A Very Potter Romance

A Very Potter Romance

                “So, are you Hermione?” someone asks. I turn and am face to face with a grey sweater.

                “Sort of. I am more of a Hermione slash Harry mix,” I say. I tilt my head up to get a better view of my interrogator.

                “Wait, how are you Harry? You are a girl, right? Otherwise, this is a little awkward,” he says.

                I laugh. “Yes, I am a girl, and I made my hair frizzier like Hermione’s. I’m also wearing clothes like they would wear at Hogwarts. Well, this is what I would wear if I went to Hogwarts. And I’ve got the Harry Potter glasses and,” I lift up my blond bangs, “his signature scar.” I realize how ridiculously dorky I sound.

                “Wow, you have really thought this through,” he says. Translation: I didn’t realize you were such a Harry Potter nerd, so, our conversation is over.

                “Yep, I like Harry Potter a lot,” I halfheartedly try to defend my last remark. I turn back toward my throng of friends.

                “Well, I would hope so, since you’re at the midnight premier of it, and we’ve still got an hour and a half till the movie,” he says.

                “What about you?” I ask. “You must like Harry Potter, or else you wouldn’t be here. You were here before I was, anyway, so you’ve been waiting longer than I have.”

                “And miss making fun of all these people? I couldn’t possibly,” he says. “No offense.”

                “You came to a Harry Potter movie premier just to mock people? That’s mean. If you want to do that, why wait in line? You could loiter outside the Barnes and Noble around the corner and still see everyone and you could even enjoy a Starbucks coffee while you do it,” I say.

                He looks slightly taken aback by my little jab. “What’s right there?” he obviously changes the subject and points toward the Harry Potter cupcakes I baked before I came.

                “They look like Harry Potter cupcakes to me,” I say.

                “Clearly, Hermione,” he says, “they have ‘HP’ iced on them. I mean, why would someone bake Harry Potter cupcakes?”

                “Um, we are at the premier,” I say.

                “I got that, but why? That’s… nice,” he seems surprised by the gesture.

                “If you must know, it’s because I like to bake. And I thought I would surprise my friends by bringing them food, and I thought what better thing to bring than Harry Potter cupcakes?” I say, a little frustrated. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to be short. Would you like a cupcake? I baked them earlier. Nothing like some sugar to keep your energy up,” I say a little more energetic.

                “Sure, I’ll take one,” he says and I lift up the plate the cupcakes are on. He selects my personal favorite cupcakes, one with red, gold and a little bit of black sprinkles with black dots on the outside ring of cupcake and a black “HP” written on the top. He peels back the paper liner.

                “Gryffindor colors? Nicely done,” he says as inspects the cake before he takes a bite. The cake part is red and yellow layers, to replicate a Gryffindor tie.  “Wow, this is really good. Nicely done. You have one.”

                I take my second favorite, a white frosted cupcake with red sprinkles around the edge of the cupcake and gold “HP” written on it.

                I hand the other cupcakes out to my friends who are sitting in a circle behind me. They are taking turns reading out loud Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

                 “Where’s your gang?” I ask as I take a bite.

                “What gang?” he says.

                “You know, you’re gang of other douche canoeing types like yourself who make fun of people who actually like going to midnight Harry Potter movie premiers and dressing up in their regalia?” Really? Douche canoeing? Is that even a word? Better yet, why would I pick that word to insult him?

                “Oh, right, my ‘gang,’” “Harry” says. He shifts his feet, and looks like he’s about to answer before he stops. He ponders the question for a moment, like he’s wrestling with the answer. Finally, he says, “Well, actually, if you must know, I am here alone.”

                “Why?” I ask, instantly regretting the bluntness of my question.

                “Have you noticed what I am wearing?” he asks and sort of smiles. So, this guy is now metro? I look at his attire. Grey pants, white button down, tie in red and gold, grey v-neck, Harry Potter-esque glasses, dark tousled hair, a watch.

                “You look like you belong at Hogwarts,” I say, cautiously.

                “Ten points for Gryffindor,” he answers.  “So, which book is your favorite?”

                “Way to change the subject, ‘Harry,’” I point toward my friends who are all sitting in a circle taking turns reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. “That one is my favorite.”

                “You guys brought the book? Why?” he asks.

                “In case we got bored, I figured we could use it as story time. Seems like my prediction was correct, ” I say.

                “Good plan. Would you like to sit? I have a feeling we’ll be here for a while,” he says. We both sit against the white cement wall outside the theater.  “So, why do you like that one?” he points toward the orange book.

