There are plenty of book series which had a promising first entry, only to fizzle out as the sequels were published. Characters become dry, places remain unchanged, and, ultimately, the story’s plot lines become contrived, because there’s nothing fresh for the author to work with. Plots stop revolving around the characters; villains fail to be interesting; and the cast has no way to grow or develop. Even if a writer puts out a shining debut, maintaining that momentum through the entirety of a series can be challenging.
Luckily, there are a number of tactics an author can employ to keep their series engaging. Whether it be adding new characters, fleshing said characters out, or even expanding the world’s creatures or geography, there are several tricks to improve your story. In this blog, I will not only be discussing the methods used to keep a series fresh, but will be citing Harry Potter as an example throughout. All of the tactics I list are used in the boy wizard novels. As such, this article assumes an understanding of the books; there will be spoilers.
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1) Expand the Lore
What is a story without lore? When using the term, I’m referring to the rules of the world, it’s history, it’s culture, it’s geography and so on. While the first book introduces much of the vital lore—wizards live apart from Muggles, everyone buys their wands at Ollivander, and Hogwarts is Britain’s foremost school—readers learn plenty of new information in the sequels.
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets is especially lore heavy. First of all, readers learn that there are house elves, and that they are enslaved to wizards. Some, like Dobby, suffer under mistreatment. Secondly, Diagon Alley has a counterpart, Knockturn Alley, where wizards on the shadier side do their shopping.
The biggest lore dump in the second book by far, though, is that of the Chamber of Secrets and it’s relation to the four founders. Readers learn the names of the four, which houses they led, and how Slytherin differed from the other three. It’s technically an exposition dump, but an interesting one because it introduces the history of one of Hogwarts’s core elements. Slytherin only wanted pureblood students, and shunned those of Muggleborn descent. The wizarding world’s own parallel for racism is explored in relation to this, with students like Hermione having to fight prejudice because she is Muggleborn—born to Muggle parents as a witch—rather than pure blood—having all magical relatives.
After the second book, the fourth and the sixth dive into the most lore. The fourth book fleshes out the world with the Quidditch World Cup, the Triwizard Tournament, and the Death Eaters. The sixth dives into Voldemort himself, and into the concept of Horcruxes—objects of dark magic which can only be created by splitting one’s soul through murderous acts. In each of these books, readers have to process a great deal of information. Despite this, the lore, whether it be learning of Azkaban in book three or what thestrals are in book five, never slows the story down. Instead, it livens the world, making it feel bigger and offering the promise of more mysteries to solve.
Lore includes new locations too. In the third book, Harry learns that Hogwarts has secret passages; in the fifth, he learns of the castle’s hidden Room of Requirement. In the fifth book, he has a glimpse into the Ministry. New locations are introduced in each book, especially as regards the grounds of Hogwarts. Hogsmeade, the lake, and the Shrieking Shack are all memorable examples.
The best pieces of lore will also play a role in the plot, or plots, later on. For example, the lore surrounding the house elves again becomes relevant in the fourth book, when Hermione starts a social justice group on behalf of the house elves. Knockturn Alley makes more appearances in the sixth book, regarding both Malfoy and Voldemort. The four founders become important once more in the sixth and seventh books, when Harry learns most of the Horcruxes were made from relics pertaining to each house. Harry has to speak with the daughter of Rowena, where he learns the darker history concerning Ravenclaw’s founder.
2) Raise the Stakes
Nothing elevates a story like raising the stakes. The more characters have to lose, the more tense a narrative can become. Though the first three books had their dark moments, the fourth was the first to not only threaten death, but to show it. Following Cedric’s murder in the Goblet of Fire, death became something that could happen in the series. Although the series opens with the announcement of James and Lily having died, they remain names on a page. The reader hasn’t gotten to know them, like they’ve gotten to know Cedric. Readers may have worried about Ginny being killed in book two, but most of us, deep down, felt sure she would be rescued. It wasn’t until Cedric died that we, as readers, had less certainty over everyone coming through okay.
