“Harry Potter and Me”- reflections on Harry Potter

The very first time I tried to read Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, when I was in 5^th grade, I could not actually finish the first chapter. I vaguely remember lending the book to my cousin, and being surprised that he actually finished and liked it. I think that this is what actually motivated me to finish the book myself. Of course, after that, I was hooked. I remember my mom reading the books out loud to my younger brother and sister…and usually to me as well.

Five books later, I went to my first midnight book release at the local Borders with my good friends Raine and Maddy. It was here that we were standing in line to get our “butterbeers” (which was just a chai latte—still my favorite coffee type drink) when Raine opened the Order of the Phoenix to a random page and read Sirius’ death, which she thankfully refused to share with us, no matter how much we begged.

After anxiously awaiting the release of The Half Blood Prince, my friends Beth and Jenna and I all took our copies on vacation with us to Cedar Point the day after the release…and all finished them before we got back home. If I remember correctly, we all cried when Dumbledore died. Nearly everyone I knew then spent the interim between books six and seven coming up with theories on how Dumbledore was going to turn out to not really be dead after all; that it was just a trick devised by Dumbledore and Snape. Theories of Dumbledore rising from his ashes like Fawkes never even came close to the brilliant trick Rowling played on us all with that particular plot twist.

Even as I was reading the final installment (staying up literally all night), I knew that it was the best book I had ever read or heard of. I cried varying tears of grief and joy from pretty well the “Battle of Hogwarts” chapter until the very end when all was well. I had the special opportunity and fortune to be a part of the “Potter generation.” We grew up with Harry. When I read the first book, Harry was 11, and so was I. And when I read The Deathly Hallows, Harry and I were both around 17. I never realized it at the time, because I never thought about it, but I was in a particularly special place of growing up with Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

J.K. Rowling is hands down my favorite author, and Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows is easily my favorite book of all time. (Though Peter Pan is a clear second second.) The way Rowling intricately weaved such a supremely believable story is remarkable. It truly felt like growing up with Harry, because Harry’s story felt real, even if I knew logically that there is no such thing as dragons or wizards or magic. And by the time we had all grown up at the end of book seven, I had realized the true magic in Harry’s tale: the lessons about life that Rowling teaches us without us even realizing we are learning.

Rowling writes with an easy familiarity; with an amazing sense of humor and reality, but within her light-hearted style lie several very profound truths about life for muggles. With memorable quips from the sage Dumbledore like “It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live,” “It matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be,” and “To the well organized mind, death is but the next great adventure,” we are cleverly exposed to real life lessons. Fred and George taught us how to laugh even in the darkest of times, Hermione taught us to stand up for the abused and underprivileged, and the Weasleys taught us that the purity of blood does not matter, Luna taught us to keep an open mind, Snape taught us the power of love, Harry taught us to be loyal and to do what is right, even if that is not what is easy. And the list goes on an on. Of course, listing it all out defeats the purpose of reading the books.

J.K. Rowling taught us not to take anything for granted, like house elves or children’s tales, because it is in ignorance of powers different than our own that we are bound to ultimately fail. She taught us about death, and that the only way to “conquer” death is by greeting it as an old friend at the end of a simple, quiet life. But most of all, J.K. Rowling taught us all how to believe in magic. She made all the forests enchanted again (or forbidden, as it were).