Hurtling towards the end

Four years ago, I was presented with my own hardcover copy of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince as a birthday present. I'd been rudely spoilered about a major event in the book, which *glares at kappa* still grates slightly whenever I am brought to remember it. Other than that, my relationship with this lovely series is all mostly water under the bridge by now. A fond memory, is what I associate HP with nowadays.

But now that we're reaching the end, I am reminded again of what this book meant to me.

Book VI is my favourite, (not counting the VII, which everybody more or less liked) and the only one which I can safely say, makes it to competing ground with my other staunch favourite, II. As far as I was concerned, it topped I, which is all that mattered when you had then only read I, II and III. But, on to the point of this rambly post.

Harry Potter remains the only book series which I was fan (mad) enough to sit at an unprotected public bus stop with a friend for over two hours to discuss our theories regarding the books. So there. That sort of trounces any of those pointless rallying cheers that we were forced to do to get the class to bond together... I say Harry Potter! The Boy who Lived unites the world in not just the battle against evil, but in a singular tribute to the wonderful, wonderful world of the imagination. It's also the sort of thing that gets perfect strangers talking to each other - and what more spectacular thing is that?

Now... try to remain calm. I in fact believe, as I am typing this, that the bus stop thing didn't happen once... it happened twice... once for VI and one more time for VII... I think? Oh dear.