"Throw that disgusting stuff out."
Remus looks at the packet of tea he's absently holding - one of those new Muggle tea bags, it's round instead of square, and Ginny hates them. She says they don't taste right because they brew evenly, no mystery or mistakes, and that's just wrong. "It'll be fine," he says to her evenly, "I'll tear the bag, you can have bits of tea in your cup."
"It's herbal," Ginny says, as if that explains everything. She's sitting on the kitchen table - Remus hesitates to say their kitchen table, because it's just a three week stay on a German farm. Ginny said she had to house-sit, and told Remus to pack, as if he had no choice. It was that or stay up at the school for all of the summer holidays, so he stuffed worn out robes and books in a bag in only slightly resentful spirits.
"It's *fine*," he says, slight emphasis on the fine. "you had it yesterday."
"It's all we had yesterday," Ginny says. She's wearing his old tee shirt, one from a brief month he spent in Spain. It's a gaudy tourist teeshirt, with "Ole!" in bright green letters, now faded enough to nearly be called vintage.
Remus puts the tea bag in their teapot. "it's all we have today, as well, Ginevra."
She hops off the table, eyes narrow. "It isn't."
He puts the sugar bowl on the table calmly. "It is."
"Why didn't you get more?"
Remus stares at the faded print on her chest. Sirius had bought him the teeshirt on the beach, the one night he'd stayed with Remus. They were all separated then, all separate all of the time. One day a month. Remus puts down a spoon next to the sugar bowl, with slightly more force than usual. "I didn't want anything else. I like it fine."
"I'm going to get real tea," Ginny declares, scooping up a couple of Sickles from the abandoned ashtray next to the door, and then a handful of deuchmarks. "You can drink that if you want to, but at least don't put milk and sugar in it. That's even worse."
Remus is already stirring his second spoonful in; he reaches for the last of the milk too. "Pick up some milk as well, would you?"
Ginny rolls her eyes, and pulls on a jacket. "You don't have to drink disgusting tea for him, you dolt." She opens the door, change rattling around in her pockets. Ginny's cheeks are pink and healthy, skin pale, short hair still red. "I'll be back."
The tea is awful, too sweet, and it smells like rosehip and raspberries, creamy where it shouldn't be. Remus drinks it.