Alvaro Tapia
A Wizard’s Journey Begins
In 1999, a young Swedish illustrator named Alvaro Tapia stepped onto the platform of international book illustration—quite literally—without realizing he was boarding the magical Hogwarts Express of his career. At just 21 years old and with only a few years of study at Konstfack behind him, Tapia received his first book illustration commission: to design the Swedish cover of an unknown British children’s book titled Harry Potter och De Vises Sten (Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone).
At the time, Tapia was working full-time at a computer game company, and although his background was in drawing, not painting, his unique style caught the attention of Cecilia Knutsson and Annika Seward Jensen at Rabén & Sjögren. A colleague had tipped them off—Tapia’s gaming-inspired visual flair might just be the key to attracting young male readers to this magical new series. Tapia was surprised by the offer, having never designed a book cover before. Still, he accepted.
"I figured out how to paint while I was working at a games company," he later admitted. "So when they called from Rabén & Sjögren, I thought, ‘Wow, that’s a publishing house!’ Then I realized... I couldn’t paint. Drawing was more my thing."
The First Cover: A Train to a Parallel World
Armed with a copy of the English edition and an unclear sense of what the book was really about, Tapia began working. He found the original British cover a bit too childish for his taste and sought to create something “cooler,” more akin to the fantasy imagery he loved—something that would reflect the mystery and richness of the story rather than pander to expectations.
The one requirement from the publisher was that Harry Potter should appear. That, Tapia said, was “a limitation called sufficient.”
He imagined the Hogwarts Express not as a modern train, but as a magical, archaic vehicle. “They probably have a completely different time perspective,” he mused, “like the 19th century. They don’t care about modernity. They can do everything without machines.” The final result featured a red train with a samovar-like chimney, echoing his vision of a magical Russian engine powered by herbs rather than coal. The iconic 9¾ was cleverly reimagined as a self-writing chalkboard mounted on the train itself.
The Boy Who Floated
Harry himself appeared in front of the train, floating—not standing on the platform, but suspended in magic. His pose was born from a compositional decision. “You either paint a scene that happens, or you do it like American fantasy and throw in imagined scenes. I did something in between.”
Harry’s appearance was based on the younger brothers of one of Tapia’s friends. Tapia, who wore similar glasses as a boy, sketched Harry with sloppily oversized clothes and a narrow neck—capturing the awkwardness and youthfulness described in the book.
But Tapia, untrained in painting and unsure of his color sense, struggled. “I don’t have good color vision,” he said, “so I got lost in the green and had to find my way back every time.”
He painted back and forth, experimenting with composition, color, and technique. The result, he admits, was unfinished. Unfortunately, the original artwork was lost forever—left behind on a bus in Nässjö on his way to show it to his mother in Lund. Only the scanned version remained, and it was this scan of an incomplete image that made it to print.
“I had to go through the humiliation of telling the publisher the original was gone,” he said. “But it turned out better than I thought.”
A Series is Born
The Swedish edition of Philosopher’s Stone became a hit, and Tapia was invited to illustrate all seven covers in the series. Working late into the evenings after his day job, he poured his time and emotions into each one—sometimes with joy, sometimes with stress, and always with artistic rebellion.
Tapia never had contact with J.K. Rowling, though he heard she liked the Swedish covers. “But she probably says that about everyone,” he joked.
The Chamber of Secrets: A Personal Favorite
Of all the seven covers, The Chamber of Secrets remains Tapia’s favorite. “It syncs best with the book,” he explained. It was also the most personal: hidden within the composition is the phrase “En memoria de Chen,” a tribute to his grandfather who passed away the same year.
“I tried things I knew were forbidden on covers,” he admitted. “The face is cut off, you don’t see the whole phoenix. But it gives the feeling that the image continues outside the cover.” It was a quiet rebellion—and a small personal victory.
Deadlines and Desperation
The third book, The Prisoner of Azkaban, presented unique challenges. Due to Bloomsbury’s tight embargo, the Swedish team received only one copy of the English edition on release day. Tapia had to start immediately, with no time to waste. “It was terribly hard to do,” he recalled. “I painted over everything the day before it was due and made a new picture that evening.”
The same desperation marked The Goblet of Fire. Tapia repainted the entire front around 2:00 a.m. the night before the deadline. “It didn’t turn out so well,” he admitted with characteristic humility.
But these weren’t solitary portraits of Harry anymore. This time, he included Ron and Hermione, acknowledging their growing presence in the saga.
Symbols, Secrets, and Sentiment
Each cover carried hidden meanings and tributes. The cover of The Half-Blood Prince included the name “Helena”—the mother of Tapia’s daughter—camouflaged in the design. The letters are blocked out, hidden so cleverly that even Tapia’s fans would need to search meticulously to find them.
Inspired by Finnish painter Akseli Gallen-Kallela and his Kalevala paintings, this cover marked a more confident period in Tapia’s journey. “I had a little more confidence in that one.”
Collaboration and Conclusion
The final cover, for The Deathly Hallows, was a joint project. Tapia had originally sketched it with the intention of printing it over a black background, but a last-minute request from the publisher required a colored version—something Tapia couldn’t complete in time. So he turned to his colleague Peter Bergting, who finalized the piece using digital coloring. The result was a collaborative finale, stylistically different, but still grounded in Tapia’s vision.
After the Magic
Looking back, Tapia has mixed feelings about his work on the series. “It’s great that they’re still out there,” he said, “but I’m not happy with them. It’s a bit painful.” He admits he would change things—“tinker with the eyes and fingers, change the hair”—but recognizes the importance of that moment in his life.
Despite the stress, the lost originals, the late-night repaints, and the weight of fan expectations, Tapia’s covers for the Swedish editions remain iconic. They are snapshots of artistic exploration, youthful energy, and quiet rebellion. They reflect not only Harry’s journey through the wizarding world, but also Tapia’s journey as an illustrator discovering his voice.
In many ways, they are the perfect metaphor for the magic of reading itself: slightly flawed, deeply personal, and unforgettable.