Growing up as a disabled kid in a world dominated by the nondisabled, I so connected with Harry: a wizard stuck in a Muggle world, always knowing he was different, but just trying to fit in so he would not get in trouble. I understood the feeling of getting teased because you are different from what everybody else considers normal. I understood what it was like not to be able to understand why you could not just be like everyone else. I connected to the amazement of finding a world of people who were just like you. I felt the intense beauty of finding friends who love to you for who you are, not in spite of it.

I loved the Harry Potter books just as much as anyone I knew. I loved them, but I could not read them in the same way everybody else did. From the time I was little, learning disabilities meant I stumbled my way through books, struggling to read without skipping a word, a line, a paragraph, or even an entire page. I could read, but I could never manage the books that really captivated my interest. I could read, but I was so focused on not missing a page, that I could never really enjoy it the way I wanted to. I would beg my mom to read me stories, and usually she would happily oblige, but I still wanted to be able to enjoy books on my own.

When my mom first introduced me to audiobooks, it was like a whole new world opened up in front of me. I could read the stories I was actually interested in. I could enjoy them on my own, not when somebody else had time to read them to me. My ability to take part in the magical world of literature is not restricted by my disabilities. My love for books, and the power of stories grew even stronger.

So, while all my friends faithfully read the adventures of Harry, Ron, and Hermione, I listened. I listened to the recordings of the Harry Potter books in the hospital. I listened to Jim Dale tell the story and suck me into the magical world of Hogwarts while the rest of my friends slipped furiously through the hardback copies. Whenever a new book was released, I would sit with my headphones on until I finished the story. I listened over and over again until my cassette tapes were out. I was as deeply committed to Harry’s world as anyone I knew.

The magic of Harry’s world meant everything to me, because it showed the immense value in being different and seeing what no one else can seem to see. So naturally I was super excited when I heard there was going to be another book. I even preordered the audiobook through an audiobook service that I subscribe to so that I would have my copy as soon as the clock struck 12 on July 31. Imagine my surprise on the day of the release when my download was nowhere to be found. I checked my account and could find no record of it. I did a voice search for, “Harry Potter and the Cursed Child” on the site and found nothing. Nothing. I was confused, and starting to get a little heartbroken.

At this point, I decided to head to Google to see if I can figure out what was going on. I did a quick search and the words on the screen confirmed my worst fear: no audio book. I was crushed. Not only was I going to have to break a childhood tradition, I had to figure out another way to read the book. My disappointment grew even deeper when I realized that although the text-to-speech was unlocked on the Kindle version, only one current Kindle model has text to speech capabilities, and it is of course the most expensive one.

I was frustrated, and not just about Harry Potter. I was frustrated because finding accessible books should not be this difficult. I was frustrated that I even had to check if the text-to-speech option had been unlocked by the publisher. I was frustrated because my ability to access information was clearly being seen as a luxury, rather than a right.

It brought back memories of high school and college. Memories of having to literally cut the spine of my textbooks and scan them into the computer because there was no accessible version available. Memories of being so excited when I realized the book I desperately needed for class had an e-book version easily available for purchase, only to find out that the publisher had decided not to unlock text-to-speech capabilities. Memories of having to wait for weeks after I had actually purchased a textbook or my college bookstore for the publisher to send me a screen reader-compatible version.

I was frustrated as I thought about how grateful I was for the services that exist to create accessible versions of books. I was frustrated because I am grateful for these things, but I know they cannot the final answer. These services are largely volunteer, and you have to have a documented disability to even be able to use them. Additionally, there is no guarantee that the books you need or want to read will be available, and you often have to wait months, or even years after publication of the original book for an accessible version to be available.

I am grateful for the programs and services that exist to try and make books accessible, but I am also frustrated. I am frustrated because it is a constant reminder that accessibility is an afterthought. I am frustrated because disabled people’s rights to access information are not being considered by mainstream society. Multiple avenues of access for people who learn differently are not provided by our society through an acknowledgment that it is not about preference, it is about access. No, they are provided after the fact by volunteers.

You may think I am being silly, making such a big deal out of a book, but this is about more than missing out on the magic of Harry Potter, it is about information. This is about more than a hunger to know what happened to everyone’s favorite boy wizard after the close of the seventh book, it is about knowledge. This is about the fact that accessible books should not be an optional afterthought, but a necessary part of the process from the very beginning

When we do not make sure that there are multiple ways to access knowledge and information, we ensure that those who learn differently do not learn at all. I would not have graduated college, or probably even finished high school without accessible books. I would not have been able to learn from the annals of history, art, and literature. I would not have been able to grow and get the same quality of education as my brothers and sisters. When we do not recognize the importance accessible books, we leave people in the dark.

We need accessible books, not created after the fact by nonprofits and volunteers, not given out after proving to a publisher that you are a special circumstance, not created using a high-speed scanner and a cut up book. No. We need accessible books from the ground up. We need accessible versions of books to be considered as mainstream as mass-market paperbacks and Kindle versions. We need accessibility features on digital books to be mandatory, not an optional feature decided on by a publisher. We need accessible books readily available to everyone who wants them. We need accessible books that are not restricted through ridiculous levels of medicalization and gatekeeping.

In an ever growing and changing world, we need accessible books, not because millions of disappointed fans like me are missing out on Harry’s latest adventure, but because disabled people have the right to access stories, novels, textbooks, and education just like everybody else.