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Hearts and Flowers

by Arionrhod

It began with a single rose.

A red rose, the deep color of heart's blood, left across his breakfast plate, the colors clear and vivid in the sunlight against the pure white china it rested upon. The scent was rich and vibrant on the air, sweet and heady. Startled, Remus looked down at it for an uncomprehending moment, before glancing down the length of the table to see if anyone else had one. The other plates were bare, however, empty as they were every morning, awaiting the arrival of the meal. Suddenly it felt as though all eyes at the Head Table were upon him, and Remus flushed under the regard.

"An admirer, Remus?" Dumbledore asked, blue eyes sparkling with interest above his glasses. Beyond him, Minerva was smiling indulgently, and Poppy and Hooch were giving him envious looks. He didn't dare turn to the other side to see what kind of expression Severus Snape wore - he could well imagine the derision on the Potions Master's face, the sneer twisting his thin lips, and Remus couldn't bear to see it so early in the day.

"Not that I am aware of," the werewolf replied quietly. Amber eyes glanced out at the students, most of whom were paying no attention to their instructors, intensely absorbed in the food which had silently appeared on the tables. "Er... I hope whoever left it isn't a student, Albus. I... I wouldn't quite know how to handle that."

"It happens, my dear boy, especially with popular teachers," Albus said, and his smile became reassuring. "The year Gilderoy Lockhart was here, he received flowers - and candy, and items of a far more personal nature - almost daily."

"No doubt sent mostly by he himself," a deep voice drawled on the other side of the table, and Remus was obliged to turn around to look at the Potions Master. To his surprise the pale face wore none of the ridicule he had expected, and Remus found himself relaxing slightly.

"After all, no one ever loved Lockhart as much as Lockhart did," Severus continued, lip turning up in a sneer. "No doubt if it were possible for him to duplicate and marry himself, he would have done so... then published a book on the subject."

"At least it would have been his first original work," Minerva said dryly.

"No, he would merely have resorted to stealing from the contributions of his own parents in that case," Severus shot back, and all the instructors laughed. The Potions Master sniffed disdainfully, as though offended by their amusement, and turned his attention back to his tea cup.

Remus used the distraction to slip the flower from his plate into his lap. Even if it was a student, it was a touching gesture, one that brought an inexplicable lump to his throat. No one had ever given him a flower before, of any sort - much less a rose. He would take it back to his room, and keep it, if for no other reason that it symbolized that someone thought of him kindly. He had long ago given up hoping that anyone would think of him in a romantic way; especially the person who had been the source of his extremely unrequited longings for over twenty years.

After breakfast Remus stopped by his quarters to place the rose in a glass of water, with a preservation charm thrown on it for good measure. A smile curved his lips for a moment as he touched the velvety petals, before he sighed and turned away, heading for his office. No doubt it was a student, and that was, of course, completely unacceptable. A teenager being interested in him was all wrong, in his opinion - he was almost forty years old after all. He had seen too much, and was weary with too much living.

Responding quietly to the greetings from his students as he walked through the crowded hallways, Remus made his way towards his office on the first floor. If anyone's eyes lingered on or glanced after him he didn't see it, and he shook his head, chuckling wryly at his own folly in even looking. Perhaps it had been Minerva, he thought with a sigh. She was a kind person, and might have done it knowing of his loneliness and trying to remind him he had a friend.

Entering his office, Remus waved the candles alight with a casual gesture... then stopped still, staring at his desk. Six more red roses were arrayed across it, their petals damp and fresh and still smelling of morning dew.

Breath catching in his throat, Remus glanced around, looking for anyone still remaining in the room, or for any sign or clue about the identity of who could have left them. Pulling his wand, he murmured a quick charm, one that would reveal anyone hidden by an invisibility cloak or a concealment charm. Sighing when no one was revealed, Remus shook his head. Gathering up the flowers, he set about hunting down a teapot, which he conjured full of water with a wave of his wand. Whoever was interested in him certainly had either a great deal of money or a great deal of magic to spend on such flowers. He just couldn't fathom why such a person would find a werewolf worthy of their attentions.

As fascinating as the speculation might be - or horrifying in some ways, when he considered the thought of a very young person having those kinds of thoughts about him - Remus had to cut it short. He had a job to do, after all, and so he forced his attention back to doing it. Pulling a stack of essays across the desk, he began to read with determination. The fragrance of the roses wafted through the air, however, soft and sweet - surely he could be excused if his eyes occasionally strayed to gaze up them wonderingly.

