![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Christmas fic
So, Christmas fic. Wasn't written for anyone in particular or for any particular reason - just a way to spend an afternoon. An afternoon where the rest of the world has faded out of existence, I might add. Amazing how the build-up to Christmas is so companionable and exciting, and the day itself is grey and absolutely dead. I don't think a single living person has gone past the house all day.
Fic, yes. I didn't write M*A*S*H, as I didn't want to be depressing, and I didn't write Stargate, because that was my Christmas fic last year, and not Discworld, because then it would be Hogswatch fic, and not Good Omens either, because![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
louiselux has already written the definitive one.
Which leaves Harry Potter, and what resulted was five hundred words of pure fluff.
Sugar
by Raven
It was Christmas Eve in Camden, and it was snowing. Small, erratic flakes were falling from a leaden-grey sky, but turning to water the moment they touched the streets.
Which was why Remus Lupin was somewhat surprised to step into a kitchen frosted with white. The floor, the table-top, the work-surfaces, the cupboards were all carefully dusted with a layer of apparent sudden precipitation, and Remus blinked. He shut the door behind him, and a cloud of white powder settled on his face and hair. He sneezed.
Sirius turned at the sound. He was a sight to behold, wearing an apron with the words ‘I Never Got The Hang Of Thursdays’ emblazoned across it. His hair was almost grey with the white powder.
“What,” and Remus’s hands were on his hips, “the hell are you doing?”
“Cooking,” said Sirius airily, and offered up a large mixing bowl as proof of the pudding.
“Ah,” said Remus faintly, and sat down heavily into a chair. He did consider checking it first for the white whatever-it-was, but decided against it. There were certain things you didn’t stand a chance against. “What are you cooking?”
“Christmas cake,” replied Sirius matter-of-factly.
Remus ran a finger along the table-top, then licked his fingertip. “Tell me,” he said, “since when does making a Christmas cake involve several kilograms of icing sugar?”
“It’s for the icing.” Sirius contrived to say it as if addressing the mentally sub-normal.
“Ah. I was under the impression Christmas cakes were fruitcakes.”
Sirius paused in his culinary endeavours and held up a large wooden spoon. “I know not what sacrilege of which you speak!” he declaimed, waving it. “A Christmas cake involves sugar, my plebeian friend. It also involves fruit and honey and flour and such things as that, but above all, it needs sugar, imagination, and innovation. For the discerning wizard.”
Remus laughed. “You’re such a pouf.”
“A truly magnificent remark, my dear Moony. Positively pot-kettle-esque.”
“Don’t ask me. I’m not the one prancing round the kitchen waving a Freudian phallic symbol.”
Sirius lunged forwards and threw it at him. Remus caught it and delicately licked the sugar off the end of it. “Catch me if you can,” he said.
Sirius could and did, but not before the icing sugar had spread into yet more unexpected places.
“This is ridiculous,” said Remus after a while, and shifted slightly. The floor was hard to lie on.
“What is?”
“This.” He waved a lazy hand at the sugary kitchen, then crawled across to the discarded mixing bowl. “Did you put brandy in this?”
“Shouldn’t I have done?”
Remus licked his fingers. “No, no, it’s fine.”
And it was; only the cake never got made.
Outside, it was snowing. Small erratic flakes were falling from a leaden-grey sky, and sticking, and by morning, the whole world would be white.
finis
Fic, yes. I didn't write M*A*S*H, as I didn't want to be depressing, and I didn't write Stargate, because that was my Christmas fic last year, and not Discworld, because then it would be Hogswatch fic, and not Good Omens either, because
louiselux has already written the definitive one.Which leaves Harry Potter, and what resulted was five hundred words of pure fluff.
Sugar
by Raven
It was Christmas Eve in Camden, and it was snowing. Small, erratic flakes were falling from a leaden-grey sky, but turning to water the moment they touched the streets.
Which was why Remus Lupin was somewhat surprised to step into a kitchen frosted with white. The floor, the table-top, the work-surfaces, the cupboards were all carefully dusted with a layer of apparent sudden precipitation, and Remus blinked. He shut the door behind him, and a cloud of white powder settled on his face and hair. He sneezed.
Sirius turned at the sound. He was a sight to behold, wearing an apron with the words ‘I Never Got The Hang Of Thursdays’ emblazoned across it. His hair was almost grey with the white powder.
“What,” and Remus’s hands were on his hips, “the hell are you doing?”
“Cooking,” said Sirius airily, and offered up a large mixing bowl as proof of the pudding.
“Ah,” said Remus faintly, and sat down heavily into a chair. He did consider checking it first for the white whatever-it-was, but decided against it. There were certain things you didn’t stand a chance against. “What are you cooking?”
“Christmas cake,” replied Sirius matter-of-factly.
Remus ran a finger along the table-top, then licked his fingertip. “Tell me,” he said, “since when does making a Christmas cake involve several kilograms of icing sugar?”
“It’s for the icing.” Sirius contrived to say it as if addressing the mentally sub-normal.
“Ah. I was under the impression Christmas cakes were fruitcakes.”
Sirius paused in his culinary endeavours and held up a large wooden spoon. “I know not what sacrilege of which you speak!” he declaimed, waving it. “A Christmas cake involves sugar, my plebeian friend. It also involves fruit and honey and flour and such things as that, but above all, it needs sugar, imagination, and innovation. For the discerning wizard.”
Remus laughed. “You’re such a pouf.”
“A truly magnificent remark, my dear Moony. Positively pot-kettle-esque.”
“Don’t ask me. I’m not the one prancing round the kitchen waving a Freudian phallic symbol.”
Sirius lunged forwards and threw it at him. Remus caught it and delicately licked the sugar off the end of it. “Catch me if you can,” he said.
Sirius could and did, but not before the icing sugar had spread into yet more unexpected places.
“This is ridiculous,” said Remus after a while, and shifted slightly. The floor was hard to lie on.
“What is?”
“This.” He waved a lazy hand at the sugary kitchen, then crawled across to the discarded mixing bowl. “Did you put brandy in this?”
“Shouldn’t I have done?”
Remus licked his fingers. “No, no, it’s fine.”
And it was; only the cake never got made.
Outside, it was snowing. Small erratic flakes were falling from a leaden-grey sky, and sticking, and by morning, the whole world would be white.
finis
no subject
That was very sweet- perfect for this kind of afternoon.
no subject
no subject
no subject
I'm glad you liked my fic!
no subject