Mischief Managed.
It is the end of an era. And not just any era, my childhood era. Some people measure the end of childhood by turning 18 or 21 or 35 or whatever, but I am meassuring mine by the end of Harry Potter.
Harry Potter. The books that made me like reading, which for those of you who now know me as an English major, is a pretty big deal. The first time I really remember a book being able to take me into another world. My first midnight book release. Those painful days waiting for Rachel to finish it first. And then threatening her if she gave anything away. Countless and countless hours of make-believe with Courtney. Movies. Musicals. Spoofs. Cartoons. A complete world.
My 2nd grade teacher, Mrs. Ball read the first two books to my class. I read the third with my mom. I read the rest as they came, most more than once (including the forth at least four times, maybe five, I don't really remember, but the dust jacket is falling off). They entranced me in a way that until then nothing had or could match. I was a part of their world. I was brave and clever and magical. I could face the evils of the world at 11 and turn back time with a stylish necklace. I had friends that would stand with me to the end.
The books were one thing, the movies another. A joyful escape into the magic I had so often imagined. I learned that werewolves are blueish and finally understood why all of Hogwarts loved Cedric Digory so much.
Harry Potter, in every form and every adventure, has been such a huge symbol of my childhood, which has been my whole life as of now. I will miss the countdowns and midnights until a new story. I'll love Harry and company forever.
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