rosie_rues

Title: Our Bruised Arms Hung Up For Monuments
Rating: PG for language
Disclaimer: They're not mine. I'm just borrowing them because I like them.
Wordcount: 1556
Prompt: First cup of tea on a freezing morning
Cups of tea consumed in the writing of this fic: 5 (+ the one I'm drinking now)
Notes: Title from Richard III. You are not seeing this. If you think this is a fic you're imagining things. Yes, indeedy. Because I have willpower and I am not doing

blanketforts. No, I'm not.
....
I'm also a tea-whore.
For the sake of my sanity let's call this an extract from an unwritten 31-part series. I like my sanity. It's shiny and glitters when the wind blows.

1 2 3 4

There was no tea in Sirius’ flat.

It was still dark and the striplight in the ceiling was buzzing like a sick billywig. Remus stared at the empty cupboard. Then, his hand shaking slightly, he ran his hand along the shelf, just in case Sirius had had a bad day and turned it invisible.

No tea. Not even some cheap supermarket blend. It wasn’t that he was expecting Sirius to have a proper selection. He wasn’t even hoping for Earl Grey or Lapsang Souchong or the awful weak Russian stuff his Aunt Amelia drank. But there was no tea at all.

He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. Tea wasn’t the only thing Sirius’ flat lacked. There were no clean sheets, no milk that wasn’t off, no bread, no forks (”Spoons do fine, Moony, mate.”), no exposed pieces of carpet, no non-sticky surfaces and, as he had just discovered, no hot water in the shower.

Fine.

There was a corner shop and he was sure they opened early. They certainly opened late – he had nipped in there for booze on the way to parties before. Grumpily, he shuffled his shoes on and went to search for his coat. He had no idea where Sirius kept his spare key and he didn’t care. The bastard would just have to be awake by the time he got back.

Luckily, the shop was open and the sleepy teenager behind the till gave him a friendly smile and a puzzled look when he put down the box of PG Tips and a paper. Remus managed to smile and say thank you. It was cold out and the streets were quiet, apart from the delivery vans trundling towards Berwick Market and up into Chinatown. A few homeless men were wedged into doorways but they were still asleep under their layers of cardboard. Remus looked at them and shuddered. There had been times in wizarding history when that would have been the only future open to a werewolf. Of course, these days he wasn’t likely to live that long.

It might be time to remind himself that he now possessed tea. The world wasn’t a wholly bad place. It would probably also be good to remember that Sirius was doing him a favour in letting him stay while the Floo was suspended.

Winter of bloody Discontent, his arse.

He rang the doorbell and waited for Sirius, who was probably only just awake, to open the door.

No response so he rang again.

Still nothing. His ankles were freezing. Had he forgotten to put socks on?

This time he leant on the bell until he heard Sirius swearing on the other side of the door. It cracked open and he stopped ringing.

“Who is it?” Sirius demanded suspiciously.

“Me.”

“No, it’s not. You’re asleep on my sofa.”

“I woke up. Your sofa smells like dog sick.”

The door slams shut. After a moment it opened a crack again. “Say something only I know.”

“The reason McGonagall always knew when you’d copied my essays? It was because it was the only time you spelled Transfiguration right.”

The door opened all the way and Sirius, blinked at him. He was only wearing an old pair of jeans and his hair was still stuck to his cheek. “What you doing outside, you daft wanker? You were inside when I went to sleep. And why are still wearing your pajamas?”

Bugger. That would explain the funny looks. Remus gathered his dignity and pushed inside. “You’ve run out of tea.”

The sleepiness was burnt away by indignation. “I have not. I never run out of tea.”

“Then you’ve hidden it well.”

Sirius slammed the door behind him and rushed into the kitchen, hiking his jeans up. Remus fixed his eyes firmly on the back of his neck and followed. He was not supposed to be interested in what Sirius wore, or in this case, didn’t wear, under his jeans. He had drawn a line, a long time ago.

Sirius flung the cupboard open. “Ta-da. There! You see – bugger.”

Remus raised an eyebrow.

Sirius glanced over him, dismayed. “I’ve been burgled! Robbed of my most precious commodity!”

Remus was already filling the kettle. “Right.”

“I had tea. I even had that weird lumpy leaf stuff you like.”

“Maybe someone smoked it at New Year.”

Sirius sighed heavily. “Maybe. Drunken bastards. Don’t even know who they were. Hang on – no. We had tea for breakfast that day. Wormtail made it.”

