Say you’ve spent the first 10 years of your life sleeping under the stairs in the house of a family who loathes you. Then, in an absurd, magical twist of fate you find yourself surrounded by wizards, a caged snowy owl, a phoenix-feather wand, and jellybeans that come in every flavor, including strawberry, curry, grass, and sardine. Not only that, but you discover that you are a wizard yourself! This is exactly what happens to young Harry Potter in J. K. Rowling’s enchanting, funny debut novel–Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. In the non-magical human world–the world of “Muggles”–Harry is a nobody, treated like dirt by the aunt and uncle who begrudgingly inherited him when his parents were killed by the evil Voldemort. But in the world of wizards, small, skinny Harry is famous as a survivor of a deadly attack by the most feared wizard the magical world has ever seen. He is left only with a lightning-bolt scar on his forehead, curiously refined sensibilities, and a host of mysterious powers to remind him that he’s quite, yes, altogether different from his aunt, uncle, and spoiled, pig-like cousin, Dudley. In fact, he’s very different from most wizards teeming the world conjured by Rowling.