This fanfic is based on the fanfic Harry Potter and the Methods of Rayionality by Less Wrong and contains major spoilers, considering it is set just some hours/days after the ending of HPMOR.
I really recommend reading that one, since it may be the best story i've ever read.
Please don't consider Mr. Verres-Evans' actions as reflecting the moralic views of either Less Wrong or me.
If you still have to blame someone for something, blame me.
This is also my first attempt ever on a fanfic… or fanficfic (even counting unpublished ones, of which there are none), so please bear with me if i'm desecrating the usage of correct punctuation and formatting.
His hands were shaking as he stared at the blank muggle paper.
To him, it was of course an ordinary A4 with no special traits. Just one paper of many, taken from a drawer of the desk in his office.
"Dear…" said a thin voice from the door.
Michael Verres-Evans looked at his wife in a worried manner, but said nothing.
Petunia had gotten used to her husband's way of thinking and tried her best to say something convincing. "I know… or rather, i suspected that something like this may have happened, considering the circumstances of my sister's death".
Professor Verres-Evans was very tired after a week of absence from his job, having tried rather unorthodox methods of finding a solution to get his son home to safety. He said nothing, but listened eagerly, not knowing anything else to do.
Petunia continued: "Remember that you don't know the whole story. Remember when miss McGonagall levitated you? That was nothing but a speck on the vast spectrum of possibilities when magic is involved.".
The professor just stared at her, thinking about his serotonin levels being rather imbalanced at the moment, despite his countermeasures.
"I know…" was the only words he could muster at the moment.
Petunia glanced at the empty vials on the desk and the ominous looking glass equipment on the laboratory-grade workbench on the other side of the room. Michael had even went the distance of furnishing a corner of his office with rather oriental looking pillows, carpets and incense.
The conformistic part left in her from her everyday life wailed in horror, but after all these years of being married to Michael she was certain that he knew what he was doing.
Somewhat at least...
The professor's eyes were nowhere as firm and certain as they used to be, and in very thin words he said only three words as tears started to show in the corners of his eyes.
"I know nothing".
Petunia had hoped to say something comforting, but the words weren't there.
There were no words for comforting Michael's worry, but she had to say something.
"You have been the best father you could be. Even if you can't find a solution, Harry will come up with something. You have given him the tools for it. Dinner is ready in 10 minutes. Please come and eat then dear, you need it", and she closed the door gently.
Professor Verres-Evans wasn't paying attention to the walls breathing in the same pace as himself any longer. He just kept staring at the paper on which he hadn't managed to write anything.
He had sent one letter, but he had started to realize it was too stereotypical for him to be absolutely comfortable with it.
It wasn't what Harry needed. He needed to get home to the safe haven where he could think undisturbed. Safe from dark lords, schizophrenic principals and whatnot.
Dumbledore had at least cared so much not to wipe their memories. At least as far as Michael himself could deduce, considering he and Petunia had gotten told way more than any government official should be comfortable with, wizard or not.
Having a child in this situation was just madness.
On the other hand, many of professor Verres-Evans's colleagues would probably consider his week of drug-induced meditation as madness as well.
Having been almost constantly affected by all sorts of psychedelic drugs for nearly 160 hours had no doubt taken it's toll, but at least it had given him the insight of not being all-knowing.
This perspective he had only applied to himself when taking on the role of a scientist, but Harry was his only child. There where none before him.
Professor Verres-Evans didn't know how to handle that his son was in grave danger of just vanishing or whatever wizards were capable of. Among his vast collection of books there was nothing at all along the lines of "How to protect your child from dark lords: Volume 1".
Professor Verres-Evans didn't even feel like a professor any longer.
He just felt like… Michael…
In his youth, when he was an aspiring biochemist, he had discovered the secret to prevent a person from developing tolerance to psychedelics, and he had felt that this crisis required an unusually long period of meditating.
He hadn't shared it with anyone, afraid of what might happen if it leaked and people suddenly were roaming the world constantly high as Graham's number. High as kites would be bad enough, but this… this was the closest to magic he could get on his own.
Yet, he had only gotten a single insight: He didn't know everything.
Had he realized that earlier in his life, he would probably not have had the same manner of ambition that had gotten him into his current position.
He had a fantastic job, a loving wife and the worlds smartest son. It didn't matter that he hadn't accomplished all that by himself, but he felt content with it.
Well, all the death and magical horror aside of course.
