Don’t Tell Me, I Don’t Want to Know: The Curse of Harry Potter

There are two types of people in this world: those who have finished reading all of the Harry Potter books and those who have not. I fall into the latter category. No matter what anyone tells you, these two groups of people will never belong together. It’s like trying to mix oil with water[1].

Because Harry Potter has a way of working his lightning-bolt covered face into the most unexpected of conversations. And the person who has finished all of the books has a magical sense of knowing just how to ruin it for the rest of us.


Me: Did you see that plane crash on the news last night?
Someone Who's Finished Reading Harry Potter: I did. It was almost magical the way nobody died.
Me: I agree. Just like magic.
SWFRHP: It reminded me of the time Ron became a Death Eater and killed Hermione and then boiled Crookshanks for dinner.
Me: I haven’t read that far.
SWFRHP: Oh… well you should. There are some real surprises coming.

That’s exactly how it always happens. And I really have no excuse for the fact that it took me a year to finish the sixth book. And I also have no excuse for the fact that I’ve been 75 pages into the seventh, most exhilarating and anticipated book for the past two months. They don’t take that long to read. I should just finish.

And when I do finish, I’m going to retaliate by finding everyone who hasn’t finished Harry Potter and tell them everything that happens. Vengeance will be mine.

Actually I won’t. I hate it when people do that.

[1] I don’t know who the oil is and who the water is in this scenario, but somebody’s very oily and somebody’s very watery.