Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone (Harry Potter, #1)

by J.K. Rowling

It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar — a cat reading a map.

He couldn’t know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: “To Harry Potter — the boy who lived!”

“Harry — yer a wizard.” There was silence inside the hut. Only the sea and the whistling wind could be heard. “I’m a what?” gasped Harry. “A wizard, o’ course,” said Hagrid, sitting back down on the sofa, which groaned and sank even lower, “an’ a thumpin’ good’un, I’d say, once yeh’ve been trained up a bit. With a mum an’ dad like yours, what else would yeh be? An’ I reckon it’s abou’ time yeh read yer letter.”

“Welcome,” said Hagrid, “to Diagon Alley.”

But from that moment on, Hermione Granger became their friend. There are some things you can’t share without ending up liking each other, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them.

It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that.

After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.

“The truth.” Dumbledore sighed. “It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution.