She picked up the book and then walked back past him into the tent, but as she did so, she brushed the top of his head lightly with her hand. He closed his eyes at her touch, and hated himself for wishing that what she said was true: that Dumbledore had really cared.

It is my baby and if I want to bring it out to play again, I will.

In truth, I never consider the audience for whom I'm writing. I just write what I want to write.

What's interesting about the wizarding world is when you take physical strength out of the equation, a woman can do magic just as powerfully as a man can do magic. A woman can fight just the same as a man.

He never seemed to grasp the immense mutability of human nature, nor to appreciate that behind every nondescript face lay a wild and unique hinterland like his own.

If only the hat had mentioned a house for people who felt a bit queasy, that would have been the one for him.

Things denied, things untold, things hidden and disguised.