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This never came into my usual routine after a big party the night before, one where I drank way too much coke and slept in really late. When Uncle Harry came, asking for my parents, I didn’t feel my world collapse around me.
It was a strange request, considering how much Rose had been in the Daily Prophet lately, asking for anything that could help in the investigation. Then there was the fact that everywhere you went lately, there was a picture of Rose smiling at you from windows of the shops.
They each blamed the other for what happened to Rose. I was always told that tragedy brought people closer to each other. I guess my family just doesn't deserve to be happy. My family is being ripped apart and I can’t stop it.
Suddenly she stops. Her eyes fill with tears as she looks at me. I know why she has stopped. She is thinking about Rose, and how she just said “kill”. I hate it when she does this. No matter how much I tell her it’s okay to mention Rose and to tell stories of how Aunt Ginny is ready to kill her oldest child (I mean, they are pretty funny and I know they will never come true), but she never listens.
Your father. Your mother. Was this what we had been brought to? Instead of names, they are now calling themselves my mother or father.
He who called himself my sister’s boyfriend, but didn’t even come over to see how we are doing. He, the very man my father forbid my sister from getting too friendly with back in her first year. He that no matter what anyone says, is responsible for my sister’s death. He changed her.
There is another silence. He is waiting for me to continue, but I don’t want to. I have nothing more to say on the matter. I sometimes might be angry at Rose, but I would never tell him that. In the progress report sent back to my parents, I know it would say: hates his sister. I couldn’t do that to my mother.
I look at his faded clothes that hang loosely on his body, and his fading eyes. “You’re not supposed to read other people’s diaries.”
My hand connects with the book, the touch burning my fingers. Leave it to Rose to put some sort of hex on her diary. She’d changed, but even she couldn’t ignore the desire to learn new spells and practice them.
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