Miss Moony would like to say that she doesn't own Harry Potter and that she had no help with this story from Miss Wormtail, Miss Padfoot or Miss Prongs.
Slash warnings, of the Wolfstar variety. Denial's just a river in Egypt, and HBP never happened.
------- I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good -------
Tutoring
In his fourth year, when the material began to get more difficult, Sirius barely managed to scrape a pass in Ancient Runes, and when fifth year rolled around, the professor was most anxious for the young Black heir to improve. The best way to do that? Tutoring. From the class swot, Remus Lupin.
Sirius had only chosen the course because his parents looked down their noses at it, and partly (though he'd never admit it aloud) because Remus had been going on for months in second year about how wonderful it sounded. Since fourth year, since Sirius had first started to look at other boys like that, all the subject had been was a time for Remus-watching, when there was no James or Peter to get on his case about it, and when Remus himself was so engrossed in the lesson that he didn't notice.
And so, in tutoring, whenever Remus opened his mouth, Sirius sat up straight and listened hard to the pleasant roll of Remus' tongue on each word, and eventually one word merged into the next, and then the next, and so on and so on, until all that Sirius could hear was a long stream of lovely-sounding but unintelligible noises.
And in fifth year, when the time for OWLs came around, Sirius failed more miserably than ever, and it was with great regret that he was made to drop the course (and the tutoring).