The world of the Harry Potter series is usually considered bad worldbuilding. What are some examples of actually good worldbuilding in the books/movies?
07.06.2025 01:38
What I’m left with is the question of where to go from here. There were a lot of things I liked about Harry Potter that made it feel magical and special to me. How do I carry it forward? I feel like if I use or reference any of this stuff in my own work — even so much as having a portrait talk — someone’s gonna go, “HEY, YOU STOLE THAT FROM HARRY POTTER!” But it’s been more than twenty years. Maybe I can get away with using some of these ideas again. It’s clear that this type of worldbuilding had real power, that it gripped people and immersed them in a way that most fantasy writers can only dream of. I want that magic back! I’m definitely not going to get it from Rowling anymore, so I’ll have to create it myself.
Harry hurried forward into one of the many alleyways between all this hidden treasure. He turned right past an enormous stuffed troll, ran on a short way, took a left at the broken Vanishing Cabinet in which Montague had got lost the previous year, finally pausing beside a large cupboard that seemed to have had acid thrown at its blistered surface. He opened one of the cupboard’s creaking doors: It had already been used as a hiding place for something in a cage that had long since died; its skeleton had five legs. He stuffed the Half-Blood Prince’s book behind the cage and slammed the door. He paused for a moment, his heart thumping horribly, gazing around at all the clutter…. Would he be able to find this spot again amidst all this junk? Seizing the chipped bust of an ugly old warlock from the top of a nearby crate, he stood it on top of the cupboard where the book was now hidden, perched a dusty old wig and a tarnished tiara on the statue’s head to make it more distinctive, then sprinted back through the alleyways of hidden junk as fast as he could go, back to the door, back out onto the corridor, where he slammed the door behind him, and it turned at once back into stone.
A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium — Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy. Several boys of about Harry's age had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it. "Look," Harry heard one of them say, "the new Nimbus Two Thousand — fastest ever —" There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Harry had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon....
Can you DM your uncle’s wife for a video?
—Philosopher’s Stone, Chapter 8
Drifting along in the sparkling current inside was a tiny, jewel-bright egg. As it rose in the jar it cracked open and a hummingbird emerged, which was carried to the very top of the jar, but as it fell on the draft, its feathers became bedraggled and damp again, and by the time it had been borne back to the bottom of the jar it had been enclosed once more in the egg.
For all the flaws in the magic system, Legilimency is actually handled pretty well. We have a good idea of how it works from Harry’s lessons with Snape. It’s set up early through various moments in the early books when Harry feels like Dumbledore or Snape can read his mind. Occlumency provides a nice explanation for how Snape is able to resist Voldemort’s own Legilimency. Voldemort’s remote Legilimency can be explained by his being a very powerful wizard (soft magic at work again), and the unique connection between his mind and Harry’s.
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It was a ton of fun to do potions minigames in the Harry Potter video games. One of the best parts of my Harry-Potter-themed birthday parties was the “potions game” in which we would set out potion bottles full of different-colored liquids (like “dragon’s blood,” which was deep red fruit punch, or “angel water,” which was white grape juice) and pots of “powdered unicorn horn” (powdered sugar). That was a hit with my friends.
—Philosopher’s Stone, Chapter 5
—J.K. Rowling, Pottermore.
