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A review by tomhardygirl
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling
5.0
I feel as though I have lost my greatest friends, my most tender loves.
Firstly, I’ll say that the precise care with which these characters have been written will never cease not only to astound me, but to touch me. I feel ripped down to my core, my sweetest innards, where my dearest friends rest: Harry, Hermione, and Ron.
Through each book I’ve watched them grow beyond their years, fighting countless battles time and time again, bearing the burden of not only greatness, but sacrifice, and finding their way to the other side: rich and abundant with love; and at the very end of their expedition, finally, yes finally!: laden with peace. Together it is both enough and not.
Yes, the perfect ending point, the deserved destination and yet I crave most selfishly, above all, to walk the halls of Hogwarts with them once more, to huddle together beneath the Invisible Cloak and admire its eclipsing blanket of safety, to once again feel the warmth of the love shared between a trio that has never been anything but love, the most poignant, present kind.
Somewhere within the years of youth spent travelling beside Harry I became a part of this love and for that I will forever be grateful.
This love was wholly evident in Harry Potter’s last instalment, highly sentimental in a way that matters a great deal to someone like me, to whom each and every sentiment matters. So, all the little moments Harry’s heart swelled with the most tender love for everyone—the two halves who, without, he would not be whole: Ron and Hermione, Ginny, the Weasleys, Professor McGonagall, Dumbledore, his parents, Hagrid, Neville, Luna (whose understanding and love for Harry and their friendship I so wholly adore and hold dear), even Snape and, in some silly way, Dudley, etc—felt personal and raw and true to the significance of that fact that it was the very last time we would see them: all these people we, as readers, had come to love. Thus, it was the perfect exit, hard though it was; as much as I will miss them.
But let me go on a little longer with this love that is abundant and yet, reaching its content’s end, has nowhere to go:
Beside the resilient bravery of Harry Potter, beneath the adventure and excitement, interwoven through every written line, every lost friend, every laugh shared: there is love. There is hope. There are two people standing beside you holding each hand and; there is warmth. It is as much a home as Hogwarts is for Harry and through extension, you.
Witnessing their lives throughout the years and then, with singular care, the possibilities extended through their children and all the tiny traces they have of their parents from the memories we share, is an immense pleasure.
And the little things! Oh the names… especially Albus Severus. Albus, most obviously, who loved and cared for Harry feverishly and reverently, even beyond death and *Severus… who for so long I was accustomed to hate, suddenly close to my heart; a name given to Harry’s only child with his mother’s eyes, the name of the person who so fiercely loved her, both in life and death.
The declaration of the pairings, the tiny happy endings given to Neville, the herbology professor, Teddy, living the life of a godson Harry only could wish for, even Draco… each revelation in the end wrapping themselves into bows I’d already tied and ones I never imagined (and the excitement that came with it!), and the last line, knowing that after so much time, peace was finally won; all these dressed and plated on a platter meant only to elicit the truest love, a rush straight to the heart. I am hoarded beneath it, alight and burning with it.
For all these reasons, I think—in the place where all my childish woes and loves lie, where my youth is abundant and my hands are much smaller, dwarfed by books containing my first loves, my most thrilling first adventures, my deepest bonds to my favourite characters, who in turn became my closest friends—I will always miss Harry, Ron, and Hermione; I will always with to return to their especial, youthful love, for I myself become a child beside them.
With all this being said, I must say I wholeheartedly cherished each moment I spent with this trio, augmented by the knowledge that this was my last very first with them—for while I shall return to them again, this journey will always be most special; when I return, it will be with already forged affections and omniscient knowledge, and remarkable as that is, it was only this reading that I raced down each hall beside them, guessed each answer in tandem, grew and learned and loved with them for the very first time. The will always be special to me.
While I can do nothing more than love them, as well as the journey I’m sad has ended, I appreciate each wonderful, darling moment within these books.
Thank you, Harry Potter ❤️
(As a side note: as hyperbolic, engorged, and perhaps even a little pathetic my feelings towards these characters may seem, I must say this: what I seek most in books is to feel, to absorb the kind of love not always present in reality, and descend into worlds not wholly my own, but just as loved, just as treasured. To live outside of myself, if only for a moment, for a few books, and to love in that time, well… isn’t that the point of books? For this I am forever indebted to books—each and every one that can make me feel so passionately, so profoundly. Thus, my final thanks is to this: books and books alone.)
