Wondering who killed Ariana Dumbledore

This priori incantatem spell is still hanging around in the back of my head.

A useful little spell, isn't it? It causes a wand to spew forth, in reverse chronological order, all of the spells it has cast in the past. How far back it goes, I don't think is ever established, but it can be used in a variety of ways to understand how events transpired, to interact with people who died under that wand, to prove guilt or innocence even.

Useful, yes, but not used often enough, I think.

For example, the events of The Half-Blood Prince and The Deathly Hallows establish very clearly that Albus Dumbledore is haunted by the death of his sister, Ariana, and the thought, the fear that he himself could possibly have cast the spell that killed her.

His fear and remorse show themselves when he drinks the potion that protects the Slytherin's Locket in the middle of the lake in the cave by the seaside. He becomes emotional again in the "King's Cross" scene at the end of The Deathly Hallows, telling Harry that he fears that he himself cast the spell that killed Ariana.

Which begs the question: why, at some point in the 100 or so years between the Ariana's death and Dumbledore's own demise, did he not think simply to perform priori incantatem on his own wand and perhaps on Aberforth's as well. I will accept that Dumbledore would not have had access to Grindelwald's original wand but, if he tested both his own and his brother's, that should be sufficient to prove who cast the killing spell.

Okay, if priori incantatem is time-limited (or limited in the number of spells it can spew forth), perhaps Dumbledore could run out of time... but why wouldn't he think of it immediately after Ariana's death? He was a masterful wizard at the time. Perhaps he was too distraught and, by the time he thought of using this spell on his own wand, he had run out of time.

The situation begs another question: in all of Harry Potter lore, we have seen only one spell that kills its target (Avada Kedavra) -- does Dumbledore's reaction to his possible part in Ariana's death mean that he, Aberforth and Grindelwald were duelling to the death that fateful day?

Were all three of them throwing the Avada Kedavra around as they fought a boys' fight?

Or is is possible that an already weakened Ariana succumbed to a lesser spell?

The Burrow burnt; the Burrow rebuilt

So I'm watching the last three Harry Potter films... just because. I don't particularly like them but, once in a while, I feel the need to see them again. Especially when I am re-reading the novels.

As I read The Half-Blood Prince (in French), I thought I'd throw in the Blu Ray of the movie version, which led to where I am now, with The Deathly Hallows, Part I, in the Blu Ray player, watching the opening scenes.

And it occurs to me, as it has several times before, to ask the question: if the film-makers decided to take the creative liberty in the sixth movie of introducing an all new scene in which Bellatrix, Greyback and several other Death Eaters attack and finally burn the Burrow to the ground, why is that particular domicile back at the start of the seventh film, rebuilt exactly as it was?

The Burrow was always, in novels and films, a ramshackle collection of rooms, pieced together over years and years, making no sense, comfortable almost in spite of itself. In the books, it never burned so there was no reason for Mr. and Mrs. Weasley to rebuild it into a more practical, more comfortable structure.

In the film, however, we see the Burrow completely engulfed in flames and we get a close up of Molly Weasley, standing by, helpless, as it burns to ashes.

By the time the seventh film starts, however, the Burrow is back in one piece. Exactly the same ramshackle, ill-designed piece that burned only a few months before. Why not improve it? Why not make it a more sturdy structure, bigger, better designed,with better flow, better light, better everything?

Sure, you can tell me that the Weasley's made the decision to rebuild the Burrow exactly as it was before out of a sense of history, of sentiment, of not wanting to lose their "home". But it makes no sense to me.

Is it possible the film-makers simply forgot that they burned it to the ground????

Is Snape really speaking directly to the readers?

Do you think it's possible that J.K. Rowling wrote the scene near the start of The Half-Blood Prince in which Narcissa and Bellatrix visit Snape at least in part to respond to suspicions raised by her readers?

As you no doubt know, the question of whether or not Snape is on the side of good or the side of evil is one of the principal tensions that underlies the greater story arc of the seven Harry Potter novels and one that the author cultivates very carefully.

Rowling is so effective at maintaining that tension, at keeping the truth hidden, that the revelation of Snape's true story at the climax of The Deathly Hallows is one of many emotional highlights of the entire series.

By the time J.K. started to write the six novel, the Snape conundrum was already the subject of much discussion and debate among fans. Rowling gives us a great deal of material to support the argument that Snape is a Death Eater and has not renounced his evil ways. She also gives us some grounds to support the argument that he is not, grounds that many readers latched onto to suggest that Rowling (as an extremely clever writer) was pulling the wool over our eyes.

In the scene at Spinner's End, Rowling gives Snape the chance to defend himself from those who argue that he is not a true Death Eater, that he is a spy for Dumbledore. And she does it very cleverly, by having another major, fearsome character challenge him with just the kinds of suspicions that her readers had at that point in time.

It's a great scene. And an effective one. Snape takes the time to address everyone one of Bella's concerns and, in doing so, convinces the reader as well.

Amazingly, one of the main planks of Snape's argument is that Voldermort himself has accepted Snape's explanations. We are convinced because Voldemort has been convinced.

