Hearing Written Magic in Harry Potter Films: Insights into Power and Truth in the Scoring for In-World Written Words

Abstract

This paper explores how sound design in the Harry Potter film series shapes the symbolic significance of written words within the magical world. Sound mediates between language and meaning; while characters gain knowledge by reading and seeing, viewers are guided emotionally and thematically by how these written texts are framed through sound. For example, Harry’s magical identity is signalled to viewers through the score long before he fully understands himself—first through music when he speaks to a snake, then more explicitly when he receives his letter from Hogwarts. Throughout the series, characters engage with a wide array of written media—textbooks, letters, newspapers, diaries, maps, and inscriptions—that gradually shift in narrative function, from static props to dynamic, multi-sensory agents of transformation. Using a close analysis of selected scenes to examine layers of utterances, diegetic sounds, underscore, and sound design, this study draws on metaphor theory and adaptation theory to examine how sound design gives writing a metaphorical voice, sometimes framing it as character, landscape, or moral authority. As the series progresses, becoming more autonomous from the literary source, written words take on greater symbolic significance, and sound increasingly determines which texts are granted narrative power, whose voices are trusted, and how viewers interpret truth and agency across media. Ultimately, written words in the films are animated through sound into agents of growth, memory, resistance, and transformation. Thus, the audio-visual treatment of written magic reveals not just what is written, but what matters.

1. Introduction

This article explores how music, sound, and dialogue support visuals of written words inside the Harry Potter narrative as experienced in the films. Harry Potter is an epic tale of good and evil, truth, and mystery, embedded in the naturalness of a coming of age story in a magically supernatural world; a story in which the characters are challenged by both magical threats and moral dilemmas1. In the magic realm, characters regularly encounter written words that hold the key to their understanding of what is trustworthy, what is true, and what holds power (both magical and innate) in the world they inhabit. Although magic provides extraordinary possibilities on the one hand, many of the resources are traditional and time-tested. In lieu of phones, the internet, or television, magical youth encounter physical items with historic associations from the real-world and magical attributes from the Wizarding world; these include library collections of books spanning hundreds of years (some with both magical knowledge and magical properties), (charmed) quills, (charmed) ink, parchment letters (magically delivered by owls), newspapers (with magically moving photographs), and so forth. Many of these and other items include written words, creating a meta relationship between the source material for the films and the resources that in-world characters encounter. Written language provides a means of communicating ideas and storing information. The Special Collections & Archives Research Center at the Oregon State University Libraries (accessed April 2025) posits that, “written language is the single most important and far-reaching technology available to humans and has served as the foundation for virtually all other information technologies … Writing has allowed for the development and maintenance of large and complex societies, the formalisation of both academic and practical learning, and the ability to exchange information”. These patterns also hold true in Harry Potter’s Wizarding culture set in the here and now. An examination of how physical items with writing are supported with sound reveals how the film makers chose to depict power and truth—magical, objective, and moral—in changing ways across the series, and metaphorical resonances with the process of filmmakers’ production choices as well as Harry’s hero journey itself.

As an expression of creativity and artistry, written items provide a source of pleasure for the characters as well as film viewers through appealing calligraphy fonts, clever turns of phrase, or animated behaviours. More importantly, they reflect the main way magical youth learn about the magical world; a pleasurable aspect of the process of becoming truly magical. As such, this is one vicarious way that film viewers learn as well. Textbooks of spells and histories, official and personal correspondence, newspaper news stories, tabloid rumours and urban legends, magical inscriptions, scrawled notes, informational posters, legal decrees and testaments, handwritten marginalia, maps, charmed diaries, bedtime folktales, and messages in blood provide primary sources of information that Harry and his friends use to navigate their circumstances. Although dialogue and plot elements affirm the importance of unwritten knowledge, personal traits, skills, and innate powers gained outside of institutional and book learning, these examples, though important to the plot, are the exceptions to the rule. Written documents within the story are the typical, ongoing, primary sources of information available to Harry and his friends as they matriculate through Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, encountering new adventures and trials each school year.

However, not everything that the characters read is true (while conversely, un-vetted information is not always false), and not every spell or potion cast from textbooks has the same power. Further, not every written example comes from sanctioned institutional learning, and some written examples intentionally subvert sanctioned information. Despite the many ways that the characters are sometimes misled or confused by written information, the sound-scoring that accompanies the written examples reliably points toward truth and power (as the filmmakers have interpreted these ideas) for the benefit of film viewers. That is, the sound-design for written items in the films itself is truthful, trustworthy, and a powerful indicator of narrative and emotional truth.

2. Methodology

This study explores musical and sound metaphors in the films, focusing on in-world written items over the course of several aesthetic collaborations and approaches. Following the theories and models of Claudia Gorbman (1987), Kathryn Kalinak (1997), and Anahid Kassabian (2001), this article provides an example of how film music can be organised (as music itself, and with film images) in order to guide cinematic interpretations. My analysis is also informed by the work of historical musicologists such as Mary Ann Smart (2004), who explored how music can mimic drama with musical metaphors; musicologists Roland John Wiley (1985) and Thérèse Hurley (2007), who have discussed historical musical codes for the fantastic; musicologist Susan McClary (1991), who interrogated historic significations in musical structure that affect the interpretation of musical meaning in contemporary times; and the late music theorist Steve Larson, who, in conjunction with philosopher Mark L. Johnson (Johnson and Larson 2003) and music theorist Leigh VanHandel (Larson and Vanhandel 2005; Larson 2012), has explored how the metaphorical process of mapping physical motion onto musical motion in melody, harmony, and time affects listeners’ understanding of and emotional response to music.

By examining the interplay of utterances, diegetic sounds, sound effects, and different approaches to underscore with methodologies of inquiry from film music studies, and using the metaphors we use to describe alignments of music, word, and visuals, we find implicit value systems about power and truth in the Harry Potter films that may not align with interpretations of the books alone, or indeed with one film to the next. Although I highlight the role of musical underscore when it usefully assists understanding, this study addresses the integrated sound design, holistically, inclusive of sound effects, diegetic sounds, and utterances, following the work of the late Danijela Kulezic-Wilson (2019) who argued that the modern film score creates meaning through integration.

While the aim of this exploration is not to compare the Harry Potter novels with the film adaptations, an awareness of the original source material was nevertheless central to the production process and film reception. Following the critical acclaim of the source material, the Harry Potter films became high-profile productions, then box office and critical successes. The producers strategically ensured that the film adaptations would capture the magic of the original books by hiring well-known film-makers, successful composers and a legion of British and Irish stage and screen veterans; using British and Scottish historic and outdoor locations, and budgeting for high-end special effects. Although viewers agree that all of the films generally reflect the characters and main events as they occur in the books, perusal of Harry Potter internet fan site discussions—such as those on HPana, MuggleNet, The Leaky Cauldron or review sites such as The Internet Movie Database—reveals that fans perceive strong aesthetic differences between the different films.

While fans tended to evaluate each Harry Potter film in relation to the source texts and the overarching narrative of the book series, the filmmakers often approached each instalment either as an autonomous creative vision or as part of a cinematic continuum in direct conversation with the previous film. This divergence highlights a fundamental difference in perspective: viewers looked outward—situating each movie within the literary framework—while creators focused inward, shaping their work intra-textually in relation to the cinematic journey they were crafting and negotiating continuity and coherence within the evolving filmic universe. As such, the Harry Potter films occupy an intertextual space wherein filmmakers functioned as co-authors engaged in reinterpretation and re-contextualisation. Hutcheon describes adaptation as both a process and a product: “As a process of creation, the act of adaptation always involves both (re-)interpretation and (re-)creation” (Hutcheon 2013, p. 8).

Indeed, the films feel different from one another in large part because of different filmmaking teams. When directors and composer make production choices about visual and audio aesthetics, it affects the way viewers experience the narrative. Sound design in films expands the physical space of the narrative beyond the boundaries of what is seen, and likewise, is crucial in expanding the dimensions of the fantasy universe of the Harry Potter films, developing its own dramatic discourse and its own temporal and spatial dimensions (Smart 2004; Gorbman 1987; Chion 1994; Petrobelli 1994; Kulezic-Wilson 2019). Over the course of the phenomenally popular eight-film series, four different directors and four different composers (for a total of five successive filmmaking teams), in addition to five different sound effects coordinators, adapted the relationships between music, sound, and visuals in order to realise their unique interpretations of Harry’s epic journey. Written words are referenced pervasively in visuals and dialogue throughout the eight-films with distinctive sound scoring to fill out the narrative, yet the aesthetics of the different collaborative teams contributed to remarkably different perspectives on Harry’s magical world (Webster 2009, 2012).

Table 1. Harry Potter sound design filmmaking teams.

Film Title	Year	Director	Composer	Sound Supervisor
The Philosopher’s Stone	2001	Chris Columbus	John Williams	Eddie Joseph
The Chamber of Secrets	2002	Chris Columbus	John Williams	Randy Thom
The Prisoner of Azkaban	2004	Alfonso Cuáron	John Williams	Richard Beggs
The Goblet of Fire	2005	Mike Newell	Patrick Doyle	Sam Auguste
The Order of the Phoenix	2007	David Yates	Nicholas Hooper	James Mather
The Half-Blood Prince	2009	David Yates	Nicholas Hooper	James Mather
The Deathly Hallows I	2010	David Yates	Alexandre Desplat	James Mather
The Deathly Hallows II	2011	David Yates	Alexandre Desplat	James Mather

lists the eight Harry Potter film titles in chronological order in the far left column, with the corresponding year of release and filmmaking teams (i.e., directors, composers, and sound supervisors) for each, listed in the columns to the right of each title.

