The Smell of Magic

Remus tried not to breathe too deeply as he helped a very professional-looking Muggle woman find the mystery novel she'd been hunting for, pleased that the used bookstore currently had it in stock. More pleased, however, when that meant she left him to his shelving work and took her aggressive cloud of perfume off to the other end of the store to pay for her purchase.

How could they stand the stuff? The one drawback to living among Muggles, especially when it was approaching, er, his time of the month, was the horrible scents they seemed to think they needed to douse themselves in. Like that one: all jangly and prickly and brassy, an offense to the delicate nose. The sheer amount of money they spent on sprays and powders and creams to make themselves smell like things they weren't appalled Remus. And they seemed to think it was only polite.

He was developing a theory that this was part and parcel of being a modern Muggle: they had forgotten that they were animals so long ago, he mused, that now they got upset if one of their number actually smelled like an animal of any kind. So they smeared unpleasant compounds on under their arms, washed with heavily scented soaps, and sprayed concentrated chemical scents on themselves before leaving the house.

If they naturally smelled like that, he supposed, he would probably get used to it eventually. He liked the way they smelled without the intervention of the drugstore. Natural human scents tended to be much rounder, quieter, and more informative, telling him things about mood and health that nothing out of a bottle would do. He missed that about the wizarding world: the fact that people there smelled like people (usually, he amended, thinking of the apothecary smell of Snape), not like abrasive cleaners. Some days the smell was almost enough to send him back to the wizarding world. Almost, but not quite.

Remus finished shelving the new batch of paperback romances -- the backbone of the little bookstore's finances, some of those books were traded in and re-bought half a dozen times -- and headed back to the stockroom to pick up the next box of new arrivals. Philosophy, eastern religions, and a few earnest looking books on Magic And The Occult. He couldn't help a little wry smile at those; the authors probably meant well, but he doubted that Spells for Love and Money contained functional versions of either.

He heaved a great sigh, and felt a pang of homesickness shoot through him. The smell back here, of old books carefully preserved, always reminded him of Hogwarts. The library there had smelled just like this. But that had been years ago, before everything got so horrible; before the rise of the Dark Lord, before the catastrophe that had seen two of his best friends dead and the third imprisoned for their murders, before the Ministry's post-war crackdown on all sorts of Dark Creatures. Including werewolves. It did no good to be homesick now: there wasn't any home to go back to. The things he'd loved about the wizarding world were gone.

If only James were there. "Remus Jacob Lupin," he'd say in his best imitation-professor tone, "you silly maudlin prat. Stop it at once." And if that didn't work, he'd pounce Remus and tickle him mercilessly, until they were both giddy and breathless.

But James would never be there again. Remus would never hear that voice, that laugh, never smell the bright sparkling magic smell of James again. Cursing Sirius bitterly, Remus hefted the box of religion and philosophy and carried it out of the stockroom.

There was an attractive young man with a dark red ponytail browsing the occult section. Remus set his box down in front of religion, the next shelf over, and started working, mostly ignoring the customer. Until the young man reached up for something on the top shelf, and the movement wafted his scent in Remus's direction: bright blue and shimmery, the smell of magic. Remus gasped, his eyes growing wide as he stared.

The young man looked over at him with concern. "Are you alright?"

"I. Er. You. That is." Your eyes are the same color as your smell. Couldn't say that. "That, um, that series isn't very good."

"What?" He looked down at the book in his hand.

"The, er, the Isis Unveiled imprint. Pretty trashy stuff. You wouldn't, ah, learn anything useful." What a prat he was making of himself, Remus thought.

The young man studied him. "You went to Hogwarts, didn't you?" he asked after a minute.

"Yes," Remus answered, surprised. "I'm sorry, I don't remember seeing you..."

"I was a few years behind you, I think. Probably hadn't hit my growth spurt yet when you left. I'm Bill." He held out a hand. "Bill Weasley."

"Remus Lupin," Remus answered, taking Bill's hand. Warm, firm handshake, the sort that inspired trust. He found himself smiling. "Strange to run into a Hogwarts graduate here, really."

