[Some spoilers ahead, beware!]
Fantasy, I must say, had always been my least favorite genre of literature. Back in middle school, fantasy was a section of the library in which I had no particular interest. My shelves were filled with mysteries and dramas, historical novels, coming of age stories, some classics and several horror tales by Edgar Allan Poe. I had even managed to devour most of Louisa May Alcott's works within a few months, so really, no one can say I was not a reader. Works of fantasy, however, continued to remain very unappealing in my eyes. Therefore when my friend at the time suggested that I give Harry Potter a try, I refused with a resounding no.
I would like to say that I was introduced to the series when it was first released, that I began reading as a small fourth or fifth grader as it is the case with many of my friends. The truth is that by the time this friend of mine approached me with the idea of dropping my latest historical fiction for "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone," I was in eighth grade and the first two movies in the franchise had already been released. I had watched the movies and although I had enjoyed them, I thought nothing more of the story itself. I even remember not knowing of the existence of Harry Potter books until my friend told me of them. She had sat down in front of me one day at school during our lunch period and, in true Hermione behavior, she propped open a book to read while eating. I was intrigued and my curiosity prompted me to ask the title.
"Oh, it's the third Harry Potter book, ‘The Prisoner of Azkaban’," she answered. I was surprised and then went on to tell her that I was not aware that the movies were actually based on novels. And saying that -- oh, saying that was somewhat of a mistake. Or at least I thought so at the time. She proceeded to explain, with wonder in her eyes and colorful description, the incredible nature of these books in which I had no interest whatsoever, then continued to persist for several weeks afterward that I give the series a try. Somewhere along the way I must have agreed (she was persistent to the point of annoyance) and she quickly lend me her copy of the third book. My line of thinking at the time was that it was pointless to bother with the first two when I had already seen the films. She didn't quite agree with my flawed logic, but accepted it as being the only way in which I was going to give this series a fraction of my attention. Her determination that I not only read these books, but enjoy them as well, was rather fierce and I decided to resist it with as much of a strong will as I could manage.
Well, so much for that.
I can't really explain what it was that reeled me in. I had started reading with the thought that this was going to be the worse piece of literature I had ever encountered, only to find myself excited at the prospect of learning what these dementor creatures were while in the middle of chapter five. And I could see it and feel it all quite clearly: a game of Quidditch in the pouring rain, Harry's disappointment at not being able to visit Hogsmade, the annoying and frequent arguments between Ron and Hermione. I was unknowingly being absorbed by a book for which I had terrible pre-conceived notions and that I never imagined would catch me by surprise with its incredible ending. I can also remember it vividly when I timidly asked my friend to borrow her copy of the fourth book about a week or two later. She still, to this day, takes pride in knowing that I love Harry Potter because of her and has never really let me live it down. That day, she gave me a knowing look and a small smile as she handed me the book and we both knew that I had been wrong and that I was in for quite an experience.
We all were, really.
While my late entry into the fandom allowed me to wait for a year at the most before “Order of the Phoenix” was finally released, everyone else, the huge fandom that I was not aware of, had waited three. I had experienced for the first time the agonizing feeling of having to patiently wait in hopes of soon knowing what direction Harry’s adventure would take. The thing is that it was an adventure for me as well. I had, at that point, become a fan and whatever resistance I had put up at the beginning had not prevented me from taking Harry’s story to heart.
To most of us fans, Harry Potter became about escaping into a story that was unlike anything we had ever read. It became about hungrily reading into the late hours of the night or reading straight through and not sleeping at all. It was about theorizing what might happen next when the last chapter was read and another long wait began. It was about trying to figure out who was on Harry’s side and who wasn’t. It was about shipper fights, Snape debates, Horcrux predictions, tears shed over the deaths of dear characters, lines by characters that made us laugh. It was about fan sites, podcasts, fan fiction and fan art. It was about midnight releases, waiting hours in line, counting down the minutes and desperately avoiding spoilers.
Going into Barnes and Noble on July 21st I realized, with a mixture of sadness and excitement, that it was probably going to be last time I would go to a midnight party. The fandom would wind down and the questions would be answered. But that night didn’t only bring an end to a great literary phenomenon that actually made some in my generation want to read. It was, in a sense, the end of my childhood as well. I had spent my high school years loving these books and met some of my closest friends through them. And during that time I’d gone and discovered what I liked and didn’t like, realized, for the most part, what I wanted to do in the future, met incredible people, suffered through some terrible teachers and learned a thing or two about life from others. But at the end of day, my favorite books, Harry and his world – they were always there as a reminder that I was still a kid, that I could lose myself in the adventure and perhaps become a little more than obsessed with it. I had grown up with Harry and the rest of the characters and I knew that night, with the series coming to a close, that as much as I had submerged myself in the story, in a year or two or maybe only a few months afterward, it would all become part of childhood memories and I would look back on it as great times spent with friends and just an exciting book phenomenon that I was lucky to have lived through. I read the last few pages of “Deathly Hallows” with tears running down my face, not only over the deaths of some of my favorite characters, but also because I knew that I would soon be saying good bye to all of it. Closing the book, still crying, I realized that the obsession would begin to fade, the story was complete, leaving not much else to wonder about, and I would move on to a different part of my life very much the same way that Harry would do so as well at the end of chapter thirty-six.
It probably goes without saying that I enjoyed the book immensely and was satisfied with the ending, even when some believed it to be contrived or too cheesy. To that I’ll say what I’ve said before: it was a perfect ending in spite of the missing and much desired information on what happens to many characters. It was nice, it was sweet, it was peaceful, it was good, it was comforting. It was all of the things that I craved for while reading about Fred, Lupin and Tonks dying or while reading about Harry asking his parents if it hurt to die. And Harry finally got what he had always wanted: a family of his own.
And from someone that has been in the fandom for so long and knows it so thoroughly, the only thing left to say is a thanks to J.K. Rowling. For the craziness that it ensued among fans, for the endless debates and arguments on the forums, for the feeling of anticipation as we lined up in the queues, for keeping us a the edge of our seats every time we turned a page, for writing a series of books that inspired numerous fan creations, from wizard rock to radio shows, for keeping us guessing as Harry's life unfolded, for the adventures we were taken on every time we opened one of the books, for a story that made us laugh and cry and that we hope will be read by future generations, for the memories with friends that it created, for the amazing characters, those we loved and even those we hated, for all of this and more...Thank you, Jo Rowling.
It was a fantastic and unforgettable ride.
-Hazel
