The Boy Who Lived

I wrote a book column when I worked for The Appalachian a few years ago. My first entry, fittingly, was about Harry Potter. Though I have long been done with and re-read the last of the books, the final movie installment seems to really seal the deal for the end of the HP era. Yes, like other epic series it will live on, but we are the HP generation. We are the kids who grew up with Harry, Ron, and Hermione, not just the ones who will read about them doing so.

I have some qualms with the last movie, but I'm not even going to list them because I still got to see some of my favorite moments of the series finally come to life on a huge screen. I would fangirl the shit out of them here, but I think spoilers are just pretty damn rude. After all, the point here really is that it's all finally over and that's a bittersweet feeling.

I will miss the excitement I felt waiting in line for the newest book as much as I will miss waiting impatiently through previews in an extremely uncomfortable and dirty chair for the latest film to start. I will miss being with the trio (and their equally lovable supportive cast) as they experience new adventures. I will miss seeing their friendship grow into something that makes me weep because it is so pure, strong, and enviable.

A part of me always wanted to be each one of them while simultaneously being loved by each one of them. They may not be real to you or the rest of the world, but they're as real to me as any of my best friends. They always will be.

Harry, I was with you 'til the end and I'm always gonna be.

(There are thousands of jokes I'm dying to make about this last film, but as a courtesy to those who haven't seen it yet, I'll wait at least a month. You've been warned. You have four weeks to see it before I conjure up another Potter entry.)

You know the deal: I'll be working on my gonnas the rest of this week (and maybe try to stop talking about HP so the bf doesn't shoot me execution style).