That’s really the only way I can explain the hiring process at Hogwarts. There must be a shortage of qualified teachers, semi-qualified teachers, or even mentally-sound teachers.

None of us has a clue what we’re doing!

In Chapter 11, we learn that Mad-Eye Moody will be joining the staff of Hogwarts,a mere day after his magical security system blew up a load of trashcans in his yard. This paranoid, albeit intelligent addition to the Hogwarts faculty joins the ranks and proud tradition of some other questionable hires:

- Quirinus Quirrell, who just-so-happened to have Voldermort growing out of the back of his head (pshaw! details…)

- Gilderoy Lockhart, who faked his resume and possessed no qualifications whatsoever beyond teaching children “How to smile…and be a jerk”

- Remus Lupin, who was arguably the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher Hogwarts has seen in a long time, were it not for the distinct possibility he could accidentally EAT ALL THE STUDENTS

- Sybill Trelawney, who managed to eek out one single solitary prediction of any merit (which is the equivalent of a math teacher solving for “X” once in his career)

- Rubeus Hagrid, who was absolutely delightful in the classroom, but probably didn’t have the best judgement (a Formula One driver might be really great with cars, but you wouldn’t have him teaching Driver’s Ed, would you?)

- Cuthbert Binns, who WASN’T EVEN ALIVE (I don’t care if he’s tenured – that’s grounds for termination)

This leads me to believe there is an overall lack of qualified educators in the wizarding community, a fact that comes as even more of a shock when you take into account how few wizard schools there seem to be.

The books, films, video games, and Pottermore confirm the existence of 7 full-time schools and 2 specialty schools (not unlike muggle dance academies) – Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, Durmstang, the Salem Witch’s Institute, Mahoutokoro, the Wizarding Academy of Dramatic Arts, and an unnamed school in Brazil plus Charm School and the Academy of Broom Flying.

This means there are 9 academic institutions occupying the UK, France, Sweden/Norway, Brazil, Japan, and the US. Are we then to assume these are the only wizard institutions out there, or that there are other schools that simply are not mentioned?

Logic dictates at the very least, there should be wizard schools in Africa, India, Russia, and Australia, if only to have a single academy in every general region. And it seems foolish to assume there are 4 full-time schools and 2 specialty schools in Europe, yet only a single school in the US, South America, and Asia each.

Additionally, if there is a wizard school of acting, there are wizard probably schools to serve all kinds of special talents and needs. If the wizard population mirrors the muggle one, it would be safe to assume there are wizard religious schools, wizard special education schools, wizard alternative schools,  wizard music conservatories, and wizard vocational schools. I would also argue not all wizard schools are boarding schools. There must be wizard day schools and homeschools out there somewhere.

But even if we assume there are more wizard institutions than we ever hear about, why is it so difficult to find teachers with a basic understanding of working with children and who aren’t suffering from debilitating mental disorders? Logic dictates there should be an overabundance of educators in the wizardverse.

Well, for starters, how are wizard professors trained? Oh right, they aren’t!

There’s no such thing as a Wizard Education Major. The only qualifications a magical teacher needs are to possess some sort of knowledge of or propensity for a certain subject (displayed through working in the field or simply passing his O.W.L.s and/or N.E.W.T.s) or knowing the right people (isn’t that always the way?) Qualifications for are so lax, centaurs can be teachers. Let me say that again - CENTAURS can be teachers.

Now, I’m not saying real-world experience does not qualify someone to teach. Some of the best teachers are people who have first-hand experience. But shouldn’t a teacher show some sort of understanding of his chosen subject area beyond “I didn’t fail it in high school”?

That’s the problem: there are no wizard universities. Higher education isn’t an option. Even if a wizard wanted to pursue an education at a muggle college, the fact that he hasn’t taken a basic math or English class since he was in grade school might be a minor deterrence. Besides, it’s hard to find muggle colleges that teach runes.

But let’s say that whatever a potential wizard professor didn’t learn in the classroom, he learned out there on the mean streets. Shouldn’t he at least have to student teach or substitute or co-teach to show he can effectively manage a classroom?

Evidently not.

Of course, maybe the problem isn’t that there is a lack of wizards who could teach, but rather a lack of teachers who want to teach.

Have you been to Hogwarts lately? That place is dangerous!

I mean, it’s a complete and utter deathtrap!

