Sebastian & The Dark Arts Teacher

Recollections of Happier Times

"Mom! I know who the next Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is!"

My eleven-year-old son yelled through my cell phone, which had woken me up from my quiet slumber at 5:35 in the morning. Without waiting for my reply or apologizing for calling me at such an early hour, he instead asked. "Can I tell you who it is?"

"Wait a minute," I mumbled, my head still in a fog. Then, finally, I got out of bed and whispered, "How did you get a copy of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince?"

My sleep-fogged brain began to clear, and I thought about what he might say next.

"Wait! Wait, don't tell me and ruin it for me." I yelled back, waking my husband, who was still sleeping. I wouldn't know who the Dark Arts teacher was at Hogwarts for at least two hours. Security had been tight about this upcoming book. The secret book handlers at Barnes and Noble had a tightly locked matched pair of preordered copies of J.K. Rowling's 6th book of the Harry Potter series in a hidden vault at their store, waiting for me to pick up when the doors promptly at eight o’clock that morning.

"Do not tell me anything." I used my mommy's voice this time.

"But Mom, can I pleeaasse tell you who it is? It won't ruin the story, and I won't tell you anything else. Promise." I could hear the excitement in his voice. We loved the Harry Potter series and read them together as a family. With each new book, we not-so-patiently waited in long lines with hundreds of excited fans, some wearing dressing in costumes and waving wands, outside the bookstore. We talked about what we thought would happen next in the series. I always ordered two books; one for Sebastian and me. We usually read each book in one sitting, and we only came up for air once we finished them 10-16 hours later. Steve and Isabel shared the second copy. They took their time and savored each word, taking days or weeks to complete.

Suddenly, I remembered where he was calling me.

"First, I want to know how your flight to Germany went?"

I had dropped Sebastian off at the airport ten hours previously for his first solo airplane flight to Europe. I was excited for him as he was to spend the summer in Stuttgart with our good friends Maso and Ingrid. Maso had spent a high-school year living with my husband thirty years earlier, and we thought it would be fun to send our children to each other's respective countries for a time. Sebastian was the start of numerous trips back and forth to the United States and Germany between our families. I couldn't wait for him to experience Europe.

Sebastian, though, was worried. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince was being released twelve hours after his plane left Portland.

"Can't we change my flight?" he lamented after hearing about the day he was leaving.

"No, we can't change your ticket. It would be $300.00 more if I booked your flight the next day or the day after." I hugged him and said, "Sorry, Big Guy."

"But Mom, I have to know what happens next!" He pushed out of my arms, stomped across the room, plopped down on a chair next to me, and ran his hands through his messy head of white-blond hair.

He huffed, took a big breath, and exclaimed, "But Mom, I've been waiting two years for this book. I have to know what happens before everyone else."

I chuckled. "Well, I can't change the ticket now. But maybe I can get a copy through Amazon. Maybe they ship to Germany?"

"But Mom," Sebastian stood up, paused, and stared at himself for a moment in the dining room mirror hanging above the buffet. "I can't go to Germany; I have to read Harry Potter instead."

“Let me try and figure out something. I know someone must have copies in Germany."

"But they'll be in German! I can't read German. Mom, what am I going to do?"

***

Before Harry Potter, there was Narnia and Frodo Baggins.

As a young Christian parent, I had heard all the "evil" things about Harry Potter. So I had been looking for the next book of great literature to read to my children. Every night before bedtime, we read a chapter or two (the kids hated when the chapter ended on a cliffhanger) from a book. Past book series included Little House on the Prairie, Winnie the Pooh, Peter Pan, and The Back of the North Wind. We had just finished The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis, and I wondered if they were ready for The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien. My husband Steve had already read The Hobbit to Sebastian when he was about seven years old.

One day I asked friends from my children's private Christian school about reading Harry Potter. An older and supposedly wiser Christian mom said, "I haven't read it. I heard there are witches and witchcraft in it." Another well-meaning teacher at the school whispered to me, "I heard the children disobey their parents in that book, and they celebrate Halloween like we celebrate Christmas."

But I couldn't find anyone in my network of friends who, at that time, had actually read the series or would admit to reading it.

I was determined to find out what was wrong with Harry, and while meeting some friends for lunch, I again broached the subject.

"And why are The Chronicles of Narnia OK for my kids to read?" My friends stopped eating mid-bite, mouths still popped open, and glared at me as if I had said a swear word in public. "There is that nasty White Witch in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. Why is she OK to read about and not Harry Potter?"

My friends were quick to answer.

"It's a classic. You don't have to worry about it."

