Unscented Soap
Sirius watched Remus leave the hall, not quite able to keep his racing heartbeat in check. He had been so careful, he had spent years making sure that his emotions didn’t bother Remus, and it had seemed pretty successful, unlike the first time.
The first time, Sirius didn’t know what was happening. He had gotten the first of many letters from his parents, detailing their anger at his placement in Gryffindor, and the overwhelming sense that he was not yet free came crashing back down on him. Of course his family wasn’t done with him, of course he would have to go back over the holidays, of course this freedom away from his family and in a different Hogwarts house and with different, kinder people was only temporary. He was so scared he almost couldn’t breathe.
It had been around this time that Remus had burst out from behind his own curtains and ran to the bathroom, retching and throwing up in the toilet.
That incident had also been one of the first times his roommates had experienced his “mom overdrive”; he could put aside what he was feeling to take care of his friends, the first three voluntary friends he had ever had. Who cared if he was so drunk he could barely walk, James needed a cup of water? He could get that. Who cared if his Slytherin cousins were being awful to him, they made fun of Peter? He could stand up to them. And so it was that day, who cared if his family was leaving him almost sick with anxiety? Remus needed help, he could do that. He uncurled himself from his bed, where he had been reading the letter, and walked (on surprisingly steady legs) over to the bathroom. He got Remus a cup of water, and gave it to him, and Remus flinched away from him, only to take a shallow breath and then turn back, looking almost surprised.
“Are you alright?” Sirius had asked, not liking the flinch; he hadn’t seen Remus act that way since before they got on the train to come here, when his stupid cruel cousin Bella had seen Remus and immediately laughed in his face for his patched trousers and ill-fitting shirt. Remus, short, and skinny, beautiful, golden eyed Remus had looked like he wanted to disappear. Not long after that, Sirius had tripped Bella and sat with Remus on the train, shortly joined by James and Peter, and Remus had said he didn’t need to be in Slytherin with Bella and the rest if he didn’t want to, and he started to feel hope. But that was then, and this was later, and why had he flinched?
“I’m alright, are you alright?” Remus still looked like his mouth was sour, but seemed better, and he had taken the cup.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Sirius asked, bewildered. He had almost forgotten the letter. Almost. But Remus didn’t need to know about that.
“You smelled…” Remus stopped, and gave him a hug.
Sirius didn’t know whether to be insulted or amused. He smelled great! He smelled like “Citrus Phoenix”, according to his shampoo bottle, and he knew it. He accepted the hug, out of surprise – what, is this a hug? This seems alright, I guess, kind of nice – and asked James about it later.
“What do you mean, do you smell bad? You smell like a prat!”, he laughed, “Citrus Phoenix smells like burned tangerines.” And that was that.
By second year, by the puzzle pieces clicked into place, Sirius was used to Remus being more perceptive than he wanted. He could hide the letters, he could close his bed curtains, he could wait and read them after he had already gone to sleep, but somehow he would always get an extra hug. And maybe some chocolate. And he didn’t mind too much. Maybe he liked the hugs too much.
Sirius was the first one to figure it out. After the first incident, when Remus threw up, he took more care to watch him. Why did he look so queasy when Sirius or James or Peter felt bad? Wasn’t he a Gryffindor? Was he scared of emotions? But scared didn’t seem the right word, it was more like uncomfortable, and he was always caring and made sure his friends were alright. He wasn’t scared. And the uncomfortableness faded, when he got more used to living with them.
