Chapter Text
She almost doesn't notice it at first, she's so far into her books. Yet when it's been an hour, and she sips a hot drink, her eyebrows shoot up into her hairline. Figuring Molly reheated it for her, she lets it go. It happens again nearly two hours later. She's studying for OWLs, can't be bothered to leave the nook she's created for herself, and Molly has taken it upon herself to support the one studious person of her brood aside from Percy. Or at least that's what Hermione tells herself. Turning down her bed later that night, Hermione is surprised to find that the blankets have been hit with a warming charm. Smiling to herself, she burrows in and falls fast asleep.
Come morning, she's surprised to find there's a cup of hot tea waiting for her on her nightstand. The steam billowing from it bringing a smile to her face. She sighs as she takes the first sip, savoring the taste as she wakes up for the day. There's nothing a good cup of tea can't cure. Making her way downstairs she surprised to see Fred already sitting at the table, half asleep reading the Daily Prophet. Raising an eyebrow at him, he merely gives her a smile before sipping on his own cup of tea.
“George still asleep?” She asks as she wraps her hands around her mug, trying to warm them.
“Living room.” Fred replies, the short and sweet reply, telling her he hasn't been up that long. Hermione smiles at his answer before taking her tea towards the living room. George is burrowed in on the couch, a blanket wrapped around him. He looks content, and Hermione is loath to disturb him. So much so, that she turns to leave.
“You can stay Granger. I don't mind.” George mumbles from the blankets he's piled under. The Burrow is always colder in the late evenings and early mornings. It's just a fact of life they adjust to as they walk around in woolen sweaters and socks until the sun's rays have warmed the building. Hermione hesitates for a fraction of a second before she sinks into an armchair next to the couch.
They sit in silence, the only sound is the fireplace crackling. The silence engulfs them, and until then, Hermione never understood what people meant by silence being loud. It surrounds them in a way it hadn't pre-war. When Fred ambles in, Hermione's not sure how much time has passed as he lays opposite his bother on the couch before burrowing under the blankets as fast as he can.
Hermione is so spaced out she doesn't notice George approaching her until he's draped a blanket around her. It's been hit with a warming charm, and she burrows into it with relish. She can't stand being cold, not since those nights on the run in a tent so cold your teeth chattered. She doesn't realize she's finished her tea until Fred is pressing a new one into her hands.
“Thanks.” She gives him a smile, which he returns before he's burrowed back under the blankets with his twin. Silence engulfs them again. It's a strange silence, not as heavy as in days gone by. It's more a comfort than a burden as Hermione allows herself to stare into the fire burning in the fireplace. She watches the flames dance in front of her face. Anything to keep the memories at bay. Anything to keep her in the here and now.
“You can talk to us, you know?” One of the twins says as she pulls herself from her trance, “I know we didn't go through what you did, but we still went through the same war. It might help to talk.” They say as Hermione sighs.
She opens her mouth to speak, but finds herself closing it without saying anything. She here's one of the twins sigh as the silence engulfs them once more. Her hands are shaking when she does speak.
“It's hard to try to come back home and live when all we knew was the war for so long.” She says after a moment's hesitation. The war had dragged on and on, never ending battles and weeks spent in complete solitude with no one but the boys to talk to. It changed them. It changed her. She's not sure who she is anymore. “It doesn't feel like home anymore.” The fact she can admit that tells the twins she's healing. It took them months to admit the fact the Burrow didn't feel like home anymore.
“Maybe it doesn't have to feel like the home from before.” George says, as he turns to face her, propping his head up on his hands as he does. “It just has to feel like home. Whatever that means to you now.” Hermione knows he'd said something profound, but the hollowness in her doesn't allow her to appreciate it. That much she does know.
“Maybe” Her words are empty, but it's the best she can do under the circumstances. One of the twins sighs, and she can hear him go to speak, but no words follow as she loses herself in watching the flames dance to life.