Remus' first class of the day was second year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, and he smiled at their bright, eager faces as he entered the classroom. "Good morning, everyone," he greeted them as he walked through the room. "Today we're going to be covering advanced hex repulsion, so I hope you've read ahead in the tex...."

Voice trailing off, Remus stared at the table on the dais at the front of the class. It took him a moment, but eventually he counted the red roses spread over the surface, the quantity of crimson and green looking lush and festive against the dark wood. Fifteen of them, fifteen perfect blossoms.

What in Merlin's name is going on here? he wondered, almost numb with surprise. A few giggles in the class behind him, however, brought his attention abruptly back to his students. Clearing his throat, he nodded to them. "Turn to page five hundred forty seven," he said quietly. There would be plenty of time to worry about this latest development after he had seen to his pupils.

Just before luncheon Remus gathered up the roses from the classroom, then stopped by his office to retrieve the ones he had left there earlier. Entering his quarters, he placed them on a table before pulling his wand. He focussed on the water glass which held the first blossom, and with a murmured incantation transfigured it into a vase... a rather large vase. Carefully retrieving the roses, he placed them one by one into their new container, fingers lingering on their soft petals, inhaling their sweet scent and admiring their rich color. He had to keep focussed on these external, sensory things, rather than worry about the motivation behind their presence. It was becoming quite apparent he had more than a casual admirer... either that, or someone was playing an elaborate joke on him. He really wasn't certain which alternative disturbed him more - and he felt at an utter loss as to what to do about it.

He nearly skipped lunch. It was very tempting, really, because he found himself almost afraid of there being more of the flowers - and at the rate they had been multiplying, there was no way to avoid it being noticed and commented upon. In the end, however, he decided that he had to go. It would be far worse in the long run if the flowers were there, and he himself was not.

But surprisingly his plate was empty, identical to all the others, and he nearly sagged in relief. Slipping into his seat, he concentrated on his meal, casting furtive glances around the room to see if anyone was paying him undo attention. Either no one was, or whoever was leaving the flowers for him was cagey enough to avoid his regard, and he sighed slightly in frustration. He was going to have to tell Dumbledore about the flowers, if he couldn't find out who was leaving them... and, more importantly, why they were doing so.

"Problem, Lupin?" the Potions Master asked, raising a dark brow in inquiry, black eyes glittering with something the Remus thought might be malicious curiosity.

"Of course not, Severus," he responded evenly, picking up his cup and raising it to his lips. "Why would you think that?"

"Perhaps it is the fact that you put six spoonfuls of sugar in your tea," came the sardonic reply, just as Remus took a sip of the hot beverage.

The liquid that hit his tongue was so sweet it made his teeth ache, and he only kept himself from sputtering by sheer force of will, before swallowing carefully and sitting the cup back into its saucer. "I need the energy for this afternoon," the werewolf said with dignity, amber eyes meeting those of the other man levelly. No doubt Snape could tell he was bluffing - the man had a terrible habit of reading other people like a book - but Remus wouldn't give him the satisfaction of admitting his distraction.

"Indeed," the dark-haired wizard murmured, and Remus turned away with a sigh - but out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Severus' lips twitch in amusement, and his breath caught for a moment.

The meal concluded with no further incident, and Remus went back to his classroom for his afternoon periods. No further roses greeted him there, nor were there any more in his office when he went back to it to spend a desultory hour grading yet more essays before dinner. The werewolf started to relax, thinking that perhaps his admirer had left all the tokens they were going to leave. Really, he couldn't complain if the show were over. He should be relieved, actually, that it was done - as, indeed, it appeared to be, as he went in to dinner in the Great Hall to be greeted by a totally normal place setting.

Remus ate quickly, not inclined, for some reason, to linger and chat. Walking quickly back to his room, he wondered why he suddenly felt so discontent. Was it the brief promise that had been held out to him, a short, tantalizing glimpse of what it would be like to be the object of someone's desires? Even if the someone in question was most likely inappropriate, it still stirred up long denied feelings, reminded him of his loneliness, of the fact that he had no one to cherish and be cherished by in return. Reminded him that, deep inside, he wanted to be desired, wanted to find someone, anyone, who would hold him as special, view him as being worth of regard above all others. Wanted to be able to openly acknowledge his own desires... abruptly he cut the thought, before it could become too painful. What he desired, whom he desired, had long ago slipped from his grasp. There were not flowers enough in the world to entice the partner of his dreams.

Twenty-two roses... each one of them forcing him to acknowledge that he would give everything he had just be be loved.

Opening the door to his rooms, he stepped inside, to be immediately assaulted by the sweet, rich fragrance of the flowers. Taking a deep breath, he resolved to get rid of them immediately - to keep them was merely to court the temptation to melancholy and self-pity. It was a state far more abhorrent than mere loneliness.

