Oh, I do like spending time at the Burrow. It’s such a homey place, but it’s so different from my home. And it’s nice to spend a few days with the boys when I don’t have to keep them on track with classes and essays and revision for the O.W.L.s. (I’m not going to think about them until I get to Hogwarts. These are my holidays. I’ve done all the work I needed to and more besides. I can spend two days here without worrying at all). I can just enjoy their company – especially since Harry’s finished all his work and Ron’s done most of his (and all of it is reasonable and some of it is good; it just goes to show that they can get by without me, and I should let them from now on). It’s also nice to talk to Ginny. I think she really misses having another girl around the place. Truth be told, I’m not much of a one for girl talk; but I’ve heard enough in the dorms to pass muster with a girl who grew up surrounded by boys.

As for the situation with Voldemort – well. It’s closer here, since it’s a wizarding household – but I honestly think the Burrow must be one of the safest places in the country, after Hogwarts. I mean, it’s been warded for Harry; and there are enough people to spot an intruder quickly without their being a crowd to hide one; and it just feels safe. I think it’ll do Harry good.

As for myself – I love my parents very much, but I’m so glad to be out of there. I’m a different person with them in the muggle world. I’m not sure if I prefer the person I am here, but I’m more used to her. And she has friends.

We’ve congregated in the living room – if four people can be called a congregation. Mrs Weasley is visiting a friend; the twins are in their room; and Harry, Ron, Ginny and I are passing a lazy late-summer evening in varied pursuits and desultory conversation. The wireless is playing quietly in the background; Ginny’s curled up in the corner armchair, writing a letter; Harry’s reading a book on Quidditch tactics for the umpteenth time; Ron’s pretending to read up on the Tarot in the newspaper clippings (Quidditch scores, I bet) he has hidden in his Divination textbook; and I’m just thinking, half stretched out on the floor and leaning back against the couch.

It’s ridiculous how comfortable and content I feel simply doing nothing in this company. It’s wonderful, having friends like these, that I can just be quiet with.

OK, I admit it. I’m bored. I’m going to go and get a book so I can do some studying. In a minute.

They’re all so still! When it comes to reading, or anything, Ron especially turns into a big bundle of restlessness. That’s part of the reason I keep losing at chess – apart from the fact that he’s just better. He twitches. When he’s waiting for you to make a move, he bounces his foot and taps his fingers and whistles under his breath, and he asks you questions, and you can’t concentrate on the pieces – which, of course, are offering their own bits of advice and distracting you still further. Maybe I should challenge him to a game. It would keep me occupied for half an hour. It would also lead to a humiliating defeat. Maybe I should just sit here.

Ha! I knew it! Ron couldn’t sit still either! He’s flopped full length on the couch, now with a Chudley Cannons magazine held above his head. I stuck it out longer than he did. Mind, Harry has barely moved to turn a page, even, and Ginny is alternately staring at her parchment in need of inspiration and covertly glancing over at Harry. I can’t really blame her, though – he’s attractive in a scrawny kind of way, and the half-starved waifish look tends to bring out the mother in the worst of us. I’ll just sit here a little longer, then, see if I can wait them out. And if I close my eyes, I can just enjoy the way Ron’s hand is absently stroking my now- depleted hair.

It’s odd, how much more like home it seems with two people who technically don’t belong here. It helps that the tension you can get away with when only family’s around has now subsided. But here we are: me, my two best friends and my little sister. And it’s good. I know it won’t last; but right now, it’s good.

Poor Ginny still has a crush on Harry – I mean, three years has to be a record. She might get over it now he’s a total wreck. And Hermione seems to be over her little crush too. She went to Bulgaria, she said, with her parents. They visited Vicky and his family, who were “perfect hosts” and it was all “interesting” and the country was “beautiful” and everybody was “kind”. But she didn’t seem too excited about it, really, and she didn’t say anything about any other visits. No-one asked her, though. I would have, but Harry kicked me, and while he was unpacking he reminded me how every time I say something about Vicky it turns into a shouting match between me and Hermione, so I guess I should thank him. Good friend, that boy. He’s a bit of a wreck at the moment, but we’ll sort him out.

