One
George
Smoke fills his nostrils, traveling slowly into his lungs, and choking him with an acrid sting. The faint ringing in his remaining ear deafens him as he crawls through the rubble of the last blast. All around, students, professors and members of the Order duel black-cloaked Death Eaters, spells and curses flying past as he drags himself across the floor. Time has slowed.
"FRED!"
His voice is hoarse from screaming and the smoke, tears in his eyes blurring his vision.
"Fred!...Fr-"
The remaining breath is sucked from his lungs as his hand brushes a familiar counterpart. His eyes travel up the attached arm, and settle on glassy hazel eyes that match his own.
George's eyes open with a shout and he sits up, rubbing his temples. Cold, blinding sunlight pours in through the frosted window in his room, landing on the empty bed opposite his. With a deep, shaky breath, he stands and pulls on a pair of flannel pants and a warm knit sweater with a capital G emblazoned on the front. Making his way down the stairs with soft footsteps, he steps out onto the back porch and lights a spliff, inhaling deeply and holding in the smoke until it burns. Small crystals form on his breath as he exhales into the winter dawn.
Hermione
The scream from the room above her own wakes her. She frowns, eyebrows knit together, before sliding slowly out of bed to avoid waking Ron. A glance at the clock on the wall tells her Molly won't be up for a bit. She leaves the room, quietly shutting the door behind her as she pads down to the kitchen and starts a pot of water.
Even at Hogwarts, Hermione had a kettle. A silly muggle convenience, but the simple connection to her parents soothed her. Now, she sits at the table, waiting patiently for her water to boil as the sunlight creeps through the windows, across the knotted hardwood floors of the Burrow.
It had taken months to rebuild the Weasley homestead after the Death Eater attack, and the whole place felt wrong. Different. Like a piece was missing. She shivers, wishing she'd grabbed a sweater before leaving their room.
She frowns again. Their room. It feels strange. Hollow. After the battle of Hogwarts, the best option for her was to return to the Burrow. Harry offered her a room at Grimmauld Place, but with his work schedule, she knew she'd be alone more often than not. Being alone was both a solace and an occasional terror. Moments like this, taking space in the quiet kitchen, was a balm, but only because others slept nearby.
And maybe that was why she did it. Settled into this routine. This life. She swallows, eyes focusing on the steam rising from the kettle.
As the steel pot begins to whistle, she stands, shaking the thoughts from her head. Grabbing two mugs, she pours a cup of tea for herself, and another for the lanky figure attempting to sneak back into the house.
George
He wasn't sure why it started. One morning, he'd come in from smoking a cigarette on the back porch, and Hermione was at the kitchen table with two mugs of tea. She'd quietly nudged one his way without a word, and the two of them sat silently in the early morning light. Since, they'd spent most mornings at the table, sometimes making light conversation, but usually in a comfortable silence.
He sits, accepting the mug she slides his way, and taking a long sip. His slender fingers drum against the ceramic thoughtfully. Hermione could never miss a small detail about someone. Within days, she'd perfected the ratio of milk to honey he preferred, the blend of spices that calmed his nerves, even the temperature of the water. Slightly scalding.
The burn that slides down his throat after the initial sip soothes him.
"Thanks."
His gaze flicks up to meet hers. Empathetic, warm eyes, the color of fresh coffee, stare back at him. He takes another sip, the hot tea grounding him back into his body.
"Do I wake you every morning?"
He studies the way she thinks about her answer before delivering it. How her eyes focus sharply on the mug between her palms.
"Sometimes it's you. Sometimes it's Molly, or Ron. More often than not, I'm already awake."
He watches her sip her tea as she continues.
"Never feel bad when it's you. I don't mind. It's a reminder that you're here. That we're all still here."