#sugarplums

💜Crushed Sugar Plums💜

Sugarplums

1 1/2 cups of sugar

6 egg whites

1 table spoon vanilla

1 teas cream of Tarter

Beat the egg whites till stiff peaks are formed. Slowly add sugar mixed with cream of tarter. Then add vanilla. Beat till sugar is dissolved and whites are shining.

Set the oven to 200 and line cookie sheets with foil. Bake 2 hours, and once they are done, let them cool on sheets before removing them.

:O

Love, it’s like you don’t even know me??? Ignore the angst?? Ignore the classism differences and the way it makes them unravel?? Absolutely not!!

.-

It’s an odd sensation, standing here in the abandoned common room with the live orchestra’s music swelling through the walls and the tie around Sirius’s neck feeling like it’s a noose squeezing tighter with every minute that ticks past.

And he knows he should be out there, should be charming his pretty, blonde date. He should be laughing with James and he should be playing coy with the other girls that flirt with him, and should be standing as the incandescent heir of the oldest family in English aristocracy— the son of a duke and countess. He should be doing everything that’s been ingrained into him since his childhood painted with ballroom dance lessons and etiquette mastery and a governess that taught him the perfect articulation for the most important romance languages.

What Sirius shouldn’t be doing is standing with a slack jaw, and pinched brows as he stares longingly at the sight of him— Lupin, Remus John Lupin. Remus who is nothing but a charity shop kid, who’s the accident of a broken condom between a French orphan and his gorgeous, Algerian girlfriend who can only string along three words in English. Remus who’s attending Hogwarts on scholarship and the grace of their headmaster. Remus who is beautiful but an absolute nobody in the ocean of gentry that’s all coy grins and pleasantries pasted with a thousand layers of condescension. Remus isn’t like that— Remus is open and good and he’s happy. He’s fucking happy damn it! Something the other prats who dress themselves up with the title of patrician can never affect with any credence.

Remus was happy at least, but as Sirius gawps over at the image of him licked by the dying embers, Sirius wonders if that’s still true— wonders if it’s his doing, his idiotic obsession and intoxication by him that’s lead them to right here, right now— Remus unable to meet Siris’s gaze, and Sirius feeling like he’s drowning in the arctic because of it.

“You should get going, Emmy’s going to figure out that you’re not just out for a smoke,” Remus tells him— wry as all get out as he crunches forwards to come closer to the fire; his curly fringe falling into his eyes and his long, slender hands clasped into a knot in front of him. And if Sirius ever had any sense, he would kneel like a worshiping wanderer and beg for his forgiveness. If Sirius ever had even an ounce of Remus’s courage about him he’d kiss off the wine from Remus’s lips and he’d implore him for forgiveness like he’s asking for respite by someone heavenly.

But his top marks besides, Sirius has always been such a daft idiot.

“I’ll just stay around for a couple more dances, yeah?” Is the first thing he tells Remus since clambering inside in search of him nearly half an hour ago— In all honesty, it had been spurred on by more than a little jealousy considering that he had thought Dearborn was following Remus here, and even if Sirius has got a date to this stupid, bloody formal, and even if he still can’t muster up the courage to hold Remus close enough to kiss in the public eye, he can’t bare that. Can’t bare Remus with someone else, especially not that toffer Caradoc. And it’s selfish and it’s ugly and Sirius hates himself for it, but he wants every part of Remus, even if Sirius doesn’t think he can ever give himself wholly in that same way.

“Pff,” Remus stands up now, face spasming between something looking like amused and utterly broken. “What? You want me to suck your cock after you drop off little Miss Britain?”

Sirius winces at the way Remus’s voice goes ragged right then, not accustomed to him ever sounding so gruff. “Don’t— It’s not like that. You know that. I’m not even attracted to girls in that way.”

“Hah, right.” Remus steps closer now, slow and measured, until he’s a pinky’s breath away. “You just want to make everyone else think that you are, yeah? And to hell with me in the process. To hell with me being forced back in the closet.”

“Remus, stop.”

“No, Sirius! No I won’t fucking stop! Jesus fucking Christ! I’ve been stopping myself for months now! Ever since you snogged me in the bloody library! And I can’t do it anymore!” Remus’s ordinarily soft rasp is something lashing and abrupt and booming now, and Sirius feels helpless, feels like he can’t do anything to stop it. “I’m not some fucking pathetic tosser waiting for the striker of the footie team to come and tell me I’m pretty, or the only one, or any other bull shit you think will help. I’ve been out since I was thirteen! Do you understand how much shite I went through in my old school! The fact that the Arab kid was also a poof! Do you know what I had to deal with! How coming here was like a god send because I met Lily, because I had Dorcas who’s been with Marlene for years. Because I actually had James’s and Peter’s support—“ He chokes on something Sirius can’t comprehend right then, but he stays quiet, stays watching. “Because I thought I had a real friend in you, even before all of this. Before everything— I thought we were friends.”

“Sod off you arse!” Sirius hurls at him before he even realizes his lips are forming the words. “We have always been friends, before anything, you’re my best fucking friend!”

Remus shakes his head, so sad and emptied looking. “No, no Sirius you’re not. A friend wouldn’t treat me like this… A friend couldn’t put me through the gymnastics that you’ve done.”

“Remus—“