Congratulations to our Back-to-Hogwarts Essay Contest Winner

Congratulations to Seth Rappaport, who submitted the winning essay in our Back-to-Hogwarts essay contest, in which we invited you to wax rhapsodic on why you look forward to returning to Hogwarts (or the wizarding school of your choice) each year. Mr. Rappaport is a writer from New Jersey who grew up with the Harry Potter book series and hopes to one day own his own Ford Anglia. We assume he will correspond with Arthur Weasley to get some advice on how to make it fly invisibly.

Mr. Rappaport attends Ilvermorny, and he penned his essay whilst on the train to Western Massachusetts, using a spell to prevent one’s writing from being illegible despite the motion of the train. His gratitude at feeling like he belongs dominates his appreciation for Ilvermorny as he looks forward to another year of learning magic and playing Quidditch with his friends. Enjoy his essay, copied below.

Question for our fans: Should we have a contest asking for artists to imagine and depict Ilvermorny’s features?

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I received my Ilvermorny acceptance letter when I was eleven, but I wasn’t certain about what to do with it, so I kept it hidden. I had strange things happen to me before, and I wasn’t going to let someone scam me into believing I had special powers. I was very skeptical of the paranormal and usually explained away my magical “incidents” early on as symptoms of my ADHD.

Once, at my No-Maj school in Philadelphia, my desk growled at a girl named Sarah Bridgers. She assumed I made the noise and made a face at me. Unfortunately, the desk didn’t like that, and I watched, terrified, as the top of the desk opened up and clamped down on her hand. She ran, crying her eyes out to our teacher, who gave me detention.

From then on, despite my decent grades and good behavior, detention was a regular occurrence. I’d be sitting in class, doodling in my notebook when all of a sudden a student next to me would scream. Apparently, a dragon I was drawing had walked off my page and into his textbook. I knew I never drew in his book (and that drawings of dragons shouldn’t be capable of scorching away all of his math equations), but all of the adults I spoke to, my parents, teachers, and doctors, told me I was simply a troubled victim of a behavioral or learning disorder.

I didn’t believe in ghosts or vampires, so I had no faith in the existence of wizards. I hid my Ilvermorny letter under my bed so that my parents wouldn’t see it; they’d probably think it was some childish fantasy club invitation and worry about my lack of focus on REAL school.

Ilvermorney was VERY insistent that their letter be opened.

That night, I woke up to a loud popping noise beneath me. I listened, barely breathing, my heart pounding in my ears. The rest of the house was silent, and my room was dark, save for the digital alarm clock by my bed reading 3:56 AM. I closed my eyes again.

Boing. Bink. BeeeAAAAAANNNNNNNG.

The springs in my mattress were groaning beneath me. I felt myself rising out of my bed. I was frozen with terror as a hill formed in the middle of my mattress, lifting me up toward the ceiling. The springs stretched and contorted, like a colony of living, metal mechanisms whirring around beneath me.

Suddenly, the hill stopped climbing. I was about four feet above my bed.

With a small creaking sound, the side of the hill slowly began to drop, forming a steep slope. I pulled on my blanket to stay atop of the mattress-mound, but it was no use; it wrapped around me as I rolled down the slope, and I hit the bedroom carpet like a large, frightened burrito. With a few more complaints from the springs, the slope completely collapsed back into the bed, like a sea monster returning to the depths.

I looked under my bed expecting Freddy Krueger to finish me off, but instead saw a faint glowing. I assumed they were the eyes of some kind of beast waiting to devour me, but the shape of the glow looked strange, like thin strips of light bent and concentrated together. It was the ink of the Ilvermorny letter! It lit up like a golden fire on the page, and I knew I had to read it. And that wizards were real, and I was going to have one crazy conversation with my parents tomorrow.

Now that I’ve been going to Ilvermorny for five years, I can’t imagine life without the Wizarding World. Every year on August 27th, when I wave goodbye from the school train to my parents, who awkwardly wave back (they were hoping I’d go to medical school, a far cry from Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry) I get a warm, tingly feeling in my belly. While it could very well be the effect of all of the magical sweets I bought from the dining car mixing around in my stomach, I know it’s the building excitement of returning to Mount Greylock for another term. I always sit with my friends (the ones who don’t get to the castle on broomstick or other magical means) and we fill each other in on the parts of our summers our constant owl post correspondence left behind.

Spending time with people who know the real me and don’t judge, criticize, or diagnose me for it is the best thing about the start of term. They make me feel like a real person (wizard?) and help me express parts of my personality that I never knew I had.

Once, my friend Milo brought me out into a field outside the castle. He was trying out for the Thunderbird house Quidditch team and needed my help practicing. I knew how to fly a broom, but I was by no means an expert in flying class. Still, I did my part in the air, throwing No-Maj baseballs at Milo from different angles so he could practice his swing with the Beater’s club.

Afterwards, we raced each other through the towering turrets and architecture of Ilvermorny castle. The entire experience was surreal, and I realized that day that I actually liked flying. I practiced as often as I could between classes and saw every match. Last year, I earned my spot on the Pukwudgie house team as a Chaser. Milo was so proud of me, he kissed me.

I could go on and on about my classes at Ilvermorny, the knowledgeable, eccentric staff, the castle’s beautiful halls and the vast library, but why bother? I’m sure there’s plenty of reading out in the Wizarding World about all of that.

The start of term at Ilvermorny marks the point when I can stop surviving as a No-Maj and start living as a wizard. Returning to this world and these people, learning all there is to learn about everything, and most of all, sharing new experiences with others – being my authentic self – I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a more powerful spell in Charms or History of Magic.

Sincerely from the Ilvermorny Express,

Seth R.