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04 August 2013 @ 02:47 am
Harry Potter  
I don't really know where this is coming from, or if this is even going to make sense, but after I saw a Harry Potter video on my Tumblr dashboard, I felt the need to write it. It wasn't so much the video that made me cry (Though it's by the amazing KatrinDeep so I would recommend it), but the stories people had added to the reblog. Of how much Harry Potter meant to them, how it'd saved their lives, and I couldn't really relate because I don't think it's ever saved my life, though it did mean a lot to me.

And then I saw someone say "JK Rowling got me through some of the hardest times". And I burst into tears.

I was at a McFly concert on the 20th July. I can't remember where, Birmingham or Manchester or somewhere. And I was torn because while I was excited for the concert, I wouldn't be at a bookstore at midnight to by the Deathly Hallows. So it was mine and my mum's priority to get the book the second we got to the train station. And lo and behold, WHSmiths had plenty of copies.

And from start to finish, I didn't put that book down for anything. Not as I got on the train, not being disturbed by people talking to me, or phoning me, or anything.

Not even as my uncle called to say he couldn't get a hold of my nan. Not as he called to say he was going to break down the door. And not as he called and told us she was dead. But I think by that point, it wasn't about the book, or needing to finish it, or needing to know everything. It was because that book was my lifeline. If I could keep reading it and reading it, I didn't have to process anything. If I could read it, and throw everything into reading it, just holding it, then I wouldn't have to think about anything else.

And then I got to the end, hours later (or days later, I can't really remember the timescale), and I just sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. Over everything that I'd lost in that one day. My childhood was gone in so many ways - Harry Potter was over, and the woman who took care of me, who was like a second mother to me, was gone as well.

But I don't think I would've gotten through that day nearly as well if it wasn't for Jo. If that book hadn't been there for me to cling on. My memories of that day are foggy at the best, but my clearest memory is being on the train, knowing the phone call my mum got, and just getting up, and moving to the one empty seat in the entire carriage, curling around myself, reading, and crying.

Like I said, I don't even know what this post is for. I think it's just cathartic, being able to write it all out once and for all. I don't really know what else to say other than, thank you Jo. Thank you so much.