In case anyone out there has any doubt, I am a huge Potter nerd. While I hate overstatement in these regards, I fear understatement just as much, so let me quickly give some insight to my relationship with Harry Potter... Impatient for the seventh book to come out, I wrote the beginnings of my own version. It amassed to almost 23,000 words. After "Deathly Hallows" was finally released, I was disappointed only with the lack of falling action, so I wrote a bit of fan fiction I dubbed "the missing chapter." For years, I have had countless discussions of the books, weighing the characters and subjects in any number of ways. Ron Weasley or Han Solo? Snape is the true hero of the book, true or false? And (my personal favorite) Harry Potter vs. Master Chief. Finally, I have written the first quarter of a play simply entitled "The Deathly Hallows," meant to encompass with minimalism the journey of Harry Potter. This is the only fan fiction adaptation I plan on finishing.
That is for any doubters who want to know at which level of Potter nerd I sit. But my point lies more in how I love the books, not how much.
My love is not the adoration or obsession of a fanboy or the disgusting display of devotion some individuals show to Twilight, but rather mine is a fervid fascination with the fantasy and literary structure of Rowling's modern myth. (Yes, this blog has a lot of alliteration.) What is special about the Potter series lies within it's structure. The tale of love conquering hate can probably be described as the most fundamental to humanity and our art. But it is the world that Rowling creates, and the manner in which Harry's loss of innocence comes about during the maturing of the text and content. The voice of the first books are that of children's serial stories. Rowling slowly molds this--mirroring Harry's growth--to the epic and mature epiphany that pits mortality and love against immortality and hate. This is what makes Harry Potter special.
So, for the past 13 years, I have followed this journey with Harry Potter. For our generation most especially, this has been a cathartic journey to say the least. This point is punctuated to me when I notice that my brother was much closer to manhood when he read the books than I, and my sister was a child for much longer of Harry's journey. I struck the jackpot. I grew up with Harry.
I know of one individual who so loved the books, so did not want them to end, that she put off reading The Deathly Hallows for almost 2 years. My passion was not so chaste. I devoured the seventh book in 14 hours of continuous reading. Once done, I was in a daze but fulfilled. Feeling no sense of absence, and only pleasant catharsis.
Not like the sense of dread I feel now.
Strange, considering how outspoken I have been against the flaws of the films (particularly the first two.) But tomorrow night will be an ominous and emotional time for me. I have been purposefully avoiding Harry Potter stuff. Movies, books, paraphernalia. I want to go into the theater with a clean slate. I have promised to dress up, but a part of me knows that those days are over. Childhood is over. For more than a decade, the story of The Boy Who Lived was an active part of my mind. Once the credits roll tomorrow, I will have to acknowledge that the boy who borrowed "Chamber of Secrets" during SSR (Sit down, Shut up, and Read) has grown up.
This feeling should have come in 2007. But it's coming now. An ominous catharsis.
Perhaps it's because my imagination works by way of association--and by that I mean I try to visualize what I read and hear--that the realization of the final chapter looms large in my mind. Maybe I'm just sad there is no more story to come. Maybe I'm more sad that I'm ready for the story to end. I, like Harry, would have preferred to stay at Hogwarts forever.