Waving the candles in the wall sconces to life, he took a determined step towards the table where he had placed the vase of roses... only to freeze in place, eyes riveted on the floor, where a trail of roses lead to the table where the rest of the roses resided. Bending over, Remus moved cautiously, picking up each of them - six in total - before he reached the vase. There, in front of it, was a seventh blossom, identical to the others... save for the piece of parchment which lay under it, with his initials scrawled upon the creamy surface in a bold, ornate script.

The werewolf stood staring at the pale paper for several long moments, heart pounding, before reaching out to pull it from beneath the flower. Here, then, was the key to the mystery, the identity of the person who had been either wooing or taunting him all day. Or at least clue, perhaps. Somehow Remus didn't think that whoever had been able to leave the roses without trace in his locked and warded rooms would be quite so blatant as to come right out with a declaration.

And he was correct. Turning the paper over, there were a few lines of text, penned in the same hand which had wrought his initials on the other side.

Some things that have long been present are even longer being acknowledged. The roses will tell you all you need to know... and if you feel as I do, come to me. I will be waiting.

Remus read the note again, and yet again, brow furrowed in concentration, heart hammering in his chest. He glanced over the edge of the parchment, contemplating the flowers. The roses will tell you all you need to know...

Placing the note back on the table, Remus pulled his wand. Slowly he walked around the table, examining the roses from every angle, head tilted as he thought. Perhaps there was an enchantment on the flowers? Raising his wand, he set about finding out.

Several minutes later he stopped, sighing. The roses were, to all appearances, merely roses. No magic upon them at all, save the preservation charm he himself had cast. So apparently the sender hadn't been being literal when saying that the roses would "tell" him what he needed to know - it must be more subtle than that.

So, what was it about roses? He remembered James buying roses for Lily for Valentine's day, and a smile curved his lips as he recalled the red-haired witch's delight in the flowers. Red roses then, too, symbolizing deep feelings. Red roses, the symbol for undying love.

Remus sat down on his sofa, in full view of the table. So... someone was trying to tell him that they loved him? That it was something more than an attraction? Overlooking the idea that it might, indeed, all turn out to be an elaborate joke, the werewolf set about trying to deduce the identity of the sender.

Assuming that the red roses only symbolized the feelings mentioned in the note, there had to be something else, some other clue as to who his erstwhile suitor was. The number of roses, perhaps? Twenty-nine of them, in total. An odd number, literally and figuratively.

Perhaps twenty-nine was the age of his admirer?

Frowning, Remus thought of all the people of his acquaintance. Although his own preferences were decidedly towards men, he had always been quiet and circumspect about that fact... speculations about he and Sirius to the contrary - and also to the negative. So his admirer could be either male or female. Who did he know of that age?

Tonks was somewhere in her mid-twenties, Remus knew. But even if she were a few years older, the gesture just wasn't one that he could picture her making - or, to be honest, carrying out as successfully as it had been. The Auror was a sweet girl and a good friend to him, but she was, quite frankly, rather awkward. There were no broken items in his office or his rooms, and so he doubted that the metamorphmagus was the one behind it.

Bill Weasley, the handsome, laughing redhead? No, it couldn't be. Bill was too old, already in his early thirties, Remus acknowledged with a sigh. But Charlie Weasley... now he was a few years younger.

The werewolf closed his eyes, thinking about that. Charlie was the right age, a talented wizard. Quieter than Bill, less dashing, but having a full measure of the infectious Weasley charm. Remus couldn't ever recall Molly speaking of a girlfriend in relation to her second son... so perhaps? Even if he had returned to Romania after the war, back to his dragons, could he have found some way to do this?

Sighing, Remus opened his eyes again. Charlie fit the age, and had the talent, that was true. But something about it didn't feel right. He had worked with Charlie in the Order during the war, and found him to be open and direct. If the redhead had fancied him, Remus could imagine him being far more direct in approaching him. Smiling, Remus pictured the serious blue of Charlie's eyes in his freckled face, his voice saying, "Wotcher, Remus? Fancy a shag?" with the same tone with which he asked if someone wanted a butterbeer. The picture was amusing, yes, but not arousing. Not Charlie, then.

For several minutes Remus tried to think of anyone else he knew of that age, and kept coming up blank. Everyone else of his acquaintance was either much older or much younger, and he gave up on that idea.

Standing, Remus walked into his small kitchen, suddenly in need of tea. He was starting to become tense over this, and that was never a good thing. This was a knotty problem, but not unsolvable, surely. He was an intelligent man, he would figure this out.

