Editorial

Special Guest Editorial
"Questions"
by Isabella Jynx

I always asked questions about the Muggle world before my parents died. "What's a micwowave?" was one of my first ones. Sometimes I got answers...sometimes I didn't. As time progressed, and fate hit hard on me, I started asking questions about Muggles' emotional feelings. "Are they like us? What are they like inside?"

Today, I was walking down Diagon Alley when I reached a small store, one full of Divination supplies. It was quite quaint, but as I started to go inside, a small boy of about 8 came rushing out, crying as two other boys began smacking him with what looked like the broken off twigs of brooms. I quickly drew my wand, and the two bullies, looking a bit peeved, scowled and rushed off, taking all evidence with them.

I walked over to the boy, helped him to his feet, and began to question him. His terrified expression was clear on his face, and he shook his head and trembled, not answering any of them. I finally got an answer for my important question.

"Why were those boys beating you?" I asked calmly.

After a minute of silence, the boy timidly replied, "I was Muggle-born. They called me Mudblood, saying I didn't belong."

Before I knew it, he grabbed my robes and buried his face in my chest. "I have wizard blood, but they treat my parents so badly. How come everyone hates Muggles?"

I almost talked back, saying that plenty of us respected Muggles or even looked at them in a way of fascination, but I kept my mouth shut and merely stroked the brunette head of the child. Being rather small for a 19-year-old, I felt his shallow breaths hit my neck.

"Why?" the boy wailed.

I sorrowfully gazed into his blue eyes, unsure of what to say. I felt as if a cold ice cube had found its way into my heart and was numbing all of my feelings. I managed out one reply:

"I don't know."

Later, I found the boy's mother and made sure the two went home safely. I almost forgot his mother was a Muggle; her deep blue eyes and happy gestures made me feel right at home. I guess I've always felt apprehensive of Muggles, but I felt relaxed...peaceful.

I lay in bed that night, pondering all the mysteries of wizards and muggles. Why didn't we treat Muggles with respect, instead of acting as a shield to such precious things? Even if Muggles would...you know...use our magic for harm. I finally rose out of bed, sat at my desk, and took out a piece of parchment, a quill, and a bottle of ink. I began writing.

"As a witch and a human, I can be afraid of things unknown to me. But why must we treat Muggle-borns so badly? Why?"

I sat there looking at what I just wrote for a long time.

MTTM: Remembering to Look
October 25, 2001
By Megora McGonagall

It's 12:47 as I'm sitting here in bed, not able to sleep. I've been staring out my bedroom window, looking at the beauty just beyond the draperies that I didn't know was there. I originally pulled back the curtain to pad the headboard so it wouldn't bang against the chair-railing whenever I moved an inch in my sleep. Instead, I had to stop. Right outside my window is the big dipper. A group of stars, little twinkly things that seem so commonplace we forget about them. Some of us remember them from time to time, remarking on their beauty. But what we fail to remember is that even though we may be looking up at the sky, there's so much we're not seeing. I realized this as I stared at a constellation I've seen so many times before. The problem is, it looks different.

A year and a half ago I lived in a small town in Arizona, about 15 miles north of Mexico, and about an hour and a half's drive to the closest "city." I used to hate that little town. It was perfectly lovely as far as small towns are concerned, I'm just more of a big-city kind of person. I like art museums, theatre, and the like. Small-Town, Arizona doesn't have that, so I was bored. Oh how I failed to see what was right in front of me.

Looking out my window tonight reminded me of the beauty I've left behind, the beauty I had stared at and since forgotten. Of all the things to miss in Arizona, I miss the sky. At night you can look up and see everything, absolutely everything. The sky is so full of stars it's unbelievable. They light up the earth, reflect in such a way it's impossible to describe. You can see every little flicker, every little movement of gases millions of light years away, and every little twinkle in the sky. It creates a pure white halo around the horizon. As I look out my window tonight it's hard to realize that once I had seen those stars, and even though I'm looking at the exact same universe, I can't see the ballet of movement. How sad it is that I left all that behind, and even though I'm so relatively close, it's gone. I'm looking, but I can't see it.

