i’m planning on starting out the new year by reading through the whole harry potter series again (even though i’ve done so too many times to count by now) and as i skim through my favorite parts beforehand, i’ve been thinking about how much i miss the anticipation of another book. i experience post-potter depression fairly regularly, but right now i’m rather exceptionally sad for some reason.
i didn’t blog about the second part of the seventh movie when i saw it, because as silly as it may sound, it really was very emotional for me. my dad read the sorcerer’s stone to me when i was seven years old, and from that point until this summer, i haven’t ever not had something new to look forward to. from the fourth book on i read every book in one day, the moment i got it, even if it meant i had to read as i ate (or skip eating altogether) or stay up until six in the morning (which i did several times). for a while my dad had to actually ban me from reading the books, because i literally would read nothing else. i always said i grew up with harry potter, and not just that i grew up reading the books about him- i was seven when i read sorcerer’s stone, in which he was eleven, and this summer, when the last deathly hallows movie came out in which he was seventeen, i was fifteen, so to me it really felt like i was growing up with him, if at rather odd rates.
even once the last book came out, i wasn’t completely heartbroken, even though i knew how the story ended, because at least there were still the last few movies to look forward to (i sobbed uncontrollably for hours off and on after finishing the book anyway). but about half an hour into watching deathly hallows pt. 2 this summer, i really got to thinking about how lucky i was that i got to be growing up as these books were coming out. if i have kids, sure, they can read the books, and i can read them to my little sister who’s now six and a half, but they’ll never really get the experience of reading a book and waiting for the next one to come out, coming up with ideas about what will happen next, who’s good, who’s bad, and then be relieved after all that waiting when j.k. rowling’s ideas were so much better than yours. they’ll just be able to pick up the next book and go straight on. it hit me that i had actually been so absurdly privileged to have been part of a generation that had that experience. it was honestly the most emotional movie of my life. and, of course, i cried so loudly that my friend’s mom had to lean over and hush me.
these books were such a huge part of my life. they still are. until i turned eleven, there was a genuine part of me that knew it was ridiculous but, deep down, prayed every single time i read the books that i’d get a hogwarts acceptance letter on my birthday, or just that at some point in my life there would be a moment like this in which i found out i was right, it was real. god, they were just such good, good books, there’s really nothing i can say that will do them justice. i started reading them at an incredibly awkward stage of life when i didn’t have many friends and was always just out of place, and i can remember nights where i’d be crying myself to sleep, and then wake up and read about ron and harry saving hermione from the troll, or another of my favorite parts, and things would be okay again. and as sad as i am that it’s over, i am so, so grateful for the wizarding world jo created.
so months overdue: thank you, jo.