"Even stranger to find one working here," Bill pointed out. He smiled when he said it, and somehow it didn't feel at all like he was prying. "I don't suppose you could recommend some books that would have some decent information on ancient Egyptian magic, could you?"

"Well..." Remus stepped up to the occult shelf, closer to where Bill was standing. A warm note entered Bill's scent as he did so. He blushed. "I'm afraid you won't find anything really, er, practical here. Maybe this book on Funereal Magic of Ancient Egypt? Probably not anything too terribly specific, you know, but..."

"That sounds like exactly what I'm looking for," Bill replied. He took the book out of Remus's hand; their fingers touched for a split second. He studied Remus with an unmistakable plotting-things expression. "Say, Remus. When are you done working?"

"We, ah, we close at seven. I'll have some tidying to do around the store, but probably... half past?"

"Would you like to go have a drink then?"

Remus blinked. "I, well, yes. Yes. Please."

"Smashing." He had, Remus decided, one of the nicest smiles in the world. "I'll meet you outside at half past seven."

The grin stayed pasted on Remus's face for the next hour.

* * *

The afternoon positively dragged. Remus had always been patient, especially compared to his friends, but by quarter till seven he was fidgeting uncontrollably. The store needed to close already! For once in his life, Remus had a date.

Was it a date? He fretted. Maybe they were just going down to the pub for a friendly pint or two. No. He remembered the welcoming change in Bill's scent when he'd stepped closer, the invitation. This was a date. Seven o'clock. Remus cleaned and straightened up the store like a man possessed, trying to make himself busy enough that time would pass faster.

At seven-fifteen, he was out the door into the purple twilight. And Bill was waiting for him. "You're early," he said in surprise.

"So are you," Bill replied with his wonderful smile. "Where shall we go, then? Wizarding pub, or Muggle?"

"Muggle, please."

Bill nodded, as though he'd expected as much. "You'll have to suggest something, then. I don't really know my way around Muggle London at all."

"Well... I've had good luck at the Motley Cow. That's a few blocks east of here, sort of midway between here and Diagon Alley. Good food, and they make their own beers." He hated the hesitancy, the fear of rejection in his voice.

"Sounds perfect. Lead on." It was especially silly to be this nervous around someone like Bill, who was clearly doing his best to make Remus comfortable, as though -- well, as though he were a feral creature that needed gentle handling.

The Cow wasn't all that crowded; it was a Tuesday, and even at the best of times the pub was only a bit more than half-full. They took a table in the corner, ordered pints and a plate of chips, and stared at each other in awkward silence for a minute.

"So, you, um, live in London?" Remus hazarded when he couldn't stand the silence anymore.

"No, I've been living with my family, in Ottery-St. Catchpole. But I'm thinking it might be time to get away, see more of the world. I'm in London for a job interview."

"Job interview?" Remus sipped his beer, and tried not to feel like a parrot.

"Gringotts is hiring people for their field teams, to work on breaking curses and unraveling mysteries at magical archaeology sites around the world." Bill's face lit with excitement as he said "breaking curses and unraveling mysteries."

"Sounds exciting," Remus replied. He put two and two together satisfactorily in his head. "So that's what you wanted Egyptian magic books for, then?"

Bill nodded. "Egypt is the one I want most. It all sounds so thrilling. And so old! Their understanding of magic must have been completely different from ours."

"Probably also makes it one of the more dangerous sites, no?"

"Probably." Bill shrugged. "But then, my oldest younger brother wants to work with dragons, so I sound downright reasonable by comparison. Not that mum's thrilled with either of us."

Remus grinned. "I should think not! Thousands of years' worth of pharaohs' curses, or monstrous firebreathing reptiles. Mothers are professionally obligated to disapprove of that sort of thing."

"I know. But she's trying to be supportive. She thinks the world of us, really."

The little tug of jealousy caught Remus by surprise, and he wasn't sure how to respond. In the sudden lull in their conversation, the brassy, aggressive sound of a guitar sound-checking came as a bit of a shock. Remus felt the irrational desire to pin his ears back.