The Goblet of Fire set a precedent for a death in every book. Sirius dies in book five, setting yet another precedent that those closest to Harry can be killed. In book six, one of the series most enduring characters is killed—Dumbledore is struck with the killing curse, falling to the ground below. By the time readers began the seventh book, they knew people were going to die. As such, they were on the edges of their seats, wondering what beloved characters they were going to lose next. The seventh book, especially, cranked this theme up to eleven, killing not one character, but dozens. The book even toyed with the idea of killing the protagonist himself—which, after seeing so many die, left readers wondering if Harry would actually perish. Killing off the protagonist didn’t seem like such a wild idea anymore.
If you raise the stakes throughout the story, introducing the possibility of characters dying or losing a permanent fixture in their lives, readers will become more invested. This isn’t to say a character needs to die in every book, but removing other seemingly fixed elements in a story, like a protagonist’s parents or the place they call home, can assure the reader that nothing is safe. Anything could happen, and the hero will need to be on his guard—along with the reader.
3) Introduce New Characters
The best series continue to introduce new characters throughout. Ideally, new characters should appear in every book, whether it be just one or several. Not all of these characters have to make a comeback (Ludo Bagman and Barty Crouch had all the time they needed in book four), but the most memorable will. Characters like Luna Lovegood, once introduced, should always return. If a writer has a large cast, using sequels to spread their introductions out can also help.
The Harry Potter books were especially adept at introducing new characters. In the second book, Arthur, Gilderoy, Moaning Myrtle, Lucius, and Dobby are introduced. That’s five new characters, in one book alone. In book three, readers meet the remaining Marauders—Sirius, Lupin, and Pettigrew, in a story arc which also adds more lore in regards to Harry’s father and his time at school. There are too many characters introduced in the fourth book to list here, though characters like Fleur return later in the series. The fifth book focuses more on fleshing out it’s existing characters, though new faces, including Luna, Tonks, and the iconic, if hated, Umbridge, are added. Even the seventh book introduces characters, with Harry meeting Aberforth for the first time (and in turn unraveling the lore surrounding Dumbledore and his childhood).
It’s impossible to list all the characters added in each, and yet readers managed to not only remember most of them, but to become attached. Tonks didn’t have a great deal of page time in the fifth book, but she had enough for us to feel connected to her. Her role also grew into its own subplot in subsequent books, as she fell in love with Lupin and ultimately ended up with an orphaned son.
When characters are introduced to the plot, they still need to have a purpose—whether it’s to form their own subplot, help the protagonist, or add to his list of problems. Rita Skeeter isn’t a direct threat to Harry, but her poisonous articles certainly don’t make his already complicated life easier; instead, she makes his life more difficult, straining him as he attempts to prepare for each task. Rita alone generates conflict for several characters, on top of that introduced by the main plot. Characters like Neville and Luna, conversely, aid Harry, using something unique in their personalities to help—side characters should be able to do what the protagonist can’t, using a particular personality quirk or ability to get him through. Finally, characters like Winky the house elf, while not affecting Harry and his plot directly, flesh out the world with their own subplots. Winky does tie into the main plot as far as the Crouch’s are concerned, but her actions end up having more of an effect on Hermione, and her subplot, than they do on Harry and the main story. This is why characters like Winky are often removed from film adaptations.
Occasionally, characters can be introduced who do none of these three things, but they should still have a small purpose. Ludo Bagman doesn’t seem to affect much; if he was removed, the whole book would still function. He doesn’t affect the main plot, the side plots, or cause problems (unless you look at his role in the subplot concerning Fred and George). However, he has a purpose. Since he is usually shown next to Barty Crouch, his jovial manner and immature ways contrast him with the stern, unsmiling Crouch. Crouch as a character is strengthened by having a nearby foil character, an opposite, because it makes his own characteristics all the more pronounced. Crouch is an important character, so giving him someone like Ludo to play off of helps him stand out.
The books have an impressive cast, but readers manage to remember everybody because they are introduced gradually, each expanding the books in their own way. Even the Death Eaters are further developed with time, adding faces and personalities to those Harry has to fight. Having villains with differing personality traits makes for more intriguing battles when they meet (or scarier ones, when you explore Death Eaters like Bellatrix or the sadistic Fenrir, a werewolf who purposefully targets children).
