Old Business

I was reading a friend's blog this morning and she was talking about the Harry Potter movie. While Steve and I weren't as hard-core as she was (saw the midnight show on the first day), we did go see the movie the first weekend it was out.

Not at the end when Sirius dies, not at various other appropriate times in the movie, but at the beginning. Have I posted this before? Anyway, I'm going to post it again because I still feel like a weenie.

Here's the scenario:
After the good guys come to get Harry from his aunt & uncle's house, they fly on their brooms to London.

Uh-oh. My favorite place.

I know they're going to London. I feel my throat constricting and a little tickle in my nose. I'm adamantly telling myself, "No tears. No tears. We're not even 10 minutes into the movie."

They fly over motorways as they approach London. A bit more tightening in the throat and the tickle becomes a bit more urgent, as does my warning to myself.

I speculate that they are going to fly up the Thames. They don't do it in the book, but I know that in movies, especially for us Americans, some specific London landmarks along the river will be shown. I have my suspicions which landmarks.

As they are flying up the Thames, they fly under Westminster Bridge and are greeted with the very dramatic sight of Parliament and Big Ben all lit up (it's night). I was right. So now I'm very close to tears. I miss England. I loved it over there. I keep thinking, "Get past the muggle part. Get past the muggle part," because I know I'll be fine once we hit the meat of the movie in the wizarding world. And I was right because after number 12 Grimauld Place grows between numbers 11 and 13, Harry and crew enter, and I'm fine because it's a world I only recognize from my imagination. I can go there any time I want. Unlike the real England.

I didn't cry when Sirius died. I knew that was coming. But I cried when I saw this: