Re-reading Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone: Ch. 1 - The Boy Who Lived
In which Dumbledore has a master plan, owls abandon the Statute of Secrecy, and McGonagall rightly dismisses the Dursleys as the contemptible horrors they are.
What happens
Vernon Dursley sets off for work one utterly normal Tuesday and does his best to ignore a series of odd occurrences during the day: a cat reading a map, people in cloaks, whispers of the Potters and You-Know-Who. On arriving home, and finding the peculiar cat still perched on his garden fence, an unfortunate news report concerning rogue owls and shooting stars prompts him to raise the subject of her detested sister with his wife Petunia. She is scathingly dismissive, and Vernon goes to sleep comforting himself with the knowledge that any Potter-related shenanigans couldn't possibly affect the determinedly normal Dursleys.
On the street outside, the cat is joined by Albus Dumbledore, and transforms itself into Professor McGonagall. They discuss the widespread celebrations and Professor McGonagall inquires after the circumstances of Voldemort's disappearance, learning that he did indeed kill Lily and James Potter, but that attempting to off their son Harry was what did him in. She is then informed that they have met on a Muggle suburban street in order to drop Harry off to live with his aunt and uncle, the aforementioned Dursleys, which causes Professor McGonagall to rightly inquire whether Dumbledore has taken leave of his senses. It seems, however, that Dumbledore has his reasons.
A giant motorbike thunders out of the sky bearing the enormous Hagrid and the much smaller Harry. Hagrid (who notes that the bike is on lone from Sirius Black) says a tearful goodbye to the baby, who is left on the doorstep of number four, Privet Drive, with a letter explaining the situation to the Dursleys. Dumbledore wishes Harry good luck and the magical folks are on their way, leaving a baby on a doorstep to whom wizards and witches are toasting across the country.
Commentary
Ah, the Dursleys. So cartoonish, and yet, so real.
This first part is pretty much from a Dursley point of view, but it's still so very clear that they're thoroughly unpleasant people. Everything we need to know about the way they live is summed up in one sentence: "The Dursleys shuddered to think what the neighbours would say if the Potters arrived in the street." That says it all - Vernon and Petunia care about perception, they care about society, and they care about respectability. They don't care much about people.
Everything that happens here is intended to drive home what awful people they are. Vernon likes to wear boring ties - because anything interesting wouldn't be proper. They are both standouts as awful parents, in a book that isn't exactly devoid of worriesome childcare techniques. In fact, this is the one thing about them I find a little hard to grasp. They are such cold people so much of the time - why do they give Dudley everything he wants? Are they overcompensating, behaving how they think parents should behave? Or are they just so unaccustomed to really caring about people that they completely overdo it?
I do love Vernon's internal thought processes though, as he talks himself out of finding a cat reading a map odd, and then decides that there's some sort of function on in town that requires people to wear cloaks, because that's just the sort of thing these no-good rascal youngsters would get up to these days. Forget voting Conservative - I'd put money on Vernon being a card-carrying member.
Yet, for people who worry so much about what other people think, the Dursleys (or Vernon, at least) are in fact remarkably self-absorbed. Vernon is in a position of some authority at Grunnings (a wonderfully evocative name), and he sees a good day as yelling at a few people and making important phone calls. Everyone outside gets wonder from the owls flapping around everywhere; Vernon doesn't, not just because he wouldn't care about owls, but because he doesn't like looking out the window. The Dursleys are boring, but they're also selfish; when Vernon apologises to the man in the violet cloak he knocks over, he doesn't do it because he's sorry, he does it because it's the done thing. It's so automatic he doesn't even recognise that the fellow is wearing a cloak to begin with.
Well, hark at me waxing philosophical about the Dursleys, of all people. This doesn't bode well for the future, does it?
The other big thing we learn about the Dursleys here is that their marriage is - well, it's not one I'd want, put it that way. They both seem perpetually nervous about the other's reactions. Petunia hates mention of the Potters because of how she feels about Lily, but she also hates it because she thinks Vernon will disapprove. Meanwhile, from the privileged and unique position of Vernon's POV, we can see that he is nervous about upsetting her by mentioning them, and he squirms in his chair as the weatherman goes on about shooting stars and owls stressing over whether or not to mention them.
But enough about awful people. Let's talk about awesome people.
Like Minerva McGonagall. Fair disclosure here: I adore McGonagall. She is up there as one of my absolute favourite characters. I love that she doesn't suffer fools, I love that she is almost insanely competent, I love that when she gives her trust she gives it absolutely. Of course, for a long time she doesn't get to do much but be stern and issue detentions, but every time she appears, prepare for an outpouring of love from me, because that's just what I do.
Case in point: McGonagall, here, has sat on a brick wall all day, on a day when every single other person in her world is celebrating the end of an extremely scary time. She has lost friends and colleagues, not to mention students, to Voldemort, and she has unquestionably been on the front line with the Order of the Phoenix. But she knows she's not done. She's not worried about celebrating Voldemort's fall; she's worried about Lily and James, and their son. Anyone who doesn't believe that McGonagall loves Harry should read this part again, because "the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold hard wall or day" was not to find out if Voldemort was really gone, it was to find out what happened to her friends.