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Here’s an early description of Hogwarts, when Harry is trying to navigate it for the first time:
Rowan gossips, chestnut drones,
The Room of Requirement is also an excellent concept. It does a lot to make Hogwarts feel magical and mysterious during the dreary horror of Umbridge’s tyranny. (And I love that it’s teased briefly during the Yule Ball in Book 4.) In particular, the version of the Room of Requirement that has always interested me the most is the Room of Hidden Things, in which Malfoy repairs the broken Vanishing Cabinet (which is also a great concept):
Rowling actually did her research for her potions, and it shows! She read through herbals, and enjoyed creating the potion recipes based on herbal lore:
And sure enough, within this category of unproven sayings we find:
I’ve said before that Rowling excels at soft worldbuilding. (For an overview of what that is, see this answer.) She uses descriptions of magical things existing around the characters — the floating candles, the letters from no one, the moving paintings, the tent that’s larger on the inside, Dumbledore’s celestial watch or spindly instruments, owls carrying letters, mentions of random magical items or creatures or spell effects that are never seen again — to set the vibe, and make the world feel large and mysterious. It’s the literary equivalent of objects moving by themselves in the background of film scenes. You don’t need to know how it works. You’re not supposed to know how it works. Knowing how it works is like seeing behind the curtain — it takes the mystery out of it, and that’s disappointing. All the background magic and other whimsical, mysterious elements of the worldbuilding set a particular vibe. It’s so compelling and so evocative, that it makes people yearn to be apart of it. I’ll show you what I mean.
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He knew it at once by the beautiful, dancing, diamond-sparkling light. As Harry’s eyes became more accustomed to the brilliant glare he saw clocks gleaming from every surface, large and small, grandfather and carriage, hanging in spaces between the bookcases or standing on desks ranging the height of the room, so that a busy, relentless ticking filled the place like thousands of minuscule, marching footsteps. The source of the dancing, diamond-bright light was a towering crystal bell jar that stood on the far end of the room.
I remember reading this for the first time, and again, it just kind of made intuitive sense to me. Something about this just fits into the “eye of newt and toe of frog” association between magical people and gross things. Unfortunately, this is retconned later with the knowledge that wizards can’t use magic outside school, but before that limitation is imposed, the idea of Lily amusing herself by turning teacups into rats seems like an inherently witchy thing to do.
The entire concept of there being a secret department in the magical government dedicated to studying the nature of magic is really, really interesting! I kind of wish more was done with it. But at the same time, if too much about the Department of Mysteries were explained, that would ruin it.
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ash is stubborn, hazel moans.
[…]
There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It was also very hard to remember where anything was, because it all seemed to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other, and Harry was sure the coats of armor could walk.
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Although it’s mishandled in Book 7, I like that there’s in-universe wandlore at all. It makes total sense, given the importance of wands to the wizarding community, and the amount of variation between them. Dumbledore explains some of the folklore around wands in his commentary in The Tales of Beedle the Bard (one of my favorite pieces of supplemental material):
Here’s the first time Harry sees Diagon Alley:
—Order of the Phoenix, chapter 34
On the topic of magical items, horcruxes are a well-executed idea, too. We know enough about what they are for them to work within the context of the story, but not so much about them that they cease to be mysterious and scary. It’s a smart move that Rowling never told us exactly what depraved thing is necessary for the creation of a horcrux, because whatever our imaginations can come up with will be much worse. But we know all the important things: We know the conditions under which they can be destroyed, we understand why Voldemort chose the objects that he chose (logically or not), and Harry being a horcrux doesn’t feel like an ass pull because it’s so well set up. And their name is just perfect.
Whether because of the fact that Death makes the fictional wand out of elder in Beedle’s story, or because power-hungry or violent wizards have persistently claimed that their own wands are made of elder, it is not a wood that is much favored among wandmakers.
or to denote flaws in the owner’s character:
What is the kinkiest thing you and your sex partner have done in bed?
Wand of elder, never prosper.
—The Tales of Beedle the Bard, “Albus Dumbledore on The Tale of the Three Brothers.”
This is one of the reasons why Potions were given more emphasis in Book 6. I want to create my own potion system based on folklore!
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By far the best aspect of the magic system is potions. I’ve always loved potions (which is ironic, because I don’t like chemistry or cooking). I distinctly remember being disappointed that Harry’s Potions teacher was mean. But I liked pretty much everything else she did with potions. Having potions class in the dungeon just made intuitive sense to me (I think because I played I Spy: Fantasy as a kid, and there was a wizard’s room with a big cauldron in the dungeon). There was a spooky toil-and-trouble vibe to Potions class, more so than any of the other classes at Hogwarts, and that made it stand out. That’s why it thrilled me so much that Potions took center-stage in Book 6, and was no longer taught by Snape, so that the focus could be put on the potions themselves and not just on Harry’s hatred of Snape.
