I'm twelve and I don't even care.

Do you remember where you were when *spoiler alert* Sirius died?  I was in my bed, basically devouring that entire book because I was desperate to know (because J.K. Rowling had hinted at a huge death), and when it hit, I had to turn back a couple of pages and re-read because I couldn't believe what had happened.  That morning I had awoken crazy early, something I never did because - shockingly - I'm not a morning person, but I was waiting for the Amazon box with my book in it that would be delivered on my doorstep, and I couldn't wait.  Once it came, I just sat in my room the whole day, without music, and with fruit snacks and Root Beer alongside me, and I just read and read and read.

I didn't discover Harry Potter when all of you did.  I remember that it was becoming really popular, but my mom had this attitude of it being too easy, and too frivolous, and so I sort of adopted that attitude as well.  I finally started reading it because I was babysitting these two boys that lived across the street, and every night they liked to read a chapter as they were going to bed.  I was pretty enchanted from the start, as I think it's pretty clear everyone was, and I was lucky enough to get into it once the first four books in the series had been written.

After that it was the same waiting game: checking her website religiously, hoping for any clues or secrets.  I still remember her hint at a new teacher who was as sweet as a bee.  I remember deciphering the artwork that was released - what were all of the candles?  What did they mean?

And then it happened time, after time.  Waiting for Book Six.  And then the last one.  And I cried because it was ending.  How strange, right?

I'm reminded of all of this because my niece Hannah has begun reading the books.  She's on the fourth one now, and we've been watching the movies.  It's fun to see her imagination start moving with the characters, and it's exciting to relive the introductions of plotlines and revelations alongside her.  It makes me sad, too, that she'll never know the fun of living in that moment when the magic is happening.

I don't understand why I feel so much sorrow in that, but I do.  I wish I could take her back with me, and have her in my room with me so that we can cry together over our favorite character dying too soon.  How wonderful would it be to sit and discuss all of the intricate details together?  And then how fun would it be to move to other novels?  There's such a peace I find in literature, and I sincerely hope that I can always be surrounded by individuals who don't just appreciate, but who crave books in the way that I do.  I need to share that with someone else.

Meanwhile, I love being able to go back and feel like a little kid again when talking about this world that doesn't even exist.  I love that I can bond with her over it.  And I can't wait to introduce my own kids to it someday.

Besides, don't you sort of still wake up some mornings and hope your Hogwarts letter is coming?