I’m Scared to Re-Read Harry Potter

I’m scared to re-read Harry Potter. Okay, maybe “scared” is a little histrionic in this situation— after all, the series was easily one of my best literary childhood memories. I was so attached to the books and the characters in them (my heart still shrivels at the unequivocal truth that I cannot marry Fred Weasley), I could never truly be “scared” of the contents. It’s not like I think a dementor is going to come for me in my sleep, and there’s not much a boggart can show me that I haven’t already lived through (okay, this is getting uncomfortably real, let’s just dial it back a few notches).

Last year for Christmas, I bought myself a brand new Harry Potter box set (of the books, obviously. The movies were never good enough for me because I am, in fact, the worst kind of snob). It was, unfortunately, time to say goodbye to my old, mismatched, tattered copies; the spines were splitting on the paperbacks, the hardcovers had fallen right off the binding, and there were mysterious food stains discolouring dog-eared, yellow pages. I ripped open the Amazon box with my new, gleaming copies and thought: I’ll read these over Christmas!

I never did, of course. But it wasn’t my typical TBR aversion that caused me to plonk that beautiful box set on a shelf I can barely reach and then steadfastly ignore it like an unpleasant truth; I was just worried that when I returned to Hogwarts, it wouldn’t feel the same. It would feel too small, too claustrophobic, too immature.

I was worried if I read the books again, there would be no magic left for me.

Now, as summer rolls into fall a year later, I (a grown-ass woman with grown-ass responsibilities) need magic more than I ever did as a forgotten, bullied, disabled kid. I need something stronger than the person I am today, and to be honest, I need a distraction, a coping mechanism to survive until I can get out of my own personal Privet Drive, away from my own personal Dursleys, and never look back (and yeah, guys, I’m in therapy).

My life is a shit show, to be honest with you. It will get better when I move, but now more than ever, I need the kind of solace I have (until recently) always been able to find in books. As much as I fear that even The Boy Who Lived will let me down, I’m out of platitudes, strategies, and cheery, repetitive mantras that have slowly turned to meaningless mush. I can only hope that Hogwarts welcomes me home with open arms— bonus points: even the Forbidden Forest is accessible.

Sign up to The Kids Are All Right to receive news and recommendations from the world of kit lit and middle grade books.
In a book lover’s life, there’s nothing as magical as a perfect, surprising recommendation from someone who just gets you. But finding those people can be tough! That’s where TBR comes in. Go here to find out more, or just click the image below:
VIEW COMMENTS