Harry Potter and the Way of Reason

If Rowling asks you about this story, just say you don't know anything.

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"But the real question is—who is it?"

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"Good heavens," said the barkeep, staring at Harry, "is this - is it -?"

Harry leaned as far as he could against the bar of the Leaky Cauldron, which was so high that it almost reached his eyebrows.Be sure to put your best effort into such a problem.

"Am I—could I be—maybe—who knows—if not—but the real question is—who?"

"Bless my soul," whispered the old man. "Harry Potter - what an honor."

Harry froze for a moment, then began to fight back. "Ah, yes, you're perceptive—most people don't recognize it so quickly—"

"Enough," said Professor McGonagall.Her hand tightened on Harry's shoulder. "Don't bother the boy, Tom, he's only here, and he's not used to it yet."

"But is it really him?" said an old lady tremblingly. "It's Harry Potter?" With a squeak, she pushed back the chair and stood up.

"Dorothy—" McGonagall warned her.She looked around the room, that sharp look should be enough to scare anyone off.

"I just wanted to shake his hand," the old lady whispered.She bowed deeply, and held out a wrinkled hand, which Harry shook carefully; he was completely bewildered, and had never been more uncomfortable in his life.Tears rolled down the old lady's eyes and dripped on their clasped hands. "My grandson is an Auror (wizard cop)," she whispered. "Sacrificed in '[-]. Thank you, Harry Potter. Thank you for giving us."

"You're welcome," said Harry mechanically, and then he turned his head to give Professor McGonagall a startled and pleading look.

Professor McGonagall stamped his foot just as everyone was about to gather around him.The sound she made gave Harry a new understanding of the proverb "thunderbolt of the end of the world".Everyone was stunned.

"We're in a hurry," said Professor McGonagall nonchalantly.

They left the bar without incident.

"Professor?" Harry said when they had reached the backyard.He was going to ask what happened just now, but he found himself asking a completely irrelevant question. "Who is that pale man sitting in the corner? The one with the trembling eye?"

"Huh?" replied Professor McGonagall, sounding a little surprised; perhaps she hadn't expected Harry to ask that question either. "That's Professor Quirinus Quirrell. He'll be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts this year."

"I have a very strange feeling that I know him..." Harry rubbed his forehead. "And you shouldn't have shaken his hand." It was like meeting someone who was once a friend, but then turned against him...not exactly, but Harry couldn't think of a better way to describe it. "And what happened just now?"

Professor McGonagall gave him a strange look. "Mr. Potter.. do you know.. how much you have been told.. about the death of your parents?"

Harry looked back at her firmly. "My parents are still alive and healthy, and they have been refusing to tell me how my biological parents died. I'm afraid it's not a good thing to deduce from this."

"Admirable loyalty," said Professor McGonagall.Her voice dropped. "But it hurts me a little to hear you say that. Lily and James were my friends once."

Harry looked away, feeling suddenly ashamed. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "But I have a mother, and I have a father. And I know that I'm only asking for trouble if I compare reality with...with my own ideal of perfection."

"You have amazing intelligence," said Professor McGonagall quietly. "But your biological parents actually died very bravely. They died to protect you."

protect me?

Something strange gripped Harry's heart. "In the end what happened?"

Professor McGonagall sighed.She tapped Harry's forehead with her wand, and his vision blurred for a moment. "I'll put on a make-up for you," she said, "so that it won't happen again. At least prepare yourself." Then she held out her wand and tapped three times on a brick wall... …

...A hole appeared in the wall, expanded, stretched, and trembled to become a huge arch. On the other side of the door was a long row of shops with advertisements selling medicinal pots and dragon livers.

Harry didn't even move an eyelid.This is far worse than turning a person into a cat.

So they moved forward together, into the world of magic.

There were peddlers peddling jumping shoes (“It’s made of real slime!”), and there were cries of “Knife +3! Fork +2! Spoon +4 points!”.There are glasses that turn anything you see green, and a row of comfy armchairs equipped with ejection seats for emergencies.

Harry's head kept spinning from side to side, as if trying to spin it off his neck.It was like walking through the magic items section of the Advanced Dungeons and Dragons manual (he hadn't played the game, but enjoyed reading the game's rulebook).Harry tried hard not to miss anything that was on sale, in case he came across one of the three magical items needed for the Infinite Loop Wishing Charm.

What Harry saw next made him walk away from the Vice-Headmaster without a second thought, heading straight for a blue brick shop with copper trim.Professor McGonagall stopped him and brought him back to reality.

"Mr. Potter?" she said.

Harry blinked, realizing what he had just done. "I'm sorry! I forgot I was with you just now. I thought I was out with my family." Harry pointed to the shop window, which read "Bigbam's Remarkable Book Collection ". "If you pass a bookstore that you haven't been to before, you must go in and take a look. This is a family rule in our family."

