Page 967 from the 8th Book (Yet to be published)
And thus I, Jane, the author of these shitty books that I've started writing in Oporto, enter this definitive final book (after the final book) and tell the narrator: "Harry must die!" (the little sod is killing me, I need a life, now that I have the money) "Die you bastard, die, die!" And those of you readers who haven't figured it out yet, I simply added Lord of the Rings, bits and pieces of Alice, a lot of Star Wars, put it in the blender and cooked Harry for Seven Books! After all I'm a mum and a housewife! That's the recipe for the Enid Blyton of the 21st Century. Now, please, do piss off!