Content warning: mean language, crude humor, student getting beaten up by teacher by proxy.
Based heavily on Chapters 16, 19, and 20 of Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality by Eliezer Yudkowsky.
"So, Harry here's the most dangerous kid in the whole school? And you know why?" shouted Professor Quirrell drunkenly at the class.
"Professor, you're scaring me…" Harry said.
"Go on—urp—go on, Harry. Tell them how you would kill them all you little bastard. I know you're thinking about it. Tell them—urp—them them how you would want them dead."
"W-well… I guess… I could turn the floor into a spike pit using the desk legs, I guess, and if I dropped those desks on someone it would probably smash their heads open and cause all their brains to I dunno, spill out, and I could suck out all the air and poison people and like I could transfigure the walls into knives and use Gryffindor blood to drown people and maybe if I had to harvest Ravenclaw organs I could buy enough money to pay an assassin to kill someone and I could throw Slytherins at people and, uh, if I had to kill someone using a Hufflepuff I would use their bones to stab someone."
"That's ten idea for how you would kill someone, Harry," Professor Quirrell said with a burp. "And you know why Harry's the most dangerous student in the classroom?"
The class didn't answer because their teacher was a drunken psychopath and one of their classmates was just a psychopath.
"Because all his ideas are fucking useless! When the fuck are you going to have time to make a fucking spike trap when you're in a fight, Harry? Tell me that, you sick little bastard. Hufflepuff bones? How do you have any friends, you little piece of shit?"
"Gee, Professor, I dunno, I think you're being a little harsh."
"Oh boy, you think I'm being harsh. Well why don't I turn to the Hufflepuffs in the class and ask them how they feel about you viewing them as raw material. You think they liked that, Harry? Huh? You think they liked that you piece of human garbage?"
Harry couldn't help it. He started to cry. "You—you asked, Professor."
"Yeah, and you know what you could've done? Refused. But you didn't, and you won't, Harry. You'll just keep-urp-keep looking like an asshole every time gives you a chance to look clever. You little bootlicker."
"Alright, Harry, I've—urp—hired these big, burly Slytherins to beat the shit out of you."
"W-why would I stand there and take it, Professor?"
"Because you need to loooooooose, Harry. You need to learn to looooooooooose."
"That's bullshit, Professor. I don't have to do anything that I don't want to. I'm leaving."
"You don't get it, Harry. Snape, he could, he could, beat the shit out of you. That's legal in wizard England. He could beat the shit out of you, or worse, get you expelled. He's playing chess with you, Harry, except you're playing tic-tac-toe and you've put three pawns in a line. You should've rolled over and learned to lose."
Well, actually, the stakes had been the fate of magical Britain, apparently, but Quirrell didn't need to know that.
"Anyways—burp—these Slytherins are here to beat the shit out of you and you're going to take it."
"Aw, come on, Professor, does it have to be in front of the whole class?"
Hermione was in the class.
"That's the fucking point of public humiliation, Harry—burp—it's public so you don't do it again. And it's funnier this way."
"Professor, I'm going to get very angry if this happens, and then I might—"
"Oh so you'll throw a fucking temper tantrum? Cry me a fucking river, Harry. Cry me a fucking river. They're not going to kill you, they're just going to hurt you bad enough that you stop being such a little stupid shit."
Harry accepted his fate.
"When this is over, Professor, you and me, we're gonna, we're gonna have a long talk about how you treat me."
"Oh, we will, Harry. We will."
"I'm—I'm emotionally abusing you, Harry. And you're not going to do anything about it—burp."
"Why—why wouldn't I just go to tell Dumbledore or McGonagall what you're doing, Professor? Why—why would I protect you?"
"Because then I'll you how much of a sociopathic little shit you are, Harry—burp. I'll tell them how you like to fantasize about Hufflepuff bones. And then they'll thank me, Harry. They'll thank me for beating the shit out of you so you don't become the next Dark Lord."
"That's not true, I'm—I'm a good person. I'm a good person, probably. I just have a mysterious dark side."
