A Biased Father and His Not-So-Cursed Child

Screenshot from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 2.

In the first seven Harry Potter books, sometimes I forget I’m in Harry’s head and can only see things through his perspective. Reading Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, a play written by J. K. Rowling, John Tiffany, and Jack Thorne, causes me to question just how much bias colours Harry’s outlook.

Harry Potter and the Cursed Child takes place 19 years after the Battle of Hogwarts. Harry and his friends are grown up with children, and his son, Albus, is one of the main characters. Unlike its predecessors, the play spans several years, highlighting the life of a Potter who is placed in Slytherin instead of Gryffindor. To Harry’s dismay, Albus becomes best friends with Draco Malfoy’s son, Scorpius, who—despite the fact that he’s a sweetheart—many despise simply because of his heritage.

As it is not told through the lens of a single character, the play provides a more objective look into the wizarding world than the seven novels detailing Harry’s childhood. It addresses some of the bias I didn’t even realize was happening in the original series.

Harry vs. Slytherin

Harry’s prejudice against Slytherin started to bother me when I re-read the Harry Potter books as an adult; I realized that there couldn’t possibly be a house that only churned out evil witches and wizards.

The world isn’t black and white; it’s a whole lot of grey that can be tricky to navigate.

In Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, Hagrid says, “There’s not a single witch or wizard who went bad that wasn’t in Slytherin.” This has to be an exaggeration, and one that Harry takes to heart. As Hagrid is his first guide to the wizarding world, Harry has no reason to doubt the statement. He learns later on that Hagrid isn’t always the most reliable source, but by that time Harry’s opinion about Slytherin has been formed into a stark black-and-white perspective.

Similarly, we can see that Harry isn’t the most reliable source either. For example, when he discovers the Mirror of Erised, he doesn’t realize that the description of what the mirror does is found by reading its name backwards (i.e., Desire). This signals to readers that they can see things Harry does not. There are many examples of Harry’s unreliability, including what happened in his second year at Hogwarts, when he speaks Parseltongue to a snake that’s about to attack a student. Harry was telling the snake to back off, but Ron tells him later that it sounded more like he was egging it on.

Harry’s misunderstandings are part of the story, of course. It makes sense to take a child’s perspective with a grain of salt, although Harry is so convinced Slytherin is evil, it is difficult to do so in this case. For one thing, we’re presented with Severus Snape, who, though he turns out to be on the “good” side, is truly a horrible person. Seriously. I know lots of people love Snape. But he treats Harry, a child, terribly, all because he didn’t like Harry’s dad when they were kids. That is behavior I’d expect from an 11-year-old, not from an intelligent adult who should understand that Harry is not the same person as his father. Snape bullies Harry constantly, not to mention refusing to teach him Occlumency after Harry accidentally accesses some buried memories. That’s right, Snape, a grown man, doesn’t help Harry protect his mind from Voldemort because Snape is reminded of how he himself was bullied during school. And that’s not even scraping the surface of the mental abuse Snape doles out to students who aren’t in Slytherin (such as sneering at Neville’s potions and, when Hermione gets attacked by a curse that elongates her teeth, saying, “I see no difference”).

As further Slytherin representatives, we have Malfoy, brainless thugs Crabbe and Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson (who seems to only exist to listen to Malfoy’s bragging).

So I can see why Slytherin gets a bad reputation, especially from Harry’s perspective. But to be fair, those later examples are all children, whose actions are not yet tempered by wisdom. Not that their behaviour is to be excused, but sometimes children are mean and petty and they turn out to be very different adults. Besides, there are quite a few examples of Slytherins who are not evil, including Horace Slughorn, Andromeda Black Tonks, Regulus Black, Phineas Nigellus, and, yes, Merlin himself. Merlin was a Slytherin. True story. Not all Slytherins fit Harry’s assessment.

If utopia is to be found by separating the good from the bad, we need someone with an objective view to do the sorting.

As it turns out, Malfoy and his son, Scorpius, are my favourite characters in Harry Potter and the Cursed Child. It gives me great delight that the play addresses the bias Harry feels against Slytherin during the entire original series, and it does so by putting Harry’s own son in Slytherin. Though Harry tells Albus that there wouldn’t be anything wrong with him being sorted into Slytherin, that one of the headmasters he was named for “was a Slytherin and he was probably the bravest man I ever knew,” I think he’s still surprised when Albus gets sorted there. Both Albus and Scorpius experience unfair treatment because of who their parents are; Albus because everyone thinks he is a failure for not being in Gryffindor, and Scorpius for being Malfoy’s (or, as rumors would have it, Voldemort’s) son.

