In Rowling's world, that kind of love is stronger than any magic. Rowling's fictional works, was defeated not by power but by loveby a young mother who sacrificed her life to save her young son. Both pointed the way to hope in the face of death.Īnd there was at least one echo from the Scriptures in the Sorcerer's Stone: Lord Voldemort, the Hitleresque dark wizard in J.K. The night I spent with her, I brought along my Bible, the biggest cup of Dunkin Donuts coffee I could find, and a new novel, picked up from the bookstore on the way to the hospital: Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone.īoth the Bible and the "Boy Who Lived" proved good company during the watches of the night.
Not wanting her to die alone, we took turns sitting by her bedside, round the clock. On New Years Day 1999, she had a massive stroke from which she would never recover. I first met Harry Potter when my grandmother was dying.
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