Last year when we brought Percy into our house to help unlock the special features of the Harry Potter DVD, my husband and I didn’t know we’d form a lifelong attachment to that crazy kid. Percy, with the dark circles under his eyes and the spooky stare ... he could solve any game. In fact, instead of going out to see The Two Towers, we decided to hook up the PS2 to the big-screen TV and -- popcorn in hand -- we watched him play through the video game, instead. Same difference, right?

But never before had Percy needed us. One moment he was leaving the house in full Quidditch attire, off to see the new Harry Potter movie. The next thing we knew, three hours had elapsed, and he limped mournfully into our house and buried himself in a pile of dark beanbags.

“What’s the matter, Percy?” we asked. But we couldn’t really get a straight answer out of him.

“Snake with no eyes, spiders everywhere, creepy screaming plants, waauugg” he moaned.

“Did the movie ... scare you?” I asked, trying to put a comforting arm around him.

He straightened up. “No, in fact, visually it was superbly crafted. However, the director, screenwriter, and cinematographer failed to properly balance the elements of darkness and horror with the spirit of compassion that imbued the books with such a gratifying humanity.” Then he rolled back over onto his face and started bawling.

“This was worse than that time I tried to explain midichlorians to him after we saw Star Wars,” my husband said.

There was little we could do. With no fifth Harry Potter book coming out anytime soon, all we could do was a strict regimen of first-aid: wrapping him in red and gold Gryffindor blankets and allowing him to play the Harry Potter videogames for hours on end by candlelight.