From a young age, I was adamant that I would detest Harry Potter. For some strange, inane reason, I'd came to the conclusion that the speckled prepubescent boy with a twig and his stupid school weren't for me. I know, it's embarrassing to admit but at that time I also thought that when someone was in their 'early' whatever stage of their life, it simply meant that their birthday had come earlier than expected. Needless to say, I didn't have my head screwed on quite right. However, the came a time during my last year at primary school (coincidentally when I was eleven years old) when I was forced to read Harry Potter. I was at a dead end. No longer could I simply refrain from watching the movies with my parents by hiding in my room or play with my cousin's lego Potter-themed sets because the tiny pieces were practically shiny, coveted antiques by the time I got round to playing with them (although my cousin would never admit this, he was very protective of his lego, even as a teenager). At my school there was a reading system that was compulsory to participate in. Eventually, I managed to make my way through all the books at my level until there were only seven left. I had no option. I didn't even know what book was the first one. Yet within a turn of a page, all my pre-existing doubts disappeared easier than Horcruxes. I couldn't believe how much time I'd wasted not involved in Harry's story.
I remember devouring one book at a time and finding myself in the hallowed halls of Hogwarts (see what I did there?). Every Friday my mum would rent me the DVD of the book I'd just read and purchase a copy of the book for me too. It is now tradition for me to reread the series each summer and I take my copy of the first book on every plane, it brings me solace that calms my fear of flying. I've even been to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter in Orlando with my parents. Even though it didn't provide me with the magic secondary school experience I've craved since that first chapter, it was a close second. Butterbeer is now a favourite drink in the McKie household and my copy of Hermione's wand sits proudly in my room. Harry has opened so many doors for me. I happily credit the books for awakening my love of fantasy and on those dark and stormy days, the books are there to console me (except the Cursed Child, I refuse to accept that as cannon). At the time that I first started reading the books, I related to Hermione wholeheartedly. I was obnoxious, determined and probably too much of a know-it-all for my own good. Yet, I know find myself relating to her character growth too. I don't really care if I flunk a test or two, as long as I tried my best and what's the harm in breaking a rule or two occasionally? I am also fiercely devoted to my friends and family and would risk even expulsion for them. In addition to all this, I feel more passionately about Gryffindor than my house at school (I'm a house captain and all, so don't repeat that) and would happily trade in my golf clubs and netball kit to get a broom and a shot at being a Chaser. I'm even nearing the end of my education yet I would give my last knut to go to Hogwarts and start as a first year.
If I could go back in time and read the series earlier, I would. My late uncle was even more of a fan than I was. His black hair and glasses even earned him the nickname 'Potter' and he was eleven years old when Harry was first freed from the cupboard under the stairs. It was only after his death that I discovered his hoard of books and my love for Harry Potter. If I could go back in time and tell him how ardently I love the same pages he did, I would.
So, I would like to do nothing more than thank the wonder that is J.K. Rowling for letting us all share Harry and his magnificent world. It's amazing, her Cinderella story of being a single mum on benefits to supposedly being the only billionaire to walk the earth with a fortune made out of writing. If she isn't inspiring, I don't know who is.
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