“I love you, Hermione,” said Ron.”

“What’s that?” said Ron, pointing at a large dish of some sort of shellfish stew that stood beside a large steak-and-kidney pudding.“Bouillabaisse,” said Hermione.“Bless you,” said Ron.“It’s French,” said Hermione.”

“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.”

“I love you, Hermione,” said Ron, sinking back, rubbing his eyes wearily.Hermione turned faintly pink, but merely said, “Don’t let Lavender hear you saying that.”“I won’t,” said Ron into his hands. “Or maybe I will . . . then she’ll ditch me . . .”

“Ron," said Hermione in a dignified voice, "you are the most insensitive wart I have ever had the misfortune to meet.”

“Harry: This book belongs to Harry Potter. Ron: Shared by Ron Weasley, because his fell apart. Hermione: Why don't you buy a new one then? Ron: Write on your own book, Hermione. Hermione: You bought all those dungbombs on Saturday. You could have bought a new book instead. Ron: Dungbombs rule.”