Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
or, love and death
I’m e rathke, the author of a number of books. Learn more about what you signed up for here. Go here to manage your email notifications.
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This one’s pretty good!
This one’s going to go a bit long. While I’ve already written about 15,000 words about these Harry Potter books. it’s time to buckle in because this is a doozy. I have restrained myself with regard to footnotes and linking back to previous essays, though, so you can at least be thankful for that, if nothing else.
Portions of this very long essay owe great debts to regular readers C MN and Rose.
Catch up here:
This final novel presents many surprises and complications. Chief among them is the revelations about Dumbledore and the nature of Voldemort. And at the center of this whole dizzying mix of mysteries is a riddle that feels so obviously a red herring that it is, of course, true.
The Rise of Voldemort
Ever since his first reveal, we’ve known Voldemort’s return was what this was all about. We wouldn’t be telling Harry’s story if not for Voldemort. The slow build is what holds this whole series together to the extent that it is held together.
Voldemort mostly hangs around in the background. Yes, we understand he’s the antagonist of the Big Plot, but the page to page moments that make up this series presents various other antagonists.
Draco, his father. Umbridge. Snape. Sirius Black until he’s revealed to be a Good Guy. Much of the second half of the series slides away from singular people as antagonists. I mean, yes, people like Malfoy and Umbridge and Snape continue to cause many conflicts and drive chunks of the internal tensions, but it’s the magical system of government, this vast octopussing bureaucracy, that causes so many problems, not only for Harry, but for everyone.
Even Percy Weasley is swallowed whole by the system to the point that his family fractures over the fact that one of them is working for Voldemort, even if completely on accident and unintentionally.
And it is this very system that is the backbone of the entire wizarding world—employing most of the adult wizards in the world, presumably—that allows Voldemort to hide in plain sight. Worse, it actively runs cover for him.
We who have lived through the last thirty years have seen again and again how government covers up its fuckups, its lies, its role in disasters. One may ask, Why?
Why would the government seem to work against the interests of its civilians? These people were elected by the public to serve the public.
And yet.
What we who navigate the world learn over the course of a life is that power and systems of power are primarily interested in power, both maintaining what they have and increasing where they can without too much blowback from that public who cedes authority to them in exchange for protection, welfare, convenience, etc…etc…et cetera.
So it is worth asking: is the Ministry of Magic a nefarious force in the world?
I would argue that the previous three novels have had this at the center of their arguments. But I think, too, to Rowling’s credit, she also demonstrates that the government is mostly made up of people trying their best or at the very least people who are simply trying to do their job well enough to keep from being fired.
Percy Weasley is, perhaps, the perfect example of this.
Model student. Model son. Ambitious yet obsequious.
In his own words later in this final novel, he explains that he chose not to understand what he was seeing and experiencing until he reached a breaking point, where the corruption finally touched him personally or close enough for it to push him out of his comfortable hovel he’d made for himself.
A hovel, incidentally, that allowed him great access to power and seemingly a clear pathway to become more powerful.
Ambition and success are heady drugs.
And so Percy Weasley ends up working against his family, his former professors and mentors, in order to follow the paved path to power. Yes, it involved some compromises on his dignity, on his principles, but…do you see it?
Do you see it shining there in the distance?
What if…what if I take another step? Yes, I’m further into the darkness as I step from the previous light of my life…but look, there. The way it shines. I can almost taste it. Can almost feel the warmth of it. And, yes, why not, let us go and take another step into the darkness. And another. The faster we hurry through this blackened corridor, the sooner we’ll bathe in that shine.
It’s all quite Christian, in a way. Temptation and all that. The power and the glory that works antithetically to the Power and Glory.
Voldemort, seducer, manipulator, promising all you desire. All it will cost you is everything that ever mattered to you.
How difficult to take that first step.
How easy every step after.
And this is how Voldemort found a foothold back in the physical world. Slowly, his influence tendrilled out and took hold of key people, willing to give in, to devote themselves to his return, to their own power.
Take Peter Pettigrew. Wormtail. Least of his friends. They all shined so bright. Lupin, Sirius, James. But what if, instead, he could shine and they would fade?
Would it be worth it?
