 Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Objectivism, written by Ayn Rand and Daniel Mallory Ortberg. Read by James Tullis. �You're a wizard, Harry,� Hagrid said. �And you're coming to Hogwarts.� �What's Hogwarts?� Harry asked. �It's a wizard school. It's not a public school, is it? No, it's privately run. Good, then I accept. Children are not the property of the state. Everyone who wishes to do so has the right to offer educational goods or services at a fair market rate. Let us leave at once.� �Malfoy bought the whole team brand new Nimbus clean sweeps,� Ron said, like a poor person. �That's not fair.� �Everything that's possible is fair,� Harry reminded him, gently. �If he is able to purchase better equipment, that is his right as an individual, how is Draco's superior purchasing ability qualitatively different from my superior snitch-catching ability? �I guess it isn't,� Ron said crossly. Harry laughed, cool and remote, like if a mountain were to laugh. �Some day you'll understand, Ron.� Professor Snape stood at the front of the room, sort of Jewishly. �There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class, and as such I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making. However, for those select few who possess the predisposition, I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death.� Harry's hand shut up. �What is it, Potter?� Snape asked, irritated. �What's the value of these potions on the open market?� �What? Why are you teaching children how to make these valuable products for ourselves at a schoolteacher's salary instead of creating products to meet modern demand?� �You impertinent boy. Conversely, what's to stop me from selling these potions myself after you teach us how to master them?� This is really more of a question for the economics of potion-making, I guess. What time are econ lessons here? �We have no economic lessons in this school, you ridiculous boy.� Harry Potter stood up bravely. �We do now. Come with me if you want to learn about market forces.� The students poured into the hallway after him. They had a leader at last. Harry and Ron stood before the mirror of Erised. �My God!� Ron said. �Harry, it's your dead parents.� Harry's eyes flicked momentarily over to the mirror. �So it is. This information is neither useful nor productive. Let us leave it once, to assist Hagrid in his noble enterprise of raising as many dragon eggs as he sees fit in spite of our country's unjust dragon trading restrictions. �But it's your parents, Harry,� Ron said. �Ron never really got it,� Harry sighed. �The fundamental standard for all relationships is the trader principle, Ron.� �I don't understand,� Ron said. �Of course you don't,� Harry said affectionately. �This principle holds that we should interact with people on the basis of the values we can trade with them, values of all sorts, including common interests in art, sports, or music, similar philosophical outlooks, political beliefs, sense of life, and more. Dead people have no value according to the trader principle. �But they gave birth to you.� �I made myself, Ron,� Harry said firmly. �Give me your wand, boy.� Voldemort hissed. �I cannot do that. This wand represents my wealth, which is itself a tangible result of my achievements. Wealth is the product of a man's ability to think,� Harry said bravely. Voldemort gasped. �There is a level of cowardice that is lower than that of the conformist, the fashionable non-conformist.� Voldemort began to melt. Harry lit a cigarette because he was the master of fire. �The smallest minority on earth is the individual. Those who deny individual rights cannot claim to be defenders of minorities. The minimum wage tax is a tax on the successful. The market will naturally dictate the minimum wage without the government stepping in to determine arbitrary limits.� Voldemort howled. �I�m going to sell copies of my wand at an enormous markup,� Harry said, �and you can buy one like everyone else.� Voldemort had been defeated. �He hated us for our freedom,� Ron said. �No, Ron,� Harry said. �He hated us for our free markets.� Hermione ached with desire for the both of them to master her, but nobody paid her any attention. They had empires to build. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. Written by Ayn Rand and Daniel Mallory Ortberg. Read by James Tullis. �Steal Dad�s Anglia to fly to Hogwarts,� Ron cried in astonishment. �Mom would never let us hear the end of it. �The question isn�t who is going to let me,� Harry said, already climbing into the driver�s seat and making an informed personal decision about whether or not he chose to wear a seatbelt. �It is who is going to stop me.� �A house elf must be set free, sir, and the family will never set Dobby free. Dobby will serve the family until he dies, sir.� Harry stared. �Listen, Dobby� he explained, patiently taking a knee. �Freedom, in a political context, has only one meaning, the absence of physical coercion. It does not mean freedom from the landlord, or freedom from the employer, or freedom from the laws of nature which do not provide men with automatic prosperity. It means freedom from the coercive power of the state, and nothing more. Almost at once, Harry wished he hadn�t spoken. Dobby dissolved again into Wales of gratitude. �Harry Potter is too good to Dobby, sir.� �Listen,� Harry continued briskly. �Because I�m only going to explain this once. I�m late for model UN club, which I�m protesting as fascism disguised as cooperation this afternoon. Knowledge, thinking, and rational action are properties of the what, Dobby? �The individual, sir,� Dobby whimpered. �That�s right, Dobby, and since the choice to exercise his rational faculty or not depends on the individual, man�s survival requires that those who think be free of. �The interference of those who don�t, sir?