Wandering Into the Wizarding World

If you were to follow the address of 6000 Universal Boulevard, Orlando, Florida, 32819, you would find yourself standing in the middle of one of Florida’s most popular amusement parks. And, depending on which way you turn, you can easily be sipping on a butterbeer, staring up at Hogwarts Castle, or shopping at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes as you hear a dragon erupt with flames as it’s perched upon Gringotts Bank.

If instead you went to the address of Warner Bros. Studio Tour London, Studio Tour Drive, Leavesden WD25 7LR, you’ll find yourself across the Atlantic from Florida, in a large studio that houses everything wizardly, from props and sets to costumes and behind-the-scenes artistic sketches.

Hours into the countryside, I reached my first spot, the only one of the day that would have a parking lot. I walked across the road, my boots carrying me from pavement to dirt and sand, until I reached the rocky edge of the water. Peering out, with dark, cold waters ahead and sloping mountains disappearing into the horizon, I was transported to the Black Lake, and I could easily imagine Hogwarts sitting on the hillside. I was standing where, dozens of times, I had watched the first-year boats float across the lake towards the castle. I could imagine Harry and Buckbeak soaring above the waters, and the Triwizard Tournament stands placed out in the open. I had finally done it — I made it to the wizarding world. The magic felt tangible, and with the sun rays bursting through the fast-moving clouds, the beauty of nature that surrounded me was near overwhelming. A land that had always been so far off, it was difficult to catch up with the reality of the present.

Though I could have stayed there for ages, I moved along to my next spot. Crossing back across the road and hiking a short distance up the damp trail on the hillside to find the perfect viewpoint, I turned back to look downhill, with the green valley below and the famous railway that the Hogwarts Express calls home. I tried to imagine what it was like decades before when a camera crew stood at this very mark, getting footage of a steam engine for a movie that would become a worldwide phenomenon.


No train with a trolley full of sweets would be passing by this day, but it was easy to picture exactly what it would look like: a dark red engine with white steam billowing a trail behind. With a loud whistle and chugging rhythm echoing through the valley, the whole scene came alive, even if only in my imagination.

Once again, not wanting to leave such a picturesque place, I wandered further up the trail to find another vantage point of the Black Lake. Though sun rays still shone through breaks in the now clouded sky, cool rain raced with the wind up through the hills and hit my face like chilled tiny needles. With views like these, though, the weather doesn’t easily deter someone from turning back. Most unfortunately, though, time does.

With so many places I wanted to see in one day, I knew I had to continue venturing forward. Thankfully, my drive was filled with spectacular scenery, even as the ash-colored skies grew heavier. It was only fitting, though, for the place I was searching for next was one that granted a melancholic mood.

Down the winding roads I continued, until finally, I reached the area I believed it to be. Although I was keeping an eye out, I initially passed the spot and had to double back, though it was incredibly easy to see why I had flown by. The site I needed was nothing more than a small patch of black gravel directly off the side of the road, barely large enough to hold a few cars and not a single sign in sight. Lucky for me, I was the only one there.

Mere feet from my car, I was already catching glimpses of the famous spot, but I needed to get closer and truly see it from the “it” angle. As I made my way down a short bank towards the water, I very quickly discovered that my little jaunt was about to be way more than just a stroll.

Most unexpectedly, I was now standing in a bog-like area. Each step offered spongy ground, standing water, or sticky mud that seemed set on taking my boots off for me. I dodged as much as I could, but avoiding one sticky situation often meant stepping into another. Though no person was around to witness my hopping, running, twirling dance, I hope that at least I amused the trees.

Stepping and sliding my way up the last little incline, I had finally made my way around the water and was looking out upon the tiny island. Tall, stoic trees stood atop the shrub-covered, isolated land. Though to many, this was an insignificant sight, to me and so many other fans, this was the sight of Dumbledore’s grave. Once again, the movie scenes burst to life right in front of me.

Appreciating the site for as long as I could, the countdown of darkness all too soon approached yet again and pushed me to start my journey for my final spot. First, I had to trek back across the bog, this time while getting rained upon.

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Back to my car, I got moving onto the small country road and set out for my last, most remote location yet. The further I went, the landscape pulled back from the road and continued to become grander. My lonely road wove around snow-covered mountains, and the landscape became foreign and beautifully bizarre.

Turning off my already small road onto an even narrower one, it would be generous to say the pavement was wide enough for two-way traffic — my petite car took up nearly 90% of the road. I slowly moved along my even windier, hillier path, back closer to the mountains until I reached a picturesque, straight-out-of-a-movie little lodge. I couldn’t believe this place was real.

Stepping out into the chilled afternoon air, thick gray clouds hung low in the sky and sprinkled light droplets onto my face. I pulled up my rough directions I had found posted on some random blog, which provided vague information such as walking straight until you reach the second hill, crossing the road when you see the group of three trees, and hiking up the hillside towards a giant rock.

Fully embracing my inner explorer, I climbed up a grassy hillside, unmarked by any signs or trails, and continued the steep and slippery trek until I reached a massive tree that had fallen and blocked my path. It felt as good a spot as ever to turn around and take in the views, to see if I had made it to my final location. Most excitedly, I had. As I looked down the slope, onto the forest, and hazy mountains in the distance, I was peering at a landscape I had seen dozens and dozens of times, even though I had physically never been there. I stood there, peering down upon Hogwarts grounds onto the exact spot where Hagrid’s hut was located, where Buckbeak had stood among the giant pumpkins, and Hermione and Harry hid behind the trees. Once again, the magical came alive.

Far off in foreign lands…

The rain began to fall heavier, the air seemed to become chillier, and I stood on a random hillside, far out into a country I had never visited before, utterly alone, and I couldn’t have been happier.

An unexplainable joy washed over me. I no longer felt the need to move along to my next spot, and I stayed in that small area, tucked away among the mountains, for quite some time.

And even though a magical little letter will never be delivered to me via owl postage, I still found my own way to get to the wonderful wizarding world.