Oh well... I'd just been thinking, if you had died, you'd have been welcome to share my toilet.

No, I'm fine,' said Harry, wondering why he kept telling people this, and wondering whether he had ever been less fine.

Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windows for days on end; the lake rose, the flower beds turned into muddy streams, and Hagrid’s pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds.

It matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be.

Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?

The scar had not pained Harry for nineteen years. All was well.

I don't feel quite normal if I haven't written for a while. I doubt I will ever again write anything as popular as the "Harry" books, but I can live with that thought quite easily. By the time I stop writing about Harry, I will have lived with him for 13 years, and I know it's going to feel like a bereavement. So I'll probably take some time off to grieve, and then on with the next book!