� Dobby asked, hopefully. �Exactly,� said Harry. �Now, since wizards are neither omniscient nor infallible, they must be free to agree or disagree, to cooperate or to pursue their own independent course, each according to his own rational judgment. �Freedom is the fundamental requirement of a man�s mind. A rational mind does not work under compulsion. It does not subordinate its grasp of reality to anyone�s orders, directives, or controls. It does not sacrifice its knowledge, its view of the truth, to anyone�s opinions, threats, wishes, plans, or welfare. �Such a mind may be hampered by others. It may be silenced, prescribed, imprisoned, or destroyed. It cannot be forced, which means� Harry prompted. �Which means a wand is not an argument, sir?� cried Dobby in amazement. �You have been free this whole time,� Harry said. �Have a fiver,� Dobby�s eyes glinted with the fire of an individual who has come to appreciate the value of money. �I heard he�s the heir of Slytherin, one of the girls whispered as Harry walked by. He stopped in the loose, effortless manner of a man who is at home in his own body. �Excuse me,� Harry said coolly. �Only the man who does not need it is fit to inherit wealth. The man who would make his fortune, no matter where he started. If an heir is equal to his money, it serves him. If not, it destroys him. He held his head in the manner of one who takes his beauty for granted, but knows that others do not. �Yes, yes, I know what you�re thinking. It�s all right for him. He�s an internationally famous wizard already, but when I was twelve, I was just as much of a nobody as you are now. In fact, I�d say I was even more of a nobody. I mean, a few people have heard of you, haven�t they? All that business with �he who must not be named�, he glanced at the lightning scar on Harry�s forehead. �I know, I know. It�s not quite as good as winning which weekly�s most charming smile award five times in a row, as I have, but it�s a start, Harry. It�s a start. �A creative man is motivated by the desire to achieve, not by the desire to beat others�, Harry said from a Davenport in the corner, half lying, sprawled, limply like a kitten. It had often astonished Lockhart. He had seen Potter moving with the soundless tension, the control, the precision of a cat. He had seen him relaxed, like a cat, in shapeless ease, as if his body held no single solid bone. �People think that a lie gains victory over his victim�, Harry continued. �What I�ve learned is that a lie is an act of self-abdication, because one surrenders one�s reality to the person to one whom lies, making that person one�s master, condemning oneself from then on to faking the sort of reality that person�s view requires to be faked. �The man who lies to the world is the world�s slave from then on. There are no white lies. There is only the blackest of destruction, and a white lie is the blackest of all.� �I�, Gilderoy began. �You have no eye�, Harry said abruptly, and chose to leave. �You barely exist.� �You see, that�s what I admire about you, Harry. You always know. �Drop the compliments, Hermione. But I mean it. How do you always manage to decide? How can you let others decide for you? �But you see, I�m not sure, Harry. I�m never sure... I�m never sure of myself. I don�t know whether I�m as good as they to all tell me I am. I wouldn�t admit that to anyone but you. I think that�s because you�re always so sure that I... I didn�t know it before, but it�s because I�ve never believed in God. �Come on, talk sense�, Hermione twisted the emerald cuff on her thin wrist. �Because I love this earth. That�s all I love. I don�t like the shape of things on this earth. I want to change them.� �For whom?� �For myself.� �Kiss me, you fool�, Hermione cried. �Harry did, efficiently.� �You don�t have to applaud�, he said. �I don�t expect it.� �In a capitalist system�, Dobby began, falteringly. He shot a look of unswerving devotion to Harry. Harry was used to such looks as a man who behaved as he wished and not as others did. �And according to the dictates of the market�, Harry prompted. �And according to the dictates of the market�, Dobby continued, drawing himself up to his full two feet three inches and jabbing Mr. Malfoy directly in the shins. �Dobby is already an independent agent and may offer his services at whatever price he deems fit to whatever consumer wishes to procure them. Dobby is a free elf under capitalism.� �Mr. Malfoy�s jaw gaped open, like the mystic and irrationalist that he was. �It was funny, Draco remembered. At one time he had wanted to be an artist. It was his mother who had chosen a better field in which to exercise his talent for drawing. �Wizardry,� she had said, �is such a respectable profession. Besides, you meet the best people in it.� �She had pushed him into his career. He had never known when or how.� �It was funny,� thought Draco. �He had not remembered that youthful ambition of his for years. It�s funny that it should hurt him now to remember, �Well, this was the night to remember it, and to forget it forever.� �Wizards,� he thought, �always made brilliant careers. And once on top, did they ever fail?� Suddenly he recalled Henry Cameron, caster of great spells twenty years ago, old drunkard with offices on some waterfront today. Draco shuttered. �Dobby is an end unto himself.� The elf chuckled as he capered down the hallway. �Dobby is dedicated to his own values.� �Cheer up,� Harry said to Draco. �Have a fiva.� Harry Potter and the Prisoners of Collectivism. Written by Ein Rand and Daniel Mallory Ortberg. Read by James Tullis. �What was there to be gained by fighting the most evil wizard who has ever existed?