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A Separate Peace, G
barefootboys, prompt 3
Sunrise is no more than an acquaintance to Remus. Sometimes he'll see it in the morning, sleepily smile at its orange and pink glory, and wish that he was asleep. Other people have described perfectly its grandeur and beauty, but if Remus needs to put it into words, he will say "pretty." Sometimes, he will say "cold."
Summer is no friend of his, either. The other three Marauders may revel in its freedom, in its uninhibited splendor, in heat and no school and the ability to go naked nearly everywhere, but Remus resents its lack of structure and its utter loneliness. He stays home and reads letters from James, Sirius, and Peter and wishes, with all his heart, that they are with him, shocking the neighbors with copious amounts of nudity and stealing the stash of chocolate from his bookcase.
Remus isn't sure what to think about sunset, either. A sunset symbolizes the end, and he is guilty of having rushed through the ends of books so that he will not have to feel them too fully. Still, there is a sense of peace that comes with the sunsets he is able to see (the ones which do not have a full moon tagging along after). And he likes that. He feels as if, even at the age of seventeen, he has been searching his whole life for peace.
He does like autumn. He does like the afternoon. He likes spending both with his homework underneath the beech tree by the lake. Sometimes Sirius bullies the house-elves into making a picnic basket filled to the brim with unhealthy sweets. Sometimes there are smooth, flat rocks at the bottom and Sirius grins and Remus puts away his Transfiguration essay for a little bit and they skip rocks together, the silhouette of James at Quidditch practice in the distance, the wind bringing to them the sounds of Peter flirting with Marianne the Hufflepuff.
And the feeling he has then, the mix of happiness and loveliness and quiet and smiles and love with a pinch of sadness just because, is more peaceful than anything he has ever felt before.
barefootboys, prompt 3
Sunrise is no more than an acquaintance to Remus. Sometimes he'll see it in the morning, sleepily smile at its orange and pink glory, and wish that he was asleep. Other people have described perfectly its grandeur and beauty, but if Remus needs to put it into words, he will say "pretty." Sometimes, he will say "cold."
Summer is no friend of his, either. The other three Marauders may revel in its freedom, in its uninhibited splendor, in heat and no school and the ability to go naked nearly everywhere, but Remus resents its lack of structure and its utter loneliness. He stays home and reads letters from James, Sirius, and Peter and wishes, with all his heart, that they are with him, shocking the neighbors with copious amounts of nudity and stealing the stash of chocolate from his bookcase.
Remus isn't sure what to think about sunset, either. A sunset symbolizes the end, and he is guilty of having rushed through the ends of books so that he will not have to feel them too fully. Still, there is a sense of peace that comes with the sunsets he is able to see (the ones which do not have a full moon tagging along after). And he likes that. He feels as if, even at the age of seventeen, he has been searching his whole life for peace.
He does like autumn. He does like the afternoon. He likes spending both with his homework underneath the beech tree by the lake. Sometimes Sirius bullies the house-elves into making a picnic basket filled to the brim with unhealthy sweets. Sometimes there are smooth, flat rocks at the bottom and Sirius grins and Remus puts away his Transfiguration essay for a little bit and they skip rocks together, the silhouette of James at Quidditch practice in the distance, the wind bringing to them the sounds of Peter flirting with Marianne the Hufflepuff.
And the feeling he has then, the mix of happiness and loveliness and quiet and smiles and love with a pinch of sadness just because, is more peaceful than anything he has ever felt before.