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Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered

Of course I know it's silly. It is, after all, just a children's book. A fantasy series aimed at eleven-year-olds. But I got sucked in like every other nerd on the planet, and now there are only 700-odd pages left and I might as well get some closure. I got sucked into the phenomenon during a camping trip, when out of sheer boredom, I asked my friend's son if he had anything to read. "Here," he said, handing me Book 1, "you'll like this." Armed with a bottle of soda and a chunk of chocolate, I retired to my air mattress and attempted to kill some time. Next thing I know, I'm terribly concerned about events on the fictional Privet Drive and an equally fictional boarding school in Scotland. The rest of the weekend passed in a blur of spells, wands, and cheeky British children. Khail obligingly coughed up the next two books and I consumed them. "What do you mean I have to wait four months for the next one?" I'd asked incredulously. He reminded me that he'd been waiting much longer. Book 4 was released while I was in Spokane WA for a wedding. I dragged my friends out to a midnight release party at a local bookstore. Family drama ensued (as it will when it comes to weddings) and I buried my nose in the book. Book 5 was released just before a trip to Telluride. I stood in line for hours to buy the book and found myself one of many on the train to Silverton ignoring the majesty of the mountains in favor of misdeeds at the Ministry of Magic. There were so many of us all reading the same book, it really did feel like the Hogwarts Express. I reserved the whole weekend to read Book 6, but was annoyed by silly things like having to eat. Why didn't I plan ahead, I admonished myself. This time, I'm planning ahead. It's my last chance. The day before the big release party, I'll head to the deli and pick up dolmades and tzaziki. I'll make a plate of Figgy Snacks, and I'll grab some quality dark chocolate (best to drive off those pesky Dementors.) I'll have plenty of bottled water, diet soda, and a decent red wine on hand. (I never did find a passable recipe for Madame Rosemerta's butterbeer.) I will be perfectly prepared to spend the weekend indulging in a silly children's book.