Okay so I have two, one from the start of my childhood and one from the end. Both mean so much to me and the whole series of these books have touched me. But these two passages were when I knew my magical childhood was about to start and when I suddenly had to grow up.
Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone:
Harry kept to his room, with his new owl for company. He had decided to call her Hedwig, a name he had found in A Hisotry of Magic. His school books were very interesting. He lay on his bed reading late into the night, Hedwig swopping in and out of the window as she pleased. It was lucky that Aunt Petunia didn’t come in to hoover any more, because Hedwig kept bringing back dead mice. Every night before he went to sleep, Harry ticked off another day on the piece of paper he had pinned to the wall, counting down to September the first.
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows:
“What if I’m in Slytherin?”
The whisper was for his father alone, and Harry knew that only the moment of departure could have forced Albus to reveal how great and sincere that fear was.
Harry crouched down so that Albus’s face was slightly above his own. Alone of Harry’s three children, Albus has inherited Lily’s eyes.
“Albus Serverus,” Harry said quietly, so that nobody but Ginny could hear, and she was tactful enough to pretend to be waving to Rose, who was no on the train, “you were named for two headmasters of Hogwarts. One of them was a Slytherin and he was probably the bravest man I ever knew.”
“But just say -“
”- then Slytherin house will have gained an excellent student, won’t it? It doesn’t matter to us, Al. But if it matters to you, you’ll be able to choose Gryffndor over Slytherin. The Sorting Hat takes your choice into account.”
“Really?”
“It did for me,” said Harry.
He had never told any of his children that before, and he saw the wonder in Albus’s face when he said it. But now the doors were slamming all along the scarlet train, and the blurred outlines of parents were swarming forwards for final kisses, last-minute reminders. Albus jumped into the carriage and Ginny closed the door behind him. Students were hanging from the windows nearest them. A great number of faces, both on the train and off, seemed to be turned towards Harry.
“Why are they all staring?” demanded Albus, as he and Rose craned round to look at the other students.
“Don’t let it worry you,” said Ron. “It’s me. I’m extremely famous.”
Albus, Rose, Hugo and Lily laughed. The train began to move, and Harry walked alongside it, watching his son’s thin face, already ablaze with excitement. Harry kept smiling and waving, even thought it was like a little bereavement, watching his son glide away from him …
The last trace of steam evaporated in the autumn air. The train rounded a corner, Harry’s hand was still raised in farewell.
“He’ll be alright,” murmured Ginny.
As Harry looked at her, he lowered his hand absent-mindedly and touched the lightning scar on his forehead.
“I know he will.”
The scar had not pained Harry for nineteen years. All was well.
