“All we do is read the stupid textbook," said Ron.”

“I knew it! I knew it! ”“Are we allowed to speak yet?” said Ron grumpily. Hermione ignored him.“Nicolas Flamel,” she whispered dramatically, “is the only known maker of the Philosopher's Stone!”This didn’t have quite the effect she’d expected.“The what?” said Harry and Ron.“Oh, honestly, don’t you two read? Look — read that, there.”

“All's fair in love and war," said Ron brightly, "and this is a bit of both.”

“No,” said Hermione shortly. “Have either of you seen my copy of Numerology and Gramatica?”“Oh, yeah, I borrowed it for a bit of bedtime reading,” said Ron, but very quietly.”

“What are you doing with all those books anyway?" Ron asked, limping back to his bed. "Just trying to decide which ones to take with us," said Hermione. "When we're looking for the Horcruxes.""Oh, of course," said Ron, clapping a hand to his forehead. "I forgot we'll be hunting down Voldemort in a mobile library".”

“Ron, you know full well Harry and I were brought up by Muggles!” said Hermione. “We didn’t hear stories like that when we were little, we heard ‘Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs’ and ‘Cinderella’ —”“What’s that, an illness?” asked 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.”