In a way, I feel like this whole thing follows the 5 stages of grief model pretty well:
1. Denial: (circa Nov. 2010) "It's not really ending. July is forever away from now!"
2. Anger: "How dare they end shfsdjkslsrrrr how dare they to rip my childhood away from me."
3. Bargaining: "Dear JK Rowling: BOOK. EIGHT. *repeat as chant ad infinitum* PS: Pretty please with sugar and cherries and sprinkles and chocolate frogs on top. Signed, Everyone."
4. Depression: "It's the end of an era; this will be the last time that *fill in long list of HP-related moments*; please excuse me if I whimper at the thought."
5. Acceptance: Coming soon to a theater near you.
Looking back on the half of my life I've spent with these books and movies and this community, the way they've shaped me is almost indescribable. If I hadn't read Harry Potter (or seen the movies; let's assume for the sake of fictionality that I live under a very large rock), I wouldn't be a Nerdfighter. I wouldn't have the same best friend IRL. I wouldn't aspire to be a novelist. I wouldn't be blogging about this right now. Speaking as the person I am, I can't really imagine what I'd be like.
When I was in the second grade, before I had even read the books, my music teacher had a "guess this tune" game with our class. She played Hedwig's Theme on piano, just the first eight notes or so. Everyone else knew what it was, but that's beside the point. Those eight notes were so hauntingly beautiful, and I was struck by them in the way a piece of music hadn't touched me before nor do I think one has ever since. There's something intriguing, inviting, magical about them. And in two weeks I'm probably going to tear up whenever I hear them. That's something strange to think about. When, after I see the last film, am I going to hear them again? In ten years will I see someone on a bus who has it as their ringtone? And will I meet their gaze for a second, sharing a knowing look of nostalgia between strangers?
I probably will.