How she knew all this is, of course, rather less clear. Did Dumbledore send her a memo? Either way, it's interesting to read this knowing what Dumbledore knows. He's heard the prophecy, and he presumably knows what it means. One begins to see how Dumbledore must feel about himself, all the time giving an appearance of serenity. McGonagall is busy calling him too noble to use the powers Voldemort has, and he knows that that isn't true at all.
What I think is interesting about Dumbledore is that for the first four books or so he seems like the Gandalf of the story - the wise old man who has it all sorted out. And there's no disputing he has quite a bit in common with Gandalf - they're both the leaders in the fight against a Dark Lord, they're both (apparently) wizened old men, and they're both in a position to serve as something of a mentor to our young hero. But Dumbledore isn't Gandalf, a messenger from the gods, as it were; he is, in his own way, striving for redemption. He's a subversion of the Gandalf trope, and a way of showing that sometimes, the wise old guy doesn't have it all figured out.
None of this stops him from being very amusing, though. Dumbledore's whimsy is my favourite thing about him, and I can't help but smile at him casually offering McGonagall sherbet lemons or bringing up his scar in the shape of the London Underground.
Back to the story, though, and the purpose of the mini-convention in Privet Drive: to drop baby Harry off with the dreadful Dursleys. It's interesting that McGonagall says that "you couldn't find two people who are less like us" - I wonder what she means by it. She also says that the Dursleys "will never understand [Harry]", and she, like the rest of us, clearly has no time for the laissez faire method of child-rearing they have chosen to go with. I also find it a little bit amusing that all it took for McGonagall to thoroughly size the Dursleys up was one day outside their house. She's a good judge of character, that one.
Another case in point: Hagrid. McGonagall's summation: "I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place, but you can't pretend he's not careless." I feel like in a lot of ways Hagrid is a very damaged character - he grew up an outcast, and the expulsion from Hogwarts only made that a hundred times worse. As a result, I don't think Hagrid has ever really grown up. It's why the kids all get along so well with him. I'm not saying he isn't capable of maturity, but he's hardly a responsible adult, if you know what I mean.
Having said that, Dumbledore was right to trust him here, and it's very sweet to watch the three of them say their goodbyes to little Harry on the doorstep. (In a classic Rowling moment, she also mentions Sirius Black, casually, as though he's just a name she thought up to explain Hagrid having a giant motorbike. Not likely he'll be important, that's for sure.)
So that's that, really - Harry's consigned to a miserable childhood, because it's the best way to keep him safe. I have to wonder, though - was there no one else, Dumbledore? No one at all?
What happens
Vernon Dursley sets off for work one utterly normal Tuesday and does his best to ignore a series of odd occurrences during the day: a cat reading a map, people in cloaks, whispers of the Potters and You-Know-Who. On arriving home, and finding the peculiar cat still perched on his garden fence, an unfortunate news report concerning rogue owls and shooting stars prompts him to raise the subject of her detested sister with his wife Petunia. She is scathingly dismissive, and Vernon goes to sleep comforting himself with the knowledge that any Potter-related shenanigans couldn't possibly affect the determinedly normal Dursleys.
On the street outside, the cat is joined by Albus Dumbledore, and transforms itself into Professor McGonagall. They discuss the widespread celebrations and Professor McGonagall inquires after the circumstances of Voldemort's disappearance, learning that he did indeed kill Lily and James Potter, but that attempting to off their son Harry was what did him in. She is then informed that they have met on a Muggle suburban street in order to drop Harry off to live with his aunt and uncle, the aforementioned Dursleys, which causes Professor McGonagall to rightly inquire whether Dumbledore has taken leave of his senses. It seems, however, that Dumbledore has his reasons.
A giant motorbike thunders out of the sky bearing the enormous Hagrid and the much smaller Harry. Hagrid (who notes that the bike is on lone from Sirius Black) says a tearful goodbye to the baby, who is left on the doorstep of number four, Privet Drive, with a letter explaining the situation to the Dursleys. Dumbledore wishes Harry good luck and the magical folks are on their way, leaving a baby on a doorstep to whom wizards and witches are toasting across the country.
Commentary
Ah, the Dursleys. So cartoonish, and yet, so real.
This first part is pretty much from a Dursley point of view, but it's still so very clear that they're thoroughly unpleasant people. Everything we need to know about the way they live is summed up in one sentence: "The Dursleys shuddered to think what the neighbours would say if the Potters arrived in the street." That says it all - Vernon and Petunia care about perception, they care about society, and they care about respectability. They don't care much about people.
Everything that happens here is intended to drive home what awful people they are. Vernon likes to wear boring ties - because anything interesting wouldn't be proper. They are both standouts as awful parents, in a book that isn't exactly devoid of worriesome childcare techniques. In fact, this is the one thing about them I find a little hard to grasp. They are such cold people so much of the time - why do they give Dudley everything he wants? Are they overcompensating, behaving how they think parents should behave? Or are they just so unaccustomed to really caring about people that they completely overdo it?
