Expecto patronum

“There is death in this book…”

That was local author (and native Englishwoman) Christine San Jose, speaking to the small crowd of Harry Potter enthusiasts who had stayed up late Friday night to catch their first glimpses of “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.” As the clocks struck midnight at the Wayne County Public Library, Christine prepared to begin reading the first chapter—but before that she had some warnings.

“Yes, there is death in this book,” she declared ominously, casting a stern but not unkind glance across the children at her feet. “If you are not comfortable with the idea of reading about death, then I would advise you to not read this book.”

There was nary a flinch. The thought was unspoken—we can take it. We know perfectly well what might happen, and we can take it.

I don’t think I’d be spoiling anything to say that Harry, at the beginning of the book, is also perfectly well aware of what might happen. Of course, in the Potter universe, death is a little different—a lost loved one might reappear within a portrait, ghosts come and go almost casually and conversations with the dead happen with a certain degree of frequency.

But nonetheless, loss is loss, even in Harry’s world, and the struggle to accept profound loss, or to avoid it, is one of the themes found throughout the series. Harry’s young readers-in-waiting seemed quite prepared to confront the possibility of very profound loss indeed.

The next day, my family and I went to see the movie based on the fifth book, “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.” Afterwards, it occurred to me that people of all political persuasions can find aspects of the film that reinforce their favorite viewpoints. Liberals might latch onto the demure yet vicious Dolores Umbridge (played with astonishing skill by Imelda Staunton) as an embodiment of the fascism they fear might be rising here in America. Conservatives might see, in the refusal of Minister Fudge to recognize the threat posed by Voldemort, a parallel to the reluctance of liberals to acknowledge the threat conservatives perceive as coming from jihadist terrorism.

But in either case, whichever evil you may happen to fear more, Harry’s tale poses deeper and more challenging questions—not just about what one might be willing to sacrifice oneself, but what it means to have had others sacrifice on one’s behalf. About how one can tell, or rather, whether one can tell, who or what can be trusted. About the possibilities of redemption. About what kinds of loss one is willing to accept in order to gain—or keep—other things. And ultimately, about the primacy of kinship, friendship, community and love, and the power that they can wield over fear and mere force.

Those who, like Harry, walk in death’s shadow on a daily basis—not just soldiers, but police, firefighters, first responders, health workers and their families—know also that those are the things that make loss bearable, and make it worthwhile. Harry’s readers (and of course I mean not just the young ones) are growing up in an age where loss will become a more and more prevalent factor of life—and before all our present predicaments can be unraveled, there will be more losses to be sustained.

But that’s OK. We know perfectly well what might happen… and we can take it.

- Skip Mendler