“Are you planning to follow a career in Magical Law, Miss Granger?” asked Scrimgeour.
“No, I’m not,” retorted Hermione. “I’m hoping to do some good in the world!”
“Ooh, you look much tastier than Crabbe and Goyle, Harry” said Hermione, before catching sight of Ron’s raised eyebrows, blushing slightly and saying “oh you know what I mean - Goyle’s Potion looked like bogies.”
“Did you see me disarm Hermione, Harry?”
“Only once” said Hermione stung. “I got you loads more then you got me—”
“I did not only get you once, I got you at least three times—”
“Well if you’re counting the one where you tripped over your own feet and knocked the wand out of my hand—”
“I’ll fix it up with Mum and Dad, then I’ll call you. I know how to use a fellytone now—”
“A telephone, Ron,” said Hermione. “Honestly, you should take Muggle Studies next year...”
“But from that moment on, Hermione Granger became their friend. Because there are somethings you can’t go through in life and become friends, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them.”
“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.”
“Oh for heaven’s sake! Listen to me, all of you! You’ve got just as much right as wizards to be unhappy! You’ve got the right to wages and holidays and proper clothes, you don’t have to do everything you’re told — look at Dobby!”
“That is the second time you have spoken out of turn, Miss Granger,” said Snape coolly. “Five more points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all.”
Hermione went very red, put down her hand, and stared at the floor with her eyes full of tears. It was a mark of how much the class loathed Snape that they were all glaring at him, because every one of them had called Hermione a know-it-all at least once, and Ron, who told Hermione she was a know-it-all at least twice a week, said loudly, “You asked us a question and she knows the answer! Why ask if you don’t want to be told?”
“It means “dirty blood.” Mudblood’s a foul name for someone who’s Muggle-born. Someone with non-magic parents. Someone like me. It’s not a term one usually hears in civilized conversation.”
“A warmth was spreading through him that had nothing to do with the sunlight; a tight obstruction in his chest seemed to be dissolving. He knew that Ron and Hermione were more shocked than they were letting on, but the mere fact that they were still there on either side of him, speaking bracing words of comfort, not shrinking from him as though he were contaminated or dangerous, was worth more than he could ever tell them.”