� said Black with a terrible fury in his face. �Only innocent lives, Peter.� �You don�t understand,� windpedigrew. �He would have killed me serious.� �Then you should have died,� roared Black. �Died rather than betray your friends, as we would have done for you.� �Actually� said Harry, pocketing his e-cigarette. �Peter�s pursuit of rational self-interest is of a higher moral order than your determination to kill yourself on another person�s behalf, Sirius. �Self-sacrifice is never the answer. It only ends in pain and death.� Sirius blanched. �But Voldemort, we could have stopped Voldemort.� �It�s a free market,� Harry said, shrugging. Lupin turned into a wolf. �Control yourself,� Harry said. �Good Lord, man, you�re a being of pure will and drive. Exercise it.� Lupin turned back into a man with flashing clear eyes and a jar that could level a mid-sized office building. �In the marketplace of ideas,� Harry went on. �Voldemort has the same right to disseminate his philosophy as you do. If his philosophy is sound, it will flourish. If his philosophy is unsound, you have nothing to fear.� Peter opened his mouth to speak. �See, this is why I don�t vote,� Harry continued. He knelt and drew a circle in the dirt. �Let�s say this circle here represents my own self-interest. I think we can all agree that my existence here is interchangeable with my identity.� He laughed. It sounded like a cool mountain stream. �Now let�s say this circle over here represents Peter, a rational self-actor.� But Aunt Marge suddenly stopped speaking. For a moment it looked as though words had failed her. She seemed to be swelling with inexpressible anger. But the swelling didn�t stop. Her great red face started to expand. Her tiny eyes bulged, and her mouth stretched too tightly for speech. Next second several buttons had burst from her tweed jacket and pinged off the walls. She was inflating like a monstrous balloon. A reckless rage had come over Harry. He kicked his trunk open, pulled out his wand, and pointed it at Uncle Vernon. �She deserved it,� Harry said, with a pre-denational calmness. �Make no mistake, this was an essentially generous act. To have allowed her to continue to insult me would have been an act of self-genocide. She deserved what she got. You keep away from me.� He fumbled behind him for the latch on the door. �I�m going,� Harry said. �I want to be an architect.� Uncle Vernon was purple with fury, but said nothing. �I�m going to build a building so tall you�ll break your neck if you try to make eye contact with me.� Harry said, and then he was gone. �I want to commit the murder I was imprisoned for.� Black growled. �Well, everyone must do what he thinks is best,� Harry said without looking up from his wizarding economics essay. �I think Peter is under Hermione�s bed, luck, and so on. �Thanks. It may interest you to know that I object to prisons, morally,� Harry said. �So let that comfort you while you�re on the run again.� �I�ve always been unpopular in school, and it didn�t bother me,� Hermione explained. �But now I�ve discovered the reason. It�s an impossible kind of reason. They dislike me, not because I do things badly, but because I do them well. They dislike me because I�ve always had the best grades in class. I don�t even have to study. I always get top marks. Do you suppose I could try to get poor marks for a change and become the most popular girl in school? �Never let the failure of others induce you to achieve less,� Harry said. �Ugreed,� Hermione said, her eyes flashing like diamonds, which she was also wearing. �As equals, I suggest we maximize our achievement by making out now.� Before Harry could answer, Cho Chang entered the room. �Harry,� she cried, �I wish to offer myself to you in recognition of your victory in today�s Quidditch match. �Frankly, I would like to make out with both of you,� Harry said. �I believe it would be efficient and would also maximize my enjoyment.� Hermione frowned. �Never get angry with a man for speaking the truth,� Harry reminded her. Hermione smiled. �Believing in yourself is a sort of prayer,� Harry said. �Hermione, you may make out with me first.� He felt the unnatural cold begin to steal over the street. Light was sucked from the environment right up to the stars, which vanished. The cold was biting deeper and deeper into Harry�s flesh. Then around the corner, gliding noiselessly, came dementors. Ten or more of them, visible because they were of a denser darkness than their surroundings, with their black cloaks and their scabbed, rotting hands. Could they sense fear in the vicinity? Harry was sure of it. They seem to be coming more quickly now, taking those dragging, rattling breaths he detested, tasting despair on the air, closing in. Suddenly he heard them. �Marxists.� �No� he whispered, sinking to his knees. �When they get near you,� he remembered Lupin, saying, �you will be left with only the worst memories of your life. Only together, collectively, can we achieve anything of lasting significance,� he heard one of them say. Harry moaned in pain. �The fortunate owe it to society to contribute to those who cannot work,� another chanted. Harry closed his eyes and collapsed. �A strong central government� began a third. This was too much for Harry. He rose painfully to his knees and screamed, �Expecto Patronum!� a shining white dollar flew out of his wand. �I am the strongest force there is,� it shouted. �I am an objective measurement of the good. I cannot be diminished or compromised.