Once I remember reading the fourth book of Harry Potter in two days, (of course, I had hoped it wouldn’t take too long). But, I was flying with my parents to go to their high school reunion in Michigan. I cracked open the book as we got on the turnpike. Before we reached the Quakertown exit, I was eating chocolate frogs on the Hogwarts train. After the long drive, we arrived to find the Philly airport in chaos. Summer storms had cancelled dozens of flights. The queues of angry passengers were endless. Check in staff were standing on desks and shouting out flight information. Me, I eagerly started the chapter and experienced the Quidditch World Cup final.

In the end, our flight was cancelled. We’re booked the following morning to leave from ABE (our local airport). So, we didn’t have to make another two hour drive to Philly. The counter lady was so relieved with how pleasant my parents were that she gave us free dinner/ice cream vouchers for Friendly’s. It was my only disappointment as my parents outvoted me to go home instead.

The next day, we boarded our 6 am flight. It was fine as I eagerly devoured scene after scene of the Triwizard tournament: Harry out maneuvering the Hungarian horntail or escaping the grindylows in the lake. We had further delays in Chicago O’Hare. In the end, my father rented a truck and drove us the final leg of the journey. I huddled on the floor behind the seats. It was like being 6 years old again. The whole drive my nose was buried in the book and I finished the final duel between Lord Voldemort and Harry in the last 10 miles.

As my Aunt Candy greeted us at the back door, she asked, “Good trip.”

“Excellent!” I replied, remembering nothing of the plane and car trips, only that Lord Voldemort had returned.