For Assignment 12, Gardening task 7: Write about someone taking a pottery class.

For Liza. Happy birthday, babe.

Word Count: 1033

Sirius wrinkles his nose. It isn't like he's never smelled the earthy scent of clay before, but it smells almost unnatural in the studio; subtle hints of various chemicals mix with the scent. "I'm not going to ruin my jacket, am I?" he asks, nervously brushing his fingers over the sleeves of his beloved leather jacket.

Snorting, James rolls his hazel eyes. "You know you can take your jacket off, right?" he asks.

Sirius shakes his head, looking thoroughly offended at the suggestion. "Over my dead body," he says simply as they find a spot near the front of the studio. He considers for a moment and shrugs. "Or maybe if they ever find something more stylish."

Rather than responding, his best friend takes a seat at an empty pottery wheel in front of the room. When James adjusts his glasses and looks forward attentively, Sirius almost laughs. He can't remember ever seeing James so eager to learn.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm glad to get out of the house," Sirius says, sitting at the neighboring wheel. "Mother has been on her usual racist rampage." He shudders for dramatic emphasis, his lip curling into a disgusted scowl. "But why a pottery class? Is the last name? You know the class isn't actually about you, right?"

James laughs and leans back in his chair, pushing a hand through his dark, unruly hair. "Lily wants to take up pottery as a hobby," he explains.

"But she took up Potter-y when she started dating you." Sirius beams, far too pleased with his own joke.

Aside from a quick, amused twitch of lips, James doesn't acknowledge Sirius' interruption. He carries on as though Sirius hadn't spoken at all. "So, I figure if I learn about it before she does, I can have an advantage and impress her with my skills."

"Sounds like a crackpot idea."

Before James can respond—and he obviously would since Sirius' jokes are too perfect to resist—the studio door opens once again, and a young man with light brown hair and amber eyes makes his way to the front of the room. Sirius raises his brows, studying the man appreciatively. If he had known the instructor would be this attractive, he would have taken up pottery a long time ago.

"Sorry I'm late," the instructor says, taking off his mustard yellow cardigan and draping it over his chair before turning to the class, offering them a smile. "I'm Remus, and I'll be teaching you beginner pottery."

James nudges Sirius and whispers, "You're drooling."

"That's the proper response when you see something so delicious," Sirius murmurs back, unable to take his eyes off Remus.

"Now, does anyone have any experience with pottery?" Remus asks.

"My friend does," Sirius says, pointing at James. "I guess you could say he was born a natural Potter."

"Christ," James laughs, shaking his head. "Can you be serious?"

"I'm always Sirius."

Remus stares at the two of them, his mouth opening and closing a few times like he can't quite find the right response to that. "Right. Um…"

"Don't mind him," James says bluntly. "My friend fancies you a bit. Now, can we get onto the lesson?"

Sirius looks at his friend, completely incredulous. Then again, he isn't exactly surprised. He had done something similar to James with Lily, and it had worked at well for him. Still, he can't believe it had happened.

"Um…" Remus fans himself, his cheeks turning a dusty pink as he adjusts the collar of his shirt. "Right. Um… Pottery."

Remus carries on with the lesson, instructing them on how to throw clay on the wheel and shape it. His attention seems to return again and again to Sirius throughout, as though he can't keep his eyes off of him.

"You're quite good at that," Remus notes, lingering beside Sirius' wheel.

Sirius thinks he's being kind. While it has come a long way from the boring blob of grey clay, and it has started to resemble a bowl, it's still awful. The walls are lopsided and uneven, and one part of it looks dangerously close to collapsing inward. It doesn't matter, though; Remus is talking to him, and it gives him the perfect opportunity.

"Thanks," he says, offering Remus a dazzling smile. "I've been told I can do amazing things with my hands."

The way Remus blushes is too perfect. Sirius feels his heart flutter excitedly within his chest.

"Do you ever do private lessons?" he continues. "I would love to play the Demi Moore to your Patrick Swayze."

"I think that might be doable," Remus says softly before moving on to James' wheel. "It seems you live up to your name, Mister Potter. That's perfect."

As Remus makes his way around the studio, offering words of encouragement to each eager potter in training, Sirius works with his clay as Remus had shown them. It's messy, and the rim of the bowl continues to become an dented disaster, but he carries on. This isn't something he would have ever thought to try on his own, and he's glad he allowed James to drag him along. Not only is pottery proving to be strangely relaxing, but he has eye candy too.

"You know what?" Sirius says as Remus returns to the front lot the class and demonstrates how to remove the pot with wire. "I wheel-y enjoyed myself tonight."

James groans, holding his wire taut and carefully pulling it through the base of his pot.

"I'm sorry. I'm a kiln-ing you with these puns?" Sirius laughs, mimicking his friend's actions and slicing through the clay with as much care as possible.

There's a soft laugh beside him, and he jumps. He hasn't even noticed Remus approach.

"Nice pun," Remus praises, a small smile playing at his lips.

"Thanks. You should give me your number, so I can dazzle you with more of them," Sirius suggests.

Remus is silent for a moment, considering. After several seconds, he pulls a pen from his pocket and takes Sirius' hand before scribbling his number on Sirius' palm. "There. Dazzle me."

"I will. One more thing, though."

"Yeah?"

Sirius grins. "What are the chances I'll get clayed if I call you?"