Transit & Communication:
It is obvious that much of the functionality of any society is dependent upon the efficiency of their forms of communication, and the shape of the society depends upon the directions in which these forms develop.
When you stop to think about that, you have to seriously doubt that the level of magical technology and communications were at anything like their modern level when the statutory Seclusion of the wizarding world was formally imposed in 1692.
The very fact that wizards and witches were legally no longer able to casually travel openly (via carpet or broom) where there was any possibility that Muggles could see them must have been the spur to developing, or refining any number of the transportation/communication procedures which are currently in common use within the wizarding world.
It is also fairly self-evident that some of the most commonly used methods of both transit and communication today were only adopted in their current forms after the British wizarding world began its widespread recruitment of Muggle-born magical children, enabling the presumably limited contact with the mundane world necessary for the training and assimilation of Muggle-born wizards and witches into wizarding society. And the corresponding adoption and recalibration of Muggle technology for magical use.
In particular; the use of the Owl Post has a very “modern” feel to it. As does the Hogwarts Express. A steam train could not have existed prior to the laying of mundane railroad tracks across Britain, starting in the 1830s, or the construction of King’s Cross Station in 1852.
One may postulate that Owl Post might be of an even more recent creation, loosely based upon the official “pigeon post” used first during the Franco-Prussian war of 1870-’72. (Although one must admit that instances of messages carried by birds have been recorded earlier than that.) And that it was only the truly compelling usefulness of a comparatively recently developed “Post Owl”* which has driven such a very traditional wizards’ familiar as the toad “out of fashion” in comparatively recent decades.
*The Post Owl itself seems to be either a magically modified class of bird, or they are under some form of enchantment. Their speed of delivery and intelligence are implausible in any natural bird — particularly owls which are not known for intelligence — and their tendency to eat whatever people offer them is completely off the map for any sort of raptor. Owls in nature are raptors, which is to say they are birds of prey. They do not eat bread. They do not eat fruit. Evidently whatever modifications are necessary to convert a natural owl into a Post Owl also gives them a dietary requirement for additional carbs. The fact that during his brief exile during the early portion of GoF, Sirius Black was sending his post by way of various tropical birds further suggests an enchantment laid upon the bird rather than that the bird is a specially-bred sub-species.
A similar argument can also be made regarding the Hogwarts Express, which, we are informed, is pulled by a steam engine. In this case, the window of opportunity is fairly wide. Covering about a century, in fact. In mundane railroads, although the first appearance of diesel engines took place some years before the second world war, these new engines were only widely adopted in the 1940s. Consequently, the Hogwarts Express may have gone into service at any point between the establishment of mundane rail travel, beginning in the 1830s and the appearance of diesel some 100 years later. At present it seems impossible to pin it down any closer than that.
Widespread use of Portkeys also appears to be uncommon in the modern wizarding world and is subject to strict Ministry control despite their apparent ease of production. Our impression is that they are usually only deployed for special events. This form of transit may be another comparatively recent development. Or it may be so regulated due to some issue which has only cropped up in recent times. In either case, we have not been informed of the matter.
Apparition, to be sure, is clearly a very old technology, and one that was developed long before the Seclusion. But Apparition is a difficult skill to master, and to this day not all wizards can manage to do it well enough to be granted a license.
It should be noted that in HBP when Apparation was finally taught, neither a specific wand movement nor an incantation were introduced. This suggests that Apparation may be another form of magic which can be performed wandlessly, despite the strong suggestion that the Apparating wizard must maintain hold of his wand. However, to keep hold of one’s wand while Apparating may be no more than a guard against accidentally leaving it behind, or as a precaution in case one should land in a situation where one might immediately need it. It is certainly old enough technology to date from the days when all magic was Dark magic, making it a dangerous process to master.
We ought probably also to take at least a couple of moments to consider the matter of flying carpets which are another highly traditional means of wizarding transportation, and one which was only banned in England in comparatively recent memory. Barty Crouch Sr, who, if he is indeed the “1s” notation appended to the record of Charis Black’s marriage to Caspar Crouch, might have been born around 1940, recalls his own grandfather’s Axminster which could seat 12. It does not matter whether that would have been either his Black or his Crouch grandfather since both families were purebloods of fairly equivalent status. But this would suggest that the ban has probably been imposed after the start of the 20th century.
Once so considered, my first thought was that perhaps the post WWI building of skyscrapers had prompted the ban, or that the growing suburban development across the British countryside might have made the possibility of spotting a flying carpet more likely.
