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When a book gets spoiled

I would like to thank, with perhaps as much earnesty as some unfavourable politician, the classmate of mine — he knows who he is — who thought it’d be perfectly fine to blurt, in full pride for all present to hear, and in full knowledge that there were others present, the identity of the one who was to die in Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.

I must not be so blind as to lay all the credit with one person; the classmate who asked him, who neither was neither deaf nor blind and hence knew of others’ presence, may well deserve some appreciation. Hence, I thank him too.

I will not be so cruel as to release this information here, even if I am the last to read the novel, or for that matter anything to do with the book, lest some unsuspecting reader want to thank me in the same way. I do apologise, incidentally, that I have mentioned the death already.

On a more sincere note, I thank my second-eldest sister who, after discovering my misfortunes, did her best to counter them buy misleading me to believe my ears had failed me, or that that first classmate was incorrect.

She made a partial, even almost-complete, success in that I did not begin the book in full knowledge of the ending. However, knowledge of who it might be at least partly ruined the story’s climax, because, well, I knew who died. Thankfully, finer details of the death were still unknown to me, and I still had that minor shade of doubt lingering in my mind.

It is fair, nevertheless, to reiterate the effect of spoilers — inadvetent or purposeful: they destroy the story. Whether it is of a bigger issue to those that read more than I do, which is practically everyone, I do not know.

Either way, I am disappointed, to say the least, in those that could not care less. And I ask if they could ever, please, think of others and the bigger picture. And I fear, or perhaps realise would be a better word, that these pleas may well go unnoticed.

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