I do love Vernon's internal thought processes though, as he talks himself out of finding a cat reading a map odd, and then decides that there's some sort of function on in town that requires people to wear cloaks, because that's just the sort of thing these no-good rascal youngsters would get up to these days. Forget voting Conservative - I'd put money on Vernon being a card-carrying member.
Yet, for people who worry so much about what other people think, the Dursleys (or Vernon, at least) are in fact remarkably self-absorbed. Vernon is in a position of some authority at Grunnings (a wonderfully evocative name), and he sees a good day as yelling at a few people and making important phone calls. Everyone outside gets wonder from the owls flapping around everywhere; Vernon doesn't, not just because he wouldn't care about owls, but because he doesn't like looking out the window. The Dursleys are boring, but they're also selfish; when Vernon apologises to the man in the violet cloak he knocks over, he doesn't do it because he's sorry, he does it because it's the done thing. It's so automatic he doesn't even recognise that the fellow is wearing a cloak to begin with.
Well, hark at me waxing philosophical about the Dursleys, of all people. This doesn't bode well for the future, does it?
The other big thing we learn about the Dursleys here is that their marriage is - well, it's not one I'd want, put it that way. They both seem perpetually nervous about the other's reactions. Petunia hates mention of the Potters because of how she feels about Lily, but she also hates it because she thinks Vernon will disapprove. Meanwhile, from the privileged and unique position of Vernon's POV, we can see that he is nervous about upsetting her by mentioning them, and he squirms in his chair as the weatherman goes on about shooting stars and owls stressing over whether or not to mention them.
But enough about awful people. Let's talk about awesome people.
Like Minerva McGonagall. Fair disclosure here: I adore McGonagall. She is up there as one of my absolute favourite characters. I love that she doesn't suffer fools, I love that she is almost insanely competent, I love that when she gives her trust she gives it absolutely. Of course, for a long time she doesn't get to do much but be stern and issue detentions, but every time she appears, prepare for an outpouring of love from me, because that's just what I do.
Case in point: McGonagall, here, has sat on a brick wall all day, on a day when every single other person in her world is celebrating the end of an extremely scary time. She has lost friends and colleagues, not to mention students, to Voldemort, and she has unquestionably been on the front line with the Order of the Phoenix. But she knows she's not done. She's not worried about celebrating Voldemort's fall; she's worried about Lily and James, and their son. Anyone who doesn't believe that McGonagall loves Harry should read this part again, because "the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold hard wall or day" was not to find out if Voldemort was really gone, it was to find out what happened to her friends.
How she knew all this is, of course, rather less clear. Did Dumbledore send her a memo? Either way, it's interesting to read this knowing what Dumbledore knows. He's heard the prophecy, and he presumably knows what it means. One begins to see how Dumbledore must feel about himself, all the time giving an appearance of serenity. McGonagall is busy calling him too noble to use the powers Voldemort has, and he knows that that isn't true at all.
What I think is interesting about Dumbledore is that for the first four books or so he seems like the Gandalf of the story - the wise old man who has it all sorted out. And there's no disputing he has quite a bit in common with Gandalf - they're both the leaders in the fight against a Dark Lord, they're both (apparently) wizened old men, and they're both in a position to serve as something of a mentor to our young hero. But Dumbledore isn't Gandalf, a messenger from the gods, as it were; he is, in his own way, striving for redemption. He's a subversion of the Gandalf trope, and a way of showing that sometimes, the wise old guy doesn't have it all figured out.
None of this stops him from being very amusing, though. Dumbledore's whimsy is my favourite thing about him, and I can't help but smile at him casually offering McGonagall sherbet lemons or bringing up his scar in the shape of the London Underground.
Back to the story, though, and the purpose of the mini-convention in Privet Drive: to drop baby Harry off with the dreadful Dursleys. It's interesting that McGonagall says that "you couldn't find two people who are less like us" - I wonder what she means by it. She also says that the Dursleys "will never understand [Harry]", and she, like the rest of us, clearly has no time for the laissez faire method of child-rearing they have chosen to go with. I also find it a little bit amusing that all it took for McGonagall to thoroughly size the Dursleys up was one day outside their house. She's a good judge of character, that one.
Another case in point: Hagrid. McGonagall's summation: "I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place, but you can't pretend he's not careless." I feel like in a lot of ways Hagrid is a very damaged character - he grew up an outcast, and the expulsion from Hogwarts only made that a hundred times worse. As a result, I don't think Hagrid has ever really grown up. It's why the kids all get along so well with him. I'm not saying he isn't capable of maturity, but he's hardly a responsible adult, if you know what I mean.
Having said that, Dumbledore was right to trust him here, and it's very sweet to watch the three of them say their goodbyes to little Harry on the doorstep. (In a classic Rowling moment, she also mentions Sirius Black, casually, as though he's just a name she thought up to explain Hagrid having a giant motorbike. Not likely he'll be important, that's for sure.)
So that's that, really - Harry's consigned to a miserable childhood, because it's the best way to keep him safe. I have to wonder, though - was there no one else, Dumbledore? No one at all?