Rowling quite brilliantly address our concerns as readers by referring to an authority that she herself created. I don't know about you but, when I first read the Spinner's End scene in THBP, I said to myself: "That's right. Snape convinced Voldemort so he can't possibly be a spy for Dumbledore. The Dark Lord would be able to see right through any form of deception".

And I was satisfied with that. As Rowling wished me to be. And I was blown away by the revelation at the end of the series.

It's great writing. But I also wonder if it was writing that responded to the fans of the books (a consideration outside the magical world of the novels) as much as to the reality created within the book itself.

Hmmm....

A chance Potter encounter in a strange place

I am currently reading The Half-Blood Prince in French. Yes, I've made it that far... I am quite proud of myself and very much enjoying this new way of reading Harry Potter.

And it led to an interesting conversation with a blood technician at our local hospital. I was sent, you see, to have blood drawn for some routine tests and, thinking I would likely have to wait in several lines for an hour or more at the hospital, I brought my HP book with me..

Surprise! Surprise!

With their new scheduling and check-in system, the hospital has actually managed to streamline its process immensely and I spent no longer than 5 minutes in total waiting. Impressive.

It turns out the young technician who took my blood was both a native French speaker and a Harry Potter fan. He spotted my book immediately and complimented my on my taste in literature. This led to a conversation about what it's like to read Harry Potter originally in French.

He laughed at my questions about the challenges posed by reading an English book in its French translation in which, while most characters speak English, several recurring characters speak French or, at times, English with a French accent.

I asked him specifically how a French reader would deal with the situation, as takes place in The Goblet of Fire, where the main characters (who are English but, in the French translation, are speaking French) encounter a group of Beauxbatons students (who are French and are, in the French translation, are still speaking French) and yet cannot understand each other.

He thought it was an interesting question. "I guess," he said, his eyes wide, "that we just naturally read it with the understanding that they are speaking different languages, even though they are both written as if they are speaking French."

Then he realised how bizarre his statement sounded and laughed out loud.

But it made sense to me. In order to cope, French readers of Harry Potter must make some mental note that differentiates between the English speaking characters and the French speaking ones.

It was a fun and interesting conversation, one that made what I had anticipated would be a difficult experience actually rather enjoyable.

Two other thoughts that arose in this context:

1. Despite the fact that I have always been angry that Scholastic Books in the U.S. required that the original books be "Americanized" for publication in the States, I have come to realise that it would be more profitable if I treated the Scholastic Books version as translations of the original: from English to American.

2. On several occasions now, I have noticed that the French translator (Menard) has substituted appropriate French metaphors and sayings for the English ones that Rowling originally included. There is so much more to translating a novel than simply translating the words!!!!

Adrenaline? or swimming lessons?

When did Harry learn to swim?

In the fabulous cave scene at the end of The Half-Blood Prince, Harry swims through treacherous sea waters, from the rock onto which he and Dumbledore had just apparated, across a narrow stretch of water and into a fissure that eventually leads to a set of steps onto a rocky shore in the middle of a cave.

Rowling says that Harry was weighed down by his waterlogged clothes as he swam, that he "struck out" to follow Dumbledore (who, quite charmingly, was doing "a perfect breaststroke" with his wand held between his teeth), that he "continued to swim" in the "icy" water with "benumbed fingers" before seeing Dumbledore "rising out of the water ahead" and then following him.

What with the dangerous, icy water, the weight of his clothes, and the fact that Dumbledore is able to get quite far ahead of him, this sounds like quite a challenging swim.

Even more impressive, on the way back, Harry must carry the weight of a weak, faint Head Master as he swims back from the cave to the rock before apparating back to Hogsmeade.

It's an excellent, exciting part of the novel and leads directly into the incredible climax involving Death Eaters in Hogwarts.

But when did Harry learn to swim?

In book four, The Goblet of Fire, Rowling writes the following passage to describe Harry's reaction upon deducing that the second task in the Tri-Wizard Tournament would involve swimming into the lake on the grounds of Hogwarts:

But [Harry] suddenly realized what he was saying, and he felt the excitement drain out of him as though someone had just pulled a plug in his stomach. He wasn't a very good swimmer; he'd never had much practice. Dudley had had lessons in their youth, but Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, no doubt hoping that Harry would drown one day, hadn't bothered to give him any. A couple of lengths of this bath was all very well, but that lake was very large, and very deep...

In two years, Harry has gone from someone whose stomach drops at the thought of being required to swim any distance to someone who can swim a fair distance through frigid, dangerous waters, carrying the weight of a fully-grown adult who is incapable of swimming on his own.

I guess you could argue that, when the need is that great, adrenaline would permit Harry to swim that distance, carrying Dumbledore... but it seems our beloved author missed something between these two stories, doesn't it?

The little details should have given Snape away

What was I thinking? How did I miss this? How did I fail to ask questions?

In the long passage in The Half-Blood Prince in which Dumbledore and Harry discuss the implications of the full Slughorn memory and the fact that Voldemort appears to be planning to make no fewer than six Horcruxes, the Head Master makes several comments that should, in my numerous earlier readings of the book, have made me stop and ask questions.

