Last week I walked into a Barnes & Noble and picked up a copy of Harry Potter - Year 7. Like everyone else, I'd heard the spoilers in the media and recalled the hints given by J.K. Rowling and characters from the previous books. Guiltily, I picked it up and looking around the book store skipped to the end of the book to see if I could get a sense of how things turned out. An unforgivable sin to some book lovers but for me a matter of emotional preservation. A bit extreme but nonetheless true.
Over the years, Harry, Hermione, Ron, Neville and the rest have become like my own children. I've watched them grow up. I've felt the pain when they were hurt and the exultation when they've met success (or had their first kiss). J.K. Rowling has done an amazing job with the books and with making sure that the movies - actors, directors etc. did these deep, rich characters justice. Of course, it doesn't hurt that these characters remind me of people that I adore in real life. When Harry is alone, parentless and living under a staircase I imagine my loved ones bearing the same difficulty and my heart breaks.
Not since Aslan was sacrificed on the stone table have I cried while reading a novel (I was probably about 10 or so at the time). I know that the time is nearing again. I am bracing myself to feel the pain. There will be a void without updates about the lives of Harry and the rest; I feel honest sadness for that. Hopefully soon some great talent will introduce me to new characters (hopefully, it won't be another twenty some odd years) and when they do I'll be ready to add new literary loved ones to my life because although the pain of loss is significant, the experience of knowing them makes it well worth it.
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