[dropcap]H[/dropcap]arry Potter was the first full-length novel I’d ever read. As my school’s library only had one very popular copy of The Philosopher’s Stone, upon a friend’s request, I convinced my parents to order me the book from a Scholastic book form, and ever since cracking open the fresh-scented, glossy paperback that one afternoon in second grade, my imagination was captivated. I fell in love. The plots and settings were rich, the characters so believable I felt as though I knew them personally. I did know them personally. In too many respects, their trials and tribulations felt as if they…
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