Seeing as how I'm only 15, I wasn't even born when the first book came out in America. However, my older sister and parents all raved about the books, so the minute I could read (not that I didn't try grasping the story before that), I was delving into Sorcerer's Stone. I devoured that one, then whipped through all the others in the course of about three years. I was eight when Deathly Hallows was released, and no matter how much I pleaded with my dad, he wouldn't let me go wait at the bookstore for the midnight opening. But what I didn't know was that he had pre-ordered two copies of the book (one for himself and one for my mom so they could both read it), and when they arrived the next morning, I was extremely excited to see we had copies of the book, but disappointed when I found out that my parents were going to read them first before I could get a hand on it! It was a long three days waiting for them to finish, but it was worth it. I got my dad's copy and my sister got my mom's, and I sat down and literally read it all in one sitting. It was marvelous and tear-jerking and magical and wonderful and sad and...indescribale. And yet, to this day, I still can't get past the fact that my mom didn't even cry when a certain couple died (I won't say who here so I don't ruin it for anyone, but I'm sure all you Potterheads out there know exactly who I mean).