"When Voldemort discovered that the diary had been mutilated and robbed of all its powers, I am told that his anger was terrible to behold," Voldemort tells Harry at one point in the conversation.

Wait a minute, I should have said. Hold on there, Dumbledore. Who told you how Voldemort reacted to the news that Lucius Malfoy had permitted the diary to be destroyed? Who was there to "behold" Voldemort's terrible anger and then tell you about it?

But I didn't. I missed it. I failed to see the hint that J.K. Rowling laid down so subtly that, no matter what I saw and heard in Chapter Two, Severus Snape was actually still working for Dumbledore.

Who else could have given Dumbledore this tidbit of information from the inner sanctum of the Dark Lord? Who else could possibly have been there to behold the incident and then report it back to the Hogwarts Head Master?

Later in the same scene, Dumbledore drops another clue: "I understand that Voldemort had told him [Lucius Malfoy] the diary would cause the Chamber of Secrets to reopen, because it was cleverly enchanted."

'You understand from whom?' I should have asked. 'That's pretty specific knowledge of the details of what the Dark Lord said to one of this closest companions about one of his most important possessions. You couldn't become acquainted with that level of detail from a simple rumour, from third-hand reports.'

Remarkable. It's one of the most amazing things about Rowling as a writer of suspense: she has this uncanny knack of dropping little hints, tiny clues, minuscule details innocuously into seemingly much more important passages so that the reader does not pick up on them on first, second or third read, yet might some day (like today) realize just how important those hints, clues and details are to the story.

She makes her stories so exciting that it is impossible to slow yourself down and pay attention to the minute details yet she rewards such attention to detail with clear indications of what is really going on.

A clever opening scene

The first chapter of The Half-Blood Prince is, for me, more evidence of the kind of clever, thoughtful writer J.K. Rowling really is.

Coming off what turned out to be the longest novel in the series, she sat down to write THBP facing the challenge of getting across a great deal of information to her reader while not falling into the trap of providing a long, drawn out expository passage with little action to open the novel.

So she created something entirely new, something that very cleverly incorporates small pieces of plot that she had dropped into earlier novels and that her readers probably didn't even notice the first time around.

Rowling created the relationship between the Muggle Prime Minister and the "Other Minister", the Minister of Magic. Drawing most directly from the mention in The Prisoner of Azkaban that the Muggle Prime Minister had been alerted of Sirius Black's escape from the wizard prison, she introduced the sixth book with a fun and funny, but also informative, scene wherein Fudge visits the Prime Minister to explain what has been going on and to introduce, at the end of it, Rufus Scrimgeour, Fudge's replacement as Minister of Magic.


The scene is expressed as a combination of flashback (a clever way for Rowling to recap some of the most significant events of the earlier novels) and conversation, in which a bewildered Muggle Minister tries to figure out his bizarre new guests. It is significant to note that this chapter is told entirely from the point of view of the Muggle -- this gives Rowling the chance to show us clearly how the non-magical world understands (or fails to understand or even acknowledge) the magical world.


Earlier, we encountered Voldemort, Wormtail and Nagini from the point of view of Muggle Frank Bryce in The Goblet of Fire; this scene at the start of THBP is, to my recollection at least, only the second time in which Rowling writes for an extended period from the Muggle point of view.

In 17 short, lively pages, Rowling manages to provide her reader with a great deal of information about all that has taken place since the end of The Order of the Phoenix, including the escape and subsequent recapture of the Death Eaters, the re-emergence of Voldemort, the murder of Amelia Bones and Emmeline Vance, the possible presence of one or more giants in England, the revolt of the Dementors and the attempts by Voldemort to take over the Ministry.

She also makes it clear that the relationship between Dumbledore and Scrimgeour is not particularly comfortable.

It's an awesomely creative scene. It explains both what has happened since the last book ended and how the relationship works between the two governments: muggle and magical. It introduces us to Scrimgeour and tells us that the levels of violence and murder in the books are to rise once again.

And it delivers all of that in a very fast-paced, interesting fashion.

It's a great piece of writing.

And it's followed very quickly by a second great piece of writing: chapter two of THBP, "Spinner's End". More on that in my next entry.

The most magical of magic potions was a dramatic mistake

Sometimes I feel like I have to start a post with a reminder to everyone of how much I love the Harry Potter novels and how much I respect J.K. Rowling as a writer.

Her seven-novel sequence is a triumph, both from a dramatic standpoint and from the standpoint of outstanding writing in a technical sense.

I think all of us wannabe writers out here can learn a great deal from Rowling and her works because they are so outstanding. But, if we can learn from the strengths of the Potter novels, we can also learn from some of the less successful stuff in them as well.

And, as I mentioned in my last post, I think Rowling fell into traps on several occasions, introducing an element into her magical world that might work very well dramatically in the story in which it is introduced but that can become a bit of a problem over the course of the entire story line.

I think the issue of time travel is one of those traps, as I discussed last time.

And I think the introduction of Felix Felicis (liquid luck) in the sixth book is another such trap.

