I slip downstairs early in the morning, wand at the ready. I slip into Grimmauld Place’s kitchen for a cup of coffee, and I find her sitting at the breakfast table, a stack of documents, a pot of coffee, and a bottle of whiskey I could’ve sworn was full the last time I saw it accompanying her. Her head is in her hands, glasses halfway down the bridge of her nose. “I didn’t know you wore glasses,” I murmur, pushing them up the bridge of her nose as I grab the coffee pot to pour myself a cup.

“And I didn’t know you wore skimpy underwear, Tonks.” She returns, pointedly eyeing the hint of hot pink lace peaking out from my sleep shirts. “Har-har, Weasley.” I respond, plopping down in the seat across from her. I hold the mug with both of my hands, warming my fingers against the ceramic. “It’s freezing,” I say over my mug as I take a sip, and subsequently cough- it’s much stronger than I’m expecting.

She smiles, but tugs off her jumper and tosses it to me. I catch it, and inspect it with a snicker she kicks me for. It’s hand-knitted in a deep, navy blue with a golden-yellow F stitched on the front.“Oh, piss off. It was a gift from my mum.” She responds, making a face as I pull it over my head. “No, no, I think it’s sweet,” I laugh, taking another sip of the coffee. It’s strong, too strong, but it’s hot.

“How long have you been up?” I question with a grimace, leaning back as she pours herself a cup of coffee and lights a cigarette. She hums, taking her glasses off and rubbing her temples. “Maybe half an hour? This-” she gestures to the mostly-empty bottle of Firewhiskey, “I can only assume is my fault, and from last night.” She responds, picking up the bottle before setting it back down with a sigh.

She takes a drag of her cigarette, and ashes it in the glass dish we’ve all been using as a makeshift tray. She offers it to me and I take it, sucking on it until the cherry glows red hot, before expelling the smoke. I can do a few tricks with the smoke, but I don’t feel like putting in the effort- it’s not a party, just a sharing a cigarette on a snowy morning. I take another drag and blow it out through my nose, before passing it back.

She takes the cigarette and ashes it again, puffing on it a little before ashing it into the bowl. She traces the edge with her fingertips, and takes a sip from her mug. Mine is empty now, and I top myself up. Fred slips into the kitchen, followed by George. She offers up the cigarette, and Fred takes it, coughing out the smoke, which has her laughing.