by
Anaphalis
Summary: "It is not that war creates monsters, it is that war brings out the monsters that are already hidden inside." Hallucinations. Inner voices. Lots of black coffee. Some wars need a different kind of weapon. Drama/Romance. Remus/Hermione.
Chapter Summary: Some wars are fought in restaurants with a cup of black coffee.
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Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. Brushes on this page courtesy of Pure Anodyne.
A/N: If the first couple of chapters look familiar, you've probably read the "Coffee Spoons" One-Shots. Somehow, what were intended as a series of stand-alones all started to fit together, so I've decided to post them as a collection along with a couple of other viewpoints that can also stand alone (five altogether). The overall series is Remus/Hermione, although individual stories may or may not focus on that romance.
Remus- Coffee Spoons
For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.
-T.S. Eliot, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"
Once, in a different lifetime, he took cream and two sugars with his coffee. In that life, he celebrated Christmas and made airplane noises for a baby with emerald eyes.
Three years. His hand shakes as he lifts the cup to his lips. The tremors are permanent. He was lucky, they said, that he could still feel his hands. Luck, as he knows all too well, has nothing to do with it.
It is not that war creates monsters, it is that war brings out the monsters that are already hidden inside. He knows something of hidden monsters himself. That, more than luck, more than fate, more than fucking manifest destiny, is why he has survived. His monster isn't ready to die yet.
He would have never gotten to know her without the war. She was so young, a friend of his ward, glowing with an energy he had long since lost. She promised him warmth and excitement. He promised her whatever was left of his heart.
Black coffee is the color of her eyes in passion. He has no pictures of her, no other way to hold on to her memory. While he is drinking his coffee he can remember her laughter, her all-embracing love. He can forget the image of her jumping, then falling, in front of him, her eyes as wide and blank as a china doll's.
When the cup is finished, he lays down a tip and quietly leaves. He turns, one last look at the place where his world ended. 'No fear darling,' he whispers. 'I promised that I would live and I always keeps my promises.'
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A man walks into a restaurant and seats himself at a small table by the window. He drinks his coffee black.
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