The success of Harry Potter has given me lots of freedom. I can pay my bills, and I don't have to prove anything to anyone anymore.

I don't need a cloak to become invisible.

The fame thing is interesting because I never wanted to be famous, and I never dreamt I would be famous. You know, my fantasy of being a famous writer, and again there's a slight disconnect with reality which happens a lot with me. I imagined being a famous writer would be like being like Jane Austen.

Dumbledore raised his finger for silence, a silence which fell as though he had struck Uncle Vernon dumb.

Fred and George turned to each other and said together, "Wow, we're identical!" "I dunno though, I think I'm still better looking," said Fred, examining his reflection in the kettle.

Oh, get out of the way, Percy,” said Fred. “Harry’s in a hurry.” “Yeah, he’s off to the Chamber of Secrets for a cup of tea with his fanged servant,” said George, chortling.

Cinderella? Snow White? What's that? An illness?