Tag Archives: Harry Potter

Dear Mr. Potter ⚡

Dear Mr. Potter,
It has been twelve years since I first read you. Uninformed as I was, I started with Chamber of Secrets thinking that hearing the story of Philosopher’s Stone readied me to explore Hogwarts and its literal pits with you. I was wrong; but I remember waiting for you to get your birthday letter from Ron and Hermione (who already was my absolute favourite charter before I read her in your pages). I hated that you didn’t get letters as a twelve year old. I knew that feeling, you see. Birthdays during long holidays, away from school and friends sucks.
I remember getting a thrill reading about the deathday party for Nearly Headless Nick (Nearly Headless? How can you be nearly headless?), the whispers in the walls, and the enemies of the heir made me stay up all night. Agreed, the eleven year old me did not understand everything, but she understood enough to beg for a copy of Philosopher’s Stone. Let’s just say I and countless others have never been the same since reading about Mr. And Mrs. Weasley of number 4, Privet Drive.
I remember conspiring that the end of the seventh book would be with Hogwarts adding a fifth house called Potter (yeah, I do have a flair for the dramatics). I remember jumping for joy when the news channels announced that you survived the second war (this legit happened), despite everyone telling me you wouldn’t. I remember being deathly afraid when Mad Eye Moody died, and bawling my eyes off for Dobby and Fred. I remember deciding that I love Padfoot with all my life (and I still do). I remember wanting to punch Umbridge, and duel Bellatrix, and slap Rufus Scrimingeour when he simply did not give the trio whatever Dumbledore had left them. What can I say, Harry? The teen angst was real. I feel you, boo.
I remember how I needed just you to get myself out of my worst days. Like the time my first year paper on the gender dynamics in the books made my professor think it was either plagiarized completely or I paid someone to write it for me. I remember wanting to laugh and cry at that, because how could I not write a paper on Hermione, McGonagall, Ginny and Molly Weasley, and Bellatrix Lestrange? Women of my childhood telling me (and countless others) that we can be smart, and brave, and be the best at whatever we wanted to be.
I am glad that I got to see so many sunrises with you, because I binge-read Prisoner of Azkaban every year. I am glad for all of the fanfictions and fanarts, and headcanons, and the lot. I am glad that my copies of the books are in unreadable states and filled with notes and underlines- I am glad they are well used, and marked in with pieces of my childhood thoughts and feelings about you. I am glad of the times I sat on my cousin’s porch reading Half Blood Prince on the easy chair. I am also glad of the times I listened to Stephen Fry narrate you- like little drops of heaven in my ears!
What I am trying to say, Harry, is that thank you for existing. You’ve made me some great friends. Thank you for Hermione, for Professor McGonagall, and for Molly Weasley. Thank you for Ginny, and Luna, and the original mother of Nobert(a) the dragon- Hagrid. Thank you for telling me that Books! And cleverness! There are more important things – friendship and bravery. While I might think bravery is just foolishness (ugh Gryffindor is the worst house- yeah throw in a bunch of hormonal hot tempered children with a hero complex together in a tower, not a bad idea at all!), I am so glad that I could learn the meaning of friendship and love and life with you.
Thank you for teaching me to be reckless sometimes, and for the friendships, the wits, the ambition. Thank you for my childhood, and I know you’ll be a part of my adulthood. Thank you for all the magic!
(Sincerely, miss you dearly)
Ever yours,



Re-reading Philosopher’s Stone

If you know of me, chances are you know me as a Potterhead. I’ve obviously read (and watched) the books at least 10 times. I also make it a point to read at least one of the books twice a year. And I do all of the fandom activities- online forums, podcasts, you name it. But this post isn’t about my obsession (is it?).

The first time I read the books, I was eleven years old. It’s been eleven years since. That means half of my life, I’ve been a Potterhead. (Should I be worried that that’s my identity for many?) And obviously the way I engage with the books is different each time. The last time I read Deathly Hallows, for example, I cried when Harry thought about the relationship between his parents, Sirius, and Ron and Hermione, if his parents and Sirius were alive. It was such a small detail- probably a line, or an opening paragraph. The first time I read Deathly Hallows, I cried about how beautiful Snape and Lily’s relationship was. Now I dislike Snape, and I realise just how creepy and nasty he is.