From the look of vague irritation on Bill's face, he seemed to be thinking something along the same lines. He leaned in across the table. "You didn't tell me they did live music in here."

"They don't, usually." Even over the ambient scent of pub (grease, smoke, spilled beer), he could clearly smell Bill's warm blue magic, and it made him faintly dizzy. "Do you want to leave?"

Bill nodded with a bit of a mischievous smile, and Remus realized he could easily be taking that as an invitation. He found he didn't mind.

"Let's be going, then," he said, as flirtatiously as he dared, grinning back. His face was starting to hurt. He hadn't smiled this much in ages.

The evening was cool and clear, and the sidewalks surprisingly empty. They walked at a comfortable, ambling pace, heading toward Remus's flat. Remus tried not too think too hard about what he was hoping for when they got there.

"So, I've been utterly monopolizing the conversation," Bill said. "What brought you to Muggle London, anyway?"

"It's... complicated." Remus paused, trying to decide what he could say. "Things with my family have always been strained. By the time I left Hogwarts, I depended a lot more on my best friends. Then in the Troubles, a few years ago... I lost all of them." His voice cracked a little, but he got the words out, at least, which was better than he'd expected to manage.

"I'm sorry." Bill reached out a hand, touched him lightly on the arm. Remus waited for him to say something like, that's so awful. "You must have loved your friends very much."

Remus nodded mutely, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. He blinked them back, met Bill's gaze, and felt time stop. Bill was looking back at him without pity, but with such kindness and understanding it made his breath catch in his throat. They stood there, staring at each other, for a long silent moment, and Remus was sure that if they didn't move they'd end up kissing right there in the street.

And that wouldn't be safe. "Would you like to come inside?"

"Yes." The quiet certainty of Bill's voice was reassuring. "I would."

Remus fumbled in his pocket for his keys, then let them in. He led the way up the creaking stairs to his second-storey flat. He was already apologizing for it by the time he got the door open: "It's not much, I'm sorry, I know it's a bit shabby, I'd have cleaned up if I'd known I'd have company...." His voice trailed off. The dim glow of the overhead light revealed a battered sofa, folded out into a bed; a low table with a few empty dishes on it; and a few crates stacked against one wall that functioned as makeshift bookcases.

"I like it," Bill said. "It's comfortable."

Remus blushed, wanting to protest; it wasn't comfortable, it was squalid, and he knew it.

"Besides," Bill continued, stepping closer to him with those same gentle movements, "I'm not here for the furniture." He stopped, and waited, and Remus looked up into his eyes and parted his lips and leaned forward, ever so slightly.... And Bill kissed him, his lips warm and dry.

Remus could tell Bill was trying not to rush him or make him feel pressured, but when he stepped closer to encourage the kiss, the glowing magic intensity of Bill's scent nearly doubled. And that felt so good that he couldn't help but respond. He opened his mouth, probing at Bill's lips with his tongue. Bill's arms slid around him, strong fingers massaging the constantly-tense muscles in his shoulders and upper back. They kissed gently, unhurriedly, exploring each other's mouths. Bill was slender, but broad-shouldered; he felt solid and warm and magnetic. Remus felt as though his body were turning liquid, a shifting of physical awareness that was both like and completely unlike transformation. When Bill laid a soft line of kisses across his cheekbones, he sighed happily. When he buried his head in the hollow of Bill's neck and breathed in magic and soap and sweat, he felt like he'd come home.

"Bed?" Bill suggested, smiling at him.

Remus smiled back. "Yes," he said, surprised by the depth of his affirmation. "Please."

They tumbled into bed, pulling each other's shirts off, and skin against skin only made it better. Remus had more hair on his body than Bill, who was pale and nearly smooth. He liked that; it looked like an invitation to lick Bill all over. So he started in the hollow of his throat, and explored collarbones and smooth pectoral muscles and rose-pink nipples, and if the noises Bill was making were any indication, he liked that quite a bit. So Remus lingered there, tonguing them, allowing himself to nip ever so gently as they hardened under his attentions. And -- Bill ground against him -- there seemed to be other hardening going on, too.

