This article contains spoilers for several works in the Harry Potter Universe, including the seven books, eight movies, “Harry Potter and the Cursed Child,” and the Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them film franchise. It’s also a scorching hot take, so you better strap in.

Listen, I used to be a top-of-the-line Harry Potter fan. The best of the best; a Navy SEAL of nerdiness. I knew everything there was to know. I worshiped the books, memorized the movies, read the Harry Potter wikia, even played the Diagon Alley board game. In middle school, when the seventh book came out, I was so obsessed with it that I developed a Harry Potter party trick. You could read any line from the seventh book aloud, and I could tell you who said it, and under what circumstances, sometimes including the chapter title and art. This was a very effective form of entertainment on our 16-hour family road trips to Montana.

The plot to the Harry Potter books was magnificent. The world was comprehensive and interesting. It made me (and so many others like me) feel like magic was real. So why is it that, as an adult, I can’t help but think about how the books seem to be written for white liberals? They celebrate metaphors of diversity and social issues, but rarely characterize the them in a real way. Why is it that the all-white main characters confront issues of wizarding heritage (Muggle-borns vs. pure-bloods), issues that directly parallel race, with such minimal racial representation? Why is it that celebrating and embracing diversity is key to the books (Hagrid is a half-giant, Lupin is a werewolf, Hermione is a Muggle-born, Harry is an orphan), but all (or almost all) characters are cisgendered, straight, and white?

But let’s back up a bit.

When J.K. Rowling first wrote the Harry Potter books, the world was a different place. The first book was published in 1997, for Pete’s sake. That’s 21 years ago (they’re as old as Emily)! And in those 21 years, all kinds of things have changed; America had a Bush presidency that changed the way the world felt about Muslims; we elected a black president to serve two terms; gay marriage became legal; trans rights are now at the forefront of social change. And that’s just in America! So it’s unsurprising that the social landscape of the Harry Potter books doesn’t exactly check all of our modern boxes. It would be unfair to say that a lack of trans hobbits ruined Lord of the Rings; our standards have to account for changes over time.

To the contrary, Harry Potter famously celebrates (a specific kind of) diversity. Muggle-born wizards and witches are oppressed, discriminated against, even killed; prejudice against them abounds, both in casual bigotry (Professor Slughorn acts surprised that Harry’s Muggle-born mother could do well at potions) and pure-blood extremism (Voldemort’s regime arrests all Muggle-borns). These nuanced portrayals of discrimination eerily parallel prejudice and oppression in our own world. And the result is absolutely a positive; children who read Harry Potter are believed to be more tolerant to minority groups.

The first big wave against the progressive interpretation of Harry Potter flared up briefly after the seventh book was published, when Rowling confirmed that Professor Dumbledore was gay. The criticism flared from both discriminatory and non-discriminatory directions; on the one hand, social conservatives were outraged that a children’s book could include homosexuality. Gay people are supposed to be horrifically perverse, remember, and parents were worried their children would be exposed to “non-traditional” lifestyles that would ruin them emotionally, or whatever. But criticism came from a more socially liberal cadre as well; assorted LGBT community members and allies who thought it was a cowardly and ineffectual form of representation to have a gay character who, through seven books, does nothing in the slightest to indicate that he’s gay. Well, except for the one line in the seventh book that indicates that, in his childhood, he was “inflamed” by Grindelwald’s ideology to hate Muggles. That’s it.

Oh, it wasn’t notable for Harry’s journey that Dumbledore was gay. Yes, that is a real defense Rowling uses. In honor of this preposterously loose interpretation of the books, I cite the theory of a tumblr user whose url is the very charming “fullmetalfisting”:

Because, come on.

But this isn’t the only time Rowling casually tosses in diversity ex post facto. Years after the seventh book, she claimed that Hermione’s race was ambiguous (though evidence for this is dodgy; for example, Harry at one point thinks of Ron and “freckled” and Hermione as “brown,” though this is probably not because she is not white, but is more likely a reference to her characteristic bushy hair). In the play “Harry Potter and the Cursed Child,” one of many Harry Potter sequel works, Hermione was played by a black actress, which was a victory for racial representation in the Harry Potter Universe. However, this seems to be another example of J.K. Rowling trying to revise her work’s history; she seizes on an opportunity to de-whitewash, so that (as with Dumbledore) she can claim credit for inclusion without doing any legwork. Hermione isn’t (explicitly) black in the books, and the few black characters are always described as black.

Is it still overall a net-positive to have a brilliant black girl by Harry’s side through the books? Absolutely. I’m glad it happened. But progressivism and representation are more than just taking advantage of accidental ambiguity after the fact.