It was pointed out to me however, and very reasonably too, that to disguise a flying carpet would have probably been easier than to disguise a broom. The underside of the carpet would need only to be charmed to reflect the sky above it to conceal it from being spotted by anyone on the ground.
Having thought a bit further on the subject, I think I overlooked the fact that Muggles developed heavier than air flight themselves in 1913, that aircraft had reached a fairly useful level of sophistication by WWI, and that commercial air travel was in place by the end of the war. So perhaps it wasn’t just the fact that there were more Muggles on the ground that was the deciding factor in banning flying carpets. Muggles in the air, were a problem that no one had encountered much earlier than say, around 1920 or so, and, unlike with hot air balloons, which could be readily avoided, I doubt that a flying carpet is capable of moving at a speed which would make it possible to get out of the way of an aircraft. Even before Muggles developed jet propulsion technology.
And pushing back the ban to around 1920 or 1930 might explain the reason that people no longer discuss them much. That’s an argument that has been over for a long time.
Even the Floo network, a widely used mode of casual transportation today, is administered and maintained under a bureaucratic overlay which is a strong counter-indication against the likelihood that such a widespread network could have been set up and maintained in the absence of a centralized authority. The old Wizards’ Council is unlikely to have been able to command the resources necessary to establish such a network.
However, we have been given ample reason to suspect that some earlier form of transit and communication by way of fire, and operating on the same underlying principle as the modern Floo network would have developed some time before the Seclusion.
Such systems would have been a haphazard affair, privately owned and maintained at the destination point to which authorized individual fireplaces might be briefly connected by prearrangement, or through a shared connection among a closed ring of associates. In a central, privately-owned service there would be a common destination to which all travelers are bound. In the shared “ring” there would be a limited number of destinations, none of which is accessible to outsiders. Neither of these duplicate the semi-public “network” service available to all, overseen and maintained by the Ministry itself, as is the case today.
We are told by way of her chocolate frog card that Floo powder was invented in the 13th century by one Ignatia Wildsmith in an attempt to address the slowness and physically exhausting effects of conventional (broom) travel. It is my own contention that Floo transit in this earlier form was probably also soon widely adopted and utilized as a “sure-fire” means of quickly transporting a wizard, who might be seriously endangered to a place of safety by way of a route that no Muggle would be likely to attempt pursuit. The unfortunate result of this practice is that it would have tended to reinforce the growing Muggle contention that only through demonic assistance is magic possible.
Floo travel was probably also quickly adopted as the favored method of transporting students to the Wizarding Academies prior to the development of less subject-to-misadventure forms of Muggle-compatible technology such as the Hogwarts Express and it’s continental counterparts, if any. The various references in some of the more virulent of documented Puritan rantings to the practice of passing one’s sons or daughters “through the fire” as being anathema suggests this to be the case, as does the lingering accusations of cannibalism which has traditionally been applied to witches in folklore.
It is very likely that wizarding households characteristically maintained significantly larger than average hearths or fire-pits leading to such an assumption. The inspiration of the witch’s “oven” immortalized in the Muggle household tale of Hansel and Gretel may have been no more than an hysterical Muggle’s misinterpretation of the use of an early Floo station.
Such Floo travel would have been difficult to coordinate over the full range of the Hogwarts catchment territory on an ongoing basis, however, and might have been a considerable drain upon the resources of the school — unless my speculations are correct that, until comparatively recently, Hogwarts Castle served wizarding Britain in other capacities, in addition to that of being the location of Hogwarts School. Any such problems would have been even more acute over the broader catchment areas of Beaubatons or Durmstrang.
The information given us in DHs that much of the wizarding population of Great Britain once wizarding Seclusion was imposed had tended to cluster in the vicinity of a half-dozen or so semi-wizarding villages would tend to facilitate the travel by Floo of children from such communities to Hogwarts, since all children in the neighborhood would be able to gather at a single, outlying area at an arranged time and transfer smoothly, one after another.
The modern adoption of the Hogwarts Express has reassigned and redistributed the responsibility of transporting students to the school between the Ministry of Magic and the students’ families, leaving the school to concentrate upon the students’ training once they have arrived.
