Queering The Wizarding World
The month of October means a few things to me:
(1) Autumn is finally here in full swing.
(2) The holidays are around the corner.
(3) It’s time to watch (read: nostalgically bask in) Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, again.
Sorcerer’s Stone has a Nightmare Before Christmas effect for me, in that it feels like a Halloween and a Christmas movie wrapped into one. Probably because both holidays are explicitly celebrated within the plot… but also because it’s got moments of creep and terror softened by long-lasting friendships and joyous celebrations. Regardless, it is traditional in our house to watch Sorcerer’s Stone at least once sometime between October and the end of December.
In the year of our Virus, 2020, we debated throwing this tradition out altogether.
In addition to the mess of COVID-19 (both the virus and the handling of it by our government), police and far-right extremist group violence, and this clustermuck of an election, we became even more acutely aware of JK Rowling’s transphobia. I say “more aware” because, admittedly, I should have been conscious of her ideological shortcomings (to put it lightly) long before her tweets in June 2020.
Since the release of the first Harry Potter book in 1997, Rowling has wielded a significant amount of power of the hearts and minds of her fans. She presented school-loving, bookish nerds like me with a seemingly perfect world to explore. The Wizarding World was full of magic and learning, of loyal friendships, and of good food. You bet your pumpkin pasties I’d have my favorite window seat in the Hogwarts Library, where I’d read and write essays for hours. You bet your sweet treacle tart that I would do anything for strict-yet-fair Professor McGonagall.
Rowling also gave us a terrible Big Bad to fear and hate. A Big Bad whose whole villainous thing is elitism and intolerance. Her books presented us with moral lessons of good versus evil (even good vs the moderate bystander), accepting and loving others different from yourself, and always (we hear you, Severus) being there for your friends. One could believe reading and enjoying Harry Potter meant immersing oneself in a wholesome, safe space where people did the right thing, even when it was hard.
And then, a smattering of tweets (and subsequent essay) tore the 23-year-old Band-Aid of Nostalgia off of JK Rowling’s gaping, gangrenous transphobic wound.
This post is not a fully realized rebuttal of her statements. I may do that in the future but, for now, I will just say this: her beliefs about transpeople are narrow, wrong, and harmful — they are born of fear. If you read her essay in full, you can see clearly that her statements come from a place of pain. I do hope she finds healing, someday, as I think that will help change her mind and heart about the hateful things she has said about our transgender friends and family. That’s all I have to say, for now.
For this post, I am choosing to protest by “queering” the people who live within The Wizarding World. My first attempt at this fan-fiction-as-protest is a short, fluffy story about Professor Sprout. There is no conflict, no baddie — but writing it felt like a cleanse of the soul. I can whole-heartedly recommend to anyone to queer their own favorite characters within this setting. If you do, please drop me a message, for I’d love to read your work.
The Wizarding World can be more than the failings of its creator or the limitations of the series’ canon. It no longer belongs only to the author or to Warner Brothers or to Universal Studios, but to anyone who has felt love, hope, and comfort within the magical world of Harry Potter.
In short, I refuse to let her take this space from me, my wife, and any queer folx who know that this world can be more loving, more magical, and more inclusive than any ‘owner’ would have us believe.
Read the story about Professor Sprout, Pomona, here.