Here's an edited version of the passage wherein Rowling (through Professor Slughorn) introduces us and her characters to this most magical of magic potions:

...a small black cauldron standing on Slughorn’s desk. The potion within was splashing about merrily; it was the colour of molten gold, and large drops were leaping like goldfish above the surface, though not a particle had spilled... 

“It’s liquid luck,” said Hermione excitedly. “It makes you lucky.”... 

“It’s a funny little potion, Felix Felicis,” said Slughorn. “desperately tricky to make, and disastrous to get wrong. However, brewed correctly, as this has been, you will find that all your endeavours tend to succeed… at least until the effects wear off.” ... 

“…if taken to excess, it causes giddiness, recklessness and dangerous overconfidence,” said Slughorn. “Too much of a good thing, you know… highly toxic in large quantities. But taken sparingly, and very occasionally…” 

"One tiny bottle of Felix Felicis,” said Slughorn, taking out a minuscule glass bottle… “Enough for twelve hours’ luck. From dawn to dusk, you will be lucky in everything you attempt. 

“Now, I must give you warning that Felix Felicis is a banned substance in organized competitions … sporting events, for instance, examinations or elections."

We are then treated to two stirring examples of how effective Felix is in the real world: Harry's success at finding Slughorn and convincing him to give up the key Horcrux memory and the survival of all members of Dumbledore's Army after the battle with the Death Eaters that leads to Dumbledore's death.

In the context of The Half-Blood Prince, Felix is a fun, effective dramatic tool. It works (both literally and as a dramatic device).

But what are its larger implications?

I would argue that the very existence and potency of Felix Felicis raise serious questions that tend to undermine the realism and effectiveness of every other plot, every tense situation in the whole seven-book adventure.

If Felix exists, why don't more people use it more often? Sure, it's hard to brew and, sure, you can't take it too often without risking negative consequences (which, to be honest, appear fairly trivial when compared to the alternative -- death) but it does exist and it does work extremely effectively.

And, if Slughorn can brew it successfully, then certainly Snape and Dumbledore could brew it as well. I wouldn't put it past Hermione either, since she was successfully brewing the incredibly complicated Polyjuice Potion in only her second year at Hogwarts.

If a substance like Felix exists, I would expect that we would see it used more than twice in the entire Harry Potter tale. I would think that Dumbledore, Slughorn, Snape and even Hermione would all brew up a batch from time to time and dispense it (albeit with discretion) to themselves and their loved ones whenever a particularly serious, potentially life threatening challenge is looming.

Wouldn't, for example, Dumbledore use a little taste of it before setting off for the cave in search of the locket Horcrux?

Wouldn't Snape use it any number of times throughout the course of his very dangerous mission?

Wouldn't Slughorn be distributing it to all and sundry as the defenders of Hogwarts prepared to do battle with Voldemort and his minions in the final book?

Wouldn't Hermione have used some for their invasion of the Ministry, their break-in to Gringotts, their search of Hogwarts in Book Seven?

My point is, the very existence of liquid luck allows these questions to be posed and, as a result, undermines the effectiveness of these exciting scenes. It makes absolutely no sense to me that no one tried to use Felix at least once more in the books.

To make matters worse, I honestly don't think it was necessary at all for Rowling to introduce Felix in book six. Sure, it's fun and effective and it irons out certain plot difficulties.

But she could have written both scenes in which Felix is used in The Half-Blood Prince (Harry's approach to Slughorn and the battle between Dumbledore's Army and the Death Eaters) without resorting to this magical potion. Felix wasn't absolutely necessary to either.

Harry could have run into Slughorn on his way to Hagrid's house and convinced the Potions master to accompany him to Aragog's funeral without Felix. Slughorn's interest in the giant spider's venom would have been sufficient to get him to come. Slughorn would likely have gotten involved in his drinking spree with Hagrid without any help, if only to get his hands on the other valuable magical substances that Hagrid has lying about. And the alcohol, plus Harry's clever emotional plea, could plausibly have driven Slughorn to disclose the memory, even if Harry had not taken any liquid luck.

Further, the survival of fighters in any battle depends on a number of factors. We have already accepted that Harry survived his encounter with Quirrell in book two, that Harry, Ron and Hermione survived werewolves and Dementors in book three, that Dumbledore's Army survived their battle with Death Eaters at the Ministry in book five: why wouldn't we accept that Ginny, Luna, Neville et al could survive the fight in book six even without Felix?

My feeling is that J.K. created all of the problems I identify above by introducing Felix to her world when she really didn't need to do so. Felix was fun but not necessary to the outcome of the sixth book.

And, finally, if Slughorn had a stock of Felix with him, why didn't Draco steal some of it when he was apparently stealing Polyjuice Potion from the new Potions master?

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.

Brief encounter, Harry Potter style

A  Harry Potter moment:

Due to a broken toe, I've been taking the bus every day this week to work, rather than enjoying my usual half-hour walk into the office.

And, on those occasions when I do take the bus, I try to remember to bring a book to read while I stand at the bus stop and then enjoy the 10-minute ride downtown.