3. Summary of Contextual Production Aesthetics and Reception

In the first two Harry Potter films, director Chris Columbus and composer John Williams transferred the books to screen with faithful detail. Columbus, drawing on his experience in high-impact, family-friendly filmmaking, adopted what Troost calls a “heritage” approach—visually preserving the objects, settings, and characterisations from the books with minimal transformation (Troost 2007). Williams, in turn, contributed a richly orchestral score providing a symbolic musical language for the Wizarding world using leitmotifs, and anchored by “Hedwig’s Theme,” which became the musical hallmark of the Wizarding world. Critics perceived the film as handsome and faithful, if at times unimaginative, while reactions to Williams’s score ranged from lauding its magical character to dismissing it as a ‘music box’ that would not keep quiet (Webster 2009, p. 93).

Williams’s music in The Philosopher’s Stone and The Chamber of Secrets functions almost omnisciently, clarifying and amplifying narrative elements with melodic leitmotifs and symphonic textures steeped in 19th century practises for music for drama. Using triple metres with dance-like tempi, chromaticism, and historic instrumental signifiers of magic (such as harp and celeste), the score aligns with the Golden Age of Hollywood tradition and Williams’s own blockbuster style. Despite the complexity of its thematic organisation, the music often conveys narrative ideas in simplified terms, guiding the viewer’s emotional responses rather than inviting interpretive engagement. Notably, diegetic music is rare, as is any overlap between underscore and sound effects (supervised by Eddie Joseph and Randy Thom); instead, Williams’s leitmotifs symbolically align with visuals, creating a tightly controlled audio-visual experience that reflects the films’ commitment to storytelling clarity (Webster 2009, pp. 65–103; Webster 2012).

When Alfonso Cuarón took over directing The Prisoner of Azkaban, his artistic vision marked a dramatic departure from Chris Columbus’s storybook style. Cuarón emphasised emotional realism and atmospheric immersion—staying true to “the spirit” of the narrative, rather than strict fidelity to the novels. He introduced a darker, more naturalistic visual world in desaturated hues—relocating outdoor scenes to the rugged Scottish Highlands and redesigning Hogwarts architecture to reflect a lived-in, organic environment. Cuarón aimed to create a universe that felt real around Harry, rather than merely framing his adventures. Further, Cuarón invented vignettes and audio-visual transitions in the film that had not occurred in the book; for instance four miniature touchpoint scenes depicting seasonal transitions with Williams’s accompanying musical cues and effects reflecting the natural sounds of birds and trees (supervised by Richard Beggs) that create a distinct form that is unique to the film version of the narrative (Webster 2012).

John Williams’s score evolved accordingly, shifting from the orchestral clarity of the earlier films to a more expressive, participatory role. The music became less reliant on leitmotifs and more complex in instrumentation, harmony, and rhythm, as well as incorporating elements of jazz, Renaissance recorder ensemble music, and source music. In lieu of fixed, omniscient narrative cues, themes and instrumentation are varied in tandem with Harry’s experiences and boundaries between diegetic and non-diegetic sound are ambiguous in key moments. Pieces like “Double Trouble” (another example of a meta relationship between the literature of the real world and the in-world resources) moved to the foreground, replacing “Hedwig’s Theme” as the film’s central musical motif. This richer, more layered sonic environment paralleled Cuarón’s looser adaptation style, allowing the film to breathe independently of the source material and inviting viewers to feel, rather than simply observe, the magical world. Critics and fans appreciated the creativity and new breadth of the narrative, praising Williams as well for his beautiful themes, but often found the discontinuity frustrating (Webster 2009, pp. 104–18).

A more significant break in the sound design of the Harry Potter series occurred with the arrival of director Mike Newell and composer Patrick Doyle in the fourth film. With both a new director and composer stepping in—and production beginning before the third film was even completed—The Goblet of Fire marked a moment of aesthetic discontinuity. Newell steered away from Cuarón’s visually stylised approach and resisted the dominance of special effects (although special effects play a necessary role in the film), aiming instead to ground the magical narrative in the character-driven drama of adolescent experiences. Drawing from his own experience in British boarding schools, Newell infused the film with a distinctly British tone, as did Scottish composer Patrick Doyle, and a heightened awareness of the school setting as the narrative’s core, distinguishing the direction and score from those of their North American predecessors. Fans and critics more often debated whether Newell’s rendering was “inspired” rather than faithful, and Doyle’s music was praised for its accessibility, yet criticised by some for its awkwardness in context (Webster 2009, pp. 119–49).

Patrick Doyle’s score paralleled this shift by intentionally departing from John Williams’s iconic sound while still nodding to it with a brief inclusion of “Hedwig’s Theme.” Though Doyle’s score shares Williams’s melodic sensibility, he avoided reusing leitmotifs and instead introduced an entirely new musical vocabulary tailored to Newell’s darker, more grounded vision. Much of Doyle’s music was composed to function diegetically—fanfares, waltzes, and processional music for visiting schools—reinforcing the lived-in reality of the wizarding world. In contrast to the rich thematic tapestry of the earlier scores, Doyle’s music served the narrative less through symbolic underscoring or overlap with sound design and more through its immediate presence in the world of the characters. This shift in both direction and scoring created a film that felt markedly different from its predecessors, situating the magical within a more human and emotionally charged frame.

The aesthetics of the Harry Potter series experienced another significant shift when director David Yates, sound supervisor James Mather, and composer Nicholas Hooper developed a deeply integrated approach to music and sound design for The Order of the Phoenix and The Half-Blood Prince. Based on previous collaboration processes, they incorporated musical and sonic ideas during filming (rather than layering score onto completed visuals), allowing music to influence the process of filming, and filming to influence the final cuts of the music.2 In the Harry Potter films, this evolved into a nuanced, often indistinguishable interplay between underscore, ambient source sounds, and sound effects that blur and transcend conventional scoring in order to highlight the complex psychological narratives. In contrast to Cuarón and Newell who each brought a unique personal vision for their work, Yates’s team approach used the process of collaboration to influence the final outcome. Notably, Hooper’s choral composition, “In Noctem” (set to a newly created Latin text by screenwriter Steve Kloves), was written specifically for The Half-Blood Prince, and heavily influenced the subsequent score, even though the diegetic choral performance was ultimately omitted. Opinions about the film hinged on whether it was dramatically stimulating vs. fun to watch, and similarly, Hooper’s music was lauded by some as delicate and on target with its subtlety, and derided by others as “boring and weak” (Webster 2009, pp. 150–78).

Hooper’s scores with Mather’s sound effects for the Potter films contribute to the creation of a magical world that feels emotionally and physically immersive; the sound design actively drives and intensifies the physical sensation of narrative tension, and contributes to nuanced, palpable transitions through frission and other metaphors of physical resonance. Rather than relying on clear leitmotifs or traditional narrative cues, Hooper employs dance metres and polyrhythm, varied (and often lighter, more intimate) instrumental textures, sonic ambiguity between instruments and sound effects, melodic ostinati, and harmonic patterns employing the tug of harmonic magnetism (as outlined by Larson 2012), as well as musical collaboration between score and source sounds to evoke both rational and irrational dimensions of the magical world. In the most emotionally charged moments, sensory input is pared back—removing music or sound entirely—to create visceral, bodily responses through the contrast of silence, and to metaphorically reflect emotional weight too great to hold with music. Through this intricate blending of music and sound, Hooper and Mather capture Harry’s layered internal experience navigating between ordinary and extraordinary circumstances in the magical realm, with the score helping to articulate not just what is seen, but what is viscerally felt.

In the final Harry Potter films, director David Yates, composer Alexandre Desplat, and sound supervisor James Mather crafted an austere and restrained sonic environment that mirrored the bleak emotional landscape of the narrative. As Harry, Ron, and Hermione navigate a fractured world, much of the familiar musical spectacle is stripped away. Yates continued his signature approach of emotional realism and sonic subtlety, but with the narrative demands of concluding such a sprawling story, opportunities for creative departures were limited. The films had to resolve numerous plot threads while remaining faithful to the tone and trajectory of the books. Though producers had hoped John Williams would return to musically bookend the series, scheduling conflicts made this impossible. Desplat was chosen instead, in part for his stylistic affinity with Williams’s orchestral voice, even as Yates’s directorial vision diverged from Columbus’s more traditional aesthetic. The result is a score that recalls the series’ beginnings while adapting to the tonal maturity of its conclusion. Responses to the film tended to hinge on literary fidelity again as fans of the books wrestled with expectations for how the films should look, sound, and resolve.

Desplat’s music reflects this delicate balance: with orchestration and melodic sensibilities echoing Williams’s earlier work, but with a shift in emphasis. Leitmotifs are minimal, narrative cueing is sparse, and underscore often gives way to ambient sound and effects. Key magical moments that would have received significant sound support under the previous filmmakers’ patterns—such as Patronus spells, Ron’s splinching, and Snape’s death—are rendered with naturalistic sound design rather than overt musical cues, suggesting a magical world now governed by realism and tension rather than wonder. Even the death of Hedwig, whose theme once defined the franchise, is marked more by silence and subtle sound than by musical drama. While restraint defines much of the final soundscape, exceptions arise in moments of spectacle and resolution. In the climactic battle at Hogwarts, Desplat’s full symphonic forces return alongside Mather’s dense ambient sound effects, evoking the chaos of war through a rich palette of 19th-century orchestration and aggressive sonic textures—wands move like blades and spells explode like artillery. This dual approach—sparse intimacy contrasted with orchestral grandeur—underscores the emotional and narrative stakes of the series’ conclusion, portraying a magical world grounded by survival, grief, and sacrifice rather than possibility and wonder.

