Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality

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The cold came more slowly now, more reluctantly, Harry hadn't been calling much on his dark side lately...

Harry had to run through that entire session in Potions in his mind, before his blood chilled into something approaching deadly crystalline clarity.

And then he thought of the Dementor.

And it was obvious.

'The Dementor is a distraction,' Harry said. The coldness clear in his voice, since that was what Dumbledore wanted and expected. 'A large, salient threat, but in the end straightforward, and easy to defend against. So while all your attention is focused on the Dementor, the real plot will be happening elsewhere.'

Dumbledore stared at Harry for a moment, and then gave a slow nod. 'Yes...' said the Headmaster. 'And I do believe I know what it might be a distraction from, if Professor Quirrell means ill... thank you, Harry.'

The Headmaster was still staring at Harry, a strange look in those ancient eyes.

'What?' said Harry with a tinge of annoyance, the cold still lingering in his blood.

'I have another question for that young man,' said the Headmaster. 'It is something I have long wondered to myself, yet been unable to comprehend. Why?' There was a tinge of pain in his voice. 'Why would anyone deliberately make himself a monster? Why do evil for the sake of evil? Why Voldemort?'

Whirr, bzzzt, tick; ding, puff, splat...

Harry stared at the Headmaster in surprise.

'How would I know?' said Harry. 'Am I supposed to magically understand the Dark Lord because I'm the hero, or something?'

'Yes!' said Dumbledore. 'My own great foe was Grindelwald, and him I understood very well indeed. Grindelwald was my dark mirror, the man I could so easily have been, had I given in to the temptation to believe that I was a good person, and therefore always in the right. For the greater good, that was his slogan; and he truly believed it himself, even as he tore at all Europe like a wounded animal. And him, I defeated in the end. But then after him came Voldemort, to destroy everything I had protected in Britain.' The hurt was plain now in Dumbledore's voice, exposed upon his face. 'He committed acts worse by far than Grindelwald's worst, horror for the sake of horror. I sacrificed everything only to hold him back, and I still don't understand why! Why, Harry? Why did he do it? He was never my destined foe, but yours, so if you have any guesses at all, Harry, please tell me! Why?'

Harry stared down at his hands. The truth was that Harry hadn't read up on the Dark Lord yet, and right now he hadn't the tiniest clue. And somehow that didn't seem like an answer the Headmaster wanted to hear. 'Too many Dark rituals, maybe? In the beginning he thought he'd do just one, but it sacrificed part of his good side, and that made him less reluctant to perform other Dark rituals, so he did more and more rituals in a positive feedback cycle until he ended up as a tremendously powerful monster -'

'No!' Now the Headmaster's voice was agonized. 'I can't believe that, Harry! There has to be something more to it than just that!'

Why should there be? thought Harry, but he didn't say it, because it was clear that the Headmaster thought the universe was a story and had a plot, and that huge tragedies weren't allowed to happen except for equally huge, significant reasons. 'I'm sorry, Headmaster. The Dark Lord doesn't seem like much of a dark mirror to me, not at all. There isn't anything I find even the tiniest bit tempting about nailing the skins of Yermy Wibble's family to a newsroom wall.'

'Have you no wisdom to share?' said Dumbledore. There was pleading in the old wizard's voice, almost begging.

Evil happens, thought Harry, it doesn't mean anything or teach us anything, except to not be evil? The Dark Lord was probably just a selfish bastard who didn't care who he hurt, or an idiot who made stupidly avoidable mistakes that snowballed. There is no destiny behind the ills of this world; if Hitler had been allowed into architecture school like he wanted, the whole history of Europe would have been different; if we lived in the sort of universe where horrible things were only allowed to happen for good reasons, they just wouldn't happen in the first place.

And none of that, obviously, was what the Headmaster wanted to hear.

The old wizard was still looking at Harry from over a fiddly thing like a frozen puff of smoke, a painful desperation in those ancient, waiting eyes.

Well, sounding wise wasn't difficult. It was a lot easier than being intelligent, actually, since you didn't have to say anything surprising or come up with any new insights. You just let your brain's pattern-matching software complete the cliche, using whatever Deep Wisdom you'd stored previously.

'Headmaster,' Harry said solemnly, 'I would rather not define myself by my enemies.'

Somehow, even in the midst of all the whirring and ticking, there was a kind of silence.

That had come out a bit more Deeply Wise than Harry had intended.

'You may be very wise, Harry...' the Headmaster said slowly. 'I do wish... that I could have been defined by my friends.' The pain in his voice had grown deeper.

Harry's mind searched hastily for something else Deeply Wise to say that would soften the unintended force of the blow -

'Or perhaps,' Harry said more softly, 'it is the foe that makes the Gryffindor, as it is the friend that makes the Hufflepuff, and the ambition that makes the Slytherin. I do know that it is always, in every generation, the puzzle that makes the scientist.'

'It is a dreadful fate to which you condemn my House, Harry,' said the Headmaster. The pain was still in his voice. 'For now that you remark on it, I do think that I was very much made by my enemies.'

Harry stared at his own hands, where they lay in his lap. Maybe he should just shut up while he was ahead.