"Still too many clothes on," Bill pointed out.

"Must be," Remus agreed. "You can think coherently enough to complain about it." He reached for the waistband of Bill's jeans, undid the buttons, and tugged down both jeans and boxers at one go. Bill's cock bobbed up, sleek and enticing, against a thatch of curly hair a shade darker than that on his head. Remus reached for it.

"Oh, no, you don't." Bill grabbed him and flipped him over. Remus, startled and more than a little pleased, let him do so. "Not until you're naked, too." His clever hands stripped away Remus's trousers and Y-fronts, then grabbed Remus by the hips and pulled them close together. "You feel so good."

Remus actually laughed, a little. "I haven't felt this good in ages." He caught Bill's mouth in another kiss, harder this time, less tentative. He'd needed this, missed the human contact more than he let himself admit. And Bill's hands were doing their best to make up for the lost time, exploring his body avidly. And when one of those hands slid up the back of his thigh and brushed the cleft of his arse, the little involuntary sound he made surprised him as much as Bill.

Bill made an answering little noise into his mouth, something like, "Hmmm?" and repeated the motion, more slowly.

"Oh," Remus breathed, and pushed back. "Yes. Good." Even better was the fact that Bill's body followed his, moving with him so that he didn't have to choose between the luscious friction against his cock and the tantalizing brush of fingers against his arse. "Please." His back arched, almost involuntarily, and Bill pressed a searing, hungry kiss against his exposed throat. He trembled, the wolf in him feeling the danger of such submission as the man in him yielded to it gratefully, longingly.

"I'd love to," Bill whispered in his ear. Remus smiled and met his eyes and found himself stunned momentarily by their shining blue intensity. He could drown in those eyes. "Do you have anything I can use...?"

For a few seconds Remus couldn't think of the answer to the question; then the rational part of his brain pointed out that if he actually wanted to get to the sex, he needed to prepare first, and wasn't there a bottle of massage oil on the floor around here somewhere? Yes. Good.

Bill took it from him, pushing Remus onto his back and kneeling between his spread legs. "Vanilla, hmm?"

Remus shrugged. "It was the only one they had that didn't smell really awful and chemical."

"I'm not complaining." Bill poured a little oil out onto his fingers. He watched Remus's face as he started to probe gently, spreading the oil before sliding one finger gently in. Remus's eyes fluttered shut as he felt it, and he concentrated on relaxing, on calming the wolf. However much he wanted this, it was hard to reduce it to mere pleasure, with the lupine sense of pack hierarchy always in the back of his mind.

Then Bill's finger nudged against his prostate for the first time, and that made it much easier to just think about the pleasure. Remus moaned, and felt the muscles in his back and arse and legs turn liquid. "More," he pleaded.

"Already?"

The concern in Bill's voice made him open his eyes. "Yes. Already." His voice had gone thick with desire, and then suddenly the wolf spoke up, too. "I want your cock right now. I will settle for two fingers right this second, and your cock just as soon as you figure out you won't break me."

Bill's eyes widened with shock, and Remus was on the point of apologizing for the outburst when he felt himself abruptly stretched wider, and the words became a gasp instead. "Well," Bill grinned, "I guess I'll stop trying to be such a gentleman then, shall I?"

"Yes. Please." He squirmed on the invading fingers, abandoning himself to the sensation. He was dimly aware of the little bestial noises he was making, growls and whimpers and moans. Another stretch; that was three fingers in him and his own breathing sounded loud in his ears.

Bill stopped moving. "Remus." Remus opened his eyes, trying to focus. "I can't wait anymore. I need you now."

"Good." Remus whined as Bill's fingers slid out of him -- there was nothing so frustrating as that, being empty and still wanting! A few seconds of fumbling with the oil bottle, and then Bill was pressing the head of his cock against Remus's arsehole, and Remus was spreading his legs wider in welcome.... Bill slid into him in one long thrust, and Remus echoed his groan of satisfaction. Merlin, that was good. He rocked his hips, encouraging Bill to pick up the rhythm, making hungry little noises that were half-man and half-wolf.

