It's not really possible to hate Harry Potter, is it?

Bet your last sickle that it is.

See, in 2000/1, I worked at Barnes and Noble in the lovely Southern California city of Carlsbad, just a bit north of San Diego and a bit south of Los Angeles. I liked my job, was something of an elitist when it came to fiction, and worked in the children's department.

If you've ever worked in the children's department of a large bookstore, then you know about the Harry Potter plague. Lots of children tearing apart carefully constructed displays to get at the goods. I mean, they do this with every display, but there was just so much Harry Potter crap. The first two books were in softcover, the third book in hardcover, and we had soft toys, activity books, coloring books, dolls, and about a million packs of trading cards, not to mention Every Flavor Beans at every register. Really, it was overkill. Quidditch Through the Ages, bah! Magical Creatures, bah! I hated them all. I would even go on long, inspired rants about the evil commercialism of it all, the levels of manipulation instilled by the Potter reich, how one should not support The Man (or even The Boy Who Lived,) etc., etc.

It's good thing most people find me funny when I go off.

I blame my boss, Julie.

"Have you read any of the books?"

"No."

"Well, you should. Then at least you could cite specific examples of why the books are so evil."

Oh, she was right. Informed rants are so much better than ignorant frothing at the mouth. So, I borrowed the first book (determined that J. K. would not have a penny of my cash) and took it home. I started reading at 4:30 in the afternoon. By 4 a.m., I was in tears because my store wouldn't open until 9 o'clock and I needed the other two books. Yup. Just like that.

I won't bore you with why Rowling is so great. Now that I know more about her personality and I've seen her in a few interviews, I can admit that she's not the fiend I chalked her up to be. She actually seems like a very nice lady, and she's developed a franchise that gets people to read. I have numerous friends who have never read any book for pleasure other than the Harry Potter books. That's something of a miracle.

Then the first movie came out, and my dear friend Nichelle stood in line for quite a while to get us tickets. They were a surprise for me, and I think that's the most wonderful thing anyone's ever done for me. At this point I also had action figures, one of Snape (who dwelled in my purse) and one of Draco, who pouted at home and waited for me to bring back his friend. At this point, they were Professor and student only, because I had never heard of Fan Fiction.

I saw the movie several times in the theater. I have to admit that Alan Rickman was a pleasant surprise. I love him very much and I got a bit . . . short of breath when he stormed into the potion's classroom. In fact, I may have made some sort of sound, because Nichelle hit me. But that's neither here nor there. There might have been some . . . chest clutching as well. Maybe some action figure squishing. I probably squee'd, even though I didn't know then what it meant to yell, "Squee!" Alan Rickman, oh my yes. If it wasn't for him, I probably never would have even dreamed of thinking about any Harry Potter character in a less that pure manner. So I blame Alan Rickman, as well as my boss Julie.

(Incidently, I do have a silly 'dream cast' for The Luminous, which I'll share in another essay some day. Lots of things for Faithful Reader to disagree with. Yes!)

So anyway, the movie left the theaters, I'd read all the books (except Quidditch Through the Ages - what can I say, I don't like sports and I'm not interested in Harry, Ron, or Hermione all that much.) and I was in a quagmire of "NoNewHarryPotter" withdrawal.

So I turned to my solace, my salvation, my Internet. I registered on the Warner Brothers website. I mucked about on fan sites. It was boring. Then a search on Yahoo brought up a revelation. Somehow, in my searching, I came across a site that belonged to a girl named Black Rose. She had fan fiction on her site.

Now, let me tell you, the idea of fan fiction sat poorly with me, because it was . . . well . . . plagurism. I assumed that the writing would be terrible, but at least it would be Harry Potter Something as opposed to Harry Potter Nothing.

Oh my. It was very well-written, very steamy, very naked with Professor Snape Harry Potter. I wasn't sure if this was a joke or not, if I should be offended or not. As if Severus would sleep with Potty Wee Potter (okay, they didn't sleep, but that's beside the point.) I was completely disgusted, but immediately obsessed. My obsession led me to fanfiction.net. Now, this was back in the glory days when NC-17 fics abounded and no one referred to the site as "the Pit." Sure, there was a lot of incredibly bad fiction there, because authors were in charge of editing their own work unless they chose to have beta readers, and everyone was allowed to upload whatever they felt like. And, truth be known all ye who come here, it was the bad fiction that sent me running for my keyboard. As in, "WTF?! Severus deserves better treatment than this! I must intervene! Ego Girl to the rescue!"

To be fair, some of the stories were amazing. And dear Severus was a common obsession, as well as my obsession, and I wanted to see him written better than he usually was. So the wheels started turning in my head, especially a particular scene from the third book.

In PoA (Prisoner of Azkaban) Severus absolutely loses it when he finds out that Sirius Black has escaped. I mean, I could understand a little ranting and raving, but Severus came completely unhinged. What happened between he and Black in their school days to make him so angry? How bad could it have been? I think most of us work under the assumption that Severus has a lot of passion bubbling under the cold exterior, but a volcanic eruption seemed rather over the top. So I began writing "Harm," wherein I take Severus to hell and back, and we flip over every rock along the way to see what's slithering underneath.

Then, in my feedback, someone told me that "I don't think James and the others were really like that, but it's a good story." What? How could James and the others not be like that? Wicked, evil, filthy beasts who preyed on my beloved Severus, who were so caught up in their own foul desires (okay, just Sirius to be honest) that they would willfully destroy my beloved Potion's Master and leave him for dead, and only the shimmering strength of his phoenix-like spirit . . . wait a second. What if James and the others weren't really like that?

So I started "Hymn, Glamourie, Fire," which told the same years through Sirius's perception. Yes, Sirius screwed up royally and he severely damaged Severus in the process, which is mostly unforgiveable, but as I work more that fic, more and more of the truth about Sirius's family comes out, and I can't really blame him for being as screwed up as he is.

The writing got out of hand after this. Draco, knowing what he was fated for in "Harm" asked me if I could tell the rest of his story. "Huh? Rest of what story?"

"About Father and I. We were in love, you know."

Ewwwwww! But what was I supposed to do? It made far too much sense. And the Lucius I wrote in "Harm" would never, ever initiate his son into sexuality with force or with rape, so it had to be written as a duel seduction. So I started "La Symphonie du Dragon," and a lot of my reviews, if I can be a bit conceited, contained the word "beautiful" and the phrase "I wish I could hate this, but-"

Then the Twins popped in, the Twins off all people! Blargh! Draco is the only non-MWPP era character that I deal with, because, frankly, I cannot stand the idea of writing about Ron and Harry's penii. But here come the twins, doing their bit to ensure that my social life remains non-existant. "You're writing incest?" one of them asked me, "Excellent. Forge and I have a bit of a go at one another from time to time. You should write about that."

"No, no, no! I'm working on too many stories now."

"But it's important! At one point, we snogged Malfoy, that slimey git."

"..."

It's called "Hey Pretty/Terrible Thought," and the Malfoy snog isn't written yet, but boy is it ever on it's way.

So now I'm juggling a lot of stories, and writing at least four hours a day. And Remus Lupin opens his big fat mouth.

"I have a story too."

"No! Go away! I'm busy and you're boring."

"No, I'm not. You wrote me all wrong in "Harm." You made me weak and soft and needy, which is an excellent foil for Severus's own need and for Sirius's dominant personality, but it's wrong."

"I'm not rewriting a damn thing."

"Suit yourself. But then I guess you'll never know about how I had sex with Malfoy."

"Yeah right! . . . Which one?"

"Both. Numerous times. At various ages. And you'll never believe what the Malfoys were really up to in France . . ."

Now, the bitch has more stories centered on him than anyone else in the series. I hate him. I HATE him.

So that's how I got into fan fiction, how I learned to love Harry Potter, and why I giggle hysterically through every Harry Potter movie as I play "Catch the Slash."

End!