It was 9 years ago today that I begged, pleaded, and groveled to get the 7th Harry Potter book. I was 17 and on a family road trip that started in Colorado and took us across the east coast. 9 years ago today, I was in Hazelton, Missouri visiting family and I knew (because I called) that no place in town was going to have the book at Midnight. All hope was lost. I would not be getting the book. It wasn’t until I finally begged my dad to drive to Illinois that I saw the light in the darkness.
In the car I was excited, nervous, and exhausted. My poor dad was already sick of my theories featuring Snape & Neville. Plus, he had to endure my various rants that centered around Dumbledore, Sirius, & Cedric. He was ready to get that book in my hand just to shut me up. My great aunt and uncle thought we were crazy for driving across state lines to the closest store.
I still remember the Amortentia like smell of the book. It was perfect. I had tears of excitement and sadness when I felt the weight of my newest companion. Harry Potter was over! “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows” was the final book. This was the end of my childhood.
In the wizarding world, you become an adult at 17. It was fitting that I would get the final book when I was 17. You see, Harry Potter defined me. J.K. Rowling sculpted me into the woman I am today. The characters that I met in these books became my best friends and at times they were my only friends. Walmart (the closest store that would be open at midnight) was filled with Muggles, Wizards, and the poor unfortunate retail workers who had to deal with the hundreds of people lined up in their store. In that line I felt united. I felt a part of something bigger. At that moment, the moment the book weighed down my hands, I was standing at King’s Cross Station waiting to return to the world that defined me.I was Loony Lovegood. I was that quirky girl that never fit in. I was a Ravenclaw that finally found a home. At that moment, I was going home.