A/N: Here's a (slightly) lengthier chapter.

Disclaimer: I think I have to add something to the disclaimer, namely this: Eilonwy, Princess wrote a review commending me for the title of this story, and I felt a bit ashamed, seeing as I can't really take any credit for it. The title is inspired by the book/film title "Confessions of a dangerous mind", courtesy of Chuck Barris (I think). Maybe that should've gone in the disclaimer. Thanks anyway, Eilonwy, I'm glad you appreciate it!

~*~

11 July

I'm beginning to think that Ron's right – Hermione really is insane. It's seven o'clock in the morning and she just woke me up to ask me if I wanted to come jogging with her, which is apparently a Muggle term meaning "running for fun".

I don't believe it. Why would anyone run for fun? And at seven in the morning? Honestly.

Needless to say, I turned down the offer. Rather forcefully, at that. Hermione didn't seem put down, though. She said, "That's okay, I'll just go on my own." And then she smiled at me and – thank goodness – left the room. I'm sorry, but people that wake other people up at seven to smile and act all cheery and proclaim that they're going to run for fun ought to be arrested.

Mum's right. I am not a morning person.

*  * *

I've just got back from breakfast, and I'm feeling less testy now that I've cranked up my blood sugar level a bit. I've also apologised to Hermione for being a complete veela when she woke me up, but she said it was alright. Apparently she'd "thoroughly enjoyed her refreshing jog", so there were no hard feelings.

Speaking of hard feelings… there's a multitude of them between Dad and Percy. I haven't written that much about it, but every day there's some sort of conflict between the two of them. It's like they're constantly on the lookout for potential quarrels. For example: yesterday Percy used Errol to send a letter to a colleague in London, and when Dad found out, he asked – rather irritated – why Percy hadn't used Hermes, when he knows perfectly well that Errol should hardly be flying at all, considering his age and, well… issues concerning basic navigation. The whole thing escalated into a rather nasty row, and things didn't exactly get better when Errol arrived back, hours later than he should have, looking a complete fright.

That was yesterday. Today, at breakfast, Dad announced that he was going to London for the day, seeing as there are a couple of people he has to meet (he didn't say which people, but I know it's no use asking). Mum asked him if he could pick up a few sewing supplies for her at Madam Malkin's, but before he could answer, Percy went into insufferable-know-it-all mode and said, "Really, Mum, I can't believe you would buy such things at Madam Malkin's, when it's rather obvious that the people at 'The Eye of the Needle' have come much further in that department." It was really obnoxious of him, especially seeing as he knows perfectly well that, even if she wanted to, Mum couldn't shop at 'The Eye of the Needle' – it's far too expensive. And besides, what does he know about sewing? I looked at Ron and we both rolled our eyes at Percy's haughtiness, but considering how it was such a Percy thing to say, we didn't make any more of it. Unfortunately, I can't say the same thing about Dad. He started telling Percy off for his comment, and said he shouldn't talk to his mother like that. Another row ensued, and it was rather embarrassing, because everyone was at the table. Our guests tried to look like they didn't even notice, but they weren't very convincing, considering the fact that it sounded as if Dad and Percy's voices were under a Sonorus charm.

Thankfully, Lupin came through and started a discussion on the rather neutral topic of dress robes. It seemed as though everyone had an amusing anecdote about dress robes, so the conversation carried on for quite a while. Ron even managed to tell the story about the Yule Ball – where he'd worn that horrible maroon creation and attempted to cut off the lace cuffs – without so much as a blush. I guess it's true what they say – time really does heal all wounds.

* * *

Einar's taught me some Swedish! Listen to this:

Hej, jag heter Ginny. That's "Hi, I'm Ginny".

Vilket underbart väder! This means "Such wonderful weather!".

And, finally, Vad tar ni för stinkbomberna? Which means "How much are the Dungbombs?", a phrase which is highly useful in any given language. I mean, what if I were to go to Sweden and wouldn't even be able to order Dungbombs? That would be a tragedy.

Einar says there's something in Sweden called stink-pellets, which are kind of like Dungbombs, only much smaller, and when you heat them up they set off an odour so strong and repulsive that it can clear a large room full of people in under a minute. He's promised to import a couple of bags for me the next time he goes home to visit.

* * *

Hermione seems sort of restless. She keeps on proposing different activities that she thinks we ought to do. Just now, when we'd finished dinner, she asked Ron and me if we wanted to take a trip into Ottery St Catchpole, and we just sort of glanced awkwardly at each other, 'cause we never go into town. Well, not never, but as good as. The last time I was there was when I'd just turned eleven, and Mum wanted to take me out for a mother-daughter ice-cream sundae, seeing as I was soon leaving for Hogwart's and "growing up so fast". That's four years ago. So our disbelief was quite justified. We managed to talk her into watching us play Quidditch with Bill, Charlie, Fred, George and Einar instead, and that's what I'm about to go out and do – I'm just going to get changed.

Hang on a minute.

Oh, really?

Hermione just popped her head in here and said that she'd managed to talk Ron into going for a walk with her instead of playing Quidditch, so they were leaving now, and was I sure I didn't want to come? It was rather funny. Her cheeks were all flushed and she could hardly get the words out. I don't think I managed to keep the look of smugness off my face as I said thanks, but no thanks.

Honestly. Those two.

Charlie's yelling for me to come down if I want to join them, so I better get changed.

Bye for now.

* * *

It's strange how things can change so fast.

An hour ago, I was sitting on my broom, tears of laughter pouring down my face as Fred and George performed their "Broomstick Boogie" – a rather perilous dance, seeing as the "dance-floor" is located quite some distance above the ground.

