When I was 10 I really believed I was going to receive a letter to Hogwarts for my 11th birthday. I waited and waited when my December birthday finally rolled around. It took me a really long to come to terms with the fact that I was not and was never going to be a Wizard. The magic and potion books I collected were all useless to me then. I broke all of my wands and refused to watch Harry Potter ever again because it was full of lies.

I was in London for a holiday when the final Harry Potter movie came out many years later. It wasn't the reason I went but was an entirely unplanned coincidence. I watched the film with a friend in a tiny old cinema in Surrey (where Harry had lived in his Aunt Petunia and Vernon kept him in the cupboard under the stairs). It was strange to have that whole Harry Potter chapter of my life end like that. Though, it kind of made me feel magical which took me back to how I felt about being a wizard.