I stayed in bed, my body limp, my mind in disarray, the book clutched to my heart, its edges digging into my ribs. I ached for days after his death. A continuous throbbing in my heart, bursting into unexpected pains whenever he crossed my mind. I didn’t quite know how to deal with the loss, especially considering that it was a fictional one. There were no tears like the time when Sirius Black died, or even Fred. But there was a lot more pain. Somehow.
Which forces me to ask why some fictional pain is greater than others? Why are we vulnerable to certain stories and characters while forgetting others?