All The Difference

It was, he thought, the difference between being dragged into the arena to face a battle to the death and walking into the arena with your head held high. Some people, perhaps, would say that there was little to choose between the two ways, but Dumbledore knew — and so do I, thought Harry, with a rush of fierce pride, and so did my parents — that there was all the difference in the world.

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

I can think of nothing to write after typing out that quote. I cannot even think how to describe how I feel about it — when I remember it in passing, or, times like today, when I read the words in their full impact in the middle of summer reread. You’d think it’d get old . . .

But strangely and miraculously as I change and change while the words never do, the story does change for me. Miniscularly and some years imperceptively but I have always understood who I am through Harry. I still do — all these changes later.

It’s funny how I both want to explode my attachment to Harry Potter out all over the world — throwing my tattoos and trivia knowledge in everyone’s faces until I can hardly stand myself — and also to hide this part of me away. Not out of shame, but out of reverence to what these books mean to me. When people want to talk about Harry Potter I often find myself wanting to stop and reserve those conversations for a more intimate crowd . . . it feels as private as baring the scars on my wrists.

(Welcome to the blog I guess, the intimate crowd.)

I wonder if I was drawn to Harry Potter because of who I am, or if Harry Potter made me who I am? Was I a born Gryffindor or did I so fiercely want to be one when I was a child that I became one? Did my choice make all the difference? Did I have a choice?

To most, they are silly questions. But to my friends in the intimate crowd, you know what I mean. And I love you for it.

With Love,

Natalie