Three weeks later.

"Haven't you heard of knocking?" Ginny grumbles as her brother sits across from her at the table.

Having spent most of his life developing an immunity to her temper, Ron isn't remotely bothered by Ginny's tone. "We tried knocking," he says, grabbing a piece of toast from her plate and nibbling thoughtfully. "You wouldn't open the door."

"That should have been a hint," she mutters darkly into her coffee, refusing to look at him.

"We're all worried about you, Gin. You haven't gone out since the funeral."

Instead of answering, Ginny mechanically climbs to her feet, dumping her half-eaten breakfast into the bin and setting her dishes in the sink. This is her way of trying. She carries on alone, doing ordinary things because it's what she'd do if her husband were still alive. She pretends to be a real girl, and it hurts like hell.

"I'm tired," she says. "I think I'll take a nap."

Before she can move, Ron has her by the shoulders, spinning her around to face him. "This isn't you, Gin," he says firmly, desperation in his eyes. "You're the strongest person I know. Remember when Dad had his heart attack? You were only fourteen, and even though you were hurting like the rest of us, you were the strong one who told us it would be okay. Again and again, you said it until the nurse told us he would pull through."

"Ron..."

"You're stronger than this. I know you are."

Ginny opens her mouth, armed with a heated reply, but the words refuse to come out. She buries her face in her brother's chest, sniffling. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I'm sorry."

OoOoO

The support group is the closest thing to a compromise they can find, and at five until six, Ginny finds herself in the recreational area of the church. She sees others lingering by a table filled with unappealing snacks and quickly ducks away before she can be roped into conversation.

With little choice, she takes a seat next to a blond man, eying him curiously. From the cut of his hair, his rigid posture, and the meticulously neat clothes he wears, she knows he's military right away. "Thought this was for civilians," she says.

He tenses but says nothing, grey eyes on the empty space in the center of the circle.

Twirling her wedding band absently on her finger, Ginny shifts in her seat until an older woman named Andromeda opens up, suggesting they all introduce themselves.

"Lavender."

"Parvati."

"Susan."

"Gregory."

"Jessica."

"Ernie."

"Draco."

It takes several seconds for Ginny to realize it's her turn. "Oh, Ginny."

Andromeda gives her a soft smile before launching into her story about losing both her husband and daughter in the war. As she speaks, Ginny can't help but to squirm. Support group or not, she feels as though she's intruding on their private grief.

The meeting carries on with little stories, plenty of tears, and far too many comforting words. When Andromeda finally suggests they close with the Serenity Prayer, Ginny is more than a little relieved.

OoOoO

"Is it always that awful?" Ginny asks the one who introduced himself as Draco.

The whole time, he'd looked just as reluctant to be there, and Ginny classified him as an ally.

"Usually," he agrees with what might be a smile as he pulls a cigarette from his jacket. "Sometimes it's worse. Parvati writes poetry. Do you know how many words rhyme with Dean? Most of them completely inappropriate in context."

Ginny laughs, and it's a dry broken sound. She doesn't remember the last time she's laughed. "So, I'm guessing your wife was military as well," she says.

Again, Draco tenses, lighting his cigarette and taking a drag. "I knew your husband. Pain in the arse, but he was a good man."

For a moment, Ginny wonders how the subject has returned to her. Then, eyes wide with understanding, she realizes that he's just like her. Both are hurting, but neither really want to share their grief.

Before she can answer, Draco snuffs out his cigarette, placing the half-smoked thing behind his ear. "I guess I'll see you around," he says.

"I'll try not to write any poetry," she assures him with the softest of smiles.

Crooked grin on his lips, Draco turns, swaggering off, and Ginny notices for the first time that he walks with a limp.