I think writing about the time in Hermione’s life that I write about – growing from childhood into womanhood, literally, I think it brought back to me how very difficult it is.So much is expected of you as you become a woman, and often you are asked to sacrifice parts of you in becoming a girl, I would say. Hermione doesn’t.

The elf’s eyes found him, and his lips trembled with the effort to form words. ‘Harry... Potter...’ And then with a little shudder the elf became quite still, and his eyes were nothing more than great, glassy orbs sprinkled with light from the stars they could not see.

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

Every time he tried to reconstruct the internal arguments that had led to his decision, they sounded feebler to him.

I'm happy to talk in general themes, but when we get down to specifics about my family, for me that's always been off-limits.

I've been writing my entire life, and I'll always write.

I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather — just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother — why, its brother gave you that scar.