little black journal

Almost nine months ago, I embarked on a new literary journey as I picked up Harry Potter Book One.  My original intent was to read all seven books back-to-back, but book club and general Potter fatigue prevented me from powering through – it took me much longer than I expected to jump on board and officially join ranks with the HP fan club.  The first couple of books were fun, but they wrapped up too quickly and lacked the drama I love in a good read.  Book Three picked up a little bit, with the introduction of Sirius Black (one of my favorites) and an ending that started to unravel the story of Harry’s beginnings.  Book Four was fun and exciting but dark and mysterious, with the first real twinges of tragedy.  Book Five was intense and maddening (seriously, have you ever hated a character more than Dolores Umbridge?) but so, so good.  By book Six, I was all in, ready to sign up for the Order of the Phoenix, wanting to plaster ‘Dumbledore for President’ stickers on the bumper of our Civic.  And then, 10 days ago, I picked up Book Seven.  Ohhhhhhhh, Book Seven – I can’t remember the last time I loved a book like I loved the Deathly Hallows.  I was so fully invested in Ron, Hermione, and Harry, cheering them on, fearing for them, praying that they would emerge from their journey unscathed.  Shane came home last night to find me clutching the book to my chest, gushing over how brilliantly J.K. Rowling was tying the long and arduous journey together.  This evening, I turned the very last page, and the journey came to an end.  And for complete closure, I joined my fellow Potter fans tonight for the final movie.  And now…it’s done.  Finito.  All tied up with a scarlet and gold bow.  It’s kind of sad to see it end – it’s been one heck of a ride, HP…