It was the extra notice that he took that made him realize other things. The sickness once per month, the unusual control he had over his emotions (most of the time), his strength, even when he was so skinny. Sirius had been in the library, looking at books on Dark creatures, already dreading going home for the holidays and facing his family’s deplorable New Year’s party. At least this time he wouldn’t see the family “friend”, Greyback. It wasn’t as if he was welcomed with open arms in the Black household, more like welcomed at arm’s distance; he was an “honored friend”, but even watching the scathing respect his parents had to show wasn’t worth the leers he felt as Greyback looked at him, and when he couldn’t hide him, his brother. But he wouldn’t have to see him this time, it was supposed to be a full moon, and he would have “work” to do for the Dark Lord – awful. Sirius tried not to think about it. It was unfortunate that he couldn’t be with his friends at that time. Remus would probably be sick at that time too. Wait. Remus was sick every month. Regularly. And would probably be sick this next full moon. Wait. Sirius looked down at the page, and read: werewolves, while in human form, also have an uncanny sense of smell; not only can they smell the presence of other humans, they can smell emotions, too.
Holy shit. Remus was a werewolf.
Sirius had spent a lot of time in the library that night, not leaving until Madam Pince kicked him out, which wasn’t a very Sirius-like thing to do. And even then, he couldn’t go back, his emotions were in a whirlwind, and he didn’t want to upset Remus.
Alright, so fact one: Remus was a werewolf. Fact two: Remus was his friend. Who cared if he had to undergo involuntary transformations once a month? He still cared for him when he was upset… oh, because he could smell it… but that didn’t mean he was forced to, did it? When Sirius cared for James or Peter or Remus, it wasn’t because he had to, even when Peter was crying with homesickness and he couldn’t sleep because of it. If he needed to, he could just leave. So could Remus. They cared about their friends.
Fact three: Dumbledore must know about Remus. How could he not? Madam Pomphrey was the one who took care of him every time, they must know the signs, in fact, all of the teachers must know, right? Why else would Professor McGonagall let him miss class without blinking an eye? Not that Remus had ever given them reason to complain, he was absolutely meticulous about not falling behind in class. And Fact four: Dumbledore wouldn’t put any students in harm’s way, he didn’t think. So Remus must be safe, somehow, except oh god, all of those scars now make sense from himself. He must be caged up, somehow. He must hurt himself.
Sirius was more aware than ever of the emotions that he now knew Remus could smell, and he couldn’t go back to the common room. Angry – why didn’t Remus tell him? Tell them? Let them help him? Angry – why had Remus just gone on pretending he couldn’t literally smell all of their emotions? Embarrassed – he must know how much Sirius cares for him, how it’s different from how he cares about James or Peter, even if he can’t quite quantify it for himself yet. Happy – happy? Why was he happy? He knew now what was wrong with Remus every month, he was relieved that he wasn’t going to die of some mysterious disease. Nervous – how was he going to tell Remus that he knew? What would James and Peter think? Sirius was used to having his world view shift. He couldn’t stay a bigot for long, in Gryffindor, with these friends showing him just how wrong his family had been about mudbloods and everything else. Would James care that Remus was a werewolf? Do regular wizards care about this sort of thing? Do regular wizards care about being gay? Sirius pushed that last thought straight out of his head.
He was starting to see that he needed to be more careful. He couldn’t just control his face, he would actually have to control his emotions, too. This wasn’t going to be easy, but he needed to do it, for Remus, who must have been having a much harder time than him, anyway. He needed a place to calm down. A place to make sure he didn’t stink of worry or confusion or any of the other emotions that were pulsing through him. A place to hide, just for a bit.
He stopped and looked around; he didn’t get lost in the castle very often, but here he was, in front of a door he didn’t recognize. He stepped into a room that was just what he needed. A sitting area – what were those, muggle motorcycle magazines? Who set up this room, that they would know what helped him calm down? And a bathroom, with a shower, and unscented soap. He thought back to their own shower, and their scented soaps, and Remus’ unscented – of course even that could be annoying, to an oversensitive nose. He would get rid of his Citrus Phoenix – he had kept it so long just to let James make the ever-present burnt tangerine joke. It didn’t matter. This would be fine. They could do it, and help him, and James and Peter would have to be fine with it. He would make them be fine with it. For Remus.
