It all started nearly 10 years ago. It was the fall of 2001, my very first semester of college. Some hallmates and I were sitting in my dorm’s common room, chatting about whatever and probably avoiding our respective papers and problem sets, when someone started talking about Harry Potter. I was only vaguely familiar with Harry Potter at that point, and so, as I am wont to do in situations where I’m clueless about the subject matter at hand, I voiced my indifference loudly.
"I’ve never read any Harry Potter books. I mean, if someone were to like, HAND me a book and go, ‘Read it,’ I would probably read it, but I don’t care enough to go out of my way for it.”
My friend Tim got up from his seat on the couch and disappeared into his room. He reemerged a minute later, strode across the room, and handed me a book.
“Read it.”
I looked at it. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. I was less than enthused, but I’m a woman of my word. When everyone adjourned for the night, I opened the book to page 1.
The next afternoon, I knocked on Tim’s door.
“TIM!”
He opened it. I promptly shoved the book back at him.
“Give me the next one.”
He smiled.
And that was how it all began.
I plowed through the first 4 books with a fervor I can’t say I’ve given to many other things in life. I was completely, totally, unabashedly hooked.
To say I’m maniacally obsessed with Harry Potter is an overstatement. I’ve never seen a midnight movie showing. I’ve never read fan fiction or discussed the books on message boards. I faired pretty poorly on this
Sporcle quiz that asks you to name the top 200 most mentioned characters in the Harry Potter series. I’ve never dressed up as any of the characters for any reason, save one drunken night when my friend put on my snuggie and thought she was Albus Dumbledore, so I put on my Hannah Montana wig and pretended to be Fleur Delacour.
I would be lying, though, if I said the Harry Potter series has had no impact on my life at all. I’ve accumulated more than enough great memories over the years.
When the first movie came out in November of 2001, I was there on opening night, my friend Brian and his older sister wearing matching glasses and lightning bolt stickers.
When the fifth book came out in the summer of 2003, my friend Jenny and I patiently waited for our turn to receive a book at Barnes and Noble in the middle of the night.
There was
Harry Potter Festathon, of course.
Earlier this year, when my friends and I got
rush tickets to see Daniel Radcliffe sing and dance (excellently and adorably, might I add) in How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying, we never referred to the show by its real name. Only by “Harry Potter Musical.” Because Daniel Radcliffe was Harry Potter before he was J Pierrepont Finch. But even further than that, the other cast members have ceased to be actors in my mind. No matter what else they do, Alan Rickman will always be Snape and Ralph Fiennes, as indistinguishable as his real face is from that of the character he plays, will always be Voldemort.
When the seventh book came out, I hadn’t yet gotten around to rereading the sixth, and I was committed to doing so before diving into 7. After a weekend in Boston, I sat down on the Greyhound bus back to New York and opened up Half Blood Prince. The girl next to me promptly opened up Deathly Hallows. We spent the entire 4 hour bus ride with our heads buried in the books, save the one or two times when I found it impossible to contain my curiosity.
“OH MY GOD YOU’VE READ SO MUCH HOW IS IT!?!?!”
“IT’S SO GOOD! But so…surprising!!! You’re going to love it.”
And then we would keep reading.
When I finally got around to reading HP7, I was torn. On the one hand, I was sneaking out of work for extended Starbucks runs or lunches, settling myself into a table and trying to read as much as possible, hoping my boss wouldn’t walk in and catch me. But on the other hand, I would reluctantly pull myself away from the book at the end of a chapter, not wanting the end to actually arrive.
That’s sort of how I feel now. I don’t want the end to arrive.
I haven’t seen the last movie yet, not because I’ve been avoiding it but because I’ve been busy. But in a way I want to push it off as long as possible. If I haven’t seen the last movie, it isn’t over. Not really.
This movie represents the last Harry Potter related thing I can truly look forward to. Sure, I can reread the books (and I will), and sure, I can rewatch the movies (and I will – can we say Harry Potter Festathon REDUX??), but it won’t be the same.
Since the end will likely come in the next few days, the last time any Harry Potter book or movie will ever be new to me, I feel the need to express my gratitude. To Jo Rowling, to Dan and Emma and Rupert, to the rest of the cast, and to everyone else who will never read this but who had a part in making this franchise the insanely addicting thing it is today.
From those of us who have debated which house the Sorting Hat would put us in (Ravenclaw).
From those of us who know that the original crush-worthy character was not Harry or Ron or Neville (RAWR), but Oliver Wood.
From those of us who have been a fan of Robert Pattinson long before he put on some sparkles and became known as “RPattz.”
Thank you. We’ve lost countless hours immersed in your books and movies, and we don’t regret a single second of it.
