On the thirty-first of July, 1980, a little boy was born in Godric's Hollow.
On the first of November, 1981, the boy was left on the doorstep of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. Left, but not forgotten.
On the thirty-first of July, 1991, the boy was told that he was every ounce as special as he could ever dream of being.
On the first of September, 1991, the boy met the two people who would be his best friends for the rest of his life.
On the twelfth of September, 1991, the boy learned to fly. And he learned that flight, after all, was not so terrifying a prospect.
On the first of November, 1991, five thousand, one hundred and twenty-four miles away from the boy, a little girl was born in a busy city.
On the twenty-fourth of June, 1992, the boy stood up to evil, and knew from that day on that he always must.
On the thirteenth of June, 1993, the boy saved the day and brushed paths with a piece of his destiny. He was not afraid.
On the twelfth of August, 1993, the boy learned what it was to lose control, and what it took to wrestle it back.
On the twelfth of June, 1994, the boy discovered that people, no matter the situation, can be painted the wrong colors.
On the thirty-first of October, 1994, the boy was forced into the clockwork of a master plan. He fought it anyway.
On the twenty-fourth of June, 1995, the boy saw his worst fear come to life before his eyes, and did not falter.
On the seventh of September, 1995, the boy was called a liar. He knew he was not, and for the time being, it was enough.
On the twelfth of November, 1995, the boy became a leader.
On the twenty-fifth of June, 1996, the boy lost what he loved most, learned what it was to hate, and what it was to love more.
On the first of September, 1996, the little girl five thousand, one hundred and twenty-four miles away from the boy first heard the word 'resilience.'
On the first of March, 1997, the boy nearly lost the most important person in his life. He knew then that he was no one without the people he loved.
On the twenty-first of June, 1997, the boy lost the one man who knew the answers to everything. He did not stop fighting.
On the first of August, 1997, the boy vanished. Things were not what they seemed.
On the second of December, 1997, the little girl lost the one woman who knew the answers that could have completely changed her life. She did not stop fighting.
On the second of December, 1997, the boy was abandoned. He knew he could not quit.
On the twenty-fifth of December, 1997, the boy found his parents, and learned that there are things in this world that are worth dying for.
On the twenty-fifth of December, 1997, the little girl saw sorrow, and learned that there are things in this world that are worth living for.
On the fourth of April, 1998, the boy learned that to a very small someone, he could mean the world.
On the second of May, 1998, the boy died, and the man came back to life to save everything he loved. Because love, no matter how small, will always burn brightly as a fierce new sun, dazzling on broken windows above a ruined castle.
On the first of November, 1998, the little girl gingerly picked up the book, freshly removed from its wrapping paper. She brushed her fingers against the raised, golden letters on its cover, lovingly touched the sparkling stars against the violet sky. She was never the same again.
This is a personal thank-you to everyone who has ever been a part of the Harry Potter Universe; the creators, the players, the imaginers, the builders, the heart, the soul, and most of all, the magic. My childhood does not end tonight. No. My childhood lives as long as I have magic. And thanks to wonderful people like J.K. Rowling, I always will.
My childhood is not over. But that was a beautiful entr'acte.