7 November 1993
Dream Diary Entry #3
I was flying on a broomstick.
There was nothing around me except rain and dark clouds, but I knew I was high up above Hogwarts. Higher than I've ever flown before, and I was scared. My breaths were coming fast, my heart beating in triple time. I was trying to hang onto the broomstick as tight as I could, but it was slick. My grip slipped over and over again. I was going to fall, I just knew it.
Then, at the last moment, Cedric flew up next to me. He was sitting very straight on his broomstick, mud splattered across his face. He smiled at me before placing a hand on my handle to steady the broomstick.
"You don't have to worry," Cedric said. "I'll save him."
Hermione snapped her book shut, tears burning her eyes. This was stupid. Nothing about this dream was prophetic. It was obvious she was dreaming about the events of the previous day, when Harry fell from his broomstick during the match against Hufflepuff. He was alive, but not because of Cedric. It was ridiculous that he was even in Hermione's dream.
It occurred to Hermione that dreams fell into two categories: First, and most frequent, was the embarrassingly idiotic. The second was the intensely private. Either way, dreams shouldn't be shared with others. She didn't want anybody to know about this dream, or the previous ones.
For the first time, Hermione considered not turning in a class assignment.