It was too normal, it was like all the bad stuff was happening vaguely in the distance, like the main characters lived in a safe little vacuum bubble and all they had to do was take their classes and speculate every now and then and worry about trifles like love lives and Quidditch. They weren’t really involved…
…and then suddenly, violently, at the very end, they were.
And Harry turned out to be wrong in a way that was somewhat surprising, but not particularly unwelcome…but right in a way I fervently did not want him to be.
Because it means that Dumbledore was wrong.
I do not want Dumbledore to be wrong.
It scares me to think what else he might have been wrong about.
All I can do is cling numbly to Dumbledore’s idealism and try to imagine some way, any way, for the betrayal to be untrue. And make no mistake, I imagined a way–but the book seemed bound and determined to beat that way out of me, make it impossible.
It’s over, the book said. This is the way it is, sorry.
I can’t stand it.