Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality

The Headmaster rose from his seat, his face now stern, saying no word as yet; but the command was clear.

'I do not say what threat will come,' said Professor Quirrell. 'But you will not live all your lives in peace, not if the past history of the world is any guide at all to its future. And if you do in the future as you have seen three armies do this day, if you cannot throw aside your petty bickering and take the Mark of a single leader, then indeed you might wish that the Dark Lord had lived to rule over you, and regret the day that ever Harry Potter was born -'

'Enough!' bellowed Albus Dumbledore.

There was silence.

Professor Quirrell slowly turned his head to gaze at where Albus Dumbledore stood in the fury of his wizardry; their eyes met, and a soundless stress pressed down like weight upon all the students, as they listened not daring to move.

'You, too, failed this country,' said Professor Quirrell. 'And you know the peril as well as I.'

'Such speeches are not for the ears of students,' said Albus Dumbledore in a dangerously rising voice. 'Nor for the mouths of professors!'

Dryly, then, Professor Quirrell spoke: 'There were many speeches made for the ears of adults, as the Dark Lord rose. And the adults clapped and cheered, and went home having enjoyed their day's entertainment. But I will obey you, Headmaster, and make no further speeches if you do not like them. My lesson is simple. I will go on doing nothing about traitors, and we will see what students can do for themselves about that, when they do not wait for professors to save them.'

And then Professor Quirrell turned back to his students, and his mouth quirked up in a wry grin that seemed to dissipate the dreadful pressure like a god blowing to scatter the clouds. 'But do please be kind to the traitors up until now,' said Professor Quirrell. 'They were just having fun.'

There was laughter, though it was nervous at first, and then it seemed to build, as Professor Quirrell stood there smiling wryly and some of the tension released itself.

Draco's mind was still whirling through a thousand questions and a daze of horror, as Professor Quirrell prepared to open the envelopes in which the three had inscribed their wishes.

It had never before occurred to Draco that moon-traveling Muggles were a greater threat than the slow decline of wizardry, or that Father had proven himself too weak to stop them.

And even stranger, the obvious implication: Professor Quirrell believed that Harry could. The Defense Professor claimed to have made no recommendation, but he'd mentioned Harry Potter over and over in his speech; others would already be thinking the same thing as Draco.

It was ridiculous. The boy who had covered a stuffed chair in glitter and called it a throne -

The boy who faced down Snape and won, whispered a traitorous voice, that boy could grow into a Lord strong enough to rule, strong enough to save us all -

Harry had been raised by Muggles! He was practically a mudblood himself, he wouldn't fight against his adopted family -

He knows their arts, their secrets and their methods; he can take all of the Muggles' science and use it against them, alongside our own power as wizards.

But what if he refuses? What if he's too weak?

Then, said that inner voice, it will have to be you, won't it, Draco Malfoy?

And then there was a renewed hush from the crowd, as Professor Quirrell opened the first envelope.

'Mr. Malfoy,' said Professor Quirrell, 'your wish is for... Slytherin to win the House Cup.'

There was a puzzled pause from the watching audience.

'Yes, Professor,' said Draco in a clear voice, knowing that it was once again being amplified. 'If you can't do that, then something else for Slytherin -'

'I will not award House points unfairly,' said Professor Quirrell. He tapped a cheek, looking thoughtful. 'Which makes your wish difficult enough to be interesting. Would you like to say anything about why, Mr. Malfoy?'

Draco turned from the Defense Professor, gazed out at the crowd from against that backdrop of platinum and emeralds. Not all of Slytherin had cheered for Dragon Army, there were anti-Malfoy factions who had expressed that dissatisfaction by supporting the Boy-Who-Lived, or even Granger; and those factions would be encouraged greatly by what Zabini had done. He needed to remind them that Slytherin meant Malfoy and Malfoy meant Slytherin -

'No,' said Draco. 'They're Slytherins, they'll understand.'

There was some laughter from the audience, especially in Slytherin, even from some students who would have called themselves anti-Malfoy a moment earlier.

Flattery was a lovely thing.

Draco turned back to look at Professor Quirrell again, and was surprised to see an embarrassed look on Granger's face.

'And for Miss Granger...' said Professor Quirrell. There was the sound of a tearing envelope. 'Your wish is for... Ravenclaw to win the House Cup?'

There was considerable laughter from the audience, including a chuckle from Draco. He hadn't thought Granger played that game.

'Well, um,' said Granger, sounding like she was suddenly stumbling over a memorized speech, 'I meant to say, that...' She took a deep breath. 'There were soldiers from every House in my army, and I don't mean to slight any of them. But Houses should still count for something, too. It was sad when students in the same House were hexing each other just because they were in different armies. People should be able to rely on whoever's in their House. That's why Godric Gryffindor, and Salazar Slytherin, and Rowena Ravenclaw, and Helga Hufflepuff created the four Houses of Hogwarts in the first place. I'm the General of Sunshine, but even before that, I'm Hermione Granger of