4) Experiment With Tone
When people first praised Harry Potter for it’s whimsy and lighthearted humour, Rowling was nervous. This is because she had mapped out the series; she knew how much darker they would become. Changing the tone of a series, especially a mainstream one, can be risky. Not everyone pulls it off. Often, readers can come away feeling betrayed. They signed up for one thing, and were given another. If you suddenly change a romance series into a horror, for example, your readers won’t be happy.
That said, a series’ tone can be changed over time, especially when written for children. Harry Potter was in the unique position of having its readers grow up with it. People who picked up the first book as kids were teenagers by the time they picked up the last one. As such, the content could grow darker to reflect the changing maturity levels of the reader. What’s more, Harry himself literally ages through the books. The changing tone throughout reflects his own shift in perspective. In the first book, he’s a wide eyed eleven year old who dreams of having a true home and at least one friend. In the seventh, though still a teen, he’s taken on the responsibilities of an adult, and knows the world, even with magic in it, isn’t always a happy one. If anything, the tone change throughout reflects Harry’s maturity level.
The biggest shifts in tone occur in books three and five. The first two have dark elements, but they are whimsical in tone—they are closer to Roald Dahl books in their writing style and subject matter. The third book doesn’t have anyone die, but a shift is seen in the prose and plot lines. The story, at first glance, is literally about a man who has broken out of prison to murder a child. That’s pretty heavy. The book doesn’t feel as lighthearted throughout either—dementors guard the entrances, forcing Harry to hear his mother’s death in his head every time he passes them. Themes of loneliness, prejudice, and betrayal are explored, and Harry learns the truth behind the death of his parents. Voldemort may have killed them, but Sirius makes for a much more personal villain because of his history with the Potters. Harry has an emotional connection with the man who destroyed his family; he even has a photograph of the supposed killer, laughing beside his dad. In its descriptions of Sirius and the dementors, the third book veers into horror territory.
The fourth book, as a result of the third, maintains a more mature tone than the first two, but Cedric’s death, occurring at the end, has more of an effect on the fifth book than the fourth. The tragedy hangs over Harry in the fifth. People Harry loves are dying; his father isn’t the perfect hero he envisioned; the whole world thinks he’s crazy at best and dangerous at worst; his good friends are suffering through their own problems; Dumbledore is pulling away from him; a teacher is literally torturing him; and he’s developed some anger management issues, because Voldemort could possess him.
Umbridge is easily one of the darkest parts of the fifth book. Though evil in her own right, physically abusing students and driving out Dumbledore himself, she represents the larger threats of the Ministry and the media. The fifth book is so much darker, because Harry goes through it with a sense of oppression. Many of his friends, such as Seamus, have turned on him, and the Ministry for Magic, which should have been an ally, is actively making Harry’s life worse. It’s in the fifth book that the plot becomes less black and white. There may be sadistic Death Eaters, but many on the “good” side are horrible too. Though Umbridge works for the government, she’s as nasty as Bellatrix. The fifth book is when Harry himself matures, realizing that governments can be corrupt, adults can make mistakes, and that people, even those you trusted, can do horrible things.
Harry learns that his father, James, was a school bully, and that Sirius, his godfather, wasn’t much better. Umbridge and Fudge, who should have protected Harry, use their power to abuse him instead. Even Dumbledore fails Harry, pushing him away when Harry needed his support the most. Finally, Harry loses his father figure and has a mental breakdown in Dumbledore’s office. Some readers were angry at first; where had this angst ridden Harry come from? When had the series become so depressing? After so much silliness and adventure, the fifth book was a hard pill to swallow. However, people did accept it (after sorting through their own emotions). Though the following books were darker still, people were now prepared for this shift. They understood that Harry was growing up (and they along with him).
Changing the tone of your series won’t always be in your best interest, but if you can align it with your readers ability to change, and show the shift through your characters and plots, it can make your series deeper, and more flexible. The books started off as Roald Dahl style escapades, only to gradually transition into young adult novels on par with the likes of the Hunger Games. This is no easy feat for a writer, but it can be done.