Today, I brought The Half-Blood Prince with me for the trip, complete with my hand-knit Gryffindor bookmark, which mimics the red and gold pattern of the scarves from the later movies.

So I'm sitting there on the bus, enjoying the scene where Rufus Scrimgeour corners Harry at the Burrow over Christmas, the bookmark on my knee, and I look up for a second to find a young woman, maybe 20 years old, gazing avidly at the bookmark and trying to get a clear look at the cover of my open book.

I close the book briefly so that she can see blue, red and green cover. She smiles, nods, then goes back to her iPad.

I go back to my reading and, when the bus comes to a stop downtown, we both head off into our lives. No words exchanged. No other glances.

Just a brief moment on the bus to share our love of Harry Potter.

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.

So that's what happened to Karkaroff

I have often commented on how impressed I am with J.K. Rowling's ability to juggle so many characters, so many locations, so much information about her invented magical world and yet maintain absolute consistency in it over the course of seven novels. The continuity mistakes are few and far between in her seven-book adventure.

She must either have a prodigious memory or an amazing filing system or both.

So I am not at all surprised that, after posing a question in this space some time ago about the fate of Professor Karkaroff (the Durmstrang Head Master who plays such a large role in The Goblet of Fire and then disappears late in the TriWizard Tournament, fleeing in fear when his Dark Mark begins to grow clearer), I find my answer early in The Half-Blood Prince.

Rowling didn't forget Karkaroff. No, she followed up on his story with her usual subtlety and grace.

One hundred pages into book six, she has Remus Lupin drop in for dinner at the Burrow with some updates on how the war is progressing.

"...they've found Igor Karkaroff's body in a shack up north," he says. "The Dark Mark had been set over it -- well, frankly, I'm surprised he stayed alive for even a year after deserting the Death Eaters; Sirius's brother Regulus only managed a few days as far as I can remember."

As is typical for J.K., she manages to connect one small piece of information from the past (tying up the Karkaroff loose end) with a much more important piece of information for the future: confirming that Regulus Black was a Death Eater, then had a change of mind, then died.

This will become very important later in The Half-Blood Prince.

Even more impressive is the fact that this one little comment foreshadows and comments upon the events of book seven. Lupin's point seems to be: unless you are Albus Dumbledore, if Voldemort wants you dead, your time remaining on earth is short.

So, in fact, he's commenting indirectly on how miraculous it is that Harry has survived this long and that Harry, Hermione and Ron manage to stay alive throughout the course of The Deathly Hallows, despite the fact that the Death Eaters, the Snatchers and the Ministry are all hunting for them and anyone who might be sympathetic to the trio is too afraid to help them.

Snape and the big moral questions...

J.K. Rowling's sixth Harry Potter book, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, is aptly named. This book really is about Severus Snape, Hogwarts' enigmatic Potions (and now Dark Arts) teacher.

Central to the story is the overwhelming question: whose side is Snape on?

Ever since they met in book one, Harry and Snape have loathed each other. Slowly, over the course of the next four books, we discover the story behind that mutual enmity, an enmity that is rooted in Snape's own experience as a loner and outcast, tormented by Harry's popular father during their school years.

And, even more important, we receive hints in book five that for some reason (which will become clearer in the final novel) Harry's mother, Lily Evans, took on a somewhat protective, big sister role in relation to Snape at Hogwarts. We know at that point that James Potter and Lily are destined to marry, produce one child and then die at the wand of Lord Voldemort. We don't yet have a clear idea of how the relationships presented in Snape's own memory in The Order of the Phoenix (with James Potter and Severus Snape seemingly mortal enemies and with Lily Evans protective of the latter and involved in a conflicted relationship with the latter) result in Lily and James married and Snape on the outside looking in.

Further, we discover that Snape was, in fact, a Death Eater and still bears the Dark Mark on his arm.

On the other hand, we also know that Dumbledore trusts Snape no matter what anyone else says. And, to be honest, despite behaviour on Snape's part toward Harry that is downright abusive in some instances.

Rowling very carefully establishes this important question: is Dumbledore right to trust Snape or is this just another instance of the aging Head Master choosing to trust where trust has not been earned? Is Snape still Voldemort's man or is he truly loyal to Dumbledore?

In the sixth book, Rowling takes great pains to convince us of the answer to this question. Snape, she argues persuasively, is still Voldemort's man. Dumbledore is wrong to trust him and pays for his error with his life at the end of the book.

We begin The Deathly Hallows hating Snape as much as Harry does.

And then find out, at the end of the final novel, that Dumbledore was, in fact, right and Snape was truly loyal to the cause of right and good.

That's a fairly long introduction to the moral issue I really want to address in this post: now that we know that Snape is a good guy, how do we feel/what do we think when we go back and read The Half-Blood Prince and hear Snape tell Bellatrix and Narcissa: "The Dark Lord is satisfied with the information I have passed him on the Order. It led, as you perhaps have guessed, to the recent capture and murder of Emmeline Vance, and it certainly helped dispose of Sirius Black..."?

