Harry Potter and the Cursed Child

ALBUS emerges from the books. As himself again.

SCORPIUS/HARRY: Albus . . .

He tries to grab him.

ALBUS: No. Just — THIIIIIIINK.

ALBUS is violently pulled back into the bookcase.

SCORPIUS/HARRY: But I can’t . . . an invisible echo, what is that? The only thing I’m good at is thinking and when I need to think — I can’t.

The books pull him inside them; he’s powerless. This is terrifying.

There’s silence.

Then BANG — a shower of books are released from the bookcase — and SCORPIUS reemerges. Smashing the books aside.

SCORPIUS: No! You don’t! Sybill Trelawney. No!!!!

He looks around, sunk but full of energy.

This is all wrong. Albus? Can you hear me? All this for a frigging Time-Turner. Think, Scorpius. Think.

Books try and grab him.

A constant companion. Sometimes behind. Sometimes in front. Hang on. I’ve missed it. Shadow. You’re a shadow. Shadows and Spirits. It must be . . .

He climbs up the bookcase, which is horrifying as it rises up at him. Grabbing at him with his every step.

He pulls the book from the shelf. It comes out and the noise and chaos suddenly stop.

Is that —

Suddenly there’s a smashing and ALBUS and DELPHI fall out of the shelves and down to the floor.

We beat it. We beat the library.

ALBUS: Delphi, are you . . . ?

DELPHI: Wow. Quite a ride.

ALBUS notices the book SCORPIUS is holding to his chest.

ALBUS: Is that? Scorpius? What’s inside that book?

DELPHI: I think we should find out, don’t you?

SCORPIUS opens the book. In the center of it — a spinning Time-Turner.

SCORPIUS: We’ve found the Time-Turner — I never thought we’d get this far.

ALBUS: Mate, now we’ve got this, the next stop is saving Cedric. Our journey has only just begun.

SCORPIUS: Only just begun and it’s almost half killed us. Good. This is going to be good.

Whispers rise to a roar. And we cut to black.

ACT TWO

ACT TWO, SCENE ONE

DREAM, PRIVET DRIVE, CUPBOARD UNDER THE STAIRS

AUNT PETUNIA: Harry. Harry. These pots aren’t clean. THESE POTS ARE A DISGRACE. HARRY POTTER. Wake up.

YOUNG HARRY wakes to see AUNT PETUNIA bearing down on him.

YOUNG HARRY: Aunt Petunia. What time is it?

AUNT PETUNIA: Time enough. You know, when we agreed to take you in, we hoped we could improve you — build you — make you a decent human being. So I suppose it’s only ourselves we’ve got to blame that you’ve turned out . . . such a limp disappointment.

YOUNG HARRY: I try —

AUNT PETUNIA: Trying is not succeeding though, is it? There are grease smears on the glasses. There are scuff marks on the pots. Now get up and go to the kitchen and get scrubbing.

He gets out of bed. There’s a wet smear down the back of his trousers.

Oh no. Oh no. What have you done? You’ve wet the bed, again.

She pulls back the covers.

This is very unacceptable.

YOUNG HARRY: I’m — sorry, I think I was having a nightmare.

AUNT PETUNIA: You disgusting boy. Only animals wet themselves. Animals and disgusting little boys.

YOUNG HARRY: It was about my mum and dad. I think I saw them — I think I saw them — die?

AUNT PETUNIA: And why would I have the slightest bit of interest in that?

YOUNG HARRY: There was a man shouting Adkava Ad-something Acabra — Ad — and the noise of a snake hissing. I could hear my mum scream.

AUNT PETUNIA takes a moment to reset herself.

AUNT PETUNIA: If you were really reliving their death, all you’d hear would be a screech of brakes and a horrific thud. Your parents died in a car accident. You know that. I don’t think your mother had even time to scream. Lord spare you the details more than that. Now strip those sheets, get in the kitchen, and get scrubbing. I don’t want to have to tell you again.

She exits with a bang.

And YOUNG HARRY is left holding the sheets.

And the stage contorts and trees rise as the dream twists into something else entirely.