My story begins around September of my 4th grade year when my teacher informed the class we were going to start AR reading, and we needed to make a trip to the library to pick out our books. I put it off as long as I could, but eventually I made that dreaded trip to the library. I was just looking for the smallest, easiest book I could read (preferably, one that had a fun-looking cover). Already bored, I made a random grab at a book I had heard of before, but never really cared to read: “Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone.” Anyone who knows me can tell you that as soon as I read the first page, I was hooked for life. The mystery, the adventure, and the MAGIC left me spellbound (no pun intended). My afternoons and evenings were dedicated turning pages. The books soon took on a role in my life that would define me for the next 9 years.
As I continued reading the series, it soon became my escape. The books offered me a refuge from school, bullying, and loneliness. No matter how sad I was, I always had 3 best friends that would make me forget of the troubles of my day. Not only did J.K. Rowling give me friends in the books, she gave me friends in life, too. At the very mention of Harry Potter, I could carry on an hour long conversation with any stranger that came my way. To date, I can count 3 life-long friendships that I made obsessing over these books.
But, the Harry Potter series wasn’t all fun and games for me. They taught me morals, and the differences between right and wrong. They taught me how to have courage, when my grandfather was in the hospital for months at a time. They taught me how to mourn, when my grandmother passed away. Most of all, they taught me how to be myself, no matter what anyone else said or thought of me. Having my Harry Potter book in my backpack was like a shield that protected me from all the negativity thrown my way. I could finally let my guard down, and just be a regular kid.
When the series was over, I...
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