“You probably used it all up and forgot to buy more. Teapot?”

“Right he- bugger. Uh, I’ll make breakfast, shall I?”

“There’s no bread.”

“I told you I’d been robbed.”

Remus shook tea leaves into his mug and prepared to drink through his teeth.

“I’ve got Frosties.”

“No milk.”

“Pillaged!”

And here at last was the smell of tea. Remus crouched over his mug and breathed in, ignoring Sirius. Tea. Beautiful, fragrant tea. His tea.

“Moony?”

That was hesistant Sirius which meant he ought to listen. He drew his tea closer, just in case, and said, “Mmm?”

“If I promised to never, ever run out of tea, would you-”

“No.” Not this again.

“You don’t know what I was going to ask.”

“No, Sirius, I won’t move in with you.”

“Why not? You’re living here today? Why not live here the rest of the time?”

“I’m staying here because the commercial Floo is down and we can’t afford to pay the congestion charge for me to use the one at home. I have somewhere to live, Sirius. I live with my Dad. In Bognor.”

“But you hate commuting.”

Remus very pointedly began to do the crossword. Sirius snarled and pulled the paper out of his hands. Remus found his wand and murmured, “Accio newspaper.”

It came and Sirius came with it to loom over him. Remus pretended he wasn’t there and sipped his tea thoughtfully. Sirius loomed more purposefully. Remus filled in one, down. Sirius sat on the paper.

Remus set his tea down. “Look, we’ve discussed this before-”

A trumpet sounded and the doors of the clock crashed open. Seven mechanical dwarve burst out on springs, crashing symbols together and singing, “Hi, ho, hi, ho. Off to work you go!”

“Shit!” Sirius said, leaping up. “I’m going to be late again.”

“What the fuck is that?” He’d splashed tea all over the crossword.

“Christmas present from Nym!” Sirius yelled. “I think Meda chose it, though. It means it’s twenty to nine.”

Remus choked on his tea and raced into the main room to work out which pile his clothes were on.

Five minutes later they were sprinting down Charing Cross Road. Sirius, who Remus suspected did this every morning, seemed to have an unfair amount of breath left as he called, “See, you wouldn’t have to pay anything to commute if you were with me. You could walk to work.”

“Like we’re walking right now?” Remus panted.

“Absolutely. The rent’s really low, too.”

That wasn’t a surprise.

“Loads of great pubs round here.”

That explained New Year’s Eve.

“And there’s enough takeaways that we can eat something different every night.”

“What’s – ooff – wrong with cooking?”

Sirius cast him an incredulous look.

They turned down a side road and Remus looked around carefully. He didn’t usually approach by land and he wasn’t too sure where the entrance was from here. For the lack of a safer plan, he followed Sirius.

The bells of St Paul’s in Covent Garden began to ring nine. Sirius swerved into an alley opposite the back of the church and clattered up a fire-escape, marked with a battered sign reading, ‘Tradesman’s Entrance.’ Halfway up the steps, Remus felt his stomach spin and his feet swing into the air.

A few moments later he crashed to the floor in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic.

“Right,” Sirius said. “Sorry. Takes a bit of getting used to, that.”

Remus scrabbled to his feet and said, “Warning appreciated.”

Sirius grinned sheepishly and said, “Come on. We can still make it.”

They raced up the stairs to the fourth floor and Sirius dived for the door marked Auror Training, neatening his hair. Remus leapt after him. If they were lucky whoever was giving today’s training would be running late.

An enormous invisible hand punched him in the ribs, hurling him back against the doors. Then it grabbed him and he felt his stomach churn as he was pulled through the air. When he could breathe again he found himself dangling upside-down above the stage, his robes around his face. Something had him by the ankles and he began to wriggle, trying to squirm free.

Then he heard the voice of Alastor Moody beside his ear. “And as I have here a practical object lesson, would anyone care to remind Mr Black and Mr Lupin why they are useless little shits who’d be dead after ten minutes in the field?”

As one, the voices of their fellow trainees, droned, “Constant Vigilance.”

“Constant Vigiliance!” Moody roared and prodded Remus’ ear with his wand. “Volunteer required! Today you’ll practising your incarcerous on Black and Lupin. Remember – you can’t just catch the bastards. You have to keep ‘em, too. Any questions?”

Remus bit back a groan. It was obviously going to be one of those days. He hadn’t even managed to finish his tea.