She actually squeaked when she spotted Dobby sitting on a shelf in Target.
Give her a character who’s misunderstood, picked on, beaten down, or carrying some emotional weight that nudges them toward bad choices, and she latches on instantly—like a mother desperate to protect her child.
We never had kids—by mutual decision early in our relationship—but I think that instinct never disappeared. It just found somewhere else to go. You can see it in how she reacts to characters like Loki in the MCU, or Sméagol in Lord of the Rings.
That need to nurture, to shield something vulnerable, didn’t fade—it just shifted. From the idea of a family to a shelf full of pop culture misfits who, in her eyes, deserve someone in their corner
Dobby hit her hard. The moment he first appeared in Harry’s bedroom, she was hooked.
So, I wasn’t surprised when she picked him up and looked at me with those “can I?” eyes—the same look I’ve perfected and used on her at least three times as often as she’s ever used it on me.
I folded, like I usually do, and just like that, we had our very own house-elf.
I hadn’t thought about him in a while—sorry, Dobby—until I noticed the little cobwebs. Instantly, I was taken back to that Friday evening wandering through Target with her.
I took him down, cleaned him off, and gave him a new spot. I find myself doing this a lot now that she’s gone—shifting.
There’s nothing that can prepare you for a loss like this. Over the past year, I’ve had to shift into a life of being single again. But it’s nothing like being single before I met Katy. Everything is different.
So, I shift, again and again, just to keep from stumbling along this new path.
Much like Dobby, I find myself in a new place—or at least learning how to shift into it. With a new perspective, and maybe just a little bit of magic, I think I’m going to be okay.
And Now She is Gone 