Yesterday, I drove from Birmingham to Nottingham to watch the last Harry Potter with my friend Milena. Some may wonder, why I drive an hour to watch a film with someone, but the reasons are simple. For one, I really like Milena and wanted to catch up in person anyway. And even more importantly, I wanted to watch the film with someone who wanted to see the film as badly as I did.

I am totally unashamedly a huge fan of the Harry Potter series. I love kid’s fiction a lot and often feel that writers of so-called grown up fiction can learn a lot from writer’s writing for a youth audience. Like many adults who found themselves lost in the books, for me the attraction has always also been the fact that I identified with Harry. The reality of his day to day life was gruesome and then suddenly a magical letter came and all was good. When I was little, I dreamt of a rescue too.

It felt sad watching the last film, knowing it was all over but at the same time, it also felt really good on the way home when I realised that I cried during the film for the ending of Harry Potter and that I was no longer crying about the past. And that was a rather good feeling.

I will miss the wizard and I am sure I will read those books many times again, listening to the audiobooks while doing the washing up, folding laundry or cleaning the bathroom and watching the films when I am alone and hopefully, in years to come I hope to share the experience with my daughter.

As Alan Rickman said in an interview: “When I’m 80 years old and sitting in my rocking chair, I’ll be reading Harry Potter. And my family will say to me, “After all this time?” And I will say, “Always.”

Me too.