When I was an 11-year-old girl, I was obsessed with Harry Potter. Like many others, I had spent my childhood reading the books, watching the films, and telling everyone that I was definitely 100% a Ravenclaw. Despite knowing that it was all fiction, 11-year-old me still hoped, just a little bit, that her Hogwarts letter would arrive.

Disappointingly, no such letter ever did arrive. Instead, I was to attend the not-so-magical local comp, and to be taught about coastal defenses rather than transfiguration. Still, bright-eyed and eager to achieve, I set my sights on excelling in school with hopes of 'university' in the future - though I had no clue which one.

The first time I heard of the mysterious and elusive 'Oxbridge' was during a ‘Waterloo Road’ episode which I was watching with my mum. In the episode, one of the teachers suggested to a student that they should apply to ‘Oxbridge’. Not sure what it meant, I asked my mum what on earth an 'Oxbridge' was, and she told me that it stood for Oxford and Cambridge. Still curious, I asked why the teacher had told the girl to apply there. I was told simply 'because it's where the smartest students go'. That was it, then. In all my 11-year-old modesty I decided that I was going to Oxbridge, and that was that.

As the years went on, I researched Cambridge until I knew it back to front. It was what I wanted. I had married myself to Cambridge in a Gatbsy-esque fashion, all without even setting foot in the place.

" I had married myself to Cambridge in a Gatbsy-esque fashion, all without even setting foot in the place"

In Year 12, with a strong set of GCSEs behind me, the dream finally started to look real. Whilst I had been bothering people with my love of Cambridge for years by now, it was only when I was nominated to go down on a 'History and Politics Taster day' which allowed me to see the place for real. It was truly magical. The gorgeous architecture, taster lectures that were the first to push my intellectual capabilities, and the intimidating but inspiring atmosphere that oozed greatness and achievements which had echoed throughout centuries. I wanted it.

When applications rolled around, I was one of three 'Oxbridge' candidates from my school, and we all made it to the interview stage. My interview was the first time I saw my college - it was stunning. Whilst I had visited other universities and felt inspired, this was a truly overwhelming feeling. My interviews were tough, but thrilling. After I finished up my law exam, I thought I'd blown it, but headed to train station having felt like I belonged for the first time in my life. On January 12th, I screamed and jumped up and down in pure joy. I was in! I had gotten an offer, and I was the only one from the 3 applicants that had. I had put so much hope and passion and dedication into this dream, and it was finally, finally real. I had my Hogwarts letter.

I studied hard. I couldn't lose this now. I couldn't let myself down. I waited for results, and when I finally checked track that morning... my place at York had been confirmed. Cambridge was still conditional. Devastated doesn't even begin to explain it. I rushed into school, only to see the crushing piece of paper which read AAA. Some marks seemed odd, so I got them remarked, but I was convinced that such an effort would be fruitless, particularly when the policy on remarks had changed this year, making essay subjects (which my exams were) almost impossible to go up. I spent the entirety of results day endlessly refreshing my emails whilst my friends celebrated, waiting for news on whether my college would take me anyway. Later that evening, the answer was I had been pooled. This meant more waiting, and it ended in a bitter email. I had been rejected. I was heartbroken.

I got myself prepared for the University of York. An amazing University, but I felt downtrodden nonetheless. When my remarks returned A*AA, meaning I had met my offer, I was elated. Running downstairs to tell my mum in tears, I realised my dream had come true, and my excitement has only grown since.

I can't wait to make new friends, to live in a beautiful old building on the river, to walk in the footsteps of giants. Yet I am also wary. I have been told many stories of the University's darker side – the relentless workload, the lonely nights in battling anxiety, and the spectre of students who feel it is appropriate to abuse homeless people. Chances are I fell in love with the idea of Cambridge, not the reality. Hogwarts isn't real, and my dream of Cambridge probably won't be either. I can't wait to find out for myself