In which I use “wand” as an anatomical metaphor, yep

Look. I am trying to maintain the utmost respect for our protagonist. After all, he is a veritable hero with many honorable qualities. But he does makes it rather difficult for me, when at one moment, he knowingly sets his Omnioculars to slow-motion mode to spectate the Quidditch World Cup, and then mere moments later, is completely dumbfounded by the fact that a particular team has just scored a point.

Hermione again is forced to explain the basic properties of time to Harry Potter, who for his part, doesn’t even outwardly acknowledge her. This dude should really be thanking his pal for not, in a moment of exasperation, just finishing Voldemort’s job for him by proxy. Or, for not rightfully insisting that this book be called “Hermione Granger and the Polite Explaining of Pertinent Shit to Ungrateful Men.”

But, to be fair to Harry, perhaps his slight bewilderment in this particular case is borne of the fact that not only was he starved all summer long on a meager diet of grapefruit quarters and decaying birthday cake, but he also just went through his entire sexual awakening process in the space of one paragraph, when he first encounters the veela, Bulgaria’s siren-like Quidditch cheerleaders:

“The veela had started to dance, and Harry’s mind had gone completely and blissfully blank. All that mattered in the world was that he kept watching the veela, because if they stopped dancing, terrible things would happen..”

“Terrible things?” All right now, lower that wand champ. I know a diary almost once did you in completely, but maybe it’s time for you to save the drama for one of those bad boys.