Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality

succeed.'

'Rita Skeeter was my enemy.'

'I cannot possibly get anything done in life if I am not willing to defeat my enemies.'

'I have defeated one of my enemies today.'

'I am a good boy.'

'I deserve a special reward.'

'Ah,' said Professor Quirrell, who had been grinning a benevolent smile for the last few lines, 'I see I have succeeded in catching your attention.'

That was true. And while Harry felt like he was being railroaded into something - no, that wasn't just a feeling, he had been railroaded - he couldn't deny that saying those things, and seeing Professor Quirrell's smile, did make him feel better.

Professor Quirrell reached into his robes, the gesture slow and deliberately significant, and drew forth...

...a book.

It was different from any book Harry had ever seen, the edges and corners visibly misshapen; rough-hewn was the phrase that came to mind, like it had been hacked out of a book mine.

'What is it?' breathed Harry.

'A diary,' said Professor Quirrell.

'Whose?'

'That of a famous person.' Professor Quirrell was smiling broadly.

'Okay...'

Professor Quirrell's expression became more serious. 'Mr. Potter, one of the requisites for becoming a powerful wizard is an excellent memory. The key to a puzzle is often something you read twenty years ago in an old scroll, or a peculiar ring you saw on the finger of a man you met only once. I mention this to explain how I managed to remember this item, and the placard attached to it, after meeting you a good deal later. You see, Mr. Potter, over the course of my life, I have viewed a number of private collections held by individuals who are, perhaps, not quite deserving of all that they have -'

'You stole it?' Harry said incredulously.

'That is correct,' said Professor Quirrell. 'Very recently, in fact. I think you will appreciate this particular item much more than the vile little man who held it for no other purpose than impressing his equally vile friends with its rarity.'

Harry was simply gaping now.

'But if you feel that my actions were incorrect, Mr. Potter, I suppose you needn't accept your special present. Though of course I shan't go to the trouble of stealing it back. So which is it to be?'

Professor Quirrell tossed the book from one hand to another, causing Harry to reach out involuntarily with a look of dismay.

'Oh,' said Professor Quirrell, 'don't worry about a little rough handling. You could toss this diary in a fireplace and it would emerge unscathed. In any case, I await your decision.'

Professor Quirrell casually threw the book up into the air and caught it again, grinning.

No, said Gryffindor and Hufflepuff.

Yes, said Ravenclaw. What part of the word 'book' did you two not understand?

The theft part, said Hufflepuff.

Oh, come on, said Ravenclaw, you can't seriously ask us to say no and spend the rest of our life wondering what it was.

It sounds like a net positive from a utilitarian standpoint, said Slytherin. Think of it as an economic transaction which generates gains from trade, only without the trade part. Plus, we didn't steal it and it won't help anyone to have Professor Quirrell keep it.

He's trying to turn you Dark! shrieked Gryffindor, and Hufflepuff nodded firmly.

Don't be a naive little boy, said Slytherin, he's trying to teach you Slytherin.

Yeah, said Ravenclaw. Whoever owned the book originally was probably a Death Eater or something. It belongs with us.

Harry's mouth opened, then halted that way, an agonized look on his face.

Professor Quirrell seemed to be quite enjoying himself. He had balanced the book on its corner, on one finger, and was keeping it upright while humming a little tune.

There came a knock at the door.

The book vanished back into Professor Quirrell's robes, and he rose up from his chair. Professor Quirrell started to walk over to the door -

- and staggered, suddenly lurching into the wall.