Friday Flashbacks: I was Harry Potter

When my son was little, I read to him every night. I had heard of the Harry Potter books of course, but I was not particularly interested. My son was too young to really understand them and I was definitely too old. Plus, they didn’t have any vampires in them so what was the point?

My curiosity finally got the better of me. You can only hear how awesome they are before you have to see what the hype is about. I bought the first book in paperback, not wanting to invest too much into them. We nestled in my son’s bed and he was asleep by page three. I was not.

I stayed up until 1:00 in the morning, until the last page was read, enthralled with the magic of another world so compelling that I never wanted it to end.

I lived in a cupboard under the stairs. My uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia made no effort to hide the fact that I was a burden they didn’t need or want. Discovering I was a wizard and had lost my parents in a horrible act of magical violence was just the beginning. I attended a school of witchcraft and wizardry, and became the youngest Seeker in a century to play on the Gryffindor quidditch house team. I stood in a field with players surrounding me on flying broomsticks and listened as a roaring crowd applauded me for catching the golden snitch and winning the game.

I found two of the very best friends a person could ever have, and they helped me face the evil wizard who killed my parents, and defeat him. He didn’t die but he got the message that I would not be taken care of easily. Returning to my Aunt and Uncle’s house didn’t seem quite so bad now that I knew where my real home was.

My world of soccer games, and cookie dough fundraisers had disappeared. I was Harry Potter…until the last page.

Then I wasn’t.