He filled his favorite teapot with water, then pulled his wand and tapped it. Steam began to rise from the spout, and he gathered up a cup and his tea bell and sugar. As the tea steeped, he set about thinking once more. Perhaps it was something about the manner in which he had received them? Were the places significant?

Carrying his cup into the living room, he sat down once more, sipping thoughtfully. The Great Hall, his office, his classroom, his quarters. Three public places, one private. Anyone - and quite literally anyone - could have gotten into the first three, even though he had wards on his office. He knew from his own days at the school that anyplace could be gotten into, if one were talented and determined enough. Had not he, James, and Sirius at fifteen gotten into Dumbledore's own office, when they were making the Map? Even for gaining access to his quarters, there were ways... because if the person wasn't able to get inside on their own, they could always have had the assistance of one of the house elves, who no doubt would have found such a romantic gesture absolutely enchanting. Especially if they liked the person involved... and Remus knew that most of the Hogwart's elves did like him. So delivery wasn't a problem, if a person was smart and resourceful enough. But that didn't tell him much about his admirer other than that they possessed those qualities.

So the locations they had been left may or may not be significant. Perhaps it was just that the person found those locations convenient at the time.

There still had to be something about the quantity involved, Remus mused. The total was significant, he was certain.... perhaps the number of each set was, as well? After all, why not leave the whole amount at once, in his quarters, and let him figure it out from that?

Normally roses were given in bunches of a dozen or a half-dozen, but only one set of the ones he had received had been in one of those amounts. One, then six, then fifteen, and finally seven. What could those numbers signify?

One could signify anything. A meeting, an event, a year of time... A kiss? Something else, then?

The tea had grown cold in his cup while he thought, and Remus sat it aside, sighing. He rubbed his eyes tiredly with his hands, and forced his concentration away from the flowers. Obviously he was either over-thinking or under-thinking this whole business. No doubt spending too much time on what might turn out to be nothing but an elaborate hoax, or even something that he was misinterpreting. It was starting to get late, and he still had work to do. There were Seventh Year essays to grade, in preparation for NEWTs, and since he had at least one student who wished to be an Auror, he owed it to them to pull his mind off his personal problems and back to his job.

Standing, he crossed the room to his desk, sinking into the stiff-backed chair with a sigh. The parchments were stacked neatly before him, and he smiled ruefully. He remembered the work he had put into his own Seventh Year Defense treatise, a rather passionate argument against the classification of werewolves as Dark Creatures. That last year at school had really been the happiest of his life... the last of the seven happiest years.

Reaching towards the first scroll, Remus froze. Seven years. Seven roses...

Spinning around, he stared at the table, as if expecting the flowers to suddenly vanish, or perhaps explode like one of the Weasley twins gags. But they were still there, in all their crimson glory, insensitive to the intensity of his regard as he stared at them, hard.

Seven years at Hogwarts. Then fifteen... fifteen years he had been gone from this place, before returning to teach for the first time. Then six years later he had returned again... and he had been here for a year. So... it was his time at and away from Hogwarts which was significant? Then, perhaps, it meant his admirer had known him for that entire time?

Drawing a breath, Remus closed his eyes. There were three and only three people currently living whom he had known that long. Albus Dumbledore. Minerva McGonagall.

Severus Snape.

Albus and Minerva he dismissed immediately. They had both been like parents to him, and would harbor no thoughts of any romantic nature about him at all. Frankly the mere thought of it was disturbing, and yet... the alternative? Was that any more believable?

Red roses, fragrant, lush, beautiful. Each one a symbol of a year of his life, a year he had known Severus? But even if he were willing to accept that... Roses? From Severus, of all people? Even if Remus could get over the thought that Severus harbored a tendresse for him - much like his own, unrequited one for the Potions Master - could he believe Severus would do something as romantic as leaving flowers? For it was an intensely romantic gesture, for all its mystery and furtive sneakiness.

Sneaky. As though someone didn't want to expose themselves too much, or perhaps wished to leave enough doubt so that if he didn't respond favorably, pride could be salvaged.

Bloody. Unbelieving. Hell.

Remus wasn't even aware of having left his chair, much less his rooms, until he found himself in the dungeons, walking quickly towards the Potions Master's quarters. He had swept up all of the roses on his way out, cradling the mass of fragrant blooms in his arms as though having the evidence with him would make it harder for Severus to deny that he had been the one to leave them.

It was slightly awkward, balancing all of the flowers as he nearly ran down the stairs, but he managed to do it somehow without dropping a single blossom. Finally he stood before Severus' door, not allowing himself to think as he raised one hand carefully and rapped loudly, almost demandingly, on the solid dark wood.

