Harry Potter and the Cursed Child

HARRY: Can’t. We’re off sugar at the moment. (Beat.) You know, you can get addicted to that
stuff?
HERMIONE: What can I say? My parents were dentists, I was bound to rebel at some point. Forty is
leaving it a little late, but . . . (She smiles at her friend.) Look, you’ve just done a brilliant
thing. You’re certainly not being told off — I just need you to look at your paperwork every
now and again, that’s all. Consider this a gentle — nudge — (HARRY scowls) from the Minister
for Magic.
HARRY hears the implication in her emphasis, he nods.
How’s Ginny? How’s Albus?
HARRY: It seems I’m as good at fatherhood as I am at paperwork. How’s Rose? How’s Hugo?
HERMIONE (with a grin): You know, Ron says he thinks I see more of my secretary, Ethel, (she
indicates off) than him. Do you think there’s a point where we made a choice — parent of the
year or Ministry official of the year? Go on. Go home to your family, Harry, the Hogwarts
Express is about to depart for another year — enjoy the time you’ve got left — and then come
back here with a fresh head and get these files read.
HARRY: You really think this could all mean something?
HERMIONE (with a smile): It could do. But if it does, we’ll find a way to fight it, Harry. We always
have.
She smiles once more, pops a toffee in her mouth, and leaves the office. HARRY is left alone.
He packs his bag. He walks out of the office and down a corridor. The weight of the world
upon his shoulders.
He walks, tired, into a telephone box. He dials 62442.
TELEPHONE BOX: Farewell, Harry Potter.
He ascends away from the Ministry of Magic.