Harry Potter is a classic series, both movies and books. It whisks you away to a world full of magic, friendship and adventure. Follow young wizard Harry and his pals Hermione and Ron at Hogwarts. They tackle challenges, face dark forces and learn about Harry’s past. With magical creatures, crazy spells and epic battles of good vs. evil, this series hooks audiences everywhere. Rich stories and unforgettable characters make it a true treasure.

Meet the evil twins from Harry Potter

Draco Malfoy

Draco is this deliciously prickly bundle of entitlement and teenage meltdown, like someone wrapped in silver hair and a lot of posture. He sneers, he schemes, but also has these tiny, surprising moments of real doubt (don’t ask him about his feelings — he’ll pretend you didn’t). Proud, defensively fragile, and forever trying to live up to a family name that feels heavier than his wand, he’s both annoying and oddly sympathetic. Oh and he collects things? Maybe sports trophies, maybe grudges — hard to tell, but definitely holds onto both.

Lucius Malfoy

Lucius is pure aristocratic menace — cool hair, colder smile, and an uncanny talent for making favors feel like threats. He loves pomp and position (robes that could slice bread), and will charm you until it’s convenient to stab you in the back — literal or metaphorical; he’s versatile. There’s a twitch of fear under all that lacquered composure, though, especially when bigger darknesses stride in, which makes him kind of deliciously human-fragile. He’s cultured enough to quote Latin and spends suspiciously long rearranging his cane, like it’s important to his mood.

Dolores Umbridge

Umbridge is a cotton-candy-coated nightmare — charming on the surface with those ribbons and a ridiculous love of kittens, but every smile hides a rulebook sharpened to a point. She adores protocol, pink, and authority (probably collects “Best Smile at Meetings” ribbons), and will discipline your soul while handing you a biscuit. There’s something almost small and triumphant about her cruelty, like she’s practising being smug and has never learned to be kind. Also, she has this high, sickly-sweet voice that makes you want to scream and bake cookies at the same time.

Bellatrix Lestrange

Bellatrix is pure, unhinged devotion turned into a glittering, terrifying spectacle — wild laughter, wilder hair, and a complete inability to be subtle. She adores chaos the way some people adore chocolate, and loyalty to one dark cause is basically her religion (and yes, she’s dramatic about it). There’s a giddy, almost silly side — like she might break into a ballroom twirl in the middle of a duel — which makes her all the more dangerous. She keeps a scrapbook of broken promises or maybe knives; honestly, it’s possibly both.

Cornelius Fudge

Fudge is the flustered, flapping bureaucrat archetype — kind of like a man made of suits and denial, forever trying to look calm and failing spectacularly. He’d rather sweep problems under expensive rugs than face them, and his optimism borders on comic panic in a crisis. Silly, petty, and inexplicably fond of pomp, he also has this stubborn need to be liked, which makes him both pathetic and oddly pitiable. He probably has a favorite hat and a secret drawer full of biscuits — government mysteries, really.

Romilda Vane

Romilda is teenage charm turned up too loud: bubbly, dramatic, and ferociously determined to be noticed (preferably by glamorous boys). She’s got a flair for the dramatic gesture — love letters, potions, that kind of big romantic stalking energy — but she’s not totally stupid; there’s a scrappy, ambitious streak under the lip gloss. Vain? Yes. Endearing? Sometimes, especially when she storms off in a pique and then buys a new hat to sulk in. Also, she might be the sort of person who keeps mood boards and eats sweets at midnight while plotting her next flirting scheme.

Walden Macnair

Macnair is the quietly grim, practical kind of awful — professional, efficient, and not above getting his hands dirty (in a very literal and bureaucratic way). He does the dirty work without dramatic speeches; that calm makes him scarier than the ones who yell, honestly. He’s also oddly domestic in tiny ways — likes order, maybe a well-kept knife set? — which is jarring when you remember what his job is. Doesn’t chat much, prefers results, and has a laugh that’s more like a blunt instrument.

Voldemort

Voldemort is the sleek, soul-obsessed terror machine — devoid of warmth, with a flair for theatrics and a very particular aversion to noses. He’s pure ambition and fear given a face (or lack of one), monomaniacal about power and immortality and also weirdly invested in old-school rituals and scary speeches. Charismatic in a cold, persuasive way — like a cult leader who also does tax audits — and utterly without empathy, which makes every scene with him feel like walking on knives. He also seems like he might have a terrible perfume he insists on, because of course he would.