I was in “Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.” Well, technically, there is a character named Stebbins in the extended edition of the film. You have to go past the main menu of the DVD, to the deleted scenes. Said character gets caught “snogging” — which is a rare example of British parlance sounding less sophisticated than the American equivalent, “necking” — with a lady-friend in one of the carriages during the Yule Ball. Snape catches the two wizards-with-benefits and, presumably channeling his own well-documented frustration in these matters, brings the proceedings to an abrupt end. I can only assume, based on what I would do in this character’s robes, that he was mere moments away from a cheesy sexual pun like “showing you my Whomping Willow,” “speaking in parseltongue,” or “I bet you didn’t Expecto this Patronum.”
Rupert Grint, with his gobs and gobs of Harry Potter money, promptly went out and purchased an ice cream truck, from which he played 15-second renditions of Greensleeves and passed out Dreamsicles to presumably star-struck kiddos. While not particularly relevant to the rest of this article, isn’t that a great human interest story?
The purpose of that little prelude was not to impress you with my knowledge of Potter lore. Rather, it was to prime your brain for the Harry Potter metaphor that is the cornerstone of this piece: Life has been variously compared to a long journey, to a path littered with lovely roses (how lovely, we don’t know because nobody ever seems to smell them) and, in a brilliant but underappreciated marketing move by Hershey, to a box of chocolates. I’ll add my name to the list of “people dumb enough to make broad statements about life’s character” and venture that life is rather more like Wizard’s Chess.
You remember Wizard’s Chess. It was the game of strategy and wits that Harry and Ron played in lieu of getting high off of pure veritaserum extract with the other kids in the potions basement. What I propose to you, dear reader, is that each of us is playing a game of Wizard’s Chess against the powerful winds of nature and fate.
“What does this mean, and why should I care?” You had that thought when Mumford and Sons announced they were “going electric,” and you may be having it now, in the wake of my hypothesis. Life as Wizard’s Chess means that for every game in which we are the player (which is one: our own), there are countless others in which we are the knight, the castle, the rook, or — it pains me to say it — the pawn.
Think of a few people in your life, be they minor or major characters: your mom, your boyfriend/girlfriend or maybe just the cashier who might be judging you for getting Chick-fil-A a little too often. These people all have particular qualities that amount to strengths and weaknesses; what we might call abilities and limitations relevant to your desires and needs for happiness.
A bishop can move uninhibited in a diagonal direction, but is unable to move horizontally or vertically. You need to take out the other player’s king, and the specific ability of the bishop means that you play it with those abilities in mind. Similarly, the dining hall employee can give you access to that sweet, sweet taste of waffle fries and special sauce, but is of no help in awarding you a degree that will help you pay the bills and, down the road, the medical expenses you’ll accrue from your french-fry fetish.
Let’s extend the metaphor even further: people’s skills and use-values (moving diagonally in the case of the bishop; helping you forget about the inevitable heat death of the universe in the case of your girlfriend/boyfriend), may remain constant, but your goals do not. Sometimes, despite her usefulness, it’s smart to sacrifice the queen. Sometimes, despite the short-term cost, it’s wise to go all “Gone with the Wind,” take back your oversized t-shirts and part ways with bae.
As your interests and orientations shift, so do the locations and relative values of the people in your life. When you were still trying to “explore your sexuality” or whatever rickety justification you had for putting us all at increased risk of STDs, that friend-of-a-friend with a rockin’ resume — but a figure that was the embodiment of mediocrity — held little appeal. Now that you’re in the market for a partner with whom to raise 2.5 kids, attend parent-teacher conferences and reassure each other that those extra 15 pounds look “stately,” the fact that they might not have a sexual history comparable to Genghis Khan is pretty attractive.
This all looks a bit bleak, doesn’t it? Its up for you to decide that there is no such thing as true connection, drop out of school and throw yourself into hedonism. I wouldn’t particularly recommend it, especially since dropping out of college to pursue hedonism is akin to dropping out of Hogwarts to pursue magic. You’re already in the right place.
You might reasonably respond to all this by saying, “That’s totally barbaric.” Well Hermione, “That’s Wizard’s Chess.”
Peter Stebbins is a Humor writer.
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