Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

He walked resolutely over to the portrait hole, pushed it open, climbed out of it, and found himself face-to-face with Hermione. “Hello,” she said, holding up a stack of toast, which she was carrying in a napkin. “I brought you this. . . . Want to go for a walk?” “Good idea,” said Harry gratefully. They went downstairs, crossed the entrance hall quickly without looking in at the Great Hall, and were soon striding across the lawn toward the lake, where the Durmstrang ship was moored, reflected blackly in the water. It was a chilly morning, and they kept moving, munching their toast, as Harry told Hermione exactly what had happened after he had left the Gryffindor table the night before. To his immense relief, Hermione accepted his story without question.

“I’m sure he wasn’t on Privet Drive,” said Harry. “But I was dreaming about him . . . him and Peter — you know, Wormtail. I can’t remember all of it now, but they were plotting to kill . . . someone.” He had teetered for a moment on the verge of saying “me,” but couldn’t bring himself to make Hermione look any more horrified than she already did.