A long time ago, in a land far, far away known as Rhode Island, a young girl was opening her presents on the beautiful Christmas morning of 2001. It was beautiful, but there was no snow. No snow you may ask? Well, Rhode Island was a strange land. It had the most peculiar weather, and there were many a Christmases where not a single snowflake would fall from the sky. The lack of snow did not distract the young girl from the glam and glitter of the Christmas tree, the presents beneath it, and the blubber of noises coming from her three-year-old twin sisters. No, Isabel was focused on ripping apart the colorful wrapping paper from Santa to see what she had been given. Soon enough, she had opened all of her presents. There were clothes–the usual present a seven-year-old would get. But there was one present Isabel was completely fascinated about. A hardcover book, with its crisp pages and smell. On the cover was a boy catching a snitch. The title of this book? Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone.
Before you could say “Quidditch,” Isabel had read the book. She fell in love. She was mesmerized by the magic; sucked in by the story and its characters. It was the best book she had ever read. Before she turned eight, she read the second, and the third, and the fourth. No one could stop her from reading these books, not even the evilest of people. But there was something more that happened when she read these books. Yes, she became a dedicated and loyal fan, but there was something else. The Harry Potter books and their author, J.K. Rowling, inspired her to start writing her own stories. At this age, she was writing at most five page stories, starring her and her best friends on amazing adventures. Her passion for writing grew, as did her passion for Harry Potter as she started seeing the movies. Harry Potter and writing were one for young Isabel. She would explain, for the rest of her life, that she was not only an obsessed fan–that the books also inspired her to write and made her want to grow up to be an author. Yet, no matter how many times she would tell this to friends or to people she just met, no one really knew Harry Potter’s actual importance. It was a feeling–a love–no one, not even Isabel, could describe in detail. And it only got stronger as she grew older, and as the phenomenon grew to a close. It still gets stronger, even if it is now over. A relationship like this one will never end. Historians say Queen Elizabeth was “married” to England. Well, Isabel’s first “marriage” was to the book series she first layed her eyes on at age seven.