Whenever Harry Potter is mentioned, people will inevitably share the story of when and
where they first fell under J.K. Rowling’s spell.
For me, I remember reading The Goblet of Fire late into the night, leaning against my bedroom
wall with the lamp dimly lit overhead, listening to the same fluty Kitaro songs over and over
on my CD player.
The larger-than-life feeling that a good book can create is truly unforgettable.
So, let’s look at seven major lessons writers can learn from this magical series that has
captured the hearts of so many—techniques that you can use to enliven your own stories.
Lesson number one: The Power of Human Relationships.
The Harry Potter series contains a web of characters, many of whom are connected in
surprising ways.
Every person Harry encounters plays a different role in his life: friend, admirer, enemy,
mentor, guardian, parent, love interest—the list goes on.
Sometimes they play a combination of roles, or their roles change over time.
For instance, Dobby and Harry have a tense dynamic at the start of The Chamber of Secrets
because Dobby is intentionally trying to get Harry expelled in order to protect him.
In that way, Dobby is both an antagonist and an ally.
No matter how annoying the house elf may be, he and Harry’s long-term friendship is cemented
by the events at the end of the story, when it’s revealed that Lucius Malfoy is Dobby’s master.
It’s hard not to cheer when Harry outwits Lucius by making him accidentally grant Dobby
his freedom.
Lucius and Dobby’s reactions are what make this scene memorable.
Good writers create opportunities like this for their minor characters to stand in the
spotlight.
We also get to see how each major character connects to Harry on a personal level.
In the Order of the Phoenix, Harry’s first interactions with Luna Lovegood leave an impression.
After Luna’s quirkiness is established, the chapter ends with Harry being confused
by the horse-like creatures pulling the carriages, which his friends can’t see.
This proves to be a point of connection between Harry and Luna in the chapter’s last page:
“It’s all right,” said a dreamy voice from beside Harry as Ron vanished into the
coach’s dark interior.
“You’re not going mad or anything.
I can see them too.”
“Can you?” said Harry desperately, turning to Luna.
He could see the bat-winged horses reflected in her wide, silvery eyes.
“Oh yes,” said Luna, “I’ve been able to see them ever since my first day here.
They’ve always pulled the carriages.
Don’t worry.
You’re just as sane as I am.”
Smiling faintly, she climbed into the musty interior of the carriage after Ron.
Not altogether reassured, Harry followed her.
The reader later learns that these thestrals can only be seen by those who have witnessed
death, and that imbues this moment with even greater meaning.
Harry is able to bond with someone outside of his current friend group because of their
shared experiences with death.
So, even if you have two characters that seem fundamentally different, you can find a commonality
between them that creates a point of human connection.
It’s also clear that Rowling has no problem killing off characters who are important to
the protagonist and to the reader.
Death is a part of life, and our characters grow from those experiences.
By establishing strong relationships between the protagonist and other characters, each
death will resonate.
That’s lesson one: Provide other characters with different roles to play in the protagonist’s life.
Lesson two: Everyone Has a Story.
Across the series, we learn that most characters are more than what they seem.
Those labelled as “good” people are given pasts that complicate that rosy image.
James Potter is shown to be a bully and Dumbledore a fanboy of magical Hitler.
Similarly, those who are deemed “bad” people are given sympathetic qualities.
Voldemort was an unwanted child.
Snape loved Harry’s mother more than life itself.
We understand how these characters became who they are.
One of the backstories that most affected me was that of Neville Longbottom.
We learn that he, rather than Harry, could have been the child described in the prophecy.
His parents were tortured into insanity by Voldemort’s followers, and now they must
spend the rest of their lives in St Mungo’s Hospital, all memory of their son gone.
Despite the pain he’s experienced, Neville has a gentle disposition and an inner strength,
not to mention his talent for Herbology.
If you’re looking to deepen the characterization in your own stories, give each character a past.
Lesson three: Distinctive Dialogue.
“The females’ve got sorta sucker things on their bellies.
. . . I think they might be ter suck blood.”
“I heard your father finally got his hands on some gold this summer, Weasley.
Did your mother die of shock?”
“Now, it is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than
sufficient to get you through your examination, which, after all, is what school is all about.”
You could probably guess which characters spoke the above quotes, based on the tone
and content of the dialogue.
Hagrid has an informal way of speaking and often talks about dangerous magical creatures
without concern; Draco is snotty and spends his time insulting Harry and his friends,
referring to them by their last names, perhaps because surnames are an indicator of status;
Dolores Umbridge maintains a prim and proper tone, with more than a touch of condescension,
and she’s constantly parroting the views of the Ministry.
How a person speaks and what they focus on reveals a great deal about their personality,
beliefs, and values.
We don’t need to be told that Hagrid is a lovable-but-reckless teacher or that Draco
is a jerk; instead, the reader learns those facts by seeing the characters in action.
Dialogue is the ultimate way to show instead of tell.
In your own stories, determine each character’s primary emotion—maybe they’re annoyingly
cheerful or quick to irritate.
Think of how you can convey that trait through the way they speak.
Also keep in mind that the way they speak may change depending on whom they’re talking
to, such as professors vs. friends.
You can use dialogue to convey personality.
Lesson four: Sensory Surprises.
When crafting a world, it can be tempting to dip into purple prose, piling on the adjectives
and adverbs.
Harry Potter teaches us that you don’t need verbose descriptions; rather, having a few
details that stand out are what make a scene memorable.
Look at this description of the Great Hall from the first book:
“It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over
four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting.
These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets.
At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting…Dotted here
and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver.
Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Harry looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling
dotted with stars.”
What details stand out?
For me, it’s the floating candles, the ghosts, and the ceiling charmed to look like the night sky.
We later learn of the moving staircases and talking paintings that exist all throughout
the school.