I will mention the Knight Bus at this point, only to state that this particular service in its current form is clearly of at least early-20th century origin. Omnibuses, however, go back to around 1890 or so. The modern Knight Bus may have replaced some earlier form of service, but it is difficult to see how such a service might have been operated prior to mechanized transit. Post Owls may fly faster than their natural counterparts, but it is difficult to imagine any sort of a practical operation of an omnibus drawn by magical horses. Although such a service might have used Abraxans or Thestrals, the general comments regarding the Hogwarts Thestral herd (flock?) which has been acquired and trained under Rubeus Hagrid’s tenure as groundskeeper implies that it is both of recent development and unique, and Beaubatons’ team of Abraxans are all too visible.
Which appears to have ultimately been the problem with flying carpets, as well. Although prior to the 20th century it would have been easy enough to conceal the presence of a flying carpet by camouflaging the underside to reflect the surrounding sky. It is unknown whether similar bans on flying carpets have also been imposed by other Ministries of western Europe, but such a possibility seems likely.
It should probably also be mentioned in passing that the Ministry of currently magic owns and operates a small fleet of conventional-appearing automobiles.
A Floo connection, however, is not always a particularly effective means for the transfer of large items such as bulk supplies or the transportation of large shipments of merchandise in order to stock shops.
However, bulk transit by Floo would certainly have been possible in such special cases as in castles, where there are fireplaces large enough to roast whole oxen*. But apart from a few early wizarding landowners (on a large scale) most wizards probably did not have such facilities available to them.
*It should also be noted that the development in Muggle architecture of the domestic fireplace and chimney is a comparatively recent one, generally dating to the 15th century. Prior to this period, the heating of large interior spaces such as a Great Hall was accomplished by means of a fire-pit in the middle of the Hall with a smoke hole in the ceiling above.
Such an arrangement would have been vastly more convenient for transit by fire, but the very name of “Floo” transit suggests that this form of communication and travel was developed, or widely adopted, only after the popularization of the chimney, or “flue”. Which calls the 13th century attribution of the development of Floo powder into some question.
Wizarding architecture, however, may have incorporated the chimney somewhat earlier than the constructions built by Muggles, and, indeed in the Potterverse may have provided the model from which later Muggle structures were taken. In addition, this observation may not necessarily apply to the kitchen fireplace, once the kitchen was separated from the Hall, which was a reasonably early development. The kitchen’s fire was primarily intended for cooking rather than simply heating. Its function would have been assisted by being placed in an enclosure which contained the heat generated rather than allowing it to disperse throughout the room. Such an enclosure would have required an escape route for the smoke so generated which would lead it away from the rest of the room.
Most wizarding fortunes were also made well after the era when heavily fortified structures were commonly built. The traditional Manor house, intended to house only one extended family and their retainers, rather than a small village, plus livestock, during any local emergency, typically does not run to quite such a scale, although it is possible that wizarding manors which were built as such, by such, may have incorporated this feature specifically for this purpose. It is reasonable to suppose that such Floo transport stations are still commonly in use in any wizarding-inhabited castle, by whatever family or institution may now be housed in it.
A distinction probably also needs to be drawn between Floo transit and Floo communication. The modern form which appears to combine both functions may be a conflation of two separate earlier technologies which originally had very different requirements and methods. And for that matter Madam Wildsmith’s development of the Floo powder now used for transportation may have been an adaptation of an earlier communications aid.
If this is the case, the original form of Floo communication might have not required a full deployment of a managed “network” for simple station-to-station contact. All that may have been necessary was the correct powder or potion and an active fire at both ends of the link. If so, merely to speak through a Floo connection may have been quite common at quite an early date. Such communications may have been the template upon which Madam Wildsmith based her more advanced technology. And a very reliable form of contact it would have been, too. In an era when almost all household functions were performed at an open hearth, it would have been reasonable to expect to be able to find a lit hearth with someone in attendance at nearly any intended destination, at nearly any time of day, and within call at night.
The popularity of such a process would have rapidly evolved into a rather dangerous situation, however, giving a whole new level of meaning to the term haphazard. Such a “user-friendly” technology would soon have developed frequent complications due to collisions when two parties were attempting to access the same station. Inadvertently butting heads would have been the least of it.
Some form of managed network would have needed to be initiated before the process could be really regarded as safe. To send a written message through such a connection might have been an alternative, however, if some method could have been developed to safeguard the parchment from the heat of the fire. It should be remembered that even at so early a period the majority of trained witches and wizards were at least semi-literate.
