I Don't Feel I Owe My Readers

I Won't Say 'never,' But I Have No Plans To Write An Eighth Book.

Her Son Lives. He Has Her Eyes, Precisely Her Eyes. You Remember The Shape And Color Of Lily Evans's Eyes, I Am Sure?

Longbottom, If Brains Were Gold, You'd Be Poorer Than Weasley, And That's Saying Something.

In A Novel You Have To Resist The Urge To Tell Everything.

It Was As Though They Had Been Plunged Into A Fabulous Dream. This, Thought Harry, Was Surely The Only Way To Travel - Past Swirls And Turrets Of Snowy Cloud, In A Car Full Of Hot, Bright Sunlight, With A Fat Pack Of Toffees In The Glove Compartment.