"There was no discussion on set about whether Draco knows for sure if this is Harry. My opinion is that he knows exactly who it is. So why doesn't he say so? The reason, it seems to me, is that the boy who had no choice finally gets one."
Oh, boy, where to start with this one? Having just come off of finishing the last 60 pages, I feel like I just went through the most intense emotional whiplash possible. That in mind, let me start at the beginning.
I, of course, picked up this book as someone who has been a Harry Potter fan since I was a teenager. More than that, as someone who has been a Tom Felton fan since I was a teenager. Draco was definitely one of my first big crushes, I got to meet Tom Felton at Fan Expo in high school (I still have the autograph and photo op in a binder somewhere), and I watched a lot of movies I really didn't enjoy just because Tom Felton was in them. So naturally, years later, when Tom Felton writes his autobiography, of course I had to pick it up - and a signed copy no less.
I should say that, first and foremost, I'm reading Beyond the Wand coming off of Jennette McCurdy's I'm Glad My Mom Died. That book was shocking, horrifying, scandalous, difficult, incredible - and I think that I might've gone into Felton's book with the expectations that it would be the same, even though that wasn't the case. Long story short? About 80% of Beyond the Wand is really just... nothing. It's unremarkable. It's Tom Felton introducing us to people he knew, saying how nice they were, and then moving on. I honestly can't understand how the first 200 pages were just about absolutely nothing. Maybe I was looking for something jaw-dropping and scandalous that we'd never heard before from the Harry Potter set, but I was just a little disappointed. Not only that, but a lot of how he writes about people feels... I don't know, maybe too nice? Every single person he talks about, he gushes about how wonderful they are. It seems disingenuous, and I can't tell if that's because Felton really does see the best in people, if HP still has him under some kind of tight contract, or if he just doesn't want to risk pissing anyone off.
All of that being said, once I hit chapter 26? Holy shit. That was what I was looking for, with this book - it's raw, unappealing, and it's genuine. It's unflattering, it's heartwrenching, but more importantly, it's honest. Felton talks frankly about his mental health struggles, his time in rehab, his time out of rehab, and for the first time in Beyond the Wand, it felt like he was actually writing his story as opposed to trying to please a bunch of Harry Potter fans. Honestly, I think chapter 26 and 27 had the fewest amount of Harry Potter references in them, and good - which, by the way? Way too many HP references in this book. I get it, man, you were in Harry Potter. We know. We read this book because of it. You don't need to keep dropping a 'my family is more like the Weasleys than the Malfoys haha!' or 'the building was so big it reminded me of Gringotts.' Way too many forced HP references. Way too many.
Point being, if the entire book had been written like chapters 26 and 27, Beyond the Wand would've easily been a five-star read. There's one passage on page 283 that I really loved, about comparing the way we talk about mental health to how we talk about sports: if it's so easy to talk about the highs and lows of a game, why isn't it easy to talk about the highs and lows of our emotions? I really loved that Felton hit the nail on the head when it comes to talking about mental health, and especially when it comes to talking about mental health in men. There's a negative connotation around mental health and rehab regardless, but there's also so many instances in Beyond the Wand when Felton talks about the disconnect between being emotional and being a traditionally masculine, British man. It was a beautiful passage, and I'm almost angry that Beyond the Wand was what it was, when I know for a clear fact that Felton is capable of writing with so much more depth.
Look, this wasn't a bad book by any means. It was just... mostly mediocre. The ending? Phenomenal, amazing, wonderful, loved it, 10/10. But whether or not you'd actually want to read 250 okay-ish pages just to get to that point is up to you. This is a fairly solid 3.5/5 book for me, and if nothing else, I'm content in knowing that my teenage self would've absolutely hated me for not reading this book.