Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality

smaller pieces, discovering that the music of the planets was the same tune as a falling apple, finding that the true laws were perfectly universal and had no exceptions anywhere and took the form of simple maths governing the smallest parts, not to mention that the mind was the brain and the brain was made of neurons, a brain was what a person was -

And then a woman turned into a cat, so much for all that.

A hundred questions fought for priority over Harry's lips and the winner poured out: 'And, and what kind of incantation is Wingardium Leviosa? Who invents the words to these spells, nursery schoolers?'

'That will do, Mr. Potter,' Professor McGonagall said crisply, though her eyes shone with suppressed amusement. 'If you wish to learn about magic, I suggest that we finalise the paperwork so that you can go to Hogwarts.'

'Right,' Harry said, somewhat dazed. He pulled his thoughts together. The March of Reason would just have to start over, that was all; they still had the experimental method and that was the important thing. 'How do I get to Hogwarts, then?'

A choked laugh escaped Professor McGonagall, as if extracted from her by tweezers.

'Hold on a moment, Harry,' his father said. 'Remember why you haven't been going to school up until now? What about your condition?'

Professor McGonagall spun to face Michael. 'His condition? What's this?'

'I don't sleep right,' Harry said. He waved his hands helplessly. 'My sleep cycle is twenty-six hours long, I always go to sleep two hours later, every day. I can't fall asleep any earlier than that, and then the next day I go to sleep two hours later than that. 10PM, 12AM, 2AM, 4AM, until it goes around the clock. Even if I try to wake up early, it makes no difference and I'm a wreck that whole day. That's why I haven't been going to a normal school up until now.'

'One of the reasons,' said his mother. Harry shot her a glare.

McGonagall gave a long hmmmmm. 'I can't recall hearing about such a condition before...' she said slowly. 'I'll check with Madam Pomfrey to see if she knows any remedies.' Then her face brightened. 'No, I'm sure this won't be a problem - I'll find a solution in time. Now,' and her gaze sharpened again, 'what are these other reasons?'

Harry sent his parents a glare. 'I am a conscientious objector to child conscription, on grounds that I should not have to suffer for a disintegrating school system's failure to provide teachers or study materials of even minimally adequate quality.'

Both of Harry's parents howled with laughter at that, like they thought it was all a big joke. 'Oh,' said Harry's father, eyes bright, 'is that why you bit a maths teacher in third year.'

'She didn't know what a logarithm was!'

'Of course,' seconded Harry's mother. 'Biting her was a very mature response to that.'

Harry's father nodded. 'A well-considered policy for addressing the problem of teachers who don't understand logarithms.'

'I was seven years old! How long are you going to keep on bringing that up?'

'I know,' said his mother sympathetically, 'you bite one maths teacher and they never let you forget it, do they?'

Harry turned to Professor McGonagall. 'There! You see what I have to deal with?'

'Excuse me,' said Petunia, and fled through the backdoor into the garden, from which her screams of laughter were clearly audible.

'There, ah, there,' Professor McGonagall seemed to be having trouble speaking for some reason, 'there is to be no biting of teachers at Hogwarts, is that quite clear, Mr. Potter?'

Harry scowled at her. 'Fine, I won't bite anyone who doesn't bite me first.'

Professor Michael Verres-Evans also had to leave the room briefly upon hearing that.

'Well,' Professor McGonagall sighed, after Harry's parents had composed themselves and returned. 'Well. I think, under the circumstances, that I should avoid taking you to purchase your study materials until a day or two before school begins.'

'What? Why? The other children already know magic, don't they? I have to start catching up right away!'

'Rest assured, Mr. Potter,' replied Professor McGonagall, 'Hogwarts is quite capable of teaching the basics. And I suspect, Mr. Potter, that if I leave you alone for two months with your schoolbooks, even without a wand, I will return to this house only to find a crater billowing purple smoke, a depopulated city surrounding it and a plague of flaming zebras terrorising what remains of England.'

Harry's mother and father nodded in perfect unison.

'Mum! Dad!'

Chapter 3: Comparing Reality To Its Alternatives

If J. K. Rowling asks you about this story, you know nothing.

'But then the question is - who?'

'Good Lord,' said the barman, peering at Harry, 'is this - can this be -?'

Harry leaned towards the bar of the Leaky Cauldron as best he could, though it came up to somewhere around the tips of his eyebrows. A question like that deserved his very best.

'Am I - could I be - maybe - you never know - if I'm not - but then the question is - who?'

'Bless my soul,' whispered the old barman. 'Harry Potter... what an honour.'