Published: November 17, 2010

When I was nine, I made fun of my best friend Riley for reading a book about a boy wizard. I was a loyal Roald Dahl fan, and this J.K. Rowling person and her story of the boy who lived held little interest to me. However, our teacher assigned a book report, and since all the cool kids were doing it, I finally decided to give “Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone” a try.

I read the 309-page book in one day and I was hooked. I remember practically peeing in my pants when I learned they were going to make the books into movies and in the sixth grade, my class field trip to the movie theater to see “The Sorcerer’s Stone” was the highlight of my middle-school career.

Now, a decade later, I’m a college junior, and I’m determined to make seeing “The Deathly Hallows” just as thrilling an outing as the first one was, which is why on Nov. 18 at 8 p.m., you won’t find me ordering tickets for the film on Fandango; you’ll find me already lining up at AMC Loews Theater on 1998 Broadway for the film’s 12:01 premiere, pumpkin pasty and butterbeer in hand.

That’s right. I’ve had my tickets for weeks, people, weeks! (If you’re reading this and you don’t have a ticket yet, you’re most likely not going to the midnight premiere. You have to plan ahead.) Some ask me what the point of seeing a film at midnight is. “Don’t you have to wait in line forever?” “What about the crowds?” “Isn’t it hard to get a seat?”

Well, folks, I’ve learned that 80 percent of the time in this city, you are going to be faced with crowds and lines no matter where you go, so you might as well plan around these problems and make the most of them. Besides, part of the fun of these midnight showings are the people themselves. Not just anyone goes to a midnight premiere. Midnight premiere-goers are hardcore. Sure, they might be a little more aggressive than most, but that doesn’t mean they’re terrible. Goodness knows I shoved aside an old man once in my rush to get the best seats in the house (center of center row, by the way), but hey, he got over it.

There’s also never a shortage of anyone to talk to at these late-night showings. Whether it’s four hours untill show time or two minutes untill they open the theater’s doors, fellow fans are always up for some fan fare chitchat. From discussing the sacrifices of Severus Snape to analyzing the surprisingly heroic antics of Neville Longbottom, there’s a topic of conversation up for grabs.

There’s also always at least one person slightly more hardcore than oneself. For me, these tend to be the fans who dress up. I can’t wait to get a look at these crazies. It’s more than amusing seeing the Hermiones and the Ronalds, the Lupins and the Dumbledores, and the Voldemorts and the Harrys. But I’ll be darned if I don’t sport some Gryffindor house colors at the very least, although I do feel that if I were ever sorted, I would end up in Ravenclaw.

When seeing a midnight premiere, there’s also an undeniable excitement in the event. Sure, you can see a movie the weekend after it comes out, but do you realize how many thousands of people have already seen the film before you? That’s no fun. Once I skipped a midnight premiere. I decided sleep was more important, and I just didn’t feel like going.

Well, that was a mistake. The next day, everyone I knew had already seen the film, and I felt completely left out. I’m not saying you should see the midnight premieres of all films, but don’t deny the power of seeing a film first. It’s an empowering feeling. Sure, it may be a superficial one, but no one ever hurt from feeling a little smug about something. Just don’t go all Voldie on your feelings of empowerment.

Plus, if you’re a Harry Potter fan, you pride yourself on your loyalty. Seeing the midnight premiere of The Deathly Hallows is hardly a demand. I mean, come on, you only have two shots left at this franchise. Don’t miss out. James and Lily Potter sacrificed themselves for their son. Can’t you sacrifice a couple hours of sleep for Harry Potter? I can. I might be getting a little deep now, but this is the end of our childhoods as we know it. Send it out with an Expecto Patronum bang, not a Riddikulus whimper.