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Remus rises from the table gathering his books together, as James and Peter do the same and leave the Great Hall joking loudly to one another. Sirius, however, is still pushing food around on his plate and showing no sign of preparing for class.
“Earth to Padfoot, we have to go or we’ll be late.” He rests a hand on his friend’s shoulder, feeling the way he tenses beneath his palm.
“Ahh, go on without me.”
“No way, last time I did that you used the invisibility cloak to keep moving things on Flitwick’s desk during the lesson.”
His friend gives a small laugh, but it’s much less than he expects and lacks all of the pride that usually comes with pulling off a prank right under Remus’ nose.
“Really, you should go so you aren’t late. I’m not feeling well. Think I’ll just go back up to bed.”
“Slughorn will have a fit, you can’t miss another class.” Remus rests the back of his hand on Sirius’ forehead, frowning when the other shivers. “You are a bit warm though, and your cheeks are red. Why don’t I walk you to the hospital wing?”
Pulling back from Remus’ hand, Sirius stutters, “n-no, that’s okay!”
“Well, what are you going to do then? If you don’t get a note from Pomfrey, Slughorn will give you detention and McGonagall bench you for the next match.”
Shoving the plate away from him, food uneaten, Sirius rises, grumbling under his breath. Waving his hand vaguely, he scowls. “Lead the way then, oh Prefect.”
Sirius is silent the entire walk to the dungeons, head down and hands in the pockets of his robes. Remus keeps shooting him worried looks and trying to pull him into conversation, but only gets hums and grunts in reply. He thinks perhaps his friend really is sick and he should have insisted on taking him to the hospital wing. It doesn’t seem like he had some prank planned, he would have tried a lot harder to get out of class, or just slipped off, rather than agree to go when pressed.
When they arrive at the classroom, James and Peter have already claimed a table with a golden cauldron atop it. Remus elbows Sirius, pointing toward the empty workstation in front of their friends. Slughorn starts teaching and Remus diligently takes notes on the brewing, properties, and side effects of love potions. Sirius has head head propped up on one hand, absentmindedly using his wand to levitate his quill, causing it to spin and twirl in front of him.
Slughorn directs the 6th year N.E.W.T. students to begin their brewing and Remus sighs when Sirius, again, makes no effort to move. “What has you in a strop today?”
“Just don’t see why we have to brew this stupid potion,” he mutters.
“THAT’S what you’re pissy about? Godric’s tits, Padfoot, just help me with the bloody thing. It’s not going to hurt your image as the punkass badboy of Hogwarts to be seen brewing Amortentia. Now get your arse up and go get what we need from the back while I prepare the cauldron.”
Sirius glares at him, but shoves off the stool and moves to the back of the room, not bothering to turn back when the seat topples over to the floor. Remus massages the bridge of his nose in frustration.
He has no idea what sends his friend into fits like this. Everything will be fine, and seemingly nothing extraordinary happens, and Sirius spirals into a broody mess who stubbornly refuses to do even the most simple of tasks. It had taken a month after Angelika Finklehorn had come with them to Hogsmeade one trip, to convince him that she was not invading the Marauders or taking advantage of Remus and forcing him to do her homework, or any other nonsensical excuse he had come up with for his poor attitude.
By the second time Remus catches Sirius purposely cutting an ingredient wrong for the potion, he’s wishing he had just let the boy go to their room and mope instead of buggering up the class for him as well. It’s nothing short of a miracle when their steam starts to rise in spirals and the liquid shifts to a pearlescent hue.
As Remus steps closer to the cauldron to smell it, he sees out of the corner of his eye Sirius watching him with something very akin to fear, but when he looks toward him to ask what’s wrong the other just looks away quickly scowling. Leaning in again, Remus inhales deeply, eyes closing as the most irresistible scents overwhelm his senses.
He smells bluebells - the delicate flower that grows outside his bedroom window at home, carefully tended by his mother, and throughout the forest floors both home in Ireland and here in the Forbidden Forest.
His favourite herbal cigarettes surround him, and it takes a minute for him to realise it’s the potion, and not just the smell of his last fag still lingering on him. She sharp bite of cloves and burning embers swirl higher until he can taste the honey and rose petals on his tongue that drift beneath.
Crinkling his nose in confusion, he pulls back, staring at the cauldron below him in confusion. Had they fucked it up after all? Maybe they got it close enough that he could smell some of his scents but not all of them?
“Wotcher, Moony?” James asks, coming around the table to stand next to him.
Remus sees Sirius slip out the classroom door and sighs. “Pads took off then?”
“Yeah, smelled our cauldron and decided to go have a lie down. Didn’t know he could get paler than he usually is.”
“I think he buggered ours up, can I smell yours as well?”
“Of course, but yours looks the same?” James leans over inhaling deeply. “Smells right to me? Well. By right I mean, it smells the same from your cauldron as mine.”
Frowning, Remus leans over Peter and James’, confirming that they do smell the same to him.
“Why did you think it’s wrong?”
Gesturing, he turns his eyes to the ceiling, trying to reconcile his third smell. “I thought you’re supposed to smell the things you find most attractive, infatuating, obsessive…” he trails off. Mouthing still slightly open, his eyes move slowly to the door the Sirius had just slipped through.
“Well, what did you smell?”
Remus’ breathing is shallow, his thoughts slow moving like a spring storm approaching the horizon. “Will you excuse me,” he answers absently, or perhaps doesn’t answer at all. Remus always thought he was relatively smart; he had to have something going for him, and as the resident swot of the Marauder group he was supposed to be the quickest wit. So why had it taken him so long to realise that attraction was not always a what, but rather a who?
The stone floors of the dungeon echoed under the heel of his oxfords as he hurried up, up, up to the one place guaranteed to be empty in the morning. Where he knew Sirius always disappeared when he was in a particularly bad strop.
He found him leaning with his elbows on the rails, face up to greet the approaching rain. It was still a few minutes out, but the air was heavy with it, so that it felt like you were in the rain before the water ever fell from the sky. Silver eyes open and study him over his shoulder as he approaches, but Remus doesn’t even wait for him to turn.
He winds an arm around his waist, the other cupping his cheek and kisses him square on the lips. Sirius sucks in a surprised breath through his nose, holding perfectly still, before breaking like a cloud. Twisting and pulling Remus closer, kissing him harder and pouring everything he has until Remus is gasping for breath and dizzy, clinging to him like a lifeline.
Burying his nose into the crook of his neck, Remus clenches his fists in Sirius’ robes, presses a kiss to the bare skin. “You mangy dog, why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what, stubborn wolf?”
Tilting his face up again, Remus brushes a soft kiss against even softer lips. “Why didn’t you tell me that I love you?”
Sirius just smiles and kisses him again, not letting him go until the skies open up and drench them both. Even then the dark haired boy just tilts his face to the sky, holding his arms out wide while Remus tries to tug him to the stairwell with a laugh.
“Don’t you dare get wet fur on my bed! I’ve smelled enough of it today.”