This was not meant to be a book review, and was never intended to be.
It was a nostalgic feeling to have the Harry Potter books released at 7.01am on a Sunday morning. Mr H had picked up the last few instalments and delivered them to me. On 31st July 2016, this was probably the last book of the Harry Potter series. The standard drill was to devour the entire book within 2-3 hours of getting it on my hand. Mr H always joked that I waited for years and months, and would be done with the book before lunch time.
Well, I could always re-read the books.
It was in 1999 when I read the first Harry Potter novel. Thereafter, the bookworm love for adventure and magic was stuck on me.
It was poignant that I had read the first of Harry Potter series as a student and followed the journey reminiscing the studying days.
In this book, which appeared to be more of a collaborative piece, it disappointed me that the style of writing was in a script format. There was a twist in the development of the story and I could not denied how time-turning was pretty topsy turvy. What connected me most was recognising how Harry Potter played the role of a parent, and how hard it was to be unable to be on the same page of a misunderstood teenager.
I wondered how it would be to be handling communications on my children’s terms, rather than on the terms I know.