Hermione Granger: A Love Story

 To those who may or may not know, I have a publicized history of a solid hatred of Harry Potter. Back in its heyday, I was instructed never to read the series because of its connections with dark magic and sorcery, and I combined this mandate with my illustrious and ignoble aim to be always outside the scope of popularity - resulting, of course, in a strong anti-Harry Potter standpoint. I assumed the books were poorly written chaff being churned out annually to make ridiculous sales, while the movies were much of the same. I had many friends, who, knowing my taste in books and films, encouraged me to give the series a chance, but I remained stalwart in my attempt to ignore all things popular.

 Last summer, shortly after being hired at Starbucks, two of my little brother's dear friends, who I'd spent countless hours with over my teenage years, traveled an hour to my town to see the midnight premiere of Harry Potter 7.1. I hung out with them for a bit and drank with the fatter of the two, always intending to skedaddle home before the premiere, but as time (and alcohol) wore on, I eventually succumbed to the inferior pressure (not peer pressure) and saw the last film with them. This was my first foray into the world of Harry Potter. I was disappointed.

 Not only did I sleep through a decent chunk of the film, I thought the acting was subpar and the action scenes silly. I mean, HELLO, a giant fell asleep in the first action scene! How exciting could it possibly be?!?! I, of course, texted my hate of the film to my old and dear roommate as well as my current coworkers, bragging about how I finally gave Harry Potter a chance and was completely and utterly let down. They all responded by saying "oh, I don't claim the last book!" or "yeah, that movie was boring" or "you have to read the books to understand that film." Flimsy excuses, at best, paper-thin wheedlings that I quickly dismissed as pathetic ramblings of people who inured their childhood in Potter fandom and were unwilling to give it up.

 I was wrong.

 Under threat of possible death (due to boredom, not by someone threatening me), I borrowed the book series from a dear, sweet, sexy friend of mine about three weeks ago. Even with work and sleep, I finished the first book in a record 22-odd hours. Chamber of Secretions was completed a day later. I forestalled on Azkaban, but ultimately conquered the seven-book, the 3000+ page series, in under three weeks. A page every ten minutes for three weeks, discounting the minutes spent working, sleeping, or whining? I'm impressed.

 I came to love the writing style of the series, and while I have misgivings on the depth of the world which Rowling has created, she assuaged most of my fears and doubts by bringing convenient early-book introductions full circle and making them something more than just a secret one-time use weapon. As I read the seventh book, desperate to find something to make me hate the series, I inwardly resolved that the one thing, dated all the way back to the first book, that she had never revisited and was clearly a flaw of hers, was the presence of mandrakes, the death-screaming plants that easily could have been used to fight Voldemort. Then Professor Sprout mentioned them in the final battle and I was devastated, because it meant that I had to become a full-fledged Potter fan.

 Beyond being a fan of the series, though, I came to learn, and to love, something within the series. For those who are not complete and utter idiots and are incapable of clicking links and reading blog titles, this thing obviously is Hermione Granger. One of Harry's two truest friends, Hermione is seriously the best thing about this series. She's infinitely intelligent, a worrywart, a regular svengali, a buddingly attractive young woman, the most loyal friend ever invented, and a cat person. I rooted for her when her cat apparently murdered Ron's rat, when she dumped Ron's late come-ons to flirt with the most popular Quidditch player EVAH, or even when she took a douchebag date rapist to a party simply to piss Ron off. She is the embodiment of everything I love and adore, the person I want to be, and the person I want to be with (oddly enough, these two people are identical!).

 What I brought from the series is a sense in ultimate self-sacrifice and goodness, the message that Rowling wanted to embed in her praiseworthy series. I took, also, an ultimate sense of self-worth and self-love, because all of my awkward, desperate, desiring emotions toward Hermione's personality, her beauty, her intelligence, smarminess, attitude of dismissal, and ultimate reliability, were emotions toward myself. I find a bit of Hermione in myself, and I'd like to find more than a bit of myself in Hermione.