General Potter says sometimes,” said Captain Finnigan. “Funny, when you first join the Chaos Legion it all seems crazy, and then after a couple of months you realize that actually everyone who
isn’t
in the Chaos Legion is crazy -”

“I
said
,” Ron said loudly, “it sounds like good strategy. We don’t Transfigure anything, we don’t tire ourselves out, we handle whatever they throw at us, and then we just overrun them.”

“Okay,” said Hermione. “Let’s do that.”

“But -” said Anthony, shooting a glare at Ron. “But General, Harry Potter’s got
sixteen
people left in his army. Dragon and us each have twenty-eight. Harry knows that, he knows he’s got to come up with something incredible -”

“Like what?” demanded Hermione, sounding stressed. “If we don’t know what he’s planning, we might as well save our magic for doing massed
Finites.
Like we should’ve done
last
time!”

Susan touched Hermione gently on the shoulder. “General Granger?” said Susan. “I think you should take a break for a bit before the battle.”

She’d been expecting Hermione to argue, but Hermione just nodded and then walked a little faster, pulling away from the Sunshine Regiment Official Officer Group, her eyes still watching the forest, and sometimes the sky.

Susan followed her. It wouldn’t do, having it look like the Sunshine General was being ejected from her own Official Officer Group.

“Hermione?” Susan said softly, after they’d walked a bit away. “You’ve got to focus. Professor Quirrell’s in charge here, not Snape, and he won’t let anything bad happen to you or anyone.”

“You’re not helping,” Hermione said, sounding shaky. “You’re not helping at all, Captain Bones.”

The two of them walked faster, circling around some of the other soldiers, inspecting the marching perimeter and glancing at the surrounding trees.

“Susan?” Hermione said in a small voice, when they’d gotten further away from all the others. “Do you think Daphne’s right about Draco Malfoy plotting something?”

“Yes,” Susan said at once, not even thinking about it. “You can tell, because his name’s got the letters M-A-L-F-O and Y in it.”

Hermione looked around, as if to make sure that nobody was watching, although of course that was a wonderful way to get other people to pay attention to you. “Could Malfoy have been behind what Snape did?”

“Snape could be behind Malfoy,” Susan said thoughtfully, remembering dinner-table conversations she’d heard at Auntie’s, “or Lucius Malfoy could be behind both of them.” A slight chill went down Susan’s spine as this last thought occurred to her. Suddenly, telling Hermione to just focus on the coming battle seemed a lot less reasonable. “Why, did you find some sort of clue about that?”

Hermione shook her head. “No,” the Ravenclaw girl said, in a voice that sounded almost like she was about to cry. “I was - just thinking about it myself - that’s all.”

In their designated place in a forest near Hogwarts, the Dragon General and the warriors of Dragon Army waited where their red flame had led them, beneath grey skies.

At Draco’s right side stood Padma Patil, his second-in-command, who had once led all of Dragon Army after Draco had been stunned. At Draco’s back was Vincent, the son of Crabbe, a family which had served the Malfoys into the distance of forgotten memory; the muscular boy was watchful as he was always watchful, whether battle had been declared or no. Further back, Gregory of the Goyles stood waiting beside one of the two broomsticks Dragon Army had been given; if the Goyles had not served the Malfoys so long as the Crabbes, yet they had served no less well.

And at Draco’s left side, now, stood one Dean Thomas of Gryffindor, a mudblood or possible half-blood who knew nothing of his father.

Sending Dean Thomas to Dragon Army had been a quite deliberate move on Harry’s part, Draco was certain. Three other former Chaotics had also been transferred to Dragon Army, and all were watching Draco hawklike to see if he offered the former Lieutenant the slightest insult.

Some might have called it sabotage, but Draco knew better. Harry had also sent Lieutenant Finnigan to the Sunshine Regiment, even though Professor Quirrell’s mandate had only required that Harry give up
one
Lieutenant. That too had been a deliberate move, making crystal clear to everyone that Harry
wasn’t
dumping his least-favored soldiers.