4. Findings

While each Harry Potter filmmaking team brought a distinct directorial and style and vision to the series—differences that did not go unnoticed by fans—there is a deeper continuity in how the films handle in-world written items such as letters, books, and newspapers. Initially, these objects primarily serve as narrative tools that closely reflect the function of text in the novels. However, as the film adaptations began to diverge more significantly from the literary source material, these written items took on increasingly symbolic and cinematic roles. In contrast to the books, in which the role of written magic is relatively stable (i.e., descriptions of written sources used as a literary device to explain the magical world to the characters and the readers), the motifs of written magic in the films serve varied roles, increase in importance, and are papered throughout to reflect changing understandings of truth and power in the narrative. Although written words in the first films are attached to concrete objects with physically concrete ideas and are accompanied by fixed music and sound motifs, written words in the later films are often part of both foreground, background, and ambient objects, and are integrated with sound elements to symbolise abstract, fluid ideas. Written words are integrated within the props, action, and scenery as motifs, several items with writing respond to stimulus outside of the characters in the scene (e.g., animated correspondence letters), seem to move of their own motivation (e.g., The Monster Book of Monsters), and work alongside the characters to either assist or impede their progress (e.g., Tom Riddle’s diary, the Marauder’s Map, and the engraved snitch).

While the connection between paper sounds and the significance of written items is established from the first film, varied ways that audio-visuals for written words are integrated allows film viewers to experience the narrative in multi-faceted ways. Further, written items such as parchment pages often have their own heightened sound (e.g., folding, crinkling, shredding, turning etc.), which is sometimes musicalised through rhythm or textural integration with the underscore, are sometimes accompanied by the vocal overlay from characters, and additionally are sometimes accompanied by other sound effects or underscore to complement or highlight the action, mood, or significance. The combinations of visuals of written magic and sound scoring work in tandem to guide deeper, symbolic, and more nuanced layers of storytelling. Indeed, written words serve as objects, subjects, resources, tools, allies, adversaries, props, scenery, clues, and harbingers; the development of these visual motifs and the sound design that accompanies them reflects both specific objects that further the plot as well as an ideological exploration of who holds power and who holds truth in this epic series of good and evil. The role of written words expands in the series to a degree that the written word becomes a role unto itself. In several instances, they even seem to “speak” through music and sound design, suggesting that the concept of text has become something more than just a source of information—it becomes part of the film’s expressive language.

This shift can be understood through the lens of metaphor theory, which shows how everyday concepts—like written words—can be reimagined through metaphor. According to Lakoff and Johnson (1980), the “essence of metaphor is understanding and experiencing one kind of thing in terms of another”; metaphors are not just linguistic expressions but conceptual frameworks that shape how we understand and experience the world (Lakoff and Johnson 1980, p. 5). When written texts in the Harry Potter films come to function as characters, sound, or scenery, this reflects a shift in how we metaphorically structure the role of writing—moving from a representational tool to an active, sensory participant in the narrative. In this case, the films gradually treat text as character, text as environment, or even text as sound. Drawing on conceptual metaphor theory, we might say that ‘Text is Character’ or ‘Text is Music’—written words shift from being narrative tools to becoming integrated audio-visual metaphors embodied within the score, the mise-en-scène, and even the emotional tone of the scenes. Tools from musical metaphor theory help define and refine how this progression takes place through sound design. This progression reveals an underlying cohesion in the cinematic journey of the series—one in which the materiality of writing is transformed into a multi-sensory metaphor, binding the narrative visually and aurally as the films move further from textual fidelity and toward expressive cinematic autonomy.

From the perspective of adaptation theory, this shift exemplifies what Linda Hutcheon terms the “palimpsestic nature” of adaptation; a creative layering of meaning across media in which the source text is both visible and overwritten (2013). Rather than simply transferring content from book to screen, the films reinterpret key elements—like writing—so that they function differently in a visual and auditory medium. As a result, these evolving representations of written objects help hold the films together, offering a symbolic thread that links diverse directorial styles even as the films move further from the narrative structure and stylistic tone of the novels.

5. Discussion of Sound Design for Written Words

5.1. Indicators of Power Through Audio-Visual Metaphors for Order and Disorder

Written words hold power in Harry Potter films. While viewer perspectives are shaped by how we hear the films with underscore and sound effects, the characters gain understanding for themselves by reading and seeing. For instance, in The Philosopher’s Stone (Columbus 2001), viewers first learn that Harry is magical when he speaks with a snake at the zoo because the shimmery sound of “Hedwig’s Theme” played on celeste and strings tells us so (Webster 2012), but Harry only learns for himself when he reads his acceptance letter from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. From the moment Harry spies the first letter, we hear “Hedwig’s Theme”, alerting film viewers to the magic and significance of the item. Then, amplified paper sounds (i.e., a rapid shuffling of accumulating mail, which presumably characters can hear), traditional orchestral underscore, and owl screeches alternate in prominence as more letters arrive, until the dynamic sound of letters barrelling through the fireplace dominates over the orchestra. That is, the power of the letters is represented with a purposefully out-of-balance sound design. As such, the sound of papers represents the written objects and also functions as a soloist voice sounding collaboratively with, yet also above, the orchestra. Moreover, the example establishes a symbolic audio-visual relationship indicating the significance of written items by using the natural sounds associated with the item and musical underscore; a pattern of correlation continuing through the series that assists viewers in their understanding of the narrative. Further, the example frames magical power in terms of elements of disorder, rather than expected order. As specific examples demonstrate, written items lacking power are, conversely, left unaccompanied.

The letters themselves are aesthetically pleasing and include special qualities such as a large red wax seal, the Hogwarts crest and distinctive lettering. So too, the accompanying musical theme “Hedwig’s Theme” is a pleasurable, distinctive marker of the fantasy world, using traditional musical signifiers for fantasy such as celeste, triple metre, an angular, chromatic melody, and unusual harmonies (Webster 2012, 2018). Later, when Harry reads his acceptance letter for himself aloud, we hear Hedwig’s theme again; that is, Harry’s voice becomes a proxy for the voice of the paper with accompanying orchestral underscore. Music and visuals work in tandem to express the power of the moment: Hogwarts, the authoritative magical institution, affirms the truth that Harry has magical powers, and offers him a powerful experience of identity and belonging.

Dialogue throughout the films establishes how Harry stays emotionally connected with his friends and friendly mentor Hagrid over the summer holidays through letter writing. Indeed, in the second film, Dobby the House Elf tries to convince Harry not to return to Hogwarts by confiscating Harry’s mail and claiming that his friends “don’t even write” to him (Columbus 2002). Although Harry reads out the Hogwarts invitation addressed to him in the first film, personal correspondence in the later films often includes the voice of the sender (rather than the recipient) as part of the sound scoring, and audio-visual alignments tend to convey authoritative seriousness through audio-visual alignment (even in cases where there are also comedic elements)3. In the following examples, the content of the letters expresses emotion (which is a typical role of sound scoring according to Gorbman’s third principle)4, yet provides little information to advance the plot (even though this is the usual role of dialogue). Instead, through narrative content and sound-scoring, the written words function in parallel with underscore.

When Harry sends a letter to his Godfather Sirius in The Order of the Phoenix (Yates 2007), the visual of Hedwig’s flight reinforces the magic culture of owl mail delivery, while her passage over the natural landscape facilitates a transition from one scene at Hogwarts school to the natural wooded area beyond. Overlaying the visuals, we hear Harry’s voice reciting the letter, beginning with “Dear Padfoot, I hope you’re alright …”; the content of the letter reveals Harry’s inner world in his own words and furthers viewer understanding of Harry’s emotional connection with Sirius. In this example, the written word is a creative act of personal expression. “In written speech, we are obliged to create the situation, to represent it to ourselves. This demands detachment from the actual situation” (Vygotsky [1934] 1986, pp. 181–82). Harry’s voice features as a solo sound above the orchestral underscore, which in turn features a French horn (i.e., a signifier for Harry’s emotional world and integrity throughout the films drawn from historic roots in music for drama) (Webster 2009). Harry’s acknowledgement that “It’s winter now” reinforces the seasonal transition, while the sounds of owl screeches and other animal sounds from the natural surroundings creates a sense of place and of a core emotional state, even as Harry’s letter describes his feelings of liminality, of not yet finding his place. In other words, through the audio-visuals, we observe how Harry writes himself into his own narrative.5

Different combinations of sound-scoring among the film-making teams allow for nuanced interpretations of the narrative. Noticeably, the absence of sound effects for magic in the latter example (even though magic is present) deemphasises magical power while the inclusion of underscore and natural sounding effects highlights emotional truth. So too, some other book-learned spells reflecting deep emotion are likewise accompanied by underscore but few magical sound effects; for instance, when Hermione casts the “Obliviate” spell to wipe away her parents’ memories, and when she conjures a wreath at the grave of Harry’s parents, both in The Deathly Hallows, Part I (Yates 2010).

In contrast, when Ron Weasley receives a scolding letter from his mother (a “Howler”) in The Chamber of Secrets (Columbus 2002), underscore gives way for Molly Weasley’s discomposed voice expressing distress at Ron’s behaviour. At first, lighthearted orchestral music accompanies the flight of the Weasley’s owl, Errol, who flies clumsily into a large bowl of cereal in the course of delivering the letter. The audio-visual comedy of the owl’s entry (discussed further in Webster 2018, p. 15) makes a contrast with dialogue that follows, warning how the experience of the letter could be “awful”, and all underscore stops once Ron opens the letter. The red envelope, satin ribbon, and parchment letter form the shape of a mouth with teeth and tongue, and we hear Ron’s mother’s powerful voice yelling with authority as if amplified through a musical sound system, “Ronald Weasley, how dare you steal that car! I am absolutely disgusted…” The voice of the letter-writer dominates, holding the attention of everyone at the table, and also dominates the sound design for viewers as well; no other sound occurs while the letter speaks. The scene ends with the heightened rhythmic sound of the letter blowing a raspberry in Ron’s face with its ribbon tongue, then self-destructing by shredding itself into paper bits on the table. Aside from the contextual information that Ron’s father is “facing and inquiry at work”, the tenor of the letter is emotional, not informational. John Williams’ score for the film rarely leaves dialogue without musical commentary, yet Molly Weasley’s letter provides an example in which dialogue is made musical through amplification and rhythm such that it functions like and takes over for underscore. When the sound of the letter overrides underscore, it reinforces the power of written words within the world the characters inhabit, much as it reinforces the power of Mrs. Weasley’s authority and Ron’s sub-ordinance within the family hierarchy.6

Indeed, varied parchment paper documents accompanied by or participating in musical rhythm reflect dichotomies of order and authority, both natural organisational flow and disruption on the one hand, and authoritarian control and resistance on the other. When Argus Filch receives permission slips for the Hogsmeade excursion in the courtyard of The Prisoner of Azkaban (Cuarón 2004), the students submit their parchment slips in close intervals, and we hear the percussive sounds of paper in steady rhythm, alternating with the flapping wings of birds and the tolling of the clock bell. Harry’s unsigned permission slip disrupts the flow of sound and reflects how his hopes to attend the excursion are likewise disrupted. The rhythm of papers occurs prominently again in The Deathly Hallows I when newspapers bearing the headline “Undesirable No. 1” with a photo of Harry Potter fly rhythmically through the Ministry of Magic, and when the sounds of a rustled newspaper at the Order Headquarters with the headline, “Mudbloods: the danger they pose” forms a rhythm with the underscore. In these examples, we see and hear how the use of written objects integrated with the sound scoring contributes to the emotional tension of the scenes, defining critical moments through continued or disrupted rhythms. While the contents of The Daily Prophet are unreliable, the expression of the written items reflects the authority and order that the characters experience.

