Eventually I will stop writing about things that happened a month ago and actually live in the present. But I just have to write about one of the more significant events of my summer/life: the final Harry Potter movie midnight showing. I’m pretty sure that I’ve seen every single HP movie on opening day (if not the midnight showing)—in fact, one of my favorite memories of seventh grade was the day my best friend’s mom checked me out of school early and drove my friend and I up to PA to see the first HP movie at a special premiere showing. Once a nerd, always a nerd.
I like to think that I’ve matured since my awkward pre-teen years, but I’m sorry to report that my desire to wait in line with hundreds of other geeks (wearing cloaks, hand-made wands, eye-liner scars, and fake glasses) to see a movie about “the boy who lived” has not waned. Not in the slightest. If anything, the ten-year waiting span has only increased my weirdness. The sad part about this whole thing is that I usually don’t even like the movies. My brothers can attest to the fact that I usually emerge from the theater disgruntled, quoting large passages from the books and pointing out gaping holes in the movie plotlines. The movies are terrible.
The real issue is simple: I am a true HP fanatic. And I have definitely read the books way too many times. You know there is something truly wrong with you when you start assuming that the guy at the grocery store with a tattoo on his left forearm has been branded with the dark mark, that the pounding headache you’ve had for the past three nights is probably a sign that Voldemort is coming back, and that the weird language being spoken by the bum next to you on the subway is definitely parseltounge. It’s been over ten years of suspense and adventure, but it’s time to hang up my Harry Potter beach towel and mini-backpack and shelve my seven weathered books. The final movie couldn’t have come at a better time—with my graduation from college and my official entrance into adulthood, it’s time to bid farewell to my childhood obsession (much to the relief of my mother, who remarked quite seriously as she took “privet drive” pictures of me and my brother the night of the midnight showing, “you are a fool. No one is going to marry you”…). So it is with slight trepidation, some sadness, but mostly fond reminiscence that I say goodbye to Harry and friends.
Expecto Patronum.
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