Lily reads some book on potions and Remus doesn’t really think she listens to his muttering about the upcoming summer.
“Yeah, I’m excited too,” she nods without looking up. “Love summer, my favorite of all the year. What about you?”
Remus doesn’t like the word favorite. It’s like he is thrown back in childhood when annoying relatives smiled mysteriously and asked him who he loves more: mummy or daddy?
Remus loves autumn because this is when his mum took him on long walks and let him play with leaves, this is when he met Sirius, James and Peter, this is when he feels the most comfortable and relaxed in large sweaters, surrounded by books and hot tea.
He loves winter because winter is snow and Christmas, winter is Sirius hiding his nose in a Gryffindor scarf, it is James starting snow fights middle sentence and muggle fireworks Peter brings after holidays. Winter gives joy and the feeling like you belong.
Remus loves spring because spring means freshness. Spring is about tiny blooming flowers, cold air and warm sun. Spring is when Sirius kissed him for the first time. Remus loves spring because he can spend hours outside then, reading while Sirius and Peter argue over the best cheese and James makes flower crowns staring at Lily.
Remus loves summer because summer is about freedom and home, summer means getting to see his parents and eat his mother’s pies. Summer is visiting Potters and sleeping outside on a small blanket with Sirius, James and Peter. Remus loves summer because this is when he can do anything and nothing.
Remus bites his bottom lip and opens his mouth to reply, but Lily’s nose is in her book again. She mumbles some words quietly as she reads, and the world doesn’t seem to exist for her. Remus smiles and stands up to go outside and find his friends. He doesn’t want to miss another cheese discourse.
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In reality the thing was quite ghastly, bright contrasting colours that shouldn’t probably have ever been put together, but there was something endearing about it. Perhaps the fact that Molly Weasley, the sweetest and toughest woman you knew, had taken the time to knit you your own jumper and put thought into the colours and the sizing. Sure there were holes and slipped stitches, but that didn’t matter. Because it was yours and it was from Mrs Weasley.