I write odd things at night. Tomorrow I’ll write during the day.
I don’t like the Harry Potter movies. Every one makes me mad except for the first and the sixth(the sixth is my FAVORITE of the books, so I was so happy to see them get it right).
I’m not one of those crazy fans who wishes Hogwarts was real so I could go there. But I do like thinking about the little things that show the character’s personalities, like how if I saw a boggart it would look like a clown, and my patronus would be a dog, and amortentia would smell like a campfire and a bookstore.
When I get depressed I tell myself the dementors are back and they’ll go away soon. It always makes me feel a little better.
I’m on my ninth time through the books and have still never forgiven Snape.
I cry harder over Hedwig and Dobby’s deaths than I do the one at the end of the sixth book(I’ll never say it, even though it’s been spoiled all over the internet since the day the book came out). Though I still can’t read that one without crying.
I adore Harry and Ginny and would have been furious if he’d ended up with Hermione, like JK Rowling now says she wished she’d done.
I don’t want any more books written that happen beyond book seven, only because I couldn’t stand to read about a world where there was a George without a Fred. But I’d love a prequel series about James and Sirius and company.
I’d rather date someone who didn’t like the series at all than someone who only watched the movies.
A few days ago at work, a customer was looking at her phone while I was ringing her up, and she said “That’s curious,” and I wanted so badly to say in Harry’s voice “Sorry, but, what’s curious?” But I didn’t feel like it was especially professional.