Cancel ALL year-end exams? Not likely

The Chamber -- film and novel

At the end of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Hogwarts administration announces that "the exams had been cancelled as a school treat" to celebrate the resolution of the Chamber problem and the saving of the school from the Basilisk that lurked within.

It's a nice moment... but, in the context of the entire series of novels, it makes no sense.

As we learn in later novels, Hogwarts puts students through two sets of incredibly important examinations (OWLs and NEWTs) at specific points in their academic journeys (after fifth and seventh years). Each has a distinct impact on the student's academic and professional careers and we see the hero trio agonize over their OWLs in The Order of the Phoenix. In fact, Harry, Hermione and Ron's experience in book five suggests that students begin preparing for their major exams very early in the academic year (and often the year before). The exams are important enough, and tough enough, that students need to work long and hard to prepare for them.

So there is virtually no chance that year-end exams for all students would be cancelled for any reason. Sure, it might be possible for the school to cancel exams for students in their first, second, third, fourth and sixth years but it is inconceivable that OWL and NEWT examinations would be cancelled in any year. From what we learn in later novels, the students would have to sit these exams at some point. So I think it is clear that the students who have been working so hard and so long to prepare for them would revolt against the thought that they would be postponed for any period of time.

I first noticed this issue when I recently re-watched the film version of the story. And I immediately blamed screen writer Stephen Kloves. In having Dumbledore announce the cancellation at the year-end speech, I thought Kloves was, of his own volition, taking things a step too far.

Then I checked Rowling's original novel and found this: "or Professor McGonagall standing up to tell them all that exams had been cancelled as a school treat". 

So I was wrong to blame Kloves (Sorry, Stephen).

But it does raise questions about how detailed J.K. Rowling's planning was when she wrote the second novel around 1998, a subject that, as a wannabe writer who finds Rowling's accomplishment in creating the Wizarding World absolutely amazing, is of significant interest to me.

It seems clear to me that, at the point that she was writing The Chamber of Secrets, Rowling had not yet developed in detail the academic journey students go on when they attend Hogwarts. The inclusion of the cancellation of year-end exams for all students in the second book is evidence that, in 1998, the concept of the OWLs and NEWTs was still to be created.

I am not saying this is a big deal. The seven novels are remarkably consistent and it is clear that, even if Rowling in 1998 had not yet developed details to the level of year-end exams, the author accomplished something remarkable in inventing such an incredibly detailed world as she went through the process of writing the seven novels.

But it is interesting to me and indicative of how difficult it can be to do what Rowling did so well -- plan a complex world and then write it over the course of a decade. I don't think it's possible to get every detail right in the early novels when the process of writing the later novels requires thousands of decisions, thousands of details, thousands of considerations as to what will make each book dramatic and effective.

That being said, I am going to read into ending of The Chamber of Secrets that only some exams were cancelled and that students facing their OWLs and their NEWTs were still required to sit their examinations.

What Rowling knew at the end of The Prisoner

Anyone who has read the entries in this blog to date will know that one of my many obsessions in relation to Harry Potter is to work out, from evidence in the books themselves, how advanced J.K. Rowling's planning was as she wrote each of the early books.


We all know that Jo has said she had created a very strong outline of the seven-novel series even before (or at least while) she wrote The Philosopher's Stone and we have no reason to doubt that. But the question that intrigues me is: just how detailed was that plan?


Having just completed a reading of The Prisoner of Azkaban (in French, mind you), I am very comfortable in saying that, by the end of the third book at least, Rowling must have progressed to a pretty impressive level of detail in her planning for the rest of the series. I say this even though I also feel quite strongly that her outline was not very detailed before that point in the writing.


Here's what I think happened:

• Rowling wrote The Philosopher's Stone with a general outline in her mind of what might play out for her characters in the future but without a great deal of detail in that outline. Sure, she might have already developed a pretty fair history for each of her main characters but I don't think she had yet developed the overarching plot of the seven-novel series yet. For example, I think it's indisputable that Jo knew Harry and Voldemort would one day face each other in a battle to the death (she introduces their enmity right at the beginning but does not resolve it at the end of the first book so she must have been planning more and she made it clear that students attended Hogwarts for seven years) but I doubt she had worked out the relationships between James, Lily, Sirius, Remus, Peter and Severus at that point and I simply cannot believe that she had planned the whole Deathly Hallows subplot;
• Rowling wrote The Chamber of Secrets grateful for the success of the first and more confident that she would be permitted to write the entire series;
• By the time she was writing The Prisoner, she knew that the world-wide success of the first two books would give her license to do what she wanted with the series and, as she wrote that third book, she began to plant much stronger, more clear seeds of what was to come in the future books.

As you no doubt are aware, Alan Rickman, the actor who portrayed Snape so memorably in the Harry Potter films, recently passed away and, after this death, it came out that he only accepted the role because, apparently, there were only three books completed at that time (so he didn't know he was enrolling himself in an eight-film commitment) and because Rowling herself told him that there would be more to the character of Snape than was being displayed in those first three novels. In fact, I believe that Rowling herself confirmed that she told Rickman, at that time, what Snape would mean when he told Dumbledore that his patronus would "always" be a doe like Lily's.


Again, I think sometimes Rowling grants herself some license to rewrite history in her recent interviews on Harry Potter but I think, from this particular situation, we can assume that she had worked out, after completing the third novel, much of the Snape-Lily relationship and the sacrifice that went with it.


Further, the end of The Prisoner contains some of the most important seeds that would later grow into key factors in the future of the series.


First, we meet Sirius Black, a character who would play a foundational role in later books. Even more than that, his family is central (in fact, ubiquitous) in the entire Voldemort/Potter story. We learn that, though he is universally believed to be evil, he is in fact good (hmm, sounds familiar, doesn't it Snape lovers?). We also see him forced to flee and put himself into hiding.