� The dementors scattered. �Our worldview is corrupt and ineffective,� one of them shouted as it scurried away into the night. Harry�s Patronum lazily floated back to him and rested on the tip of his wand. �I�m going to spend you,� he said to it. And he did. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Written by Ein Rand and Daniel Mallory Ortberg. Read by James Tullis. �Cho Chang,� Harry called from across the hallway and quickly closed the distance between them like some sort of sexually compelling locomotive. �The Yule Ball is tomorrow. I wish to acquire you for it. Say yes, now, with your mouth before I cruelly crush it against my own like some sort of sexual flower.� �Oh, Harry,� Cho said. �I�m sorry, but someone�s already asked me, and well, I�ve said I�ll go with him. �I refuse to allow you to live in a world of the mediocre,� Harry said, eyes flashing flint and fire. �You are the only acceptable mate for me. I will hold you in my arms in front of our peers at the Yule Ball. Reconcile yourself to your fate and wear something red or purple. �Harrie, I�m sorry, but you�ll need to wear your hair down,� he said carelessly. �It suits you best that way. I have nothing left to say to you at present. I don�t think I�ll kiss you just yet. Go make whatever feminine preparations you have to before tomorrow night. �Oi.� �Your watch is off by 14 seconds,� he said, turning to leave. �Unless you plan on making imprecision a habit, I suggest you correct it before I see you again.� �Harrie!� Hermione called out breathlessly, scurrying to catch up with him. Only no one could ever catch up with him, for he walked alone. �I got you a Christmas present. Happy, happy Christmas, Harry.� It was a sweater she had knitted herself with the answer to every exam they�d be taking for the rest of the year, magically and invisibly sewn into the fabric. Harry tossed it in his book bag. �I got you a present too,� Harry said. Hermione�s smile widened. �Really?� �My present is the truth,� he said. �You don�t look very good in green. I don�t know why you�re always wearing it.� �If you want to know what a man�s like,� Dumbledore said. �Take a good look at how he treats his inferior�s, not his equals.� Harry leaned back in his chair. �No man is my equal.� �Harry,� Dumbledore said sadly. �You must not compare others so harshly against yourself. It is our duty to those weaker than ourselves, too.� �I don�t make comparisons. I never think of myself in relation to anyone else. I just refuse to measure myself as part of anything.� �Harry, you preach selflessness,� Harry said. �But what you really mean is slavery to the collective.� �And with that,� Harry awarded himself six owls, which was his right as an individual, and desaporated to Hogsmeade. �The drinking age is fundamentally oppressive,� he explained to Madame Rosemarita. �Under a truly federalist system, youthful drinking is rightfully governed by the laws of common sense and natural consequences. One fire, whiskey, please.� �Malfoy flashed his, support Cedric Diggory, Potter Stinks, badge from across the table.� Ron sneered. �Cedric Diggory,� he said. �Thinks he�s so great. He�s not so great.� �Jealousy is a quality of the womanish and the poor,� Harry said without malice, finishing a simple dish of plums. �I suggest you free yourself from it.� The Mer people brandished their spears fiercely. Harry looked around. Ron, Hermione, and Gabrielle Delacour drifted lazily through the water, arms bound uselessly behind their backs. �Where was Floor? And where was Crumb?� Harry turned to face the Mer people. �The true test is not whether a triwizard champion can perform an act of charity, an act of mercy. Whether I am capable of saving these victims, these leeches, these children, I can assure you. The question is whether I can do without them, whether I can exist solely as my own entity, whether I can perform an act of accomplishment.� Harry began carefully placing the heaviest stones he could carry over the rope connecting Ron and Hermione until they were hopelessly enmeshed in the lakebed. �The answer, of course,� he said clearly, �is that I can.� He swam away. He swam alone. He had lost the task, perhaps, but he had won the only tournament that truly matters, the tournament of self. �I hope you�re not expecting me to apologize,� Harry said without looking up the next day, when a very muddy and very angry looking Ron and Hermione appeared in front of the door to his study. �And don�t come any closer, you�ll track lake water all over my new rug.� �Listen, Harry,� Cedric asked. �The third challenge, do you have any idea what it�s about? I can�t seem to figure out the last clue for the life of me.� �If you want my advice, Cedric, you�ve made a mistake already. By asking me, by asking anyone, never ask people, not about your work. Don�t you know what you want? How can you stand it, not to know?� Cedric shook his head. �How do you always manage to decide? How can you let others decide for you? Do you always have to have a purpose? Do you always have to be so damn serious? Can�t you ever do things without reason, just like everybody else? You�re so serious, so old. Everything�s important with you. Everything�s great, significant in some way, every minute, even when you keep still. Can�t you ever be comfortable and unimportant? �No� Harry turned away. �I have to go think about trains now. Excuse me.