Title: A Day In The Life

Rating: K

Genre: General

Ships: None.

Setting: Post POA

Disclaimer: I don't own Remus, Sirius, The Beach Boys or The Count of Monte Cristo.

A/N: I should be writing a massive term paper right now, but instead I'm doing this. As it's Remus' birthday today (March 10th), I had to write a little fic for him. It's not my best, but I hope you enjoy it. Please review!

Remus Lupin ran down the cobblestone path to his house, holding a copy of the Daily Prophet over his head to shield himself from the rain. The unexpected downpour had put the usually amiable wizard in a foul mood. ''It'll be bright and sunny!' they said.' Remus scoffed. 'Bloody Muggle weathermen.'

Remus walked over a hill and saw his small house, cold and dark, in the distance. It was times like these that Remus wished he hadn't put enough defense spells on his house to ward off every Dementor in Azkaban. Because of this excessive defense, he couldn't just Apparate to his house like most wizards did. He had to walk a mile through woods and back roads to reach his home. The reason for this almost obsessive defense was partially to keep bad things out – after all he'd seen, who could blame him? – but mostly to keep something in. Once a month, Remus turned into a werewolf. Even though he now had the Wolfsbane potion to keep him, for lack of a better word, sane during the full moon, he still didn't want to take any chances and continued to enforce the numerous spells that protected his property, just in case.

Remus ran the last stretch of cobblestone pathway to his house. He tapped the doorknob with his wand, and with a soft click!, the door opened. He rushed inside and slammed the door behind him. The rain continued to pound against the front of the house, as if trying to go in after him. Remus waved his wand and candles were lit all along the hall and into the other rooms. It wasn't exactly the nicest house in the world – it was small, creaky, and constantly drafty, even after Remus had used a warming spell – but it had been his home for a long time. He lived in the countryside, far away from any wizard or Muggle town. It was a secluded life, but Remus knew it was necessary. 'Not that anyone would want a werewolf for a neighbor anyway,' he always figured.

Remus took his coat off and hung it on a coat rack, but it fell to the floor, as if in protest of having a peg stuck in its neck. Remus looked at it, thought about picking it up for a second, then figured what was the point, and decided against it.

Lights flickered on in the kitchen as Remus entered, illuminating the small, but nice and incredibly clean room. If anyone ever asked Remus what he liked to do in his spare time (not that they did), after "reading", he would have said "cooking". Remus may have been poor, but he certainly wasn't starving. He'd choose to buy a quesadilla maker over a new set of robes any day, and had been known to do so.

Remus moved to the pantry and looked at its contents. 'Something simple tonight,' he thought. 'How about... pasta!' He grabbed a box of spaghetti began to prepare dinner.

A short while later, Remus sat down at the kitchen table with his meal. He grabbed the pile of letters that had been resting on the windowsill and flipped through them. With every passing letter, his heart beat a little faster. 'Maybe today?' he wondered. 'Bill, bill, letter from grandmum...nothing.' Remus sighed in disappointment. 'Did he get my letter? Is he okay? I hope he's okay...' About three weeks ago, Remus had sent an owl to Sirius Black, the man who he had once thought had murdered his friend, but had then found out was completely innocent. For about an hour that night that he had been reunited with Sirius and thought that maybe he could have his best friend back. Maybe life could be somewhat normal. But the plan to prove Sirius innocent failed, and now Sirius was on the run again. As soon as Remus left Hogwarts and returned to his home, he sent Sirius a letter:

Sirius,

I know you can't give me your exact location right now, but please just give me some idea of where you're hiding out. I'd feel better if I knew you were somewhere small, quiet, and far, far away from here. Please be safe, wherever you are.

Remus

That had been three weeks ago. Three weeks. And Remus hadn't heard a thing from him. He would have attributed the lack of response to his owl simply not being able to find him, but the owl had returned a few days ago with no response. Remus was worried. He couldn't see Sirius get caught and thrown in Azkaban again. He knew he wouldn't be able to handle it.

Remus put his empty plate in the sink and enchanted them to wash themselves. He then went to the living room and lit a fire in the fireplace. The rain was still falling heavily outside and contrasted with the warmth from the fireplace, creating a cozy feeling in the room that was rarely found in the old house. Remus curled up into an armchair by the fire and grabbed a book from the table beside him: The Count of Monte Cristo. Remus loved Muggle novels, and this one was one of his favorites. He had read it at least half a dozen times, but this time he was reading it in a whole new light. It was a story about a wrongly imprisoned man who escapes from jail to seek revenge. As soon as Remus had learned the truth about Sirius, he knew he had to read it again. Remus knew he couldn't have the real Sirius with him, so imagining Sirius in the main character's position was good enough for now.

The fire began to die and Remus was finding it harder and harder to keep his eyes open. He dog-eared the page and gave in to sleep, curled up in the armchair and covered with a threadbare blanket. Before he drifted off to sleep, Remus wondered if Sirius was searching for a buried treasure.

The next morning, Remus woke up when the sunlight poured through the window and forced open his eyelids. It had stopped raining. He yawned and stretched, then looked at the clock on the wall. It read 8:50. Remus swore; he was going to be late for work again. Since no wizarding company would hire him, he worked at a Muggle library, and they were not very happy with his monthly, unexplainable absences and somewhat regular lateness (this was not the first time Remus had fallen asleep while reading and woken up late). He tried to get up from the armchair, but his legs were tangled in the blanket and he fell to the floor instead, hitting his head on the side table. "OW!" he cried, rubbing the spot where a bump was sure to form. When the pain subsided, he got up and untangled himself from the blanket, tossing it onto the chair. Then Remus noticed something on the table that he was sure had not been there when he fell asleep last night – it was a colorful piece of paper. No, it was a postcard. Remus picked up the card and examined the picture. It showed a beach with pure white sand and a clear blue ocean. In large, bright letters were the words "Greetings from KOKOMO!" Remus looked at the card, perplexed. Kokomo? Who on Earth would be sending him a postcard from Kokomo? He flipped the card over and read the message:

Off the Florida Keys, there's a place called Kokomo
That's where you wanna go to get away from it all
Bodies in the sand, tropical drink melting in your hand,
We'll be falling in love to the rhythm of a steel drum band
Down in Kokomo

Aruba, Jamaica, Ooh I wanna take ya to
Bermuda, Bahama, come on, pretty mamma
Key Largo, Montego, baby who don't we go
Down in Kokomo,
We'll get there fast and then we'll take it slow
That's where we wanna go,
Way down in Kokomo!

It was signed with a pawprint. Remus gave a boisterous laugh. Only Sirius would do something like that. Remus read the card again and went to get ready for work, then he remembered: it was Saturday. Smiling, he went back to the armchair and picked up his book, hoping that Kokomo would be Sirius' Monte Cristo.