To the Boy Who Lived, From a Boy Who Grew

Since childhood, I have been enchanted by the wizarding world, falling in love with the pages of Harry Potter as if they held a secret spell meant only for me. What began as childhood wonder soon transformed into something far greater—a passion that shaped my academic journey and ultimately became the focus of my master's dissertation. Through years of study, I delved into the themes of death and love in the series, unraveling the profound lessons hidden within its magic. This is my letter to the boy who lived, the story that shaped me, and the wisdom I carry forward.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
The Head Auror’s Office
Ministry of Magic
London

February 16, 2025

Dear Harry Potter,
I was merely seven years old when I first glimpsed your world within the pages of The Philosopher’s Stone. It was a fleeting moment, like catching sight of a golden snitch on the horizon—just out of reach yet shimmering with promise. I longed for the day when I could fully step into that world, when I too could board the Hogwarts Express and lose myself in the whispers of ancient corridors, the flickering candlelight of the Great Hall, and the pages of spellbooks heavier than my own schoolbag.
Now, 22 years have passed. The boy who once traced his fingers over the cover of your story has grown, his hair longer, his beard fuller, yet still carrying an invisible lightning bolt scar—not on his forehead, but etched into his heart.
I've heard tales of Muggle-borns who never received their Hogwarts letters, their magic left undiscovered. And yet, in my own way, I found my passage through Platform 9¾—not in bricks and mortar, but in ink and parchment. Over the years, I wandered through the labyrinth of the real world, formed friendships like the bonds of a house unbreakable, acquired knowledge in classrooms far from Hogwarts, and faced creatures far darker than any lurking in the Forbidden Forest. I have known the sting of words sharper than a basilisk’s fang, the weight of loneliness heavier than a dementor’s embrace. I thought, foolishly, that time alone would break the curse, that the echoes of childhood fears would fade like morning mist. But some memories, like enchanted objects, are impossible to lose.
Even in my darkest moments, when hope flickered like a dying Lumos, I found solace in your journey. You taught me that even the strongest wizards falter, that even heroes are afraid. You showed me that courage is not about being fearless but about facing the unknown despite the trembling hands, despite the voice in your head whispering you’re not enough. You taught me that being a Slytherin does not mean being cold-hearted, for ambition can be wielded like a wand—dangerous in the wrong hands, but a force for good in the right.
But above all, you taught me that the greatest magic of all is love. Not spells, nor potions, nor the might of a wand in battle—love is the enchantment that defies even death. The love of a mother who sacrifices everything, the love of friends who stand beside you even when the odds are against you, the love of those who leave us yet never truly depart. It is not Voldemort’s cruelty that lingers in my nightmares, but the absence of those who were once there. It is the sound of a voice that will never call your name again. And yet, as you showed me, love never truly vanishes. It remains, like the echo of a Patronus, like the warmth of an old friend’s laughter, like a spell whispered into the wind.
I was a child when I first stepped into this world, and now, as a man, I walk forward with its lessons bound to my soul. There is still much I do not know, still many pages left unwritten, but I take comfort in knowing that magic is not merely wands and incantations—it is the stories that shape us, the memories that guide us, and the hope that, even in the darkest of times, light can always be found.

P.S. That’s me in the picture—a Potter-hearted Slytherin, taming the Basilisk, dueling my demons, and emerging, wand in hand,with a laurel wreath on my head after my master's graduation. Your magic runs through my veins, and I wear it as a mark of honor.

Yours sincerely,
Gezim (Joseph)

And so, after years of wandering through the pages of your world, I found myself not just a reader, but a seeker of meaning, a collector of lessons woven in ink and spellwork. My journey with Harry Potter did not end with the closing of the final book, nor with the last frame of the films, nor even with my dissertation—because stories like yours do not simply fade into memory. They become part of us, shaping the way we see the world, the way we understand love, loss, and courage. Perhaps that is the truest magic of all: not the flick of a wand or the whisper of an incantation, but the way a tale, once told, can forever change the one who listens.