Power through order is also represented with curated musical textures for written items. When Harry visits the Ministry of Magic in The Order of the Phoenix (Yates 2007), a flock of inter-departmental memos shaped like paper airplanes fly in orderly formation past a golden statue in the vaulted space while underscore supports the authoritative grandeur of the Ministry and sound effects reflect the passage of the paper through the air. In this scene, order, paperwork, and visual opulence are linked with similarly ordered musical gestures in which various instrument groups parallel the movements and grand space of the building to support the authority of the institution (Webster 2018, p. 22). Later in the same film, when student Padma Patil charms a flying paper bird that is visually similar to the interdepartmental memos, it delights her classmates; but the gentle flute melody supporting the flight is abruptly interrupted when Prof. Umbridge incinerates the bird with a flick of her wand. This provides an example of how audio-visuals of paper convey uncomfortable levels of authoritarian order and control, represented by disrupted sound design.

At Hogwarts, Umbridge wields control over perceptions of truth with written words in many ways, including firing Prof. Trelawney while holding an official parchment Order of Dismissal (bearing the name of Umbridge’s own title, “Inquisitor”)7, requiring students in her classroom to copy texts “four times for maximum comprehension,” punishing Harry with writing lines using a quill that etches the forced confession “I must not tell lies” into the flesh of his hand, and publishing dozens of Educational Decrees that are nailed to the Hogwarts castle walls as framed parchment proclamations (Yates 2007). A montage of Umbridge’s controlling actions, including the nailing of proclamation plaques, is accompanied by composer Nicholas Hooper’s musical set-piece in schottische dance rhythm, titled “Professor Umbridge” in published materials. Gorbman describes set-pieces as an audio-visual strategy creating “spectacle”, evoking “a larger-than-life dimension which, rather than involving us in the narrative, places us in contemplation of it” (Gorbman 1987, p. 68). The lighthearted music accompanying Umbridge’s violent actions make a curiosity out of the circumstances, helping viewers to feel as baffled as the characters are by the turn of events. When caretaker Argus Filch steps up a ladder to hammer in the proclamations, we hear both the sound of his boots and the sound of nails hammered into stone alternating in rhythmic collaboration with the dance metre of Umbridge’s theme, then visuals focus in on various decrees including one that states “No Music”. Hooper uses musical elements such as traditional 19th century European metres, consonant harmonies, and diatonic melodies (i.e., metaphors for musical order through their association with the familiar, conservative musical language) to reflect organisational order, while the juxtaposition of lighthearted music and aggressive visuals amplifies the absurdity to a level of emotional pain.

Audio-visuals of written words are included in a variety of scenes to reflect both growing and releasing narrative tension alongside themes of order and disorder. For instance, we see tumbling, flying newspapers in the opening scene of The Order of the Phoenix (Yates 2007), giving a visual representation of the rising, changing wind, a metaphor for both Harry’s dysregulation in confrontation with his cousin Dudley’s gang, and for the rise of danger as the malevolent dementors approach. Later in the film, students’ exam papers fly up in the air when the Weasley twins disrupt the examinations, providing an emotional release to the tension of Umbridge’s tight hold on control.

Hooper uses similar strategies to a different end in a set-piece later in the film, called “Fireworks” in published materials. This time, Hooper uses musical metaphors for order that make a transition to metaphors for subverted order in tandem with increasingly chaotic visuals of parchment paper to reflect student resistance and rebellion, thus using rhythm to humorously subvert the tension reflected in Umbridge’s set-piece (Webster 2022, pp. 14–15). At first, we see ordered rows of students silently taking written exams, then, when Fred and George Weasley fly into the room setting off magical fireworks, we hear four phrases of a musical reel organised with repetitions (AABBCCDD), melodically and rhythmically aligning with the visual displays of the disruption of the exam papers and other physical gags. Then, the music makes a transition into a polyrhythmic frenzy, without clear melody or harmony, as a giant, fiery dragon-shaped firework concludes the mayhem by chasing Umbridge out of the room and exploding. The explosion disrupts the hanging plaques of proclamations: underscore stops completely while glass shatters like a metaphorical percussion solo, then falls collectively to the floor in a heap of broken frames and torn paper without other musical accompaniment. Students and other staff follow the Weasley twins’ flight to the courtyard where fragments of parchment continue to billow through the air and the original, four orderly phrases of the reel resume, providing film viewers with further cathartic reward for the transgressions against Umbridge’s control. In other words, while Umbridge has one view on order based on her authority, the form of the music during the Fireworks set piece (i.e., from order to chaos and back to order) reflects a view in which student agency is the natural order.

5.2. Metaphors for Naturalness and Intention in the Sounds of Textbook Spells

Written words have power, especially when uttered by informed, capable witches and wizards. Magical youth learn spells, charms, potions, and divination with textbooks, and become more effective with guidance and practise. According to the Special Collections & Archives Research Center at the Oregon State University Libraries (The Significance of the Written Word 2025), “Writing is the representation of language through the use of an established selection of markings”; following suit, magic words are developed in speaking, then are recorded with writing to preserve and communicate knowledge across time and space so that they can be uttered again at another time. In his introduction and throughout his dissertation, Dawda (2006, p. iii) explains that, “writing codifies speaking, thus turning words into objects of conscious reflection”. In the Harry Potter films, sound scoring highlights the power of the information in action, sometimes using the voices of the characters, and at other times, using the metaphorical voices of magical items in order to express how words that we generally comprehend are transformed into a magical power beyond our full understanding.8 In Professor Flitwick’s class, in The Philosopher’s Stone (Columbus 2001), Harry and the other students practise the textbook spell “Wingardium Leviosa” to raise a feather from the table, but Hermione Grainger is the first to succeed. During the students’ failed attempts there is no music, but when Hermione lilts “Wingardium Leviosa” with the correct rhythm and intention, her feather floats into the air, and flutes and celeste accompany with an ascending melodic gesture, highlighting the magical outcome for the viewer.9

Sounds for spells in the first films follow the mechanics of the magical process, including incantations and wand movements. While Professor Flitwick instructs the students to “swish and flick” their wands, the film sound is more often a short flick then a longer “swish” or “whoosh”, reflecting how film interpretations sometimes vary from the books. Further, sound-scoring helps verify the magical outcomes, with a bias towards spells learned from the in-world books. When Ron Weasley chants words learned by rote from his brothers in The Philosopher’s Stone (Columbus 2001), “Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid fat rat yellow”, we hear a wand whoosh and a squeal from his pet rat, but the spell has no magical effect, and thus no further sound support either. Alternatively, when Hermione fixes Harry’s glasses in the same scene using the spell “Oculus Reparo” learned from her summer reading, we hear a “tika-tika-tika-snap” of the mending glasses; the metaphorical sound of the repair reflecting the successful outcome with sound. Further, spell mastery develops over time. The first time Hermione fixes Harry’s glasses, the repair sounds like a rickety ratchet, but when she fixes his glasses the following year in The Chamber of Secrets (Columbus 2002), the repair sounds like a sweep of orchestral chimes.

In the following four films, The Prisoner of Azkaban (Cuarón 2004), The Goblet of Fire (Newell 2005), The Order of the Phoenix (Yates 2007), and The Half-Blood Prince (Yates 2007), the power of textbook spells is often framed in terms of naturalness, although the direct connections with written texts in the later films is sometimes unseen or abstract. Over the course of the films, the filmmakers made a shift from portraying the magical world as wholly fantastical to portraying magic as natural and normal within the Wizarding context (Webster 2012). As Natov (2002, p. 129) states, “The two realms, characterised in literature as the genres of romance and realism, are located in the imagination, which is, always, created by and rooted in the details of everyday life”. While in the early films, characters give voice to spells, in the later films, spells are often cast silently, as if the magic has naturally internalised over time, and then, often, written objects themselves often ‘speak’ through sonic textures and design, reflecting a natural (or sometimes distinctly unnatural) voice of the item or magic at play.

In some cases, sound scoring extends to the seemingly natural voices of other objects that are directly involved in the magical process. For instance, in the opening scene of The Prisoner of Azkaban (Cuarón 2004), the prominent, foreground fluty crescendo of Harry’s wand is the first thing we hear, even before the main movie theme (i.e., “Hedwig’s Theme”) weaves along with the opening title. As the camera shot flies through the air and through Harry’s bedroom window, we hear Harry use the incantation “Lumos maxima” under his bed covers in order to illuminate the open page of his spell book showing illustrations of effective wand use. We do not hear any sounds of the pages or book this time, but we hear the metaphorical voice of his wand as a wooden instrument, conveying the power of the words (and affirming the power of the item) as a solo instrument in tandem with the orchestral underscore following Harry’s incantation.

