FicWad

I've never been able to understand why everyone seems to like summer so very much. It is, in my opinion, the very worst time of the year.

Yes, that's right. I hate summer. Hate it hate it hate it. With a fiery vengeance.

This summer, however, is the worst one I've experienced so far in my eighteen years of life.

I swear, I will never agree to live in the same house as anyone ever again, let alone three people with the tendency to turn into furry creatures at any given moment.

It would be.../mildly/ better had we decided on the apartment instead of the small house with large surrounding forest. James pointed out that it would be far easier to have our own forest for the full moons as opposed to having to trek out and find one every month.

I reluctantly admit that he had a point; it is easier. But still, were we living somewhere smaller, he would probably be able to control his urges to trot around the house as a stag.

Peter even caught him trying to raid the fridge in his Animagus form. None of us were impressed, and Sirius even threatened to tell Lily.

Although, that would have involved telling Lily about Prongs in the first place, so he never carried through. It did, however, prevent James from going near the kitchen at all unless he was human.

Though deer shed terribly, and though rats somehow manage to get their fur everywhere (though that may just be Peter's tendency to climb all over the furniture), Padfoot is by far the worst offender.

It probably wouldn't be so awful if I could bring myself to ban him from snoozing on the end of my bed. He's rather good at looking innocently pathetic, even more so as a dog. And so, the bastard gets his way and my bed gets a frosting of black fur.

Not to mention that had we chosen the apartment, I wouldn't be surrounded by grass and flowers all bloody day long. Every minute I regret our collective choice to wait until August to search for jobs. Some time away from the house would be nice.

That was the brainchild of Sirius. He proclaimed (rather loudly after half a bottle of vodka) that the end of Hogwarts meant the end of our freedom, our innocence. James pointed out that none of us were innocent in any sense of the word. Sirius suggested we take one last summer for ourselves. James agreed. I shrugged, deciding to go along with it (why yes, the other half of that bottle of vodka was imbibed by me). Peter nodded, gave one cheer for freedom, and passed out.

The next morning, once we'd gotten past the swearing off alcohol for life stage of our hangovers, we quietly and solemnly swore to spend this summer together, goofing off and mooching off James's large amounts of money.

So we went house hunting. Eventually, we ended up with this quite nice place not far from Hogsmeade, moved all our things in, bought furniture, fought over rooms, and swore another solemn vow to never let James or Sirius cook.

Thankfully, Peter and I have some of the culinary talent our darker haired housemates lack, so we haven't starved.

This leads us to where we are today. Peter is preparing sandwiches for lunch, while the rest of us watch. James is polishing his wand, with his cleaning cloths all over the table. Sirius is outside, where he had been trimming his broom's twigs. Currently, he's swearing. Loudly. From what we can tell, he accidentally trimmed his finger as well. Oops.

And me? I'm sitting here, in this house surrounded by grass and flowers and trees, having squirted eye drops into my eyes (and leaving the bottle on the table with James's cloths), sniffling pathetically, glowering at the box of tissues next to the eye drops, eating raspberries and ignoring the fact that they're making my throat itchy.

I look down into the punnet of berries sitting before me and blink. "Prongs?" I say somewhat thickly, sniffing.

He looks up from his wand with a sympathetic smile for my plight. "Yeah Moony?"

Gesturing to the raspberries, I ask him the question that has been plaguing my mind. "How on earth did you, Wormtail and Padfoot manage to moult into the raspberries?"

He peers into the punnet and blinks slowly in his surprise. "You know what Moony? I haven't the slightest idea."

Peter turns with a large plate of sandwiches in his hands and places it on the table. He looks at me and winces. "Ow. Moony, your eyes look even worse than they did yesterday."

I sigh. "I know. They're red, and puffy, and itchy, and sore. I'm not happy."

"Really?" Sirius asks in mock surprise as he comes in the door. "And here I thought you were miserably thrilled."

"That makes absolutely no sense, Paddy," James sighs. "Remy, why do you let him sleep on your bed when your eyes end up like that?"

I laugh, definitely amused. "He's not always a dog, Jimmy," I remind him gently. "You do know what two people in a relationship /do/, don't you?"

He smacks me around the head. "Of course I do you git. I'm talking about during the day when he decides to take a nap somewhere as Padfoot. He sheds all over your bed, and you get stuck with puffy sore eyes."

"Good point," I say with a frown. "Sirius, I forbid you from sleeping on or in my bed - in fact, in my room at all - unless you are human at the time. All right?"

He nods sheepishly as he joins us at the table. "I'm sorry, Remus. I didn't mean to make your eyes all red."

"It's all right, I'll recover. Just remember to stop lounging around as a dog and we'll be even. Otherwise..."

"Otherwise?" asks my worried sounding love.

I smirk. "Otherwise, dear Siri, no sex for a month and you'll be sleeping outside."

He winces. "Not the dog house!" he exclaims theatrically. "Anything but that, Moony!"

"/Anything/?" Peter asks with an innocent smile. "I'd be careful what you profess, Padfoot old boy."

"Wormtail has a point," James adds. "Who knows what the devious mind of our Moony could cook up for you?"

I grin deviously. "So true, Jim and Pete, so true. But Sirius torture aside, James, weren't you saying something about a date?"

All eyes turn to him expectantly, and to the shock of us all, our normally unflappable Prongs blushes and ducks his head.

Peter's eyes go wide. "All right, we demand an explanation!"

"Well," James begins. "I ran into Lily yesterday."

"Lily /Evans/?" Sirius demands in shock.

James nods. "Yes. It was when I was buying Moony his eye drops. She was buying the same thing; she gets hay fever as well. So we ended up talking, and then we had coffee, and then, well...I asked her out. And she said yes. So we're having dinner on Friday night."

We're gaping at him. Understandable, I think. James has been practically in love with Lily for years, and during our last year when they were Head Boy and Girl they managed to call first a truce and then a friendship.

But seriously, this is something to alert the press over! Lily Evans agreeing to have dinner with James Potter? Unheard of.

Peter obviously feels the same. "Holy shit," he breathes, before taking a bite out of his sandwich.

"That sums that up nicely," Sirius agrees.

"Lily gets hay fever?"

James blinks at me, then nods. "Yeah. Her eyes looked worse than yours, even."

"Poor girl," I murmur. "Just don't let Paddy shed on your clothes before you leave on Friday and you should be fine."

He looks a little nervous, but smiles.

"Oh, and James?"

"Yeah?"

"Whatever you do, don't give her any flowers."

He grins. "Thank for the advice, Moony."

"Anytime."

That same afternoon, I walk into my bedroom and am entirely not surprised to find Sirius draped over the end of my bed, fast asleep.

Thankfully, he's human this time.

I smile and stretch out beside him. Nothing wrong with an afternoon nap, and for once I know that when I wake up, my eyes won't be unbearably itchy.

Okay, so summer isn't always bad. But I definitely prefer the cooler months.