                “I like it because everything wraps up. It’s how I always wanted the series to end. Everything has a resolution-“I say before he cuts me off.

                “And there aren’t any loopholes or gaps in it and everything gets resolved,” he finishes my sentence. What?

                “Yes, that’s, well, that’s it! That’s exactly it. Everything works out the way it should. There are enough plot twists to keep it entertaining, and the imagery is so vivid that-“again, he cuts me off.

                “You feel like you’re right there. And she even kills off a few of the characters so you bond with the others and really feel for them. You develop a lot of sympathy and feelings for them, so when you lose one, it’s like you want to go and fight Voldy as well. It’s the simple language she uses, but yet it is so powerful. She makes you feel like you’re in the scene, fighting alongside Harry and Neville. It’s fantasy, but based in reality,” he says quite quickly.

                “I think the term is magical realism,” I say. “I’m sorry, are you the same guy who said a few minutes ago that you like coming to the premiers and making fun of Harry Potter enthusiasts?” I ask. I’m a little confused.

                “I mean,” he pauses. “My friends don’t like Harry Potter,” he explains.

                “But, you do?” I ask. He takes a deep breath before answering.

                “Why else would I be at the midnight premier, dressed up like Harry Potter, complete with,” he lifts up his dark hair to reveal a lightning bolt scar, “Harry Potter’s scar?”

                “Like you said, to make fun of people like me,” I answer.

“Really? You think I would dress up for that? Negative, Hermione.”

“Ok, Harry, then why did you lie to me?” I ask.

“Alright, valid point. Usually, ladies don’t find it to be particularly sexy if a guy is really into Harry Potter-“ this time, I cut him off.

                “Oh, right, because being a douch- canoe is so much more alluring,” I jab. Again with the douche-canoe?

                “Ten more points for Gryffindor,” he laughs. “Fine, you have a point. It’s sometimes just easier to be mean and pretend I don’t care about Harry Potter. But, I should have realized that from the first nerdy comment you made, I didn’t need to feel awkward about liking it.”

                “It wasn’t that nerdy of a comment!” I retort. I think back to my explination about my attire. “Okay, maybe it was,” he half smiles at me.

                “Look! We’re moving!” We grab out things and proceed toward the entrance to the theater.

                “Are they going to let us in right now?” I ask.

                “I think so,” he glances at his watch. “It’s eleven, so we’ve got one hour till the show starts.”

                We approach the ticket person. “How many?” he asks.

                “Two,” replies “Harry”. I look at him. “Well, I figured, why end our great conversation now? Wait, what about your friends?” he asks.

                “They are seeing it in 3D,” I say.

“Well, their loss,” he says. I smile and follow him into the theater. We grab two seats in the middle near the back of the theater. Perfect spots.

                “I’m going to go get some popcorn, would you like anything?” I start to protest, but he insists, “You already gave me a cupcake, and you had to talk to me for a bit. How does a coke sound?”

“That sounds great,” I say.

He returns about ten minutes later balancing a bag of popcorn between two drinks in each of his hands.

“Long line?” I ask as I help him with the popcorn.

“Yep. Some person wanted a Sprite, but they only had Sierra Mist. Talk about a disaster,” he laughs. “So, what parts are you excited to see?”

“Oh, I want to see the battle scene. I re-read the book last night and I was picturing it, and I can’t wait to see how they shoot it. And, of course, Voldy dying, and the romance, and Snape’s walk down memory lane,” I say.

“I’m actually excited to see those as well,” he says. “I also want to see what they took from the book to put into the movie and what they left out. I always think it’s interesting to see that, “he says. “So, Hermione, did you cry at all when you read the book?”

“I did, a little bit. I was sad when the some of the people died. I’m assuming you didn’t, Harry?”

“Can I tell you a secret?” he asks. I nod.

“I bawled. I was scared for Harry, and when Tonks and Lupin died, I cried. The scene that was really powerful in the book for me, though, was when all of the dead people come around Harry. I just cried and cried. It was so raw, so much love,” he says.

“Well, I’m really glad I brought these,” I say and I reach into my bag and pull out some tissues.

“I’m going to try and keep it together tonight,” he says. “Really, I am. I don’t want you to think that I can’t handle myself. Normally, nothing makes me cry, and I’m pretty tough. But, Harry just gets me every time. There’s something about the story that is so touching and so poignant,” he trails off.

“I think it’s starting,” he says as the lights begin to dim. “I’m James, by the way.”

“I’m Lily.”