� �Kill the spare�, whispered a hazy voice out of the darkness, and Harry heard, �Avada Kadavra�, and he saw a flash of green light, and Cedric was dead. �A pity�, Harry said. �He would have made quite a fine architect had he lived. �Quiet, boy�, Voldemort hissed. �I have you now�, he turned to face his followers, who were not being recompensed financially according to their service, which was ridiculous. �You know, of course, that they have called this boy my downfall. You all know that on the night I lost my powers, and my body, I tried to kill him. His mother died in the attempt to save him, and unwittingly provided him with a protection I admit I had not foreseen. I could not touch the boy. His mother left upon him the traces of her sacrifice. This is old magic. I should have remembered it. I was foolish to overlook it. But no matter, I can touch him now.� Harry laughed. �How dare you laugh at your death, you impertinent boy!� Voldemort snarled. �My mother�s death was unnecessary,� Harry said. �It is not because she refused to honor her own life that you cannot touch me. It is because I have self-respect.� �Immossible!� Voldemort cried. He shot all sorts of magic at Harry, but it didn�t work. �Self-respect is something that can�t be killed. The worst thing is to kill a man�s pretense at it,� Harry turned to Voldemort�s followers. �You are fools, mediocre fools, because you work not for money, but for the approval of others, for the approval of another man. �And what of that man?� Voldemort asked dangerously. �What do you think of me? Potter.� �But I don�t think of you,� Harry said. He disaparated back to Hogsmeade. �I only think about trains.� He ordered another fire whiskey, and thought about trains. Harry Potter and the Order of Psychoepistemology. Written by Ayn Rand and Daniel Mallory Ortberg. Read by James Tullis. �You�re a prefect! Oh, Ronnie, that�s everyone in the family!� Ron looked nervously at Harry. Harry betrayed nothing. �You can be a wizard,� Ron remembered. �And you can be a man. It is good to be both, if you can. But if you must choose, it is better to be a man and not a wizard than a wizard and not a man.� �That doesn�t matter, mom,� Ron said tentatively. �You should consider your children indifferently, only on the basis of the values you can trade with them, rather than automatically prefer us simply because we happen to have been born to you. It�s the traitor principle, mom.� Mrs. Weasley let the crockpot slip from her hand. �There�s no reason for my being a prefect to reflect upon you either negatively or poorly,� Ron said, his voice deepening. �My achievements are my own, not yours.� Harry almost smiled. Ron was becoming a person at last. The sorting hat leapt from the stool and began to sing aloud. The entire school was transfixed. �Said Slytherin will teach just those whose ancestries purist.� An obsession with ancestral purity, whispered Harry out of the side of his mouth, is the rankest, lowest form of collectivism. It is racism and laziness disguised as filial pride. A man�s character is not inherited. It is forged by steel and jaws and trains and bulging forearm muscles. This is a doctrine for and by Brutes. Cho Chang took notes with an adoring pen. It was natural for her to venerate Harry, as it is natural for all true women to venerate great men. The uterus makes a natural storage place for admiration. �A genius is a genius,� Harry continued, �regardless of the number of morons who belong to the same family, and a moron is a moron, regardless of the number of geniuses who share his last name.� He looked impassively at Draco, who shook under the moral purity of Harry�s gaze. The hat sang on. �Said Ravenclaw will teach those whose intelligence is surest.� �Sound enough,� Harry said. �Though it could stand to mention property,� writes. �Remember that wealth is merely the byproduct of the intelligence and the work of individuals, as you cannot have effects without causes, so you cannot have wealth without its source, without intelligence.� Hermione applauded spontaneously. Cho Chang glared at her. They were competing for that scarcest of resources. �A real man,� said Gryffindor. �We�ll teach all those with brave deeds to their name.� Harry nodded. There was no need for words, so he spoke none. �Said Hufflepuff, I�ll teach the lot and treat them just the same.� Harry�s jaw trembled manfully, like if a steam shovel were to tremble from being too full of too many rocks. �This is disgusting,� he said. �It is communism. I won�t stay and listen to it.� �It�s been 14 years and still not a day goes by that I don�t miss your dad,� Sirius said. �That sounds like a waste of both time and personal energy,� Harry said, smoking a pipe. �I can assure you no one in the grave spends their time missing you.� �Hem-hem, thank you, Headmaster, for those kind words of welcome,� Umbridge said. The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young wishes and wizards to be of a vital importance, although each Headmaster has brought something new to this historic school. �Progress for the sake of progress must be discouraged. Let us preserve what must be preserved, perfect what can be perfected, and prune practices that ought to be prohibited.� Harry leapt from his bench and drew his wand. �This sounds despicably like regulation,� he cried. �Regulation is the enemy of the good.� Umbridge, whose face resembled nothing more than a surprised toad, quickly trundled Harry off to her office on the third floor, which was full of chints and floral wallpaper, and was absolutely nothing like being on a train. It was like some sort of woman�s room, but not the good kind of woman, the kind who wrapped her naked shoulders in steel and cool black fabric, and the kind of sensuality only success in the world of business can bring, the other kind. �That was unwise, boy,� she hissed, thrusting a quill into his hand. �You will write, I will not tell lies a hundred times with this until it is etched permanently into your skin.