Harry Potter...
What can't I say about it...?
I have to admit that when the Philosopher's (Sorcerer's for the American's reading this... A Hearty Diddley-eye to you...) Stone was released I'd just graduated from foetus-status. I didn't grow up reading the Harry Potter novels -- I grew up watching the films.
But, as I'd said in yesterday's post, once Skulduggery Pleasant ended the Wizarding World called me, and I was embraced with open arms.
I read, and analysed, watched, and re-watched, and joined Pottermore (I'm a Ravenclaw -- if any of you Strangers-reading-random-blog-post care... You defiantly don't, but hey...), until I was proudly able to graduate from Minion of Golden-God, Derek Landy, to Potterhead of my personal Queen, J.K. Rowling.
I can't really tell you which novel is my favourite as it changes on a regular basis, but at the best of times it tends to be The Goblet of Fire. There's something about magical tournaments, house-elves and a wacky Professor with a eye that moves of its own accord that captivates me. And (Spoilers...?) it's the book where Voldemort comes back.
That's gotta count for something...
I've just realised how short today's post was.
I think that's due only to the lack of ramble...
I guess I'm getting better at this stuff!!!
'Til the morrow, Stranger-reading-random-blog-post...
I bid thee Adieu...
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