Context: Quirrell has organized simulated war games for each year, creating 3 armies. Harry leads one army, the Chaos Legion. Draco leads another army, Dragon Army. There is a points system, and victory for the first term is decided at the end of December. They have just discovered who the third general is.
"IT'S HERMIONE?" Draco shouted. "I refuse to fight a mud—"
"Oh golly, oh gee, Professor," Harry said. "I don't want to fight Hermione."
"Why? Afraid your girlfriend will wipe your face in the mud?" Quirrell said.
"What? Fuck you, professor, she's not my girlfriend. I just, you know, don't think, you know, that she's cut out for it. She named her army the Sunshine Regiment."
"Harry, the sun's a biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiig ball of gas. A big ball of gas constantly exploding and blowing itself up and exploding some more. A big ball of explodey stuff that'll be blowing up long after we're all gone. It's the most powerful explosion in the solar system Harry, and it's going on right now. So, when you judge a name like the Sunshine Regiment, I don't think you're being fair, Harry. I don't think you're really thinking about what it means. I think you're being a sexist."
"What? Professor, no, I'm not a sexist, I swear—"
"What about you, Draco? You've been awfully quiet."
"I understood nothing of what you just said," Draco said. "The sun is clearly magic, but I have no desire to incur your wrath. So unlike Potter here, I will accept defeat."
"Well—burp—I think that settles that, doesn't it?"
Later, Hermione's Sunshine Regiment overwhelmingly defeats both Harry's Chaos Legion and Draco's Dragon Army.
Harry and Draco both showed up angrily at Quirrell's office.
It stunk of cheap booze.
"Oh, hello, boys," slurred Quirrell, as he took another swig from a bottle. "Sorry—burp—I've let myself go."
"Oh god, Professor why are you doing this?" Harry said. "Why are you destroying your liver? Oh god, why?"
"Potter raises a good point on why you are engaging in pointlessly self-destructive behavior," Draco said.
"It wasn't supposed to fucking work!" Quirrell said. "She was supposed to learn a lesson about self-reliance or some shit like that when the assholes I put on her team tore each other apart, but no, she really did beat the two of you with the power of friendship."
"Oh gee, what do you mean Professor?"
Quirrell threw a ball of paper at them. Harry caught it and uncrumpled it.
Draco read the names out loud. "Weasley, Zabini, Bones, Macmillan, Goldstein—hey, you gave Granger all the good strategists!"
Quirrell burped loudly. "It's not like either of you two assholes would've asked for their help. But don't worry. The year's still young. I got plenty of time left to make plans to destroy her faith in humanity. From now on, these war games can have traitors on each team. Have fun with that, you pieces of shit. It's what you fucking deserve."
Quirrell allows members of the armies to betray each other. Everyone betrays each other. It's no longer fun for anyone except Harry.
"Professor Quirrell, this is insanity," Draco said flatly. "This isn't Slytherin any more, it's just..." Draco was at a loss for words. He waved his hands helplessly. "You can't possibly do any real plots with all this stuff going on. Last battle, one of my soldiers faked his own suicide. We have Hufflepuffs trying to plot, and they think they can, but they can't. Things just happen at random now, it doesn't have anything to do with who's cleverest, or which army fights best, it's..."
"I agree with Mr. Malfoy," said Granger in the tones of someone who hadn't ever expected to hear herself saying those words. "Allowing traitors isn't working, Professor Quirrell."
Professor Quirrell took a drink. "Aw gee that's sure terrible. That's so terrible. Cry me a river. I guess I can stop the traitors. If you all unanimously agree. Such a real pity, the armbands were—burp—they were right on brand. What do you think, Harry."
"I'm all for it," Harry said.
"Oh, and why is that, Harry?"
"Because—because I think I can do it better than them and this is my chance to win!" Harry said. "I'm not going to let feelings get in my way. That's what you taught us, Professor. Besides, it's just a game, right? So—so it sounds like you two are just being, you know, sore losers. Because I'm winning. So suck it!"
"Oh no. So terrible," said Quirrell, taking a drink. "Guess you two need to deal with it. That's life for you. Wubba lubba dub dub."
When they were out of earshot, Draco said to Hermione, "You may be a filthy mudblood, but if you kill Potter, I will help you escape justice."
"Give me some credit, Malfoy, I've read enough true crime to know how to hide a body."
"Right, but I'll help you with the stuff that leads up to the murder."
Through a series of contrivances, one army battle ends in a tie. This is because of the traitors. The calendar year has ended, however, so it is time for victory speeches.
"General Granger and I would both like to say," Draco said in his most formal voice, knowing it was being amplified and heard, "that we will no longer accept the help of any traitors. And if, in any battle, we find that Potter has accepted traitors from either of our armies, we will join forces to crush him."
"I agree completely with General Malfoy," said Granger standing beside him, her high voice clear and strong. "Neither of us will use traitors, and if General Potter does, we will wipe him off the battlefield."
"Oh goodie. You linked arms and are singing Kumbaya," Quirrell said. "I'd congratulate you, but this easy peace is going to fall soon enough, like it always does. What about you, Harry?"
"Nah fam, you guys are like, being sore losers," Harry said. "If you—if you want to betray your army to mine, I'm like, I'm all for it. And if you don't like it, you can suck it! So come on and betray to the Chaos Legion, baby! Chaos rules!"
When he stopped talking, he failed to notice that everyone was glaring at him hatefully.
"Okay. Well," Quirrell said. "I guess I need to change my speech a little, thanks to this piece of shit right here. Being united is good—"
He cleared his throat and gave a speech. Soon, it was over.
"And that's why—burp—you should've adopted wizard fascism when Voldemort was going to win," Quirrell said, finishing a long speech describing how he would've adopted fascism to win the fight against Voldemort, up to and including branding each and every wizard with a 'Mark of Britain'.
"No," said Harry, standing up. "Fascism is bad, actually."
"Did anyone ask you, Harry? Are you fucking contradicting me in public, you little piece of shit?"
"Can you say why fascism is bad, actually? No? Then shut the fuck up."
"It's bad because it's unfair and makes you weak," Harry said.
"'It's bad because it's unfair and makes you weak'. You know who makes fucking arguments like that? A fucking moron, Harry, that's who. Hey, hey, since you tried to undermine my credibility in front of the whole school, watch this: Harry Potter's a fascist, everyone, he's only making bad arguments against fascism to make—burp—fascism seem cooler. His 'Chaos Legion' is an incoherent mess to make fascism seem like a good idea. We planned this in advance from day one. We're colluding. That's our cunning Slytherin plot."
"No we didn't," Harry said. "Fascism is bad, not cool. Chaos Legion is successful! I'm not a fascist! Chaos rules!"
"We—burp—planned that he'd say that too, so that he'd look flustered and irrational and make anti-fascists look like weak-willed emotional morons. Because emotions are bad, if you're Harry Potter. Now who are you going to trust, the loser who just said 'chaos rules' or your—burp—Professor?"
Harry couldn't help it. He started to cry.
Quirrell burped again and checked an invisible watch. "Yep, right on schedule. Great job, Harry, keep doing what you do best. Quirrell, out."
It's Christmas Eve, and Harry has gone home. There is a knock on his window.
"Professor? What are you doing outside of my window?"
"I'm here to—burp—give you your Christmas present, Harry?"
"I didn't know you believed in Christmas, Professor."
"I don't, Harry, Jesus was a wizard who got too big for his britches, Harry, and got killed by the authorities. Fuck the police! Now come here so I can give you your present. It's to show that I'm very sorry for convincing the school that you were already a fascist."
"No! Professor, I don't have to stand for this. Get out of my room. Get out of my house, it's creepy! I don't want you in my house, Professor—I just—I just— You're a fascist and I'm drawing a line, okay?"
"You sure about that, Harry? You sure? You sure you're sure?"
"Y-yeah, Professor. I've never been more sure in my life."
"That's too bad. I was going to show you Space."
Then Professor Quirrell vanished. Harry rushed to the window, but couldn't see him.
"W-wait. I'm sorry Professor, I didn't mean it. Can you come back and show me space?"
There was no answer.
"I'm sorry, Professor! Come back!"
Professor Quirrell tapped Harry on the shoulder from behind him. "Wubba lubba dub dub, kid," he said. Then he said the magic words and started the Quirrellmort 777 VR Space Experience.
In that moment, Harry was euphoric. Not because of some phony Christmas blessings, but because he was enlightened by his own intelligence.
"Just to be clear, I'm not a professional 'quote maker'. I'm just an atheist teenager who greatly values his intelligence and scientific fact over any silly fiction book written 3,500 years ago. This being said, I am open to any and all criticism.
'In this moment, I am euphoric. Not because of any phony god's blessing. But because, I am enlightened by my intelligence.'"br /