The First Time I Met Harry
Just a few of the author's copies. She owns five editions of each book and is in no way embarassed by that.
The backseat of my dad’s Chrysler was littered with the usual detritus of a doctor in a hurry. Abandoned shoes, stacks of notecards covered in illegible writing, and sticky-bun wrappers from missed breakfasts were periodically shoved back and forth between myself and my little brother. At the end of a long day of outlet shopping, I found myself short of entertainment with a two hour drive ahead, which at 13 felt like a death sentence.
Alex’s head started to slump against the window, and at his feet lay a yellowing paperback. As siblings do, I snatched it without asking if he was reading it and dug in.
Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four privet drive, were proud to say they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.
In that sentence, I fell into a world that I’m sure you have too. I remember buying Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets and Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban simultaneously at Barnes and Noble, but my first real brush with Harry Potter fandom came at the release of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire in 2000. Pre-Twitter, pre-Facebook, my mom and aunt drove me to a Walden Books tucked away in a strip mall because they’d “heard” that there was a new Harry Potter book out. The clerk pulled a last copy from a dusty carton behind the counter, and I remember little of the remainder of my aunt’s visit.
***
The next book took an excruciating three years to arrive, and I did a lot of growing up while waiting for Harry to do the same. High school came and went, and Harry joined the mainstream when films started hitting theaters. Even my grandmother was up-to-date with the book series, and I remember the distinct joy of seeing the first movie in theaters with her.
Summer after senior year, we finally had a release date for Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. I had taken a job in a coffee shop with a hodgepodge group of geeks, and I was determined to fit in. I concealed my love for Harry, but the receipt for my pre-order was safely tucked in my wallet. On the day of the release, I swung by the store to get the scoop on the distribution procedure. What if they ran out of copies? I collected a queue number from the information desk: 9, my lucky number!
That night at 10pm, I arrived at Barnes & Noble for the pre-release festivities. With my spot guaranteed and hours to kill, I tucked myself away in the chick-lit section to read a new Sophie Kinsella Shopaholic book. It must have been a good read because I recall my mom calling for me across the fiction section and shaking my shoulder to queue. That night, I couldn’t resist reading a chapter before heading to bed; I knew rising early to literally make the donuts would inhibit my reading progress. I headed to work and donned my apron, set on rushing home to read, until that afternoon, another barista revealed how far she’d read. Suddenly, all guard came down and the whole staff confessed their progress, some staying up all night to read. I had to get home!
***
Two more years would pass until Harry would re-enter our lives. In the interim, I read and re-read books, attended midnight movie screenings, and discovered the joy of Fanfiction.net to speculate on the penultimate novel. Once more, I pre-ordered my copy of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. Little did I know, the midnight release would fall in the middle of a family vacation to the red rocks of Sedona. I couldn’t possibly wait to get the book (my dad’s idea), but Hedwig was on my side once more.
At a tiny bookshop on the hotel grounds, a handful of Potterfiles queued with my brother and me to purchase copies of the sixth installment. We hungrily eyed the cartons of books, which were marked with stern warnings not to open before midnight. The shop owner seemed disappointed that we were keeping him from his bed, but he maintained that despite our pleading, he couldn’t sell us copies before midnight. If any of the receipts show sales before midnight, I could be fined!
But the lure of sleep was too strong. At 11:55PM, the store manager moved the clock on his computer forward to midnight and began checking us out. My brother and I scampered back to the hotel room with our treasures, agreeing to not read too far ahead of each other, but savoring a single chapter The Other Minister before heading to bed.
I reached the chapter that would seal Dumbledore’s fate on the plane back from Sedona, another Potter reader seated across the aisle, pacing me page for page. As the loss of the beloved father figure set in, I closed the book and let tears flow freely. Through a curtain of hair to conceal my red face, I stole glances at my companion. He reached the paragraph. His hand paused on the page. He kept reading at a clip. I wasn’t far behind.
***
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows was released just after I graduated from college. Harry’s story was ending, and so was my college story. We both had to go out into this unfamiliar world as grownups, and I was fearful of what this moment might look like. Rumors were flying, each more ridiculous than the last, and once more, I found myself on vacation, far away from the copy I’d reserved at the local bookshop. This time, I wouldn't queue up at midnight. I was too old for that. I’d go in the morning. I wouldn’t gain anything from finding a bookstore in an unfamiliar locale and wasting precious vacation time… right?
Ugh, I was wrong. At 5:00AM, I found myself in a 24-hour Walmart with my mother scooping a hardcover and CD box set off the shelf.
The story was over, no more pages to read, and I grieved the loss. Harry’s tale had been locked up so definitively (whether you enjoyed it or not), and now it was time to find my own adventures. But what I found in its place… was you, the other fans. Throughout it all, Harry inspired us and brought us together in ways that few other things can, and today, he continues to unite us around the idea of what’s right and what’s wrong. The world he lived in, built by the thoughtful imagination of J.K. Rowling does exist, and it’s what has been the driving force behind the creation of Spellbound Style.