Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality

also had an important life lesson to learn. Would it be acceptable if I awarded you a Quirrell point in apology?'

'Make it two,' Harry said.

There was a current of surprised laughter, defusing some of the tension.

'Done,' Professor Quirrell said.

'And after I graduate I'm going to hunt you down and tickle you.'

There was more laughter, although Professor Quirrell didn't smile.

Harry felt like he was wrestling an anaconda, trying to force the conversation through the narrow course that would make people realize he wasn't a Dark Lord after all... why was Professor Quirrell so suspicious of him?

'Professor,' said Draco's unamplified voice. 'It is also not my own ambition to become a stupid Dark Lord.'

There was a shocked silence in the classroom.

You don't have to do this! Harry almost blurted out loud, but checked himself in time; Draco might not wish it known that he was doing this out of friendship for Harry... or out of the desire to appear friendly...

Calling that a desire to appear friendly made Harry feel small, and mean. If Draco had intended to impress him, it was working perfectly.

Professor Quirrell was regarding Draco gravely. 'You worry that you cannot pretend to lose, Mr. Malfoy? That this flaw which describes Mr. Potter also describes you? Surely your father taught you better.'

'When it comes to talking, maybe,' said Draco, now on the repeater screen. 'Not when it comes to being shoved around and pushed to the ground. I want to be fully as strong as you, Professor Quirrell.'

Professor Quirrell's eyebrows went up and stayed up. 'I am afraid, Mr. Malfoy,' he said after a time, 'that the arrangements I made for Mr. Potter, involving some older Slytherins who will be told afterward how stupid they were, would not carry over onto you. But it is my professional opinion that you are already very strong. Should I hear that you have failed, as Mr. Potter failed today, I will make the appropriate arrangements and apologize to you and whomever you have hurt. I do not think this will be necessary, however.'

'I understand, professor,' said Draco.

Professor Quirrell looked over the class. 'Does anyone else wish to become strong?'

Some students glanced around nervously. Some, Harry thought from his back row, looked like they were opening their mouths but not saying anything. In the end, no one spoke.

'Draco Malfoy will be one of the generals of your year's armies,' said Professor Quirrell, 'should he deign to engage in that after-school activity. And now, Mr. Potter, please come forward.'

Yes, Professor Quirrell had said, it must be in front of everyone, in front of your friends, because that is where Snape confronted you and that is where you must learn to lose.

So now the first year watched. In magically enforced silence, and with requests from both Harry and the professor not to intervene. Hermione had her face turned away, but she hadn't spoken out or even given him any sort of significant look, maybe because she'd been there in Potions too.

Harry stood on a soft blue mat, such as might be found in a Muggle dojo, which Professor Quirrell had laid out upon the floor for when Harry was pushed down.

Harry was frightened of what he might do. If Professor Quirrell was right about his intent to kill...

Harry's wand lay on Professor Quirrell's desk, not because Harry knew any spells that could defend him, but because otherwise (Harry thought) he might have tried to jam it through someone's eye socket. His pouch lay there, now containing his protected but still potentially fragile Time-Turner.

Harry had pleaded with Professor Quirrell to Transfigure him some boxing gloves and lock them on his hands. Professor Quirrell had given him a look of silent understanding, and refused.

I will not go for their eyes, I will not go for their eyes, I will not go for their eyes, it would be the end of my life in Hogwarts, I'll be arrested, Harry chanted to himself, trying to hammer the thought into his brain, hoping it would stay there if his intent to kill took over.

Professor Quirrell returned, escorting thirteen older Slytherins of different years. Harry recognized one of them as the one he'd hit with a pie. Two others from that confrontation were also present. The one who'd said to stop, that they really shouldn't do this, was missing.

'I repeat,' Professor Quirrell said, sounding very stern, 'Potter is not to be really hurt. Any and all accidents will be treated as deliberate. Do you understand?'

The older Slytherins nodded, grinning.

'Then please feel free to take the Boy-Who-Lived down a few pegs,' Professor Quirrell said, with a twisted smile that only the first-years understood.

By some form of mutual consent, the pie-target was at the front of the group.

'Potter,' said Professor Quirrell, 'meet Mr. Peregrine Derrick. He is better than you and he is about to show you that.'

Derrick strode forward and Harry's brain screamed discordantly, he must not run away, he must not fight back -

Derrick stopped an arm's length away from Harry.

Harry wasn't angry yet, just frightened. And that meant he beheld a teenage boy fully half a meter taller than himself, with clearly defined muscles, facial hair, and a grin of terrible anticipation.