We do not at present have any indication of just when the communication mirror was developed, but this is also has the feel of a very old technology, given that references to such communication may be found readily enough in Muggle folktales which long predate the Seclusion of wizards. This is likely to have originally been a device only used by wizards and witches of a more exalted social level than that of those who could have been expected to usually be found tending their fire in person. Given the cost of a really good mirror, particularly a glass mirror, in Muggle society up to the Seclusion period, I think the assumption that this was primarily a wealthy wizard’s form of contact may be safely taken as a given. We have no information as to whether it is possible to actually network mirrors, or if they are designed to work only in pairs.
A recent addition to the subject of variant forms of communication in use in the wizarding world was introduced on JKR’s official website in July 2005.
As the answer to a recent FAQ poll question we were informed that the Order of he Phoenix communicates with each other by means of their Patroni.
Well, as a messaging system which would be extremely resistant to tampering by 3rd parties, such a form of communication would probably be beyond compare. Of course to either send or to receive such a message would make you stand out like a sore thumb. The blooming things are as conspicuous as all get out. You might as well send a running footman. In livery.
And until the release of DHs, as a means of sending any message more complex than “sender needs assistance” it would appear to be utterly useless. Rowling never established in canon that a Patronus can speak until we were solidly into the final book. Lupin certainly didn’t inform Harry of that.
And the way the issue was finally handled was pretty clumsy.
Although I will admit that Kingsly Shacklebolt’s lynx delivering the message that the Ministry had fallen, in his voice, was fairly impressive.
The implied message that Tonks’s Patronus had become a wolf because of Lupin, which was kinds/sorta confirmed by the (interview, not canon) statement that Lily’s Patronus became a doe because of her relationship to James was tacky but understandable.
But, will you please explain to me where the “single, very happy memory” comes in that would explain Snape’s doe? Did he know that Lily’s Patronus was a doe? Or was her Patronus a stag, in honor of her looking to James as her protector? He certainly never knew that James was a a stag Animagus. (Although we do now have Minerva’s example of a Patronus mirroring the Animagus form. Maybe James’s Patronus would have been a stag. In which case, if they really are unique, Lily’s probably would be a doe.)
And if Lily’s Patronus changed to a stag after she and James got together, what had it been before? They didn’t get together until they were finally into 7th year. Lily hadn’t given Snape the time of day for more than a year before that. How would he know what her Patronus was? Or if she even had one. Did they learn Patronuses in DADA class, and he saw it then? The Dementors were supposedly under the control of the Ministry all during the first war, and did the Ministry’s bidding. I’m not convinced that the Ministry would approve of anyone teaching the students at Hogwarts how to resist arrest.
Dumbledore taught the speaking Patronus to the Order, and he taught it to Snape as well, but Snape had no contact with the Order until Harry’s Year 5.
And, besides, we are supposed to believe that a silver doe in memory of the woman whose death he caused is produced by a happy memory? Sorry, Jo. You’ve fumbled the logic ball again.
By everything we have seen to date, Patroni are normally a manifestation of a personality facet of the wizard who casts it, much as an Animagus form would be (we saw that Minerva’s Patronus is identical to her own Animagus form, that of a tabby cat with spectacle markings), and capable of existing temporarily on both the physical and the spiritual “plane.” (A Patronus is the recommended protection from both Dementors, a spiritual menace, and the Leithfold, which is classified as a Fantastic Beast, or Dark Creature.)
But until DHs they did not appear to be capable of carrying a physical message. Nor was there any indication to that point in canon that they were capable of producing any sort of vocalized sound, or of communicating by telepathy or perhaps one should rather suggest, by transmitting one through Legilimency.
Indeed, even in the wake of DHs I’m afraid that the “message-bearing Patronus” strikes me as a very good candidate for classification as balognium — particularly in the light of Snape’s silver doe, which, however evocative makes not the slightest bit of sense.
Which the Patronus has only avoided up to now in that it had not yet been demonstrated to be absolutely necessary for the plot to function. It still hasn’t. Useful as several of the message-bearing Patroni were over the course of the book, only Snape’s doe served the requisite pivotal function. And Snape’s doe was mercifully silent.
But even now that we know that they are capable of speaking, I’m afraid that I am still inclined to be very rude about the message-bearing Patronus. In the manner of all those bad “Lassie” send-ups:
“Honey! It’s Lassie! She’s come back alone!”
“Lassie! What is it? What’s wrong, girl?”
“It’s Timmy, he’s in trouble!”
“The bridge over White Gulch is out! She wants us to follow her!”
“No! First she wants us to call the rescue squad, find the first aid kit and write a letter to our Congressman!”