The Witching Hour
It was 12:00 AM, the stroke of midnight, when the secret keepers opened their magic boxes filled with copies of "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows." Bubbles of laughter floated by on a sea of expectant chatter. Strangers smiled at strangers, acknowledging their common bond: Potter Pals, one and all.
In line for the checkout, a little boy danced in excitement; a small, elderly woman carefully counted out single dollars and many coins; a biker type leaned casually against the counter, feigning boredom between furtive peeks at page one. No one lingered to chat. A few actually sprinted back to their cars.
Slipping behind the wheel, I flipped on the radio and found J.K. Rowling there, reading from the first page. Groaning, I turned it off. Badly as I wanted to hear the reading, I wanted even more to discover every word for myself.
Thus began a luxuriously lost weekend, one shared with thousands and thousands of fans around the world. I read until 3 AM that Saturday morning, all I could manage after a full day's work. TV, radio, newspapers, friends and the Internet were declared temporarily off-limits, to avoid any spoilers. It took me until around 2:30 AM Monday morning to finish.
I emerged from Rowling's world elated and exhausted, both physically and emotionally. The story was wonderful, and THE END came too soon. And we will not see the likes of it again.
* It seems too early for a post that reveals all. To avoid ruining the experience for anyone who might wander by, I won't comment here just yet on the details. If you have a discussion of the book going on your blog, please post a link in the comments, OK? (No spoilers in comments, please!)