It was after school when Remus walked into the student storage cupboard with great reluctance. Various smells affronted his sensitive nose and made his eyes water. Just some eye of newt was all he needed to finish the potion Professor Crawley assigned the day before (he had missed it because of the full moon). Holding his breath, he quickly grabbed it and groped his way towards the door, blinded by tears and dizzy from all the smells.
He groped for the doorknob, flung the door open, and instead of the relief he expected, nearly collapsed from the stench of dungbombs.
“I say, Lupin!” exclaimed a vaguely familiar voice, “You okay?”
“Smell!” Lupin managed to gasp.
“Tollo Odoratus!”
Lupin’s skin tingled, and suddenly, his eyes stopped watering, his head stopped spinning, and the stink of dungbombs was reduced to what he assumed a normal person would smell.
He looked up to see James Potter putting his wand away, and beyond him, Sirius Black building a pyramid of dungbombs on the teacher’s desk, and trying to block it from his view at the same time. As his head cleared, he realized that he had opened the door to the Potions classroom, instead of the one opening into the hall.
“Sorry,” Lupin stammered, “I have, er, severe allergic reactions to, er, the smell of dungbombs.”
“Ah.” James said.
I should just walk away, Lupin thought in the awkward silence that followed. These two are sure trouble. But he realized that, for the first time in his life, he felt impulsive. He simultaneously realized that he, well, he had actually begun to like Potter and Black. He supposed that happened when they didn’t call him a Weasley. He only had to briefly remember how horrible Professor Crawley had been that day about his robes and hair, and his mind was firmly made up. So, for once in his life, instead of doing the sensible thing…
“Can I help you?”
The other two exchanged looks of undisguised surprise.
Then James shrugged. “Sure.”
Sirius handed him a dungbomb and hefted one of his own. “Let’s see who can throw it harder at that wall.”
“You know, it works better if you set it off in the middle of the room,” Lupin explained, like he did this every day. You couldn’t be a werewolf and not know almost everything about smells. He demonstrated for the two.
James and Sirius exchanged another look. At that point, if a herd of stampeding kelpies with wings fell through the roof and proceeded to alphabetically organize the potions ingredients, followed by the house elves waving signs with slogans like “No pay, No porridge” written on them, they wouldn’t be surprised.
The three exited the room about an hour later with the extreme satisfaction of a job well done. They were walking down the hallway, chatting amiably.
“So, that charm you used to stop my, er, allergies”what was it?”
“It’s called the Odoratus Charm. It basically prevents you from smelling anything. Sirius and I use it when we… make potions that smell extraordinarily like dungbombs. Which reminds me, I’d better remove it.”
“ Finite Incantatum!”
Remus pretended to have a mild allergic reaction, even though the smell was bearable.
“So, Lupin,” Sirius began, after Remus had stopped fake-sneezing.
“Remus,” Remus corrected, sniffing slightly for effect.
“So… Remus, where did you learn so much about the fine art of dungbombs?”
The question caught him off guard. What was he supposed to say”that he had an extra-sensitive nose because he was a werewolf? “Well, I…”
“Damn!” James interrupted with unconscious timeliness, pointing to the quickly retreating figure of Mrs. Norris.
“Yes, damn just about covers it,” agreed Sirius.
They soon heard Filch around the corner. “Where are they, my sweet?”
Remus, knowing he didn’t have much time, preformed a spell of his own.
“Myrapia!” he muttered hurriedly, casting the Myrapius Charm on first James, then Sirius, and lastly, himself. The charm turned any revolting smell into a pleasant scent. He had learned it at the age of four, and used it more as a survival technique than anything else. That, and earplugs.
Filch came barreling around the corner, the smell of bacon grease wafting around him indicating that he had been interrupted from a meal. “What’re you lot up to?” Filch growled nastily, wheezing slightly between each word. He looked like he had run up six floors.
“Walking,” Remus answered, “Down the hall. I hear they allow you to do that here. But if that was just a rumor, I offer my sincerest apologies.” His tone, as always, was irreproachably polite. It infuriated Filch to no end.
“I know you were doing something.” He sniffed. “Small boys never smell this good.”
When Remus didn’t say anything, Filch’s face began to assume the unbearable expression of arrogant triumph. Just then, Sirius stepped in.
“You mean you go around smelling small boys?” he asked, a look of abject horror on his face.
James and Remus, catching on, mirrored the expression. And before Filch could say anything, Sirius walked off, shaking his head, Remus following him. James paused and handed Filch a business card.
“My Aunt’s the best Medi-witch psychologist at St. Mungo’s. She specializes in strange fetishes and obsessions. Just remember that there’s no shame in asking for help.” He patted the now speechless Filch on the shoulder and followed his friends; his tread faintly suggestive of one who has just found out that a loved one has a serious illness.
As soon as they were safely out of earshot, they all burst out laughing.
“Did you see his face?” gasped Remus.
“I think it actually changed color when I asked him about smelling boys,” Sirius chortled.
“It did,” James panted, trying to catch his breath. “Several times.” He proceeded to do an uncanny imitation of the livid Filch.
This, of course, made them all laugh again.
When they finally stopped, they looked at each other. Remus suddenly realized that he’d thrown dungbombs in school, cheeked an adult, and spent the time he needed to study laughing harder than he ever had in his life with people he had barely said two words to before today.
“Well, I’d better go study for that Transfiguration test tomorrow,” he said, suddenly feeling awkward.
“Yeah, ok,” Sirius said, rubbing the back of his neck, obviously feeling slightly awkward as well.
“See you, then.” James said, sounding a bit more formal than he meant to.
“Yeah. Bye.” Remus walked off towards the common room.
Sirius and James stepped through the portrait hole a couple hours later. James started for their usual table when Sirius elbowed him and nodded towards Remus. He was sitting alone at a table, unnoticed by everyone and surrounded by haphazard stacks of books and scattered pieces of parchment, writing what looked like the world’s longest potions essay.
James nodded once to Sirius, and the two strode across the common room, ignoring calls from all quarters for a game of chess or a study session, and slipped into seats at Remus’ table. James pulled out his Defense Against the Dark Arts homework, while Sirius opened his Transfiguration book, more for something to keep him occupied than for any need to revise.
Remus leaned over and casually glanced at the essay James was writing. “Sentence three is incorrect. Kappas were originally from Japan.”
And the rest, as they say, is history.