There’s a basilisk in the basement, a troll in the bathroom, a three-headed dog in the hallway, and spiders in the forest. Students are taught potions that kill, charms that maim, and how to play a sport that could result in plummeting a hundred feet to your death. Speaking of death, sometimes the students just up and die; sometimes the teachers just up and die; all of the times ghosts haunt the classrooms and dorms. Chunks of an evil wizard’s soul are scattered throughout the school, punishment for misbehavior involves carving crap into your hand, and every so often, a HUGE BATTLE BETWEEN GOOD AND EVIL happens on school grounds and a ton of people meet violent deaths.

Take that, Dangerous Minds! I want to see Michelle Pfieffer change the lives of these students!

(did I just age myself?)

Not to mention the fact that teachers at Hogwarts don’t appear to have actual families of their own or lives outside the school walls. (Check out the previous entry: “Why Aren’t Any Hogwarts Professors Married?”)

I drink because I’m lonely…

What do you think?

Does Dumbledore face a shortage of qualified wizard teachers in Goblet of Fire, or is it simply that no one dares take a job at Hogwarts School for Untimely Wizard Deaths? Does Dumbledore make smart hiring decisions, or do you question his ability to pick professors? Would you teach at Hogwarts?

A good deal of damage control is going on in this chapter, with Mr. Weasley all but setting up camp at the Ministry to deal with backlash from the Quidditch World Cup Dark Mark fiasco. While folks like Percy thrive on this sort of chaos and clearly view the resulting mayhem as a means by which to brown nose their way to the top, Mr. Weasley is perfectly content as middle management and has little interest in spending late nights responding to Rita Skeeter’s fantasy columns. But in the midst of all this confusion, Harry is able to slip off with Ron and Hermione and explain the letter he is waiting Sirius to send – a letter which will instruct him what to do about his scar hurting in his sleep.

I’m not here to talk about Harry’s scar, though. I’m not even here to talk about Mr. Weasley’s overtime at the Ministry. The thing that jumped out at me this chapter is how wizards use the Owl Post and why.

(Seriously, that’s what jumped out at  me).

Communicating in the Harry Potter  Universe

THE OWL POST

This is essentially a wizard version of the Pony Express on wings. Wizards can hire owls to carry letters and packages around the globe. The size and strength of the owl, the distance of the journey, and the weather impact how long it takes for a letter or package sent by Owl Post to arrive at its destination. While there is an elaborate system of Owls, both public and privately owned, commissioned to deliver messages, there seems to be no system to determine when letters will arrive. That said, no directions are necessary.

Overall Rating:

Expense: Poor (you either need to pay an owl to carry your letter or pay the upkeep on your own personal owl)

Efficiency: Poor (What if it rains? What if your owl sprains a wing? You really have no idea when your letter will arrive. Try paying bills that way!)

Convenience: High (You don’t even need a proper address to send a letter via the Owl Post. All you need is a name and an eager owl).

Practicality: Moderate (It’s an easy system to use, but not a very quick one. If you have the time to wait, it’s probably worth your while. The same can be said for the Muggle Postal Service).

THE FLOO NETWORK

Never said it was pretty...

If the wizard you want to contact happens to have a fireplace nearby and that fireplace happens to be on the Floo Network, this is a quick and easy means of getting in touch with them. The Floo Network allows for three different levels of communication: You can physically transport yourself and deliver your message in person, you can transport just your head and speak the message from the fireplace (like wizard Skype), or you can send letters and packages through the Network, just like a person.

Overall Rating:

Expense: Low (all you need is Floo Powder and a fireplace, but if you don’t have a fireplace, the expense obviously spikes)

Efficiency: Moderate (the person you are trying to reach has to be there to answer your call, or you’ll just be a burning head in a fireplace with no one to talk to)

Convenience: Low (your fireplace has to be on the Floo Network, as does the fireplace of the wizard you’re trying to reach. You can also assume your conversation is being monitored)

Practicality: Moderate (it’s a system that works, but it doesn’t seem to be a favorite of wizards, who would rather wait for the Owl Post or try something that doesn’t rely on the presence of a fireplace)

APPARATION

Why send a letter when you can send your whole self? Assuming you aren’t trying to send a letter to or from Hogwarts, you could simply apparate to the home of whoever you are trying to reach and deliver your message in person. This only works for wizards who have successfully earned their Apparation License.

