How a Trip to the Cinema and Harry Potter Shaped a Childhood Love of Film

My childhood revolved around movies. From a very early age I was glued to the television, absorbing accents, music and stories that helped shape how I spoke and felt about the world. My parents often tell me that I would sit completely captivated by whatever was on screen — the colours, sounds and emotions would hold me so tightly that I could cry for hours after watching something like Toy Story 2. They patiently rewatched classics such as Mary Poppins and The Sound of Music over and over. I was raised on films from their childhoods: Disney staples like Pinocchio and Peter Pan, the dazzling wonder of The Wizard of Oz, and musicals like The King and I and Grease. It wasn’t until the early 2000s that I began to seek out films for myself and build my own cinematic identity.

2002 is the year my love of cinema intensified. I had just turned six when Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets opened in the UK. My mum stayed home with my six-month-old brother, and my dad took me to the Warner Village Cinema in York — a state-of-the-art multiplex at the time, later becoming a Vue Cinema. It felt like the modern pinnacle of moviegoing: over 3,000 seats across 12 screens, a computerised ticket system and an advanced audio setup. Experiencing the film in that environment made the whole thing feel monumental.

The foyer stands out in my memory. It had been transformed into a mini Wizarding World, filled with themed merchandise, broomsticks and popcorn boxes dressed up for the film. John Williams’ score seemed to be everywhere. I’d never seen anything like it and felt as though I’d been transported into another universe. I hadn’t yet read all the books — I’d only seen The Philosopher’s Stone — but that didn’t matter. I wanted to be Hermione, casting spells and bringing my cat to school; I counted the days until I might receive my own Hogwarts letter at eleven.

The screening itself sits somewhere between sharp memory and dream. I remember hiding behind my dad’s arm during the Forbidden Forest sequence and being genuinely terrified during Harry’s confrontation with the Basilisk. That mix of wonder and fear left a mark: Chamber of Secrets became my favourite Potter film, and I’m convinced that first cinema trip is the reason.

After that day, if you asked me what I loved most in the world I would have been torn between Harry Potter and chocolate. I began reading the books, and with friends at school we would act out scenes, debate which characters were cutest, and synchronise our reading so we could share the excitement of particular chapters. On World Book Day most of the class would come dressed as Hogwarts students, complete with a felt lightning bolt on their foreheads. That shared obsession felt innocent and joyful; it’s the kind of childhood passion that leaves a long-lasting impression.

As I grew older my relationship with Harry Potter matured. Instead of the all-consuming fandom of early childhood, my devotion became something I turn to for comfort: rewatching Prisoner of Azkaban on a rainy afternoon or listening to the scores to recharge after a long day at work. The series’ themes — friendship, courage, and the quieter wisdom of characters like Albus Dumbledore — offered guidance as I faced life’s hurdles. When Deathly Hallows Part 2 was released, I was fifteen and felt oddly in step with the characters as they faced the final battle. The sense of growing up with those characters made the story feel deeply personal, and I didn’t want it to end.

Harry Potter remains a permanent part of my life. It shaped how I understood story, music and the communal power of cinema. The franchise’s timeless appeal is evident everywhere and continues to draw new generations — a reminder that great stories endure.

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