heh heh heh

I've gotten my parents back into Harry Potter. They read the first two books before I did, but then stopped.

I confessed once on Xanga, but I'll sum it up again: I couldn't get into the first two books. I committed the heinous sin of seeing the movies first, and then wasn't terribly interested in the novels. Until Fantasty Lit (yes, that class was fairly awful, but I will be forever in its debt for this), when we were required to read Book Three. And I fell headlong in love. I devoured Books Four and Five, then went back and read the first two, and liked them much better.

So I was as eager for Book Six as the next HP freak. I sequestered myself in my room for twenty-four hours during which my parents weren't sure whether or not I was really home, and read until I developed a crick in my neck which has just disappeared today.

What with all that, and the serious discussions Leigh Ann and I had about the series and our hopes for the finale, my parents became interested. And fortunately Leigh Ann has an extra copy of Prizoner of Azkaban, so now both Mom and Dad are flying through it.

It's a good feeling.