Overall Rating:

Expense: Low (assuming you’ve been properly trained as a wizard)

Efficiency: High (assuming you physically want to see the person you are sending a letter or package and know where they are)

Convenience: Moderate (it’s arguably the quickest means of delivering a message, but again, you will have to see whoever you contacting, or at least run the risk of seeing them)

Practicality: Low (who really wants to dart all over the place every time they have a letter to deliver? Besides, you can only apparate over a certain distance, so if you’re using this as a means of getting a letter to a distant location faster than your owl, you’re going to be pretty disappointed)

PATRONUS

Dumbledore developed a way to communicate with the Patronus charm and it proved a highly secure means of sending messages. While the details of developing a Patronus that can carry out a message or a task are not described to the students at Hogwarts and neither Harry, Ron, nor Hermione ever attempt to communicate in this way, Dumbledore, Snape, McGonagall, and Shacklebolt make use of this tool.

Overall Rating:

Expense: Low (theoretically, it only costs the price of a wand)

Efficiency: High (if properly cast, a Patronus will successfully carry a message without interruption)

Convenience: Moderate (a Patronus cannot deliver a package or a letter, so it’s more like a telegram than anything else)

Practicality: Low (casting a Patronus charm is highly advanced magic, and casting one that can carry a message is even more difficult still. One would have to be a remarkably talented wizard to even attempt this means of communication)

What is your preferred means of Wizard Communication?

Now I’m back, ready for some more Goblet of Fire re-reading awesomeness.

If you look closely, you can find Jack Sparrow!

When last we spoke about GoF, the trio and assorted Weasleys were enjoying the Quidditch World Cup and Amos Diggory was being a jerkface (that’s a technical term). That brings us to Chapter 9: The Dark Mark, where we get the distinct impression that the Ministry is going to do everything in its power to give the impression everything is happy and safe in wizardland, even if that means lying through their teeth.

The Dark Mark appears above the Quidditch campsite and several muggles are tortured by rebel-rousing Death Eaters, and who do Barty Crouch and Amos Diggory try to blame? Three fourth years and a house elf.

First of all, if ever there were three wizards who had absolutely and utterly no reason to send up the Dark Mark, it would be Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Ron is related to multiple Ministry employees, Hermione is muggle-born, and oh yeah, Harry’s parents were killed by Voldy. That leaves Winky, a house elf so loyal, she faces her fear of heights to sit in Barty Crouch’s box seat at the World Cup, not to mention she couldn’t possibly have the skill or know-how to cast such a difficult spell.

What seems more likely to you: three kids with absolutely no motivation sent up the Dark Mark, or the spell was cast by a house elf with no capability to do so?

Yeah, that’s what I thought.

Denial: it’s not just a river in Egypt.

You have to love how incompetent everyone at the Ministry seems to be – at least everyone in positions of great power. As Ron would put it, the Ministry is just a “load of duffers”.

I know, I know. No one wants to kick the guy who loses his only son (I’m assuming Cedric doesn’t have any supernaturally nice, perfectly coiffed siblings – correct me if I’m wrong). But with a dad like Amos, you have to wonder where Cedric got his charm. Mrs. Diggory must have the people skills of a seasoned diplomat.

I'm a dislikable human being, but you're forced to feel bad for me at the end of the book. Fiction is cruel. Deal with it!

Amos is at best, irksome. At worst, infuriating. We’ll come to find later in the book that he has a tendency to say things akin to “My son is gonna whoop your derriere” whenever Harry is around. I can sort of forgive that faux pas.  He’s a proud father and his son is representing Hogwarts in the Triwizard Tournament. Amos’ adoration for his boy is almost endearing (“That’s my son! That’s my boy! It’s my boy!” – did I just make you sad?)

What gets to me about Amos is how he treats Winky. I’m not about to join Hermione’s S.P.E.W. campaign (she goes a little off the deep end with that one), but as an employee of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, you’d think he’d have a bit more sympathy for an elf.

Or maybe not! Maybe years of keeping Beasts, Spirits, Goblins, Centaurs, and other magical non-humans at bay has hardened him. Have one too many run-ins with an angry Centaur and you’re bound to lose some of your compassion.

Still, Amos’ cruelty to Winky brings up the whole House-Elves issue in the Harry Potter universe. I don’t really want to go there now because it takes away from my Amos Diggory whining, but it’s pretty atrocious how elves are treated by mostly everyone.

