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Sitting at the makeshift vanity in Ginny’s room at the Burrow, Hermione didn’t intend to fall apart while trying to braid her hair. But her hair wasn't behaving and her hands wouldn't stop shaking and the tears refused to stop pooling in her eyes. So instead she tossed the brush angrily to the side before burying her face in her hands.
Tears flowed freely as the knowledge of why she was trying to braid her hair reared its head. Today was Fred Weasley's funeral, and it was going to take place outside, under the hot sun.
Even though the thought of skipping it had never crossed her mind, she could confidently say this was one event she didn't want to attend. It still hadn't fully sunk in that Fred was gone. That he'd passed on to whatever was awaiting all of them. That she'd never get to hear his laugh or see his smile or get exasperated at his antics again. It just wasn't right.
“Here, let me help.” A male voice, sounding as rough as she felt, drew her attention.
George approached her and picked up the discarded hairbrush. He began running it slowly through her hair. The gentleness soothed her, even if the action was surprising.
“I feel like I should be the one taking care of you,” she murmured, breathing deep to inhale his spiced cider scent.
“Everyone's been fussing over me non-stop. I needed to do something for someone else for a change.”
“I know I already said this, but I'm so sorry, George.”
His eyes flicked up to meet hers in the mirror momentarily before returning to her hair. It hadn’t escaped her notice that he didn't look in mirrors much these days.
“I appreciate it. I still feel like I lost half of myself, but being surrounded by people who care helps a little.”
She took another breath, focusing on the smell of spiced cider, and decided to be honest.
“I know what you mean. I, ah, I lost my parents last year.”
“You did? How?”
“I obliviated them and sent them to live in Australia with no memory of me and new identities. This was right before I went with Harry and Ron to hunt Horcruxes. I was so terrified something would happen, and it was the only way I could think of to keep them safe.”
She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. George's brother was dead and here she was making it about herself. Gods, she was horrible.
“Please, forget I said all that. Today's not supposed to be about me. It's about Fred.”
“It is,” George said, setting the brush down before starting to run his fingers through her hair. “But it's comforting to know I'm not the only one suffering. And besides, Fred wouldn't want me to mope around all day anyway.”
She couldn't help the small smile that crept onto her face in acknowledgement. He was right, of course. Fred would probably be trying to cheer everyone up somehow, likely through some ridiculous joke or prank.
It came as a surprise when George's hands shifted from simply running through her hair to separating it into three even sections. He then began braiding the sections, which made her eyes go wide.
“When did you learn how to braid?”
“Years ago, before Ginny went to Hogwarts. When we were home, sometimes Mum would be too busy to fix her hair. So I taught myself and helped her when I could.”
“That's really sweet,” Hermione smiled at him in the mirror. Even though he didn’t look up, she hoped he could sense it.
They fell quiet as he finished the plait, securing it with a hair tie at the end. His hands came to rest on her shoulders as she leaned back against him without fully realizing what she was doing.
It had to be getting close to time to leave and head downstairs but the idea of moving was utterly distasteful. At some point the room had become a peaceful, quiet sanctuary and leaving would mean dealing with the pain waiting downstairs.
A poorly stifled sob had her shooting to her feet and turning to wrap her arms around George. He gripped her tightly around the waist and loosed another sob into her shoulder. Tears leaked down her own cheeks as they stood together in quiet, devastated silence.
At some point a knock on the door drew both their attention.
“Hermione, are you in there? I can’t find George and it’s nearly time to start.” Ginny’s voice sounded upset and stressed.
“Yeah, Gin. Be right out.”
Slowly, he lifted his head from her shoulder. His eyes were about as red as she imagined hers to be, with tears still pooled in them.
“Guess it’s time,” his voice was thick with emotion.
“Yeah.” She didn’t want to move, but slowly disentangled herself from his arms. He grabbed her hand before she could head towards the door, though.
“Stay with me through this?”
“Of course.” She squeezed his hand gently and together they headed for the door and for all the pain waiting for them on the other side.