I was so excited this morning, I was practically bouncing off the walls – well, as close to it as I ever get – and my parents were giving me all these sidelong little looks. I know they’re worried about me being in danger, and I think they’re worried about me-and-boys as well; but I can’t help being happy when I’m going to see my two best friends for the first time in months, now, can I? And oh, what a sight it was…

We got to Diagon Alley late, because of the traffic on the way to and through London – truly awful, as always – so when we went in, we found the Weasley clan all waiting for us politely. All except Ron and Harry, who were the only ones actually supposed to be there. But until I’m satisfied Harry’s all right, I’m letting him away with it; and Ron too, because he’s keeping Harry company. The pair of them had wandered off to look in the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies, and I went over to them, leaving my parents talking to Mrs Weasley. I took my time, looking at them. They had both added a few inches to their height over the summer; but while Ron had broadened out a little and was starting to look almost grown-up, Harry was painfully thin. So it was Harry I went to first, and I hugged him and kissed him on the cheek because I was so glad to see him and he looked so unhappy still, behind the smile. And then I noticed Ron’s face, so I hugged him and kissed him too, holding on just a little longer so I could tell him he looked good. Gracious, that boy can blush.

They didn’t comment on the hair. I’m sure they noticed. I’m absolutely positive they must have noticed. But neither of them said anything. I’m choosing to believe it’s because they think I’ll snap at them if they say the wrong thing, and they’re not sure what the wrong thing is. Honestly, boys can be so dense.

I dragged the pair of them off to Flourish and Blotts, with everyone else in our wake. We all got our schoolbooks fairly quickly, and then the family dispersed a little on various errands. I stayed where I was. I’ve always loved bookshops, and this one is just so… magical. I was happily browsing the shelves for quite some time, and it honestly surprised me when I turned around to find Ron still there. He grinned at me and told me to hurry it up, because Harry had mentioned ice cream.

It was nice, walking with Ron. It sounds awful, but it’s easier to pretend that everything’s normal when Harry isn’t there. Ron and I don’t carry as many scars, literally or figuratively. He can tease me about my obsession with books and I can tease right back about Quidditch, and we can forget about the gathering storm for a few moments.

We got to Fortescue’s and found Harry sitting with the twins and Ginny, looking somewhat uncomfortable. He relaxed when we slid in on either side of him. Ginny, because she is a girl and as such, notices and is allowed to comment on such things, said my hair looked nice. This brought four male voices telling me that my hair was “nice”, “different”, “short” and “utterly ravishing” – this last from one of the twins (don’t ask. I can’t tell) and accompanied by as much of a bow as he could make sitting at a table with a large sundae in front of him.

I should be too sensible to allow those compliments to please me as much as they did. But I’m glad I’m not.

She had her hair cut! That’s so weird. And sort of pretty. I think I liked it the way it was before, though. Oh, the way it was for the Ball… No, not even seeing her dressed up again is a good enough reason to wear those robes. But she looks so different with her hair like that, and in Muggle clothes, and… it’s like with the Ball (again with the Ball! I hated the bloody Ball!) when she looked totally different and like a girl, except that she had spent ages dressing and stuff and today she hasn’t. Today she’s just Hermione. And very definitely a girl.

She seemed happy to see us. Didn’t even give us a row for not waiting by the entrance. Just ran up and threw her arms around Harry – of course, it would be him first – any wonder Mum believed Rita Skeeter? – and then she hugged me. And then, being Hermione, she got so distracted by the books that she didn’t notice me standing right behind her for fifteen minutes. But it didn’t take much to persuade her to leave them in favour of ice cream.

But now I’m really, really confused. Because she’s flirting. But she’s doing it with me and with Harry. I mean, I’m sure that’s what she’s doing, I’ve… heard enough about it, but she’s not supposed to flirt with both of us so she can’t be. She’s just being friendly. Then again, she’s not being exactly the same with both of us. She’s giving us different looks. The one she has for Harry reminds me of the one Mum has when Charlie announces he’s off back to his dragons before she thinks he’s ready, or when Bill reports in on his latest dangerous assignment and airily mentions something that’s come up that means he might be out of touch. The one she has for me reminds me of… well, it reminds me a little of the one Ginny still has for Harry. And that just scares me.