� Harry looked coolly at her, like if an iceberg were to make eye contact with you and remain unimpressed. He lifted the quill as if to begin, then immediately chopped off his own hand with it. Professor Umbridge screamed as the hand continued to draft architectural designs for several minutes on the floor. Harry wrapped his wrist and placed it efficiently behind his back before making her a low bow. �There is a hand, Professor�, he said, inclining his head riley to the floor. �You make ask it to do whatever you wish. I remain free.� Professor Umbridge called out in a quavering voice after Harry�s retreating figure. �Potter, Harry, sir� he turned and looked at her. �Tell me about this freedom� she said haltingly. �The freedom of the individual.� Harry�s lips curved into a smile the way a prowl curves into the lines of a mighty ship. �No� he said and walked away. Snape loomed up out of the darkness of the empty potions room. �Let us get these ridiculous oclements he lessens over with� he said, placing his wand on the desk beside him. Fools who wear their hearts proudly on their sleeves, who cannot control their emotions, who wallow in sad memories and allow themselves to be provoked so easily. �Weak people, in other words� �Are of little value on the open market� Harry finished for him. �I quite agree.� Snape looked at him with something strange brimming in his eyes. �I believe I�m going to respect you after all, Potter� he said. �That doesn�t matter� Harry said. �Whether you respect me or not, I remain myself.� Snape respected him even more for saying that. �Do you see, Harry? Do you see the flaw in my brilliant plan now? I had fallen into the trap I had foreseen, that I had told myself I could avoid, that I must avoid�� Harry looked keenly at him. �I cared about you too much� said Dumbledore simply. �I cared more for your happiness than you knowing the truth, more for your peace of mind than my plan, more for your life than the lives that might be lost if the plan failed. In other words, I acted exactly as Voldemort expects we fools who love to act.� �I do see the flaw� Harry said. �How embarrassing for you� he rose to leave. �My only loyalty is to the truth, which is the highest form of good, and expresses itself in the form of money.� �Wait� Dumbledore called out after him. �Those are room in the Department of Mysteries that is kept locked at all times. It contains a force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than the forces of nature. It is also, perhaps, the most mysterious of many subjects for study that reside there.� �The only room I care about� Harry replied, �is the one with all the money in it.� �Do you mean the bank� Dumbledore asked. Harry waved his stump about impatiently. �It has many names. I call it the freedom room.� �Please� Dumbledore continued desperately. �Listen to me, Harry. It is the power held within that room that you possess in such quantities, and which Voldemort has not at all. That power took you to save Sirius tonight. That power also saved you from possession by Voldemort, because he could not bear to reside in a body so full of the force he detests. In the end, it mattered not that you could close your mind. It was your hu- it was my self-mastery and intrinsic sense of worth� Harry said firmly. �And nothing more. Anyone raised by the free market would have done the same.� �I�ve been thinking about something Dumbledore said to me,� Harry said. �What�s that?� said Hermione. �That even though we�ve got a fight ahead of us, we�ve got one thing that Voldemort doesn�t have.� Ron looked at him. He was so close to guessing it, but he wasn�t quite there yet. �Something worth fighting for� Harry said. �A commitment to individualism, a rigorous methodology, and a comprehensive philosophical framework that provides a realistic alternative to emotionalism and the nanny state.� Behind him, Cho Chang took notes. �I�m so glad my old boyfriend is dead,� she said, �so that I have the time to write all this down.� Harry said nothing. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, written by Einrand and Daniel Mallory Orteburg, read by James Tullis. �Felix Felisus,� Professor Slughorn said in hushed tones, holding the amber bottle up to the light. �Liquid luck,� they call it. �Bottled fortune, brewed correctly at the drinker of this potion will be lucky in all their endeavors, but be warned, excess of consumption is highly toxic and can cause extreme recklessness.� Harry knocked over his chair and stood on Hermione�s legs in order to be heard. His voice rumbled like a granite freight train. �Talent alone is helpless today. Any success requires both talent and luck. And the luck has to be helped along and provided by someone. Talent does not survive all obstacles. In fact, in the face of hardships, talent is the first one to perish. The rarest plants are usually the most fragile. Our present-day struggle for existence is the coarsest and ugliest phenomenon that has ever appeared on Earth. It takes a tough skin to face it. A very tough one. Are talented people born with tough skins? Hardly. In fact, the more talent one possesses, the more sensitive one is, as a rule. And if there is a more tragic figure than a sensitive, worthwhile person, facing life without money, I don�t know where it can be found.� �That�s, uh, I suppose that�s a good point, Harry.� Professor Slughorn said slowly. �Damn right it�s a good point.� Harry said, straightening his tie and stepping off Hermione, who sighed with longing at the loss of his weight on her legs. �It�s also why I never water my plants in herbology. They must learn to survive with or without me. Self-sufficiency is not just a human virtue. It is the highest virtue.� �Kiss me, Harry.