Ultimately, Harry is a competitive kid who simply places too much weight on the Gryffindor vs. Slytherin rivalry. His ideal life is getting all the “good” people together and protecting them from the “bad.” The difficulty therein lies in identifying the good ones before labeling them as evil.

Sometimes I’m tempted to jump to conclusions about other people based on outward appearance, status, or what I’ve heard about them. Good people are what make up a perfect world, so if I want my world to be perfect, I should surround myself with them and reject all others, right?

The problem with that is my definition of good isn’t always accurate. People make mistakes. I can’t even define myself as a “good” person because I make bad decisions and let people down sometimes too. If utopia is to be found by separating the good from the bad, we need someone with an objective view to do the sorting, and no such person exists in this world.

Albus vs. Hogwarts

To Harry, Hogwarts is a paradise. To Albus, not so much.

Hogwarts was an escape from a childhood of misery and abuse for Harry. It was a magical place for someone who had a very unmagical upbringing. Harry loved his teachers (most of them), loved his friends (usually), and he loved being a celebrity (sometimes). Occasionally his fame bothered him, sure, but to a boy who had been ignored for 11 years, it must have been pretty great to learn that people knew him for doing something wonderful: banishing Voldemort.

It’s no surprise that adult Harry assumes Hogwarts will be a similar positive experience for everyone, including his own son. He says, “Hogwarts will be the making of you, Albus. I promise you, there is nothing to be frightened of there.”

When Albus and his cousin Rose first board the Hogwarts Express, Rose is very aware of their prestige. “I’m a Granger-Weasley, you’re a Potter—everyone will want to be friends with us, we’ve got the pick of anyone we want,” she says. “We rate them all and then we make a decision.”

Apparently humility isn’t a Granger-Weasley characteristic.

Then everything goes south when Albus is sorted into Slytherin. Students who had been whispering how much he looked like his father suddenly changed their tune (“I suppose his hair isn’t that similar.”). Rose tells him he’s made a mistake. And then Albus isn’t the Quidditch prodigy that his dad was. This isn’t the Hogwarts idealized in Harry’s mind.

There couldn’t possibly be a house that only churned out evil witches and wizards.

Time passes, and Harry discovers just how different of an experience his son is having when Albus tells him at the train station that he hates the idea of visiting Hogsmeade.

HARRY: How can you hate a place you haven’t actually visited yet?
ALBUS: Because I know it’ll be full of Hogwarts students.

Harry doesn’t understand why Albus doesn’t see Hogwarts as a paradise; in an attempt to fix the problem of his derelict son—and under the influence of the words of a centaur that he “sensed darkness” around Albus—adult Harry does exactly what childhood Harry does—points the finger at the most obvious suspect. He forbids Albus from being best friends with Scorpius, certain that the friendship with Malfoy’s son is the source of the problem.

Draco Malfoy makes a great point—“Maybe the black cloud Bane saw was Albus’s loneliness,” he says to Harry. “His pain. His hatred. Don’t lose the boy. You’ll regret it. And so will he. Because he needs you, and Scorpius, whether or not he now knows it.” But of course, Harry doesn’t listen.

When I let bias cloud my judgment I may be missing out on important relationships. The world isn’t black and white; it’s a whole lot of grey that can be tricky to navigate, and jumping to conclusions can make it all the more difficult.

Ideals vs. Reality

Harry Potter’s childish perspective was bent on making Hogwarts the ideal that his heart longed for, but in the process, he had to paint others with a dark brush to fit his black-and-white mentality. He failed to see that his son was struggling under that utopian fantasy—until Albus’s suffering encouraged him to rethink his bias.

So too must I deal with the negative idealism in my life. I have to first acknowledge that I am biased, but I can still strive to live differently—not by judging others, but by giving them the benefit of the doubt and treating them with respect.

Paying special attention to some people while pushing others aside is what I see in Harry—and myself—as I try to craft a utopia by my own hands. But I want my eyes to be open to the world’s imperfections. I can act against my bias through acts of service, through kindness, through love and relationship. Then, when I live in reality, I do not need to force others into my false utopian ideals.

My life in this world never will be perfect. I can’t change that. What I can do is open up to understanding others, be willing to admit my mistakes, and attempt to make loving choices in a world of grey.

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The original version of this article appeared in Christ and Pop Culture.

Allison Barron

Allison Barron

Commander at Geekdom House
Allison is like Galadriel, offering wisdom where needed but turning treacherous as the sea when competitive games are involved. She is the executive editor of Area of Effect magazine, co-host of the Infinity +1 podcast, and staff writer for Christ and Pop Culture. When she’s not writing, designing, or editing, she is often preoccupied in Hyrule, Middle-earth, or a galaxy far, far away.
Allison Barron

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