A/N: I'm so proud of myself, I've got part two up already! Although, it was half finished when I posted the first chapter, and it's not very long… But still, two chapters posted just a day apart! Yay!

~*~

8 July

Guess what?

I just got a letter from Dean. I can't believe it. My heart's hammering like crazy.

I'm just gonna copy it down in here and then over-analyse it, seeing as I'm in a pathetic mood right now.

"Dear Ginny,

How are you? Me, I'm great. I've just got back from a football game, West Ham versus Arsenal, and it was fantastic (even if Arsenal ended up winning. I'm trying to be good about it). I know you're not much of a football fan (considering the fact that you hardly even know what it is) but it was just so great that I had to write and tell you about it. And next week I'm going to see Newcastle play Manchester United. I'm really looking forward to that. I mean, neither of them are any of my favourite teams, but they've both got really excellent players, so I reckon it's going to be great.

I hope everything's good with you. Tell Ron hi from me, will you?

Bye,

Dean

P.S. Have you had any word from Harry? I've heard about those relatives of his, they don't sound like too much fun. Say hi to him as well, if you hear from him."

There. That's it.

I don't know what to make of it. I mean, it's not really a big deal, I guess. He just talks about football and says that he hopes I'm okay. But still…

He wrote to me. He wrote a letter to me. I didn't think… I mean, we did talk quite a lot last term, what with the DA meetings and all, and we got pretty close, but I didn't really think he would make much of it. I certainly didn't think he would go and write a letter to me, just for the sake of keeping in touch. And that comment I made on the train ride home, the one about "choosing Dean Thomas" or whatever it was I said, I didn't really mean that. I was just trying to get Ron worked up.

I don't really know how I feel about this. As I've said, it was hardly a love-letter (unless there are some sort of Muggle-romantics associated with football, which I highly doubt), but it was a letter, from a boy, addressed to me. And that's… well, it's sort of exciting.

Thank goodness Fred and George weren't around when I received it. I wouldn't have heard the end of it. Ron was at the table with me, but he was too wrapped up in the letter he was writing to notice. I couldn't help but say "Tell Hermione hi from me, won't you?" and it was really funny, because his head snapped up and his ears turned red and he said, "I'm not writing to Hermione." Which is obviously a big fat lie, because we're not allowed to write to Harry (owl-interception and all that) and who else would he be writing to?

Oh, I just realised something. Now I'm going to have to write back to Dean. What on earth am I supposed to write about? I can't write about football, seeing as I don't have any idea what it is. I guess I could write about Quidditch. But maybe that would seem too, I don't know… guy-like. Not that I want to write a girly letter or anything, but I don't want to write a Cheers-mate-slap-on-the-back-how-about-them-Cannons kind of letter either. Argh, I hate these things. Michael never wrote me letters, which was a great relief. I think I'm more of a conversationalist than a correspondent. If there's even such a word as 'conversationalist'. Oh, you get the idea.

Oooh, lunchtime! Excellent. I'm famished.

* * *

Kingsley is so cool. After lunch, when Mum was clearing the table and out of earshot, he showed me, Ron and Charlie his tattoos. Yeah, he's got tattoos. As in not just one. His skin's so dark you can hardly see them, but they're actually really beautiful and quite artistic. One's on his upper arm – a picture of a dragon, really majestic-looking. Another's on his shoulder blade – a set of runes, but he wouldn't tell us what they meant. I guess it's something personal.

The coolest one was a picture of an ancient-looking torch, on his ankle. He got it when he joined some sort of secret society during a trip to Africa. Evidently, getting the tattoo hurt like hell (his words, not mine), but he didn't mind, because being invited to join that particular society was a huge honour.

Unsurprisingly, Kingsley and Charlie have really bonded. They've spent hours discussing dragons and beasts and foreign lands together, and after seeing that dragon tattoo, Charlie mentioned that he'd like to get one himself. Unfortunately for him, that was the precise moment that Mum came into earshot again. She scolded him as if he were a four-year-old, and he blushed like a schoolgirl. It was quite funny.

The new guest is coming any minute now. Mum's been driving herself (and everyone else) mad trying to find a place for him (or her, for all I know) to sleep. Ron must be really sure it's Harry, because he suggested that they could put up a spare bed in his room. But Mum didn't agree, and the guest, whoever it is, will be residing in the living room, along with Lupin, Kingsley and Moody.

Speaking of Moody, he's really acting strange. I mean, stranger than usual. He walks around the house, muttering and cursing under his breath. My guess is that he's not all too pleased about the arrival of this new guest.

Oh, arrive already! I'm curious enough to die. I can't see why they won't just tell us, but I guess they don't want to risk anything. It's driving me crazy, really, this constant paranoia.

What was that? I'm positive I heard a cracking noise. Let me just…

Yeah. Someone just Apparated into our kitchen. A man. He's talking now. Mum and Dad are welcoming him. I don't recognise the voice.

Oh, I have to go downstairs and have a look. Hang on.

* * *

Wow. That's all I have to say. Wow.

I don't really know how to put this, but… standing in our kitchen, at this very moment, talking to my Mum and Dad, is the most attractive man I have ever seen in my life. Honestly.

