Chapter 16 – Harry Potter And The Enlarged Ego

Chapter 16 – Harry Potter And The Enlarged Ego

A Chapter by Oscar Blomqvist
"

People who related to Voldemort during their teens will either become neo-Nazis or write about how they used to be pathetic c***s. Thankfully, I’m of the latter variety.

"

My sister and I were never really that close growing up. But when I quit basketball, that started to change. I had to find a new universe to live in since I had locked the door to the last one and thrown away the key. It took me a while, but I found a new universe to live in for a while.


I went to the premiere of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows part 2 with my sister. People had dressed up, there were Severus Snapeses, Dolores Umbridges, and even a Hagrid in the theatre. There were also a lot of emotions in the room. When Snape got eaten by Nagini, the cries and sniveling even led to someone with an icier heart than myself to shout “Be quiet!” 


The audience was 90 percent female and I assume, because of their sadness, they all had a crush on either Snape, Alan Rickman, or both. Clara remained mostly quiet during the film, but afterward, she whooped and cheered along with everybody else as the credits rolled and the fans showed their appreciation as the names of the lead actors appeared on the screen. 


When Alan Rickman’s name appeared, there was a collective orgasmic noise from the audience, which seemed to carry on till the end of the credits. Afterward, Clara had mascara all over her face, while I had popcorn all over mine. She had been crying and I had been stuffing my face, an apt summary of our two upbringings.


My sister overreacts sometimes. When she was about to move out, the contractors who were redoing her kitchen in her new apartment fucked up her floor a little bit. Which is not good, but my sister said: “They’re going to have horseheads in their beds.” Those two actions, messing up a floor and putting a horsehead in someone’s bed are not on the same level. 


Similarly, it was a bit weird seeing Clara scream at the credits of the last Harry Potter film, mascara running down her cheeks. She had been wearing her Gryffindor scarf, despite being a Ravenclaw (what a fake!), and a kid on the street had noticed it and mentioned it to her father, who tried to acknowledge the child's excitement without making too much of a fuss. 


Clara had smiled at the incident, although I know she'd rather the kid hadn't said anything at all. She hated when anyone noticed something, or worse, said something out loud, about her, especially her appearance. If she could've been a ghost, she probably would've chosen to be one. But then she was also able to let go and scream at a film screen after being a devoted fan for around a decade. 


I guess being in a dark movie theatre makes it easier to let go as you may feel like you can hide in the shadows. I hadn't been a devoted fan for a decade but even if I had, I would never have been able to let go like that. She was screaming at names on a screen because those actors had meant a lot to her. 


She was almost acting normal as most humans would. It was weird to see. I looked at her and thought This is why she has friends and I don't. It was pathetic, yes, but that was the first thought that struck me. People appreciate the quality of being able to express happiness and excitement. It’s a shame really.


I've never been able to pee in front of others unless I'm blackout drunk. But when I'm sober or only a little pissed, it's impossible for me to get a single drop out even if the Niagara Falls is passing through my bladder. 


Anyway, before we could leave the theatre after watching The Deathly Hallows part 2, I had to pee. For once, the line to the men’s toilets was as long as, if not longer than, the line to the women’s bathroom. I got in line behind approximately fifteen Severus Snapes. Once I actually got into the bathroom, I could see the reason why the line was so long. Only one toilet was working and the long pig troth urinal was completely empty. They were all waiting for the opportunity to close a door behind them. I doubt any of them had to take a s**t. 


They were probably very uncomfortable not being in their own rooms reading nasty Harry Potter fanfiction. They were all dressed as Snape because Snape f***s. None of them could pee in public, I knew it. I had found my people. Being the only one not dressed as a fictional character, I took it upon myself to be the one to break the trend. After all, I had always fluctuated between the dorks and the jocks, not really fitting in in either camp. 


I gathered all of my courage and took a step towards the pig troth. The fifteen Severus Snape's gasped en masse. I unzipped my jeans and whipped out my wand (penis, but I'm sure you got that), and pushed for all that was holy. Nothing happened. After about three seconds which felt like an eternity, I realized that this was never going to happen despite the fact that my bladder was close to bursting. I quickly zipped up and left the bathroom, acting as if I had just peed but without washing my hands for an expedited exit. 


I walked around for a bit, pretending not to be waiting for the people in the queue to be replaced by people who hadn't just witnessed my remarkable defeat. After around six minutes, I rejoined the queue. The guy in front of me turned around and gave me a look.
“Severus,” I said to break the ice.
“The troth was a swing and a miss, eh? Still, it was brave to go for it,” he said. I felt like stupefying myself in the dick.


There were of course also instances where I saw myself in the characters. And I think it’s obvious whom I would be comparing myself to, considering my enlarged ego and pretentious state of mind. Harry? Nooo, that noble prat is way too into people and people seem to like him, it doesn’t fit. Ron? The man’s a bit of an idiot, so no. Hermione? To a large extent yes, we’re essentially the same person. 


Except, I would rarely raise my hand in class, I had that beaten out of me early on in life, and since then I’ve been a more laid-back kind of know-it-all. No, I think you all know who I’m thinking about. The Dark Lord. I wish I had his way of charming people in order to manipulate them, but alas, that was not to be. What was essential to come to this conclusion was of course the fact that I myself was 17, alone, and for the most part a sad, miserable individual with a desperate need to find any kind of self-worth. 


Having struggled socially made it a lot easier to think that I was just a misunderstood genius, the rest of humanity being too stupid to understand my brilliance. You can just smell the cuntiness, can’t you? The optimal role model for a sad 17-year-old is not Hitler with a dash of magic. People who related to Voldemort during their teens will either become neo-Nazis or write about how they used to be pathetic c***s. Thankfully, I’m of the latter variety. 


Dumbledore explained how Tom Riddle hated everything that tied him to other people. How he preferred to be alone. This allowed me to tell myself that I was lonely by choice and not because people had picked me out of a crowd to pick on because they thought I was a f*****g weirdo. And that the people who disliked me, simply did so because they didn’t get me, or because they felt stupid in comparison and had to push me down to retain their status. While this was definitely part of what actually happened, thinking like this didn’t exactly set me up for great relationships with other so-called humans in the future.




© 2021 Oscar Blomqvist


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Added on February 27, 2021
Last Updated on February 27, 2021
Tags: Harry Potter, Voldemort, mental health, novel, young adult, growing up, coming of age, puberty


Author

Oscar Blomqvist
Oscar Blomqvist

Charlottesville, VA



About
I wrote a story. I think it's actually rather good, or at least okay. I thought I would post it here. Let me know what you think - [email protected] more..

Writing



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