I Just Hate Meetings.

I’ll Make Goyle Do Lines, It’ll Kill Him, He Hates Writing,” Said Ron Happily. He Lowered His Voice To Goyle’s Low Grunt And, Screwing Up His Face In A Look Of Pained Concentration, Mimed Writing In Midair. “i... Must... Not... Look... Like... A... Baboon’s... Backside.

I've Been Asked This Question So Many Times, Do You Feel You Need To Write A Book For Adults? No, I Don't Need To Write A Book For Adults.

You're A Wizard, Harry.

Go On, Have A Pasty," Said Harry, Who Had Never Had Anything To Share Before Or, Indeed, Anyone To Share It With. It Was A Nice Feeling, Sitting There With Ron, Eating Their Way Through All Harry's Pasties, Cakes, And Candies (the Sandwiches Lay Forgotten).

The Poor Things Keep Calling In Those – Those Pumbles, I Think They're Called – You Know, The Ones Who Mend Pipes And Things – " "plumbers?" " – Exactly, Yes, But Of Course They're Flummoxed.