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Harry Potter by J.K Rowling
I haven’t always been a PotterHead.
Really, at first, I didn’t even know it existed. Granted, I was just a little girl when it came out. Heck, I wasn’t even born when the first book was published. Even after a few more were released, I just...didn’t read them. I didn’t watch the movies, I didn’t look at the books, I didn’t... do anything about it. It just wasn’t my thing.
Until I watched the Fifth movie. I remember how my two best friends dragged me to the theatre, saying ‘You’re going to LOVE it!’, or ‘Please, c’mon! For me?’ with their lame little puppy dog faces. So, naturally I caved in and went along with it. I would’ve gone to watch something else, but they insisted. And that’s how I ended up at the movie theatre watching one of the best films I’d ever seen.
And that is when my Potter Craze began.
I went out, bought ALL the books, and every movie which had come out so far. I even found a pair of glasses like Harry’s. I know, obsessed. This time though, I started the right way. I picked up the first book (instead of the fifth), and I read. I read and read and read. The pages turned, quite quickly, and before I knew it, I was closing the book, getting ready to start the next. I went on like that for half a month or so, pages flying, books devoured. I’d have my head buried behind a Harry Potter novel constantly, my eyes glued to the page. During class, I have the books hidden on my lap, switching between reading and paying attention to the lesson. At lunch, I’d have food in one hand, and one hand only, because the other was busy turning pages. While all the other fourth grade kids went out to play during free time, I was at a table, by myself or with a professor or two, reading. At home, I’d speed through my homework, and read. And, it wasn’t just me. I would finish a book, and then my mother would pick it up and start reading it. After my mom put the book down, my dad would grab it and start reading. It just went on like that.
That is, until I finished the seventh book.
I remember finishing it. At first, I was exhilarated. Totally and completely content. Then, when I reached out to find the next book, and found nothing but air, I must say, I was pretty flustered. I was begging for the story to continue, and my poor little Harry Potter consumed brain couldn’t handle the fact the story had ended. It just wouldn’t process. I was tempted to contact J.K Rowling and beg her to write another. My mind just blocked out any thought of the book ending. It refused to register. When it did though, a sense of euphoria returned. I still had the movies, I still had the books, there was still the world enclosed behind the pages. The story never really would end, because there was always something to go back to.
With that, I watched the movies. All five that were out. I re-read the books. I would read different books. I would watch the movies. I’d read one of the books again. The sixth movie came out. I was content. I watched, I read, I went on with my life. I was still infatuated with the whole world of Harry Potter, and I constantly wished I could live in their world. I still do. Harry Potter became a part of my life, a part which I’m afraid I’ll never get back. Once I read those books, the characters came to life, and they became my own little escape, my way out of this world and into theirs. Hermione, Harry, Ron, Luna, Ginny, Neville....all of them became my companions, or I theirs, I should say. There were times where I lived more with them than with those around me. To me, those books are an escape, a way to live life better. The books were like my pride and joy, and I could only wish for them to be real.
And every day was like that. Every day.
The Seventh movie came out, Part I then Part II. I, being the supreme Potter Head of all my friends, naturally organized the whole outing to go see the movie. We couldn’t go to any of the midnight premiere’s, but we went. And I loved every second of it.
When the ending credits of the Part II came on, I must say, a part of me died. The part of me that was refusing to accept the ending of the story. The rest of me, however, was at a loss for words. I was elated, but I was...empty. When I walked out of the theatre, I was whole. The story might have ended for some, but for me it’s still here.