What if Harry Potter was a fool

Source texts: Harry, my Harry

"Don't believe the hype" was written in capital letters on my pencil case. For about 8 years. After graduation, the pencil case was obsolete, but Flavor Flav's hookline was burned into my cerebral cortex. I had a more than latent aversion to charts, bestseller lists and taste recommendations from too many people. With this I protected myself from a lot of crap and believed for a long time that I would not miss anything. Until I realized that I am withholding a lot of things that such a fate did not deserve. Which, in turn, I didn't deserve. I got a book: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone.

I wanted to read the first volumes of Harry Potter all the less, the more people told me how worthwhile, emotionally captivating and addicting they were. I wanted to spit in front of shop windows with these books on display - and in front of all the readers too. I thought, "If anyone ever gives me these books, I'll throw them in the trash." So that the spread of this epidemic is contained.

Then I didn't have to spit, but swallow. When, while on vacation together, a very valued friend wanted to prove to me that he could read through four Harry Potter volumes in one go. In between only eating, drinking, sleeping. I didn't take him seriously. After the first volume at the latest, he would give up and crave Konsalik or Simmel! I thought. However, he took it all very seriously and got started. Because we spent our sailing vacation head to head in our bunks, I saw everything up close. His quiet enthusiasm from the first page. The kerosene lamp, which went out at three in the morning at the earliest. And again and again little reading minutes that I wanted to use first to confirm my judgment. However, like a judoka, they used my attacking energy and sent me to the mat in increasingly violent throws. "Do not do it!" it shot through my head over and over again. Until he finished reading the first volume and didn't stop. And what about me?

The limited space that such a sailing holiday brings with it exposed me to the attraction of this first volume. I felt like a paper clip thrown onto a magnet. There was no way out. When I finally got hold of it, the excuse: "It's a shame when everyone takes themselves seriously!" I took the reactions of the others with a wink the next day. But I couldn't dismiss my own so easily. The story filled me with satisfaction from the first page. Like a book you've been waiting for a lifetime. Like the first sip of strawberry and kiwi juice in my life that made me want to never drink anything else again. I could not have foreseen beforehand that this was exactly the story that I had been missing. Now all I could do was surrender to satisfaction. And I did. At first cautious, then confident, and finally offensive. I became part of the hype.

It was all four years ago. I've read most volumes five times and heard them at least as often. I'm hiding the number of times the film has been repeated in my DVD player. I can still hardly describe what exactly it is that I have been missing all my life. But this book filled a void in me that couldn't have been bigger. If I still had a pencil case, I would probably quote Public Enemy on it again. Because of the old days. A lightning bolt-shaped scar would be drawn next to it. For self-irony.

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