The only thing missing is Jar Jar binks

I’m rereading the scattered pages of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkabanthat I found around the house, and it makes me sad. Why should what many consider to be the best book in the series sadden me? Because it brings back memories of what Harry Potter used to be: the days when the air of Hogwarts crackled with magic, not hormones; when Harry had real, physical adventures in which the main villain was not his own angst; when Harry was seen as a student, not a god. And I miss the visualizations I had of the characters before I saw the movie: namely, Sirius as tall, dark and handsome, and Lupin (the likable Lupin of the first few books) sans the Hitler-style lip-ferret.

I WANT THINGS TO BE LIKE THEY WERE BEFORE! *sob* 

I think that the Harry Potter books should be divided like the Star Wars trilogies: We’ll have the first set, consisting of Books 1-4—the original ones that we all loved. Then we’ll have the final ones, Books 5-7, in which stupid romances overtook the plot and a decent, even cool, character turned into a whiny young man who nevertheless became the object of everybody’s worship.

Edit: James McAvoy has been brought to my attention as a perfect Lupin. My thanks to resurrecttheliving for that scrap of information.