I turned page 607 and prepared to read the next word- I remember feeling so wonderful at that moment, curled up in a sleeping bag beside my fellow classmates on the hard but inviting floor of Ms.Wexlers 6th grade ELA classroom. I was the only one really reading in the reading marathon- it had just begun and i was already deep into my book while everyone else scanned magazines and ate starburst. My eyes searched the next page- nothing. There was nothing. Nothing at all. That was it. Then it hit me.

Harry Potter was over.

For good.

And that's when I started to cry.

In the middle of 7th period ELA I started to cry like a little girl.

I'd hit the end of the line- there would be no more long nights just reading Harry Potter for hours on end, there would be no more opening fresh pages and fresh books with words and and themes and ideas just waiting to happen. No more running out of rooms and hiding in closets with my ears between my knees singing Jingle Bells as loud as possible when my mom and brother talked about The Deathly Hallows to avoid accidental spoilers.

And at that moment- in my dorky flannel pajama's and L.L bean sleeping bag, in school with all the tears and running mascara and strange looks- my heart just broke into a million pieces. I've never quite been satisfied with any book I've read since that day. Nothing has ever had that strong of an effect on me. Don't get me wrong- I still have books I like and books I love, and reading remains on the top of my facebook list of hobbies and interests- there has just never been a book that touched me in the way that Harry Potter did.

So naturally, you would think that as soon as The Tales of Beetle The Bard came out I would, like every other devoted Harry Potter fan, snatch it up, ecstatic and devour the stories that were as close as I would ever get to another Harry Potter book. However, I did quite the opposite- since my brother bought it, it was on our living room bookshelf right next to the rest of the series- but, I avoided the book at all costs. I hated it. I really really hated it. It felt like a fake book. Like one of those books that are written by other authors once the original one is dead (even though J.K. Rowling wrote it). The kind that are written when everyone knows the book cannot continue and that's the next best thing. It felt like that book was just created for money, which disgusted me- I thought that Harry Potter was an amazing piece of literature and if it was over, it was over. It shouldn't be stretched out for more money. But, more than this, it felt like a tease- it wasn't Harry Potter- he wouldn't be in it, and neither would Hermione or Ron or any other character that I missed having the company of. It was just stories from their world- there would be no mention of how they were doing or what had become of their friends- it was just there to tease me.

The other day, however, rushing out of the house in the morning, impulse made me reach up to that shelf and take down The tales of Beetle the Bard. I'm not sure what or why but, something inside of me kept saying "why not? go for it! give it a chance, just a chance". And now, I'm about halfway through it, giving it a fair chance, and I'm honestly so glad that I did. I'll admit that about this one thing, I was wrong. This book is not a tease, not really. And it is, in a way about the characters that I love- not directly but, about their childhood. When I read these stories I can see them being read to Ron by Mrs.Weasley, Hermione studying them as a teenager, and Harry reading them to his own children, giving them the magical upbringing he never had and remembering his journey as a kid and young man.