Second, we meet Buckbeak, the Hypogriff. Once again, a character who is assumed to be evil but we know to be innocent. Buckbeak too is on the run and he too will play an important role in a later book.


Third, we meet Peter Pettigrew and see Harry spare his life. In a moment of almost (and I mean almost) over-the-top foreshadowing, Dumbledore tells Harry that 1) Voldemort would not like to find out that one of his main servants owes a debt to our young hero and 2) that Pettigrew's debt to Harry will one day be a very important factor in how things play out.


Fourth, we hear the second real prophecy ever delivered by Professor Trelawney, who tells Harry that Pettigrew will escape, join the Dark Lord and help him return to power.


So I think it's pretty clear that, by the time she completed The Prisoner of Azkaban, Rowling had a clear roadmap in her mind for the later books. It still begs the question: at what point prior to the third novel's completion did she start to fill in the details?

Keeping Harry safe from Sirius Black

Let's see now. You are aware that Sirius Black is bent on murdering Harry Potter. You know exactly where Harry Potter is every moment of every day. And you know, after several close calls, that Sirius Black has somehow found a way to get passed Hogwarts' increased security and into the Gryffindor Common Room.


If you are Albus Dumbledore, wouldn't you increase the level of security around Harry himself?


From what I can see in re-reading The Prisoner of Azkaban, there is at no time a focus by school officials on keeping Harry, personally, safe. Sure, they batten down the hatches at the school and bring in the Dementors but they never say to themselves: maybe Harry should be moved to a more secure location when he sleeps, say in Dumbledore's office or somewhere like that.


It's odd. I know, it certainly wouldn't help the suspense much if Harry were completely secure and out of danger. But it would make better sense.

Dumbledore's a crack apparator

Dumbledore's Study at the Harry Potter Studio Tour

When Dumbledore apparates to Privet Drive in the first chapter of The Philosopher's Stone, he does so "so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground".

When Mundungus Fletcher apparates away from Privet Drive at the beginning of The Order of the Phoenix (leaving Harry unprotected in the face of the Dementors), his disapparition is marked by a "loud, echoing crack [that] broke the sleepy silence like a gunshot". Later, J.K. writes that "Harry was sure the cracking noise had been made by someone Apparating or Disapparating."

In fact, the loud noise becomes closely associated with the act of Apparition throughout the remainder of the books.

So how can Dumbledore do it silently?

I would guess that, as the long-time Hogwarts Headmaster is a wizard of exceptional skill and talent, he likely solved the problem on his own to allow himself to appear and disappear silently. This would be a definite advantage to him when dealing with an enemy.

What do you think?

Turning over a new Page

In case you have missed it, we've added a new "Page" to Potter Thoughts: you can find it under the heading "Fan Fiction" to the right of the main text box.

About four years ago, you see, I began working on my own Rowling-world novel which I titled, The Way Forward. This creative effort of fan fiction focuses on some of the secondary characters from the Harry Potter novels, in particular George Weasley, Minerva McGonagall and Aberforth Dumbledore as each tries to deal with the emotional aftermath of the war against Voldemort and the Death Eaters.

It's not a particularly upbeat novel but I very much enjoyed writing it. I never did finish it but, when I found it again the other week, I thought: why don't I share this on my Harry Potter blog?

I'd love it if you would read my work and give me feedback, good or bad. Just remember: I read the seven Harry Potter novels but I do NOT pay particular attention to the thoughts and comments of J.K. Rowling that she has made public since the last novel came out.

In other words, I don't really know what she has said about where each of her characters is intended to end up. So, it is entirely possible that I have some of them say and do things that don't jive with what Rowling has said since she finished writing the books.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy my little effort. I'll be adding more and more every week.

Deathly Hallows films make me cry, for all the wrong reasons

The film version of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows makes me want to cry.

No, not because I'm so upset about the death of Hedwig in the early going. Nor does the sweep of music that accompanies Dobby's last words bring tears to my eyes.

I'm not overwhelmed with emotion when I see the bodies of Fred, Remus and Nymphadora lying on makeshift cots in the Great Hall of Hogwarts in the intermission of the great battle.

And, no, I am absolutely NOT overcome with tears of relief when Voldemort's body finally breaks into little black leaves and floats off into the ether, signifying his final parting from this brave world.

No, I want to cry when I watch the movies of The Deathly Hallows because I HATE THEM SO MUCH. I want to cry because I am so angry at the scriptwriter and director and everyone else associated with the movies for taking our one real chance to translate J.K. Rowling's deep, moving psychological masterpiece of a seventh novel into film and WASTING IT with this ridiculous, corny, over-wrought, under-intellectual piece of revisionist S__T.

And I sincerely wish that J.K. Rowling would come out in public and make even the mildest statement that says she too recognizes how much of a disappointment these last two movies are.

I mean, under perhaps the greatest pressure of expectation any author has ever faced in literary history, Rowling wrote a lovely, fascinating, deep and philosophical novel, one that delivered more action than anyone could ever have hoped for supported by an amazing exploration of love, trust, friendship and camaraderie.

Despite its flaws, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows is, in my humble opinion, a literary masterpiece produced when the author could have hammered out a simple action yarn and most of the world would have been satisfied.

This novel is a credit to Rowling, proof that she is a master writer first and a business person second. She gave the world more, much much more than any one would have required her to give in this final novel for the simple reason that she felt she owed herself, her characters, and us, something fabulous.

So why did she permit the film-makers to turn her final masterwork into this shallow, often silly piece of dreck that leaves out just about every morsel of poetry she lovingly wrote into the book?

