Reading the Same Book as a Different Person: Fathers and Sons

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

One of the things I've come to appreciate about Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire is just how many different stories are being told beneath the surface.

There's an international wizarding tournament, dragons, merpeople, a murder mystery, and the return of the most dangerous wizard alive.

You know, typical fourth-year high school stuff.

But rereading it as an adult, I found myself fascinated by something I hadn't really paid much attention to before.

The sons.

Specifically, four young men who are all trying to figure out who they're going to become, and how much of that identity is shaped by their fathers.

Percy Weasley. Barty Crouch Jr. Harry Potter. Cedric Diggory.

Four sons. Four very different relationships with their fathers. Four very different ideas of what becoming a man looks like.

And as someone who grew up with a complicated relationship with the male role models in my own life, I found myself seeing pieces of my own experiences in all of them.

Percy Weasley: Doing It Better

I've always found Percy a little insufferable.

He's pompous, obsessed with rules, and seems to believe that having an important job automatically makes you an important person.

But reading Goblet of Fire now, I think I understand him a little better.

Percy grew up in a loving family that never had much money. His father, Arthur, is a good man who genuinely loves his work, but he's never been particularly interested in climbing the Ministry's ladder.

Percy sees that.

He sees his father's career choices, his family's financial struggles, and the opportunities Arthur might have passed up by refusing to play the political game.

And Percy decides he's going to do things differently.

He's going to work hard, follow the rules, impress the right people, and become somebody.

Then he gets a job working for Barty Crouch Sr., a respected and powerful Ministry official.

For Percy, this must feel like winning the lottery.

He's finally doing it. He's on the right path. He's going to achieve the kind of success he believes his father could have had.

And here's the interesting part.

I don't think Percy starts out wanting to reject his father. I think he wants to prove there's a better way.

Of course, Percy becomes so obsessed with his career that he starts losing sight of the things that make Arthur a good man in the first place.

But that's what makes him interesting to me now.

Because sometimes, in our determination not to repeat the mistakes we think our parents made, we fail to recognize the things they actually got right.

Barty Crouch Jr.: Burning It All Down

Then there's Barty Crouch Jr.

And what's fascinating is that his father is the very man Percy idolizes.

Barty Crouch Sr. represents everything Percy wants to become: respected, powerful, influential, and devoted to the Ministry.

But his own son wants absolutely nothing to do with that world.

Instead, Barty Jr. dedicates himself to Voldemort.

Where his father believes in law and institutional authority, Barty Jr. embraces the Dark Arts and a movement that seeks to tear that entire system apart.

He's not just walking a different path.

He's walking in the opposite direction.

And there's something particularly tragic about that relationship.

Barty Sr. spends his life building a reputation as a man of law and order, only to have his own son become everything he publicly stands against.

Of course, Barty Jr. is responsible for his own choices. His cruelty and devotion to Voldemort go far beyond ordinary teenage rebellion.

But I can't help wondering how much of his identity became wrapped up in rejecting his father.

Because sometimes the people we're determined not to become still end up defining an enormous part of who we are.

Even when we're running in the opposite direction.

Harry Potter: Following Footsteps He Never Saw

Harry's relationship with his father is different from both Percy and Barty.

Harry doesn't have James around to rebel against or learn from.

He has stories.

He has photographs.

He has people telling him how much he looks like his father, right down to that permanently messy hair.

And now he has Sirius.

Through Sirius, Harry gets something he's desperately needed: someone who actually knew his parents and can help him understand the people they were.

Harry wants to be like James.

Not because he's been raised by him, but because he's spent his entire life trying to understand the man he never got to know.

And this is where the book started getting particularly personal for me.

I had three important male role models growing up, and I lost those relationships at different stages of my life, for very different reasons.

Some showed me the kind of man I didn't want to become.

Others gave me examples I've spent my life trying to live up to.

My grandfather was one of those men.

I idolized him. He had a focus and consistency about him that I've always admired and, frankly, struggled to maintain in my own life.

When he passed away suddenly when I was sixteen, it felt like gravity had been turned off.

He was the sun at the center of our family's solar system. We all orbited around him.

And without him, we started drifting.

I think that's part of why Harry's relationship with James, and especially his growing relationship with Sirius, resonates with me so much more now.

Harry is trying to build an understanding of the man he wants to become using the memories and examples of people who aren't always there to guide him.

And I understand that feeling.

Cedric Diggory: Becoming Everything His Father Hoped For

And then there's Cedric.

Of the four sons, Cedric might have the most straightforward relationship with his father.

Amos Diggory absolutely adores his son.

He's proud of Cedric's accomplishments. He's proud that Cedric beat Harry Potter at Quidditch the previous year. He's proud that his son has been chosen as Hogwarts' champion.

Honestly, Amos is the kind of dad who would probably pull out his wallet and show you pictures of Cedric before you'd even finished introducing yourself.

And Cedric seems to be everything a father could hope for.

He's talented, handsome, popular, hardworking, and, most importantly, a genuinely decent person.

He doesn't let his father's pride turn into arrogance.

He treats Harry fairly, even when everyone around them seems determined to turn the Triwizard Tournament into a rivalry.

Cedric isn't trying to escape his father's shadow. He's trying to grow into the future his father believes he deserves.

And then that future is taken away.

Cedric dies, and Amos is left to experience something no parent should ever have to endure.

As a kid, I remember that moment primarily through Harry.

The shock. The horror. The realization that Voldemort is back.

But reading it now, I find myself thinking about Amos.

A father who spent the entire book telling anyone who would listen how proud he was of his son.

And suddenly, the son he'd built so many hopes around is gone.

It's devastating in a way I don't think I fully understood when I was younger.

Reading the Same Book as a Different Person

When I first read Goblet of Fire, I was interested in the tournament, the mystery, and the return of Voldemort.

I certainly wasn't sitting there thinking about how four different sons were navigating their relationships with their fathers.

But now?

I can't stop seeing it.

Percy wants to improve upon his father's choices.

Barty wants to reject his father's world.

Harry wants to follow in the footsteps of a father he barely knew.

And Cedric wants to become everything his father hopes he can be.

Four different paths, all shaped by the men who came before them.

And I think that's what this reread made me realize about my own life.

As a kid, I thought growing up meant deciding what kind of man I wanted to be.

As an adult, I realize how much of that decision was shaped by the men I wanted to be like, and the men I didn't.

I've spent years trying to carry forward the best qualities of people I admired, while deliberately leaving behind the choices of others.

And sometimes I've had to figure out what that looks like without anyone there to show me.

I think I've done all right.

I'm certainly not the man I imagined I'd become when I was younger.

But maybe that's part of growing up.

Eventually, you stop simply following in someone else's footsteps, or running away from them.

You start making footprints of your own.