After All This Time?

I solemnly swear I am up to no good. 

As summer took over September and November, I did not find it in my heart to have my Harry Potter marathon. Every year, when schools open their doors and my Hogwarts letter isn’t here yet, my only remedy is to watch the whole movie series  within a week. So many people around the world do just the same. 

But a Harry Potter marathon comes usually with cold dark nights, the colder the better. I can hear heavy rains and little hurricanes while I’m wearing comfy socks and holding a warm large mug: the perfect cozy mood to rewatch the best series to ever exist. 

However, winter didn’t come and I haven’t had my ritual yet. 

This delay got me thinking back on how it all started, on how I became a Potter Head. I was lucky enough to escape the muggles world at a very young age. I was around six or seven years old when I first saw The Philosopher’s Stone and then The Chamber of secrets. Growing up in a small city in an arabic country meant that we could only have the movie aired on TV one year after it’s released in cinemas. My siblings and I have seen the first two films several times. At some point I started to learn the lines by heart, somehow those were my first steps to learn english. 

Year after year, my excitement for a new movie was unmatched. In fact, my excitement to rewatch any of the movies was always  unmatched. The Wizarding World cast its spell on me and I got lost into the magic. I was bewitched to the point of daydreaming of  what it would be like to study and live in Hogwarts, I even learned the spells and practiced them secretly as I was convinced they had to be real.  

Looking back at it now, I realize how my little brain of a child didn’t really have the grasp of everything. I recall for example that I never clearly understood how Dobby was freed; the little trick of Harry left me perplexed every time at the end of Chamber of Secrets. All I know is that I was happy for Dobby and I liked it when he defended Harry. 

The older I get the more I understand how the story of the boy who lived has affected me. It taught me to be brave and most importantly it taught me friendship. I wished for my own golden friends trio so I have become myself one of the three. It actually taught me and still teaches me valuable lessons, some I have caught immediately and others throughout the years. It took me some time to fully realize that professor Snape’s sacrifice is bigger than any made promises, that Malfoy was never a bad guy but in reality a child who had no choice, that Sirius Black’s death is probably the most heart breaking in the story, that Hermione obliviating her parents is an underrated act of bravery, that if it’s happening inside my head, it shouldn’t mean it’s not real, that I shouldn’t let the muggles get me down. 

My Hogwarts letter hasn’t arrived yet, my wand hasn’t chosen me and I haven’t been to Diagon Alley yet. Every time I take the train, I hope to find platform 9  ¾ . I wonder if there is an owl carrying my Nimbus whenever I see one flying. Twelve years have passed since the battle of Hogwarts and we are losing actors who played our favorite wizards one by one. This year Hagrid left us and Hogwarts will never be the same without him. It’s saddening but not so much, because the ones that love us never really leave us. 

I will be waiting for the magical acceptance letter, and if you ask me whether I still have hope after all this time? I’d say: Always. 

Mischief Managed.