The door was pulled open after a moment, and that was when doubt suddenly seized him. Remus swallowed, all at once apprehensive as he faced Severus, who stood framed in the doorway like a menacing black shadow. One dark brow raised in inquiry and the familiar sardonic sneer curved Severus' lips as he gazed at his visitor, eyes flicking dispassionately over the enormous number of flowers that he held.

"Lupin. It is late. What do you want?"

The silky voice was clipped, almost curt, and Remus all at once felt as though he had made a terrible misjudgment. Surely it was someone else... he had just let his hopes, his long-unfulfilled desires for the man before him lure him into wishful thinking, into twisting everything to force himself into believing Severus had sent them. Suddenly he felt foolish, idiotic, and uncertain, standing beneath the Potions Master's unwavering regard. It was all a terrible mistake, and he could have groaned in dismay at the folly he had lead himself into.

Roses were so not Severus Snape. Remus felt like an utter fool. He was a fool, a hopeless, romantic idiot, and the man before him was never going to let him forget this, not for as long as he lived.

The werewolf knew he was blushing with embarrassment, but he squared his shoulders and forced himself to meet the black eyes boring into him. "I... " he began weakly, before his mouth refused to speak any further, mostly due to the fact that the brain powering it seemed to have frozen solid.

Think, Remus! Certainly there is a good reason for you to be beating down his door at nearly midnight with every rose in the county! Frantically he tried to construct a lie, any lie, even a completely stupid one that would convince the Potions Master that he was totally mad. Any fabrication would do, no matter how weak and laughable... but under the intensity of Severus' gaze he found himself completely unable construct one.

Finally, defeated, his shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry to have disturbed you, Severus. I had a crazy thought that you were behind these roses that someone kept leaving me today. Funny, isn't it? I guess I'm tired and not thinking clearly. But I assure you it somehow made a sort of odd sense at the time and... I'm sorry for bothering you."

Remus started to turn away, face burning with mortification, completely unable to bear the thought of hearing Severus' mocking laughter or sarcastic tongue unleashed upon him. He would go back to his quarters, and tomorrow he could claim to have been drunk, or sleep walking, or maybe possessed. Yes, possessed would be adequate, and not too far from the truth. After he had dumped the wretched flowers into the nearest fire, of course.

But he found suddenly himself stopped, a strong hand gripping his shoulder and spinning him back around. Swallowing, Remus raised his eyes, facing the other man with trepidation. Here it comes. I might as well die, because I will certainly never be able live this down...

"It certainly took you long enough, Lupin," Severus drawled, both brows raised as he stared at the other man, eyes warmer than Remus had ever seen them before. "I see that my estimation of Gryffindor intelligence was overly generous. I will remember that in future, so as not to tax your limited capacity more than absolutely necessary."

"Excuse me?" Remus gasped, stunned. "You mean, you did? It was... you sent... You do?"

Sardonic amusement was written on the Potions Master's face as he pulled Remus into his quarters, shutting the door behind the stunned werewolf. Abruptly Remus was pushed backwards against the wood, and found himself staring up into Severus' eyes from a distance of only a few inches. The black depths burned with passion, and Remus drew in a breath at the sheer, overwhelming intensity of it. He felt as though he were in a dream, a wonderful dream of the man for whom he had longed for so many years was actually reciprocating his feelings. Vaguely he wondered when he was going to wake up, and find himself once again in his lonely bed.

Leaning down, Severus captured his lips in a deep, forceful kiss. The roses were crushed between them, unheeded, falling to the floor at their feet in a shower of petals as Remus lifted his arms, wrapping them around Severus' shoulders and urging their bodies even closer. He spared a moment to regret the damage to the poor, blameless flowers, and Severus pulled back, gazing down at him darkly.

"Do not try to think, Lupin... it obviously is not your major talent," the Head of Slytherin ordered sternly, before claiming the werewolf's lips once again.

Remus, losing himself in the kiss and in the wonderful realization of a long-unfulfilled dream, was only too happy to comply. Not long afterwards he was able to demonstrate precisely what his major talent was, much to Severus surprise and their mutual satisfaction.

In years to come Remus would never be able to smell the scent of roses without a pleasurable tingle of memory, one that would cause him to turn to Severus and pull him down for a passionate, reminiscent kiss. And when people commented on his lover's dour disposition, sharp tongue, and cold nature, the werewolf would only smile mysteriously, and point out cryptically that every rose has its thorns.

FINIS

Author's Notes: Written for the lupin_snape Romance challenge