Firstly, I’ll say that the precise care with which these characters have been written will never cease not only to astound me, but to touch me. I feel ripped down to my core, my sweetest innards, where my dearest friends rest: Harry, Hermione, and Ron.
Through each book I’ve watched them grow beyond their years, fighting countless battles time and time again, bearing the burden of not only greatness, but sacrifice, and finding their way to the other side: rich and abundant with love; and at the very end of their expedition, finally, yes finally!: laden with peace. Together it is both enough and not.
Yes, the perfect ending point, the deserved destination and yet I crave most selfishly, above all, to walk the halls of Hogwarts with them once more, to huddle together beneath the Invisible Cloak and admire its eclipsing blanket of safety, to once again feel the warmth of the love shared between a trio that has never been anything but love, the most poignant, present kind.
Somewhere within the years of youth spent travelling beside Harry I became a part of this love and for that I will forever be grateful.
This love was wholly evident in Harry Potter’s last instalment, highly sentimental in a way that matters a great deal to someone like me, to whom each and every sentiment matters. So, all the little moments Harry’s heart swelled with the most tender love for everyone—the two halves who, without, he would not be whole: Ron and Hermione, Ginny, the Weasleys, Professor McGonagall, Dumbledore, his parents, Hagrid, Neville, Luna (whose understanding and love for Harry and their friendship I so wholly adore and hold dear), even Snape and, in some silly way, Dudley, etc—felt personal and raw and true to the significance of that fact that it was the very last time we would see them: all these people we, as readers, had come to love. Thus, it was the perfect exit, hard though it was; as much as I will miss them.
But let me go on a little longer with this love that is abundant and yet, reaching its content’s end, has nowhere to go:
Beside the resilient bravery of Harry Potter, beneath the adventure and excitement, interwoven through every written line, every lost friend, every laugh shared: there is love. There is hope. There are two people standing beside you holding each hand and; there is warmth. It is as much a home as Hogwarts is for Harry and through extension, you.
Witnessing their lives throughout the years and then, with singular care, the possibilities extended through their children and all the tiny traces they have of their parents from the memories we share, is an immense pleasure.
And the little things! Oh the names… especially Albus Severus. Albus, most obviously, who loved and cared for Harry feverishly and reverently, even beyond death and *Severus… who for so long I was accustomed to hate, suddenly close to my heart; a name given to Harry’s only child with his mother’s eyes, the name of the person who so fiercely loved her, both in life and death.
The declaration of the pairings, the tiny happy endings given to Neville, the herbology professor, Teddy, living the life of a godson Harry only could wish for, even Draco… each revelation in the end wrapping themselves into bows I’d already tied and ones I never imagined (and the excitement that came with it!), and the last line, knowing that after so much time, peace was finally won; all these dressed and plated on a platter meant only to elicit the truest love, a rush straight to the heart. I am hoarded beneath it, alight and burning with it.
For all these reasons, I think—in the place where all my childish woes and loves lie, where my youth is abundant and my hands are much smaller, dwarfed by books containing my first loves, my most thrilling first adventures, my deepest bonds to my favourite characters, who in turn became my closest friends—I will always miss Harry, Ron, and Hermione; I will always with to return to their especial, youthful love, for I myself become a child beside them.
With all this being said, I must say I wholeheartedly cherished each moment I spent with this trio, augmented by the knowledge that this was my last very first with them—for while I shall return to them again, this journey will always be most special; when I return, it will be with already forged affections and omniscient knowledge, and remarkable as that is, it was only this reading that I raced down each hall beside them, guessed each answer in tandem, grew and learned and loved with them for the very first time. The will always be special to me.
While I can do nothing more than love them, as well as the journey I’m sad has ended, I appreciate each wonderful, darling moment within these books.
Thank you, Harry Potter ❤️
(As a side note: as hyperbolic, engorged, and perhaps even a little pathetic my feelings towards these characters may seem, I must say this: what I seek most in books is to feel, to absorb the kind of love not always present in reality, and descend into worlds not wholly my own, but just as loved, just as treasured. To live outside of myself, if only for a moment, for a few books, and to love in that time, well… isn’t that the point of books? For this I am forever indebted to books—each and every one that can make me feel so passionately, so profoundly. Thus, my final thanks is to this: books and books alone.)