I don't think I'd ever really seen Ginny cry, even though we'd been pretty good friends since we first met on the Hogwarts Express when we were eleven. I don't think it's that she was emotionless, or heartless, or anything. I just think that growing up with six older brothers toughened her up that way. She had to fight and stick up for herself, and crying would have ruined the strong image she had to build for herself. She'd occasionally sat with me by the river while I cried and talked to her, but she was never uncomfortable. You'd think maybe she would expect everyone else to be as strong as she was, but the truth is I don't think she was that strong. She just hid her feelings really, really well. She hid behind sarcasm, behind comedy. She could deflect attention from the tears in her eyes with a well-timed joke. She wasn't a bitter or jealous person. There was just a lot going on inside her head.
Which is why I knew exactly what she needed when Fred died. She didn't cry, not at first, because she had to stay strong for her brothers. The summer came and went, and I only saw her a few times- she seemed to be coping well. She had to be coping well, because her parents weren't really coping at all.
Back at school it was harder, because the pity – those sympathetic eyes – only served as a reminder of her brother. They reminded her that she hadn't cried, she hadn't really felt her feelings like she should have done. She didn't want condolences, she didn't want anyone's compassion- she wanted Fred.
And then one Saturday morning she came to find me. And I knew what she wanted when she asked if we could go to the river. She was silent on the walk there and I didn't force any words on her. I knew what it was like to lose someone. I knew how it felt to not want to talk.
When we reached the tree closest to the riverbank, she threw her bag down and sat in the place I had sat all those times she had comforted me. I sat in an opening of tree roots just above her, and put my arm around her.
We stayed there all afternoon. She had sobbed into my shoulder for at least an hour, then we explored the area around the river. I knew she was just desperately looking for a distraction – something that was so hard to find in the castle, where everything simply served as a reminder. We had found the perfect spot, deep in the grounds, hidden yet not dangerous like the Forbidden Forest would have been. I let her cry, and I let her say things she'd never said to anybody else, and I listened to her talk to herself as she absentmindedly played with pebbles at the riverside. I often think people try too hard when they're comforting someone. I don't think anybody really wants a half-hearted 'everything will be fine', because a lot of the time we're not worried about everything not being fine. We're just being slowly destroyed by things in the past that haven't been fine. A lot of the time… we just need somebody who understands that.
A/N- This isn't the end but I wasn't really sure how I wanted to end it. Maybe I'll just see what people think of this bit first? :)