That doesn’t excuse Amos, of course. I just recognize that blaming an elf for something a wizard did is nothing new. There’s no logic to Amos’ accusations – Winky wouldn’t know how to cast the Dark Mark even if she wanted to – just as there’s no logic to Barty Crouch firing her (or rather “giving her clothes”).

What do you think? Is Amos a jerk? Do you understand where he’s coming from? Does it bug you that he’s far more likable in the film than he is in the book?

**********

I know I’m moving a little slower these days with the re-read, but remember to read along. We’re into Chapter 9 next!

I think J. K. Rowling is trying to tell us something.

Pretty girls are dangerous!

Think about it: they are irresistable to men and precariously easy to piss off. You can’t trust them as far as you can throw them. One wrong move, and they’ll start gnawing at your face with their vulture beaks. They had to be forcibly removed from the Quidditch World Cup simply because their team was losing. Dangerous and sore losers. Toxic combo!

So I guess it’s fortunate Fleur Delacour is only 1/4th Veela. The odds of her transforming into a harpy from Hell are dramatically decreased by the watering down of her blood line. Good thing for poor Bill! A werewolf attack is enough – surviving a lifetime with an angry Veela is more than any innocent man should be subjected to.

I’m taking liberties here, of course. There’s no solid evidence half-blood Veela don’t transform into wrathful sirens. I’m just assuming that with only a quarter Veela in her genes, an angry Fleur is less likely to become this:

And probably resembles something more along the lines of this:

I just think maybe there’s a subtle message from Ms. Rowling we’re supposed to pick up on here.

Think about it.

********************

On a completely different note, anyone remember Winky? Poor little elf wasn’t even offered a movie contract!

What’s nice about this diminutive lady is that she offers an alternate view of Dobby’s newfound freedom. We could go on for weeks about the presence of slavery in the Harry Potter series and the social implications of the house elves, but I’m not feeling quite that ambitious right now. Let’s just keep things simple.

For better or worse, Winky justifies house elf servitude and in doing so, exonerates well-intentioned wizards. Let me stress that: well-intentioned wizards. Barty Crouch, who makes Winky climb up into the spectator’s box even though she is afraid of heights, is not well-intentioned. Lucius Malfoy, who beats Dobby on a regular basis,  is not well-intentioned (he should really save some of that rage for his sister-in-law – she makes the Veela look about as terrifying as Big Bird).

On second thought, Big Bird is pretty terrifying...

 Winky represents what Ron has been saying all along. Of course, there’s a danger in making sweeping generalizations about any species; Winky may stand for the majority of house elves who want to serve wizards, but that doesn’t make Dobby wrong for wanting his freedom. It’s all so complicated and controversial, even the characters in the story can’t agree.

But it’s also all conveniently left out of the films, so it’s worth noting here as we re-read Goblet of Fire.

If trips to Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, and Hogwarts itself haven’t raised the question in your mind, Goblet of Fire, Chapter 7 certainly will.

We know why muggles can’t see Hogwarts (a clever mix of invisibility and mind-altering charms), but what about every other wizarding structure? There’s no mention of alternate wizard universes, so while Diagon Alley is through a magical stone wall, we’re lead to believe it’s physically located somewhere accessible (the Knight Bus can access it, for example). It’s a huge wizard main street, taking up significant room and no doubt requiring the same extensive protective charms as Hogwarts.

What about Platform 9 3/4ths? Again, I’m not convinced it exists on another plane; magic simply prevents us from getting to it. How far does that magic extend? Is the entire track to Hogwarts enchanted? Does the Hogwarts Express use the same rail line as muggle trains? How do they avoid detection? Collision?

All that leads me to the Quidditch pitch and camp grounds for the Quidditch World Cup. The whole operation is set-up on muggle land, in plain sight of the muggles who own it. Only the pitch seems to be invisible.

The sudden influx of campers in questionable attire leaves Mr. Roberts (the resident muggle) highly confused, to the point where they have to keep obliviating him to keep him subdued. I have to harken back to a pinnacle piece of cinema, Men In Black, and ask if there’s not some sort of side effect from erasing someone’s memory over and over and over again. What state will all this obliviating leave poor Mr. Roberts in?

And why go through all that trouble? Why not cast a spell on Mr. Roberts (and all the other muggle site managers) and send them packing temporarily? Didn’t Hermione obliviate her parents’ memory and convince them they are different people with different life goals, just to get them out of the country? Why not do the same to these folks and get them out-of-the-way? You may say that’s muggle cruelty, but isn’t it far more humane than erasing their memories and leaving them befuddled every five minutes?

And to take us back to my original question, how much land do wizards own? Are they so tight on space, they’re forced to “borrow” land from muggles at this point? I know Great Britain’s an island with only so much room, but if they can make tents into single family homes, can’t they expand their acreage a little?

I think I may be smarter than Ludo Bagman.

Is that saying much?

Sing along: "This land is your land, this land is my land, till I obliviate you, then it's just my land..."

1) You have one more week to enter The Last Muggle Goblet of Fire Contest and win your very own Harry Potter Halloween costume. Did Pottermore sort you into the wrong house and now you have to completely replace all your Hogwarts gear? Now is the time!

2) We’ve reached a milestone here at The Last Muggle. I’m about 8,000 visits late on announcing this, but we’ve officially reached 400,000 visits! Strike up the Toad Chorus! Thanks to everyone who has made this blog a success. Here’s to another 400,000 reads.

3) Speaking of which, if you haven’t signed up for to follow this blog on Twitter or Facebook, you can do so using the nifty widgets in the sidebar. You can also subscribe to receive updates from this blog right in your E-Mail box. It’s as if I sent an owl directly to you, except that owl is electronic and you can forward it along to your friends.

4) Actually, while we’re on the topic, if you like this blog, share it with your friends. Stumble, Tumblr, Reddit, Digg, leak it to Rita Skeeter - whatever floats your muggle boat. Danke!

And now, back to the task at hand: the painfully awkward meeting at the Quidditch World Cup portkey (I won’t be listing the portkey location here, since it’s a question for our contest, but at least now you know what chapter you can find it in. Don’t say I never did anything for you.)

At first blush (or first read), the rendezvous at the porkey doesn’t seem so bad. Harry, Hermione, and a select group of Weasleys convene with Amos and Cedric Diggory to zip safely off to the Quidditch pitch.

The awkward part isn’t that they have to all clutch an old boot (that’s just kind of disgusting).

The awkward part is that Cedric is going to win Harry’s girl…and then DIE.

(((awkward turtle)))

To full appreciate the cringe-worthiness of this moment, you have to recognize how cool Cedric is when compared to Harry Potter. Yes, yes, Harry’s “the boy who lived” and he has a wicked scar to prove it. But Cedric’s embodies the confidence that only comes from having successfully navigated puberty and six years of wizard school. He’s a clear choice for the Hogwarts Champion and it’s little wonder Cho Chang falls for him. I mean, he doesn’t even stumble when the portkey reaches its destination. He lands squarely on his feet while the other young wizards tumble to the ground in an embarrassing wizard heap. Don’t tell me Harry didn’t reflect on that months later when he saw Cedric and Cho waltz around the Yule Ball.

Seems like such a delightful way to travel...

“But wait,” you say. “Harry doesn’t know Cho is going to fall for Cedric, or Cedric is going to become his rival Hogwarts Champion, or even what a Hogwarts Champion is, or that his personal actions are going to inadvertently lead to Cedric’s untimely demise, which will ultimately plunge him into a deep depression in which he will wallos for his entire fifth year, all while dealing with Cho’s guilty affections for him and Dead Cedric, and the entire wizarding world’s distrust of his claim that Voldemort has returned.”

To you, I say “That was a very long run-on sentence.”

No, it’s true. Harry has no idea his portkey mate will share a second portkey TO HIS DOOM! [insert dramatic music here] If Trelawney’s class taught us anything, Potter has the divination skills of a pet rock. But looking back, the moment is super awkward not for Harry – for the reader! Harry’s discomfort only goes so far as falling on his wizarding bottom when the portkey comes to an abrupt stop.

As a second-time reader, it’s impossible not to look at this first portkey and think “Why hello there, foreshadowing. Fancy meeting you here.” One portkey will eventually lead to another. We know where this is going.

And it’s not good.

Fred and George Weasley, on the other hand, are teeming with creativity. They don’t just use magic – they manipulate it. They assess what is currently at their disposal, figure out what is lacking, and pool their skills to invent something new to fill that void. In the case of Chapter 5, what is lacking is quality prankster gear: trick wands and candy to fool your friends and foes.

