Grief sweeps over me

** This post is free of Deathly Hallows spoilers **

It’s the end of an era. The feelings are mixed, and overwhelming.

Friday already seems a lifetime ago. I did absolutely nothing all day; I literally just sat in a chair and counted down the hours, watching the big clock on the wall tick, slowly. I couldn’t think properly. I felt nauseated.

Midnight finally rolled around then, bringing the expectations to a halting climax. I was among the first in line at the bookstore when the good people there, after serving coffee and sweets, rolled the books out on to a trolley at precisely 1.01am. The crowd seemed in good spirits. I stood there, having just paid, clutching the book in my hand, and I remember thinking “now what do I do?” Time seemed to be moving backwards.

After coming to my senses, shaking life into my trembling limbs, I headed home. My plan was to read for a few hours, then sleep for another few before continuing. I dare anyone who held this book in their hands to try it; it was futile.

I stopped every hour for a glass of water, every two for a bathroom break, and every four or so for a snack. I sat in the same armchair, shifting slightly, all night. I was in a bubble. Nothing else existed in the whole world in that time, except me and the book. Me, and Harry Potter.

As my eyes were starting to become unfocused, I realised it was morning. My legs and feet had long since gone numb, apparently deciding that even if the rest of me was going to fight it, then at least they would try to get some sleep. I needed a break, but I couldn’t make myself stand up. “Just one more chapter.”

It was raining outside; what should have been a perfectly nice and sunny summer’s day was instead dark and gloomy, as if Dementors were hovering somewhere outside the house, just out of sight. I lost count of how many cups of coffee and how many energy drinks passed between my pursed lips.

At one point, it hit me that right at that moment there were millions of other people worldwide doing exactly what I was doing. I stopped to revel in this remarkable feeling.

I kept going like this, for about twenty-four hours. I savoured every word, every moment. I didn’t rush it; you can’t rush something like this. I took my time. One chapter at a time, I let it just wash over me. I laughed, and I cried. I wanted to get to the end, but at the same time I knew it was coming up too fast.

As I finally came upon the last page, I was numb. I couldn’t feel anything. I didn’t know if I was happy or sad, elated or depressed. I didn’t know where I was or what had just happened. I simply closed the book and went to have some breakfast. It was Sunday morning.

It felt unreal, somehow, like another person had had this experience. It couldn’t really have just ended, could it? They call it denial. Anger and bargaining became one as I silently ate my breakfast, first cursing Jo Rowling for ending it so soon, then privately begging her to write just one more.

Then later, I was sitting at the train station, waiting to take the train back to the real world. I sat at a bench under the high-arching ceiling, people bustling all around me. I stared blankly ahead, as if enclosed in a silent bubble, invisible to the world. The setting reminded me of that in a late chapter of the book. That’s when it happened.

I broke down, emotion sweeping over me. Here I was, in a public place, silently weeping. I felt depressed. Maybe it was lack of sleep or maybe it was the emotionally tumultuous plot of the story. No, I think it was the sense of loss.

I’m sure that in time, I will also feel acceptance. I’m not ready to let go though, not yet. Not until I can read it again, and let the facts really sink in properly. It needs — deserves — to be digested before I even form an opinion. Until then, I’m hanging on.

Right now, I cannot tell you what I thought, only how I feel, but my brain is numb from lack of sleep and from the overwhelming finality of it all, so perhaps that wouldn’t be fair either.

It’s the end of an era, and I think I might know what creating a Horcrux feels like. My insides feel slightly empty, as though a bit of my soul has left me forever.