Speaking of Ginny, she’s actually behaving like a rational human being for once. She’s slowly eating the sundae Harry bought her; apparently without thinking it’s a declaration of undying love. If that was the case, he’d be in love with me several times over… Not going there. It just gets on my nerves, sometimes, taking things from him. I know he wants to, I know he can afford it, I know all that. But still. I’m the poor one who gets paid for all the time. But then again, he’s practically adopted my family, and if you’re family then it’s OK. I think he’s been an honorary Weasley since before that first trip on the Hogwarts Express.

I think all he really wants is family. Those Muggles don’t count. At least he’s got himself a godfather now – Sirius. Still haven’t forgiven him for breaking my leg. I hope he’s OK, though – Harry said he sounded happy to be staying with Professor Lupin, but not actually happy. Like Harry. Talking, smiling, reassuring my family, acting like your average fifteen-year-old. Like the Boy Who Lived could ever be average.

The only person here who has a chance at being average is me. Harry’s Harry Potter; the twins are twins; Ginny’s the only Weasley girl; Hermione’s incredibly smart. I’m just Ron. Of course, if I say any of this out loud my friends fall over themselves in an attempt to correct me. Apparently I am “brave” and “loyal” and “really good at chess” and many other things besides. The fact that I follow in the wake of Quidditch players and Prefects and top-of-classes and Head Boys and the two greatest practical jokers since the Marauders means nothing at all. Because I’m good at chess. Oh, snap out of it, Ron!

Well, I’m away from the Dursleys for another year. Strangely enough, I almost wanted to go back when we arrived in Diagon Alley. Ron knew not to ask, and Mr Weasley was preoccupied with everything that’s apparently been going on. But when we got there, I had four more Weasleys around me; every one of whom looked me up and down before apparently deciding that I needed feeding and cheering up. It was just a little overwhelming. Ron got me out of it, though – declared he simply had to go see the new Nimbus, and wouldn’t you like to, Harry? We walked off and the rest of them just waited for the Grangers.

We all did most of our shopping, then the adults went to sit somewhere and leave us to our own devices for a little while. Naturally we ended up sitting eating, though conversation was a little strained before Ron and Hermione turned up. It’s so good to feel something approaching normal – to sit in the middle of an inconsequential discussion and just watch my friends talking.

I can’t join in as much as I would like, though, because I would slip and say something to depress everyone. I contribute enough to stop anyone telling me I’m being quiet, and I try to choke off all the gloomy trains of thought. It doesn’t really work. There are too many.

Take, for example, my ice-cream sundae (which is slowly melting). The second scoop is banana flavour. Bananas are yellow. Yellow is the colour of Hufflepuff. Cedric. Voldemort.

Or, for another example, take the only person here quieter than myself. The girl sitting across the table. Ginny. Two years ago, I saved her life. From Tom Riddle. Voldemort.

Take a walk along the street and you will see the bookshop where Ginny acquired that diary. You will see the robe shop where I first met Malfoy, whose father did that and serves Voldemort. You will see Ollivander’s, where I bought the wand whose brother belongs to Voldemort.

I don’t want to have to fight him because I’m fairly sure I’ll lose. I’m a fifteen-year-old boy, for God’s sake! And yet everyone seems to expect I will once again defeat one of the greatest Dark Wizards known. I’m sorry, but it doesn’t tend to work that way. However, through no fault of my own, he holds an immense grudge against me. So I’m going to have to face him. And I will win or die.

And this is me trying to keep away the doom and gloom.

I will think happy thoughts. I’m away from the Dursleys. If, somehow, something happens this year to prove Sirius’ innocence, I’ll never have to go back there. Of course, that something would be capturing Wormtail; who, as far as I know, is glued to Voldemort’s side.

I wish it was over. I wish he would just Apparate onto the table right now. We could have it done with right here.

Now there’s an image. Voldemort with one foot in George’s banana split.

Maybe that’s the way to get through this. I’ll treat him like a Boggart. Picture him in a ludicrous outfit and shout “Riddikulus” and everything will turn out fine.

If only it were that simple.