Fred and George aren’t the only wizards who display their creative skills throughout the series. Hermione enchants coins to alert members of Dumbledore’s Army of meeting times. Dumbledore himself creates a deluminator to envelop himself in darkness at the touch of a button (and transport a lost soul back to his friends).

Harry doesn’t invent a thing.

Correct me if I’m wrong, but there isn’t a single point in the series when Harry seems creative. He’s willing to stick out his neck, but someone else always has to explain the steps and get him to that point.

So I have to ask: does that mean Fred and George are better at magic than Harry? They aren’t particularly book smart. They aren’t unusually strong. But they are able to create, and isn’t that the true sign of genius?

Harry is good at a handful of spells and a few key tricks. He can fly. He can expell a wand from his adversary’s hand right quick. He can “stupify” with the best of them. But that’s about it.

Fred and George can give you a toffee that will get you out of class for a week.

That is a valuable skill!

Remember to enter:

The Last Muggle Goblet of Fire Contest

I probably don’t need to explain to you how utterly “weird” it is for anyone to travel by fireplace (sorry, Santa). Most people who attempt such a thing end up lodged for hours and make the evening news, which I guess is okay if that’s your thing. But for wizards, fireplace hopping is a convenient, albeit messy and somewhat nauseating, means of travel and fireplaces on the Floo Network are never boarded up.

It only stands to reason, therefore, that a muggle family choosing to block off its fireplace is just as weird for the Weasleys as four wizards suddenly appearing in the fireplace is for the Dursleys. Utter weirdness abounds.

And leave it to the Dursleys to have a fake fire in a real fireplace. They aren’t the type to bask in the warm glow of a log fire, but rather fret over the rattling prospect of ash on the carpet. In an attempt to be normal and dreadfully boring, the Dursleys may have actually swung back in the other direction toward absolute eccentricity and full-blown weirdness. I’ll let you be the judge.

As I mentioned in my previous entry on wizard weirdness, much of the humor in these earlier books draws from the differences between the muggle and wizard communities. This fades as the series progresses into darker territory.

To add to that, I would like to propose that the cartoon humor that accounts for much of the first half of the series also fades into the background in the later books. A prime example of this cartoon humor can be found wedged in the Dursley’s chimney.

If one person suddenly materialized in a stopped up fireplace, he would undoubtably find himself at least a bit of pain. The close quarters of your standard size chimney does not make for comfortable arrangements. If he has arrived via the Floo Network, his chances of injury are far greater. Dizzy from his journey and anticipating the flat, wide surface of a fireplace to step out on, our traveler will likely clock his head, bruise his shoulder, and be limbs akimbo when his landing is cut short.

Now, multiply that scenario by four.

Even if there is room behind the plywood boards for a someone to land in the fireplace, four people cannot stand side-by-side  in those circumstances. Someone (or a few someones) will end up in the chimney, stepping or sitting on someone else.

In other words, someone would undoubtably get hurt.

That’s if we’re being realistic about things. And how realistic can we possibly be when discussing wizards traveling by fireplace? Hardly!

But within the confines of this wizards-traveling-by-fireplace universe, we have already accepted that wizards can and will get hurt under the same circumstances as everyone else. Yes, they have far more potions and charms to heal themselves and avoid accidents, but they also seem to have hundreds of additional ways to maim themselves, as well. Being a wizard is hazardous business.

Therefore, if wizards get hurt, why don’t the Weasleys pop out of the fireplace black-and-blue, sporting wicked concussions?

Because that’s not funny.

Okay, in the Looney Toons sense, cartoon violence is funny, but the cartoon  humor espoused by Harry Potter does not place head wounds under the header “funny”.

That’s because violence has to remain real in the series. It’s no joke to find yourself injured in the wizarding universe. The threats are real and you could be harmed beyond magical repair. That is important!

So to keep the moment light, and to not undermine the potential of injury, the Weasleys emerge from the fireplace unscathed.

Which is more than can be said for Dudley and his overgrown tongue.

Poor Dudley.

One of the very first things we learn in the Harry Potter series is that the Dursleys are incredibly normal, to the point of almost being absurd in their normalcy. They don’t abide by anything unusual or counter to the status quo. Needless to say (though it’s said many times over), Harry Potter and his wizard friends are the prime example of everything the Dursleys can’t stand. Like a cat with tabasco sauce on its tongue, Mr. Dursley is left spitting and twitching and the mere mention of magic under his roof (or heaven forbid, within earshot of the neighbors).

