This blog contains spoilers about Harry Potter.
“He did not know or care whether they were wizards or Muggles, friends or foes; all he cared about was that a dark stain was spreading across Dobby’s front, and that he had stretched out his thin arms to Harry with a look of supplication. Harry caught him and laid him sideways on the cool grass.
“Dobby, no, don’t die, don’t die -”
The elf’s eyes found him, and his lips trembled with the effort to form words.
And then with a little shudder the elf became quite still, and his eyes were nothing more than great glassy orbs, sprinkled with light from the stars they could not see.”
— Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling
Dobby died? Like really? Fuck! I muttered, and tossed the heavy book on my bed. I picked up the book, read that passage again, and threw the book across the room. Okay. She killed Dobby. I wanted to shake J.K Rowling, and demand an explanation. Dobby shouldn’t have died. I kept saying. I was livid, depressed, and it was that dark moment, when I wanted to shut the whole world out, and cry myself to sleep. Dobby was no more. And my life wouldn’t be the same again.
I have admitted many a time that I was one among the few fortunate ones to read all the seven Harry Potter books one after the other, only because I gleefully paid no heed when the books were released. Without a trace of embarrassment in my tone, I once confessed to my friend that I hadn’t read Harry Potter. I was positive that she thought: Such a person really exists? 😉 So, she gifted the first book — Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone — to me in 2014. I had to be reformed, you see. 😉
Also, I take friends’s book recommendations serious, like how A.J. says in Gabrielle Zevin’s The Storied Life of AJ Fikry.
“My life is in these books. Read these and know my heart.”
So, I read all the seven Harry Potter books like my days were numbered. I read at work, at press conferences, in restrooms, and while waiting in traffic. I slept, and woke up with the books for a month.
There were obstacles. Like Boo shredded a couple of books. I had to write reports at work. But, I waded through reality after all. 🙂
Whenever I came across a beautiful passage, a crucial plot-twist, I would text my friend, and discuss the details elaborately. When my dearest Dobby died, my friend was on this enchanting, adventurous Chadar Trek. She was living the dream of her life — although it was just about -25 degree Celsius there (Am I exaggerating, K?) 😉 — and I had no means to contact her.
My emotions about Dobby’s demise had to be bottled up, for I was not a book-blogger then. My family couldn’t be empathetic, because I was grieving for a literary character. I didn’t want to go to my colleagues lest I distort their opinion on my sanity. And, I simply couldn’t let it go. The prolonged suffering was excruciating. Poor, poor Dobby!
Then, so many characters died. I mourned over and over again. However, Dobby’s passing away seemed the most painful.
I adore him so much that I have included an important bit about him in my ‘About’ here, and I have prepared myself to name my next pet animal Dobby.
Cut to the chase, I am gushing about Dobby now, because this friend, who got a ticket for me to Hogwarts, sent this adorable tote today. And, I couldn’t stop shedding a tsunami of tears. ❤ (Thank you, K!)
In other news, I have now got a Hedwig-bookend, a Hogwarts-tee, and a Dobby-tote. I am delighting in every Harry Potter memorabilia. 😀