HP7 Pt. 2

Late on the night of November 11, 2010, I hunched down on my matress- trying to get out something that could legitimately count as a prayer before I crashed into bed.

After the past 24 hours, I was more physically and emotionally drained than I had ever been before in my life.

"Dear Heavenly Father," I began. As I tried to reprocess what had just happened, I had to hold back from bursting into hysterical tears of joy.
"Thank you- THANK YOU-"
I paused, realizing that the intense gratitude I felt for Harry Potter was ten times more powerful than the way I felt about anything else in my life... you know- things like family, church, etc. Quickly, I rephrased my prayer so it would seem as though my priorities were in order.
"Ok. Dear Heavenly Father, thank you for the gospel.
But THANK YOU FOR HARRY POTTER."

Given the total absence of my prefrontal cortex, I have to admit it ranks as one of the most fervent prayers I have ever said.

That's the last thing I remember from that night. Even afterward, it took a couple days for me to be able to describe our experience without fighting the urge to weep. But after a while, I remembered my late-night bedtime prayer and absolutely cracked up over it.

Flash Forward:
Today my sister and I walked hand-in-hand (that is a lie; we definitely did not) to meet the end of our childhood. Afterward, we went to Jason's Deli because 1.) I was hungry and 2.) some things need to be discussed after they end. And this, my friends, was quite the end.
(Although I'm sure she and I will carry on our impromptu Harry/Ron banter for years to come, in ever worsening English accents.)

It makes me so glad that I can close this lovely chapter with so many people who also grew up on the books.

And a part of me still feels very much like Hermione. 

I'm no dead ringer for Emma Watson by any means, but I've gotten it a few times throughout the years. 

Mostly, I just always identified with the over-achieving bushy-haired girl with Muggle parents. 

(Fact: Like Hermione, my parents are also muggles.)

Like most brunette American pre-teen girls, I was convinced there was some cosmic mistake when the producers of Sorcerer's Stone said they would only cast true Brits for the film- and I had the bad luck to be born and raised in the wrong hemisphere!

Actually, I remember being upset in the third movie when suddenly, Emma Watson was pretty... which to my thirteen-year-old brain was very unfair, considering book-Hermione and myself were still in full awkward-phase. (I mean pants with elastic waistbands and a middle part that stayed around until high school.)
But alas, we all grow up sooner or later. 

Like so many others, I made sure to re-read the seventh book before seeing the movie. It was so fulfilling to finally see everyone back on-screen for the battle of Hogwarts.
And guess what?

The last time I saw Dean Thomas, he held my hand.

So I think he's still my boyfriend.