Why did she permit them to eviscerate the wonderful philosophical, moral Hallows-vs-Horcruxes story-line, leaving in just enough to make it a mockery of the original?

Why did she let them walk away from the intense internal conflict faced by Harry as he discovered more and more about Dumbledore and his intensely secret ways?

Why did she allow them to turn the Battle of Hogwarts into a mano-a-mano war between Harry and Voldemort when it is clear, in the book, that it is Harry's love for his friends and colleagues, and their love and support for him, that eventually wins the day?

There's so much more (or less) in the movies that I want to complain about but I think I've made my point.

J.K. Rowling's novel, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows is a beautifully paced, philosophically rich poetic piece of writing.

The two films that were made out of this book are simply sad reminders of what could have been, tragic wastes of the opportunity to make something as magic on film as the book is on paper.

Dumbledore and the Diadem... Something got lost

Help me understand something.

In all of the time Dumbledore spends teaching Harry about Voldemort's past and the existence of the Horcruxes, why doesn't Dumbledore ever mention the lost Diadem of Ravenclaw?

Dumbledore takes great care to ensure that Harry learns two things that will help in his search for the Horcruxes: 1) that Voldemort will use important items to create his Horcruxes and 2) that Voldemort has a special affinity for relics related to the four founders of Hogwarts.

The Headmaster identifies three of relics related to the school's founders: Slytherin's locket; Hufflepuff's Cup; and Gryffindor's sword. Only the sword is still safe from Voldemort's clutches.

If there are six Horcruxes, Dumbledore and Harry agree, then they can deduce that they know the identity of five of them: the Diary (destroyed), the Gaunt ring (destroyed), Slytherin's locket, Hufflepuff's Cup; and Nagini. The identity of the sixth remains a mystery but they believe it must be associated with Rowena Ravenclaw, the school's fourth founder.

So why, at that point, does Dumbledore not say, "And I believe it likely to be Ravenclaw's lost diadem" or at least "I would suspect that it might be Ravenclaw's lost diadem if it weren't for the fact that it is, indeed, lost".

The way the scenes between Harry and the Headmaster in The Half-Blood Prince play out, it would appear that Dumbledore is unaware of the existence of, or the legend of, the lost diadem.

And that makes no sense to me. Dumbledore knew more about Hogwarts and its history than anyone. It is not possible that he would be unaware of the diadem and its story. And he was determined to give Harry as much information about the possible location of the Horcruxes as he could. It is also not possible that he forgot to mention the diadem to Harry at that point or chose not to so so.

The only possibility I can think of is that Rowling had not yet conceived of the lost diadem when she wrote the sixth book. That it was simply fortuitous that she had Harry use a tarnished tiara to mark the location in which he hid his potions book in The Half-Blood Prince and that then, when she came up with the idea of having a lost item of Ravenclaw's be the final Horcrux in order to add more suspense to the ending of The Deathly Hallows, she realised that she had already inserted just the thing in her story.

If that is actually what happened, I think it's awesome! I am in awe of Rowling's creativity and care in crafting these incredibly rich, detailed stories. I will be even more in awe if it is confirmed for me that, at the height of her writing, she was able to make such an amazing, inspired connection with an innocuous detail from her earlier novel to such dramatic effect.

But, if not, then Dumbledore should have mentioned the diadem to Harry.

Two awesome scenes between Headmaster and Dark Lord

Two of the most intense individual scenes in The Half-Blood Prince, in the entire seven-novel Harry Potter adventure in fact, play out inside the Pensieve.

In my opinion, the two encounters between Professor Dumbledore and younger versions of Tom Riddle that Harry experiences from within Dumbledore's own memories represent J.K. Rowling's writing at its very best.

The first takes place at the orphanage where Riddle grew up. Dumbledore has arrived to deliver the boy's Hogwarts letter and to explain to him that he is, in fact, "special". It's brilliantly paced and beautifully written.

And it opens with a wonderful moment between Harry and the Headmaster. When Harry first spies the younger Dumbledore on the bustling, old-fashioned London Street, he is amused to see that Dumbledore is sporting a garish plum-coloured velvet suit.

"Nice suit, sir," Harry says "before he could stop himself".

I don't know why, but that line and the fact that Dumbledore "merely chuckled" in response always make me laugh.

And then Rowling moves us directly into the austere and somewhat ramshackle neatness of Mrs. Cole's orphanage and the wonderful scene of Dumbledore plying the good woman with gin, trying his best to wheedle information from her about her youthful charge, Tom Riddle.

The conversation develops in a natural, almost poetic way and, when Mrs. Cole blurts out, "He's definitely got a place at your school", it's a nice, subtle indication of both how much she wants to tell someone of her suspicions respecting young Tom Riddle and how concerned she is to be rid of him.

Rowling is at her best when she finally leads us into Riddle's room. She knows that this a moment her readers have anticipated for some time yet she refuses to permit herself to indulge in any phoney melodrama.

It was a small bare room with nothing in it except an old wardrobe, a wooden chair and an iron bedstead. A boy was sitting on top of grey blankets, his legs stretched out in front of him, holding a book. 

There was no trace of the Gaunt's in Tom Riddle's face. Merope had got her dying wish: he was his handsome father in miniature, tall for eleven years old, dark-haired and pale. His eyes narrowed slightly as he took in Dumbledore's eccentric appearance. There was a moment's silence.

This is wonderful writing. Subtle, almost anti-climactic. The greatest dark wizard of all time is, at this point, just a handsome, quiet boy sitting on a bed.

And the ensuing conversation between the boy and the teacher involves a wonderfully slow evocation of several aspects of Riddle's character, aspects that Dumbledore later takes care to draw to Harry's attention: his independence, his distrust of others, his personal power and the streak of cruelty that comes with it, his certainty that he is, in some way, "special", his wish to impress but his refusal to trust, his interest in collecting trophies to mark his moments of greatest power and cruelty.

