Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality

'Ask him not to hurt you,' Professor Quirrell said. 'Perhaps if he sees that you're pathetic enough, he'll decide that you're boring, and go away.'

There was laughter from the watching older Slytherins.

'Please,' Harry said, his voice faltering, 'don't, hurt, me...'

'That didn't sound very sincere,' said Professor Quirrell.

Derrick's smile widened. The clumsy imbecile was looking very superior and...

...Harry's blood temperature was dropping...

'Please don't hurt me,' Harry tried again.

Professor Quirrell shook his head. 'How in Merlin's name did you manage to make that sound like an insult, Potter? There is only one response you can possibly expect from Mr. Derrick.'

Derrick stepped forward deliberately, and bumped into Harry.

Harry staggered back a few feet and, before he could stop himself, straightened up icily.

'Wrong,' said Professor Quirrell, 'wrong, wrong, wrong.'

'You bumped into me, Potter,' Derrick said. 'Apologize.'

'I'm sorry!'

'You don't sound sorry,' said Derrick.

Harry's eyes widened in indignation, he had managed to make that sound pleading -

Derrick pushed him, hard, and Harry fell to the mat on his hands and knees.

The blue fabric seemed to waver in Harry's vision, not far away.

He was beginning to doubt Professor Quirrell's real motives in teaching this so-called lesson.

A foot rested on Harry's buttocks and a moment later Harry was pushed hard to the side, sending him sprawling on his back.

Derrick laughed. 'This is fun,' he said.

All he had to do was say it was over. And report the whole thing to the Headmaster's office. That would be the end of this Defense Professor and his ill-fated stay at Hogwarts and... Professor McGonagall would be angry about that, but...

(An image of Professor McGonagall's face flashed before his eyes, she didn't look angry, just sad -)

'Now tell him that he's better than you, Potter,' said Professor Quirrell's voice.

'You're, better, than, me.'

Harry started to raise himself and Derrick put a foot on his chest and shoved him back down to the mat.

The world was becoming transparent as crystal. Lines of action and their consequences stretched out before him in utter clarity. The fool wouldn't be expecting him to strike back, a quick hit in the groin would stun him long enough for -

'Try again,' said Professor Quirrell and with a sudden sharp motion Harry rolled and sprang to his feet and whirled on where stood his real enemy, the Defense Professor -

Professor Quirrell said, 'You have no patience.'

Harry faltered. His mind, well-honed in pessimism, drew a picture of a wizened old man with blood pouring from his mouth after Harry had ripped his tongue out -

A moment later, Derrick pushed Harry to the mat again and then sat down on him, sending Harry's breath whooshing out.

'Stop!' Harry screamed. 'Please stop!'

'Better,' said Professor Quirrell. 'That even sounded sincere.'

It had been. That was the horrible thing, the sickening thing, it had been sincere. Harry was panting rapidly, fear and cold anger both flushing through him -

'Lose,' said Professor Quirrell.

'I, lose,' Harry forced out.

'I like it,' Derrick said from on top of him. 'Lose some more.'

Hands shoved Harry, sending him stumbling across the circle of older Slytherins to another set of hands that shoved him again. Harry had long since passed the point of trying not to cry, and was now just trying not to fall down.

'What are you, Potter?' said Derrick.

'A, l-loser, I lose, I give up, you win, you're b-better, than me, please stop -'

Harry tripped over a foot and went crashing to the ground, hands not quite able to catch himself. He was dazed for a moment, then began struggling to his feet again -

'Enough!' said Professor Quirrell's voice, sounding sharp enough to cut iron. 'Step away from Mr. Potter!'