I think the first thing that’s in order is a good prank. I’ll talk to Fred and George, see if they’ve got any suggestions. Something along the lines of Canary Creams, I think, but different. The girls will not be happy with me for playing a joke on poor delicate Harry, but I think a laugh’s just what he needs, and he’s not all that fond of seeing other people… Unless I could get the twins. They’re fair targets. They would take it in the spirit intended, where the “grown-ups” would look serious and start talking about you-know, and the girls might get upset. The problem is, how to get the twins when they’re the ones who taught me practically everything I know? I think I’ll have to go for something classic and simple and old, something that’s just so basic they won’t be expecting anyone to use it. They spend their time working on increasingly more complex pranks, so if I were to simply chuck a Dungbomb in their room, they would… do something really nasty in return. Classic but not harmful and amusing to them as well as to everyone else. Maybe I’ll just turn their hair green. Or one of them green and the other one purple, so Mum can tell them apart. That’s a fair idea. It’s not good, but I’ll settle. Tomorrow at dinner, I think – unless it gets serious.

I’ll have to talk to Hermione afterwards, because I think the next step in sorting out our friend is going to be a long talk, and I’m no good at that sort of thing.

I think she’s asleep, or nearly anyway. She was just sitting there, not even pretending to be doing something like the rest of us were, and now she’s leaning back with her head against my leg. It might be she doesn’t want to have to yell at me and ruin the atmosphere. I honestly didn’t notice what my hand was doing until she moved and relaxed back against me. Then I saw that my fingers were getting used to her new haircut. There was no contribution whatsoever from my brain. It’s nice, though, and she doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, I think it’s what persuaded her to go to sleep in sort-of public, which I don’t think she’s ever been comfortable with. If she is actually asleep. She might be. She’s certainly not fully awake.

I could stay here forever, I think. Friends and family around me, a fire in the grate as the stars come out, semi-decent music on the wireless – safe and warm and protected from the world outside. This is good. This is home.

At the moment, this is the closest thing I have to a real home. And it’s not even mine… I can’t help thinking I’m putting them in danger just by being here; but as Hermione reminded me, the Burrow has had wards put on it to protect me, and these wards will also protect the other people here. It was reassuring. It was more reassuring to see that she’s still the know-it- all I met in first year – I think she went a bit girly over the summer. It hasn’t been all that long, in the scheme of things, since we last saw each other; and we’ve been writing to each other; but she’s changed. We all have. It’s just obvious now because we’ve been apart for a while. When you see someone every day, you don’t notice how they’re gradually growing up. For example, I’m sure at least half of the height she swears I’ve gained, I actually got during the last few months of fourth year. I’m still a scrawny little runt, though, especially compared to Ron. Not that he’s turning into Crabbe and Goyle, or anything – you can just see he’s going to end up one of those dependable-looking people, that are tall and well-built and look like they would be able to catch you every time you fell. The great thing about Ron is he’s that type of person, and he would be even if he looked completely different. The two of them are damn good friends for anyone to have. It’s just a shame they’re my friends – for their sakes.

I decided I was going to put away the depressed thoughts for this evening, but it’s not all that easy. I can’t concentrate on my book, but since I’ve read it at least twenty times I guess it doesn’t really matter. At least we’ll have Quidditch this year. Unlike last…

I already said I’m not thinking about that!

I’m here with my friends and I’m safe for the moment, so I’m just going to sit here and live in the moment. Easier said than done…

The chair I’m sitting in is comfortable, but I’m going to have to move soon. I might just go to bed – I’m tired – but then again… My chair is comfortable. My pumpkin juice is chilled. Night is falling. Wizarding music that I’ve never heard before is playing. The fire is crackling. The room is warm. It smells of wood-smoke and flowers, from the vase on the table. The flowers are pretty.

Good grief! First Hermione turns out to be a girl, then I do!

Hermione’s asleep on the floor, with her head resting against Ron’s hip and a peaceful expression on her face. Ron’s staring at a point somewhere past his magazine, and his hand is gently toying with her hair. I would like a picture of the two of them like this, so peaceful, but I’d have to move and find a camera. And a rush to capture this moment would suggest that there won’t be others like it, and that would just be wrong. There will.

I should get myself a camera. It seems like something I could manage to do, taking pictures. And it’s so nice to look at the pictures I have of my parents. In days to come, I think I’ll want to look back at these times. I’ll want pictures to remind me of the little things, and the bigger things. You can forget so much. And of course I’ll want to show them off to other people – maybe even my kids, one day. Imagine – me, with kids. That’s a scary thought.

I wonder if my dad thought the same thing.

I don’t want to forget. Ever. I don’t want to forget these people, my friends. With any luck, I won’t get the opportunity.