It's finished. I've finished it. At 8:41pm PST, the 22nd of July Year 2007, I finished Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by JK Rowling. I won't spoil anything, won't say anything about the details unless it's in a protected chat forum or in real life to people who've finished it too, not for months and months. But I don't care what people will think about this book--JKR said people would hate it, and I bet they will, because there's really no way around it and people will be all, "Aww, my theory just got crushed, waaah..." But in my opinion, this is the most beautiful, tenderly, delicately woven story, perhaps one of the greatest books written in all history. I love it, I love it to pieces, I've been sobbing since Chapter 34, I think, and there's no more beautiful way for it to have ended, to it to have come to pass, that's how it is, it was, it will be forever and ever and ever and no matter what ruddy fanfic some daydreaming, ignorant, cynical, haughty jerk comes up with, it's the most beautiful, the greatest tale ever, and no one can ever change it. 

I don't want to RP Harry Potter RPs anymore, not the ones I was in, anyways. They've lost all their luster and appeal, putting words in the mouths of dead men and attempting to change what happened to them and their family and their lives by pretending. It's the same bloody despicableness as bad fanfic. Wishing is nice, but it's for children. I wouldn't change what JKR wrote, not for the world. It's too beautiful. It's hallowed, in a sense... my mum probably thinks I'm mad, for crying. She still doesn't quite understand why people get so connected to characters, to books, to stories, to worlds... perhaps she never will. 

I was wrong, on a lot of points. We all were. And I'm very, very glad we were.