Like about 97.2% of all millennials, my childhood (and adolescence and high school years and young adulthood) centered around the latest Harry Potter book or film. I would wait very un-patiently on my grandma's steps after school the day the newest book was supposed to arrive from Amazon. (By the way, my grandma's mailman is eternally grateful to the creators of the Kindle so that I no longer have to stalk him on book release days.) I made people read aloud to me when I had eye surgery the day Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows was released. (I don't know what my parents were punishing me for that week, but that still just seems excessive.) When my grandparents took me to London for graduation, I made them devote an entire day to visiting the Harry Potter Warner Brothers Studio. Harry Potter was a defining feature of my childhood, so I can't even adequately express the underwhelming feeling I had upon the announcement of Harry Potter and the Cursed Child.

In fact, I basically forgot about its existence until my grandpa sent me an email with the subject "New Harry Potter Book." My heart started racing. My palms were sweaty. I had traumatic flashbacks to that eye surgery the last time a book was released and I couldn't finish the book right away. (Although, this probably would constitute a medical emergency to get me out of work, right?) And then I opened the email with the wonderful "Finished it yet?" message and a link to Harry Potter and the Cursed Child. Oh, right. The play. I had forgotten that was even a thing.

Now don't get me wrong, I love a good play as much as the next girl. (Note: Hamlet reference in title.) In all seriousness though, I'm an English major at Yale, so plays are kind of my thing. But I'm not going to lie, this genre switch was a little jarring. Why mess with a good thing, J.K. Rowling? Or should I say, J.K. Rowling AND Jack Thorne AND John Tiffany? I feel like I just got thrown into a new mystery novel James Patterson tacked his name onto to make it sell. How much of it is actually J.K. Rowling? How much of it is commercialized fan fiction?

I also just can't quite kick this tiny little voice in the back of my head telling me this move to the world of the stage is some sort of ploy to sophisticate Harry Potter for aging millennials. While this is probably my own crazy conspiracy theory, I can't help yearning for the beautiful, simplistic prose that taught me to love the story just as much as the way it is written on the page. I loved that story the first time I started reading it when I was seven; I still loved it when I picked it up last summer to reread it when I was twenty.

To prove that I am not just a secret play hater, the thing I am most scared of when opening up Harry Potter and the Cursed Child is that it will truly be disappointing. As much as I love the Harry Potter world, I loved the end of the series. I felt that the ends were tied up; the story was complete. I wasn't worried about some foreshadowed event taking out any of my favorite characters in the near future. I was looking forward to everyone sending their kids off and living out the rest of their lives in the naive bliss available only within the pages of a children's book. I mourned for my favorite characters, but I was also fulfilled with the end result.

And then, here comes the eighth "book." I'm left with this inner fear that if I open up the pages that have received mixed reviews by my fellow Harry Potter fans that I can never get that satisfying ending again. There will always be the knowledge of that "other" story that I decided to try one rainy weekend. What if its the Lion King 1 1/2 that almost ripped my favorite childhood movie away from me? (Still trying to get over that one, honestly.) What if its like a really bad cover of my favorite song that plays in my head every time I try to enjoy the original? Why must this slice of childhood heaven cause me so much internal turmoil?

So then, I'm back to square one. To read or not to read? Because even though I just told you how much I don't want to in 500 words, deep down I really do. Because hidden behind all that doubt is the seven year old who found the story that made her love reading. Of course, I already know that someday I will break under the pressure of wanting a little more of Harry's world and I will have to read it. But for now, I think I'll still just bask in the blissful ignorance that is the first seven Harry Potter books.