This – the soap – was one of the first accommodations made for Remus. The next day, James and Peter, although surprised, and angry, and all of the things Sirius had felt, too, had quickly adjusted, and agreed to help Remus (it was a good idea Sirius had brought them back to the tricky little room that had everything they needed, plus two more showers, now, so they could get used to the idea where they wouldn’t let Remus know). They couldn’t hide their new knowledge from Remus for long, of course. They sat in their dormitory, and waited for Remus to come back, knowing that they were probably putting off the smell of three teenage boys thick with worry, and hope, and (we’re sorry, Remus) pity. They knew he wouldn’t want their pity. When Remus got back from the library after he’d been there so long Madam Pince kicked him out (which was a very Remus-like thing to do), he stopped at the door to their dormitory like a deer in headlights. A wolf in headlights. Ha. But then they all hug attacked him, and Sirius hoped, hard, that he knew it would be okay.
Hiding anything from Remus got trickier than ever, but at least Sirius knew how to do it better. It was the middle of their third year that Sirius had his first wet dream – not about Remus, no, that was a lie, don’t think about it, don’t think about it – and knew completely and absolutely that he didn’t want Remus to know, and he took a shower in the middle of the night and cast the strongest cleaning charm he knew on his bed, probably stronger yet due to being fueled by desperation, and he didn’t think Remus knew. He talked to James about the problem, later, when they were alone, and James just laughed and mentioned he’d been using that accommodating room (which annoyingly enough, refused to let itself be put on the map they were trying to make) to wank for the past year now, where he knew he could remove the smell so Remus wouldn’t know. Not that James minded too much if he did, but that room also had a lubricating potion (Sirius flushed red) and nice towels and a comfy bed. Sirius tried to pass the knowledge along to Peter, but he didn’t seem interested. Maybe he would be later.
So Sirius had been careful not to look at Remus too long, or think about Remus too much, unless he was alone in that room, safe – until that day, in the great hall - until Remus had said something amusing - didn’t he say amusing things all the time, though? - and Sirius had looked at him stretching, when he didn’t mean to – maybe I should have just let myself watch him stretch in the mornings, sometimes, so maybe I could be more used to it – and he couldn’t help himself but think about how nice Remus’ lips looked, curled so nicely around his words, and he just wanted to kiss him. And then, of course, Remus looked at Sirius so confused and maybe upset and Sirius was so angry with himself for making Remus uncomfortable and scared he had let himself be found out that he couldn’t stop looking, trying to see if he was disgusted, but no – just confused, and then he was leaving. Just like that.
“What was that?” James asked, bringing him sharply back to the present.
“I… don’t… I have to go, too, I just remembered I have some. Homework.” Sirius winced at the lame excuse, not wanting to reveal he was planning on going to straight to the room of requirement and get this out of his system. For now. He wondered if Remus ever saw him going there, on the map, and wondered what he was doing. Or if he wanted to join him. He shut his thoughts off again. Remus wasn’t here to smell him, anymore, but dress robes don’t cover everything, and James seeing the physical evidence of his reaction to Moony wasn’t much to be preferred.
James gave him a cool look over his pumpkin juice. “Going to join Moony?”
“No! No, I don’t want him to s…” Sirius trailed off, knowing what a weird sentence that would be to surrounding students. He didn’t want Remus to smell him. What was with him today? He never made a slip like that, not even when he ribbed Remus about his “furry little problem” in front of friends. Remus was too important.
James was still looking at him, considering. “It’s ok, Pads.”
It’s ok to what? It’s ok to need to go to the room of requirement to wank, or it’s ok to lust after one of your best friends? Or it’s ok to go after Moony? No, Sirius wasn’t going to go there. He may not have told James outright that he had it bad for Remus, but he wasn’t great at hiding it, not when so much of his effort was put towards hiding it from Remus himself. And yet here was James, telling him “it’s ok”, pretending to be the epitome of emotional maturity now that he got Lily to go with him to Hogsmeade, once, finally, when he stopped being such an ass around her all the time. Ok. It’s ok.
Sirius just nodded and left. It’s ok. He walked quickly to the seventh floor.