As I am about to graduate and leave Clayton High forever, I think I can finally reveal a deep secret of mine: I am in love with a much older man. Born in July of 1980 (at least, according to the estimates of a prominent fan website), my darling, who has, by the way, absolutely no idea that I exist, is in his thirties now and happily married to his high school (or whatever passes as high school when you’re a wizard in Britain) sweetheart.

I’ve been in love with Harry Potter for just about my entire school career (well, actually, I prefer Ron, but I will not go into that now). Ever since I was very small, my mother read to me. I think she grew tired of picture books and chapter books aimed at pre-K children because she took to reading me novels. I loved “Alice in Wonderland” and “The Secret Garden”; the learn-to-read collection at my library did not excite me. I, personally, did not care that the dizzy dog dug dirty ditches. Having known the letter D for a while, I opted to allow more complex plots to be read to me rather than learning to peruse pointedly phonics-oriented books on my own.

That is, until a kind grandparent gifted me the first three Harry Potter books. I read them, reluctantly at first, but then with such voracity that my parents were amazed. Finishing the last of my collection one summer afternoon, I proceeded to spend the next few days in the throes of my life’s most intense period of pining: I spent hours lying on the living room floor, imagining wizardly plots and imploring my parents to take me to the library or bookstore to obtain “Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire,” the fourth book in the series. And the (one-sided, as, like I said, my fictional beau remains unaware of Americans living in reality) love affair blossomed from there.

In a bout of simultaneous inevitable nostalgia and astounding coincidence, the Harry Potter franchise comes to an end (“Deathly Hallows: Part 2” will be released in July) the same summer my high school class goes off to college. Like many of my peers, I grew up with the boy wizard and can spit out a list of favorite characters (Tonks, Luna, Lupin, among others), a ridiculous slew of irrelevant facts (did you know that the Weasley twins were born on April Fools Day?), and the chronology of the series much more accurately than any historical movement’s.

Harry Potter has done a lot for me—without him I never, ever would have even considered majoring in English, which I now plan to do quite firmly. More importantly, I never would have learned to enjoy reading at all. As my first true love, the Boy Who Lived will always hold a special place in my heart. This love will continue even after I have mourned his end, graduated from college and started a life in the real world of my own. ⎫