The paper stayed blank.
He couldn't accomplish anything by writing another letter.
The effects of his last ayahuasca had started to diminish. He had actually missed it a little, exploring the chambers of the mind in his youth and all.
But there were no time to linger in that state of mind.
He was getting rather hungry, and he had been absent from his wife and his job for too long.
It was time to get back to reaility, as far as high-school infomercials would have considered it. But to Michael Verres-Evans, his own mind was just as real as anything else he could perceive.
Reality wasn't responsible for the safety of his son since reality was nothing but a mere concept. He was, but there were nothing he could do.
Michael looked out the window, thinking about the possibilities.
Everything so far had seemed like something out of a Terry Pratchett novel, so why wouldn't those events keep occuring?
No, that wasn't rational at all…
On the other hand, having applied his former views on what was rational and realistic, he had just gotten disappointed.
Not that getting levitated by a cat in a woman's body (since she impossibly could be a woman in a cat's body, else she would be a cat with density close to that of osmium) was disappointing.
It had been rather interesting to say the least.
Getting his perspective on the laws of physics smashed to pieces like a proyon in the LHC had on the other hand been a bit disappointing.
Dinner should be ready now. Michael stood up, feeling his scientifically enhanced shamanic brew turning his stomache upside down.
He hoped Petunia understood that he didn't want some fancy 5-course dinner right now, his life was complicated enough as it was and he wasn't in the mood of having more choices than what amount of macaroni should be on his plate.
He opened the door, which squeaked in a very unusual way.
Should hinges really hoot?
On the other hand, should an office chair rolling over the parquet floor sound like chanting dark wizards summoning unspeakable evils, just like it had done an hour earlier?
"Why does my mind have to play these kind of jokes at right this moment…" the professor thought to himself.
He entered the kitchen and rubbed his eyes.
Was he still hallucinating?
Michael looked at his wife, who didn't seem the least bit less surprised.
"Have you been reading that weird cookbook again?"
"No…"
"Did you order it?"
"No…"
"Did Harry send you some magical minute rice which transformed into 3 chairs and a marble table with a dinner on top of it, of which at least half consists of dishes unknown to me?"
"Actually… it was just a single rice grain. I suppose it was for the sake of the owl..."
The doorbell ringed.
Both of them started crying.
"Please… open… the door... dear" said Petunia between the rising sobs as she sat down carefully on one of the chairs, which upon closer inspection seemed to consist of an ordinary wooden frame with a cushion floating an inch above it.
She got distracted from her crying for a second. It was without doubt the most comfortable chair she had ever sat on, even counting in that toilet seat enchantment Lily had done for their father back in Cokeworth when he had gotten hemorrhoids.
Michael took a brief moment to wipe the tears away and compose himself, and then he opened the door.
In front of him stood a boy. Very similar to his son, but much older. Not physically, but his eyes showed more experience than a boy his age should have.
"Hey dad" said Harry with a big and honest smile.
Professor Verres-Evans tried to reply something a loving father should say, but he was a bit too confused to come up with anything fitting that requirement.
"How did you do that thing with the rice?"
"Magic."
"Indeed… But aren't you prohibited from using magic outside you school until you're… 16 or something?"
"I didn't do any magic. I asked the house elves to enchant a rice grain into an instant dinner for three, just adding water since mom can't do magic. Was it enough?"
"Quite…"
"Not that i had to since i could probably get away with doing it myself, being half-way to being recognized as the world's most powerful wizard and all, but this was quicker".
"Bluuuh…" said professor Verres-Evans as he drooled like professor Quirrell usually did when napping.
"Uuuh…. Dad? Are you high?"
Professor Verres-Evans quickly shook his head violently.
"No, drugs are bad and you have magic anyway, so don't you ever dare try drugs because you can fly for real anyway and… and…
It's just bad! Okay?"
"Okay…"
They both looked at each other thinking what to say, then they started laughing.
The world was already crazy enough, so they might aswell just go along with it for this once.
Harry felt this was a good moment to take a little further, just to see the reaction of his dad.
"I have some really good news, and this is just one of them" said Harry as he took out a small red stone from his pocket.
Michael wondered what good news a small stone could be.
Or…?
"Harry… Is that... the philosophers stone?"
"Yup".
Petunia coughed in the middle of chewing a small piece of the dish resembling roasted chicken as she heard her husband falling very hard.