I have given in to the craze and been consumed by Pottermania… I’ve just finished the much-anticipated seventh and final installment in poor-single-mother-turned-megazillionaire-no-longer-single-mother-author J.K. Rowling’s magical pubescent wizard series: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. It’s been a thrill-a-minute page-turning adventure. The ending was truly shocking, yet wholly satisfying. I must admit, I had my own pet theories, but I did not see the finale coming. Harry and his faithful sidekicks Hermione and Ron broke into Voldemort’s (cursed be the name!) supporters’ headquarters. After an exhilarating battle with his followers, the fearless trio burst into the lair of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
FOR THOSE WHO WISH NOT TO BE SPOILED, STOP READING NOW!
All others, scroll down for the conclusion of the synopsis.
Inside the dusty, candlelit (though quaintly decorated) chamber, Potter et al found the Dark Lord, back to the door, hunched over his desk, laughing vigorously. What captured You-Know-Who’s attention was not immediately clear to our boy hero and his peers. The lighting-bolt scar above Harry’s forehead burned, and, as usual, this sensation was accompanied by a glimpse into the soul of his evil archenemy… Harry’s point-of-view shifted from his own to that of Voldemort leaning on a writing table just feet in front of him. Harry (as Voldemort) was overcome with maniacal laughter, his vision at first blurry with tears. Voldemort’s pale hand wiped away the tears as the object of his amusement became imminently obvious. It was a computer—an iMac with the new Intel processor. Voldemort was scrolling through the archives of the Land of Yajeev blog, chuckling with each new post, occasionally muttering to himself, “I don’t get it, but it just makes me laugh.” Seeing though Voldemort’s eyes, Harry caught the reflection of himself standing behind the desk, darkening the already mostly-darkened doorway.
Harry felt Voldemort turn toward Harry as his point-of-view returned to that from his own two eyes. The burning of his scar turned more to a tickle. As if his wand had illuminated a long-hidden corner of his soul, it finally became clear what it was that had bonded these nemeses together: it was not their intermingled magical/muggle (non-magical) lineage nor even their great supernatural abilities, but rather it was their mutual love for the Land of Yajeev blogsite. Harry whispered, “You read this too?”
Voldemort, swiveling back and forth in his desk chair, hissed, “Only every single day. And I vote in the polls.”
From then on, Harry and Voldemort (who came to be known to Harry and his crew as Voldy) were fast friends, their years-long rivalry (“a simple misunderstanding” as Voldemort would later describe it in the wizarding newsrag, The Quibbler) now a matter of mutual amusement. They continued as faithful readers of the Land of Yajeev blog and even opened a store together selling candles with novel scents, calling these Wizardly candles “wandles” (Harry’s favorite wandle was Butterbeer-scented; Voldemort preferred the basilisk venom wandle).
Harry and Voldemort now more closely resembled Abbot and Costello than Skywalker and Vader. They would bicker (over such trifles as how much to charge for a wandle or over who would work the late shift at their wandle shop), and, every now and again, their skirmishes would elevate to the intensity of raised voices and drawn wands, but just a mention of a Land of Yajeev punch line (sometimes by their assistants Ron and Hermione) was all it ever took to diffuse the tension and return the duo to their wandle-peddling antics.
Potter fans had long wondered how Rowling would bring the story to a neat and tidy endpoint, and she managed to accomplish just that with the highest dignity. While this marks the end of the literary adventure for Harry and Voldemort, Rowling has graciously passed the baton of enchanted storytelling to your humble blogger.