Snape is a good guy and yet he helped bring about the deaths of two other of the good guys: Emmeline Vance and Sirius Black.

At its heart, this is a moral question. Is it morally acceptable to sacrifice at least two lives in hopes of avoiding the deaths of many many more?

Of course, Snape could simply be lying at this point, taking advantage of the two recent deaths to strengthen his argument that he is loyal to Voldemort.

But I don't buy that. Snape could not possibly have convinced the paranoid and overly protective Dark Lord that he, Snape, was a loyal Death Eater if he was unwilling to play an active part in the deaths of members of the Order. We see even more evidence of this at the beginning of the final book.

So can we forgive Snape the deaths of Vance and Black simply because Snape turns out to be a good guy? Is it really acceptable to argue that "the good of the many outweighs the good of the few, or the one"?

Even further, is it appropriate for Snape to sacrifice others on that basis rather than just himself?

I have long believed that Rowling has a very strong cold-blooded side to her, at least in her writing. She makes it clear throughout these books that, in times of war, good people are going to die.

Cedric's death, for example, is not strictly necessary: he was, in fact, a "spare" in that graveyard scene, as Voldemort calls him. His sacrifice was intended to 1) cement Harry's good side, 2) introduce the fact of death to the looming battle, and 3) provide an ongoing challenge for Harry's developing personal life in the next several books. But it was not absolutely necessary to the plot of the book.

Further, Rowling kills off Hedwig at the start of book seven and the beloved owl's death is particularly meaningless. Hedwig is killed by an errant spell while trapped in her cage, riding in the sidecar of Hagrid's motorcycle. Her death is merely collateral damage. (As I have mentioned elsewhere, the film-makers rejected this meaningless death and actually revised the scene to make Hedwig's sacrifice heroic: she flies in front of a killing spell to save Harry's life).

But, for Rowling, Hedwig's death was a way to show us, very early in The Deathly Hallows, that this was going to be a very difficult journey. That people would die. If she could kill off a beloved animal so casually in the first pages of the book, we knew she was prepared to kill of any of our favourite human characters as the story progressed. By killing off Hedwig, Rowling set up her reader to take nothing for granted, to understand that anyone (including Harry, Hermione or Ron) could die.

And, of course, there is Dumbledore's willingness to sacrifice Harry to ensure Voldemort is killed in the end. Even Snape finds Dumbledore's coldblooded approach to Harry surprising and chilling. I don't have the passage in front of me but I believe Snape describes the Head Master's preparation of Harry for the final confrontation with Voldemort "like preparing a lamb for slaughter" or something like that.

Rowling is, as a writer at least, incredibly cold-blooded.

But, from a moral standpoint, can we forgive Snape for the part he has played in the deaths of a number of very good characters simply because he was doing it for "the greater good"?

What did Lucius know about Tom Riddle's diary?

I have open before me two paperback books: the first, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets; the second, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.

Why?

Because I'm comparing passages dealing with Tom Riddle's purpose in re-opening the Chamber from each novel. I had thought I would find discrepancies and inconsistencies between the second book, in which Riddle (through Ginny Weasely and his diary) actually re-opens the Chamber, and the sixth book, in which Dumbledore explains to Harry Horcruxes and what information the Head Master was able to glean from the events from Harry's second year at Hogwarts.

What did I find?

Remarkable consistency.

In the second book, the memory of Tom Riddle tells Harry:

"I decided to leave behind a diary, preserving my sixteen-year-old self in its pages, so that one day, with luck, I would be able to lead another in my footsteps, and finish Salazar Slytherin's noble work."

In the sixth book, Dumbledore explains:

"[The diary] worked as a Horcrux is supposed to work -- in other words, the fragment of soul concealed inside it was kept safe and had undoubtedly played its part in preventing the death of its owner. But there could be no doubt that Riddle really wanted the diary read, wanted the piece of his soul to inhabit or possess somebody else, so that Slytherin's monster would be unleashed again."

Consistent and helpful.

Even more interesting to me is that these passages seem to hint at why Lucius Malfoy would choose the particular moment he did to pass the diary along to a Hogwarts student after holding on to it for 50 years: he recognized the threat Harry Potter himself posed to Voldemort's return and hoped, by slipping the diary into Ginny Weasley's text book, to give whatever evil force the diary contained the chance to deal with Harry before Harry grew up and grew strong.

It had always been a puzzle to me why Lucius chose that moment to re-introduce the diary and, of course, there is at least one moment in the stories where he is questioned for that decision, for disposing of a precious piece of Voldemort's soul so carelessly. We are led to believe, by Dumbledore's own comment at the end of Book Two, that Lucius chose to give the diary to Ginny so that the Weasley family's reputation would be tarnished and Mr. Weasley's Muggle Protection Act would be thwarted.

But I think it was deeper. I think Lucius Malfoy knew, at least to an extent, what the diary contained and was acting under instructions from Voldemort to place it at Hogwarts when things seemed most opportune or when an intervention of this nature was most needed.