And Bill was making noise too, human sounds of pleasure and desperation: "Good, so good, you feel so good, ah, Remus, so good..." in between harsh, panting breaths. On each forward stroke, Bill's stomach brushed against Remus's cock, right in the most sensitive spot, and Remus clawed at the sheets, knowing that if they kept going, that would be enough. Oh, just a little more, just like that, more...

Bill drove in, buried himself completely, and came, hard. Remus whimpered, half in pleasure, half in frustration -- he was so close! Two more minutes, and he would have come, too. And now Bill was pulling out. Damnit.

"Sorry I was so quick. I just -- here." Bill leaned down, apparently deciding orgasm was the sincerest form of apology, and sucked Remus's cock into his mouth. Remus barely controlled the urge to grab him by the hair and thrust. So good, so hot and wet.

"Please," he whispered, "something -- inside me." And felt Bill's fingers slip back in, filling him, stroking him, bringing him closer so close so ready almost there almost there almost --

There, oh yes, there, orgasm like a fucking landslide crashing down on him and obliterating everything but this moment. The tension he'd been carrying for the past god-knows-how-long blew right out of him, and Remus collapsed, limp, against the pillows. Bill swallowed, grinned up at him -- an expression that was far too innocent, given what he'd been doing with his mouth mere seconds before -- and crawled up the bed to lie next to him.

"Thank you," Remus remembered to say.

"Thank you," Bill replied, curling up with his head on Remus's shoulder. "That was excellent."

Remus turned his head so he could inhale the rich, warm scent of Bill's hair. What happened now? Was he supposed to invite Bill to stay the night? Or would that imply something more committed, something he couldn't actually deliver? What the hell, then. "You, er, you can stay. Tonight. If you want to." Amazing how quickly he got tongue-tied again after sex like that.

"I don't think I can," Bill said, but he didn't move. "I need to be at Gringotts by eight-thirty tomorrow morning, so I should probably go back to the Leaky Cauldron tonight."

"Oh." Well, that was that.

"I really like you, though -- I'd like to see you again, if that's okay with you."

Fuck, Remus thought. "I don't think that would be a good idea," he said stiffly.

Bill propped himself up on one elbow and looked at him curiously. "Why not? Did I do something wrong?"

"It's not you." Remus shut his eyes. I didn't want it to come to this, I didn't want to have this conversation, I didn't want to be rejected again.... "I'm not human," he blurted, waiting for Bill to pull away from him, to panic, to yell.

Bill didn't move.

Remus opened one eye cautiously; Bill was still watching him, looking patient and amused. "So there are a couple of days a month I shouldn't visit, hmm?"

Stunned, Remus froze. "You knew?"

"It was a guess." Bill touched his face, very gently. "Something about the light in your eyes, for a few moments in the middle of it, there. I didn't know until just now." His brows furrowed in concentration. "If I'm remembering my DADA lessons right, you're not contagious in human form, right?"

"No," Remus answered, when he could process the question. "No, it's only -- only as the wolf that I'm, I'm, dangerous." He couldn't help asking it: "You're not disgusted?"

"I'm not disgusted." Bill kissed him, a light, deliberate press of lips. "It changes neither the good conversation nor the great sex we've had tonight. I'd like to have more of both of those things with you, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind," Remus whispered. Something else, like a curse he hadn't realized he'd suffered under, was coming undone, uncoiling and expanding in his chest, threatening to spill over in wild laughter or maybe tears. He wrapped his arms around Bill and hugged him tight, breathing him in and smiling so hard it hurt. "You smell like magic."

Bill laughed softly, fingers tangled in his hair. "That's a good thing?"

Remus sighed. "It's the best thing in the world."

Author's note: "Isis Unveiled" is a line of wackjob occult books published by a vanity press in Umberto Eco's Foucault's Pendulum, which is a deliriously rewarding intellectual conspiracy novel. Go read it, if you haven't.