The Death of Something Beautiful

"To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure." -Albus Dumbledore

I've been thinking a lot lately about how I was planning on approaching this post.

I didn't know where to begin. I didn't know how to start. I didn't know how to accept it for what it was, and write about it for what it meant to me.

I really wasn't ready to write about it until yesterday.

Yesterday I took my dad and saw Harry Potter 7 part 2 for the second time. The second time watching it was when it really all began to sink in, and the clarity of what it meant to me was suddenly very real. I know now exactly what I want to say, and I'm thankful for the technological advances of the internet, which allow for letter-type updates free from blurry, tear stained blotches.

Thursday. July 14th. Old friends, Lexis and Zoe Kreutzer traveled from Seattle to spend the remainder of the weekend with Beks and I, and to embark together on the massive (in more ways than one) journey that would be the final midnight showing of any Harry Potter movie, ever. Raelyn accompanied us on our journey, for which I am extremely glad. Without her, I believe the four of us would have been swept up entirely by sadness. She brought a light of joy and humor to the end of our beloved saga. I know it sounds crazy that all of this is coming from the hype surrounding a silly kids' movie, but these feelings are absolutely real to me, and I need to let them all out so as to avoid any form of consumption.

The movie.

What can I say? The first time watching it was something I'll never forget. There was an electric excitement, a dizzying dread, and an overwhelming sadness that caused yours truly to stifle loud, uncomfortable sobs in the middle of a dark, quiet theater at 2 AM in the morning. There were moments of stillness where not a single person in the theater made a sound. I'm positive all of us were holding our breath in unison, even the ones who weren't lifelong fanatics.

Each moment, each scene passed slowly. Whether intentional from the director's chair or not, each scene was just long enough to tuck away into an individual, private memory. Each scene was just long enough to be treasured, one last time.

I feel I should explain this to those of you who maybe like Harry Potter, but don't understand the extreme emotion that others like myself experienced that night.

I've thought a lot about it the past week.
Why is it that this movie, this series means so much to me? I mean, really. The characters aren't real people. It's not a real place. None of this really happened, so why is it affecting me so heavily?

Let me tell you what I realized. It's something I've always known, but I've never really acknowledged or thought about. It just felt like second nature.

I was four years old when the first book came out. Naturally, this didn't mean much to me then. It was three years later, however, when the first movie came out, that I was truly touched by magic.

For my seventh birthday, my parents took me and Amber to see Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone in theaters. I saw it once, begged my parents to take me again, and not a week later, the first book was in my hands and I read it in under 24 hours.

After that, it was history. Next came Chamber of Secrets. Prisoner of Azkaban. A wait.... and then! Goblet of Fire. More waiting. Order of the Pheonix. Preordered and delivered and devoured with Amber in Hawaii was Half- Blood Prince. And then an excruciatingly long wait for the finale. The end. The Deathly Hallows.

It's okay, we all told ourselves after hours and hours of crying, at least we still have three more movies to go through. (You wouldn't believe the hurrahs that resounded when we realized we had four movies, because the last was being split into two.)

My friends and I lived, breathed, and loved Harry Potter. We had midnight showing parties. We had Harry Potter-themed birthday parties. We played Harry Potter games. We read the fanfiction. We joined the chatrooms on SnitchSeeker and MuggleNet. We read together. We watched together. We cried and laughed and shrieked and grew together.

For ten and a half years, I lived in Harry Potter. I grew up with the characters. I've reread the books dozens of times. On my eleventh birthday I waited for my letter from Hogwarts. I bought a wand in Ollivander's Wand Shop at Universal Studios in Florida this past winter. You don't experience something for almost eleven years without believing it.

Those characters that died in the very end? They were real to me. They have always been real to me. Watching them die, and watching Harry fight the epitome of evil, and watching a place that I love dearly be torn apart and ruined was like watching my dearest friends and family die. On a huge screen, in front of hundreds of other of people. It was not only the height of interactive cinematography, but it was the most excruciating movie I've ever had to sit through.

I've stockpiled eleven years of memories. Eleven years. The most impressionable eleven years of a person's life, really. From 7 to 18. My childhood was a childhood that blossomed and matured with Harry, Ron, Hermione, Draco, the twins, Dumbledore, Hagrid, Remus, Tonks, Snape, Mrs. Weasley.

Their battles were my battles.

And now it's over.

And of course, I cried. I cried like a baby. I mean, I knew there would be tears, but I didn't expect to bawl. I had to bite my finger in order to keep from emitting earth-shattering sobs. I was trying so hard to stifle my sobs and be quiet, that I literally almost started hyperventilating because I couldn't breathe.
I'm not exaggerating.

At the end of the movie, I didn't want to move. I didn't want to leave that spot. I didn't want to go home and take off my Team Draco shirt. I didn't want to admit that it was over.

I still don't want to admit it's over.

I cried just as much the second time I saw it as I did the first time. Maybe even more, because instead of just feeling the intensity of the moment, I felt the end of a chapter in my life. I felt the door closing.

I'll always have the memories, and I'm not done reading those books. I'll never be done reading Harry Potter. So in a sense, it's not over, because I'm not willing to let it die completely.

But at the same time, it is the end. There will be no more books. There will be no more movies. Eventually, many years from now, the Hogwarts and Hogsmeade Park at Universal Studios will become passe. And it will be torn down and replaced with something current and more exciting. The fans will grow old, the passion will fade.

A new phenomenon in the world of children's literature will rise, as has been proven by history, and the memory of Harry Potter will, in time, diminish.

And not unlike the story of Peter Pan and Wendy Darling, the time has also come for me to grow up. Wendy held on to Neverland as long as she could, but eventually, even she had to move on.

Eleven years. Is it long enough?

Is this the sign that I needed?

The single, solitary icon that classified my childhood, and my entire generation, has ended.

My generation, my age group, really is the Generation of HP. We were the ones to grow up with the characters. We are the ones most affected by this.

And it's up to us to keep the magic alive for as long as possible. The greatest way we can pay tribute to JK Rowling and the opportunities she has afforded us for happiness is to keep the memory alive and thriving.

I think I'll end with a thought-provoking question.

If I could write a thank you letter to JKR in less than 100 words, what on earth would I say?

I think, quite simply, all I would say, in the center of the page, in neat, black letters, would be:

Thank you for eleven years of true magic.

Because honestly, that pretty much sums it up, doesn't it?

Wishing you all the love and HoneyDukes chocolate in the world.

Xx,

Hannah