And then there are these paragraphs:

"Hogwarts," Dumbledore went on, as though he had not heard Riddle's last words, "is a school for people with special abilities --" 

"I'm not mad! 

"I know you are not mad. Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It is a school of magic." 

There was silence. Riddle had frozen, his face expressionless, but his eyes flickering back and forth between each of Dumbledore's, as though trying to catch one of them lying.

"It's... it's magic, what I can do?"

This is the moment when Riddle finds out just how special he is, when it starts to dawn on him the possibilities that lie in front of him. For Harry, this moment led to a longer period of disbelief (that it simply wasn't true) and worry (that he would fail as a wizard). For Riddle, the moment was confirmation of what he had long believed: that he was special, powerful.

Later in The Half-Blood Prince, Harry experiences a second interview between Dumbledore and Tom Riddle from the past, this one having taken place several years after Riddle, now calling himself Voldemort, had graduated from Hogwarts.

It is another, gripping, evocative scene. And it begins with that wonderful moment when Voldemort asserts himself and his new name, an assertion of power that Dumbledore deftly turns aside.

Harry felt the atmosphere in the room change subtly: Dumbledore's refusal to use Voldemort's chosen name was a refusal to allow Voldemort to dictate the terms of the meeting, and Harry could tell that Voldemort took it as such.

Harry's perception of the incident is, in my opinion, accurate and a reflection of how much Harry had already learned from Dumbledore with regard to the subtle ways power plays out in seemingly harmless conversations. Recall, for a moment, how deftly Harry had handled Rufus Scrimgeour when Scrimgeour had cornered him at the Burrow over Christmas.

Although not as courteous at every moment as his Headmaster, Harry proved himself to be equally adept at controlling the terms of the conversation, using his own silence to keep the Minister for Magic off-balance and uncertain.

Rowling does a wonderful job of building the tension in the Dumbledore-Voldemort scene slowly. She uses small details in the conversation (Dumbledore's refusal to use Voldemort's assumed name, Dumbledore's familiarity with the term "Death Eaters", and Dumbledore's detailed knowledge of the "friends" who had accompanied Voldemort to Hogsmeade and who were waiting for him at the Hog's Head) to render Voldemort increasingly ill-at-ease so that, when Dumbledore finally challenges him to be honest about why he wants to return to Hogwarts and refuses to offer him a job, Voldemort is enraged.

We, like Harry, wonder if Voldemort might draw his wand then and there.

These are two effective, wonderfully written scenes, real to the tiniest detail, enlightening for the reader in so many ways. They are Rowling at her very best.

It's almost like most of what took place in the five and half novels up until that point were leading directly to these moments of intense interaction between these two powerful, yet very different, wizards.

And Rowling doesn't disappoint.

Rowling's missed opportunity in The Half-Blood Prince

I have spent a lot of time trying to figure out why I think that The Half-Blood Prince is the weakest of the seven Harry Potter novels. What is it about this book that simply does not work?

Sure, I've read the critics who disregard THBP as merely a set-up for the grand finale. And I think there's some merit to that argument.

But I think there's something more.

And I also think that, despite its limitations, THBP also has a lot to offer, a lot of really interesting scenes and great writing.

My analysis is by no means complete at this point but, if I had to say today what most concerns me about this novels, I'd have to say that it's the fact that, for the first and only time in the Harry Potter series, the main line of action in the book does not involve Harry, Hermione and Ron directly. In fact, the novel's central plot -- Draco Malfoy's desperate attempt to kill Dumbledore and redeem his family in the eyes of the Dark Lord -- happens almost entirely "off stage", so to speak.

It's an odd choice for Rowling and, in my opinion, a missed opportunity.

J.K. shows, in the first two chapters, that she is willing to permit her narrative voice to venture far away from our hero, Harry. In fact, Harry does not even appear in "The Other Minister" and "Spinner's End" -- in these opening chapters, Rowling presents the story from the perspective of the Muggle Prime Minister and of Narcissa Malfoy and Severus Snape.

What I don't understand is why she then commits herself so firmly and irrevocably to Harry's point of view from the third chapter onward. Especially when the central tale is with Draco, an interesting and enigmatic character who finds himself facing an extremely difficult challenge.

Wouldn't you have loved to have experienced the entire main plot of the sixth book through the eyes of Draco Malfoy, to understand the pressures he is under, the mixture of fear, anger, and desperation he must feel as he tries to figure out a way to accomplish the task set before him?

Wouldn't that have been a fascinating way to see the magical world in the Harry Potter series?

And wouldn't you have been much more caught up in the building suspense of the main plot of the book?

My point is that Rowling set herself a very difficult task in THBP: to try to keep her reader enthralled in the story without actually permitting us to experience in any real, ongoing way the development of that story.

And I think she, for the most part, failed.

I don't think the brief glimpses we see of Draco, the tiny hints to which we become privy throughout the novel, the suspicions of Harry that are brought to our attention but dismissed by everyone else are sufficient to keep us riveted by that story line.

And I don't think that other things Rowling offers in THBP -- the quidditch subplot, the romantic story lines, even the investigation of Voldemort's childhood -- are sufficient to make up for the lack of a gripping main plot.

Is Rowling speaking to us through Arthur Weasley?

I'm not sure what to make of the following passage from The Goblet of Fire:

At this, the Veela lost control. They launched themselves across the pitch, and began throwing what seemed to be handfuls of fire at the leprechauns. Watching through his Omnioculars, Harry saw that they didn't look remotely beautiful now. On the contrary, their faces were elongating into sharp, cruel-beaked bird heads, and long, scaly wings were bursting from their shoulders -- 

'And that, boys,' yelled Mr. Weasley over the tumult of the crowd below, 'is why you should never go for looks alone!'

