Thestrals 

By mollywobbles23

There are several things in the world that I shared with my dad, but few of them captured our imaginations like Harry Potter did. He was one of the first people I ordered (yes, ordered) to read Sorcerer’s Stone after I finished reading it the first time. He enjoyed it immensely and proclaimed that it made him feel like a kid again.

Around June of this year my dad began telling me Harry Potter news and for once I didn’t already know it. He began reading Leaky and Mugglenet on a regular basis (about twice daily). He was the first person to inform me of all the crazy DH spoilers that abounded in the weeks leading up to the release. He applauded Leaky’s spoiler policy and Melissa’s news post about it. His eyes would shine with glee as we would discuss our theories (he just knew that Snape was good and that Luna would do something awesome).

When we went to see the fifth film, he loved it (especially Evanna as Luna - he thought she was perfect). But, he still found time to complain about the things they left out and wished he hadn’t read OOTP again just before seeing the movie (such a fan). He went to the book release party with us, devoured the book within 24 hours, spoke to me in whispers as we waited for my mom to finish it, and then began reading the series all over again.

I remember him commenting back in December before we even had a title that Jo had better hurry up and finish the book before he died of old age and came back to haunt her via Peeves. He got his wish. He died on October 18^th and he was able to finish his reread of the series. I am eternally grateful to Jo for writing so quickly so my dad could finish Harry’s adventure before he embarked on his own next great one.

The day before the funeral, I was eating breakfast with my best friend after having just given the funeral home the pictures we wanted in the slide show at the wake that afternoon. I was exhausted having had a grand total of nine hours of sleep in the three or four days prior, so I must’ve been quite a sight. The phone rang and I figured it was someone wanting to know something about the funeral.

It was my sister and she told me Dumbledore was gay, Jo said. I started laughing uncontrollably. Partly because I always knew, he had impeccable fashion sense, but mostly because I thought of how my dad would’ve reacted. He would have laughed and then said something about how the book burners would react and then laughed about that. Then we both probably would’ve vented about them for a little while before bringing the conversation back around to Dumbledore’s sexual orientation.

The Year of Potter not only satisfied my needs as a fan, but unbeknownst to me it fulfilled my needs as a daughter. It gave me fantastic memories of my dad in the months that led up to his unexpected death. I remember thinking in the CCU as he lay there dying that I was unsure whether I wanted to see thestrals or not. Later that night my mom and I were the only ones in the room with him as we slowly watched his heart rate slow down more and more. Suddenly he flat lined and I saw thestrals whether I wanted to or not:

After his death, true friends were revealed and I came to appreciate the little things in life even more. But, there is this hole in my heart and a crack in the world that are mending all too slowly and come unraveled at times.

I can see thestrals now. They’re beautiful. And scary. Just like death.

Just like life.