Midnight magic

It is 2 a.m. I am home at last. And The Deathly Hallows are at hand.

For two hours, I wandered a maze of costumed, bespectacled, Starbucks-fueled humanity camping out at the local Barnes and Noble, waiting for Harry Potter to be released. The largest bookstore in the county, and I had trouble finding room to navigate, tripping over sleeping 6-year-olds and Goth teens stretched out into the aisles.

But I can say I was there. And I really don't regret doing it.

Maybe it's because if I am going to be a part of a massive cultural phenomenon like the Harry Potter release, I want to live it to the fullest. It would be simple enough to order the book online, and wait for the mailman to bring it to my front door. That is the easy route.

I want to be part of the excitement, the hype. I want to be among others who are willing to debate crucial questions like whether Harry is a Horcrux.

When each of the Star Wars prequel movies came out, I was there too, on line, waiting for the midnight show. And I never regretted being a part of this.

So, too, for JK Rowling's magical swan song, I wanted to be there, when the embargo was broken and claim my own copy of the tome.

The heat in the store was intense. Too many bodies taxing the air conditioning system in stuffy corners without windows or any circulation. I studied one long line for a moment, trying to figure out if I needed to join. No, it was the latte line and I had already been sufficiently caffeinated for the night.

But it was fun, really. The costumes were amazing - a wonderful array of robes, witch's hats and scar-painted faces, though a few Bellatrices abandoned the heeled boots before the night was through.

12:01 am and a roaring applause sounded from the cash register. The first box had been broken and Harry had been released. The end was near and our reading marathons were about to begin.