That’s the thing right? When I first read it, I was perhaps twelve, or thirteen years old. I thought that if you did something for love, it was okay. That Snape, a thirty year old man, is fighting for the good because of his childhood friend/crush/love. But now I realise that that’s utter bullshit. If Lily weren’t dead, he’d be a Death Eater till the end of the day. Did he really need someone who he claims to love (yuck) to die to realise killing people is not a good thing? 

I’m reading Harry Potter again, and I’m realising newer and newer things. I also can’t help seeing the parallels between the politics of certain countries and the Wizarding World. I definitely know a political leader who is like Gilderoy Lockhart. I know enough pure blood fanatics like Lucius Malfoy. I somehow do not know Umbriges, but probably don’t know enough politics. But I do not Crabbe’s and Goyles.

I’ve often been surrounded by Draco Malfoy lovers. But I really don’t get why he’s so great. In Philosopher’s Stone he literally bullies Harry for not having parents! I mean come on! His pure-blood mania is literally like any fascist “You do not belong here” ideology. And please don’t give me the “family” explanation, because a. Tonks. b. Sirius Black. 

On a lighter note, there are things that I never before noticed that I appreciate now. For example, Rowling is hilarious! I’ve startled my parents laughing out loud at certain parts. Now that I’ve seen brilliant screen adaptations (hello, The Handmaid’s Tale), I’m also realising how shitty the movies are. I’m not saying those who have only seen the movies are not real enough fans. But they definitely are missing out on the essence of the canon. It’s like plot, like a brick structure, but it’s not your story, and will never be home. If you don’t have time, just listen to the audio book! It’s equally good! 

I guess I’ll always come back to Harry Potter in the end. No matter how old I am. No matter how demystified by some characters I get. I’ll always pick up Prisoner of Azkaban every time I’m in a reading slump. I’ll always read and reread Marauders and Next Gen fanfiction, because canon isn’t enough (no The Cursed Child doesn’t count as Canon). I’ll always be ‘that Potter girl’.

More than anything else, I feel like I’m rediscovering magic, as I read Philosopher’s Stone again. The awfulness of Dursleys to the beauty of Hagrid. I want to ride the scarlet train from platform nine and three quarters home. Hogwarts has always been there to welcome me home. (I know I’m being sappy, and using intertextuality, but every bit of it is magic).

 You’d think that after more than a decade, I’d bore of it (all my relatives certainly thought so). But somehow, I love it more. I’m so glad Rowling went down the Classics corridor that fateful day. I know it didn’t go well for her in the short run, but the world is a better place thanks to that, for a million people worldwide.

Of Thunderstorms and Drizzles

It’s not working, is it-trying to keep you away from me? I can’t help but wonder if you probably are missing me, even though I know that it is preposterous. How can you, after all the names I’ve called you, and the horrible things that have happened? How can you, when you have others to keep you occupied? Others who you clearly love more than you could possibly like me. I know I’m looking too much into this, but I can’t believe you actuallytalked to me, after I ignored you (unwillingly, of course), and cut you out of my life because you are too much of a distraction for me.

You, with your expensive perfume and priceless sarcasm, your persuasive boring eyes and your tantalizing stories. Do I tell you you’re dashing and perfect and everything I hope for in a man? Of course not! That’ll only fill you with more pride than your big head can possibly take in. So I try to prick you with my needles, hoping that you don’t figure out my feelings for you. I hope that I don’t scare you away. I hope that I can keep you in my life in whatever form I can- in whatever form you’ll let me.

