“Bookaholics are the ones who start to feel uncomfortable and uneasy in another person’s house, and suddenly realize there are no bookshelves or magazines lying around. People who only own a telephone book and their high school yearbooks scare us.” - Robert Lee Hadden
While I'm still involved with the HP fandom, it isn't Life about Harry Potter anymore; it's Harry Potter about Life.
I'm choosing not to see Deathly Hallows Part 2 at midnight in favor of going the following evening with a friend. When I hear "In Which Draco and Harry Secretly Want To Make Out," I don't think of a hilarious slash-fic song; I think about memories. When I cried while finishing my most recent re-read of Deathly Hallows, it was less in reaction to the overwhelming emotion of the last 100 pages themselves and more out of nostalgia for the past decade of my life.
J.K. Rowling's novels taught me just how powerful writing can be. Her early struggles taught me that perseverance pays off, and that bad stuff doesn't last forever. Dumbledore taught me that the world is not divided into good people and Death Eaters, that the most powerful weapon we have is love, and what "gay" actually means.
And now as the final movie is about to come into theaters, I feel as if my childhood is ending. These books and this fandom have been, as you have come to see over the past three days, such an integral part of my life in so many ways that if Ms. Rowling ever wanted to freeze me in carbonite, I would have to let her. Because there is no way I can ever repay what she has given me. (And come on, how cool would it be to be able to say "yeah, I was a statue of carbonite in JK FREAKING ROWLING'S HOUSE. Take that Han Solo." ?)
When I walk out of that theater tomorrow night, I will be a GROWN WOMAN.