5) Plot Structure
Nothing will freshen up a series more than switching it’s standard formula around. Before readers can become too accustomed to a formula, an author needs to change something. The first three books required Harry to solve a mystery, and catch a bad guy—only to realize said villain was really a red herring. Harry thinks Snape is the villain, but it’s really Quirrel; people blame Hagrid for opening the Chamber of Secrets, but it’s Tom, acting through a possessed Ginny; and Harry is determined to kill Sirius for betraying his parents, only to learn Peter was responsible for their deaths.
The fourth book has this formula too, with Karkaroff being presented as a potential suspect when it was “Moody” all along. However, the fourth book is less straightforward. Even when the true suspect is introduced, he doesn’t appear so obviously evil. What’s more, the Triwizard Tournament itself shakes up the story. Harry doesn’t have time to focus solely on the mystery—instead, he has to survive a series of arena-like tasks. The idea of the Tournament, along with it’s set pieces, such as dragons and merpeople, spices the book up. It’s a new plot point, adding flavour to the otherwise standard detective formula the books have followed thus far.
The biggest departure for the books, though, occurs in the seventh volume. Harry completing a year of school, hanging out with friends, seeing the Weasley’s at Christmas, and dealing with the big bad at year’s end has become the standard. For six books, it’s what readers expect. In the seventh book, however, Harry doesn’t go to school at all—he travels the country, breaking into Gringotts bank, infiltrating the Ministry, and even being separated from Ron for a time.
With the structure of Hogwarts removed, the plot becomes bigger. Harry is a literal fugitive, who has to perform at least one unforgivable curse to complete a mission, and he might die. There are no more classes, no more afternoon visits to Hagrid’s hut, and certainly no family Christmases at the Weasley’s. Everything familiar in Harry’s life, and everything readers expected as par for the course in a typical Potter book, is stripped away in the final volume.
Before readers can become too comfortable, the whole formula is scrapped. It should be noted that not all readers liked this. Some complained that book seven featured too much of Harry camping. Nevertheless, the book was well received, and the choice to remove Harry from his hub opened the story up. An atmosphere where anything could happen was introduced, and Harry’s home, as he thought of it, was transformed into a battlefield.
If a writer wants to keep a story fresh, they should consider doing the unexpected. Take away the hero’s hub. Add new elements. Remove the hero’s comforts. Remove anything and everything that is familiar to him and your readers. Doing so will make your stories less predictable, adding new conflict and tension to your series overall.
6) The Villain’s Arc
No story, whether it be a single novel or a series, is worthwhile without a compelling villain. Not every book needs to have a “bad guy,” but those which do have to present an engaging antagonist. The Harry Potter books have always been good at introducing interesting characters, and the villains are no exception.
Even before we dig into Voldemort, his Death Eaters come with differing personalities. Most memorable is Bellatrix, who tortured Neville’s parents into madness and who may or may not be lusting after Voldemort. Aside from her, there’s also Fenrir, a werewolf who likes to bite people in his human form, and who waits outside the homes of children so that he can bite, and infect them, when he turns. Lucius Malfoy is less than pleased with Voldemort’s return; as the wealthy owner of a manor and the Minister for Magic’s own boot licker, he’s not keen to have control taken away from him.
The Death Eaters could have remained as masked villains, but giving them their own stories or quirks makes them all the more terrifying. Giving them personalities makes them more evil, and more dangerous, when their past crimes are laid before readers.
Of course, one can’t talk about villains without exploring Voldemort. In the first book, while his intro is memorable (he appears on the back of Quirrel’s head), Voldemort starts off as your standard card carrying villain. He looks creepy, he kills people, and he craves power. He’s interesting, but nothing in his character seems groundbreaking. However, the series continues to flesh him out, first in the second book and then in the sixth.
In the second book, readers get to know Tom Riddle. They don’t know he’s Voldemort. Instead, they are given the chance to know him as a character in his own right. Tom is a student. He’s accomplished, earning trophies and awards. He doesn’t have a home to return to should the school shut down, and he has dark hair. Tom seems lonely, but attached to Hogwarts. As Harry reads Riddle’s diary, and observes Tom in person, he begins to relate to him. There are several parallels between them—both have dark hair, both are orphans, both love Hogwarts, and both could have belonged in Slytherin.
