Taken from Ginny Wealey's Diary
Many thanks to KyahDreaming from http/ashwinder. for being my beta!
DISCLAIMER: Yada, yada, yada. I don't own any of these characters. Including Ted Grimaus, I'm too cheap to feed him.
Exhausted, I climbed up to my small apartment on the third floor. I inserted my key, turned the doorknob to the right, and the door creaked in response. I see a body tensing in the dim light.
"It's alright, Ron, it's only me," I assured him. His body relaxed, then he craned his neck to look at me. His eyes seemed to have glazed over, but his mouth was smiling. I smiled back as I approached. Hovering over him, I asked, "What are you doing?" He stayed silent, and I took a quick glance at what he was doing. My mouth dropped open; he was doing a cross word puzzle from today's "The Emancipation of Plebeians" , whose motto is "We Publish The Right News, the Right Way". Granted, their cross word puzzle is not that hard to solve, but it was still is a wonder for my brother to make an improvement so quickly. "It matters not", I told myself.
My eyes scanned his work, and to my surprise, I saw that he had most of them right. A small gasp escaped my lips without my consent, and he caught it. "What's the matter, sis?" His tone was soft, as though he was a child, and it saddened me. My brother, the one filled with quirks, laughter, and an over-the-top imagination, no longer existed. My brother -- whose fiery red hair seemed to have grown pale, and whose freckled face was white and sickly -- tipped his head sideways, and in those trusting eyes I saw a mere six year old. Forcing a smile to my lips I told him, "Nothing," -- and he nods, accepting my lame excuse. I moved away from him, and left him whistling a tune that I had not heard for ages. I wished now that I had gone and asked Ron about it rather than leaving him there to work on his puzzle while I went down the stairs to take a shower.
So here I am, staring at my diary, while my brother sleeps. The candles burn low, their shadows flickering in a mesmerizing dance. My brother's whistling haunts me, it's soft, yet catchy tune replaying itself over and over again in my mind, while my hand moves across this paper effortlessly. My ears twitch upon hearing a grunt coming from my brother. As he turns to me his face gleams in the moonlight -- looking vulnerable and innocent -- and my heart aches. What has he done to deserve this? Nothing; he doesn't deserve it. I bow my head, and allow myself to wallow in self-pity.
"I'm going to be strong for him," I tell myself, with my head still bowed. Grabbing my pencil once more, I gripped it tight, almost crushing the wood beneath my finger, and start to write again.