Reading a non-magic book by J.K. Rowling is strange. I read the first chapter and the entire time, I kept expecting to see Harry show up, or a door to a magical world open up along the way, even though I know they won’t. It’s kind of like that feeling you get after losing someone very important in your life. For the next few months after they’re gone, you keep expecting to see them walk through the door. You know they won’t, but you keep expecting them to because that’s what they’ve always done, and now they never will again.