No, it’s not the whole ‘I’m a Senior!’ post or an ‘Extended Essay is Finished’ sort of thing, nor is it about the earthquake in Virginia; those were left for Facebook statuses, my lovely readers. I have come to discuss a subject that is extremely dear to me, and I would love to share it with you:
Harry Potter.
Whether you care or not, I’m going to tell you a little story.
Once upon a time, right between the Shenadoah Valley, there lived a little girl who loved to read and play imaginary role-playing games with her Barbies and Power Ranger action figures. She would spend hours and hours playing all alone in the basement of her house, creating made-up stories of marriage and drama with her toys and the toys of her little brother. At some points, she would even insert herself into the story, always being the one who mentored the hero/heroine of her tales with whatever they were troubled with. One day, her older sister, who went to college in the big New York City, came home for the summer.
Every night, the older sister would tuck in the little girl, her younger brother, and read a book until the two drifted off to sleep. This was the little girl’s favorite part of the day, for her sister was an astounding actress, and would make the characters come to life by giving them crazy voices and unique personalities. One night, her sister began a new book that she had just began to read herself; it was about a lonely boy who was discovers he’s a wizard, goes to a magical boarding school in Scotland, and meets two best friends he would have for the rest of his life.
Not only was this little girl completely enthralled with the story, but she was positive that this fantastical world of witches, wizards, goblins who ran banks and a sport played on brooms was real, and needed to be found immediately. She read the rest of the books over the following years. She would act like a student at Hogwarts, best friends to the Hermione Granger and a master of charms and flying. She would make her little brother hold two of her favorite dog plushies and act like the three-headed dog Fluffy, who guarded the sorcerer’s stone.
Well, when this little girl turned 11, and she did not receive the letter saying she would be heading to Hogwarts for the rest of her schooling, she was devastated. Of course, now, this girl (young lady, even) still can’t imagine her life without Potter, Granger, and the huge Weasley clan. Heck, even Malfoy. This girl went to every midnight book release, would pre-buy the book, read the book in a day, and would tell her mother every detail she could remember until she passed out asleep.
For this girl, little ‘ole me, the movies were a bonus. Sure I had my own imagination that created images of Voldemort, the Boy Who Lived, and Dobby, but to see them on screen and to be able to recognize everybody: it was an amazing feeling. When the books were all said and done, I knew I had the movies to look forward to, even if the Potter Era was coming to an end. As we got closer to Harry’s final year at Hogwarts, the amount of crying in each movie raised gradually.
Who knew that at the final movie, I would sob like a baby in my movie seat.
Harry Potter was more than just a book. It was the memory of my older sister reading to me, the pure bliss of my imaginations, and the very being of my childhood. I don’t really remember a time when Harry Potter wasn’t around in my life. It’s like a computer, a T.V., and maybe even Apple products?
Mr. Potter became someone that I could relate to during the darkest parts of my life, and even gave me the motivation to always do my best and have faith. Now that this movement is completely over, it is truly a blessing I hope to share with my own family when I’m older.
Thank you, J.K. Rowling. Not only have your books changed my life, but I’m sure they’ve brought so much happiness to others all over the world. We need more creative people like you in this world.
What a wonderful world it would be, huh?
Brown Bear
