A/N: I'm baaack… I know it takes me forever to update, and I'm sorry. I've been working a lot lately, and… well... No, I don't have any good excuses. So, sorry.
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12 July
I am so unbelievably, extraordinarily, ridiculously and – most importantly – fantastically tired. I would've come up with even more lengthy adverbs to describe my current state of fatigue, but frankly, my mind is too fog-like at the moment. I'll have to save the really big words for later.
It's five-fifteen (yep, in the morning), and I'm sitting at the foot of the stairs on my trunk, waiting for everyone else to get ready to leave. The house has been in complete commotion the past hour, as everyone has rushed around, trying to get their things organised. Thankfully, Mum packed my trunk yesterday, so I haven't had that much to do. I've merely been a casual observer of the mess.
Ron and Hermione are sitting here as well. I think Ron's asleep – his head's sort of lolling about – and Hermione's face is looking unusually blank. I tried talking to her a few minutes ago and she just mumbled, "Hm, shwalzizbayomininme", and seeing as I don't have a ruddy clue what she was trying to tell me, I smiled and replied, "Sounds good, Hermione," because that's pretty much a universal reply.
Believe it or not, I think everyone is more or less ready now.
Yeah, Dad just came and ordered us outside. We're off.
I'll write more later.
* * *
Okay, I think I might actually understand Mum's obsession with cleaning now. Or at least her statement of having to 'keep your surroundings nice and tidy'. Because right now, I'm in what could quite possibly be the dirtiest, filthiest, most disgusting house I've ever come across, and frankly, the mess is driving me insane.
We arrived here a couple of hours ago, around four o'clock, after having flied for an age and a half on broomsticks. I was a bit surprised that we were travelling on brooms; I'd been sure we'd use a Portkey; but apparently we haven't got to the place we're going yet. We'll be staying in this complete dump of a house today, and then tomorrow we're leaving (thank goodness) and travelling by Portkey to our final destination. Don't for a minute think that anyone's actually told me this, though. No, no, I've had to conclude it myself, after having heard a number of mumbled conversations between various adults. It seems as if we're taking this detour in case we're being followed (which is a rather creepy thought).
Anyway. About this place. I hardly consider myself to be neat in any way (just ask Mum), but when I came into this house I just had to take a step back and scrunch up my face in disgust. It's that messy. Everyone seemed to let out a collective, appalled "Urrghh" at the sight of it.
The wooden walls look like they're about to cave in, and there's actually something growing on them, something green and feathery-looking. The floor is cluttered with junk, half of which is completely unidentifiable. There are large patches on the ceiling, as if it's rained for weeks and the water's slowly been seeping through the roof. But it hasn't rained, which means that the patches are caused by something else, and… I don't even want to think about it.
And the smell. Don't even get me started on the smell. The whole place reeks as if it's been used as a final resting place for vegetables and dairy that's gone bad. I have to breathe with my mouth open to avoid being sick right here on the floor.
I asked Dad why we have to live here, of all places, and he said, "I realise it's not ideal as accommodation—" doh! "—but we're not in a position where we can be too choosy. The risk of the wrong people finding us in a place like this is much smaller than if we'd checked into some fancy hotel."
I mean, I understand that, I really do, but why can't we just fix the place up a bit? You know, with magic? We should be safe as long as it's filthy-looking on the outside, shouldn't we? But apparently that's definitely ruled out. No explanation was given (of course), but Dad just shook his head and said, "Unfortunately that's not an option, Ginny".
Fine. Like I care. Me, Ron and Hermione have decided to sleep outside tonight anyway. I'm not going to be in this house a minute longer than I have to.
In fact, I'm going to leave right now. Charlie just announced that he's going off to 'scout the premises'. Sounds like fun. More fun than staying here and retching, at least.
* * *
My Mum is amazing. She's just served us all a positively superb dinner, although hardly having had anything to make it of. And she didn't even use magic. Considering my previous state of hunger and my current state of utter contentment, I now pronounce myself her biggest fan.
The house is still disgusting, so we ate outside, which was kind of nice. It's a wonderful summer evening, all warm and sultry. The grown-ups have gone back in, but Ron, Hermione and I are still out here on the grass. I am not going back in there. No way. I don't understand how they can even think about sleeping in there. Nuts, that's what they are.
The 'scouting of the premises' was quite fun. Charlie guided the group (which consisted of me, Fred, George and Einar) around, pretending to be a French tour-guide ("now, zeez eez very eenteresteeng, 'ere eez a trrree with a rrremarkable bark, do you zee?"). It was hilarious. The funniest thing was when Bill came over and asked us what we were doing. Charlie introduced himself as Mademoiselle Delacour, and said, "Monsieur Weasley, you are zee most 'andsome man I 'ave ever 'ad the pleasure of meeting!" Bill's face turned so bright a shade of red it could've been used as a beacon, and he called Charlie names so foul I can't even print them here.
I just had a little talk with Ron and Hermione about Harry. We all agreed that if someone doesn't start making plans for him to join us real soon, we'll have to do something about it ourselves. I mean, the twins' gadgets have gotten pretty advanced, I'm sure they've got something that could be of use. 'Cause this is getting ridiculous. Harry never asked to be treated like some top secret artefact. He just wants to be like everybody else. He wants to spend the summer with his friends, not with those bloody sadists that happen to be his relatives. And we miss him. I miss him. I mean, I'm used to having him around.
Now Ron and Hermione have started whispering about something. Hmph. Those two. That's another reason why it would be nice to have Harry around – he could help me deal with this new, weird… thing that's going on between my brother and my best friend.
Oh well. I think I'll just bother them for a little while before I go to sleep. I really am rather tired.
Goodnight.
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A/N: Short, I know. Hope you liked it nonetheless!