Similarly, when students learn the art of reading tea leaves (“Tessomancy”) in the same film, we see textbooks on every table, and hear Ron’s book pages gently rustle as he reads, but more prominently hear orchestral chimes tinkling in parallel rhythmic texture with the heightened sound of clinking tea cups with tea leaves, which Trelawney explains contain “the truth [lying] buried like a sentence deep within a book waiting to be read”. In other words, the sound of tea cups reflects the magic contained in the tea leaves to be read much as the sound of paper reflects the magic contained in standard written items in other books.

However, reading the book (or reading the tea leaves) does not make magic happen without natural ability, and sound scoring indicates narrative truth even when varied interpretations of visuals alone might have merit. When Ron reasonably improvises an interpretation of Harry’s tea leaves while quickly perusing his textbook, “Harry’s got sort of a wonky cross; that’s trials and suffering. That there could be the Sun; that’s happiness. So, you’re gonna suffer, but you’re gonna be happy about it” (Cuarón 2004), no sound-scoring accompanies his dialogue, reinforcing a lack of magical insight. But when Trelawney reads the leaves directly, immediately drops the cup, and dramatically exclaims, “My dear, you have the grim”, we hear a wash of dissonant sound including prepared piano culminating in the orchestrated sound of a howling wolf or dog10. While both Ron’s and Trelawney’s readings are arguably cold guesses, the sound-scoring indicates the greater narrative relevance of Trelawney’s interpretation in the context of the film through the naturalness of tea-cup sounds (both source and underscore), augmented by the metaphorical extraordinariness of the prepared piano, and the primal sound of a howling animal (perhaps alluding to the Grim, or perhaps hearkening a perception of an incorruptible truth of nature).

When Harry later witnesses Professor Trelawney deliver a prophecy while in a trance state, the film’s sound design powerfully reinforces both the significance and the authenticity of her words by echoing the sound design of the latter scene. A delicate tinkle of orchestral chimes begins as Harry enters the classroom, suggesting a magical atmosphere in parallel with the tea leaves scene. This quickly gives way to an animal howl and a dissonant wash of sound—featuring elements like prepared piano—as Trelawney places her hand on Harry and begins to speak. Her voice shifts into a primal, guttural, double-toned affectation as she delivers a prophecy about events to occur that very evening. The trance ends abruptly when she coughs and reverts to her normal tone. This sonic triptych—the shimmering chimes, the discordant soundscape, and the vocal transformation—serves as a metaphorical cue for the presence of magic, the weight of the prophecy, and the primal truth it reveals. This example illustrates how the sound design associated with written elements, e.g., the tea leaves) aligns with or anticipates similar sound strategies used for spoken prophecies, suggesting a continuity in the sonic frameworks for different forms of textual expression. Further, it demonstrates how metaphors for naturalness underscore magic and truth, while simultaneously, sound metaphors for un-naturalness indicate something significant or extraordinary.

A later scene in The Order of the Phoenix (Yates 2007) echoes this earlier sonic structure, deepening the metaphorical role of sound in relation to both written and spoken texts. As Professor Umbridge sips tea in her office prior to meeting with Harry, the delicate tinkling of celeste and the soft clink of porcelain create an atmosphere of deceptive calm—sonically linking back to the chimes heard in Trelawney’s prophecy and the tea leaves scene from third film. However, when Umbridge presents Harry with an enchanted quill to write the line “I must not tell lies”, the score shifts dramatically. A dissonant soundscape emerges, underscored by a rising horn line, shimmering cymbals, and an enigmatic unnatural human voice. Hooper’s sonic triptych echoes Williams’s score for The Prisoner of Azkaban but diverges in subtle ways: it replaces orchestral chimes with celeste, substitutes a howl with a manipulated sound of human voice (perhaps reflecting Umbridge’s manipulation of Harry), and layers in sound samples alongside orchestral dissonance. These elements imbue the scene with significance, even as Umbridge’s deception creates a sense of cognitive dissonance. As the words cut into Harry’s skin, the human voice embedded in the music seems to externalise the act of inscription—metaphorically turning the written words into a voice that infiltrates him from within. When Umbridge hears his grunts of pain and asks for his verbal reaction, Harry simply replies, “Nothing.” This ambiguous, seemingly defiant response raises a critical question: will the words take hold, or has he resisted their power? Later in the same film, when Umbridge begs Harry to speak on her behalf as she is dragged away by centaurs, his calm retort—”I must not tell lies”—suggests that the phrase has indeed imprinted itself upon him. Whether this reflects internalisation, irony, or transformation, the moment reveals how written text, through sound and repetition, becomes a voice that both echoes and reshapes identity.

Although the textbook resources and written spells are not always made visible in the later films, the implication that Harry uses magic gleaned from the written resources available either through Hogwarts coursework or the Hogwarts library is clear11. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is the primary magical education institution in the English speaking world with the largest, most historically significant library collection; the unchallenged premise in the narrative is that most if not all magic is learned from (or at least learned about) from written documentation at the school. Pierce (2004, p. 3) notes how “information-seeking behaviour, both in and outside of the library, is integral” to the plots of young contemporary fantasy fiction series such as Harry Potter. “The trio of Harry, Ron and Hermione make efforts to locate information on topics ranging from alchemist Nicholas Flamel, plants with magical properties, and spells to allow them to assume others’ identities” (ibid.). Throughout the films, Hermione regularly recounts doing some “light reading” and spending time “in the library”, and a number of library scenes occur for a variety of reasons, including study, investigation, the Duelling Club, teenage gossip, passing notes, and so on; reflecting the everyday experiences students have in this third space outside of their classrooms and dormitories. McLaughlin (2024) notes how the Hogwarts library is understaffed, employing only one librarian, Irma Pince, for the whole collection. This creates some barriers for students, such as limitations on available hours to check out books, and also possibilities, such as significant freedom to explore resources outside of the Restricted Section. Madame Pince appears in the Harry Potter films, but is not actively featured in her role as librarian.

In The Goblet of Fire (Newell 2005), sounds for spells, though often non-verbal, continue to evoke natural forces, thus further extending the metaphor of a natural “voice” of magic from the spell book, to the wands and teacups, to the magical characters themselves. For instance, we hear wind when Dumbledore’s wand draws out a visually whispy memory from his mind, and hear rumbling thunder along with a trumpet melody when Viktor Krum submits a scrap of paper with his application for the Tri-Wizard tournament (Newell 2005). During the death defying duel between Dumbledore and Voldemort in The Order of the Phoenix (Yates 2007), the sound design evokes extreme natural forces, including an electrical storm, balls of fire, a lion’s roar, deluges of water, etc., as if the great wizards themselves are forces of nature. Similarly, when Dumbledore and Harry fight for their lives in the Horcrux cave in The Half-Blood Prince (Yates 2009), the orchestral underscore matches the cycle of sounds for fire and water to reflect the integration of natural and magic forces.

While the sound-scoring for benevolent characters’ spells appears natural, following patterns often found in the scores of fantasy films, the sound-scoring for malevolent characters’ spells is often metaphorically unnatural, and perhaps beyond comprehension, harnessing resources that are beyond nature’s forces. For instance, when the Goblet of Fire predictably emits scraps of parchment bearing names of students who will legitimately participate in the Tri-wizard tournament, we hear seemingly natural sounds such as the heightened crackling of the fire blended with thunder and wind along with different instrumentation for each student: clarinet and other woodwinds for Viktor Krum, harp and flutes for Fleur Delacroix, and French horns for Cedric Diggory (Newell 2005). However, when the Goblet unpredictably emits Harry’s name, which has been submitted with dark magic, the flame flashes with the sound of an electric laser, shifting erratically in stereo. The paper with Harry’s name flies up with a parallel accompaniment played by flutes and strings recalling the arrival of the Hogwarts acceptance letters in the first film, and the amplified fluttering of the scrap of paper itself marks the item as significant. While the vocabulary of sound effects and instrumentation is familiar, the changing sound of the flame suggests a magic element that is beyond the natural experience in the magical world.

For more complex, defensive spells, the importance of mentorship supersedes written text, as demonstrated in the examples of the Duelling Club held in the library in The Chamber of Secrets (Columbus 2002), Harry’s private lessons with Professor Lupin on the Patronus charm in The Prisoner of Azkaban (Cuarón 2004), and with Professor Snape on Occlumencey in The Order of the Phoenix (Yates 2007) and The Half-Blood Prince (Yates 2009), the meetings of Dumbledore’s Army in the Room of Requirement in The Order of the Phoenix, and conversely, with the woefully inadequate children’s picture book issued by Professor Umbridge in the same film (which students find completely unhelpful en lieu of true mentorship). Music for these examples often supports the authority of the speaker rather than the mechanics of the incantation or the outcome, and the intentionality of the speaker (i.e., their natural internal voice) is reflected with varied sound-scoring both in underscore and effects12.

