Author: hkpadfoot
Rating: PG
Summary: On the third day of August in 1993, Remus Lupin pushed himself up off the floor and immediately threw up. The smell of coffee permeated his senses and he almost was sick again.
A/N: So...scratches nose, it's longer than I intended, but shorter than I intended. And it includes dialogue. I wanted to get all the way through Harry's third year in this, but...no such luck. Like I said, there's so much more to this story already has their titles Pumpkin Juice is next, then Water, then Hot Chocolate, and then...that might be the end, if not, then...Cappuchino (sp?) Anyways, with that in mind: leave me feedback so I can improve on the following stories rather than have them progressively get worse, yeah? Oh! For the cottage: huge thanks to the person who helped me with my previous Opposites story, for coming up with it a bajillion years ago and letting me play with it, and then being so kind as to draw me a lay out. 3 to you!

Tea
On the third day of August in 1993, Remus Lupin pushed himself up off the floor and immediately threw up. The smell of coffee permeated his senses and he almost was sick again.

Four days, four days and he had already found him, in his excuse of a cottage. He could be out there, hiding among the overgrown hedges, with a stolen wand, or an axe, or just as a dog, ready to pounce on Remus the second he opened the door. He could slip in during the night if he had stolen a wand, he was so good at dismantling Remus' charms he could kill him in his sleep.

Remus glanced up and stared at the mug of strong, black, hot enough to scald coffee.

He almost wished that his fears from four days ago, of the Ministry breaking down his door, lead by that Umbridge-wench who lost him his job, and dragging him off to some dark dungeon for "questioning" over the "Black Break Out" had come true.

He figured, all things considered, it would be a much better fate on his already abused mind then being taunted by coffee for the next three days before getting mauled by some one whom he loved and trusted.

"Fuck you, Black," he hissed, reaching out his left arm and knocking the mug over. Some of the coffee sloshed on to his hand and burnt him, he let out a whimper and curled back into himself, slowly slipping into unconsciousness.

When he woke again, he was still on the floor of his cottage. His eyes opened to the sight of an upright mug, steam floating above it, quietly tempting him. He snarled and pushed himself up quickly to his knees. He swayed and braced his arms on the floor for a few moments, nauseous from moving so fast, before slowly pushing himself up.

"Fuck. You. Black," he hissed again, kicking the mug out of his way as he moved out of the small sitting room and into the tunnel of a hall and then immediately into the slightly larger, but not by much kitchen. There was the bucket of water he had drawn from the well the day before, and the kettle waiting for him to turn the flame on underneath of it so he could have his usual after moon tea and right next to that was—

Remus paused before growling lowly in the back of his throat. He moved his way through the cramped space carefully, picked up the steaming mug, and glared out the window.

Maybe, a voice whispered in his head, maybe it's poisoned. Much better than getting mauled and having to see his face again, yes?

Remus had to agree. So with that thought in mind, he settled back against the counter and took a sip of the coffee.

The effect was instantaneous. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, his knees trembled, his body melted.

He had forgotten the heaven that was coffee. He would never understand why he called it disgusting sludge for twenty eight days of every month. This…this was not sludge, this was not disgusting, this was gorgeous.

"One hell of a way to kill a man, Black," he muttered, "Did you give Lily a cheesecake and James those appalling cock roach clusters before they died?"

There was no answer, Remus wasn't surprised. He continued the rest of his day, cleaning up the small room that served as a sitting room and putting the boxes that served as chairs back, healing his wounds, and finally deciding to risk a bath down in the river. After all, if Sirius wanted to kill him, Sirius would kill him.

And for the first time in twelve years, Remus didn't go more than ten minutes without his coffee. He wasn't sure how Sirius was doing it. Wasn't sure he even wanted to know how. It was disgusting, how the man was taunting him with his own mortality, but at the same time…

It reminded Remus of his best friend, before the war and the corruption. And if he was going to die, he'd at least like to be able to die remembering something good. So he wouldn't let the taunts get to him, as he bathed in the river and went about his daily life.

On the second day, coffee in hand, Remus wrote a note to Dumbledore, who had Owled him two days ago after Sirius broke out, requesting him to teach at Hogwarts. Remus decided to agree, that way, when he didn't show up, he wouldn't be lost forever. Some one would have reason to look for him, some one other than his landlady or that nice woman at the book store. He'd really rather Dumbledore found his mangled and bloody body before they did. Afterwards he went outside, sat on the edge of the well, and sipped his coffee staring at the hedges.

"Come to kill me?" he asked conversationally. There was a small rustling noise, and Remus nodded.

"Yes I figured as much. Well, better do it quick, Black, I'm the last known acquaintance of yours and a werewolf to boot. Laws have changed about my kind, Black, more strict and severe. The only reason they haven't swarmed me yet is probably because Albus is trying to get me to go to Hogwarts to teach. He'll tell them it's to watch me and make sure I have no contact with you, and I'll tell them I want to help Harry, but they won't hear me, because they can't see past my fangs.

"But that's really neither here nor there…so come now Black, kill me. You should finish off all the original Marauder's before going after the sprogs, don't you think? Do it in an orderly fashion, Black." Remus glowered at the hedge and placed the mug down, folding his hands in his lap. He stayed there for several long moments. There wasn't even a rustle to answer him as there had been before.

"Sentimental fool," Remus finally growled, grabbing the mug and throwing it at the hedges. He stormed back into the cottage and slammed the door shut, rattling the entire structure. He slid down onto the floor, drew his knees up to his chest and gasped for breath.

He didn't even realize there was a mug of strong, black, hot enough to scald coffee next to him until he had taken the first sip. For once, he wished he had tea.