It's just like the drapes I had never truly pulled back. The stars were there, I just never bothered to look. And now that the drapes are nestled against the wall with the window exposed, I'm looking at the stars, but I can't see them. I can see fourteen stars out of millions.

My sleepless brain is left to wander. How much in my daily life am I seeing, but not percieving? How much beauty am I passing off without consideration? How many people have I seen, but not understood? It all comes back to that Arizona starscape. I could see it so clearly then, and now, due to pollution, light, and a mix of other problems, I'm missing out on a spectacular light show. All that beauty has been lost to me. How much beauty has been lost in daily life due to a turned back, or a careless action?

I don't want to miss out on the every day occurance of an Arizona starscape, in some form or another. I want those millions of tiny light bulbs back in my life. And although I don't want to give up my art museums and theatre trips, I don't want to pass up on the experience of the beauty around us. No matter where we are, no matter what our situation, there's beauty somewhere. If we forget that, I think that's when we begin to falter. I've had a hard time over the past few months, but it's lifting now. I think I had lost hope because I had forgotten the beauty. I had seen, and closed my eyes. Open your eyes, listen with true intent, remember where you are. Remember that beauty can be found in the simplest of things. Look beyond the drapes, look beyond the fourteen stars outside your window, and see what's truly there.

MTTM: Trying to Define "Too Far"
October 25, 2001
By Megora McGonagall

It's no secret that the Harry Potter books have faced numerous accusations that they're dark, they're satanic, and they lead children to the occult. I've gotten those accusations personally, saying that I'm leading children to the devil by running this website. I always thought that was rather stupid. The books have great morals in them, they teach valuable lessons, and they get kids to read. Beyond that, I don't see how they supposedly advertise Satan-worship. But, it was always in the back of my mind that I was worried about what would happen when the movie came out.

The Harry Potter books have developed a fanbase of children, teenagers, and adults. The reason for this, I think, is that the books were written with so many layers. Anyone of any age could get something out of it. It's like that with many books, but the Potter books took it to a more sophisticated level. A book is a marvelous thing because it leaves a great deal to your imagination. You don't read a book, you read into a book. You take your life's experiences, you take what you know, you take everything that makes you you, and you apply it to what you're reading. That's what gauges what you get out of it. If you don't understand something one way, you'll understand it another way.
Let's take the ending of the fourth Harry Potter book as an example. A lot of adults said it was really dark and creepy. But, those are adults. They've probably read more really creepy books, they've seen more really creepy movies, and therefore their imagination is more graphic when it comes to certain descriptions. A book leaves visualizations wide open to the reader. A seven year old won't have seen as many graphic creepy images as an adult, and won't get the same images out of the same book. It's a you-get-what-you-look-for situation.

Lana Turner once said that the silver screen can't lie. You can't put a dog on the screen, make it go "meow", and try to convince people it's a cat. You can't show the audience a bunch of frightened people at a haunted mansion and try to convince the audience that those poor people are really having tea at the Ritz. It's impossible. You see one thing and it's so clear that the brain can't percieve it as anything else. With movies, what you see is what you get. And who makes movies? Adults do.
That's my biggest hang-up with Warner Brothers handling the Harry Potter franchise. Before, it was in the hands of J.K. Rowling, who's very intune with what children understand, what they read into something, what they truly see. Warner Brothers doesn't, and that's become very apparant in several situations. Just look at the whole PotterWar/DADA campaign. Warner Brothers couldn't understand that they were dealing with children because they don't understand children at all. I've talked to these people at Warner Brothers, trust me, they don't. My biggest fear is that they'll turn everything Harry Potter into their vision of Harry Potter, their adult vision of what's in the books.

