WARNING: This post does not contain angst/gushing about it being ‘the end’. If reading anything less than complete adoration for the Harry Potter series makes you upset, don’t worry. I’ll go back to my irregularly scheduled cosplay rambling in my next post.
I’m in the generation that grew up with Harry Potter. I got the book from my aunt and uncle when I was in… second grade? Third grade? Elementary school. I was heartbroken when I didn’t get my letter in the mail, I learned how to play Hedwig’s Theme on my flute with the rest of my band buddies, and entire weekends were planned around the book releases.
The movie version of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire is one of the foundations of my friendship with amara. I’d explain but it mostly involves Voldemort’s nose and welcoming Cedric Diggory back to the world of the ‘living’ during Twilight movies. We always had vague plans to cosplay for a midnight showing: she would be Hermione Grainger because she’s a bookworm and, coming from Houston, instantly understood Hermione’s hair angst , and I would be Draco Malfoy because… seriously, does anyone need me to explain why I would be Draco Malfoy? But by the time we put the idea together, we were never in the same place at the same time when the movies released. It was going to be this summer or never… and I was the jerk who got a twelve-month lease in another state. She went to a midnight showing, and I didn’t. I haven’t seen the last movie. My roommate hasn’t gone because she doesn’t want it to end just yet. I don’t know if that’s the case for me.
I’m probably going to piss off a lot of people when I say this, but the magic was there for the first four books for me. And that was it. It wasn’t that I stopped liking the books: I loved The Half-Blood Prince, which apparently is a sign of true rabid HP love (according to my sources, aka random opinions on my Twitter feed.) But by the time the fifth book had come out, my imagination had been seduced by other magicians and other worlds. They were stories that were just as dark and dangerous as Harry Potter’s world was quickly becoming, but they found resonance with me while the Boy Who Lived didn’t. My imagination didn’t want a Chosen One. I was growing up and I needed stories that gave me strength to choose my own path.
Does this mean I’m not going to go see the final movie? No. It just means I’m going to see it with amara, my sister, or someone else who kept bringing me back to Hogwarts long after I realized that a letter in the mail wasn’t the invitation into a magical world that I wanted.
(Also, before you ask, yes, I had a Slytherin shirt and wore lots of green in junior high. Now if asked, I identify with Ravenclaw. But then someone, usually amara, calls me on something particularly Slytherin-tastic I’ve done in the past 24 hours and I’m forced to reclaim Slytherin as my rightful house.)