It is difficult to explain what Harry Potter means to me.
I was in fifth grade when I began reading the first book. Ten years old, about to turn eleven. I spent that summer waiting for my owl, and when it didn’t come, I became convinced the American wizarding school would take me at twelve instead. Of course, here I am, not a trained witch, but I grew up with Harry. Until the final book, his growth coincided with mine. We learned, together, about the darkness of the world and the wonders of love and friendship.
I used to think about Draco Malfoy before I went to sleep, and as I grew older and realized Draco wasn’t going to be the bad boy I wanted, but instead a coward acting out of fear, I began to fantasize about Lucius. Maybe that was where my attraction to older men began. Who knows? But I certainly found a sexual outlet in HP through fanfiction (slash and otherwise, as I am a Draco/Ginny shipper and adore well-written fanfiction of that nature).
The release of the seventh book was a life event. During the PotterCast tour before it came out, I was able to get interviewed about my theories on what would happen. I was featured in the paper for being spotted in costume at the book premiere. It consumed me that summer. And so last night, I was obviously at the theatre for the midnight showing, dressed up, and ready to watch the next cinematic installment of Harry Potter’s story.
So HHNT, internet, and here is my tribute to Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince.
*click!*
I made that wand, by the way. I carved, sanded, polished, and stained it myself. I told you I was a hardcore fan. ;P
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