I grew up reading the books as my sister finished them. Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Wesley were good friends of mine. The Harry Potter books tell a magical story of the role of love and friendship in our world and its power to conquer evil, but ultimately the books touch on a lot of issues in our world. The story begins with a young orphaned boy, Harry, who lives in a cupboard under the stairs. Vernon and Petunia Dursley, Harry’s only living relatives, are the most awful sort of “non-magic folk”, they are certainly unkind to Harry. Harry has spent the past ten years of his childhood completely unaware of his magical abilities, shut away from the rest of the world, and unaware of the tragic but powerful story behind his life. Harry finds out on his eleventh birthday that he is, in fact, a wizard and-- long story short-- that he is destined to save the wizarding world. Through his seven years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Harry finds the home he never had at Hogwarts and fights the darkest wizard of all time, Lord Voldemort, alongside his best friends. He learns that love has a certain power above all else, and that good always overcomes evil. Harry grows up in these books, and as did I.
I was a particularly quiet when I was little-- one of the mean third-grade girls actually told the other kids that I was too quiet to be their friend. Even life as an elementary schooler was hard. I was pretty lonely. Even though my older sister hated me (dramatic, I know), she was someone I adored dearly and looked up to. I wanted to be interested in everything she was interested in. Lydia loved Harry Potter, and therefore I loved Harry Potter. I remember Lydia going to The Deathly Hallows book midnight-release at the Books-A-Million by our house. She started listening to the original Harry Potter podcast, MuggleCast, right when it first aired. She was always on www.Mugglenet.com, always trying to find clues about the next book on J.K. Rowling’s old website, always reading Harry Potter fanfiction. I wanted so badly to catch up to Lydia. I spent years and years reading the books over and over, looking at every detail, analyzing the plot and the characters, wondering whether Snape was misunderstood or if he was actually just an asshole. The Harry Potter books are an ultimate example of love to me. I read the series in an effort to get my sister to love me, but I ended up adoring the story the books told. I remember the physical space where I first read about Sir Nicolas’s “deathday” party, hanging off the back of my old living room’s couch, upside down like a bat. When Sirius died, I was in the bed where I slept when I visited my grandparents’ house in the summer, with the booklight on. When I read the last page of Deathly Hallows, the prologue, I was in the backseat of my dad’s car, about to arrive at a hotel room that curiously resembled Malfoy Manor. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were my friends. When I felt alone, I had them to turn to. And growing up is hard. I remember being a sophomore in high school, feeling like my innocence was taken away from me. When I felt my most vulnerable and isolated, I read my books. I read my childhood. I read to feel the comfort of innocence again. When I felt like I had no one to talk to, I spent time with Harry, Ron and Hermione. When I felt used and taken advantage of, the trio showed me what love and friendship was supposed to look like. Harry Potter felt so different from my life. I wasn’t ready to grow up, and I’m still not.
When I find myself feeling lonely, I instinctively turn to Harry Potter. I feel a certain affinity to people who have read the books. People who love Harry Potter know what love is, and know how to be a friend. Now that I’m older, it’s easier to see how this text has made me into the person I am. They give me hope for something better for our world. They speak of the good that humanity can be. They remind me that magic can be real in our world if we make it so. I know a lot of people feel the same as I do about these books, and the Harry Potter fanbase is truly a community. Personally, if I meet someone with as much love for the series as I have, I feel an immediate connection with that person. They get it. The Harry Potter community has grown incredibly in every way since its first book was published in 1997, and I’m proud member of that community. I’ve grown with that community. Fans have truly taken the story into their own hands-- creating podcasts, generating fan theories, putting on Harry Potter trivia and bar crawls, even creating curriculums to teach Harry Potter college classes. It’s amazing how all over the world people have come together over these books. Harry Potter is personal for everyone who reads it, and it means so much to so many people. The characters feel like family to me. Molly, Arthur, Fred, George, Ginny, Ron, Hermione, Hagrid, Sirius, Lupin, Mad Eye Moody, Dumbledore—all more familiar to me than a lot of people I know in the real world. So many important lessons were learned flipping through those pages. So many adventures spent with the trio. J.K. Rowling creates a world so beautiful and captivating, and no one ever wants to leave. There’s a loving amount of detail and thought put into each chapter, and the books come together feeling whole and complete. I wish so badly that it could be real, that I could be a part of their world-- but as the best headmaster of Hogwarts once said, “Of course it is happening in your head… but why on Earth should that mean that it is not real?” So much wonder and love and wisdom in those books. A little magic is necessary in our world, where it can be so easy to lose hope. Harry Potter brings magic to the real world, to real people, and it never fails to bring joy to me.
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