I feel as if I could say "one of the greatest things about Harry Potter is . . ." eighty different times, about eighty different things and mean them all, but I earnestly and sincerely mean it when I say that one of the greatest things about Harry Potter is the visible growth and maturity of the characters as the story progresses.
For some reason, and I do believe I am not alone in this, I seem to confuse Harry with someone far older than he really is. As I read, I cast blame and disappointment in Harry's direction, and somehow seem to forget . . . HE'S JUST 11! Or 12 or 13 or whatever! Either way, the knowledge and maturity I give to Harry is always far greater in years than is accurate.
Rowling does a PHENOMENAL job in subconsciously reminding the reader of Harry's age by allotting the realistic priorities of a young boy (or girl) in tandem with a much larger issue: Voldemort. A perfect example of this can be found in books 1 and 7.
Book 1: general worry about the Stone, great worry about the House Cup and reputation
Book 7: threat of Voldemort too large to return to school . . . reputation?
Now, this may be so extreme it is obvious . . . but does anyone really remember, OR CARE, who won the House Cup after book 1? Yeah, someone out there might, but the point is, the less Harry cares about it, the more he grows up.
I'll never forget reading the end of the Half Blood Prince and being shocked that the trio would not be returning to Hogwarts. The shock wasn't so much at the idea that they would be searching for Horcruxes, but that Hermione would not be finishing school! Even for me, at 22 and enraged by so many things in this world, I am always saying "Well, after I graduate . . ." And, sure, our circumstances are astronomically (literally) different, but, THIS IS IT.
How perfectly Rowling shows the true character of these three by their tangible shift in priorities preparing for book 7.
One of the most emotional scenes for me is (and, although the movie changed it a great deal of it, I still believe the film makers did a beautiful job) when Hermione obliviates her parents memory in the Deathly Hallows. I feel like I could cry every time I read it, mainly because I don't know where she finds the courage . . .
"Assuming I survive our hunt for the Horcruxes, I'll find Mum and Dad and lift the enchantment. If I don't - well, I think I've cast a good enough charm to keep them safe and happy. Wendell and Monica Wilkins don't know that they've got a daughter, you see" (97).
What a horrific image of maturity? I can't image my seventeen-year-old self forcing my family to forget me and not knowing if I'll ever see them again . . . it makes me wonder if securing the safety of the ones you love so you can risk your life for, well, the whole world ever feels good?
How true and wonderful and hard to believe that these three are not living, breathing people, but just characters, tragically imaged and never human . . . their story of growing up, simultaneously casting the same shadows as my generation, is beautifully crafted.
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