Of Spells and Witchcraft

When I was young, I used to believe in the power of magic - But then magic never existed and lions cannot fly. It was in the middle of my first grade when the first sequel of the Harry Potter movie series was released. I was seven years old back when this happened. J.K. Rowling's book-turned-to-movie about a young boy named Harry and his school of witchcraft and wizardry took the mob by storm. I was one of the many kids who got so engrossed with it. On one school day, all the children from my class were waving their pencils furiously in the air as if some divine intervention would spurt out of the wooden thing. I didn't get why they were doing such even if they kept pointing pencils at me. I didn't feel a sense of belongingness right there, I really wanted to cry. Finally, a good classmate of mine said, "Harry Potter! Haven't you heard? You should watch the film!" Like an instant spark, I got what they meant. That night, I earnestly begged my mom and dad to take me to the theater so I could watch the movie. After an hour of wailing and throwing tantrums, they finally gave in. I was literally jumping up and down as we were walking down the corridor looking for vacant seats. Many people hushed at me due to the fact that I was distracting their view. After what seemed an eternity, we finally got our seats - in front. My eyes were glued to the screen for an hour and a half which felt like only minutes to me. When the movie ended, I got a pencil from my school bag and waved it hysterically while yelling "Wingradiem Leviosa!" I exclaimed this levitating spell and pointed the make-believe wand to my dad. He just smiled and walked me by the hand towards the exit. I tried the spell again on a little child who was about two years younger than me. "WINGARDIEM LEVIOSA!", I tried harder. He just looked at me for a few seconds and cried. His move gave me a very scary stare that I would remember for the rest of my life. I ran away stumbling into a very sophisticated boutique. Since the store was closed, I foolishly tried magic to open the door. I tapped the knob and whispered, "Alohomora!". The same thing happened - nothing. I finally gave up with a slump on my shoulder. My mom patted me on the head and said, "Magic isn't real and there are no such things as flying lions and wands my dear." I looked at her with an expression of sheer disappointment. With that I waved the pencil for the last time and threw it away on the pavement. I went to sleep hurt knowing that magic is called magic because it isn't real in the first place.