For instance, when Harry learns the advanced Patronus charm from Professor Lupin in The Prisoner of Azkaban (Cuarón 2004), Lupin’s dialogue relays how Harry must use the strength of his emotions for the spell to work, and we hear both (1) Harry’s exertion through the increased volume of his voice as he declaims the charm, “Expecto Patronum”, and (2) representation of his emotional intentions through the changing instrumentation in the underscore13. When Harry practises against a less dangerous boggart and is unsuccessful, the dissonant, breathy sound of the boggart dominates. When Harry is successful, the harmonious orchestral underscore rises to the fore with other-worldly choral voices, replacing the sound of the boggart. Similarly, on Harry’s first attempt against a horde of dangerous dementors, we hear the whoosh of his spell, but no choral voices: the spell is not strong enough. Then, when Harry successfully harnesses his emotions, we hear an orb of magical sound, otherworldly choral voices, a rising French horn melody associated throughout the film with Harry’s inner world, and a fanfare of brass as visuals of a gleaming corporeal stag (i.e., the holographic representation of Harry’s Patronus shield) dispels the dementors.14 While the alternation of sound designs is similar to the first examples of textbook spells (i.e., in which orchestral underscore supports successful but not unsuccessful results), the sound designs for the later films tend to reflect characters’ inner resources and intentions and are therefore more often varied.15

Underscore continues to reflect the spell-caster’s mindset when Mad-Eye Moody’s imposter turns Draco into a weasel in The Goblet of Fire (Newell 2005); as he repeatedly spins Draco in the air, the cognitive dissonance of the rollicking underscore reflects Mad Eye’s playfulness, even though the event is disturbing to others. Likewise, eerily cheerful music accompanies Mad-Eye’s rogue demonstration of the unforgivable Imperius curse on a spider for his students. The contrast between music and visuals is jarring, yet plausibly reflects Mad Eye’s disconnection from the consequences of his actions. At least some of the students join with laughter while the spider flies around under the Imperius curse, but the underscore becomes more dissonant and angular, metaphorically aligning with the harmful impact on the spider as it squeaks in pain when Mad Eye inflicts the excruciating Cruciatus curse. Only when Mad-Eye kills the spider with the Avada Kedavra curse does the music become sombre, aligning with the visual focus on the faces of the stunned, emotionally impacted students. Thus, this example varies earlier patterns in a longer form: first, sound scoring reflects the intention of the spell caster, then reflects the impact of the spell, then reflects the emotional impact on the onlookers.

5.3. Reliable Metaphors for Trust and Deception in the Sound of Personal Accounts

While spell books hold powerful magical knowledge, other books have a power unto themselves, and sound scoring articulates and reinforces the embodied voice of the magical written items as if they were characters. When Harry opens a book in the restricted section of the library in The Philospher’s Stone (Columbus 2001), the shape of a human face stretches out of the book’s page accompanied by a man’s primal scream, muffled when Harry closes the book. The scream cuts through the texture of the underscore much as the face disrupts the one-dimensional page. When Harry opens The Monster Book of Monsters in The Prisoner of Azkaban (Cuarón 2004), piccolo gestures ascend over pulsing strings and winds as the book behaves as a monster might: snarling, chasing, and nibbling around the room leaving bits of paper in its wake. As students later learn from Hagrid, they can interactively maintain control of the book by stroking its spine, calming the monster book as if it were a pet.

The Marauder’s Map provides an example of interactive written magic that reflects narrative truth; in fact, even when the information seems doubtful, the Map is trustworthy and the sound design points us to that truth. The Map provides an objectively accurate visual representation of the Hogwarts castle and anyone inside it to anyone who “Solemnly swears” that they are “up to no good”, but responds extemporaneously in writing with the subjective cheeky personalities of the original map-makers to anyone trying to deceptively use the map without authority. When the Weasley twins bequeath the Marauder’s Map to Harry in The Prisoner of Azkaban (Cuarón 2004), we hear elevated sounds of the parchment unfolding reinforcing the trusted authority of written items as their own magic. However, despite the Weasley twins’ enthusiastic testimony, Harry is not certain whether the map’s information is trustworthy when he sees a banner bearing Peter Pettigrew’s name travelling around the castle (i.e., a character who reportedly died at the hands of Sirius Black). Each time Harry sees Pettigrew’s name on the map, viewers hear a brief melodic figure on harpsichord (Webster 2009, p. 455)16. The coincidence of name and motif comes full circle when Scabbers the rat transforms into Peter Pettigrew while scampering across an antique keyboard in the Shrieking Shack at the end of the film, revealing key aspects in the mystery regarding Peter Pettigrew’s deception. In other words, despite the narrative uncertainty about what the Map shows, the sound design reveals its trustworthiness.

When Snape commands the Marauder’s Map to “Reveal [its] secrets”, the enshrined personalities of the map’s authors respond with insult; handwritten words appear that Harry reads aloud. However, when Harry interacts with Tom Riddle’s diary (Columbus 2002), which similarly preserves Tom’s 16 year old personality, underscore speaks for Tom en lieu of a human voice, helping to maintain Tom’s deception. As Harry examines the diary, we hear the elevated sounds of flipping pages, then heightened special effects for liquid when ink falls on a page, then prepared piano and orchestral chimes as the ink spreads then disappears; all signifiers for the item’s magical power in the context of these films. When Harry writes his name in the book with his quill, his text disappears, and a new text appears, answering as Tom Riddle with the sound of timpani; Harry continues, writing questions in the book, reading them aloud as he goes. New answers appear, accompanied first by woodwinds, then by brass and choral voices. As depicted in the film, Harry’s body completely disappears into the book at Tom’s invitation to experience the curated history that Tom wishes to show him in order to mislead him. The sound design both represents and obscures the voice of the diary, giving power to and embodying Tom’s words without revealing his voice or image until Harry has been lured into the pages. When Harry destroys the diary at the end of the film, the sound effects make it appear as if Harry is stabbing into flesh rather than a book, thus further contributing to the idea that written items embody characters.

Indeed, “books can be misleading”, as Gilderoy Lockhart notes In The Chamber of Secrets (Columbus 2002). Lockhart’s fame gives him social power, but any magical significance in his so-called memoirs is not reflected in the sound design. When Harry and the Weasley family enter Flourish and Blotts bookstore to purchase school books, there is no music. A musical motif for Lockhart himself incorporates an assortment of flourishes and trills in alignment with visuals of the character, contributing to caricature and comic distancing, but no music or sound effects align with visuals of his books; neither as he showcases them or as he hands them to Harry (Webster 2009, p. 564; Cross 2008, p. 89)17. Likewise, no sound supports Lockhart citing his own research, exclaiming, “see my books” in the course of the Duelling Club. As dialogue later reveals, Lockhart is a fraud who has plagiarised the contents of the books by interviewing trailblazing wizards, then wiping their memories and claiming their intellectual property for himself.18 Although the lack of sound scoring for Lockhart’s texts and memoirs accurately reflects the character’s questionable magical abilities, it does not reflect the high value magical content inside the books that Lockhart has stolen. That is, sometimes there is more than one perspective with merit, and filmmakers choose to highlight only one.

However, Lockhart lacks the prowess needed to demonstrate the magic he has published, and when he attempts to use it, we see (and hear) how he is not successful. For instance, when he unleashes Cornish pixies into the classroom (Columbus 2002), the twittering, fluttering sounds of the pixies overpowers both the underscore and the sounds of (1) Hermione’s stack of Lockhart’s books as it falls to the floor; (2) pages being torn from Lockhart’s books; and (3) paper fragments flying into the air throughout the room. Harry effectively uses one of the books to wallop a pixie away from attacking Hermione’s head; the whack of the book hitting the pixie is heard above the other aspects of sound design, and the pixie is jettisoned across the room; the capacity to be used as a physical weapon seems to be the book’s only usefulness. When Lockhart casts a spell from his so-called memoirs, chanting “Peskipiksi Pesternomi!”, nothing in the sound-scoring reflects that the spell has even occurred, let alone affected a magical outcome on the pixies.19 In other words, because of Lockhart’s deception, his books hold no power beyond their mundane use as physical props.

In contrast, underscore enters in clear alignment when Harry opens the potions book once owned by the Half-Blood Prince in Professor Slughorn’s potions class, and again while Harry skims through the text in the Gryffindor common room (both in The Half-Blood Prince, Yates 2007). The presence of music indicates the item’s power, but it is an aspect of the narrative’s mystery whether the contents of the book are true or morally trustworthy. Visuals show the book’s text in the main frame of each parchment page, while the Half-Blood Prince’s quill and ink handwriting refines and records specialised instructions in the margins. Whether good or bad, the writing offers a catalyst for change. While the book’s dark antique binding with handwritten quill font recalls Tom Riddle’s dark-magic diary from the second film, The Chamber of Secrets, the underscore accompanying the potions book is cheerful, not ominous, with rhythmically bubbly punctuation played by double and single reeds and flutes. Similar music cues from the first films signify curiosity and spectacle, and support slightly outrageous but ultimately delightful events such as the hatching of Norbert the dragon in The Philosopher’s Stone, the arrival of the Knight Bus in The Prisoner of Azkaban, and the magical extendable ear in The Order of the Phoenix. So, while Hermione remains suspicious of the book for much of the film, the underscore does not convey any concern20.

However, Harry’s unquestioning reliance on the book becomes problematic (i.e., this is a point of deception), Hermione challenges the ethics of using the book at all, and Ginny Weasley ultimately helps Harry permanently hide the book. Wolosky (2010) notes how several characters and ideas are mirrored in the series, and argues that Lockhart is a double to Harry, in part due to fame and in part because each participates in using the intellectual property of others. “Something like the question of plagiarism, raised by Lockhart’s claims to magical exploits stolen from others, comes up again in Harry’s use of the Half-Blood Prince’s Potion Book. That’s certainly how Hermione sees it: although Harry is at least doing the potion work, and just following, as he puts it, better instructions; and his main desire is to pass the course” (Wolosky 2010, p. 4) However, Harry eventually realises how using the book has compromised his integrity—even though the contents are trustworthy in their effectiveness—when he recklessly casts one of the Prince’s spells indicated “for enemies” on Draco Malfoy, nearly killing him, and thus, he resolves to hide the book away.