But I know, and I know because you’ve told me this innumerable times, that I don’t mean anything to you- nothing more than somebody to pass time with. You’ve told me I’m nobody more than a person you share some interests with. You’ve told me I’m nobody who cannot be replaced. But then why do you talk to me more than you talk to others? Why do you seek me out, when I’m ignoring you? Why do you ask me about my future, my dreams, my life, as if you’re bloody interested? Why do you make my toes curl every time I have a deep meaningful conversion I have with you? Why do you not pick up fights with me anymore and treat me like a friend, when you don’t even consider me as a person? Why do you ask my opinion on things that matter? Why do you know and remember what I love and what will make me happy?

You’re unfathomable, you know? I should have listened to my father’s advice and not talked to you ever. But you were best friends with my best friend and there was no way I could have ignored you, when both of you literally live together! I would run into his room with some or the other thing to crib about and there you’d be, in your silk PJs with him, playing Exploding Snaps, or Wizarding Chess, or just lying on the bed talking about girls you fancy. Then I’d have to pour my heart out in front of you, because Albus Potter is thicker than a piece of wood. And you’d listen to me uncomfortably and not tell me anything in return, even when I’d love to hear what you had to tell me.

Seriously, I need to stop with all the feelings. Because I know you would never have them back for me. Even when you tell me how you’ve paid no heeds to the advances of a pretty girl, who was perfect for you. Even when you tell me how you didn’t care about a hot girl a year above us who’d be clearly out of your league generally. It’s almost as if you’re doing that because you’re interested in me, my heart screams. But my brain tells me that’s because you’re a narcissist.

But how can I ignore how both our dreams include the same things? How can I ignore the fact that you think I’m worthy of your respect, when you hardly care about others? How can I ignore how you’ve changed your preservatives to the world, when I urged you towards it? How can I ignore the stares and the whispers we get when we’re having a conversation in public, when they’re rooting for us? How can I ignore the fact those little glimpses of insecurities that you share only with me? How can I ignore the fact that you probably are in love with me, and don’t know it yet?

I should have listened to my dad and never gotten close to you, because Merlin! It’s you! And it’s me! And we are something, we have something. It’s not just me being Albus’ cousin- because there are others! I mean, there’s Lily, who’s beautiful, and there’s Molly, who’s incredibly smart, and there’s Roxanne, who’s hilarious, and there’s Lucy, who’s a Quiditch prodigy, there’s Ella Longbottom, who likes the same things as you, and is not awkward at all. And yet you choose me- to talk to, to tease, to tell things you don’t tell anybody. And yet you choose me- to make me fall in love with you!

Two days ago, as I ran into you at the Potter’s mansion, as you walked up to me, when I was reading and made it clear I didn’t want to talk to you, because you were distracting me, and when I told you to go away, you held my hand. You stopped me from going away by holding my hand and turning me around and asking me to wait. We talked all night, and you make me laugh. I had to shut my book, because Darcy and Elizabeth weren’t as interesting as your cat, or your owl, or your dad, or the time when you were seven and crashed your toy broomstick into an apple tree in the orchard and two apples fell on you and you cried because it was humiliating, and not because you were hurt.

And that’s when I think of the thousands of owls we send each other over the Summer, and the way you divert the topic when our friends tease us. I think of the girls you dump, and the way you froze when I accidentally said you’re also one of my brothers, when I do not think that. And I think that you probably actually missed me. Scorpius Malfoy missed me, Rose Weasley. Because, goddamnit, after five and a half years of friendship, and seeing you caring about me more and more, and the fact that I can’t get a coherent sentence out half the time I think about you, makes me think that there wouldn’t be anybody I’d willingly let into my life and drive me as crazy as you do.

You’re the thunderstorm to my drizzle, and the dragon to my dolphin. And you’re the smirks behind my giggles, and the lyrics to my music. Because we’re Scorpius and Rose, who are never meant to be, but cannot do without.

Okay, a little shaky, I know. But I wanted it to reflect Rose’s tormented, split mind about Scorpius and what he means to her and what she doesn’t mean to him.
And yay, fanfiction! Haven’t written one in so, so long!
Please leave reviews if you liked it, or not! Thank you. 😀