Harry Potter and the Cursed Child

DUMBLEDORE: Candidly, Harry, it seemed a great weight to place upon the poor boy.
HARRY: I need your help. I need your advice. Bane says Albus is in danger. How do I protect my
son, Dumbledore?
DUMBLEDORE: You ask me, of all people, how to protect a boy in terrible danger? We cannot
protect the young from harm. Pain must and will come.
HARRY: So I’m supposed to stand and watch?
DUMBLEDORE: No. You’re supposed to teach him how to meet life.
HARRY: How? He won’t listen.
DUMBLEDORE: Perhaps he’s waiting for you to see him clearly.
HARRY frowns as he tries to digest this.
(With sensitivity.) It is a portrait’s curse and blessing to . . . hear things. At the school, at the
Ministry, I hear people talking . . .
HARRY: And what is the gossip about me and my son?
DUMBLEDORE: Not gossip. Concern. That you two are struggling. That he’s difficult. That he is
angry with you. I have formed the impression that — perhaps — you are blinded by your love
for him.
HARRY: Blinded?
DUMBLEDORE: You must see him as he is, Harry. You must look for what’s wounding him.
HARRY: Haven’t I seen him as he is? What’s wounding my son? (He thinks.) Or is it who’s
wounding my son?
ALBUS (mumbles in his sleep): Dad . . .
HARRY: This black cloud, it’s someone, isn’t it? Not something?
DUMBLEDORE: Ah really, what does my opinion matter anymore? I am paint and memory, Harry,
paint and memory. And I never had a son.
HARRY: But I need your advice.
ALBUS: Dad?
HARRY looks at ALBUS and then back at DUMBLEDORE. But DUMBLEDORE is gone.
HARRY: No, where have you gone now?