� Ginny begged. Harry pushed her away from him with a fist made of self-determination and bosomered steel. His jaw was as strong and as powerful as a quarry that employs 200 men. �How can I kiss you?� he said. �When you lack the ability to celebrate yourself as the highest culmination of your own values.� �I don�t care about any of that,� Ginny said. �I just want to feel your lips on mine. Please.� Harry shook his head, like a proud animal or the stock market. �I could kiss your lips,� he said, �but I cannot kiss your self-esteem.� He accused me of being Dumbledore�s man through and through. �How very rude of him.� I told him I was my own man. Then I filled his mouth with quartz and shattered it with my fists and took his woman. I took her right in the values. Dumbledore opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again. Fox the Phoenix let out a low, soft, musical cry. To Harry�s intense embarrassment, he suddenly realized that Dumbledore�s bright blue eyes looked rather watery and stared hastily at his own knee. When Dumbledore spoke, however, his voice was quite steady. �I am very touched, Harry.� �That is of no consequence to me, Headmaster.� Harry said, not unkindly. �Your feelings are your own. I could no more experience them than I could experience being a hippogriff.� �No, no, Harry, I didn�t mean that,� she said hastily, looking around to check that they were not being overheard. �It�s just that I was right about Eileen Prince once owning the book. You see, she was Snape�s mother. �I thought she wasn�t much of a looker,� said Ron. �Contribute or keep silent, Ron� said Harry. �Jokes are not useful to our aims at present.� Hermione ignored Ron, eager to serve the only man worthwhile of her talents. �I was going through the rest of the old prophets, and there was a tiny announcement about Eileen Prince marrying a man called Tobias Snape. And then later an announcement saying she�d given birth to a �Murderer�� spat Ron. �Well, yes� said Hermione. �So I was sort of right. Snape must have been proud of being half a prince. You see, Tobias Snape was a muggle from what it said in the Prophet.� �What a misapplication of pride,� Harry said. �Racism is the lowest, most crudely primitive form of collectivism. It is the notion of ascribing moral, social, or political significance to a man�s genetic lineage. The notion that a man�s intellectual and characterological traits are produced and transmitted by his internal body chemistry, which means, in practice, that a man is to be judged not by his own character and actions, but by the characters and actions of a collective of ancestors. The theory that holds good blood and bad blood as a moral intellectual criterion can lead to nothing but torrents of blood in practice. Brute force is the only avenue of action open to men who regard themselves as mindless aggregates of chemicals. Hermione flung herself at his feet in agreement. �The only blood that counts,� Harry said, �is the blood of achievement. Ron, leave the room. Hermione and I are going to honor one another�s achievements through the physical act of love.� �Don�t you see?� Dumbledore said. Voldemort himself created his worst enemy, just as tyrants everywhere do. �Have you any idea how much tyrants fear the people they oppress?� �All of them realize that, one day amongst their many victims, there is sure to be one that rises against them and strikes back.� �Of course� Harry said calmly. �Tyranny is any political system, whether absolute monarchy or fascism or communism, that does not recognize individual rights, which necessarily include property rights. The overthrow of a political system by force is justified only when it is directed against tyranny. It is an act of self-defense against those who rule by force.� Harry took up his wand. �First I�m going to kill Snape� he said evenly. �And then I�m going to dissolve the estate tax.� �But why� Dumbledore began. �Wealth must be earned, not kept� Harry said. �A man who inherits wealth he does not deserve will lose it in a generation�s time. He has no inherent right to keep it if he cannot earn it, but it does not then stand that the government has a stronger right to it. It is his to keep or to lose as long as he is living.� Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Written by Ein Rand and Daniel Mallory Ortberg Read by James Tullis �Should it be wizards first then?� she asked. �World human, aren�t we? Every human life is worth the same and worth saving.� Harry looked at Kingsley. His mouth opened slightly, then closed. �I will give you the gift of silence in exchange for that,� he said at last, turning and reaching for the door. �Let�s go.� �Well, you can still call home the place where your mother�s blood dwells,� Dumbledore said. �There you cannot be touched or harmed by Voldemort. He shed her blood, but it lives on in you and her sister. Her blood became your refuge. You need return there only once a year. But as long as you can still call it home, there he cannot hurt you. Your aunt knows this. I explained what I had done in the letter I left with you on her doorstep. She knows that allowing you house room may well have kept you alive for the past 15 years.� �I think I understand,� Harry said. �The right to life is the source of all rights, and the right to property is their only implementation.� Dumbledore smiled. �Which means� �Which means that without property rights,� Harry exclaimed triumphantly. �No other rights are possible.� �The Ministry of Magic has fallen,� Neville said, in despair. Harry laughed, long and loud. �You should not mourn the government,� he told Neville. �The state has never shed a tear for you. Why waste your tears on it?