In Dumbledore’s words, “Words are, in my not-so-humble opinion, our most inexhaustible source of magic. Capable of both inflicting injury, and remedying it” (Yates 2011). While sound scoring for Hogwarts students regularly gives sympathetic commentary when characters are struggling with their integrity (e.g., when Harry resists Voldemort’s mind control in The Order of the Phoenix, when heartbroken Hermione casts the Opugno charm at Ron, and when Draco contemplates his role with the Death Eaters when a songbird is killed in the Vanishing Cabinets, both in The Half-Blood Prince), sound design does not tend to give commentary in the moments of choosing, in the circumstances where Harry and Draco’s choices bear little difference from the actions of adversaries.21 When Harry skirmishes with Draco, hurling spells in the bathroom in The Half-Blood Prince (Yates 2009), there is little if any underscore, only sound effects aligning rhythmically with movements of the characters, wand magic, gushing water, breaking porcelain and pipes, water on the floor, and vocal grunting indicating the impact of the spells on their bodies. When Harry casts the Prince’s curse “Sectumsempra” at Draco, Harry stands in shadow and the moment is unaccompanied by underscore. When Harry walks out from the shadows into the light (both physically and metaphorically), he sees the physical harm he has caused to Draco’s lacerated, bleeding body, and low, sustained, gently dissonant strings enter the sound design to accompany his realisation. Although Harry retreats, Snape enters and intervenes, musically chanting a spell in musical complement to the sustained underscore to repair Draco’s life-threatening injuries, thus providing another example of how powerful written magic is integrated into the sonic design.22

There is likewise no sound design commentary when Harry uses the unforgivable curses in The Order of the Phoenix (Yates 2007) or The Deathly Hallows II (Yates 2011). Similarly, when Draco disarms Dumbledore in the tower, intending to kill him (Yates 2009), we hear only the wand flick then the clatter of Dumbledore’s wand to the floor. The minimal sound design for each example makes room for different perspectives on both Harry and Draco’s morality. Although Dumbledore’s dialogue expresses his belief that Draco is “not a killer”, the lack of sound design allows viewers to hold space for the characters’ vulnerabilities as well as the consequences of their actions.23

Pugh (2020, p. 57) writes in consideration of Harry’s moral failings, noting that while audiences “have little reason to doubt Harry’s fundamental goodness … it is often necessary to question his ethics”. Throughout the narrative, audiences are “concerned with and invested in Harry’s growth as a moral character. Harry is constantly challenged by the choice between doing the ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ thing”, aware of the rules yet regularly breaking them, and putting himself and others at risk (Wilkes 2021, p. 6). Likewise, Deavel and Deavel (2002, p. 51) argue that while it is clear “that Harry is our hero, it is not always clear to Harry.”

Patient and Street (2009, pp. 201–26) note that while Harry’s actions are imperfect, he maintains a sense of righteousness because the adversary, Voldemort, represents an absolute wrong. They further explain that Hitler, the Nazis, and the Holocaust “have become the quintessential evil or archetypal metaphor for evil” in western thought, and that the Harry Potter narrative uses historically referenced frameworks to symbolise evil without the need to define it. While this may be true of the books alone, this is different from the changing ways the filmmakers address the nuances of evil with musical leitmotifs for Voldemort, developing musically from militant to alarming, then deviant, to seductive, and reflecting narratively how evil is the opposite of goodness, then lacking goodness, then a deviation from goodness (Webster 2009, pp. 420–56). Nevertheless, Patient and Street’s framework establishes that moral actions are those that fight Voldemort, regardless the cost. Wilkes (2021, p. 73) writes, “The dynamic of truth in the Potter universe is complex. As a series revolving around mystery, truth is by default important—truth is the answer and the solution. Seen as a Bildungsroman (or as a coming of age journey) truth is the stepping stone to adulthood …”. Helgesen (2010, p. 79) similarly argues how “Truth on the metaphysical level is the discovery of good, evil, and death.” From one perspective, then, Harry’s actions are inherently good because they are in service of defeating Voldemort. From another perspective, sound design contributes to nuanced interpretations of Harry’s emotional world and inner growth so regularly in the later films that the absence of sound design in Harry’s crucible moments may reflect the metaphorical stepping stone into adulthood; that is, we assume his actions are trustworthy and without deception (even without sound design support) because they cumulatively follow other actions that have been on the path of goodness (and are supported with sound).

5.4. (Strategically) Unreliable Metaphors for Truth and Control in the Sound of Magical Media

Audio-visuals for written periodicals in Harry Potter films toy with our expectations for objective truth, and are frequently used as a mode of transition, showing the information characters have access to, rather than what is true. When Ron shows a newspaper photo of his family’s holiday to Egypt in The Daily Prophet in The Prisoner of Azkaban (Cuarón 2004), we hear a middle eastern oboe melody as if it is a remembrance of their holiday. However, as the film shot expands, we see a boy in the background charming a rope from a basket, snake charmer style. Does the music come from The Daily Prophet? Or from the rope in basket? The sound quality suggests diegesis, but can the characters hear the music? The musical ambiguity of the example reflects how truth is not always at the surface, and perhaps foreshadows the misleading reporting in The Daily Prophet yet to come.

Questions of objective truth play out further when predatory gossip columnist Rita Skeeter corners Harry for an interview during the Tri-Wizard Tournament in The Goblet of Fire (Newell 2005). At first, silence contributes to the uncomfortable visuals; viewers may not know how to respond much as Harry is uncertain how he should respond. While journalism is meant to uncover the truth, Rita’s manipulated dictation bears only a playful resemblance to the interview Harry is offering, reflected in how Rita’s magic Quick Notes Quill playfully jots down her interview notes, accompanied by playful orchestral flourishes. According to Cross (2008, p. 89), caricature, such as that created by the underscore, reduces the character’s legitimate threat through comic distancing.

Truth in Harry Potter’s world operates on different levels, and honesty can mean different things at different times. Helgesen (2010, p. 79) writes, “On the mundane everyday level the theme of truth surfaces as Harry despairs over Rita Skeeter’s journalistic manipulation and as Harry and friends lie to teachers to avoid trouble and adult interference.” While people generally expect the media to present truth, and are likewise generally inclined to believe the media, they simultaneous acknowledge that the media can “twist, tweak and reinvent reality” (Helgesen 2010, p. 69). Much as Voldemort argues that there is no good and evil, “there is only power” in The Philosopher’s Stone (Columbus 2001), so too can characters experience how the morally inconsistent newspaper, The Daily Prophet, wields power through the control of information regardless of intent or outcome.

Atmospheric underscore blends with nature to facilitate a meaningful transition using visuals of The Daily Prophet in The Half-Blood Prince (Yates 2009). When Ron, Harry, and Hermione renew their bonds at the Burrow around burning kindling made from a wadded copy of The Daily Prophet paper, the sound of crackling embers comes to the fore once dialogue finishes, continuing the motif of written items sounding in their own terms. Then, the visuals focus on Draco’s picture in the newspaper while an undulating strings pattern emerges in underscore. The melancholy pattern continues as the scene cuts to a downpour in Spinner’s End where Draco’s mother, Narcissa Malfoy, and Bellatrix Lestrange enter Snape’s home. Inside the home, Snape sits reading his own copy of The Daily Prophet; the musical pattern stops abruptly when Snape closes the paper. Then, creating further symmetry in the transition, Narcissa makes her own bond with Snape: an unbreakable vow that sets critical events in motion. The undulating strings passage aligns with visuals of Draco, Narcissa, and Bellatrix, but falls silent when the focus shifts to Snape, subtly illuminating an otherwise ambiguous truth: Snape’s deeper intentions remain obscured in the moment, yet readers of the completed book series would recognise the cue as a deliberate narrative ambiguity. Symbolically, the scene contrasts two uses of the same object—The Daily Prophet—revealing its dual status. In one setting, the paper is discarded and burned; in another, it is read and absorbed. It is simultaneously refuse and resource. Yet its influence is far-reaching: the newspaper’s presence in both households reflects how access to information, even when contested or misused, serves to bind characters across magical society. These dual “bonds”—the rekindling of friendship at the Burrow and the literal Unbreakable Vow between Narcissa and Snape—are musically underscored through the persistent, circling ostinato. The motif sonically enacts the theme of binding (which also has metaphorical resonance with the concept of written items, which are also bound), whether through affection, obligation, or shared knowledge. In this moment, The Daily Prophet transcends its role as mere prop, becoming a narrative fulcrum—its physical presence, sonic framing, and symbolic duality exemplifying how written media in the films grow from background detail into powerful instruments of emotional, narrative, and ideological cohesion.

News source visuals continue to convey narrative progress as well as the dynamic of misinformation surrounding Harry into the final films. The prologue of The Deathly Hallows Part I (Yates 2010) begins with Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour giving a war-time press conference, followed by a montage of The Daily Prophet headlines speaking to the increasing violence amidst the rise of Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Scrimgeour’s opening words about “dark times” are supported by the rumble of timpani, and the intention of his final statement, “Your Ministry remains strong” is supported by the deep, sustained pitch of bass violins, both conveying strength, but immediately followed by a barrage of high pitched snapping sounds of journalists’ flashing cameras. Scrimgeour speaks from intention, but the situation is no longer in his control. Much as the sharp sounds of flashing cameras sonically disrupt Scrimgeour’s façade of Ministry strength, so too, we learn from character dialogue that Death Eaters attack, the ministry falls under fire, and Scrimgeour is killed, in the wake of the interview.

The Daily Prophet is the main source of news and propaganda in the Wizarding World. Over the course of the series “the Ministry moves from being something Harry worries will punish him for minor indiscretions to an institution that he thoroughly distrusts” (Wilkes 2021, p. 22). Indeed, dialogue reveals that Harry mistrusts Scrimgeour when he visits to deliver Dumbedore’s Last Will and Testament to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Nevertheless, sound design reveals the trustworthiness of what Scrimgeour has come to offer24. When the Will opens, we hear the gentle, natural sound of parchment, affirming authority through the document’s natural voice, as well as the magical naturalness with which Dumbledore was associated in sound during life. After Scrimgeour bequeaths Dumbledore’s deluminator to Ron (without significant sound scoring), underscore enters as he gives Hermione a copy of the children’s book The Tales of Beetle the Bard, then music stops markedly when Harry receives the golden snitch, which does not have visible writing in that moment, but reveals it later. The alignment of underscore with the children’s book indicates the significance of the written item, much as the abrupt silence when Harry receives the snitch equally draws our attention to this item. In a later scene when Harry puts his lips to the snitch, revealing the written phrase, “I open at the close”, we hear a shimmer sound with glockenspiel, affirming the magical significance. Likewise, when Hermione reads “The Tale of Three Brothers” aloud from The Tales of Beetle the Bard, we hear varied sound-scoring. This example echoes other patterns for written items in which sound design for items of written magic is generally fixed in the first Potter films, sound design is varied to reflect content and context in the later films. Similarly, we find in this scene how, despite the audience’s skepticism toward Scrimgeour and The Daily Prophet, the sonic treatment of Dumbledore’s bequests subtly overrides distrust, suggesting that the written word—when accompanied by naturalistic and resonant sound—can still carry truth and authority, even when institutions do not.