Malfoy saw the danger Harry posed on an on-going basis to the Dark Lord's return -- Harry had, after all, defeated Voldemort once again at the end of The Philosopher's Stone -- and decided it was time to bring his Master back to deal with that threat.

I agree. There is no way Voldemort told Lucius Malfoy about his intention to create Horcruxes, nor that the diary he was entrusting to Malfoy was a Horcrux, but he must have explained to Malfoy that the diary contained a power that could open the Chamber of Secrets and wreak havoc at the school.

That's my theory, at least, but I have to admit that I'm not one-hundred per cent convinced of it even now. What do you think?

The Vanishing Cabinets appear...

As anyone who has read this blog will know, I'm quite interested in attempting to find objective evidence, in the texts themselves, of the extent to which J.K. Rowling had planned the seven-book Harry Potter story arc when she was writing the early novels.

My suspicion is that, while she may have had some vague notion that she would try to write a novel for every year Harry was at Hogwarts and while she recognized from the outset that the underlying story would be the Harry-vs-Voldemort plot, she had not really started to plan things in detail until the fourth or even fifth book.

Then I run smack into the Vanishing Cabinets.

As you all know, the Vanishing Cabinets play an extremely important role in the pivotal events of The Half-Blood Prince. Draco Malfoy uses the connection between the Cabinet that he finds at Bourgin & Burkes and the one that exists in the Room of Requirement to sneak Death Eaters into Hogwarts on the fateful night when Dumbledore meets his end.

What's amazing to me (and a clear suggestion that J.K.'s planning was much more extensive than I tend to give her credit for) is the fact that Rowling shows us both Vanishing Cabinets early in Book 2, The Chamber of Secrets. Even as she wrote her second Harry Potter novel, it appears clear that Rowling had at the very least an inkling that she would use these cabinets again.

Even more importantly, she introduces us to the idea that one of the cabinets, which she does not yet identify as a Vanishing Cabinet, is in Borgin & Burkes and the other one is already in Hogwarts.

Remember?

When Harry's first attempt at travelling via Floo Powder goes awry, he ends up in the creepy shop on Knockturn Alley. When Draco and his father walk into the shop seconds later, Harry hides himself in what Rowling describes as "a large black cabinet".

Not long thereafter, when Nearly Headless Nick wishes to save Harry from Flitch's clutches, he persuades Peeves to drop a very heavy piece of furniture on the floor directly above the caretaker's office. That piece of furniture? A "large black and gold cabinet", which after Peeves is through with it is badly damaged and in need of repair.

Repair that would come four books later at the hands of Draco Malfoy.

Now, it's possible that J.K. wasn't planning anything when she wrote these scenes for the second novel and that it was only when she came to book six that she realized she might be able to use them to help her plot along at that point in time.

But I'm more apt to think that Rowling had a plan, even as early as The Chamber of Secrets. She purposely introduced us to these two cabinets and she purposely placed one in the Dark-Arts store and one in Hogwarts.

Cool.

One question, however. I have always thought of Hogwarts as being a huge stone castle. If the floor between the classroom and Filtch's office is stone, would it have transmitted the crash of the dropping  Vanishing Cabinet down to the occupants of the office below?

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?

On fickle fondness, falling to pieces and Pottermore

I think, if you read this blog from start to finish, you would probably find that I have posted entries saying how much I love each one of the seven Harry Potter books in turn but, at some other date, have stated very strongly how much I hate every Harry Potter book in turn.

It's funny how much my opinion changes on some of these books each time I re-read them.

For example, I have just finished re-reading The Half-Blood Prince.  If memory serves, I have often said that this is one of my least-favourite of the seven. And yet, this time out, I really enjoyed it. It was a fun read and I found the trips into the various memories to learn about Voldemort's past very interesting this time around.

Strange. And now I'm on to The Deathly Hallows again. This, along with The Prisoner of Azkaban, has always been one of my favourites. I wonder if I'll like it as much upon this reading.

Another strange point: I find myself ridiculously proud of the fact that my copy of this long last novel, a hard cover copy no less, is starting to fall into pieces. I have actually read this book so many times that it's starting to fall apart. Wow. That's devotion.

And I've joined Pottermore finally. My Pottermore name is "Bloodquill 19500" so, if you enjoy reading this blog and are a member of J.K.'s site too, why not friend me? We can duel. I'm a terrible duellist so far so you'll earn your House many many points by taking me on.

Have I mentioned that I was sorted into Gryffindor on Pottermore? Have I said how proud that made me feel? Cool.

Hermione would never tear a page from a book!

Sometimes I worry I'm too picky when I'm spotting problems in the Harry Potter novels, especially the early ones. I mean, no writer is perfect and, especially in novels aimed at children, we shouldn't expect the story to make perfect sense to an adult every step of they way.

So I try to tell myself to back off, give J.K. a break, the benefit of the doubt.

But I still can't get past the fact that, in The Chamber of Secrets, Rowling has Hermione tear part of a page out of an old library book and carry the scrap around with her. It bothered me the first time I read the book - I remember saying to myself, "Wait a minute, the Hermione I know would never damage a valuable old book like that!" - and it still bothers me now.

