User blog comment:JoePlay/Wizarding World Giveaway/@comment-4172766-20110720024827

The eighteenth of August, 2005, was arguably the worst day of my entire life. I got on the bus, my hands clenched around the straps of my backpack, on the verge of tears. My parents had told me I was being silly, melodramatic, behaving in an honestly-Amanda-stop-this-right-now kind of way. But how could I not be devastated? I was eleven years old and going to school. Muggle school. I had spent the entire preceding week checking the mailbox, the fireplace, the front door, the porch, nearby trees. But no letter ever came. Of course no letter came, my parents would tell me; Hogwarts wasn’t real. Ha. I scoffed at the very notion. And so I spent my first day sixth grade in a daze, puzzling over the wide range of possible mistakes. Had the owl gotten lost? Had they forgotten to even send one? By now, I have long since come to terms with the fact that my letter is several years late. However, I am patient. I learned that much from waiting the long months, years, between each installment. In the meantime, I deal with my life as it is. As mundane as Muggles are known to be, my life has been, while not exactly cookie-cutter, rather unremarkable. One of the shining beacons in that dull landscape has always been the magnificence that is the World of Wizardry. That feeling of magic, just close enough that you can't see it, that sense of childlike wonder that accompanies the unknown behind each turning page. Harry Potter is forever entwined with my life in a way that very few things are. Holding onto that magic has helped me survive the darkest moments of my life, my knuckles white, clutching my wand, even as my sister laughs. "You know that's all just imagination, right?" she says. She doesn't understand. Just because it's in your head doesn't mean it's not real. And honestly, that's the best part!