Starting to dislike/realize the flaws in Harry Potter feels like waking up from the trance of a fairy king.

The smile slowly fades from your face as you step out of the circle of mushrooms, asking yourself “Did Joanne really win awards for this level of writing?” The glassy look begins to vanish from your eyes as you think, “Why did Cho Chang get constantly berated by the narration for grieving her graphically murdered dead boyfriend?” You remove your flower crown and hold it in shaking hands as you ask yourself “Were we all just fine and dandy when Jay Kay Ar decided that one of the four houses at her wizarding school was founded by a faux white supremacist and was also FULL of eleven-year-olds who were forcibly designated as white supremacists?” The sky grows darker. You remember the Tolkien plagiarism. You remember the house elves. You remember the banker goblins. You begin to run—