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It had been a perfectly normal night, but Sirius woke and knew that summer was over. The sun climbing over the horizon was too far away to warm properly anymore; he breathed in air that was cold against his teeth and pulled the blanket up to his chin.
Autumn had begun, the season of promises. The promise of bonfires and roasting potatoes, of scuffing though the woods in a carpet of leaves, of lengthening nights and clear skies arced with brilliant stars. Of jaws aching from treacle toffee and legs aching from climbing the hills, of apples picked and eaten.
Sirius, born and raised in pure-blood Wizarding London, had known nothing of the promises of autumn before coming to Hogwarts. James and Peter had found his monumental ignorance a rich source of amusement. Amidst their exclamations of 'you never...?' and 'you don't know...?' he heard the low voice of the other boy in their dormitory, the quiet, pale boy.
Remus had looked sideways at Sirius through overlong brown hair and said, "I'll show you." He'd traced an X in the air over his heart and smiled at Sirius' blank stare. "That means I promise."
Sirius loved the season of promises.