I'm not going to gush. I am not going to gush. Gushing is for girls.

Oh, who cares? I am a girl.

I swear, my heart almost stopped when I entered the kitchen. I was prepared to see some old, creepy Moody-look-a-like, so imagine my surprise when I instead saw a tall, muscular and utterly handsome man who can't be any older than Charlie. I just stood and stared, and I must've looked really stupid. Then Dad said, "Ginny, love, meet Mr Gustavsson. Mr Gustavsson, this is my daughter, Ginny." And the man reached out his hand, grinned at me (I've never seen a set of teeth so white before), and said, with a bit of an accent, "Nice to meet you, Ginny." And being the complete idiot that I am, I could do nothing but take his hand, smile stupidly and say "Yeah, you too," before taking off and running up here again.

My heart's beating like crazy. I am so mortified. Why do I always act like this? But I was so shocked, so thoroughly unprepared for that complete vision of a man. Blech. I sound like Mum, ranting on about Lockhart. Although, Lockhart's got nothing on this one, I'm telling you.

He must be a foreigner. I mean, Gustavsson, that's hardly British, is it? And he spoke with an accent.

Oh, this won't do. I have to go down there again and introduce myself properly. Prove that I'm not a silly little girl.

Wish me luck.

* * *

Honestly, every now and then you meet someone who's so thoroughly interesting and respect-inducing that you just want to sit by them and listen to them talk for ages.

I've just got back from dinner, and I'm going to go down as soon as possible again, because Mr Gustavsson's telling stories about his Auror training and I want to listen.

Guess what? He's from Sweden. I knew he was foreign. Apparently he's some old friend of Kingsley's, and he's agreed to help the Order out for a couple of months, seeing as the ongoing war isn't just Britain's concern. If Voldemort gains power, it'll affect the whole wizarding world. So Mr Gustavsson's one of many foreign wizards (and witches) that've come to Britain to help out.

I can see why he and Kingsley are friends, they're really alike. And yes, Mr Gustavsson's got tattoos as well. No earring, though. But his hair's sort of longish, although not as long as Bill's. He doesn't look the least bit Scandinavian. I thought pretty much everyone there was blond, blue-eyed and fair-skinned, but he's got dark hair, and eyes so deep a shade of brown they're almost black. And he's really tanned, but apparently that's due to the fact that he's been in Turkey for a couple of months, working as a negotiator or something.

Thankfully, I got past the whole Oh-my-goodness-he's-too-handsome-for-words-phase pretty quickly, and I managed to talk to him. And apart from the fact that he's utterly cool, he's also completely hilarious. He had everyone in stitches during dinner, retelling stories about Turkish Ministry officials that refused to grant him entry into Ministry buildings, as they thought he looked dodgy. He impersonated them, with accents and all, and it was just too, too funny. Even Moody looked a bit amused, but that was probably just because he recognised the situation from personal experience. He's still acting strangely, even more so since Mr Gustavsson's arrived. I think there's something there that the rest of us don't know about.

Even though I'm happy that somebody young and decent has come to stay with us, as opposed to someone old and grumpy, I can't help but feel a bit disappointed that it wasn't Harry. It means he's still stuck in that horrible place with those horrible people, and I hate the thought of that. I can tell that Ron's disappointed too. But he still seems pretty impressed with Mr Gustavsson.

Oh, they're laughing downstairs. I have to go down there and listen.

* * *

I'm beat. Knackered. Just about ready to pass out.

It's past midnight, and I've just come up from the living room, where everyone's been sitting the past few hours. I've played four games of exploding snap with Charlie, and after that I watched a chess game between Ron and Einar (that's Mr Gustavsson's first name – rather odd, isn't it?). Einar gave Ron quite a run for his money – he seems really clever – but Ron ended up winning, and I couldn't help but feel immensely proud of him. I mean, he's my brother, and he's only a year older than me, and he beat an Auror at chess. That's pretty cool.

Before I came up here, I talked to Dad in the kitchen. I asked him about Harry, if they know how he's doing or when he'll be allowed to join us. Dad just looked at me a bit sadly and said, "I can't talk to you about Harry, you know that." And my face must've fallen quite a bit, because he added, in a low voice, "We're working on it." Then Moody entered the room and I couldn't ask Dad what he meant exactly. I mean, working on it? What kind of work is there to do?

But I must say I'm feeling rather hopeful. If they're working on it, then that could mean Harry will be with us quite soon. I really hope that's the case. I want to see him, make sure he's okay.

Wow, I am so tired. And Mum will probably have us up at dawn tomorrow, she mentioned something about a thorough cleaning of the house. I shudder at the mere thought of it. Anyway, I better get some sleep now.

Goodnight.

~*~

A/N (random): I couldn't help but bring a Swede into this fic. There's just not enough Sweden on ff.net, in my opinion. I'm feeling a bit lonely!

Arsenal rocks.

I saw "Pirates of the Caribbean" a few days ago, and I'm still on a Johnny-Depp-Orlando-Bloom high. They are just the epitomes of "beautiful". And they're the reason Einar looks the way he does.