I do not own the Potterverse (sadly)

A/N This fic was written in '11 for a fest called Accio Prompts.

That's why at the start of each chapter there is a number and an expression. There will be 15 chapters.

This work was written in French (my mother tongue) and translated in English by myself with the tremendous help of lolitaweasley, Roman's sundial and AkaShika0306. Many thanks to them for their help!

Chapter 1: Prompt #4 - The Smell of Tea

Hermione woke up suddenly and sighed wearily.

It had been weeks, maybe even months now, that this had been happening, and she was starting to get sick of it. She fell asleep without any problem and, like clockwork, she would wake up abruptly in the middle of the night, for no apparent reason, and with no recollection whatsoever of what had awoken her.

She ran a hand over her face, dismissing with a weary gesture the curls that remained stuck on her moist forehead. Maybe it was just a nightmare that awakened her every night, but Merlin, she would really like to remember it and finally solve this problem!

After the war, she had had a hard time getting back to normal sleep. She was haunted by the memories of what she had experienced at Malfoy Manor, the screams heard during the Final Battle, pictures of the burials of the people she had known, loved… But Ron had helped her, supported her, and together they had driven away all the anxieties and the fears that had weighed her down. And since they had separated four years ago, it was the first time Hermione had so much trouble sleeping…

She grabbed her wand, placed under her pillow - a habit she had never abandoned, even ten years after the end of the war - and casted a Tempus charm. 2:32 am. Always the same time. Several nights a week, for what seemed like an eternity now, she woke with a start, always around 2:30 in the morning. What could this mean?

Hermione sighed heavily. It was useless to try to go back to sleep right now, and she knew that. Sleep was ruined for a few hours… and she knew that as soon as the first rays of sun appeared, she would fall asleep again. So, until then, she would have to occupy her mind, usually by reading a book in the library or drinking tea. She shuddered when her feet touched the cold floor, and, after a few moments of searching, she slipped her icy feet into her slippers.

She moved as quietly as she could into the silent house so as not to wake Harry, not to wake Harry, who claimed, when Hermione first moved in, that he was a rather light sleeper. She consciously avoided the creaky slats and entered the kitchen.

As always, she tried to make to make as little noise as possible and she prepared her tea. It was a memorised and private ritual in the heart of the night. Once it was ready, she sat down at the imposing oak table in the kitchen and quietly inhaled the aromas of her favourite tea.

She closed her eyes, letting the aroma gradually push back the cold that seemed to stick to her skin. First, the strawberry note, simple and sweet, which could have been too much if it was not counterbalanced by the discreet bitterness of rhubarb, whose fragrance had reached her nose now, almost hidden by the strawberry, yet equally present.

In a gesture that would have had her dentist parents screaming, she grabbed one of the big cubes of amber sugar that sat on the table - and that Ginny loved in her morning coffee - and let it fall lazily into her tea. She inhaled deeply again. The sugar always changed the scent dramatically, inhibiting the rhubarb and letting burst the subtle olfactory dominance of the wild strawberry.

Finally satisfied with the smell of the tea she had prepared, Hermione lifted her mug to her lips and took a sip of the hot liquid.

Perfect.

She felt her muscles gradually relax as her body was warmed by the heat of the tea. Her mind finally seemed to calm down. She inhaled languidly, focusing on the comfort that grew slowly in her. Peacefully.

In the quiet house, the sound of something thumping against the front door sounded like a gunshot. Hermione was suddenly standing with her wand in her hand and gasping in surprise as she rushed to the door. The war was perhaps far behind her, but she had not lost her reflexes. Or maybe it was living with an Auror…

Deciding to surprise anyone who had managed to find the door of the unplottable number 12 Grimmauld Place, Hermione opened it quickly, wand up, with a Stupefy on the lips.

But her throat never emitted a sound as she was rendered speechless by what she saw: leaning against the door frame, visibly exhausted and barely standing, was Sirius Black.