Fear and disbelief became Voldemort’s weapons. Not only fear of him, a case too terrible for most to consider. But fear within the Ministry. Fear that power may slip between their fingers like so much sand to pile upon their own feet.
Cornelius Fudge doesn’t deny Voldemort because he’s indifferent to his return. He denies Voldemort because it’s happening on his watch. He fears being thrown from office. Fears the responsibility of pulling all the levers of power on the word of a child only to have it turn out to be nothing at all.
While making everyone believe Voldemort had returned wouldn’t be as bad as him actually returning, his position as Minister would be imperiled if he was proven wrong.
And so Voldemort’s Death Eaters and supporters snaked their way into positions of power, always clinging to plausible deniability. They had been Death Eaters, but they were reformed. And all the while the Ministry worked tirelessly to tell the public that Voldemort was very much not returning.
Then, by the time the Ministry must face the truth, it’s too late. The Death Eaters run wild and Rufus Scrimgeour, the new Minister of Magic, is murdered, putting Voldemort effectively in control of the Ministry of Magic.
The Limits of Morality
TH White’s The Once and Future King is one of the most important pieces of Arthuria from the 20th Century. While we typically treat it as a single work, now, because all five of the books are packaged into a single volume, it began quite simply as three separate novels that grew to four, with the fifth published posthumously.
When the novels were first packaged together, they also changed.
The second novel, The Witch in the Wood became The Queen of Air and Darkness after substantial rewrites, turning a novel that was more in line with the lightness of The Sword in the Stone and painting it in darker hues.
This second novel and especially its rewritten version is actually crucial to understanding Harry Potter, I think.
Or, not really, since you’ve probably read Harry Potter multiple times and have only seen the delightfully silly Disney adaptation of The Sword in the Stone when you were seven.
But I’ve had a minor Arthur obsession this year—don’t fret, it comes and goes like malaria, having affected me several different times in life—and so happened to read the whole of The Once and Future King in between, I think, The Prisoner of Azkaban and The Goblet of Fire.
The accidental synergy of these becomes most apparent in this final novel, though there are a few other resonances (Lupin feels very Ill-Made Knight, if you get me and for example).
Like Harry Potter, The Once and Future King began as a simple children’s series. It’s all quite fun and silly with touches of darkness. But gradually, like Harry Potter, the series becomes considerably darker.
This is unavoidable, honestly. You cannot lead children to incest, infidelity, war, patricide, and all the rest without getting your hands a bit dirty and drawing a black veil over their heads.
The Queen of Air and Darkness is surprisingly philosophical and deals very strongly with questions of morality. Specifically, the concept of Might as Right.
The time period matters here.
White wrote this in the late 1930s, with publication happening in 1939. White escaped England to live in Ireland as a conscientious objector to World War II. His work became considerably influenced by the War, as was true of most art of that time period. Often, Merlin mentions the smallminded horror of Hitler (Merlin, in White’s imagining, lives backwards through time).
But it was the question of Might as Right that was most relevant to the man who wrote these novels about an ancient king who bound a nation together through war. Arthur’s England was not forged through alliance and diplomacy but through the sword.
Through murder.
Through victory.
While White’s Arthur begins as an ignorant but curious child, he becomes a psychologically complex adult who is tortured by these questions of morality. Not only about the case for or against violence, but also matters of love.
For he loves his queen who is in love with Lancelot, his dearest friend. He knows it but allows them to remain ignorant of his knowing. For to do something about it, to accept it, to declare it, would mean to break his kingdom to pieces, to murder his wife and his dearest friend. But in doing nothing about it, his kingdom fractures anyway.
Thus and so Arthur becomes trapped.
Dumbledore, the Nazi
In Rita Skeeter’s biography of Albus Dumbledore, we see a beloved character become complicated. He is modeled after White’s Merlin in nearly every way, especially early on. He’s good but silly, well-meaning but seemingly absentminded.
Most importantly, he is powerful and wise.
As the series progresses, Merlin shakes off White’s Merlin and grows into White’s Arthur.
For, in many ways, Dumbledore is trapped by his choices. He is the obvious choice to be the Minister of Magic, for example, yet he refuses, again and again, allowing mediocrities like Fudge to lead the wizarding world.