Chris Columbus, the movie's director, has said he's being as close to the books as possible. I believe he is truly trying to be close to the books. But whose books are he being true to? The Harry Potter books are different for each and every one of us. And I'm not just talking imagination and the way we picture Hogwarts, or the way we see the Hogwarts Uniforms, or how we think Harry should look. I mean feeling. I mean the way we percieve a whole entire fictious world. The books have a different feel for each of us because we've each seen them with different gauges of graphicness.
From what I've seen of the film it's looking relatively dark. You can tell just by the way it looks. But, I'm not sure yet. I'm almost afraid to go to the movie for what it'll do to the Harry Potter franchise. And if the movies get progressively "darker" just like the books have, is the fourth movie going to end up being rated R? I'm just wondering how far it's going to go. We've already seen evidence of Warner Brother's perceptions of instances in the books. Another example being the Harry Potter cards made by Wizards of the Coast. I saw a picture of their perception of the "Avada Kedavra" curse. It showed a man flailing backward, his skeleton glowing green out of his skin, and his face showing intense pain. I never once saw that graphic an image when reading about that curse in book four, and I've seen some pretty graphic stuff in my time.

I suppose it's all a crap-shoot anyway, when making films. I know you can't appease every single Harry Potter fan. I'm not worried about that. I'm worried that the nay-sayers will see the film, and if it's as dark as their perceptions, they'll have the Harry Potter franchise hanged. The books will suffer. Or, even worse, it will do something to the kids who are already Harry Potter fans. Warner Brothers has to be careful, or the accusations against them may become fulfilled prophecies.

As for us, I think it's up to the Harry Potter fans to decide just how far is too far. If the toy looks too dark, don't buy it. J.K. Rowling said so herself, if it turns out to be "rubbish", don't buy it. If it puts a bad image on the Harry Potter franchise, don't support it. If the movie's too dark, tell people you think that way, tell Warner Brothers to fix that in the next film. We've been accused of supporting Satanism in the past. Let's prove those people wrong.

Message to the Masses
October 7, 2001
By Heather Lawver

I have always believed that there is nothing that cannot be accomplished when the United States and Great Britain get together. History testifies to the truthfulness and true gravity of this belief. World war I, world war II, and innumerable humanitarian, charitable, and legal cooperative efforts. We, the people of the United States & Great Britain, have a victorious shared history. We are the unquenchable force who will determine the conditions of our future. Between us, and with the support of other countries of the civilized world, will vanquish terror. We will conquer the enemy, we will secure a safe future for our posterity, and by all means, we will win. No one can stop the righteousness of such a league of nations as ours. I have no doubt in my mind that with our shared history behind us, the US, Britain, and other democratic free nations, we will lead the world to victory.

I also have no doubt that this fight will be long. It will be harrowing, but this fight will be yet another hallmark of what can be accomplished when countries and people, sharing mutual values, freedoms, and history, gather together to fight for the continued spread of freedom, libery, and justice for all.

Americans, indeed, all nations of the western democratic world, will stand for global peace, equality, freedom of religion, and prosperity. But peace comes at a prize, and how expensive that will be, no one can tell. But, this will be the best payment, the best investment, that we could ever offer to liberate the world, in providing peace and prosperity for all of our fellow citizens of this Earth.

We are united, we are free from fear, and by all means, we will win.

Message to the Masses: A Dream Realized
September 25, 2001
By Megora McGonagall

I'm not going to try and say anything to make sense of what happened on Tuesday, September 11. In fact, it's kinda hard to write this today. We've all seen the images, we've all heard the heroic stories, we all know just how awful it all was, and indeed still is.