"Oh, and C.S. Lewis was a Christian. It's OK then."

"But the Witch dies in the end. Good triumphs over evil you know."

When I casually mentioned, "You know C.S. Lewis included the Roman God of Wine, Bacchus in the Narnia series." One of my friend's eyes got as big as red grapes. My other friend looked at me with disbelief, "I don't remember that being in the book."

One looked away and stared out the window, not knowing what to say; the other began picking at her well-manicured fingernail.

I leaned closer to them. "Remember the big party scene with the Pevensie kids in Prince Caspian? Bacchus shows up with dancing girls, and things get a little crazy. Even Susan in this book called those girls wild. Is it OK for our children to read about wild parties," I paused and added, "in a supposed Christian children's book?"

"I must have missed that part," my first friend admitted.

My second friend stopped picking her nail and replied, "Well I think Narnia is just fine, but I'd avoid Harry Potter. It's not even allowed in our school's library anyway. That says something doesn't it?"

"What makes one book more acceptable than another?" I mainly asked myself, but I wanted to know if somebody had a persuasive argument to guide my understanding.

We sat at the table, silent for a while, and no answers came at that lunch table.

So, I changed the subject to more mundane things, like the weather.

Now I was more intrigued. So, after leaving my friends, I drove to Barnes and Noble and bought my first copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone.

Within two hours of reading, I was hooked and wanted to read more.

As if by magic, one day, I accidentally came upon a remnant of fellow Harry Potter fans at Sebastian and Isabel's school. Standing at the designated pick-up line one afternoon, I felt the May sun peeking through the afternoon's lingering rain clouds. Thoughts filled my head with everything we had to do once we left the school grounds. Then, while making my mental list, I thought I heard someone whisper, "muggle." I frantically looked around through the concentration of mothers and children, wondering what person would be brave enough to utter a word found in one-of-soon-to-be-seven books about a boy wizard who goes to a wizardry school.

My eyes stopped at two women I knew casually, huddled together, talking. At first glance, they might have been two friends catching up about their busy schedules and sharing meal plans for the next week. But then I noticed the book-sized brown nondescript paper bag in one of the woman's hands. She nervously looked around, as if not wanting anyone to see the drug deal about to go down in this back-parking lot filled with people, and casually gave it to her acquaintance. The recipient of the parcel smiled cautiously and slowly pulled out the contents. I was close enough to a brief glimpse of a green-covered book with the word "goblet" on it.

I had found my people.

***

The day arrived to take Sebastian to the airport for his flight to Germany. Unfortunately, I failed to find a copy of the Half-Blood Prince. Amazon did not have copies available, nor did they offer next-day delivery.

Sebastian was stuck.

He continued to complain about this every chance he could as he packed his suitcase.

"Can you mail me the book when you get the copy tomorrow?" Sebastian muttered as he marched out to the car.

"That'll cost more than the two books I already purchased. It'll take a couple of weeks to get there anyway." Sebastian sighed and threw his suitcase in the trunk.

"I guess you'll have to wait until you get back before you read it." We drove over the Glen Jackson Bridge towards the Portland Airport. I could see him looking out the window towards the Columbia River; its waves glimmered and sparkled, reflecting the night stars, and bridged lights, as if it sensed Sebastian's sad mood and wanted to remind him he too was going on what could be a magical journey of discovery, just as Harry had at the same age.

But Sebastian overlooked the river and missed the magical moment.

"Well don't tell me what happens. Promise?"

"I won't. I promise."

Ten hours later, after Sebastian’s flight left the United States, I received that phone call at 5:35 in the morning; Sebastian's bleak mood had been replaced with excitement. I secretly loved that he called, wanting to share Hogwart's next Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher with me.

"How did you get a copy." I cut him off quickly before he gave away any precious information.

"After Maso and Ingrid picked me up, I got my luggage." He paused a moment, "We were walking through the airport, and I saw a copy of the book at a bookstore. Then he yelled, "Mom, It's in English! I'm halfway through the book."

"Well, don't ruin it for me." I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. "I pick up my copies in less than two hours."

"Mom, can I pleeeaasse tell you who the dark arts teacher is? Pleaassee. I have to tell it to someone."

I sighed. I loved my son.

"Go ahead." I said through gritted teeth.

Then Sebastian proceeded to tell me for the next twenty minutes, in great detail, about the new dark arts teacher in J.K Rowling's latest book and what he thought might happen yet.

After hanging up, Sebastian never called me again for the rest of the summer. But when he came home eight weeks later, a well-read copy of the Half-Blood Prince was found tucked away between his dirty sweatshirts, waiting to be reread.