It was their daily ritual. Every morning, she would quick fry some crispy bangers and mash for him to eat while he enjoyed his deserved lay in. Once the war over, Severus was could finally attempt to pay back his sleep debt to his loan herd of sheep. It was debatable whether the knocking of the bangers on the cast iron skillet or the aroma of the Italian spices within the mash that filled Spinner's End and spread its warmth like an electric blanket during the frigid English wintertime woke Severus up in the morning.
He would wake up and roost in his favourite chair near the dining table while reading the news. After reading something outlandish from Rita Skeeter, he would cleanse his palate with some earl gray tea and a plain scone as a pittance for having hope in the Prophet as a decent news source. She would rush to kiss him on his temple, avoiding the fragrance of bacteria fouling his breath, and slide his plate containing the bursting bangers and mushy mash to him. The mash was a slopping mountain that could be used in olden days of Inca for their terrace farming while the bangers laid in a discreet row. Depending on what they ate last night, there would be some peas randomly decorating the canvas of the plate.
He would get up, stretch his long limbed body and grab his quickly made cup of dark coffee. The fragrance of dark coffee woke his spirit and warmed what was left of his dark soul. For her, the fragrance of dark coffee was toxic, constricting her lungs, etching a sour expression upon her face that would be common place on her Severus, but she endured it daily. She didn't dare to speak to him before his cup of coffee.
She would settle down at the dining table with a jar of peanuts. Every morning, it was war between her and the jar of peanuts. Despite the crystal container being a mundane jar of peanuts, she could never open it. She would take several attempts with the jar with only the strength of her hands. In the beginning, she found out the hard way that the jar was temperamental to magic on a lucky day, but fatally resistant the rest of the time. Thus, she had a daily war on her hands just to eat her scones; it was unseemly in her mind to eat her scones without peanuts like she wasn't properly raised.
Before he finished his coffee, she would place the jar of peanuts in front of him with her shoulders sagging in defeat. Finally, using his arm as an industrial strength fulcrum he would successfully, swiftly, twist open the jar without the assistance of a rag. Then, the fragrance of roasted peanuts with a dash of a scent of honey and sea salt would seep through the lid in increments all dependent on his success. He would drop the lid on the table like it was an effortless attempt and carefully hand her the jar of peanuts. It made no sense to risk breaking the jar sliding it to her when it was open.
She would thank him and savour her scones with her peanuts in silence. Then wash down the whole affair with banana milk. That's how they began their day since their marriage started.