…I always enjoyed creating potions in the books, and researching ingredients for them. Many of the components of the various draughts and libations that Harry creates for Snape exist (or were once believed to exist) and have (or were believed to have) the properties I gave them. Dittany, for instance, really does have healing properties (it is an anti-inflammatory, although I would not advise Splinching yourself to test it); a bezoar really is a mass taken from the intestines of an animal, and it really was once believed that drinking water in which a bezoar was placed could cure you of poisoning.
Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that — that school, and came home every holiday with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was — a freak!
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—Philosopher’s Stone, Chapter 4
Wands, I have mixed feelings about. On the one hand, it frustrates me that wizards are so reliant on them to do any magic at all. I wish that some wizards had Gandalf-like staffs. And it’s very confusing that wands (other than the Elder Wand) suddenly change allegiances in Book 7, when that’s never happened before. But in general, I like the lore around wands! I like that wands are semi-sentient, that each wand has its own “personality” that syncs with that of the wizard, and that wizards view wands as extensions of themselves. I like that their magical cores come from different magical creatures, and that there’s more potential cores than the three that Ollivander uses. I like that each of the wand woods has its own lore around it (however much that may have been based on Robert Graves’ “Celtic Tree Calendar”). One of my favorite pieces of supplemental material from the original Pottermore was Ollivander’s list of wand woods and their associated lore (which you can still find on the Harry Potter site). The scene in Ollivander’s shop was one of the best scenes from Book 1; it’s Harry’s moment of formal initiation into the Wizarding community. “The wand chooses the wizard” is chill-inducing, and appropriate.
By AncientKing
Rowling’s approach to magical items is generally quite good. She gave us the Sorting Hat and its lyrical words of wisdom, the iconic Golden Snitch, the Vanishing Cabinet, the Pensieve, the glassy prophecy, the Mirror of Erised, the three Deathly Hallows, the Marauder’s Map. I remember how much fun it was to read about the Map for the first time — it’s like in a video game, when you gain an item or ability that you needed to progress, and it doubles the number of accessible locations. It emphasizes the exploratory aspects of Hogwarts! Who doesn’t love secret rooms and passages, and avoiding the mean adults who try to catch you? The map’s magical quality of showing everyone’s location seems a little less impressive in this age of GPS and Find-My-iPhone, and has a kind of dark “surveillance” undertone if you think about it too much, but in-context it’s a fun idea that’s well-utilized. I think the Pensieve is used to its full potential as well, through the “Snape’s Worst Memory” scene, and all of the Tom Riddle memories in Book 6. I really wish I had a Pensieve.
It is hardly surprising that old superstitions have grown up around our wands, which are, after all, our most important magical tools and weapons. Certain wands (and therefore their owners) are supposed to be incompatible:
—Half-Blood Prince, chapter 24
Rowling’s magical creatures are good, too! The introductions of Fawkes and Buckbeak are super memorable. So are the monsters like Fluffy, Aragog, Inferi, and the Basilisk. Thestrals are so unique, and spooky! (I love how their name comes from the Middle English word for “dark”). Dementors in general are a great concept — they’re something in the world that’s effectively worse than Voldemort or Death Eaters, and they’re a clever personification of soul-sucking despair and depression. Many of the most creative magical creatures never appear in the series proper, and are first mentioned in the original Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (which is worth getting, for Harry and Ron’s hilarious commentary alone).
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He was standing in a room the size of a large cathedral, whose high windows were sending shafts of light down upon what looked like a city with towering walls, built of what Harry knew must be objects hidden by generations of Hogwarts inhabitants. They were alleyways and roads bordered by teetering piles of broken and damaged furniture, stowed away, perhaps, to hide the evidence of mishandled magic, or else hidden by castle-proud house-elves. There were thousands and thousands of books, no doubt banned or graffitied or stolen. There were winged catapults and Fanged Frisbees, some still with enough life in them to hover halfheartedly over the mountains of other forbidden items; there were what looked like dragon eggshells, corked bottles whose contents still shimmered evilly, several rusting swords, and a heavy, bloodstained axe.
