Dear Harry Potter,

As our relationship draws to a close, I'd like to thank you for your support over the years. We first met when I was just a wee little girl in a elementary school, I don't even remember the year. Since then, we flourished and bloomed until I was completely, fully blown obsessed with you. Oh, the countless times I read those pages and hoped that when I turned eleven, my owl would come to my house and tap on my window, in its beak carrying a Hogwarts sealed envelope with glittery green writing addressed to me.

Now I'm almost fifteen, and I know that's not going to happen. It was all a fairy tale. Thanks for the inspiration anyway. I still keep my wands in my drawers and my broom is perched in my closet, waiting for the day I form my Community Muggle Quidditch Team, if that ever comes to fruition. My robes, scarves, and house ties are hanging in the same closet, waiting for the early morning of the fifteenth of July, which will truly mark the end of an era, the end of us. Not that I'll never read the books or see the movies again, because I will.

It feels like you're dying, though, Harry. I'm sorry things had to end this way, but it's a clean break. The credits will roll, the theater will empty. My eyes will be swimming, but I'll get out and shuffle out of the theatre with the rest of all of the other heartbroken fans who will never see another Harry Potter movie in the theaters after that.

It's time to hang up the wizard robe and put the wands back in their boxes, bring the Thestrals in from the pasture, dismount the hippogriffs, and pack away the potion bottles. Hogwarts is closing, and my pewter cauldron will be of no more use to me. I don't think I ever will again look out of the common room and see the giant squid in the Lake or smell the crisp morning on the Quidditch pitch.

Who am I kidding? I've never done any of those things. Not in real life, anyway. Only thanks to you, Harry, have I been able to feel like I've done those things. The words in your pages have brought those images to life in my malleable imagination. And it is because of this, Harry, that I thank-you for being there for all those times when I had nobody to talk to. It is because of this, Harry, that I can honestly say this:

Mischief Managed.