Harry Potter and the Cursed Child
Parts One and TwoBook - 2016
The Eighth Story. Nineteen Years Later.
Based on an original new story by J.K. Rowling, Jack Thorne, and John Tiffany, a new play by Jack Thorne, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child is the eighth story in the Harry Potter series and the first official Harry Potter story to be presented on stage. The play will receive its world premiere in London's West End on July 30, 2016.
It was always difficult being Harry Potter and it isn't much easier now that he is an overworked employee of the Ministry of Magic, a husband and father of three school-age children.
While Harry grapples with a past that refuses to stay where it belongs, his youngest son Albus must struggle with the weight of a family legacy he never wanted. As past and present fuse ominously, both father and son learn the uncomfortable truth: sometimes, darkness comes from unexpected places.
From Library Staff
amandarobinson Jun 29, 2016
There was a lot of hype surrounding this book, so I was apprehensive about reading given that the first seven books were so good and ended so well. I’m a diehard Harry Potter fan, though, so I had to read this book!
There were a few things that I didn’t like about this book. First, the format ... Read More »
samcmar Sep 02, 2016
I thought this was just "okay." It definitely had some really cute moments in the story, but overall a part of me was wondering why this story needed to exist in the first place. The other issue is the format -- plays really are meant to be seen and just reading the text alone made me f... Read More »
From the critics
QuotesAdd a Quote
ACT ONE, SCENE ONE KING’S CROSS A busy and crowded station. Full of people trying to go somewhere. Amongst the hustle and bustle, two large cages rattle on top of two laden trolleys. They’re being pushed by two boys, JAMES POTTER and ALBUS POTTER, their mother, GINNY, follows after. A thirty-seven-year-old man, HARRY, has his daughter, LILY, on his shoulders.
SORTING HAT: I’ve done this job for centuries On every student’s head I’ve sat Of thoughts I take inventories For I’m the famous Sorting Hat I’ve sorted high, I’ve sorted low, I’ve done the job through thick and thin So put me on and you will know Which House you should be in . . .
The truth is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution.
How can you hate a place you haven’t actually visited yet? ALBUS: Because I know it’ll be full of Hogwarts students.
AMOS: A memorial? I am not interested in a memorial — not anymore.
Have I just put my foot in it? It’s what they used to say about me at school. Delphini Diggory — there isn’t a hole she couldn’t dig herself into.
DELPHI: We don’t choose who we’re related to.
HARRY: You know what? I’m done with being made responsible for your unhappiness. At least you’ve got a dad. Because I didn’t, okay? ALBUS: And you think that was unlucky? I don’t. HARRY: You wish me dead? ALBUS: No! I just wish you weren’t my dad. ...
HARRY: It went pretty badly wrong from there. I said some things, Ginny . . . GINNY: I heard. HARRY: And you’re still talking to me? GINNY: Because I know that when the time is right you’ll say sorry. That you didn’t mean it. That what you said concealed . . . other things. You can be honest with him, Harry . . . That’s all he needs. HARRY: I just wish he was more like James or Lily. GINNY: Yeah, maybe don’t be that honest. HARRY: No, I wouldn’t change a thing about him . . . but I can understand them, and . . . GINNY: Albus is different and isn’t that a good thing. And he can tell, you know, when you’re putting on your Harry Potter front. He wants to see the real you.
RON: Honestly, every time I sit down now I make an “ooof” noise. An “ooof.” And my feet — the trouble I’m having with my feet — I could write songs about the pain my feet give me — maybe your scar is like that. GINNY: You talk a lot of rubbish. RON: I consider it my speciality.
SCORPIUS: At this precise moment in time, I take no pleasure in being right.
Are you okay, Albus? You look a little pale. And red. Pale and red at the same time.
This is chaos. This is magic. This is St. Oswald’s Home for Old Witches and Wizards and it is as wonderful as you might hope. Walker frames are conjured into life, knitting wool is enchanted into chaos, and male nurses are made to dance tango.
LUDO BAGMAN: And there they are. Ladies and gentlemen — boys and girls — I present to you — the reason why we’re all here — THE CHAMPIONS. Representing Durmstrang, what eyebrows, what a gait, what a boy, there’s nothing he won’t try on a broomstick, it’s Viktor Krazy Krum. From the Beauxbatons Academy — zut alors, it’s Fleur Delacour! And from Hogwarts not one but two students, he makes us all go weaky at the kneesy, he’s Cedric Delicious Diggory. And then the other—you know him as the Boy Who Lived, I know him as the boy who keeps surprising us all . . .
DUMBLEDORE: No. You’re supposed to teach him how to meet life. HARRY: How? He won’t listen. DUMBLEDORE: Perhaps he’s waiting for you to see him clearly.
HARRY: I thought for a long time I wasn’t a good enough dad for you because you didn’t like me. It’s only now I realize that I don’t need you to like me, I need you to obey me because I’m your dad and I do know better. I’m sorry, Albus. It has to be this way.
--- the two look at each other — one full of guilt — the other full of pain — both full of unhappiness.
You do not want to do this. DRACO: Yes, I do. HARRY: I don’t want to hurt you, Draco. DRACO: How interesting, because I do want to hurt you.
He needs me to do what? DELPHI: That’s the thing, isn’t it? About friendships. You don’t know what he needs. You only know he needs it.
SCORPIUS: Can you even slightly imagine what that’s like? Have you even ever tried? No. Because you can’t see beyond the end of your nose. Because you can’t see beyond the end of your stupid thing with your dad. He will always be Harry Potter, you know that, right? And you will always be his son.
Albus and Scorpius are not disappearing and reappearing — they’re traveling. Traveling in time.
SCORPIUS: The world changes and we change with it. I am better off in this world. But the world is not better. And I don’t want that.
Imagine the worst possible world, and then double it. People being tortured, dementors everywhere, a despotic Voldemort, my dad dead, me never born, the world surrounded by Dark Magic
… the Time-Turner begins to vibrate and then explodes into a storm of movement. And with it the stage starts to transform. The two boys look at it. And there is a giant whoosh of light. A smash of noise. And time stops. And then it turns over, thinks a bit, and begins spooling backwards, slow at first . . . And then it speeds up.
We have no idea where they are or when they are. Searching in time when you’ve no idea where in time to search, that’s a fool’s errand. No, love won’t do it and nor will a Time-Turner, I’m afraid. It’s up to our sons now — they’re the only ones who can save us.
DELPHI: The prophecy must be fulfilled. We will fulfill it. SCORPIUS: Prophecies can be broken. DELPHI: You’re mistaken, child, prophecies are the future. SCORPIUS: But if the prophecy is inevitable why are we here trying to influence it? Your actions contradict your thoughts — you’re dragging us through this maze because you believe this prophecy needs to be enabled — and by that logic prophecies can also be broken — prevented.
It’s a date. 31st October, 1981. The date my parents were killed.
Of course I loved you . . . and I knew that it would happen all over again . . . that where I loved, I would cause irreparable damage. I am no fit person to love . . . I have never loved without causing harm. … I was blind. That is what love does. … there is never a perfect answer in this messy, emotional world. Perfection is beyond the reach of humankind, beyond the reach of magic. In every shining moment of happiness is that drop of poison: the knowledge that pain will come again. Be honest to those you love, show your pain. To suffer is as human as to breathe. … Those that we love never truly leave us, Harry. There are things that death cannot touch. Paint . . . and memory . . . and love.
Love blinds. We have both tried to give our sons, not what they needed, but what we needed. We’ve been so busy trying to rewrite our own pasts, we’ve blighted their present.
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