The mailman delivered the last Harry Potter a few hours ago, and I’ve already settled into it.
I’m quite proud of myself: I kept away from spoilers, and my favorite bookstore’s midnight bash, and even my favorite restaurant at lunchtime today (It’s right smack next door to the bookstore). Therefore, opening the Harry Potter box was a proper literary fulfilment.
I tried to enjoy the months of waiting, too. After all, nobody in the future will ever have that delicious, tempting experience of not knowing that we Potter fans have known since the sixth book came out. With that unknowing, anything could happen: anyone could die, or become headmaster.
I’m going to miss that not knowing. Not too much, but I will.