Once a Potterhead, Always a Potterhead

 

How many of you like the Harry Potter franchise?

Wait, what a question, right? For people of my age, it almost feels a little inappropriate to even ask. We didn’t just like Harry Potter — we grew up with it. Okay, maybe a little late, but the magic found its way to us eventually.

My own Harry Potter journey started during my college days in Chennai. I still remember the one who introduced me to it — Priya from Bhilai, Chhattisgarh (she always introduced herself that way in our early classes). My darling Priya. A warm, bookish girl with an infectious love for fantasy. I, a girl from a remote village in Kerala, was still stuck in a world of classics, Chicken Soup for the Soul, The Diary of Anne Frank, and Tom Sawyer — the books my teachers introduced me to back in school. I knew very little about English literature beyond that.

Then came college — where everyone around me seemed to be mini literary critics. Friends who devoured books like snacks, who spoke intelligently, who always had an opinion. At first, I felt like I didn’t belong. But slowly, I found my place among them.

And then came Harry Potter.

Can you believe there was a time we pre-ordered those books and waited — not so patiently — for them to arrive? We even tried to avoid spoilers, sometimes flipping to the last pages just to ease the anxiety. I still remember how I felt when Hedwig died — crushed. And when Voldemort was finally defeated — oh, such joy! But I never quite liked that Harry married Ginny Weasley. I know, I know… funny, right? I still grumble about it sometimes. But I loved the name of Harry’s son. That felt just right.

So why this sudden burst of Harry Potter nostalgia?

Well, the other day I took my daughter to Miniso, and there it was — an entire section filled with Harry Potter merchandise. Keychains, spell books, hats, scarves, water bottles with Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw engraved on them. And oh, the diaries. There was even a miniature of the scarf Harry wore. My heart skipped a beat. That old love came rushing back. I wanted to buy everything. I really did.

But then came the voice of the grown-up inside me — You’re not a teenager anymore. So, I very cleverly suggested my daughter, Panchu, pick a diary and a water bottle. She chose a beautiful one — a diary I secretly wished to keep for myself.

Later that night, Panchu brought the diary to me.
“Mamma, you can take it. I’ll end up spoiling it like all my other books. You can use it. Maybe even write your PhD stuff in it,” she said with her usual sparkle.

I was on cloud nine.

But I said, “No need, Panchu.”

She insisted. She knew. And finally, I accepted. I couldn’t resist. The diary now sits with me. I still haven’t written anything in it — I don’t want to spoil it either. Maybe I never will. It’s just there, reminding me of who I was, who I still am deep inside.

A dreamer. A child. A girl who still lives in fantasy.

Want to know a secret? My old blog once had tons of Harry Potter images on it. Later, I removed them thinking it looked too childish. I wonder if any hidden corners still hold a few... Accio embarrassment! 😂

But now I know — that love was never childish. It was magic. And some magic, we carry with us forever.

So here I am, a grown-up with a child’s heart, holding onto a diary that means more than it looks. A symbol of wonder, friendship, and dreams that once shaped me — and still do.

Because truly…
Once a Potterhead, Always a Potterhead.

Vincadium Leviosa! ✨
(May our memories rise and float like feathers in the wind.)