The Hermione I know loves books so much that she would never purposely damage one, not to mention an old and valuable one owned by her school. Remember how scandalised Hermione was in The Half-Blood Prince when she saw Harry tearing apart his new potions text? She was outraged.

And yet we're supposed to believe that, just over three years earlier, that same young woman would have gone into the Library, taken an ancient reference book down from the shelf and ripped a part of a page out of it? No way. Our Hermione would have copied the short section she wanted onto her own piece of parchment, noted the title, author and publication date of the book from which the information came, and returned the book carefully to its place on the shelf.

I think, to be honest, that this little issue is an example of how, in the early novels, Rowling didn't quite have as clear and settled an understanding of her characters as she would have when she wrote the later novels.

And it's also an interesting demonstration of how sometimes the readers of a series of novels feel they've gotten to know the characters very well very quickly, so much so that they are willing to challenge the actions of those characters in the novels when such actions don't match their understanding of the character.

Comparing Challenges: Saving the Stone versus Hunting the Horcrux

I read the ending of The Philosopher’s Stone the other day (again). And I was reminded, again, about how J.K. so effectively tailored her stories to the level of sophistication of her target audience.

As we all know, one of the most impressive things about Rowling’s seven-book series is that the maturity of each successive novel increases as her readers mature: the first novel is, in essence, a children’s book; the middle novels are designed for teens and young adults; and the final book, especially, is a complex, mature adult work.

There’s an easy way to see the difference between the simplicity of the early novels and the relative complexity of the later novels. Just look at how Rowling deals with two extremely similar situations near the ends of the first novel, The Philosopher’s Stone, and of the sixth book, The Half-Blood Prince.

When we get to the climax of The Philosopher’s Stone, we find our hero trio testing themselves against the various protections that have been put in place to defend the philosopher’s stone itself. They face Fluffy, Devil’s Snare, the flying keys, the Mountain Troll, the chess game, the bottle puzzle and finally the Mirror of Erised. After that, of course, Harry must take on Quirrell and Voldemort but let’s leave that aside for the moment.

Now this is a children’s book, remember, so none of the challenges can be too scary or too difficult. The tension must exist but it cannot be terrifying and, even more important, the protections they must get past have to be beatable. By them. As 12-year-olds.

In fact, since they are so new to magic as a whole, Rowling ensures that the solution to each protection is available to them, even if it is completely unrealistic that the people who put the protections in place would make them so easily overcome.

So Fluffy goes to sleep if you play him a bit of music. Devil’s Snare retracts from heat and light. Flitwick kindly leaves a set of broomsticks nearby to help them catch the needed key. The troll is already out cold. The chess game is winnable and the bottle puzzle provides sufficient information for a smart-enough witch or wizard to figure out how to move on safely.

Think about all of that for a moment. The professors of Hogwarts have taken on the task of ensuring the most powerful dark wizard in history, Voldemort, cannot steal the philosopher’s stone and use it to come back to full power. And yet they have designed each of their protections in such a way that it can be beaten. By children.

It makes no sense from a dramatic point of view, until you remember that this is a children’s book.

Okay, now fast forward to book six, The Half-Blood Prince. Dumbledore and Harry set out to steal the locket Horcrux from the cave. In this case, it is Voldemort who has set up a series of protections to keep intruders away from his precious possession. Does he set up his protections so that they can easily be beaten? Does he provide hints, clues or aids to help people get past his protections? No way.

First, he chooses a hiding place that no one should know about or suspect. It is only the fact that Dumbledore learned of the orphanage’s annual trips to the coast when he first visited the young Tom Riddle that allows Dumbledore to find out the general location of the cave.

Second, even though an intruder must know where to look and have the wherewithal to swim through turbulent seas to get into the cliffside cave, Voldemort hides the entrance to the inner cave using strong magic. As Dumbledore points out, only someone capable of seeing the minute traces left by a magical spell has any chance of finding that entrance. Once found, the intruder must then puzzle out how to make the entrance appear and open up, with no clues provided. If an intruder manages to get into the inner cave, he faces the lake, the inferi, the hidden boat, the killer potion, the inferi again, etc. etc. etc. etc.

Voldemort makes nothing easy. The only reason it is at all possible to get to the locket is because Voldemort himself may need to retrieve it at some point in the future. And I’m willing to wager that only a wizard as powerful and capable as Dumbledore, who does his homework and prepares meticulously for the task, could be successful at stealing the locket.

The first novel is a children’s book, so the challenges are manageable and even fun. The sixth novel is for mature teens and adults, so the challenges are extreme and terrifying.

Two very similar situations; two very different approaches.

I sometimes get frustrated with The Philospher’s Stone when I am faced, once again, with the fact that the protectors of the stone actually designed their protections to be defeatable. I have to remind myself that Rowling was writing for kids at that point and that her decisions in this regard are completely defensible.

When she was writing for adults, she treats the scenario in a much more realistic manner. It is clear that only Dumbledore is capable of breaching Voldemort’s defenses and, in fact, that he ends up dying in the attempt.

Again, wow. Great writing.