(no subject)
Part of me feels bad for not slaving for hours and polishing these prompt pieces … but the other part is so excited to do fun little pieces that I don’t feel that bad. =)
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He has always loved autumn (leaves going from green to red, oddly reminiscent of his first moments at Hogwarts, moving from the expected role he dreaded to the new one he grew to love - red and gold school tie where green and silver had been planned).
This year is different. Better, somehow, than it has ever been.
He doesn’t admit to anyone (not James or Peter, waiting nearby with their school trunks - and certainly not to himself) why it’s so different. He tries not to think about the stack of letters in the bottom of his trunk and the little sack of chocolates in his book bag. Their owls were busy this summer. He can’t explain why (well, he thinks maybe he can, but he’s not sure he’s ready).
But he is standing on Platform 9 ¾ feeling more Padfoot than Sirius - pacing, twitching, sniffing deeply of all the autumn-y smells around him, hands shoved into his pockets and eyes focused on the gold-and-crimson leaves of the trees.
Moony, Moony, Moony, Moony, Padfoot chants in the back of his mind.
Stop that. He’ll be here soon. Stop it, Sirius scolds halfheartedly.
“I see him!” calls Peter, jerking his head toward a small knot of students who’ve just come onto the platform. “He’s here!”
Sirius tries not to look up too quickly. Or too eagerly. Tries not to look like he’s all that excited. But at the sight of Remus’ familiar figure striding toward them (trunk in tow, clutching his wand and a bar of chocolate, oh, dark chocolate …), his heart gives a little lurch.
“Oi! Moony!” cries James, jumping up from his trunk, and he claps their friend vigorously on the back in just the sort of man-hug that Sirius does not want to give Remus.
Stop that.
But it’s Moony!
Be a man about it, will you?
But … Moony!
He catches the bright, furtive expression in Remus’ eyes as they greet each other in a somewhat awkward variant of James’ man-hug.
“Hullo, Moony,” he whispers against Remus’ ear, and when Remus’ face turns as red as the trees, he grins.
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He has always loved autumn (leaves going from green to red, oddly reminiscent of his first moments at Hogwarts, moving from the expected role he dreaded to the new one he grew to love - red and gold school tie where green and silver had been planned).
This year is different. Better, somehow, than it has ever been.
He doesn’t admit to anyone (not James or Peter, waiting nearby with their school trunks - and certainly not to himself) why it’s so different. He tries not to think about the stack of letters in the bottom of his trunk and the little sack of chocolates in his book bag. Their owls were busy this summer. He can’t explain why (well, he thinks maybe he can, but he’s not sure he’s ready).
But he is standing on Platform 9 ¾ feeling more Padfoot than Sirius - pacing, twitching, sniffing deeply of all the autumn-y smells around him, hands shoved into his pockets and eyes focused on the gold-and-crimson leaves of the trees.
Moony, Moony, Moony, Moony, Padfoot chants in the back of his mind.
Stop that. He’ll be here soon. Stop it, Sirius scolds halfheartedly.
“I see him!” calls Peter, jerking his head toward a small knot of students who’ve just come onto the platform. “He’s here!”
Sirius tries not to look up too quickly. Or too eagerly. Tries not to look like he’s all that excited. But at the sight of Remus’ familiar figure striding toward them (trunk in tow, clutching his wand and a bar of chocolate, oh, dark chocolate …), his heart gives a little lurch.
“Oi! Moony!” cries James, jumping up from his trunk, and he claps their friend vigorously on the back in just the sort of man-hug that Sirius does not want to give Remus.
Stop that.
But it’s Moony!
Be a man about it, will you?
But … Moony!
He catches the bright, furtive expression in Remus’ eyes as they greet each other in a somewhat awkward variant of James’ man-hug.
“Hullo, Moony,” he whispers against Remus’ ear, and when Remus’ face turns as red as the trees, he grins.
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