A/N: Wow… so I'm really, really sorry that it's taken me since AUGUST to finally update this. I've known for months that I owed Ginny this chapter at the very least, and it's finally here. I don't know if this is the last one, but I can promise, for anyone who was wondering, that I'm definitely back to writing again. Hope it was worth the absolutely obscene wait.
Ginny knows what they expect. She knows that they (well, Great Auntie Muriel, at least) think her brothers are the strong ones. They think that she's going to be the Weasley who's always falling apart over all this (well, her and her mother.) They think that because she's the only girl that she's going to be a mess. Well, she won't. She won't give them the satisfaction.
It's not about Fred. If anyone deserves her tears, of course he does. But she knows – knew – knows him better than any of these people who are looking at her pityingly right now. She knows Fred wouldn't care how she acts today.
But sometimes she finds it hard to breathe. And she doesn't want to think about why that happens whenever she looks at George because that's not fair to George who's having the hardest time of all of them. And of course he is. He's the one they need to be worried about. Not her. He's the one who none of them can look at without having to swallow that sharp pain in the back of their throats. He's the one who she suddenly realizes is sitting in that armchair studiously not looking at anyone.
She doesn't know why her feet carry her to his chair, why her hand seems to move of its own accord to rest on his shoulder. She knows he wants to be alone (or as alone as he can be in the midst of this morose crowd.) She knows how that feels. But, somehow, she also knows what he needs. And after their brief escape from the room – those few minutes of tears that neither of them would ever allow anyone else to see – she also knows that maybe he'll make it through the eulogy in one piece.
It matters to him, and so it matters to her. But she knows that it's really just they and their other siblings who understand at all why this is so important. She's sure that everyone in this crowd that has gathered here today would understand even more if he couldn't do it. In fact, everyone here who seems to think they know George – know all of them oh-so –well – would probably even think it was best for George not to have to say anything at all. But they don't understand. They don't. Ginny feels the anger burning in her – unreasonable anger that isn't directed at anyone in particular – and she lets herself give into it temporarily. It's just easier to be angry right now.
But today isn't about easy, obviously. Because suddenly, it's time for all of the rituals to start all over again, and she is sitting beside Ron. She tries not to notice how shallow Ron's breathing is or the fact that Harry isn't flanking her other side. She tries not to think about that at all. She tries to hold onto her anger. She succeeds, too.
Until George steps forward to speak. But she does all right for a while. He's managing to say everything he wants to, and he's even managing to do it with a minimum of quavering. She thinks they're both going to make it through. She really does. But then she hears it – the violent sniffle that erupts from Ron – and her eyes fill involuntarily. She clamps her lips together. She doesn't look at Ron. She doesn't need to. She knows he must be furious with himself for even allowing that much to escape. She lets out a careful breath. She'll stay strong for both of them. She'll prove that the only girl can be the only one who won't give in. She won't give them the satisfaction.