"That's called a temper, Harry. We all have one, just like an asshole, and no one wants to see it either."
"If you don't want me to become a Dark Lord then why are we having this conversation, Professor?"
"To prove that I have power over you, Harry. To prove that I can do this and you won't be able to stop me. To prove that I can do this and you won't want to stop me."
"Why—why wouldn't I stop you?"
"Because SPACE. You like space, right, you technocratic cocksucker? I'm going to show you space, and then you'll forgive me completely and we'll go on adventures."
"Oh, what, are you going to show me a fucking telescope, you asshole, Professor—"
But Quirrell had taken out his wand and said something in a language Harry didn't understand. Now they were in space.
"HOLY SHIT PROFESSOR, ARE WE IN SPACE?" Harry said.
"Nah, it's just like… a video but in three dee," Quirrell said. "It's like Star Wars or some shit."
It was so beautiful. Tears came to Harry's eyes. The words of a Carl Sagan documentary or a NDT tweet came into his mind.
"Wow, Professor, this is so wonderful and cool," Harry said. "How did you do it?"
"I put my soul into the Pioneer Probe, Harry. I'm Pioneer Quirrell!"
They looked at space some more.
"Sometimes," Professor Quirrell said in a voice that sounded sad instead of drunk, "when this world seems like more shit than usual, I sometimes wonder if I could jump to a parallel universe near me that hates me less. But I can't. Because the universe hates me because I'm me. I can't imagine a universe that doesn't fucking hate me. So then I wonder if I should just fucking kill myself, because then there won't be a me for the universe to hate anymore."
Harry didn't care, because space was beautiful.
"Can I stay here?"
"Sure, do whatever you want," Quirrell said. "But someone's coming."
He stopped the space VR experience.
It was… Dumbledore!
"QUIRINUS! HOW DARE YOU!"
Harry said in icy tones, "Headmaster Albus Percival—"
Quirrell shouted, "What the hell, Harry, that's the fucking headmaster right there and you're trying to pull—pull a full rank by saying his full name? What, did your mommy and daddy say that to you all the time when you threw temper tantrums? Shut the fuck up, Harry."
"I'm sorry, Professors," Harry said. "Headmaster Dumbledore, Professor Quirrell did the right thing."
"Harry, he told you to shut the fuck up two seconds ago. Also, as your headmaster, I don't think I should allow older boys to beat you."
"Albus, do you really think he doesn't deserve it?"
"He—he knew that I was broken, Headmaster. And he fixed me by beating the shit out of me."
"Is he threatening to keep you quiet?"
"Albus, I'm not going to fucking bother," Quirrell said. "Do you really think it's worth my effort to threaten this fucking idiot when he jumps through all the hoops without me asking him to?"
Albus looked at Harry. Then Albus looked at Quirrell. "Quirinus, if you take him on as a mentee, you will die by the end of this year from your drinking problem."
"Oh, cry me a river—burp. I can always grow a new liver."
To be fair, you have to have a very high IQ to understand HPMOR. the humor is extremely subtle, and without a solid grasp of theoretical physics most of the jokes will go over a typical reader's head. There's also Harry's rationalistic outlook, which is deftly woven into his characterisation- his personal philosophy draws heavily from 80s sci-fi literature, for instance. The fans understand this stuff; they have the intellectual capacity to truly appreciate the depths of these jokes, to realise that they're not just funny- they say something deep about LIFE. as a consequence people who dislike Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality truly ARE idiots- of course they wouldn't appreciate, for instance, the humour in Harry's rationalistic action of snapping his fingers, which itself is a cryptic reference to Ernest Cline's Ready Player One. I'm smirking right now just imagining one of those addlepated simpletons scratching their heads in confusion as Eliezer Yudkowsky's genius wit unfolds itself on their television screens. What fools.. how I pity them :).
And yes, by the way, I DO have a CFAR membership card. And no, you cannot see it. It's for the ladies' eyes only- and even then they have to demonstrate that they're within 5 IQ points of my own (preferably lower) beforehand. Nothin personnel kid