When Harry learns Tom Riddle is Voldemort, it’s all the more shocking because Harry has started to see himself in the future Dark Lord. He has things in common with Voldemort. Voldemort was once a student like Harry, handsome and seemingly ordinary, and Harry has come to empathize with him.
The second book gave dimension to the primary villain of the series, introducing a half—a human side—readers wouldn’t have considered. Tying his personality to Harry also offered the series depth, because it forced Harry to evaluate his own character. It gave Harry self doubt.
In the sixth book, the dual faces of Voldemort and Tom are further explored. Before Harry can kill Voldemort, he must know him inside and out. Voldemort started as an orphan, a child of eleven. Eventually, he became the Dark Lord, but his transformation into the feared figure was gradual. Tom became a part timer at Borgin & Burkes, using his position to discover rare Hogwarts relics, before ultimately hatching schemes for acquiring them. He initially got his way, not through intimidation and powerful magic as he currently does, but through charm and manipulation.
Harry has known Voldemort as a villain who wins by killing others and achieving his goals through force. However, Tom’s young adulthood reveals a villain who was altogether more cunning. Voldemort’s troubled family history is also introduced, and Harry is again forced to experience pity for his enemy. By giving Voldemort a family history, he becomes human. He came from somewhere, and acts the way he does because of that. He doesn’t hate Muggles just because—he hates them because he blames his father for abandoning him. He is obsessed with pure blood mania, because it’s in his blood. His grandfather was obsessed with pure blood, to the point of appearing inbred, and maintained a connection to the Slytherin family through possession of a ring.
This idea of attaching one’s sense of self to an artifact is one Voldemort learns from his relatives. Yet it’s his father’s health and looks which Voldemort inherits; when he charms people into doing what he wants, it’s his Muggle blood which really enables him to do so. His family had fallen from grace, and Voldemort avoided being sickly and weak, because of having Muggle blood introduced into the line.
The story of Voldemort’s mother is also a tragedy. While Tom senior comes off as haughty and selfish, Merope, however the reader might pity her, is no hero either. She bewitches Tom senior, forcing him to remain with her, and conceive a child with her, through the use of love potions. The fact is, both of Voldemort’s parents made bad choices—which makes his own sociopathic tendencies that much easier to understand. Voldemort is the way he is for a reason. His family was dysfunctional, he spent most of his life in an orphanage, and his grandparents prized family heirlooms above all else.
When crafting a villain, a writer has to provide a reason for his actions. He should have his own history, including a family and a series of events, to explain how he became who he is. Villains, like all characters, need motivations, and ones which make sense in the context of their lives.
Villains also need to be active. From book four onward, Voldemort has an arc. He undertakes various missions and schemes to take over. He issues orders to his Death Eaters, wanders the country killing after being found out, and is otherwise busy. Readers in this day and age aren’t afraid of a villain who spends all his time sitting on a throne, twirling a mustache. Whether through his henchmen or direct action, Voldemort works. He wouldn’t feel like a threat, if there wasn’t a sense of his decisions in the background.
In the first few books, Voldemort doesn’t do as much—yet this changes in book four, making him a threat to Harry. There’s a sense that he could show up at any point, and wreak havoc. From book four onward, Harry, along with the reader, comes to understand that he isn’t safe anymore.
A villain has to be developed and make choices. This allows the reader to not only understand the antagonist, but to be afraid of him.
In Conclusion
A book series, even one with a promising entry, can grow stale. In order to mitigate this, an author can change the plot formula they’ve established, world-build, expand the cast, and flesh out the villain. These tricks, as used in Harry Potter, can work to enhance any series. Some are riskier than others, and some will change according to the genre you write, but each can be a useful tool. Overall, the Harry Potter series, whether for these reasons or others, is a promising one to emulate in your own writing. The Boy Who Lived has plenty to teach authors.
What else has Harry Potter taught you as a writer? Do you consider Voldemort a strong villain, or do you prefer those from other stories? Let me know!