JK Rowling is reaping the Potter whirlwind

I have a confession: as a child I was the biggest Harry Potter fan in the muggle world. I had the books in special-edition hardback. A Gryffindor cloak. A collection of fiberglass wands, for Christ’s sake. My older sister would read the books to my twin and I before bed; eventually they were the first books I read on my own. I wept on Lincoln high street when I came out of the final film. I tend to keep these details under my hat; it wouldn’t do to be tarred with the brush of the unreformed adult Potterheads, whose earnestness and enthusiasm for roleplay deeply disturbs me. But it means I do understand the power of J.K. Rowling’s childhood-shaping novels. And so I wasn’t entirely surprised to learn about the shrine on Freshwater West beach in Pembrokeshire. Here, a tumble of painted rocks