Harry only just leapt around the corner before the familiar curse and sickly-green bolt of light passed by him. The tail end of his cloak was singed, but he didn’t notice. Bewildered muggles were screaming and running franticly away from the burnt corpse of what was a businessman a few seconds ago, now sprawled in the middle of the street. Harry shouldered past them with no regard, sweat and blood congealing on his glasses – he was looking for a way out, any way out at all. The throng was nearly impenetrable.
Again: the curse; a string of words; a green flash; and more screaming. He held his wand tighter, expecting the end at any moment. The serpentine laughter seemed to echo in between the buildings, a precise sound in a blurred sea of fear. He heard the dying cries behind him, but they did not register. Nothing did except the irrepressible desire to escape.
A solution appeared. Through a gap in the veritable stampede, Harry immediately recognized a small side-alley, and blindly rushed for it. As soon as he entered, the crowd filled the gap he left and streamed onward, a flow of human shields.
He ran. A fence provided a barrier, but only a temporary one. He pointed his wand, said a quick utterance and the fence melted into its base components and he simply sprinted over it. A few turns, and he was met with isolation, a blessed sanctuary of soot-infused brick and overflown dumpsters. He allowed himself a brief sigh of relief.
“You will never escape me, boy.”
Fear was ice down his spine as he turned. He saw Voldemort lift his dread wand, but the manic desire for life gave Harry the quicker hand. With his own resplendent wand leveled at the Dark Lord, he uttered the one incantation that he knew would save him.
“Modus Ponens!”
--
This is what I mentally pictured in my philosophy class everyday while going over the basic logics last fall. Except that it wasn’t logic – it was wizardry. Grade-A Hogwartsian magic, and no doubt about it. And it wasn’t just the spel- I mean, terminology – that lent an air of mysticism, either. For what is magic without a wizard?
At first, I thought my professor was a wizard indeed. He’d say these statements, recite some ancient incantation, and then things would like, happen, man. At least, they were supposed to, but I assumed that since I didn’t get an invitation to go to Hogwarts on my 11th birthday, I could not perceive these surely wonderful events happening.
My professor wasn’t just a wizard, though. That would be an injustice. He was a superhero wizard. I will hence present my (illogical) argument.
People are late sometimes. My professor was a person. Therefore, my professor was prone to being late. Modus ponens.*
* I may or may not have been wielding a wand whilst typing this.
The only caveat here is that he was late all the time. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, he would arrive at a minimum of 5 minutes late, out of breath, and adorned in a shimmering armor of perspiration beneath his grunge attire. Did I mention his grunginess? Nay, he was generally well-bathed, but I refer to his fashion style. His complexion and hair stated So Cal, but his flannel shirts begged to say Seattle Seattle
At first, I did not know what to make of his consistent tardiness and general sweatiness. No professor ever sweated so profusely, nor arrived so late, nor in such a bewildering combination thereof.
It hit me only days after he introduced wizardry into my life. As he was discussing the finer aspects of disjunctive syllogisms, in his absent-minded way, a thought began to form. He was always late; he was always sweaty and out of breath; he explained this wizardry as if it were second nature; his mind always seemed focused elsewhere. There could be only one explanation.
He kept evil at bay. (Modus Tollens. I think.) *
* Yeah, definitely have a wand here. It’s only a replica though, because, y’know, muggle. However, it is a 12-inch hickory with unicorn hair… ladies.
He henceforth became known in our hearts and minds as The Urbanator, the superhero/wizard who made it safe for us to make the hazardous, tortuous trek from one corner of the campus to the other. I felt confident and assured when he arrived late, and I, nor my compatriot-wizards-in-training, was no longer baffled.
I finished the semester with an A in that class, and a mind full of wondrous, arcane lore that was totally useless to a muggle like my good self. It didn’t matter, though. All that counted was that I knew university was in good hands.
It is regrettable that this story will now take an ill turn. Fast-forwarding to the now, a full year later, there is no news of The Urbanator. I had felt a fell wind upon the air, but I could not exactly identify the source. Upon discussing registering for classes for the upcoming spring semester, the topic of philosophy professors was brought up. Naturally, I referenced the hero of this tale. Examination of the schedule, however, yielded depressing results. His name was nowhere on the list. Further backtracking showed that he taught no courses this semester either.
In a similar fashion to my reverie of finding out his identity, I can speculate within good reason what foul fate befell him. The only entity in this Star Sect- er, state – that could dare oppose him is none other than…. The Cockatron.
All images of Cockatron were unfortunately sexually assaulted and then eaten.
I shall soon be investigating this personally. I owe it to you, Urbanator. We all do.
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