There aren’t a lot of points where we identify with the Dursleys. However, as normal muggles, we the readers recognize the humor in everything they find unsettling in the wizard world. And the first few books are littered with references to how weird (and subsequently amusing) wizards can be. Often times, these moments are provided through Harry’s own realization that things are a little upside down, Mr. Weasley’s fascination with the most mundane of muggle objects and experiences, and Mr. Dursley’s overreaction to anything out of the norm.

Goblet of Fire, Chapter 3 provides us with a prime example of the latter in the form of Mrs. Weasley’s letter requesting permission for Harry to attend the Quidditch World Cup.

The first problem for Mr. Dursley is that a letter has arrived for Harry. He has a bad track record with mail addressed to the least welcome member of his house. The letters inviting Harry to Hogwarts chased the entire Dursley family out-of-town and even then, they could not be entirely avoided. No, letters addressed to Harry are not a good thing at all.

Second, the letter has attracted undue attention and mockery from the postman for the substantial number of stamps employed in its mailing. It’s almost as bad as when hundreds of envelopes invaded the house.

Third, the letter referenced something called “Quidditch”, which clearly isn’t a real word and shouldn’t be uttered in the Dursley household under any circumstance.

Fourth, the letter was written and mailed by a one Mrs. Weasley, who clearly doesn’t seem to understand how the postal service works. This fact is further worsened by the realization that said Mrs. Weasley is the matriarch of a wizard family Harry met at the school he’s not even supposed to be attending, learning horribly abnormal things that normal people do not waste time with.

Lastly, the letter prompted Harry to reference his ongoing correspondence with an escaped murderer.

All in all, the weirdness of wizards is a major concern for Mr. Dursley and his absolutely normal family.

And it’s one of the most enjoyable parts of the series for the rest of us.

It’s also something we lose as the story progresses into a darker, more threatening place. The last we see of the Dursleys is when they are leaving their home, fearful for their lives and (at least in Aunt Petunia and Dudley’s case) somewhat concerned about Harry’s fate. There’s little reference to the weirdness of wizards at this point, and there’s very little to laugh about.

But for now, there’s plenty of weird little moments to go around.

What is your favorite “wizards are weird” moment?

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Thank you to everyone who wrote me E-Mails about their Muggle Stories and being a “hatstall” on Pottermore. I’m still going through my mail and I will get back to you soon.

We meet Harry in chapter 2 moments after he’s awoken from an unsettling “dream”. Re-readers know that Voldemort unwittingly turned Harry into a Horcrux over a decade prior and in the process, created a mental bond between them. Voldemort can see into Harry’s mind and Harry can see into Voldemort’s.

However, when Harry wakes up from his “dream”, he hasn’t seen into Voldemort’s mind at all. He is an outside observer. As the narrator describes:

“…Voldemort’s chair had swung around and he, Harry, had seen what was sitting in it…”

The Harry Potter series is written in third person limited omniscient, with an all-knowing narrator able to delve into Harry’s mind. However, there are certain chapters that break from this pattern, chapters in which Harry is no where present. “The Other Minister” in Half-Blood Prince, for example, shares the perspective of the British Prime Minister. Likewise, the first chapter of Goblet of Fire presents the thoughts and reactions of Frank Bryce.

While the argument can be made that these deviations are meant to show the contrast between the wizard world and the muggle perspective, there’s a similar break in form for the first chapter of Deathly Hallows, though an individual perspective is not adopted.

So let’s go back to Harry’s “dream”. Harry sees what happens to Frank Bryce. He sees Wormtail waiting on baby Voldy. But he sees this from an outside perspective.

Jump ahead to Order of the Phoenix. Harry sees the attack on Arthur Weasley through Nagini’s point-of-view, as if he is Nagini.

Is Harry seeing the events at the Riddle House through Nagini this time, too? If he’s able to see Voldemort, he’s not inside Voldemort’s mind.  But could he be in the snake’s? Isn’t that part of Voldemort, too?

Now let me completely mess with your heads (you ready?)

If Harry can see through Nagini’s perspective, couldn’t he see through the perspective of all the Horcruxes? Granted, the other Horcruxes are inanimate objects, but couldn’t he theoretically tap into the part of Voldemort’s soul that lives inside them?

