That's what has happened. Call me a nerd all you want, but I started reading these books when I was 12 years old. That's HALF my life spent dreaming of adventures at Hogwarts, expectantly checking the mail for my acceptance letter (which probably got lost by one of those silly school owls), sorting myself into a house with no help from the Sorting Hat (I'd be a Ravenclaw - I'm fairly certain), practicing quidditch and spell recitations in my spare time, debating what form my patronus would take (I'm thinking a penguin - on its belly), referencing Voldemort in serious conversations as "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," and genuinely believing I was best friends with all the characters (the good ones at least). So you can see how this ending truly affects me. In all seriousness, though, I don't know if another series will ever captivate and consume me quite like Harry Potter could. I mean I practically grew up with this guy. Twelve years is a long time. So here's my tribute to J.K. and her beautifully crafted series of novels. And to a series of movies that never quite lived up to the wonder of the books but which nonetheless helped to bring the spirit of Harry Potter alive.
Amen, I will miss them terribly.
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