What amazes me is how calm our leaders are being. I saw NYC mayor Rudy Giuliani on the David Letterman show on Monday night, and all I can say is that man amazes me. He's been asking everyone to get back to work, to move on with life. And as scary as that prospect is, as how mundane and insignificant it all seems to each and every one of us, I think he's right. Every government official who's urging us to get back to normal is right. That's why I'm writing this. Normally I have some vague idea of where I want these messages to go, but today, I don't. I'm just trying to move on with life, to keep up my little end of the normal world. I don't pretend to think that a whole bunch of people really care about the Daily Prophet right now. It was the last thing going through my mind Tuesday morning. But, you know what, it's normal. It's normal to me, and maybe there's a kid out there who's looking to go back to their normal routine of Harry Potter on the net. That's what I'm hoping, that maybe by me getting back to normal, some kid somewhere in the world is looking for stability. Maybe I can provide some stability by getting back to work. Getting back to what I enjoy most.

It's been amazing to watch other people get back to work, as well. For instance, all the late night talk show hosts. I have cried so many times watching them get back up on stage; shaking, nervous, numb, helpless, and unsure about whether it's alright to laugh. One that really got to me was watching Jon Stewart on the Daily Show. Honestly, I didn't want to watch that show after what happened on Tuesday. For those of you who don't know, the Daily Show is a show that pokes fun at the news. They're very liberal democrats, they have been in the past very anti-Bush, and they're very out-spoken in their opinions. I didn't know what to expect from them. I'm amazed at the grace that they displayed Friday night as they came back on the air. Their host, Jon Stewart, lives in New York City. He opened with a speech that brought him to tears. As his hands shook, he spoke of a dream that we're all familiar with; Martin Luther King, Jr's dream of equality. Since September 11, 2001, Martin Luther King's dream has finally come true. True nobility has shown forth out of the ashes, and compassion has conquered terrorism. As Jon Stewart said, we've already won. We are no longer judging people by the color of their skin, but by the "contents of their character." True heroes are being recognized, and unity is the cry of the day.

But, at the same time, there is discrimination. Mosques are attacked, Arab-Americans are suffering from undue hatred. All I can say about that is don't. The minute we treat any innocent human being as a lesser individual only because of their ethnic heritage is the minute we stop being Americans. It's the minute we stop being civilized, and it's the minute we dare to challenge democracy. We have realized a dream, hundreds of thousands of years in the making. A dream that the very first men on this Earth wanted. A dream of unity, where race and color and creed have disappeared. Let's not let go of that.

"The view from my apartment was the World Trade Center and now it's gone. They attacked it. This symbol of American ingenuity and strength and labor and imagination and commerce and it is gone. But you know what the view is now? The Statue of Liberty. The view from the south of Manhattan is now the Statue of Liberty. You can't beat that." - Jon Stewart

Message to the Masses: Finding Strength
September 10, 2001
By Megora McGonagall

On August 17, I sat in a waiting room at Johns Hopkins hospital, clad in a hospital gown, waiting for my turn to go into the operating room. I had a book, but I didn't want to read it; I was too nervous. I can't quite remember exactly what it was I thought about, there were too many thoughts swimming around at once to classify them word for word. Fear, anxiety, depression; each one as confusing as the last. Occasionally these thoughts were interrupted by various nurses, doctors, anesthesiologists, etc, who came to ask me questions. Or, I'd take a minute to look around at the other children in the waiting room.

In case you don't know, I was there to have my left big toe amputated. I've had a bone infection for nearly six years, and after numerous operations and weeks of central IV antibiotics, I became host to a hybrid bacteria; a bug that had grown resistant to every antibiotic known to man. I had to get rid of the bacteria before it spread anywhere else, which could lead to a fatal infection. Thus, the toe had to go.

Even though I knew a big toe wasn't the worst thing in the world to lose, it still hurt. The thought of looking down and not seeing it there was bothering me a great deal. I liked to say it was all okay; I liked to be the trooper who wasn't going to let it bother her. But the truth is, it did. It still does a little.

Along with the fear of losing the toe, there were other fears as well. We all hear about deaths from complications during surgery. Deaths from miscalculations with the anesthetic. Me, being a constant over-thinker, I took that into account and was slightly worried that I wouldn't get to see the next day. Silly as it may sound, it seems very real when you're sitting in a cold waiting room with slipper socks on, watching nurses rush by, and seeing doctors talking with flat faces to frightened parents. I was filled with a growing uneasiness about being in the hospital, about being anywhere near a scalpel, and knowing I'd have to experience that sickening echoing feeling that occurs when breathing ether for the sixth time.

