On Tuesday evening I went to the midnight premiere of Deathly Hallows: Part 2. It was a wonderful night, but it didn't feel like I expected it to. I thought it would feel like the book release four years ago; the best day of my life. That day I felt happy and safe, cloistered in another world and totally filled with joy. I thought since I coped with the last book well, the last film premiere would be fine. It was amazing to be at; hoardes of people lining up for hours, costumes, decorations and excitement. I had expected all this, but it was still awesome to behold.
What I had not anticipated was the immense pain that crept into my heart as we entered the cinema. I felt numb. I couldn't face the end, I kept thinking that I wasn't prepared. This felt more like the end than anything else, maybe because there are no more films or books now, maybe because life has already changed so much this year and this was just one more piece of my old life spiralling out of my grip.
I wasn't unhappy (not physically possible at a Harry Potter event) but I was in pain. All through Part 1 the feeling in my chest was akin to a broken heart. Actually it was exactly like a broken heart, an affliction I suffered three years ago and never wanted to repeat. Part 1 swept me away but if I ever dropped concentration for a second and registered where I was, the thudding pain in my heart was still there. I was keenly aware that a chapter of my life was closing, and (not to be too dramatic) that a part of me was switching off the lights and leaving forever.
Harry Potter has been there for the last decade of my life, comforting, sustaining, entertaining, enriching, educating and thrilling me.
It's been an absolute honour to grow up at this time, in this place, with Harry Potter. I wasn't with it right from the beginning (when it was published I was four), but I got into it early enough that I can call it my whole life. My life before Harry Potter was barbies and play-dates. Little nothings.
Ten years ago I read Philosophers Stone for the first time. It was the night before I saw the film; my parents had said I could only come to the movie if I'd read the book, otherwise I'd be too frightened. I wasn't about to let my brother see a movie that I couldn't, so I read the book on my Grandma's couch in one night. Eight years old and still in a pretty serious horse-phase, I remember dropping the book down for a second and thinking; "this is amazing" before reading furiously on.
I had quite a serious case of Hogwarts-envy for the next year or so. I would set up a classroom in the study and play Hogwarts for hours on end. I had a load of 'textbooks' and a dressing gown and a chopstick and that was all I needed. It was magic. Nowadays I have a beautiful handmade wand and a very expensive, very faithful Hogwarts uniform, and yet I can't ever quite recapture the magic of those first Hogwarts games.
I remember once bouncing on our trampoline with a broom between my legs and honestly believing that maybe I could fly and I didn't know it. Maybe if I just tried I'd shoot off into the air and ascend to the clouds.
Later I stopped playing a Hogwarts student myself and started recreating it with paper dolls that I made myself; one of the first things I did when we got a computer for the first time; a clunky old Windows 95. I made about a hundred dolls on Paint, with accessories; little owls and cauldrons. And I drew backdrops, elaborate pictures of all the rooms in Hogwarts. I drove my Mum mad with all bluetack I got stuck on her walls pinning Hogwarts up. But it was wonderful. I wish with all my heart that I could see it again. Time and hard play made them tatty and worn out, and they were thrown out.
If I had them now, I would take them to show my Best Friend and we would probably have played with them while we waited for the midnight release. We would undoudtedly be very silly, acting out our favourite canon scenes and fanfictions and making wierd ships get together. Dumbledagrid, anyone? Once we actually did play silly games with her Lego Hogwarts.
All of these memories and many more, sharp and detailed, span through my mind as I struggled to be ready to truly say goodbye to my Harry Potter childhood.
Nothing lasts forever. My time as a child growing up with Harry Potter is over now, and I must deal with that eventually although I am still not quite there yet. But here's the silver lining; now I get to see what it's like to be an adult who grew up with Harry Potter. And there is very little groundwork for that category of person, so I get to decide what that means and what that involves.
I have many dreams for my life as an adult of the Harry Potter generation. They involve my Best Friend and I commemorating July 21st as a celebration of Harry Potter long into the future. I also fully expect a Harry Potter theme to creep into my wedding. And I am absolutely certain that one day, when my children are Hogwarts age (ten or eleven), I will tuck them in one night and begin to read them a story called Harry Potter and the Philosophers Stone.
I credit the last beautiful thought of this homily entirely to my dearest Best Friend. After the release, we walked slowly out of the cinema; she and I and her sister.
"That was a fun decade," I said, half-serious, half-joking, "What do we do now?"
"We follow their example." She said.
And I will. I will always ask myself; 'What would Harry, Ron and Hermione do?' and I will encourage my children to do the same.
