Intrigued by Harry Potter (Part 1)

Since the passing of Queen Elizabeth II into history last month, I have not only been studying the history of the British monarchy in my spare time but also exploring other parts of British culture. One franchise has suddenly come to my attention, one I had ignored for so long: a series of seven fantasy novels, later adapted into films, known as Harry Potter, created by J.K. Rowling.

The story follows a boy named Harry Potter who discovers he is a wizard and attends Hogwarts, a magical school where he learns spells, makes friends, faces enemies, endures hardship, and ultimately triumphs.

What surprises me most is that, though I am in my mid-thirties, I find myself drawn to it now. I was not before. When the first book was published in 1997, I was eleven years old, the same age as Harry in the story, but I had no interest in reading at the time. I vaguely remember seeing the first DVD release of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone in 2001, along with the next three films as they came out, but I only watched each of them once. My attention was elsewhere, and so I never grew up with the excitement surrounding this series.

Now, fifteen years after the seventh and final book was published, I find myself strangely pulled toward it, almost as though curiosity is tugging at me like a moth drawn to a flame. I am not sure why. It feels like stepping into a darkened corridor filled with relics I have never seen before. Part of me is nervous, as if I am sneaking somewhere I am not supposed to be.

At first, I resisted. I worried I might become too invested, tempted to collect items or waste time on something meant for children. Was I too old? Was it foolish? I reached out to two friends online for advice.

One told me simply, “I love Harry Potter. You’ll probably get hooked but who cares—you do you. Don’t ever be embarrassed.”

Another friend, now a librarian, shared her story. She had not been interested either until she was nineteen. During tough college years, the first two films became her comfort, her safe place. She later read the books and found them even richer. She advised me to start with the films for fun and only turn to the books if I wanted more detail.

Encouraged, I bought a six-disc DVD set of the first six Harry Potter films on eBay for less than five dollars.

But when I realized the final two films were missing, I searched again.

Soon after, I realized I was missing the last two films, Deathly Hallows Part 1 and Part 2. Against my better judgment, I searched again and found an eight-film box set for ten dollars on Facebook Marketplace.

Meeting the seller was brief, almost cinematic. We exchanged the DVDs and money at a train station, and she vanished into the evening. I felt an unexpected sadness. She seemed kind, and I wished I could have spoken more, but I knew it was not my place. As I walked home under darkening clouds, I realized how lonely I was. Perhaps, like Harry, I too was searching for belonging and friendship.

Now, with the full film series in hand, I have set a plan for October: every Saturday night, I will watch two films until Halloween. At the end, I will see what lessons I can draw, whether I become a fan, and whether this journey leads anywhere unexpected.

I suspect I will enjoy the series, maybe even more than I expect, though I doubt I will dive deeply into the fandom. At most, it may become a guilty pleasure. Perhaps it will also teach me something about storytelling.

To close this first entry, I turned to J.K. Rowling herself. In her 2008 Harvard Commencement Address, she spoke about the power of imagination to change reality. One passage struck me:

“We do not need magic to change the world. We carry all the power we need inside ourselves already: we have the power to imagine better.”

Those words seem fitting. I stand at the beginning of this corridor, uncertain of what lies ahead. But imagination has always been the first step of every journey.