"That's the dumbest Ravenclaw thing I've ever heard."

"What do you mean?"

"It's nothing. Mr. Potter, we need to go to Gringotts first, the bank of the wizarding world. Your biological parents have a warehouse there, which contains their inheritance. You need money to buy school supplies." She sighed. "Also, I think you can get some pocket money to buy books. But I think it's better to wait for a while. Hogwarts has a large library with all kinds of magical tomes. Also, I Pretty sure your future dormitory will be in a tall tower, and there's another extensive library there. If you buy books now, I'm afraid you'll buy them all."

Harry nodded, and they walked on.

"Don't get me wrong, this distraction strategy is brilliant," said Harry, his head still rolling, "of all my distraction attempts, yours is probably the best .But don't think I've forgotten what we just talked about."

Professor McGonagall sighed. "Your parents—or your mother—I'm afraid she was very wise not to tell you."

"So you'd rather keep me in blissful ignorance? There's a flaw in your plan, Professor McGonagall."

"I know, that's pointless," said the Witch, her voice strained. "Anyone on the street can tell you what happened. All right."

So she described to him "the man whose name cannot be mentioned", the Dark Lord, Voldemort.

"Voldemort?" Harry whispered.This should have struck him as funny, but it didn't.The name burns with an icy flame, cruel and clear as a diamond, which slams down like a hammer of pure titanium on the anvil of soft flesh.Harry felt chills when he pronounced the name, and decided to use something safer in the future, such as "You-Know-Who".

The Dark Lord has swept through the British wizarding world like a wolf, tearing apart and destroying the fabric and veins of their daily lives.The rest of the nations are deeply concerned, but are hesitant to intervene, perhaps out of callous selfishness, or perhaps simply fear that whoever turns against the Dark Lord first, their peace will be his next to disrupt Target.

(The bystander effect,[1] Harry thought, recalling the experiment by Latane and Darley, who found that when someone had a seizure, if only one person saw it, they were more likely to get help than if three people saw it at the same time. Possibility is even greater. When responsibility is spread out, everyone wants someone else to step up first.)

The Death Eaters grew stronger with the rise of the Dark Lord, using him as a precursor, like vultures pecking at the wounds he left, and like vipers biting, weakening their prey.The Death Eaters weren't as scary as the Dark Lord, but they were, and there were a lot of them.And the Death Eaters have more than just wands; within these masked ranks there is wealth, power, and secret blackmail enough to paralyze a society trying to protect itself.

An elderly and respected journalist, Yemi Weber, called for tax increases and military conscription.He raised his arms and exclaimed that it was absurd that so many should succumb to the fear of a few.The next day, his human skin, just his human skin, was nailed to the editorial office, next to the skins of his wife and his two daughters.Everyone wanted the murderer to be punished, but no one dared to speak out.The person standing at the front is the next target.

And so on until the names of James and Lily Potter appear on the first line of the list.

These two men are not afraid to fight to the last moment with their wands and do not regret their choices, because they are both heroes; but they also have a little baby, their son, Harry Potter.

Tears welled up in Harry's eyes.Harry wiped them off angrily, perhaps in desperation, I didn't know them, didn't really know them, they weren't my parents anymore, there was no point in feeling sorry for them—

When Harry looked up from crying with his face buried in the witch's robes, he saw tears in Professor McGonagall's eyes too, which made him feel a little better.

"And then?" Harry asked, his voice shaking.

"The Dark Lord has come to Godric's Hollow," whispered Professor McGonagall. "You were supposed to be hidden, but someone betrayed you. The Dark Lord killed Jaime, he killed Lily, and he came to your crib to kill you. He cast Death on you Curse, everything ends here. The death curse is composed of pure hatred. It directly attacks the soul and separates it from the body. It has no way to stop it. Anyone who attacks will die. But you survived. You was the only one who survived the death spell. The spell bounced back and hit the Dark Lord himself, leaving only his charred corpse and the scar on your forehead. His dark reign It's over, we're free. That's why, Harry Potter, people want to see the scar on your brow, and that's why they want to shake your hand."

Harry's crying storm had drained all his tears; he couldn't cry anymore, he was exhausted.

(Somewhere in the back of his mind there was a small, small confusion, a sense that something was wrong with the story; although Harry was usually good at noticing that something was wrong, he wasn't paying attention right now. This is an unfortunate rule, and it is often easiest to forget your rationalist skills when you need them most.)

Harry left Professor McGonagall's arms. "I—I've got to think about it," he said, trying to keep his voice steady.He stared at his shoes. "Well. You can say they're my mom and dad, if you want. Not necessarily blood parents or anything like that. I guess I'm fine with two moms and two dads."

Professor McGonagall said nothing.

They walked forward together silently until they came to a magnificent white building with a brass gate, on which was written in dragon and phoenix fonts: Gringotts Bank.