The descriptions aren’t dense, but they are visually stunning because of their uniqueness.
Every book in the series unveils new settings, items, spells, and characters that provide
more opportunities for sensory surprises that keep the story fresh and engaging.
Most readers could easily describe the iconic settings in the Harry Potter series: Diagon
Alley, Hogsmeade, The Shrieking Shack, The Burrow.
If your settings are difficult for someone else to describe from memory, then the details
you’ve chosen might not be very striking.
In addition, description doesn’t have to come through narrative; you can provide it
through dialogue as well.
In the Half-Blood Prince, we encounter the Amortentia potion for the first time, and
the dialogue exchange between Professor Slughorn and Hermione provides exposition, sensory
details, and characterization:
“Excellent, excellent!
Now, this one here . . . yes, my dear?” said Slughorn, now looking slightly bemused,
as Hermione’s hand punched the air again.
“It’s the most powerful love potion in the world!” said Hermione.
“Quite right!
You recognized it, I suppose, by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen?”
“And the steam rising in characteristic spirals,” said Hermione enthusiastically,
“and it’s supposed to smell differently to each of us, according to what attracts
us, and I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and —”
But she turned slightly pink and did not complete the sentence.
Right before this scene, we also get a sensory description from Harry that serves to show
the reader what the characters are thinking, even subconsciously:
They chose the one nearest a gold-colored cauldron that was emitting one of the most
seductive scents Harry had ever inhaled: Somehow it reminded him simultaneously of treacle
tart, the woody smell of a broomstick handle, and something flowery he thought he might
have smelled at the Burrow.
Rowling doesn’t tell us that the smell reminds Harry of Ginny; instead, the reader can use
those sensory cues to pick up on the subtext and thus become more mentally involved in
the story.
Take advantage of opportunities to use your sensory descriptions to communicate something
about your characters and the world they live in.
In general, you want to choose unexpected details that are easy to visualize.
Lesson five: Chekhov’s Guns.
"If you say in the first chapter that there is a rifle hanging on the wall, in the second
or third chapter it absolutely must go off.
If it's not going to be fired, it shouldn't be hanging there."
This is a famous quote from Russian playwright Anton Chekhov.
More recently, the term “Chekhov’s Gun” has been used to refer to a seemingly insignificant
detail that becomes important to the story later on.
This is a common technique used in mystery novels to foreshadow the culprit’s identity,
and because Harry Potter is a mystery series at heart, it’s filled with Chekhov’s Guns.
For example, in the Philosopher’s Stone, Harry gets a chocolate frog card of Dumbledore
that mentions Nicolas Flamel and the philosopher’s stone.
Later on, when Harry and his friends are trying to research Flamel, Harry can’t remember
where he heard that name before—until he gets another Dumbledore chocolate frog card.
In the Chamber of Secrets, the most important catalyst for the plot happens during a rather
forgettable moment, when Lucius Malfoy runs into the Weasley family at Flourish and Blotts:
He was still holding Ginny’s old Transfiguration book.
He thrust it at her, his eyes glittering with malice.
“Here, girl — take your book — it’s the best your father can give you —”
In the last chapter, Harry puts two and two together and accuses Lucius of putting Tom
Riddle’s diary in Ginny’s textbook back at the bookshop.
This type of foreshadowing is a fun way to make small details and insignificant scenes
relevant to the larger plot.
Even if you don’t know the ending of your story as you’re writing, you can always
go back and add in those Chekhov’s Guns.
As the author, you know what happens but your reader doesn’t, so make your book worth
re-reading by sprinkling clues that put the answer right under the audience’s nose.
Employ foreshadowing to deliver clever reveals.
Lesson six: Something Borrowed, Something New.
The Harry Potter series is known for putting a twist on familiar mythology.
There may be dragons and unicorns, but we also encounter lesser-known magical species,
like hippogriffs and mandrakes.
Even the clichéd ideas of wizards and witches wearing pointy hats, riding broomsticks, and
using wands are subverted through new additions to the established tropes.
We have the Sorting Hat, which sings and reads the wearer’s personality to determine which
of the four Houses to put them in.
There’s Quidditch, which turns broomstick-riding into a sport.
Mr. Ollivander presents the idea of the “wand choosing the wizard,” and wands can be made
of many types of wood, from willow to yew, and filled with unicorn hair, phoenix tail
feathers, or the heartstrings of dragons.
These components also determine the type of magic the wand is best used for, not to mention
that wands can also have “brothers” and be linked in that way, as Harry and Voldemort’s are.
Rowling builds on the cultural mythology that already exists in the readers’ minds, giving
us new factoids to chew on.
You can do the same in your fantasy stories: recycle old legends, subvert tropes!
Read history books and dive into folktales from different cultures; I highly recommend
the Myths and Legends podcast for inspiration.
Find ways to add a twist to familiar concepts.
Lesson seven: Life’s Big Questions.
The reason Harry Potter will remain an international classic for generations to come is not because
of its accessible writing style or page-turning mysteries, but because of the universal themes
it explores: Friendship.
Heroism.
Love.
Death.
How should we think about these important parts of our lives?
Dumbledore is the most quoted character in the series, and he delivers the story’s
themes through simple words of wisdom:
“After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.”
“It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.”
“Do not pity the dead, Harry, pity the living, and above all those who live without love.”
“Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that
it is not real?”
As a writer, you want to entertain your audience, but you can also raise questions that go beyond
the story.
Every time I finish a Harry Potter novel, I feel that indescribable sense of fulfillment,
and the world takes on new color.
By taking a page from J.K. Rowling’s book,
you can give that same gift to your own readers.
What have you learned about storytelling from reading the Harry Potter series?
I’d love to know your thoughts in the comments.
Whatever you do, keep writing.