An African American Girl’s Voice and Magic (and Horcruxes)

TL;DR: I’m an African American woman with a huge (annoyingly huge) love for the Wizarding World. And, I also have lives with a mental illness my whole life. This intersection meets at how voices in my head are exactly like the Horcruxes Voldemort created to stay alive.

This is an image that shows a patterned design with illustrations of an African American woman in a purple cloak practicing magic, with whimsical elements like a spell book, potion bottles, and a black cat in a witch’s hat.

The Longer Version (and it’s long because I’m long-winded)

When I first opened up the Harry Potter books I was 14 years old, had just rebaptized myself and given my life over to the Lord, and had just survived the worse 7 years of my life. I was not only at an identity crossroads; I was at the FIRST identity crossroads we have in our lives: the start of high school. As I slumped into the chair sitting directly adjacent my English teacher’s, Mr. Siegel, chair, I realized that the biggest issue I was actually facing, despite everything I’d just shared, was that I had nothing to read. Like, literally nothing. I’d blown through the childish ghouls of Goosebumps (The Beast from the East is still one of my faves). I’d devoured the salacious smut of V.C. Andrews (#Heaven4L). And, I was coming out of the “coming-of-age” of The Babysitter’s Club, Beverly Clearly, and Lois Duncan.

So, I wasn’t lying when I said that I literally slumped, sadly, into the chair as Mr. Siegel graded assignments. I shared…