Harry took a biscuit from the little plate on the table. It was very sugary, but it complimented the bitter tea quite well.
"How could you keep it going for seventeen years?"
Jo smiled. "It was hard at times, but I became so engrossed in that world I had created. I could easily write more books."
"Will you?"
She shrugged. "Who knows?"
"I can't imagine being that tied up in something I had made up," said Harry. "I would love to know how your mind works."
"Sometimes the ideas just come out," Jo confessed. "Like an avalanche. One thing sparks it. Like I said earlier, I was on a train, and suddenly, I wanted to know everything about that little wizard boy, and what classes he took and what his school was like." She grinned. "It drove me crazy that I didn't have a pen on me.
"The same thing happened when I was approached about the possibility of a movie about Newt Scamander."
Harry frowned. "The author of 'Fantastic Beasts and where to find them'?"
"The very one. Not much is known about him. I decided to think about his backstory a little, and before I knew it, I had written an entire script. The possibilities just kept coming out." She chuckled. "It wasn't a very good script, mind you. I wrote it in twelve days."
"That's amazing."
"Writing is my escape, Harry," explained Jo. "I need to do it for my own mental health. I feel like I would lose it if I didn't write."
Harry nodded. "I feel the same way about Quidditch."
"I was once incredibly insecure," said Jo. "The only thing I believed I could do well was write, and so that's all I wanted to do."