Now I'm lying in my bed, listening to Hermione sniffling a few feet away as Ron tries to comfort her. He's doing a good job, I reckon, 'cause she isn't crying anymore. We're the only ones upstairs – everyone else is in the living room, holding an emergency Order meeting.

I'm not really sure how or where to start, so I'll just dive straight into it.

Just as I landed after having played Quidditch for almost an hour and a half, Ron and Hermione came back from their walk. I was about to make a suggestive comment about how long they'd been gone, but the distressed looks on their faces stopped me. I asked them what was wrong, but Ron just said that we ought to go inside.

Everyone who'd been outside gathered in the kitchen, and Charlie went off to find Mum, Dad and the others. Ron didn't say anything 'til everyone was assembled, but when they were, he told us – rather gravely – that they'd walked on the outskirts of Ottery St Catchpole and heard things that sounded anything but good. "What things?" Dad demanded, and the look on his face was apprehensive, as if something he'd feared would happen might've come to pass.

Ron drew a hand through his hair before telling us about screaming people, explosive noises and sounds of running. While he told us this, Hermione stood silent, her face going whiter by the second. I could tell what she was thinking – I was thinking the same thing. It sounded a little too much like what we'd heard after the Quidditch World Cup Finals two years ago.

When Ron was finished, I looked around at the grown-ups, and their expressions made my heart hammer violently against my ribcage. They were thinking the same thing, too.

There was a moment of silence, then somebody – Lupin, I think – began to speak, although I hardly heard what he was saying. I was too busy trying to sort out my thoughts. Could they really be here? Could the—

I can hardly write it.

I mean… Death Eaters. Here. It's too horrible to think about.

As we stood there, completely shell-shocked, a formal-looking owl arrived. Kingsley took the letter attached to its leg and quickly read it, then handed it to Dad.

"It's Tonks," he said, and Dad nodded slowly as he too read it. He handed it to Lupin, who skimmed it through, before giving it to Moody. The letter was passed around 'til everyone had read it. Well, everyone except for Ron, Hermione and me of course.

"We have to hold a meeting," Dad said, and everyone nodded. They started filing out to go to the living room, and Ron and I made a move to follow.

"You're staying here," Mum said sternly, and Ron looked positively livid.

"Why?" he demanded. "It was me and Hermione who heard it all in the first place, and now we're not even allowed to hear what it's about?"

"You're staying," Mum repeated, and this time she was backed up by Lupin, who said that it would be better if they talked it through first and then passed the information on to us.

"Can't we at least see the letter?" I asked, desperate to find something out.

Moody, who was holding the piece of parchment, gave a wry grin and handed it to me. "See what you can make of it," he said, and then they all left for the living room.

Me, Ron and Hermione went upstairs to my room, and read the letter through. This is what it said:

"My dearest Weasley family,

As a true animal friend, it grieves me to hear of the polecat hunt. I sincerely hope you haven't taken part in it. I trust and hope I will see you soon – Kingston just isn't the same without you.

Best regards,

Pinky Pollock

P.S. Mr Tibbles sends his love, and says the parcel is waiting for you all."

It took us – or Hermione, to be honest – about two minutes to figure out that "the polecat hunt" was a reference to whatever it was that had happened in Ottery St Catchpole (seeing as otters and polecats are both animals and moderately alike, appearance-wise). The rest of the letter, however, gave us nothing. I mean, Kingston, what's that? A place or a person? Or maybe a code for something completely different? And who in Merlin's name is Mr Tibbles, and what is this parcel he's keeping for us?

We gave up trying to decipher the letter, and started talking instead. Or rather, Ron and I talked while Hermione sat silent. It wasn't 'til minutes later that I realised she was crying. Once I saw this, I rushed over to comfort her, and Ron patted her sort of awkwardly on the back.

She didn't really say much, but I can understand how she's feeling. I mean, unless we're completely mistaken –which I doubt we are – there's been an attack of some sort in Ottery St Catchpole; most likely on Muggles. And Hermione's already expressed her current fears about attacks either on herself or on any members of her family. Having one happen so close and – even under the circumstances – so unexpectedly must've been horrible. It's horrible for me, and I'm not Muggle-born.

Oh, it's so awful. I can hardly believe it.

Someone's on the stairs. I think it might be…

Yeah. Hold on a minute.

* * *

It was Mum. She came in here and sat with us, while telling us a bit about the meeting. She didn't tell us everything, of course, but little snippets.

Apparently we have to leave. Leave the Burrow. It's not safe for us here.

I just stared at her in shock when she said this, 'cause I haven't ever considered the possibility that our house could be anything but perfectly safe. I mean, last year, when we went to Grimmauld Place, I figured it was just because the Burrow was impractical when it came to having Order meetings. I never, ever thought that we could be in danger here. In our house. Our home. To me, it's always felt like the safest place in the world. Well, along with Hogwart's.

And now it turns out that it isn't.

I don't know where we're going or how we're getting there, but I do know that we're leaving tomorrow morning at four o'clock (which might just be the earliest I've ever been up), so I have to get some sleep now. Mum said she'd pack our things for us.

When she'd left the room, we just sat in silence for a while. Then Ron asked, rather timidly, if he could sleep in here on the floor. The words "I don't want to be alone" hung unspoken in the air. For some reason, a lump formed in my throat at his words and I just nodded, afraid that my voice would fail me if I tried to speak.

I just can't believe this.

Anyway, as I said, I have to get some sleep. It's only seven hours 'til Mum'll be in here to wake us up.

'Night.

~*~

A/N: Polecats and otters don't really look alike, do they? I couldn't come up with an animal which looked a lot like an otter, so I went with polecat, since they sort of have the same shape… Anyway, Hermione is really clever, so I felt it made sense that she would figure it out.