I have to admit, I don't like the implication that could be drawn from what Mr. Weasley is saying -- physically attractive people are often evil monsters underneath -- and I particularly don't like the fact that he aims this advice at the boys in the group, leaving out the two girls, Hermione and Ginny.

Before I go into that, however, I will state that my even bigger concern is what this could say about the author, J.K. Rowling herself.

Now, I'm the last person in the world to read a novel and immediately attribute anything and everything that is said in the book (either by individual characters or even the narrator) to the author, but we have already seen that Rowling often puts her philosophy, her thoughts and ideas and opinions, into the mouths of certain of her adult characters.

Certainly, Albus Dumbledore is one such character. I think we can safely argue that Rowling uses Dumbledore to voice her perspective quite often throughout the novels. I would argue that J.K., to a lesser or greater extent, often uses other adult characters who take on parental roles in Harry's life (such as Arthur Weasley, Molly Weasley, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin) to fulfil a similar function: to inject into the narrative the author's perspective and philosophy.

So is Arthur Weasley the voice of the author in this scene? Is he speaking a life-lesson not just to the boys in his family but also to all boys reading the novel?

I hope to goodness that is not Rowling's intention since I find the sentiments expressed (that beauty often hides evil, that feminine beauty, in fact, often hides evil while masculine beauty does not, etc.) highly offensive.

But, if the intention here is not to express the author's philosophy, why is Mr. Weasley's comment included at all? It's not funny. It doesn't tell us anything about the Veela or the situation that is evolving at that moment.

The only thing the comment does is make us think a little less of Arthur Weasley. I've written on other occasions how I often feel Mr. Weasley is not portrayed as a particularly admirable character in these books but this is a low point even for him.

The passage also raises another, less serious question: if pure-bred Veela turn into nasty bird-creatures when angered, what happens to part-Veelas like Fleur Delacour when she gets mad?

How long does it take to produce a portrait?

I'm confused by the portraits that hang in the Hogwarts headmaster's office.

Okay, maybe I'm not confused by the portraits themselves but I'm confused by the process by which they are created.

And especially how long it takes after the death of a headmaster for his or her portrait to appear.

As we all know (I won't give a 'spoiler alert' since anyone who has read this far into this entry must have read all the Harry Potter books at least once), Dumbledore dies near the end of The Half-Blood Prince.

If I understand the 'Avada Kedavra' curse properly, it kills the instant it strikes its victim. So Dumbledore was dead even as his body was "blasted into the air" by Snape's curse, before it disappears over the battlements and ends up lying at the foot of the tower.

By the time Harry makes his way with now Headmistress McGonagall to the Headmistress' office just 27 pages later (in my paperback edition), Dumbledore's portrait is already hanging on the wall behind the desk. I take it that the position directly above/behind the desk is the place of honour for the last Headmaster but I may be wrong about that.

In those 27 pages, Harry fought his way out of the castle in pursuit of Snape, engaged in several duels with Snape and others, helped Hagrid put out the fire that was engulfing his house, returned to the crowd surrounding Dumbledore's body, then made his way up to the hospital wing to see poor Bill and sat with the Weasley family through Fleur's revelation of the true depth of her love for Bill.

Let's say that entire process took, what, two hours at most? Perhaps not even that long since Rowling says that the office, when Harry and McGonagall enter it, "looked exactly as it had done when he and Dumbledore had left it mere hours previously" and those "mere hours" also included the fateful trip to the cave for the locket.

Okay, so the process of creating a portrait of a headmaster takes at most two hours from the moment of death to the appearance of the portrait in the office. Right?

Now let's move forward to The Deathly Hallows and (no spoiler alert) the death of Headmaster Snape.

Snape dies of wounds he receives from Nagini.  Immediately thereafter, Voldemort calls for a cease-fire in the battle and gives Harry one hour two join him in the Forbidden Forest, or else the Dark Lord will join the battle himself.

Harry goes almost directly to the Headmaster's office to use the Pensieve. When he gets there, he finds every portrait absent, every frame empty. Harry "glances hopeless at Dumbledore's deserted frame, which hung directly behind the Headmaster's chair". So it hasn't moved to make room for a new portrait, one of Snape. And there's no mention of a new frame, even an empty one, where Snape might have hung.

Okay, so Harry takes a full hour to view Snape's memories, gird himself and walk into the Forest to face his death. He confronts Voldemort just as the hour expires. It would appear that the scene at King's Cross with Dumbledore takes no time whatsoever, since Harry returns to the Forest mere seconds after his duel with Voldemort.

So we're still at an hour. But then there follow a series of scenes that take some time. In fact, when Harry finally defeats Voldemort, the victory occurs just as the rising sun bursts into the Great Hall. So it's morning.

And Rowling then writes that "[t]he sun rose steadily over Hogwarts, and the Great Hall blazed with light and life." News comes in from every corner "as the morning drew on".

So, by the time that Harry, Ron and Hermione finally make their way to the Headmaster's Office for their final chat with Dumbledore's portrait, anywhere from three to say 12 hours have passed since Snape's death.

And yet... no sign of Snape's portrait. Dumbledore still sits in the "largest portrait directly behind the Headmaster's chair".

If Dumbledore's portrait can appear in two hours or less, why does it take so long for Snape's to appear?

Four possibilities: 1) Snape's portrait is there but Harry simply does not notice it and Snape chooses to say nothing; 2) Snape's portrait is delayed because the portrait painter is otherwise occupied (in the battle and the celebration that follows, perhaps): 3) Snape will never get a portrait because he was not a true Hogwart's headmaster; or 4) Snape isn't dead.