� He picked up his wand. �For my part, I withdrew my consent to be governed years ago. Taxation is destroying private resources,� a smile played across Harry�s lips. �I hope they destroyed the national bank while they were at it. I should like to see the goblins of green gods face their real enemy. Deregulation.� �It is the quality of one�s convictions that determines success,� Remus said. �Not the number of followers.� �In other words,� Harry said. �Failure is triumph. Up is down. White is black, and wrong is right. Success determines success,� Remus. �And only a failure would suggest otherwise. If Voldemort kills us all tomorrow, no one will build a monument to our successful convictions.� �Here lies Dobby,� the stone read. �A free elf.� Underneath, in slightly smaller letters, it continued. �What is the basic, the essential, the crucial principle that differentiates freedom from slavery? It is the principle of voluntary action versus physical coercion or compulsion. Freedom, in a political context, has only one meaning, the absence of physical coercion. It does not mean freedom from the landlord, or freedom from the employer, or freedom from the laws of nature which do not provide men with automatic prosperity. It means freedom from the coercive power of the state, and nothing else. If one upholds freedom, one must uphold man�s individual rights. If one upholds man�s individual rights, one must uphold his right to his own life, to his own liberty, to the pursuit of his own happiness. Which means one must uphold a political system that guarantees and protects these rights. Which means the political economic system of capitalism. Intellectual freedom cannot exist without political freedom. Political freedom cannot exist without economic freedom. A free mind and a free market are corollaries. Since knowledge, thinking, and rational action are properties of the individual, since the choice to exercise his rational faculty or not depends on the individual, man�s survival requires that those who think be free of the interference of those who don�t. Since men are neither omniscient nor infallible, they must be free to agree or disagree, to cooperate, or to pursue their own independent course, each according to his own rational judgment. Freedom is the fundamental requirement of man�s mind. A rational mind does not work under compulsion. It does not subordinate its grasp of reality to anyone�s orders, directives, or controls. It does not sacrifice its knowledge, its view of the truth, to anyone�s opinions, threats, wishes, plans, or welfare. Such a mind may be hampered by others. It may be silenced, prescribed, imprisoned, or destroyed. It cannot be forced. A wand is not an argument. It is from the work and the inviolate integrity of such minds, from the intransigent innovators, that all of mankind�s knowledge and achievements have come. It is to such minds that mankind owes its survival. The gravestone was seven and a half feet tall. Voldemort advanced on Harry. Is it love again? Dumbledore�s favorite solution. Love, which he claimed conquered death, though love did not stop him falling from the tower, and breaking like an old waxwork. Love, which did not prevent me stamping out your mud-blood mother like a cockroach potter, and nobody seems to love you enough to run forward this time and take my curse. So what will stop you dying now, when I strike? Do you know the hallmark of the second raider? Harry asked, lighting a cigarette, as if he were Zeus himself, the god who held lightning in his hand. It�s resentment of another man�s achievement. It�s resentment of another man�s achievement. Those touchy mediocrites, who sit trembling lest someone�s work prove greater than their own. They have no inkling of the loneliness that comes when you reach the top, the loneliness for an equal, for a mind to respect, and an achievement to admire. Voldemort shook his head, his inability to grasp lofty ideals the result of a government-issued education. It matters not. It matters not whether Snape was mine, or Dumbledore�s, or what petty obstacles they tried to put in my path. I crushed them, as I crushed your mother, Snape�s supposed great love. Oh, but it all makes sense, Potter, and in ways that you do not understand. Dumbledore was trying to keep the Elder Wand from me. He intended that Snape should be the true master of the Wand, but I got there ahead of you, little boy. I reached the Wand before you could get your hands upon it. I understood the truth before you caught up. I killed Severus Snape three hours ago, and the Elder Wand, the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny, is truly mine. What an interesting misunderstanding of property rights, Harry said mildly, flicking his cigarette in the direction of the Dark Lord. They are no guarantee that a man will earn any property, but only a guarantee that he will own it if he earns it. I have earned the Elder Wand through my own achievements, Harry continued. I create wealth, you merely attempt to loot it from others. I shall carry on my search for an equal, he said, though I do not believe I will find one in my lifetime. He pulled out a gun and shot Voldemort in the heart. A gun is not an argument, he said to no one in particular, but this conversation was growing dull anyway. Nineteen years later. I'm taking the children down to the Platform 9 in three quarters to see them off to school, Ginny said to Harry. Want to come? I build trains, Harry said, adjusting his hat so that the brim sat low over one eye. I don't watch children bought them. Ginny respected him for it. This has been a reading of Ayn Rand Wright's Harry Potter, written by Ayn Rand and Daniel Mallory Ortberg, read by James Tullis. Thanks for getting me to 100,000 guys, it means more than you could possibly know.