Harry Potter came into my life at exactly the right moment.

It was 1999. I was living in Mumbai, and the third book had just come out. I remember hearing about the series, the buzz around it, the way people spoke about these books as if they were something special. I started with Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, then quickly picked up The Chamber of Secrets and The Prisoner of Azkaban. I read all three within the span of a few weeks.

I was hooked.

There was something about that world that pulled you in instantly. Hogwarts felt real in a way few fictional places ever have. The friendships, the rules, the routines, the magic that slowly became part of everyday life inside the story. It was comforting and thrilling at the same time.

When The Goblet of Fire came out in 2000, I was ready. That was the first time I experienced the anticipation of waiting for a book. Properly waiting. Counting days. Hearing people talk about it. Standing in line at a bookshop. Back then, there was no Amazon, no pre-orders delivered to your doorstep. You went out, you queued, you bought the book, and you held it like a small treasure.

That feeling has never quite been replicated for me since.

Each book brought something different.

The Philosopher’s Stone introduced us to the world. It was about discovery, friendship, and finding your place. It felt light, welcoming, and full of wonder.

The Chamber of Secrets was darker, more mysterious. It expanded the world and hinted that things were not always as safe as they seemed.

The Prisoner of Azkaban remains a favourite for many, myself included. The story became more layered. Characters gained depth. The idea that adults were not always right or good started to take shape.

The Goblet of Fire changed everything. The stakes were higher. The story grew up with its readers. Loss became real. The wizarding world no longer felt protected.

The Order of the Phoenix was heavier, more political, more frustrating at times. But it also felt honest. Authority, resistance, anger, and confusion were all part of the story, just as they are in real life.

The Half-Blood Prince slowed things down in a different way. It gave us history, context, and character backstories that deepened everything we thought we knew.

And then The Deathly Hallows. The end of a journey that had lasted years. It felt strange finishing it. Like saying goodbye to something that had quietly been part of your life for a long time.

What always stood out to me was the relationships. Harry, Ron, and Hermione, of course, but also the secondary characters. Sirius, Lupin, Dumbledore, Snape. Each of them added layers and complexity to the story. No one was purely good or bad. Everyone carried something with them.

I did enjoy the movies when they eventually came out, but for me, the books were always the real experience. The movies were a visual bonus. The books were where the magic truly lived. In the details, the inner thoughts, the slow build of relationships and consequences.

What stays with me most now is how shared the experience was. Harry Potter wasn’t just something you read alone. It was something people talked about, waited for, compared notes on. You knew others were reading the same pages at the same time, feeling the same suspense, racing to avoid spoilers. That sense of collective excitement around a book feels rare now, and I’m glad I got to be part of it.

Those were simpler times, and I am genuinely grateful I got to experience them.

Looking back now, Harry Potter sits alongside The Famous Five, the Wishing-Chair books, and those old comics as part of a reading journey that grew with me. Each story marked a different phase of childhood and adolescence, and together they remind me how much books shaped the way I see the world.

If you have never read the books, or if you have been thinking about revisiting them, you can find the series here*.

— Raulito

* As an Amazon Associate, I earn from qualifying purchases.