When I was 13 years old and in the eighth grade, a book series was starting to take over the world. I wasn’t all that interested in it at first, to be quite honest, but when my best friend Sara told me I would love them, curiosity got the best of me. I checked out the first one from the library, and I never set it back down.
Seven years later, I found myself in Barnes & Noble at midnight on July 21, near tears as I realized that my childhood was coming to an official end. The people I love most in this world were gathered around me, all of us dressed up as different characters from the series, Sara and I with matching pink hair and shirts that said “The Weird Sisters”. Besides us, our group consisted of a Marauders-era Sirius Black, Cho Chang, a Slytherin, a Ravenclaw, two Gryffindors, Ginny Weasley, and two Harry Potters.
We all agreed that we wouldn’t stand around after we got it, for fear of people yelling out spoilers. My friend Megan and I ran through the parking lot yelling ourselves hoarse, determined to drown out any spoilers that might reach our ears. Two guys came running out of Kroger next door with their books and joined us in our screaming. Later, when we got home, I opened my book to the inside cover, and found these fifteen words: “We now present the seventh and final installment in the epic tale of Harry Potter.” It was then that I realized I was the happiest and most euphoric I have ever been in all 19 years of existence.
Thank you, JK Rowling. Thank you for writing this book, for getting me through seven awkward, painful years of adolescence, for enchanting me with your words, and for helping me discover my own passion for writing. Thank you for this story of sacrifice, of hope, of pain, and, most of all, love. You are my idol, my hero, and my role model. Harry Potter will always be my first love, and your words will always be my first source of inspiration.
Editor's Note: For more about Rowling click here (but be warned this click may lead you to spoilers).