I woke up surprisingly lucid this morning to a sun-filled bedroom at 7 a.m. (not a morning person, mind you) so I got up and brewed some coffee (with milk and a bit of vanilla ice cream for froth, a weekend treat) and resumed reading Harry Potter, the best thing I’ve read since Game of Thrones.

I’m surprised that I’ve taken such a liking to the book. Sure, I’ve always liked stories of fantasy and magic and wizardry but I never thought of Harry Potter enough to consume any of its media. Try not to laugh but the way I got into Harry Potter was because some time ago I developed a fascination with Emma Watson, the lovely actress who plays Hermione Granger in the films. (She was eleven when the first film came out but is now 24, thank you.)

I also remembered that Amazon had included the series as part of its Kindle lending library, and as I prepared to go on a trip to North Carolina recently, I sought something fun to read and settled upon the first book, Harry Potter and the Sorceror’s Stone. I liked it immediately; the book began with strange goings-on in a town, with a peculiar cat outside reading a map, owls flying everywhere, and a baby, with a scar on his forehead the shape of a lightning bolt, left in a basket with a letter at the doorstep of a family that didn’t want him. The baby’s name was Harry Potter.

With a mix of engaging story and unforgettable characters, witty writing, and imagination in the establishment of a new mythology (and a creative reboot of an old one), this series has been a joy to read so far. I’m halfway through the second book and already sad that I only have five and a half left to go.