Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality

'Oh, no, nothing like that!' Harry said hastily. 'Nothing to do with that. It's just, um, something the Sorting Hat told me -'

Suddenly the other boys looked very interested, except for Neville, who was looking even more apprehensive.

There seemed to be something blocking Harry's throat. He knew he should just blurt it out, and it was like he'd swallowed a large brick that was just stuck in the way.

It was like Harry had to manually take control of his lips and produce each syllable individually, but he managed to make it happen. 'I'm, sor, ry.' He exhaled and took a deep breath. 'For what I did, um, the other day. You... don't have to be gracious about it or anything, I'll understand if you just hate me. This isn't about me trying to look cool by apologising or your having to accept it. What I did was wrong.'

There was a pause.

Neville clutched his books tighter to his chest. 'Why did you do it?' he said in a thin, wavering voice. He blinked, as if trying to hold back tears. 'Why does everyone do that to me, even the Boy-Who- Lived?'

Harry suddenly felt smaller than he ever had in his life. 'I'm sorry,' Harry said again, his voice now hoarsened. 'It's just... you looked so scared, it was like a sign over your head saying 'victim', and I wanted to show you that things don't always turn out badly, that sometimes the monsters give you chocolate... I thought if I showed you that, you might realise there wasn't so much to be afraid of -'

'But there is,' whispered Neville. 'You saw it today, there is! '

'They wouldn't have done anything really bad in front of witnesses. Their main weapon is fear. That's why they target you, because they can see you're afraid. I wanted to make you less afraid... show you that the fear was worse than the thing itself... or that was what I told myself, but the Sorting Hat told me that I was lying to myself and that I really did it because it was fun. So that's why I'm apologising -'

'You hurt me,' said Neville. 'Just now. When you grabbed me and pulled me away from them.' Neville held out his arm and pointed to where Harry had grabbed him. 'I might have a bruise here later from how hard you pulled. You hurt me worse than anything the Slytherins did by bumping into me, actually.'

'Neville!' hissed Ernie. 'He was trying to save you!'

'I'm sorry,' whispered Harry. 'When I saw that I just got... really angry...'

Neville looked at him steadily. 'So you yanked me out really hard and put yourself in where I was and went, 'Hello, I'm the Boy-Who-Lived'.'

Harry nodded.

'I think you're going to be really cool someday,' Neville said. 'But right now, you're not.'

Harry swallowed the sudden knot in his throat and walked away. He continued down the corridor to the intersection, then turned left into a hallway and kept on walking, blindly.

What was he supposed to do here? Never get angry? He wasn't sure he could have done anything without being angry and who knows what would have happened to Neville and his books then. Besides, Harry had read enough fantasy books to know how this one went. He would try to suppress the anger and he would fail and it would keep coming out again. And after this whole long journey of self-discovery he would learn at the end that his anger was a part of himself and that only by accepting it could he learn to use it wisely. Star Wars was the only universe in which the answer actually was that you were supposed to cut yourself off completely from negative emotions, and something about Yoda had always made Harry hate the little green moron.

So the obvious time-saving plan was to skip the journey of self-discovery and go straight to the part where he realised that only by accepting his anger as a part of himself could he stay in control of it.

The problem was that he didn't feel out of control when he was angry. The cold rage made him feel like he was in control. It was only when he looked back that events as a whole seemed to have... blown up out of control, somehow.

He wondered how much the Game Controller cared about that sort of thing, and whether he'd won or lost points for it. Harry himself felt like he'd lost quite a few points, and he was sure the old lady in the picture would have told him that his was the only opinion that mattered.

And Harry was also wondering whether the Game Controller had sent Professor Sprout. It was the logical thought: the note had threatened to notify the Game Authorities, and then there Professor Sprout was. Maybe Professor Sprout was the Game Controller - the Head of House Hufflepuff would be the last person anyone would suspect, which ought to put her near the top of Harry's list. He'd read one or two mystery novels, too.

'So how am I doing in the game?' Harry said out loud.

A sheet of paper flew over his head, as if someone had thrown it from behind him - Harry turned around, but there was no one there - and when Harry turned forwards again, the note was settling to the floor.

The note said:

POINTS FOR STYLE: 10

POINTS FOR GOOD THINKING: -3,000,000

RAVENCLAW HOUSE POINTS BONUS: 70

CURRENT POINTS: - 2,999,871

TURNS REMAINING: 2

'Minus three million points?' Harry said indignantly to the empty hallway. 'That seems excessive! I want to file an appeal with the Game Authorities! And how am I supposed to make up three million points in the next two turns?'

Another note flew over his head.

APPEAL: FAILED

ASKING THE WRONG QUESTIONS: -1,000,000,000,000 POINTS

CURRENT POINTS: -1,000,002,999,871

TURNS REMAINING: 1

Harry gave up. With one turn remaining all he could do was take his best shot, even if it wasn't very good. 'My