Revisionism abounds, but so does flagrant avoidance of controversial topics. A salient example is the character of Remus Lupin. Lupin, a werewolf, is rejected from society time and time again; he frequently discusses how difficult it is to hold a job due to his condition. At Hogwarts, for example, he is forced to resign his position as soon as his secret gets out, because he knows that there would be such heavy controversy if he were to stay. The underlying idea in the entire conversation about Lupin’s lycanthropy is how normal he is; Harry is very attached to him, and frequently calls him the best teacher he ever had. Lupin had a history with Harry’s father James, who reductively called Lupin’s condition his “furry little problem.” Being a werewolf is supposed to be a great, overarching metaphor for being a stigmatized member of society, but still being a good and valid person.

It is a well known fact that Rowling deliberately made lycanthropy a parallel to the stigma of HIV, a serious and incurable illness that is commonly misunderstood and despised. Lycanthropy is transferred through the blood, similarly to HIV, and people with both afflictions are marginalized and understood to be “unclean” by ignorant people.

So wouldn’t it make more sense to make the character with HIV, the “gay disease” — gay?

I’m not saying he should have been a maximum-scale homo, complete with a lisp and a sequin clutch that match his six-inch heels. I do think it would be interesting to see David Thewlis in drag, though. Omg, and she could lipsync to Shakira’s “She-Wolf.”

What was I talking about? Oh, right, Lupin.

It would make perfect sense, however, to write Lupin as gay in the way that Dumbledore is gay. He wouldn’t need to be a flaming queer to be a beacon of hope to the LGBT+ community; he could have been described as living a solitary life. Then, like Dumbledore, Rowling could have announced it when she felt like the culture had grown to accept LGBT+ people more. It might have meant something that way.

Lupin’s sexuality was the center of a great deal of speculation by Harry Potter fans for a while. Lupin and Sirius seem very close, and until the sixth book there is no indication that either of them have romantic entanglements with women. This, of course, led to some fan theories that they could have possibly been together. However, the theories amounted to nothing. Lupin is eventually haphazardly flung at Tonks, and the HIV metaphor, which could have been strengthened a thousandfold with a meaningful parallel to the real world, is befuddled with obligatory heterosexuality. The character with the “gay disease” is straight.

Again, the books were written in different times. I get that. But these omissions seem relevant, considering how Harry Potter is supposed to be a bulwark for open-mindedness. These are significant lapses in the solidarity of these characters with actual marginalized groups; it’s a coddling kind of progressivism to only metaphorically stand up for racial and sexual minorities, or by very quietly sliding them in later, instead of just including them. Saying “we support people who are different!” but only showing people who are straight, cis, and white feels like a cop-out. Points for trying, but you could do better.

But the real damning thing about Harry Potter is the new movie reboot – the Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find them film franchise.

The books make debatable choices about open-mindedness, but the new films fail to pick up the slack where the books are lacking. In the first Fantastic Beasts film, homosexuality is a major plot point–Graves, aka Grindelwald, manipulates Credence in a creepy, passionate, and perverse way. They use ambiguous language, talking about understanding each other and “people like us.” The body language is intense and intimate. Graves promises him that they will be together, with Credence by his side. I mean, shit’s as gay as it gets. Their relationship also builds on the way Grindelwald manipulated Dumbledore using his sexuality; that context makes it even gayer. Still, there is no homosexuality to speak of. At no time does Credence admit that he is being sexually and/or romantically manipulated. It’s all just metaphor and innuendo. There is no singular part where being “different” is connected to being gay. This would have been revolutionary 20 years ago, including hints of gayness, but gay marriage is legal now. My gay ass is writing for a blog.

When I left the theater after Fantastic Beasts, my first reaction was, “don’t they know you can be gay out loud now?”

Worse, Rowling seems intent on doubling down on her decision to not portray Dumbeldore as gay; in the new Fantastic Beasts movie, Jude Law has said that Dumbledore’s sexuality will not be discussed. This in 2018, with the understanding that one of the most controversial aspects of Harry Potter is that Dumbledore wasn’t explicitly gay.

Here’s the thing: there is no damn reason to exclude Dumbledore’s sexuality. In fact, because of his relationship with Grindelwald, it is extremely relevant to the plot! Grindelwald is going to continue to be a major character (his name is in the title of the movie, Crimes of Grindelwald). But the explanation why they will be ignoring a significant part of this character’s identity is because Dumbledore is more than his sexuality. Bitch, me too! But I’m gay as hell, and this smells like bullshit.

Part of the joy of fantasy, as a genre, is the happiness that it brings to marginalized groups. There is a reason why nerds classically cling to fantasy–anyone can be anything. The rules are what you make them and the ideas are Romantic and things that make people see you as lesser in real life can become powerful strengths. But other groups–gay people, trans people, people of color–we need fantasy, too. And in today’s culture, it’s becoming easier and easier to take steps to show that you care about inclusion.

I chalked the issues that I have with the Harry Potter universe up to public opinion when the plot was first developed, but it seems more and more like these problems are features, not bugs. If J.K. Rowling and the creative teams can’t get a grasp on the things that make the Harry Potter universe great–diversity, friendship, open-mindedness, love–then I might not be along for the ride.

I don’t want to give up on the Wizarding World. But it looks more and more like it’s giving up on me.