Hermione sat on her bed, writing in her diary. She loved to write. Maybe she would grow up to become a writer, but if she didn't, she would still write in her diary. She loved how she could pour all her feelings onto the pages through her quill like a waterfall. Her quill looped and flew over the pages as gracefully as could be. Hermione felt as if nothing could really bother her when she wrote.

But the only thing she had to watch out for was snoopy people who would read her diary.