"You are twelve," snapped her father, and it was the first time in her life Hermione had ever had her father so utterly dismiss her opinions on the basis of her age. Usually he encouraged her in her every precocious behavior, bought her whatever advanced books she wanted, listened when she had something to say. Her age had always been something to celebrate, look, my daughter's brilliant and she's only twelve. But this was dismissal, cold adult rejection. You are twelve. Hermione stopped cold, shocked.