The sun’s setting calm and golden: yet another weekend come and gone. I lean my head back on the couch while the cool breeze from Mr. Ceiling Fan begs me to make this a three day weekend. It feels like the right moment to write. When this urge first hit me (I guess it was about the moment I glanced up from my computer and saw the sunbathed houses across the street), I started typing away newsy nonsense about life–a slightly more sophisticated diary of a girl who still keeps her Scooby Doo diary from the late nineties lovingly stored away. But who really wants to read about the delicious salad I made for dinner or the realization that I can pay off student loans in half the time I thought I could or, heaven forbid, my deep thoughts in the shower? Nah, I’ll keep those to myself. But this I will share: a tribute to the most wonderful fantasy series in the history of mankind (no, that was not hyperbole). I’ve only read the Harry Potter series once, the summer of 2011 when I didn’t work and had gobs of spare time. Ah, those were the days… So here’s the little love song I wrote four autumns ago when I needed a break from academic writing. And here’s to the boy who lived and everyone who made his world and the worlds of those of us who love him truly magical.
After spending six months with some of the most valiant and likable characters I’ve ever met, coming face to face with the incarnation of pure Evil, and wondering how Snape could earn Dumbledore’s trust, I finally finished the Harry Potter series. And with deep bittersweetness. I’m waiting for Hogwarts Express to chug through the hills again, to see its billowing wispy smoke fill the sky. I want to join the silent hunt in the Restricted Section to search for information that will invariably save the world. I want to run to Hagrid’s hut and sip tea with him and eat his food because I love him that much. To share close conversation in the Common Room or Hog’s Head with frothy butter beer coating my lip. To guess how Rowling will brilliantly tie all the loose ends together in the end and make me marvel at how creatively she wove the plot.
I can only conclude that this series reminded me how much I appreciate excellent literature. I pity those who dismiss or condemn Rowling’s work before tasting the adventures, seeing a masterful story unfold, and walking through a new world where the imagination is unlimited and roams freely through the cobblestone streets of Hogsmeade. I cringe when I remember the days when I viewed Harry Potter as merely a series about magic that warranted its fans to talk at excessive speeds and rave uncontrollably for no apparent reason. Now I understand. And I can say with all the confidence in the world that I cherish this adventure as much as Harry did his own.
I think it’s time to step back into that world. (maybe it’d help me reach my GoodReads book challenge goal a bit faster, too.)