Cocking a brow as she declared that coffee messed with one's body clock, he gave a bit of a laugh, moving around her and setting down one of the cups before inhaling the aroma of the second. He'd been living on coffee since at least his sixth year of Hogwarts; he wasn't sure how he'd have made it through NEWTs without the bitter drink. There were many a night when it had been only the coffee that had ensured he'd get an assignment done and many a morning the self same caffiene saturated liquid had ensured he was awake enough to make it through his classes after a long night of talking with Charlotte.

"Don't know an Auror alive who doesn't practically have the stuff running through their veins," he commented.

That he'd traded coffee for alcohol over the last months was entirely besides the point.

"What the hell happened to you? Have you poisoned my coffee or did you win a bet? Going to a wedding later, maybe? I know you didn't make the effort for - work."

"A bit blunt and to the point, aren't we?" he asked setting down his coffee after a sip and yanking out a stack of files. "Sometimes that method works. More often," he handed a file, ratty and well-worn at her, "it fails. However, I'll humor you. A touch. I've gotten the sense that you're not overly awed with what I do," he met her eyes, "interrogation, that is. It seems, admittedly, a bit less exciting than say racing about the countryside hunting down the bad guys. I'd not trade what I do for the world.

"Whereas Morgan or Worthington may spend hours chasing leads and ending up with nothing, I have never yet walked out of an iterrogation without gleaning something of vast import, if not more often ending up with the key to a life setence in Azkaban."

He could feel the mark on his arm even as he said the word of the wizarding prison, a prickle of fear racing over his skin as he unconciously rubbed at the covered forearm a bit before reaching for more coffee. That he could be in that very prison facing his own life sentence was something he was more aware of each passing day; he could forget when he was lost in a bottle.