feeling deathly hollow

I can vividly remember going camping with my family once: We stayed in a cramped tent that was much bigger on the inside than it looked on the outside and was in a bustling camp site. We were there for some kind of sports event, and everyone was selling and wearing signs and shirts with their teams colors. Then I remember smoke.

Something went wrong--there was a fire in the nearby forest, or the camp site, or something. Maybe one of the bonfires had gotten out of control.

I remember running.

I remember tripping and falling and desperately clawing at tree roots, trying to get back on my feet because we weren't just running; we were running away.

It took me a few years to realize that all these things didn't actually happen to me. It was the Quidditch World Cup in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. My dad read it to my brother and I before bed, and somehow I got so enraptured that it got melded in with my own memories.

Harry Potter is like that to me. It isn't just a book; it's a part of my life. And even though it's over (as of last night), it will always be home.