There are few book series that I respond to quite like Harry Potter. I first met Harry Potter during high school. A classmate walked into geometry, completely absorbed in book one, and found her seat without even looking. It wasn’t too much later in the year that the same thing happened, but this time it was book two. On a trip to visit a possible college, I decided to see what could possibly be worth risking failing math. Though I didn’t endanger that subject, she wasn’t wrong, and a couple of my teachers might have said that I, too, spent a tad too much in extra-curricular reading. A couple of years later, I was working at a bookstore and eagerly agreed to work during the midnight release of book five. When concerned parents entered the store with questions, the manager would refer them to me. As a college student raised in a conservative church, I knew how to highlight the good aspects of the book while not also smirking with righteous indignation at the worries about witchcraft and sorcery. What my coworkers didn’t understand was that this worry was real, heavy and came from a good place, even if misguided. If we acted with incredulity towards these parents, we would only reinforce their beliefs and keep a fantastic series out of the hands of a child. Harry Potter’s adventures provided escape during my field experiences and student teaching. This series even played a part in my life as a young bride. I remember reading book seven in the first house my husband and I lived in, curled up on the comfy loveseat. In a beautiful touch of love, a family member warned my husband about a particular part he knew would devastate me and suggested my husband be nearby as I was reading, so I wouldn’t be alone and could have a hug. My husband knew exactly when the hug was needed, because I couldn’t stop crying. Over a decade later, I read books one through three aloud to my son while he nursed. Knowing my precarious emotional state at the time, I didn’t touch books four through seven. My son continues the love for Harry Potter. In a gamble that didn’t pay off, he called my bluff. We knew he wasn’t emotionally ready for book four, but we didn’t want to discourage him either. His dad and I told him that once he had read books one and two (we had already read one through three aloud to him at bedtime), we’d move on to book four. He surprised us and read them both, and surprised us even more by beginning book four on his own and stopping it on his own after realizing it was scarier than he wanted right then. These books have always given me strength and hope. It’s time to read them again and see what they bring me now. Even if they only offer nostalgia, it will be time well-spent. If you’ve never read them before, go ahead and see for yourself below.
Since I’m new to this adventure in blogging and advertisement, I’m going to awkwardly do what Amazon has asked me to do, or what I think it’s asking me to do. Please humor me as I likely make an epic fail. As an Amazon associate I earn from qualifying purchases. If you’re not interested for yourself, there are little libraries always in need of donations.