Sunday, July 31st was a very special day—practically a holiday for most children of the 90s and early 2000s. Harry James Potter turned 36 that day. It also happened to be the birthday of Harry Potter author J.K. Rowling as well as the release of "Harry Potter and the Cursed Child"Rowling’s sequel to the book series. I have this date marked on my calendar every year, and celebrate by reading one of the books or watching a few of the movies.
I’m not going to lie; Harry Potter was quite literally my life from third through eighth grade.
I read the first book when I was home sick from school with a sinus infection; quite literally the definition of nerdy. I remember my mom had it in her closet and gave it to me as something to do instead of stare at the ceiling. It was completely different from the other literature to which I previously had been exposed. Gone were the awkward, dull short stories from Reading Class or the realistic fiction that flooded the library. Harry Potter was otherworldly. Aside from the magic, Ms. Rowling has created this new universe with a certain tone to it. One that I could pick up on while merely reading the text. I remember the warm feeling in my chest (which in retrospect, could have been the drainage) and the bliss of being completely absorbed in the story. The story had an old-timey tone to it, probably due to the fact that the Wizarding World operates without certain technologies like electricity, and I absolutely loved it. I felt as though Hogwarts, and this hidden world of seemingly non-magic people, could exist.
(I took this during my senior year of high school. The caption was "So excited to announce I will be attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, class of 2019)
It wasn’t until I finished the fourth book that I began to watch the movies. The movies did soil I’m imagination a tad. It wasn’t until then that I realized the Professor Snape and Olivander were not the same person (something my 9-year-old brain didn’t quite comprehend), and that he was not a blue man with extremely wide eyes, a long curved nose, and who always wore a hood. And, being the book purist I am, I loudly proclaimed my dissatisfaction when the movie strayed (the Dead Day Party, Winky, PEEVES!!), but found myself even more entranced by the Wizarding World.
This is when I began to obsess hardcore.
(My friend and I dressed as Harry and Draco for Frenemies Day at school)
(The Next Day: My friends and I as the Ireland Quidditch team for Sports Day at scool)
I talked about it literally all the time, but doing so helped me find a good friend. I really don’t know what people thought of me in grade school. I kept to myself and stayed in the library during recess. I’m pretty sure years later I heard through the grapevine that I was “that really weird kid,” something I’ve always prided in, and I’m 99% sure it was due to Harry Potter. And eventually, my insistent talking about the series helped me bond with one girl in my class. And we became best friends. We went over to each other’s houses and pretended we were Hogwarts students, using my vast book collection as the textbooks, blankets as robes, and sticks as wands. We took quizzes online to find out what house we were in, and I purposefully chose answers that would place me in Gryffindor.
I dressed up as Hermione for years. There were many reasons I identified with the heroine, the main ones being her brown hair and dedication to school work. I didn’t really know anyone else like that, beside my best friend, and so therefore decided I wanted to be her. I remember having this poster from the first movie hanging in my room, and I wanted so badly to have her bangs. Too scared to simply approach my mother and ask for a haircut, I snuck a pair of scissors in my room and cut it myself. But these weren’t like normal bangs. I wanted them to be discrete enough that my mother wouldn’t notice (she did), so I cut the hairs closest to my forehead. If you pulled my hair back, I had thin Hermione bangs, and I still have them to prove it.
And then there was the fanfiction. Yes, I was one of those fans. While I never wrote anything as classic and timeless as My Immortal, I did write the first three chapters of the epic novel Harry Potter and the Jedi Witches, the story of two Jedis who, after completing their training at the ripe age of 11, found out they were witches and went to Hogwarts with Harry. There were other attempts in my later life. I have a whole notebook filled with ideas for a sequel featuring Harry’s children (more specifically Teddy Lupin).
(I have a whole album of my friends and I posing with the different billboards for HP7 part 2)
So you’re probably wondering Okay Alex, this is great and all, but what is the significance of these random stories about your childhood? (Because if you know me, everything has significance). What I’m hoping I illuminate with these stories is just how much Harry Potter has influenced my life. While it has forever made me a complete nerd and fangirl, it has also shaped me in deeper ways. It taught me about true friendship, not only through Harry and his friends, but by bringing me a best friend in grade school. It gave me a positive female role model that kept me grounded. My desire to be Hermione compelled me to do well in school because I knew she would have done the same. And it got me into writing, which may feel like a chore at times (especially the night before a deadline), but is something I cannot live without.
Don’t get me wrong, I have changed since my grade school years. I proudly identify as a Ravenclaw (or Thunderbird at Ilvermorny)...and that's about it. My love for Harry Potter continued into high school. I had a large group of friends and we called ourselves "The Weasley Family" and I found countless opportunities to dress up as Harry Potter characters on spirit days. Nowadays, it's been diluted if anything, and resurfaces at certain times. When I think about it, I owe a lot of who I am to Harry Potter—my ability to be a friend, my work ethic, my abilities, and my passions.
So thank you, Ms. Rowling. And happy birthday.
