In the Pensieve

SPOILER ALERT!

Harry Potter rose into fame when I was ten years old. It was his first year in Hogwarts, I was in the fourth grade. Everyone at school talked about him, his friends, and their adventures. Items were sold, and quiz bees held in his honor. Put off by the popularity more than not having friends to borrow from, I didn’t read the book, nor watch the movie.

In a few years, Harry Potter was still well-known and could still elicit excitement by the mere mention of his name, or anything related. In the library (where there’s no restricted section) lay The Sorcerer’s Stone and The Chamber of Secrets, both of which I borrowed before departing sixth grade. I got my own copies when (an owl) my aunt sent (delivered) a balikbayan box from the States. I might have reread them a couple more times, years apart; I don’t remember much of the experience, though I guess the premise of a magical world did excite me until Professor Lockhart’s Obliviate backfired and erased even my memory when high school opened.

I watched the corresponding movies before reading The Prisoner of Azkaban and the Goblet of Fire, as it took a while to get a hold of the books and the time. I could’ve used a Time-Turner after winning that slot in the freest college in the country. Pottermore came out, and I was placed in Slytherin, but not until I’ve escaped the undergraduate (prison) life was I able to witness the Triwizard Tournament and Cedric’s death by You-Know-Who.

All the movies were out when I read The Order of the Phoenix, The Half-blood Prince, and The Deathly Hallows. In fact, it was just this June that I resumed the trio. I’ve seen the movies, I knew what was to happen. Nonetheless, I grieved when Sirius, Hedwig and Mad-Eye were killed, mourned for Remus, Tonks and Fred, cried when Dumbledore and Dobby dropped dead. Then it hit me like Sectumsempra. These people, they were like friends.

The prospect of a magical world no longer enchanted me as it once did, nor is this the greatest world I’ve ever poured over. Yet, I am bewitched. What holds me captive is the people whom I’ve grown fond of after stalking them for years. They are real, more so than my new classmates whom I barely know. In fact, they’re so real that I don’t believe the deaths (Here's Snape!). The saga was just a story. They are all alive, sitting up and cleaning after themselves, after their last scenes, ready to once again take up their characters, as I reopen the first book.