Sugar

Sugar

The snow was powdered sugar, a frosting of saccharine nothingness sprinkled from the tourmaline heavens to the pale earth below. It lay faint upon the boughs of the trees of the Forbidden Forest, a gossamer shawl of the purest white. The gamekeeper had gone through the grounds that morning, sweeping snow from the walkways with a ratty old broomstick and piling it in droves beneath the dying hydrangea bushes. A thin layer of ice had accumulated along the edges of the lake, uneven and translucent.

It was the perfect day to enjoy a warm, steaming cup of Earl Grey, the boy mused as he traipsed across campus. That thin amber liquid always seemed to ignite a warmth in his breast that would be perfectly complemented by the crisp, scentless taste of the winter air. And with a teaspoon of crunchy cane sugar...he licked his lips absentmindedly. Accompanied by the richest of semi-sweet chocolates, of course. Honeydukes made the best--dark, ebony cacao symphonic with the deepest notes of raspberry and walnut. It was, in a word, sublime.

The boy rubbed his bluing hands together, trying vainly to generate through friction some semblance of heat. His nails were well-gnawed, but the skin of his palms was smooth silk of the freshest cream. He had forgotten his mittens at the castle, sitting on top of the latest installment of the Encyclopediae Chrestomanci. He regretted that, now.

He walked over the slope of a small hill and came upon a beaten path that led into a small copse of evergreen trees near the shore of the lake. His footsteps crunched in the thin layer of frost that coated the ground, rhythmic with the heavy breaths bursting from his lungs at irregular intervals. Already, the moon hung high in the sky--a few days waning. He blinked slowly, and looked away.

The snow lay thicker under the trees, having accumulated after a few weeks of flurries and the occasional storm. The boy had to stoop to avoid hitting the crest of his head on the lower branches.

At last he came into a clearing. Another boy, the same age, perhaps, sat upon a small boulder near the water's edge, tossing stones that skid upon the ice. He was of a darker hue, this one, with his tangled black curls and smoldering navy eyes. He was dressed in but a pair of tailored charcoal pants and a thin turtleneck that clung to his slender frame becomingly.

"There you are," the dark one spoke. "I've been waiting. Where were you, Moony?"

The other boy shrugged his thin shoulders elegantly. "Thinking," he said quietly. "I was just thinking."

The brunette smiled, and the motion seemed to light his entire face from within. "You're always doing that," he commented dryly. "It's a wonder you have time left for anything else."

"Chocolate," Moony said.

The other raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"I was thinking about chocolate, and tea," Moony continued in a careful tenor voice. It was fitting to his appearance. He was a delicate, fragile boy with wavy hair of no particular color and effeminate features. He was born to be a dreamer, they always said.

"Chocolate and tea, huh," said the boy. His expression was curious, and difficult to fathom.

Moony took a step closer. "I was thinking about you too, Pads."

The boy's expression did not change, but he stood nonetheless. He was a few inches shorter than Moony, but somehow seemed to be the more powerful of the two--or perhaps it was simply the way that the trees cast strange, flickering shadows across his face.

He covered the distance between them in a few short strides, and they joined beneath an old gnarled fir tree, lips seeking lips as fingers traveled along shivering spines and entwined themselves in snow-laden hair.

Moony smiled into the other boy's lips and closed his eyes as Padfoot flicked the tip of his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

"Love ya," Padfoot whispered when they broke apart.

Moony grinned and tousled his already untidy hair. "You'd better," he muttered wickedly.

"Or what?" Padfoot teased him with a sidelong glance from beneath those long sooty lashes. "Or else?"

Moony nibbled at his neck. "Or I'll tell everyone how you still sleep with a teddy at night."

Padfoot growled in an almost canine manner. "You wouldn't dare!"

Moony laughed at last, and the sound was like molten silver in the early morning sunlight. "Watch me, Pads!" He cried. "Watch me!"

They came together again, sinking low onto a bed of newly fallen snow. They fell side by side, giggling like two young children, to lie on their backs and gaze at the impenetrable sky. After a long while, the giggles subsided and they lay in mesmerized silence, enthralled by the seamless heavens and blinded by the snowflakes in their eyes.

Moony could feel the heat emanating from Padfoot's body next to his, a warm halo that surrounded him and comforted him more than any blanket ever could. It was a perfect moment, fit for epiphanies. Moony expected to experience some prophetic vision at any moment, but all he could think about was whether or not Padfoot enjoyed sugar with his tea.