Harry Potter and the Cursed Child

— she thinks about things a lot more — deeply — than I do — and she thought it’d be nicer
for you to get something useful for school. So we got you a — set of quills. Yes. Yes. Yes.
Look at these bad boys. Top of the range.
ALBUS: Who’s Padma?
HARRY frowns at ALBUS.
HARRY: Your aunt.
ALBUS: I have an Aunt Padma?
RON (to HARRY): Taken a Confundus Charm to the head, has he? (To ALBUS.) My wife, Padma.
You remember. Talks slightly too close to your face, smells a bit minty. (Leans in.) Padma,
mother of Panju! (To HARRY.) That’s why I’m here, of course. Panju. He’s in trouble again. I
wanted to just send a Howler but Padma insisted I come in person. I don’t know why. He just
laughs at me.
ALBUS: But . . . you’re married to Hermione.
Beat. RON doesn’t understand this at all.
RON: Hermione. No. Nooooo. Merlin’s beard.
HARRY: Albus has also forgotten that he was sorted into Gryffindor. Conveniently.
RON: Yes, well, sorry, old chap, but you’re a Gryffindor.
ALBUS: But how did I get sorted into Gryffindor?
RON: You persuaded the Sorting Hat, don’t you remember? Panju bet you that you couldn’t get
into Gryffindor if your life depended on it, so you chose Gryffindor to spite him. I can’t blame
you, (dry) we’d all like to wipe the smile off his face sometimes, wouldn’t we? (Terrified.)
Please don’t tell Padma I said that.
ALBUS: Who’s Panju?
RON and HARRY stare at ALBUS.
RON: Bloody hell, you’re really not yourself, are you? Anyway, better go, before I’m sent a
Howler myself.
He stumbles on, not even an inch of the man he was.
ALBUS: But that doesn’t . . . make sense.
HARRY: Albus, whatever you’re feigning, it isn’t working. I will not change my mind.