“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.”

“Wild!" Ron said, twiddling the replay knob on the side. "I can make that old bloke down there pick his nose again... and again... and again...”

“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.”

“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.”

“Harry, Cedric, I suggest you both go up to bed," said Dumbledore, smiling at both of them. "I am sure Gryffindor and Hufflepuff are waiting to celebrate with you, and it would be a shame to deprive them of this excellent excuse to make a great deal of mess and noise.”