We know the disaster that follows because that’s the series up until this point.
But, interestingly, we find that Dumbledore rejected the role of Minister of Magic because he feared who he would become. His attraction to power was so great, so potent a narcotic, that he feared what such power would lead him to, what it would allow him to do. Especially since he’s aware that he is among the most powerful wizards alive, he knows that none would be able to stand against him. And he looked into the future and saw the tyrant he believes he would become.
And it’s all because, as a powerful young prodigy, he entertained Voldemortian ideas about purity, about power. Too, his thirst for power, for freedom, caused his family to shatter to pieces.
For which he blames himself, reasonably or not.
The Mirror of Erised from the first novel shows people what they most desire. Like Harry, this mirror shows Dumbledore his family, whole and together.
Thus and so, he turned his back on power.
He chose power first and lost love.
Lost family.
A sister.
In the aftermath, he rejected power and attempted to fill the world with love. He became a professor to foster love and learning in generations of students. Rather than use all his skill and ability to conquer humanity and, through force, instill a brighter future, he chose to turn all his might and ability to teaching the incoming generations their responsibility to the world, magical and non alike.
And he was tested.
First, with Voldemort, who he failed. The boy who was not saved. A hurt boy. A lost boy. One who needed guidance, who needed love.
And Dumbledore lost him. Failed him.
Watched him become the Dark Lord.
Then Snape, who he tried to help but couldn’t save. It was only in Snape’s greatest failure that he truly turned to Dumbledore who then offered him a path to salvation.
And, finally, Harry. The boy who lived. This one, he would save, even if it cost him everything, including his own life.
And if you look back over the series, there were times when Dumbledore failed him too. When Harry nearly died. Even when he’s trying his best, Dumbledore remains fallible. Strongest and wisest of all, yet still only a man. Perhaps, even, it’s that pride he’s had since childhood, that surety in his own magnificent abilities, that keeps him from succeeding. That distrust in the abilities and intelligence of others that forces him to rely solely on himself, even when it leads to disaster. And it’s not until the end of The Goblet of Fire that we understand how Dumbledore has even failed himself with regard to Harry.
He echoes TH White’s Arthur in all but the turning away from power.
Arthur realizes his power and how it must be employed to protect the weak from the strong. He must become the biggest bully in the land in order to squash out the other bullies. Once that’s in place, he can create order. And that order will protect those without might.
Those with Might must enforce Right. Once established, they should diffuse that power so it’s no longer in a single pair of hands. But, of course, should discord arise, well, those empty hands are ready to take back the reins.
The sword.
The skies will bleed and the land will drown in corpses.
To White, this is both the key and the tragedy.
England could not become England without Arthur conquering and killing and enforcing new laws, changing culture and the nature of power. But in doing so, he has created his own personal demiurge.
His path to power ensures its own collapse.
And so when we see who Dumbledore was when he was a young man, we see a man saying things he believed to be true. Not only true, but clear and obvious. In fact, the only way for peace to exist is through force. Through the wizards of the world taking control of the world—magical and non-magical alike—and setting it on a path to prosperity, to harmony.
Often, Hermoine and Ron and even Lupin, when he finds them, excuses Dumbledore’s ideas because of his age at the time that he said them. But Harry, quite reasonably, lashes out, explaining that he is now the age Dumbledore was then and he never even once considered controlling the world through his power.
Perhaps, though, Harry never thought of such a thing because he was not as powerful as Dumbledore.
It’s easy to never want what you could never have, what was never possible.
But what if you could have it?
What if you could become an absolute dictator, not only for one nation, but for the entire world?
Would it not seem the best way to solve all the pain and violence, the raping and pillaging, the ugliness?
Perhaps you could slow down ecological collapse and climactic disaster.
What if, in a single lifetime, you could transform the entire world?
Eradicate poverty and hunger and war. Ensure a habitable earth for your children and grandchildren.
Would you choose not to?
Could you choose not to?
And if you chose to achieve these things, knowing that, perhaps, millions would die, what would that do to you?
Who would you be on the otherside of this journey to peace?
The Loving Embrace of Death
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