Truth is relative in magical newspapers, and power is perceived as truth. The Daily Prophet uses the pervasive power of its institution to create the perception of its trustworthiness despite unreliable reporting. Throughout The Order of the Phoenix (Yates 2007) and The Half-Blood Prince (Yates 2009), visuals of students reading The Daily Prophet and The Evening Prophet occur in scenes on the Hogwarts train, the Hogwarts dining hall, and the Gryffindor common room, news clippings are posted in the Room of Requirement, and front-page headlines and photos accumulate in montage visuals. In many examples, the accompanying sound design affirms the power of the ministerial institution. In contrast, The Quibbler is a tabloid magazine without the social currency of or control from the Ministry of Magic, though according to Wilkes (2021, p. 23), includes stories that are much closer to the truth than those printed by The Daily Prophet. Sound designs for The Quibbler reflect magical properties but not institutional power. For instance, crisp staccato flutes accompany Luna reading her copy of The Quibbler magazine upside down in The Order of the Phoenix, and intermittent glockenspiel accompanies Luna holding her Spectrespecs edition while wearing her own Spectrespecs in The Half-Blood Prince (i.e., all traditional instrumental signifiers for magic, but not power)25. However, in The Deathly Hallows Part I (Yates 2010), Harry, Ron, and Hermione discover that Luna has been imprisoned due to her father’s editorial role, and The Quibbler is now under Ministry control. “The idea that news media is written purely by “the deceivers” is an idea that the trio appear to initially overcome through their utilisation of The Quibbler …, only to discover that they have nonetheless been deceived in The Deathly Hallows by the same news source” (Wilkes 2021, p. 24). Nevertheless, the sound design for The Daily Prophet continues to reflect overt power while sound scoring for The Quibbler does not. When newspapers fly like memos in the still powerful Ministry of Magic (Yates 2010), the clatter functions like percussion with the underscore, contributing to the regimented atmosphere of authoritarian control, yet when papers fly up from the explosion at the home of Xenophilius Lovegood, the editor of The Quibbler (Yates 2011), there is no sound of paper included. This sound scoring not only allows viewers to see who has power, but also how characters in the story understand truth and power. By the final films, the characters are no longer simply reading written magic—they are immersed in a world constructed by it. Surrounded by flying papers, printed decrees, and manipulated headlines, they inhabit a magical world made of text, much as they themselves were once contained within the pages of the original novels. In this way, the omnipresence of paper becomes a metaphor for their narrative existence—bound, shaped, and ultimately transformed by the written word.

6. Conclusions

Across the Harry Potter films, written magic undergoes a striking transformation—from static props to dynamic, multi-sensory agents of power, identity, and narrative cohesion. As the films become increasingly independent from their literary source, writing acquires not just visual presence but metaphorical voice, amplified and shaped through music and sound design. These sonic cues construct a parallel system of narrative authority, guiding the viewer toward certain truths, values, and alignments—sometimes in tension with the characters’ understanding, and even with the novels themselves. Ultimately, written words in the films do more than convey information: they are animated through sound into agents of growth, memory, resistance, and transformation. The examination of audio-visual relationships for written items distils ways that the filmmakers give voice to power and truth: magical, objective, authoritative, trusted, and moral. In this way, the audio-visual treatment of written magic reveals not just what is written, but what matters.

One key finding is that as the films develop their own cinematic identity—moving aesthetically beyond the framework of the source novels—the role of written words transforms and expands. These sound aspects are not simply alternating with visuals, but become increasingly integrated. Over time, motifs of written magic—along with broader themes of power and truth—are woven more tightly into the narrative through score and sound design. By the later films, written texts are no longer mere props or narrative devices, but take on roles as atmosphere, emotional underscore, and even character. This evolution mirrors the filmmakers’ growing creative autonomy from the novels, and revealing how adaptation involves not just translation, but transformation.

Sound design plays a central role in this transformation, creating implicit value systems that guide how viewers interpret truth, power, and trust. While written items in the story often convey misinformation or uphold unjust authority, the accompanying sound designs—whether naturalistic, orchestral, dissonant, or percussive—are trustworthy, remaining consistent guides for viewers, and marking particular texts as trustworthy, dangerous, authoritative, or unstable. The films thereby construct a parallel system of meaning independent from the books and sometimes varied between films: one that tells viewers which words matter most, whose voices are to be believed, and whose truths the filmmakers want to emphasise. Even when texts deceive characters, the audio-visual cues often offer viewers a deeper or more accurate narrative reading—an aural framing that reflects the filmmakers’ interpretive stance on the source material.

As sound design begins to reflect character psychology, written magic becomes a medium for internal, ethical, and emotional development—not just plot advancement. In the early films, sound clearly maps onto the mechanics of spellcasting: words are spoken, followed by a wand whoosh, and then a magical outcome. But beginning with the third film, sound design begins to reflect the intention and maturity of the speaker. Musical underscore interacts with both magical outcomes and emotional subtext, gradually emphasising ethical nuance over mechanical explanation. By the fifth film, spells are often cast wordlessly, and underscore shifts its support—from the incantation itself to the effect on characters, targets, or witnesses. In parallel, written texts increasingly become sites of ethical negotiation and reflection, not just information or action. The progression from vocalised spells to wordless magic parallels a shift from external action to internal understanding. In this sense, written items—and their sonic signatures—mark stages in the characters’ ethical and emotional development.

In this evolution, sound transforms the written word into a metaphorical voice, one that interacts with both the characters and the viewer. Through sound, written texts are not only read—they are heard, voiced, and animated. In many cases, the score or sound design becomes the voice of the text itself, mediating its meaning between characters and viewers. When characters speak words aloud, or when written words collaborate or fuse with musical textures, they are transformed into expressive agents of narrative and emotional force. Whether amplified, made musical, or sounding as if part of the orchestra itself, these moments lend written words a voice—one that resonates with both characters and viewers. Even sound effects tied to parchment, paper, or scrolls become part of a larger sound world that communicates authority, danger, or revelation.

The motif of parchment conveying authority, truth, and power through naturalistic sound appears throughout the series. Especially during the third through sixth films, magical items themselves are often voiced through metaphors of nature—wind, fire, water, animal calls—while adversarial written elements, such as propaganda or dark magic, are increasingly rendered through metaphors of unnaturalness or mechanisation. Written items evolve from singular objects with quirky behaviours to collections of texts with deep narrative function. In the later films, these items operate not only as props but as characters, actions, scenery, and emotional tone.

Over the course of the films, sound designs for written spells change throughout, as does the formula for depicting the mechanics of the magic, and implying the authority and power therein. In the first two films, characters recite spells, followed by a wand whoosh, culminating in sound effects representing the magical outcome. In the third film, sound design begins to supports the authority of the speaker rather than the mechanics of the incantation or the outcome, and the intentionality of the speaker is reflected instrumentally and in varying combinations with sound effects. In general, as sound designs for the later films reflect characters’ inner resources, the sound scoring becomes more varied. By the fifth film, many written spells are cast wordlessly, but spoken utterances reflect the physical outcomes of the spells because people (rather than things) are more often the targets. Further, underscore varies from indicating support for speaker’s intentions, to the impact of the spell on the target, to the emotional impact on the onlookers. While an absence of sound in the first films is an indication of a lack or magic, in the later films, a lack of underscore creates space for situations that are too complex to reflect with just one interpretation. As Harry and his friends periodically cast unethical spells in the later films, underscore no longer suggests the inner intentions of the speaker, rather, sound designs reflect conflicts of good and evil, or pare back sound design to allow for independent interpretation. Similarly, magic sound effects make a transition to sounds of weapons and explosions.

The role of printed media as a shared, equal access experience among characters in the magic world is highlighted throughout all eight films. While truth is relative in magical world periodicals, power is perceived as truth, and visuals of print media frequently integrate with sound design to reflect order and power. News is a source of emotion, and visuals of newspapers contribute to emotional tensions, participating in atmospheres, transitions, and montages. This creates a meta relationship between characters, narrative, and viewers in which characters are confronted with the information from the news sources (true or untrue as it is), while simultaneously, viewers observe both misleading headlines and true depictions of the authoritarian machine in the audio-visual collaborations. That is, audio-visual alignments for large collections of papers—news periodicals, letters, exams etc.—contribute to background contexts of control, order, and chaos.

As a coming of age journey, there is pleasure in the process, and the audio-visuals for written magic contribute to that wonder and delight. Texts provide primary sources of information for Harry and his peers, and are catalysts for growth, including opportunities for risk, not always knowing who holds power and what holds truth in the topsy-turvy landscape. Many circumstances defy expectations, and when music and visuals are likewise at odds, the disjointedness between the two reveals how characters navigate unfairness and pursuits of agency, sometimes with the pleasure of comic distancing. While the role of written items provides structure and order to Harry’s (and viewers’) understanding of the magical world, Harry experiences both authoritarian order with leaders such as Umbridge wielding paper as signs of authority and a seemingly natural order of student agency, as demonstrated by the sound design, especially, in the fireworks scene.

Ultimately, core themes of power and truth—bound up with trustworthiness, morality, and identity—are carried and complicated by the treatment of written magic in the films. These written items link characters across time and space: the Hogwarts library connects past and present; newspapers shape collective understanding; letters allow Harry to maintain personal relationships and write his own truth into being. Through the integration of music, sound, and text, the films not only show us what is written, but invite us to hear how it matters.