This is something I’ve been wanting to write for a long time. Harry Potter has made a distinct impact on me, as it has to all it’s other readers. Even now, I clearly remember the first time I read a Harry Potter book. It was when I was 11. My elder brother introduced it to me. And the first Harry Potter book I read was not Harry Potter and the philosopher’s stone- which is the first one of the series. It was Harry Potter and the goblet of fire- the fourth book. At first, I found it really boring. It made no sense to me. But I persevered. A few days later, I stopped reading the fourth book. I started again, from the first. And this time I didn’t stop. I kept reading and reading and reading until I was at the last word of the last page of the last book of the series- which was a year later. I read, and reread the books over and over again until all the chapters were imprinted on my mind. Harry Potter was my greatest friend all those months. And when I finally completed it, I was sad- I was sad because I would never again get the feeling of reading Harry Potter for the first time again. The suspense was gone- I always knew what was coming in the next few pages. And yet, even now, whenever I spot a Harry Potter book on our bookshelf on a rainy day, I find it impossible to refrain myself from picking it up- and running my eyes over those familiar lines. Harry Potter feels like an old friend of mine- one I grew up with. And even though it’s going to be a long wait, I’m dreaming about the day on which I would introduce Harry Potter to My children.