harry potter

I have just recently finished reading the seventh and last book of the Harry Potter series. I know now how the tale ends. There was a note of finality in the end, and, like the author JK Rowling, I felt as if I’m in bereavement.

I was introduced to Harry Potter and his world about six years ago, and at that time, I had been going through major life changes similar to what Harry and his friends were experiencing. Although a Muggle through and through, I could totally relate to most of what they are undergoing. I was living away from home for the first time in my life, and there was plenty of self-discovery that I had to deal with. Like Harry, I had no choice but to take these as they come, for whether I liked it or not, that was reality.

However, those common grounds were not the reason why I got hooked with the books. At my end, the world often seems dull and depressing. I had been born into the age of technology, so technological magic has lost its charm on me. I found in the books a wonderful new world, one which only exists in dreams and stories. It was a joy to journey with Harry as he explores this world that had been hidden from him since his birth. Most of the time, I couldn’t help but wish that I would have the same epiphany.

Rowling’s creativity also astounded me. Many times I couldn’t fathom how such an individual can come up with these; sometimes, I believed that this world actually existed beyond her head and that she was merely passing it off as fiction. How else would she come up with whomping willows, animagi and priori incantatem if she hadn’t in fact had known about these in the first place? But then again, I might just be underestimating her creative juices.

So I devoured book after book after book. It was terribly frustrating to wait for the fifth book, because the stories just get better and better with each succeeding book. I had grown to love all the characters, Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, the Burrow, Hogsmeade and even the house at #4 Privet Drive. In my impatience, I even resorted to reading fan fiction to quench my thirst.

So now, the tale of Harry Potter comes to an end. Still, I’m hopeful that more books and movies will come, sort of what happened to Starwars and the Vampire Chronicles. I was glad that Rowling left some bit of a chance that she might one day write about that world again.

In the meantime, I’m going into mourning. Not because of how the story ends, but because the end for the series had come. I’ve got to be contended for now to continue my mundane Muggle existence. Who knows, maybe one day, amidst this dull and depressing reality, I’ll discover my own magic. I’ll always be hopeful for that owl mail, even if it comes several years late.