Not that we have been entirely starved of magic or narrative tension of late. Fans of George R R Martin’s fantasy series A Game of Thrones waited six years – six years – for the fifth volume to appear in 2011, and are still tapping their fingers for the sixth. The generation who grew up with Harry Potter also know what it is to cry, to laugh and to wait aeons for the next book, which they would purchase at midnight, having queued in the cold, dressed in wizard’s clothing, outside specially opened bookshops. Future Potter-heads, receiving all seven books at birth or inheriting the complete set from their parents, will have no idea how the first readers were affected by this group endurance. For a moment the world was organised around feeding our imaginations: publication was scheduled for Fridays to allow children to stay up all night without the bother of school the next day, and adults would block our ears on public transport to avoid overhearing spoilers.