All of these small moments contribute to the feeling of the wizarding world being alive, inhabited, and also magical. After this scene, you know exactly what you’re in for, and you’re bursting to be part of this world, just as Harry is. It gets you to ask the question of what your life would be like if you were a wizard. What do wizards wear? What do they eat? What do they haggle over and complain about? What do they do for fun?
When his wand’s oak and hers is holly,
This is an amazing description. Is there anyone who read that description and didn’t desperately want to dig through all that stuff? I would give just about anything to look through an abandoned storeroom full of magical items! I was bitterly disappointed that it was destroyed in Book 7 (because I liked to keep my fanfictions canonical). I’m going to have to put a similar concept in my own work just to give myself that fantasy. The icing on the cake is the mention of the “tarnished tiara,” which is of course the Diadem of Ravenclaw. (Rowling is a master of Chekhov’s Guns)
It’s our first proper sight of the Wizarding World, and it immediately juxtaposes the weirdness and whimsy of wizardness with familiar normalcy: Eeylops’ Owl Emporium is the wizard version of a pet shop. Wizards go to apothecaries to stock up on dragon liver and unicorn hair, the way one might do grocery shopping. The random woman complaining about the price is a great touch, because it’s immediately grounding — the mundane comment familiarizes the extraordinary. Broomsticks are treated like cars, and the little boys goggle at them. Deliberate archaisms like quills, robes, and parchment are fun, and help give the world the “wizard” aesthetic. Antique astronomical instruments (like armillary spheres) set that aesthetic, too.
There’s fewer of these kinds of descriptions of mysterious magical places as the series goes on, as it becomes less whimsical and more dramatic, but there are a few. One of the ones in the later books that always stood out to me was the Department of Mysteries. I like how there are different rooms dedicated to different fundamental abstracts: Love, Time, Death, etc. There are so many cool ideas throughout these two chapters:
One of the things I always liked about the Wizarding World, ever since I was a kid, is that it’s a bit macabre. Wizards seem comfortable with things that would gross out the average Muggle. Their candy is shaped like frogs, flies, mice, and so forth, and their jellybeans taste disgusting. The film’s version of the above Diagon Alley sequence features a pet bat available for purchase. The candles in the Astronomy Tower in the third film, when Harry’s practicing the Patronus Charm with Lupin, are shaped like human spines. The more macabre aspects of the Wizarding World are established very early, when Petunia describes Lily’s behavior after she became a witch:
So I have to give Rowling some props for that one. I wish that there was more stuff like this throughout the series. This is the kind of worldbuilding content that really helps to flesh out the world.
Harry Potter’s worldbuilding isn’t uniformly good or bad. What it is, is inconsistent. The stuff that works, really works. The stuff that doesn’t is easy to ignore or gloss over while you’re reading, and only becomes a problem when you start to think too hard about it. I recently wrote an answer about all the things Rowling does wrong. There are lots of things I wish were different about Harry Potter’s worldbuilding, especially in the later books, but there are also lots of things I appreciate about it.
Many of these details don’t come back later in the series, which is a shame, because this one paragraph is super evocative! It establishes Hogwarts as an inherently magical place, in which the very architecture doesn’t conform to normal rules. Hogwarts seems like it would be exciting to explore (assuming you weren’t late for class), and it gets even better when you learn about all the secret rooms and passages. The games capitalized on this by building all the secret rooms behind bookcases, mirrors, illusory walls, etc. into the game world, and rewarding you for finding them. The utter fascination that produces is hard to overstate.
Harry wished he had about eight more eyes. He turned his head in every direction as they walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping. A plump woman outside an Apothecary was shaking her head as they passed, saying, “Dragon liver, seventeen Sickles an ounce, they're mad....”