That's when a nurse came in.

A very kind woman came to talk to me. We chit-chatted about this website (she had seen that I was reading "The Golden Compass". One thing led to another and we were on the topic of Harry Potter), we talked a bit about the whole DADA/PotterWar mess; basically she was taking care of the "my life flashed before my eyes" bit in a very slow, pleasant fashion. And then the topic wound around to the matter at hand; the operation. She suggested that while I was waiting I take a look at a book they had sitting around, what they called their "Graffiti book." She explained that it was basically a journal that they have so the patients can let off some stress. She asked if I felt like writing down any feelings, doodling, or whatever, that I could put it all in the Graffiti book. I took the book, and she instructed me to find the journal entries that had been written in Spanish and Arabic, but what I found was something much better.

Inside the Graffiti book were entries from other patients, explaining why they were having surgery, what they were feeling, or whatever happened to be on their mind as they once sat where I sat, each awaiting their turn to enter the operating room. I nearly broke out in tears as I realized that I hadn't been alone in my feelings. And even more important, I had an immense gratitude for the health that I had. There were entries from children from all walks of life, with all sorts of diseases, problems, and concerns. And yet, no matter how awful their situation, every single one of the children that wrote in this book was positive about their situation. Their messages rang with confident words about the hospital, the staff, the doctors, about life, about strength.

One entry, written by a nine year old girl, was nothing more than two sentences and a drawing. In it she wrote her name, her age, and that she was having her right ear amputated. She didn't say why, but she said she was okay with it. Then she drew two boxes, one right next to the other. One labeled "Before", the other labeled "After." She then drew very simple stick drawings of a smiling girl; in the Before square, the figure had a half-circle ear. In the After square, the half-circle ear was gone. She was still smiling.

Another entry, written by a patient of my own doctor, wrote about how this was her fifth operation, in an attempt to lengthen her right leg. She had been born with uneven legs, and she had to go through grueling operations to stretch out her leg so she could function normally. Instead of complaining, she spoke of her confidence in her doctor, a love for the hospital, her gratitude that she has the opportunity to have this done. She was positive, she had strength. It seemed that her situation was so immense it could overtake her, but instead she defied it, and lived with gratitude and happiness. And not only that, she sent that message to others in situations similar to hers.

I'm grateful for that Graffiti book. If it had not been for that, my experience would have been radically different. Reading those few pages of messages and drawings, I gained a greater perspective. I'm not being punished, I'm not being hurt for no reason, and I'm actually lucky. I'm lucky that this infection hasn't spread, I'm lucky to live in a place where I can get the best medical care in the world. I'm lucky that I'm able to function as well as I do. I know now that losing a toe isn't so bad in the grand scheme of things. But, I only truly realized this through understanding that even though I may not know anyone who knows exactly what I'm going through, someone in the world does. Someone else went through what I'm going through. They've had those feelings, those insecurities, those echoing feelings breathing that ether. It was through finding strength in others that I was able to face the coming operation. Albeit that strength was from strangers, in messages conveyed through paper and crayola markers, but they left a gift for me in their sketches. A gift of strength that I hadn't found anywhere else. And I'm here today because of their words of confidence.

Look for strength in others. Look for the uplifting messages in everything you see and experience. People have gone through what you have, or what you're going through now. Even if this person is a complete stranger, you'll experience that connection that comes through mutual understanding. And more importantly, spread your understanding to others. Be kind, be confident, be strong, but you will only be those things when you share them. Who knows, you could save a life. That Graffiti book saved mine.

If you go to Johns Hopkins and the nurses in the Pediatric ward hand you that book, look for a message in purple from a girl named Heather. That's for you, from me.