With regard to 1), I doubt it. Harry would notice it or at least Snape would not be able to stay quiet. I would also think that Harry, having seen all that Snape had done for him, would have taken the opportunity to thank him at the end of the book.

As to 2), I guess it's possible. I always thought that the portraits were produced by some magic of Hogwarts itself, not by an individual witch or wizard. But it is possible it was delayed.

I don't buy 3) because Harry himself, in the epilogue, tells little Albus Severus: "you were named for two headmasters of Hogwarts. One of them was a Slytherin and he was probably the bravest man I ever knew." So Snape was, indeed, a Headmaster.

As for 4), hmmm.... In describing Snape's death earlier, Rowling wrote: "after a second something in the depths of the dark pair seemed to vanish, leaving them fixed, blank and empty. The hand holding Harry thudded to the floor, and Snape moved no more." Snape sounds pretty dead to me.

So I guess it must be 3) after all. What do you think?

Harry, Dumbledore and the Resurrection Stone

I have a question. When Harry walks into the Forbidden Forest to face his death near the end of The Deathly Hallows and turns the Resurrection Stone thrice in his hand, why doesn't he invite Albus Dumbledore back from death as well as his mother, father, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin?

I think it's really nice, and quite fitting, that Harry calls back those four people.

But why not Dumbledore, the man about whom he has been mooning for the entire duration of the book? It doesn't make sense. Given the opportunity to talk to someone, anyone who is already dead, why wouldn't he choose to talk to the man with all the answers?

It's strange. It doesn't make sense, really, when you consider where Harry's mind has been for months prior to that pivotal moment. I think it's a lovely scene as written (and as filmed, to be honest), but it doesn't seem right to me.

What does George know about the Basilisk?

Does George Weasley have some extra sense that no one else shares? Does he have some understanding of  the dark arts that everyone else lacks?

Stupid questions?

Maybe. But consider this.

There's a point about two-thirds of the way through The Chamber of Secrets, when Harry is feared to be the Heir of Slytherin and no one, not Albus Dumbledore nor even Hermione Granger herself, has figured out what creature dwells within the fabled Chamber. Fred and George have decided to have fun with everyone's fear of Harry by loudly telling people to get out of his way as he makes his way through the halls of the school.

Percy attempts to intervene but George tells him to to get out of Harry's way because Harry is "nipping off to the Chamber of Secrets for a cup of tea with his fanged servant."

Hmmm... "fanged servant", eh?

As you will recall, the creature in the Chamber was, in fact, a Basilisk, a massive snake with long, curving fangs, deathly poison and a killer glance. But, at the time of George's comment, the only thing anybody knew about the creature was that it had petrified a number of people.

Nobody had been bitten; no blood had been spilt.

So help me to understand why George would refer to the creature as Harry's "fanged servant".

A good guess, probably. Merely a coincidence.

Or did George know something more?

How real is Harry's response to his impending death?

A friend at work recently read The Half-Blood Prince and The Deathly Hallows for the first time. I know: amazing to think that anyone out there hasn't already read all of J.K.'s novels!

This friend is a highly intelligent, quite thoughtful man who has an interesting way of seeing the world and whose opinions I respect. Thus, when he made an offhand comment that he felt that Harry seemed a little too mature in the way he faced his death in the final novel, I felt I had to take this comment seriously

I asked him to explain what he meant. He pointed out that Harry, at that point, is merely 17 years old and, despite his rather event-filled life, it seemed hard to believe Harry would be able to 1) accept the fact that Dumbledore had been planning for him to die right from the start and 2) face his death with such seeming equanimity. It's an interesting point.

But also one with which, having considered it seriously for several days now, I find myself having to disagree. I don't think Harry's behaviour at that point belied his tender age; I think it spoke volumes about the depth (and depths) of his experience. Harry might be 17 at that point but, by then, he had suffered more in his life than most people do over their 80 years on earth.

I won't recite here all the challenges he's faced (anyone who would spend time reading a Harry Potter blog is already fully familiar with Harry's life-time of tribulations and suffering) but I can't imagine that the Harry Potter I know so well after reading his exploits in those seven books responding to the situation he is presented with at the end of Book Seven in any way but the way he does.

Harry is not entirely without emotion in these scenes; in fact, he mentions numerous times how difficult he was finding it to drag himself away from this friends and the fight. But he finds his strength with the Resurrection Stone and the four people who have been together for so long, first supporting each other, then him since they met at Hogwarts years before.

I actually find J.K.'s depiction of Harry's mental state at that crucial moment to be entirely convincing. It is absolutely real for me, right down to the maturity with which he faces his impending death. It is true to the soul of this young man that he would choose to walk into the woods and face his death once he realises that he must die to protect his friends and loved ones from further harm. I still respect my friend and his opinions; I just disagree with him on this point. Very strongly disagree, in fact.

Harry wouldn't be Harry without the Dark Lord

How do you think Harry would have turned out if there had been no Voldemort to tear his life apart? if he had been raised by his parents rather than by the Dursleys?

I'm not sure he would have turned out all that well.

Harry spends a lot of time across the seven novels wondering about what his life would have been like if his parents had lived, if he had grown up in a happy home with his mother and father, without a scar, perhaps even with a brother or sister or two as part of his life.

On the other hand, Albus Dumbledore spends a lot of time throughout the seven books telling Harry that it is precisely the fact that he is who he is, that he has a great capacity for love and little or no inclination to focus on himself, to be selfish and self-centred, that makes him so uniquely qualified to overcome the challenges that he faces.

Even as early as book one, The Philosopher's Stone, Dumbledore gambles on Harry's innate goodness and selflessness in making sure that the Stone can be acquired from the Mirror only by one who wishes to possess it but not use it.