We see inklings of this in the Deathly Hallows film. Harry can sense where the Horcruxes are and Voldemort can sense when they’re destroyed. It seems consistent, considering this second chapter of Goblet of Fire.

Thoughts? Comments? General musings?

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Another observation, completely random:

Harry mentions, of all things, PlayStation in his letter to Sirius. He goes on to explain:

“That’s a sort of computer thing you can play games in.”

So much easier (and safer) than actually living through your fourth year at Hogwarts

I believe this is the only mention made in the books not only of a video game system, but of a computer. While technology is mentioned briefly here and there throughout the series (televisions, for example), there’s practically no acknowledgement of computers. For as advanced as their spells may be, wizards are incredibly antiquated. They don’t even use pens! But it’s safe to assume the muggle population uses computers. You would think it would come up more often. Don’t the muggle-born wizards who find themselves suddenly at Hogwarts miss TV? Don’t you think at least one of them snuck in a handheld gaming system?

It’s not really important to the series, but so many details are mentioned throughout that have little bearing on the final outcome. As I write this entry on the internet, on a computer, I can’t help but notice this brief mention of technology and bring it up.

You realize these warnings were well founded as early as Chapter 1: The Riddle House. The most striking thing about this opening is that it doesn’t involve Harry Potter until the end, at least not directly. This is the first time a book in the series opens minus our hero, but it’s not the last. Half-Blood Prince and Deathly Hallows also begin without Harry.

(I suppose the argument can be made that the prologue in Sorcerer’s Stone doesn’t involve Harry in the same manner the other openings do, but I consider the prologue and epilogue to be their own entities outside the main story. Otherwise, they would be the first and final chapters, respectively).

Perhaps just as interesting as Harry’s absence is how this chapter reads much like an old murder mystery. The setting is bleak, a crime has been committed, and facts are unclear. There’s a hefty dose of foreshadowing and the anonymous narrator has a strong presence throughout. All this chapter needs is a dark and stormy night to get things going.

If you’ve read the series (which I hope you have if you’re this far along in the blog), the tidbits dropped throughout this chapter are clear. You know why all three Riddles are dead, you know how they died, and you know the mysterious teenage boy lurking around the house is to blame. You recognize the churchyard and know we will be returning there before the story is out. You may even smile at the fact that Frank Bryce is 77 years old, noting J.K. Rowling’s propensity for the number 7.

If ever there was a chapter that’s more delightful to read the second time around, this is it.

But none of that really mattered to me as I read Chapter 1. I was focused on something entirely different and far more disturbing that I evidently missed the first time around.

Voldemort drinks Nagini’s milk to grow stronger?!?

Yeeeeaaaaaak!

Let’s start with the basics, shall we? Can you milk a snake? I thought maybe it’s a reference to the venom that can be extracted (or milked) from a snake’s fangs, but the chapter doesn’t specify. Are we to assume?

Let’s assume. Let’s just assume and move on to the fact that Voldemort drinks said milk from a bottle. I didn’t catch on to that the first time at all. Maybe I thought the bottle being referenced was an alcohol bottle. It’s an easy mistake, since who would automatically leap to the mental image of Wormtail rocking a baby Voldemort and making sure he drinks is ba ba? (I bet I just made you picture that)

"AHHHH! KILL IT! KILL IT!" Absolutely horrifying Baby Voldemort (you're welcome!)

But all that aside (even though it’s really hard to push all that aside), Voldemort is gaining strength by drinking his Horcrux. This is all kinds of weird, especially since I’m not sure it fits with the rules set up in Chamber of Secrets.

Voldemort tries to suck the life out of Ginny through the diary for strength. Can this process apply to any Horcux? Could he suck the life out of someone wearing the ring or necklace? Or is it only possible because Ginny poured her heart out into the diary?

And if Voldemort can use Nagini to gain his strength, can’t he use the other Horcruxes in the same manner? Couldn’t he simply skip the whole debacle with Ginny and wear around the necklace instead? Sport the ring? Drink out of the cup? While the argument can be made that the Horcrux needs to have life attached to it, isn’t Voldemort’s soul alive in some way? If you deposit your soul in a Horcrux, can’t you retrieve it?

What are your thoughts?

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For more insanely creepy Harry Potter babies, check out this site. But I’m pretty sure the artist didn’t read the series, since Lupin wasn’t actually born a werewolf. Enjoy the nightmares!