“Harry and Hermione are very platonic friends. But I won't answer for anyone else, nudge-nudge wink-wink!”

“Not at all up to your usual standard, Hermione. Only one out of three, I’m afraid. I have not been helping Sirius get into the castle and I certainly don’t want Harry dead. But I won’t deny that I am a werewolf.”

“I love you, Hermione,” said Ron.”

“Don't play," said Hermione at once."Say you're ill," said Ron."Pretend to break your leg," Hermione suggested."Really break your leg," said Ron.”

“You mean the Prophet won’t print it because Fudge won’t let them,” said Hermione irritably.Rita gave Hermione a long, hard look. Then, leaning forward across the table toward her, she said in a businesslike tone, “All right, Fudge is leaning on the Prophet, but it comes to the same thing. They won’t print a story that shows Harry in a good light. Nobody wants to read it. It’s against the public mood. This last Azkaban breakout has got people quite worried enough. People just don’t want to believe You-Know-Who’s back.”“So the Daily Prophet exists to tell people what they want to hear, does it?” said Hermione scathingly.Rita sat up straight again, her eyebrows raised, and drained her glass of firewhisky.“The Prophet exists to sell itself, you silly girl,” she said coldly.”

“He couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting up in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: 'To Harry Potter - the boy who lived!”

“Nudge, nudge, wink, wink. Know what I mean?”