The backyard was decorated as if they were prepared for a wedding. They had enough decorations left over from the disaster that had been Fleur and Bill's ceremony the year previous, which now served as decorations for Harry's party. As the day wore on, more and more people showed up. Many were simply acquaintances. Hermione realized it was more than just Harry's 18th birthday for most of them, though. It was a chance to start fresh – it was the first happy event since the war. Many wanted a way to show their condolences for the Weasley family as well without it being formal. The funeral had been so private, so simple. Fred's funeral had been mixed among so many that had occurred after the war. It felt as if he had just been a number. Hermione remembered her intense sadness over the event. Fred had always been full of life and adventure, and in death hardly anyone had been there to remember. It was like he had simply vanished. It didn't feel real that one day he could be there and the next day he could be gone.
Hermione held a drink in her hand and watched the party goers muddle around. Ron was in deep conversation with Harry and Lee Jordan about something. He caught her eye and smiled, which she returned. She knew that he loved attention, and it warmed her heart when he got it. When Ron got attention was when he was at his best. He was friendly, warm, and sociable. Hermione had lingered with Ron for most of the day but had begun to get tired. People exhausted Hermione and she felt as if she needed some time to reenergize on her own. It was hard to do when the backyard and the house were all full of people.
Despite the crowd, the home felt eerily empty. There were no unexpected explosions or hoots and hollers from the twins. In fact, George seemed so completely sombre on his own on the back step that one would have expected that he was the shy one of the bunch. When Ginny vacated the spot next to her brother to rejoin Harry, Hermione felt herself compelled to fill it.
"Is it your turn to tell me it'd be good to socialize?" George asked without looking at her. His brown eyes were taking in everyone who walked about and his drink was ¾ of the way full still.
"No, actually, I came for some quiet." Her tone was flat and final.
Everything seemed like it was in a blur. It was like all the guests were just ghosts and Hermione was looking upon a memory that didn't belong to her. She felt like none of this was real and it was all a nightmare. How could she properly explain that Fred and George had been two of the greatest lights of her life? When she was stressed and tightly wound, even though they could drive her crazy, they always managed to bring a smile to her face. They frequently acted like an equalizer for her. It wasn't to say that no one else could make Hermione smile, but she never realized how much she truly turned to them when she expected something crazy to happen. Without them, everything seemed so bland. She wanted George to step up and crack a joke, maybe add a sad smile to the end, but it was nothing. George was a shell of the man he used to be. She wasn't sure which bothered her more: the family who was going on about their lives as if everything was fine, or George who didn't seem to know how to exist without his brother. She didn't know where she belonged, either. Some days she felt like she was with the family, but it all felt forced. Did it feel that way to them, too, or had they made it to the point where they accepted Fred's death?
"Hermione, you don't have to keep me company," George informed her. "I'm fine."
"You're not," Hermione replied. He turned and opened his mouth to argue, but she finished with, "But neither am I."
He didn't know quite what to say to that. He paused and thought upon his words. "I didn't know he meant that much to you."
She felt hurt by his words. "He didn't mean that much to me?" Hermione repeated. "This family is the one constant thing in my life, and that includes all of you," she rambled quite quickly. "How am I supposed to register all these feelings? How am I supposed to pretend that my heart doesn't ache when I'm not kept up by the sounds of explosions, or that I don't feel like falling to pieces when I'm upset and there's no one to crack a lame joke or keep me distracted from my thoughts?" All the words sort of just fell out of her. She didn't want to burden him with this, but she felt the incredible need to explain herself. "You two were always just... there. We might not have been the best of friends, but we were family. Fred was my family. You're my family." She took a shuddering breath. A tear fell, but as she went to wipe it away, she found George's hand already upon her cheek.
Her hand touched his and she looked into his eyes and was startled to find them full of tears as well. Other than immediately after Fred's death, Hermione hadn't seen him cry. She felt a connection to him in that moment and she leaned into his hand. She let his warmth run through her and she closed her eyes. Suddenly, though, he pulled his hand away. She looked to see what the issue was, and Ron had come towards them. A guilty emotion passed through her that she tried to ignore. Had Ron come over because he saw their moment? No, his face looked too exuberant. By the redness in his cheeks it was obvious that he had drunk a fair amount, and it didn't take much to get him drunk.
"Hermione, come back to the party," Ron insisted. He reached his hand out, which Hermione took. As she allowed Ron to lead her away, she looked back at George with an apologetic look on her face.