The opportunity was too perfect to miss. Harry crept silently around behind Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, bent down, and scooped a large handful of mud out of the path. 'We were just talking about your friend Hagrid,' Malfoy said to Ron. 'Just trying to imagine what he's saying to the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. D'you think he'll cry when they cut off his hippogriff's—' SPLAT. Malfoy's head jerked back as the mud hit him; his silverblond hair was suddenly dripping in muck.

It is one of the most hauntingly beautiful places in the world, the history is fascinating, the men are handsome and the whisky is delicious. But don't eat the macaroni pies.

Magic has universal appeal. I don't believe in magic in the way that I describe in my books, but I'd love it to be real.

Anything's possible if you've got enough nerve.

Vot is the point of being an international Quidditch player if all the good-looking girls are taken?

Whenever he was in company he wanted to get away, and whenever he was alone he wanted company.

Writing and cafes are strongly linked in my brain.