When Voldemort attempts to inhabit Harry's mind and body in book five, The Order of the Phoenix, it is Harry's great capacity to love that makes his possession intolerable to the Dark Lord.

And, as Dumbledore so carefully explains in King's Cross at the end of The Deathly Hallows, Harry's goodness makes him worthy of uniting the Hallows in a manner that Dumbledore himself failed.

My point is, Harry becomes this unusually selfless and caring person, this person with such an enormous capacity to love others and put their needs above his own, as a product of his childhood spent in the cold, harsh household of the Dursleys. Had he not gone through the trauma of that experience, would he really be the person so worthy of taking Voldemort down time and again?

I'm not so sure. After all, look at the people who would have been around to influence him in that alternative, early life. James Potter was no saint as a child and young man. In fact, we learn in Book Six that Harry's father was a somewhat foppish, arrogant bully while at Hogwarts and that his godfather, Sirius, was a vain, idle young man who looked upon the world with a boredom verging on complete dismissal of those around him, but for his chosen few.

Would Lily, Harry's mother, whose virtue is never really questioned, have been able to exert sufficient influence on Harry to stop him from becoming as aggressive and self-centred a young man as his father once was?

I doubt it.

So we end up with J.K.'s ultimate irony: Voldemort did more than mark Harry as his equal when he murdered James and Lily and left the lightning scar on baby Harry's forehead; the Dark Lord created the circumstances that would ensure Harry gained the very qualities (selflessness and a great capacity for love and self-sacrifice) that would make Harry worthy of overcoming the challenges that his difficult life would present him and ultimately defeating the Dark Lord.

Rowling sets a clear path at the end of Book Four

As anyone who has been reading this blog will now, I'm very interested in the question of how much of the seven-novel story arc J.K. had planned from the beginning and how much sort of fell into place as the writing progressed.

As a writer myself, I'm fascinated by the writing process. As a writer myself, I'm in awe of Rowling's accomplishment with this fantastic series of books.

But I'm not convinced that she had anything but a vague idea of what the future novels might hold while she was writing the first book. I think she had in mind a seven-year cycle (one book for each year Harry was at Hogwarts) and she knew that the Potter-Voldemort story would form the backbone of the narrative as the books progressed.

I just don't believe that, beyond those basic principles, Rowling had much more of the story planned as she wrote the first, second and even third novels in the series.

Then we come to Book Four, The Goblet of Fire. This is where she started pulling things together and developing a clear plan of how the last three books would play out. I've just finished reading this fourth novel and I found the final scenes in the hospital wing to lay out an absolute route map for the final three books.

It is clear to me from these scenes that Rowling, by this point, had figured out the major events of the rest of her story.

In these hospital scenes, she carefully plants the seeds for the rift that develops between Fudge and Dumbledore in the following novel, the slow coming together of the armies of good and evil, the interference of the Ministry at Hogwarts and the challenges Harry faces at school in the coming years.

I think it is interesting as well that Snape is, at the end of the fourth book, so clearly on the side of Dumbledore that we should, if we as readers were thinking clearly, never doubt his allegiance again.

Faced with a disbelieving Minister for Magic and a dead Barty Crouch Jr., Snape rolls up his sleeve and shows Fudge his Dark Mark, explains what it is and what it means, and tries desperately to convince Fudge that Harry and Dumbledore are right in saying Voldemort has returned.

How can we ever doubt Snape again? And yet we do. And that's the brilliance of Rowling's writing.

Teddy Lupin: Harry Potter, the Next Generation?

How did I not recognise this? It's sitting there, staring me in the face! Once you see it, it is so obvious you're amazed you didn't notice it as soon as you read the seventh book.

Teddy Lupin is the next generation of the Harry Potter character.

Orphaned in the final battle against the Death Eaters, son of two of Voldemort's staunchest opponents, left to fend for himself in the magical world. With Harry Potter as his god father.

I have to credit Emily and Clare for opening my eyes to this fact this past Christmas. They pointed it out as we watched the extras to The Deathly Hallows, Part 2.

It's brilliant. And it speaks so much to how J.K. Rowling imagined her magical world continuing to develop, even after the end of Voldemort.

If the death of the Dark Lord represents the final defeat of the "pure blood" movement, then it also represents the beginning of the fight against other forms of oppression in the magical world, including the oppression of Goblins, House Elves, Centaurs and, yes, Werewolves.

Teddy Lupin represents that future.

It's interesting to note that there are at least three examples in the Harry Potter novels where Werewolves are allowed to join wizarding communities:
- Remus Lupin is, of course, the most famous example, welcomed by Albus Dumbledore to Hogwarts as a student and, later, as a teacher, befriended by James, Sirius and Peter while at school, a respected member of the Order of the Phoenix in both wars against darkness;
- Voldemort and his Death Eaters, the champions of the pure blood cause, include Fenrir Greyback in their army, although it is clear from the way Greyback is treated by Bellatrix at Malfoy Manor that the Werewolf is not seen as an equal; and
- I believe that there was a Werewolf guest at one of Slughorn's parties: Sanguini, wasn't it? Sorry, I don't have access to my books right now and the internet is not helpful on this score.

I think it would be very interesting if someone were to write a fairly serious novel following Teddy Lupin and the challenges he faces growing up in a society that is still not particularly tolerant of his racial background. It could be a real metaphor for the modes of oppression people currently face in our own society.

And, of course, in writing that book, the author could also have some fun with the idea that Teddy is really Harry, the next generation.

Harry Potter Uncut and the Parallels with Star Wars

The similarities between the Harry Potter series and Star Wars just keep popping out at me.

I just stumbled upon this website (www.starwarsuncut.com), which offers the original Star Wars movie, later subtitled "A New Hope", completely refilmed in a world-wide smashup of styles. The organiser divided George Lucas' epic film into 15-second segments, then asked people from all over the world to sign up to recreate each segment in their own fashions. He then collected the resulting pieces and sewed them together in to a single film, a bizarre and bizarrely effective retelling of the original.

The result is hilarious, often surprising and sometimes artistically impressive. It's worth a look.

But, as I watched the final film, I couldn't help but notice all of the small details that Rowling seems to have adopted, adapted or paid homage to in her novels.

Most striking to me was Obi Wan's whispered assurance to Luke that "the Force will always be with you" as the film draws to a close.

It reminded me so strongly of Albus Dumbledore's repeated assurance to Harry that "help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for/deserve it".

I know, the words are very different but the sentiment, and the situation, are very similar.

I'm not suggesting that Rowling did anything inappropriate (no more than Lucas did when he borrowed so heavily from Akira Kurosawa's film, The Hidden Fortress, in writing Star Wars). I'm just saying that the parallels between these two great stories are interesting and often amazing.

Even more amazing to me is the fact that not one contributor to Star Wars Uncut seems to have seen the Harry Potter parallels and included references to it in their contribution to the film. Goodness knows there are enough Star Trek references littered throughout the final version of Star Wars Uncut!

Is it possible to forgive Lucius Malfoy? Twice?

So what do we think of the Malfoy family?

J.K seems to go to some lengths to ensure that we know they survive the war and become a part of the post-Voldemort world:

- After the great war is over and Voldemort has been killed, we find Draco and his parents, Narcissa and Lucius, sitting in the Great Hall at Hogwarts with the rest of the war survivors, "huddled together as though unsure whether or not they were supposed to be there";
- And Draco even appears in the Epilogue to Book Seven, 19 years later with his wife and young son, Scorpius.

What is Rowling trying to tell us?

At one point or another in the seven books, Lucius and Draco tried to kill Harry at least once each. As one of the lead Death Eaters, Lucius was likely responsible for the deaths of any number of people.

And yet, after all that, through no great act of contrition whatsoever, there they are at the end, alive and well.

What do we make of that? What is Rowling trying to say?

That, after any war, we all must find a way to co-exist, get along with our former enemies? That, in a war, our behaviour is not necessarily a true indication of our character?

Voldemort rose, gathered followers and did enormous harm to his society, killing hundreds of people along the way. After the Dark Lord's power collapsed in his confrontation with baby Harry, society attempted to heal itself by putting the worst of Voldemort's followers in prison but also by repatriating the vast majority of the Death Eaters into the community.

The magical world forgave most of the enemy.

Imagine the feelings of anger and betrayal when, less than two decades later, those same people to whom society once offered forgiveness and a new chance rejoined the forces of evil and attempted once again to destroy the society entirely.

I can't imagine that Lucius Malfoy was so easily forgiven this time.

Is it possible that Rowling expects us to assume that Lucius was sent to prison again for his repeated crimes and that Draco alone, as a result of his several somewhat noble acts (like refusing to kill Dumbledore, failing to identify Harry to Bellatrix at Malfoy Manor) was himself forgiven and welcomed back into magical society?

Pondering the value of the Deathly Hallows to Book 7

I've had several conversations recently about the final novel and the real value of the Deathly Hallows to the whole Harry Potter story.

One respected friend suggested to me that, while she enjoyed the introduction of the mythic Deathly Hallows to the stories, she felt that J.K. ended up rushing the final couple of Horcruxes to make room and time for the Hallows.

Another respected friend said she felt that the final novel would have been just as good without the whole Deathly Hallow hoopla, since, in her opinion, the Deathly Hallows seemed like a late addition and ultimately added nothing at all to the story.

Here are my thoughts.

I feel that the final novel was about Harry proving himself to be worthy of the Deathly Hallows (in a way that Albus Dumbledore was not) and, therefore, the right person to defeat Voldemort. The novel clearly shows Harry to be torn between pursuing the Hallows and finding the remaining Horcruxes, a tension that is only finally resolved at Shell Cottage when Harry chooses to speak to Griphook first, thus allowing Voldemort to reach the Elder Wand before him.

As a result, I think the Deathly Hallows were incredibly important to Rowling's plan for both plot and character. Harry had to prove himself by choosing to follow a path that would lead to the death of Voldemort rather than pursuing the Hallows which would protect him from death. It is important, furthermore, that the Dark Lord chases the Elder Wand with a panicked obsession but proves to know nothing about the other Hallows, showing his limitations in seeing no value in what he would consider to be mere children's stories.

That being said, I agree that the final novel does sacrifice some detail in the pursuit and destruction of the final horcruxes (the destruction of Hufflepuff's Cup is not even shown 'on-screen' in the novel; we are merely told about it later), a development which I find takes away from the effectiveness of the book.

Further, I think it would have been more effective and convincing, as my second friend suggests, if Rowling had managed to incorporate some references to the Deathly Hallows, or at least their symbol, into the earlier novels. For example, Viktor Krum could have been shown confronting a Durmstrang student for wearing the symbol in The Goblet of Fire, rather than simply telling Harry about such an incident in the final novel.

I also find it hard to forget that, when Harry first opens up the parcel containing his father's Invisibility Cloak, Ron exclaims that such cloaks are "really rare", not one of a kind. This suggests to me that J.K. did not, at that time, have the Deathly Hallows in mind. The Invisibility Cloak was merely a valuable rarity, not a legendary item.

Wouldn't it have been great if Ron had told Harry, at that very early point, that one of the children's stories his mother used to read to him discussed an Invisibility Cloak? Now that would have been amazing evidence of Rowling's careful planning.