Lightning and Rain

The Astronomy Tower always felt like the edge of the world, even on good nights. Tonight it just felt like the end. Rain hammered the arched windows, wind screaming through gaps in the stone, thunder rolling low and lazy like the sky couldn't be bothered to shout anymore.

James Potter didn't care. He had Regulus Black pressed against the cold stone balustrade, one hand tangled in the dark hair at the base of his skull, the other flat on his hip. Regulus kissed him back like he was starving—fingers digging into James's shoulders like he might vanish if he let go. Desperate. Almost angry.

Wrong. They both knew it. A dozen ways wrong—the war, the blood status, the family loyalty, the fact that Regulus was Sirius's brother. But the wrongness was the point, the forbidden edge that made every stolen moment taste like lightning.

"You're shivering," James murmured against his mouth.

"I'm not cold."

James pulled back just enough to look. One guttering candle threw shadows across Regulus's sharp face, turning his grey eyes almost black. His lips were pink and swollen, a flush on his pale cheeks that had nothing to do with the chill.

"Liar," James said softly, and kissed him again.

Regulus made a sound—small, broken, swallowed by the rain. He leaned into James, let himself be held, and for a moment there was nothing but the storm and warmth and two hearts beating too fast, knowing better.

Then the door slammed open.

Sirius Black stood there, soaked through, wand raised. His face was pure, unbridled fury, a wordless spell flickering blue-white at the tip.

"Let him go, Potter."

James's blood went cold. He didn't let go of Regulus—couldn't, really, because Regulus had gone rigid, his hands gripping James's robes like a lifeline.

"Sirius," James started, voice steady even as his stomach dropped. "It's not what you think."

"Don't." Sirius's voice cracked. "Don't you dare lie to me. I've been looking for you for an hour. You missed Quidditch practice. You missed dinner. You said you were going to the library." He stepped closer, rain dripping from his hair down his face. "The library, James. And I find you here. With him."

Regulus moved, stepping out from behind James. He held himself stiff, chin lifted, grey eyes cold. "Brother."

"Don't call me that." Sirius's voice was a snarl. "You're no brother of mine. You're a Death Eater. You're nothing."

Regulus flinched—barely, but James saw it. He stepped between them, hands up. "Sirius, just listen. Please."

"Listen to what? That you've been sneaking around with my brother? That you've been—Merlin, James, I don't even want to think about what you've been doing. How long? How long has this been going on?"

The question hung there, heavy as the storm. James opened his mouth. Nothing came out. He couldn't lie to Sirius. Never could.

"Since last term," Regulus said quietly. "After the Christmas ball."

Sirius looked like he'd been hit. His wand hand dropped, and for a moment he just stared at them, dark eyes wide with a hurt sharper than any spell.

"Since last term." His voice was hollow. "And you never said a word. Never told me."

"I couldn't." James's own voice was rough. "You know why. You've made it very clear what you think of your family. Of him."

"Because he's a Death Eater, James!" Sirius roared, the sound bouncing off stone. "He joined them! He chose them over me! Over Mum, over everything! And you—you, my best friend—you chose him."

"It's not like that."

"Then what is it like?" Sirius was trembling, fists clenched. "What could possibly make you do this? Is it a game? A thrill? Do you get off on the danger?"

"Stop it," Regulus said sharply.

Sirius rounded on him. "You stay out of this. You've done enough. You've ruined everything."

"I didn't ruin anything." Regulus's voice was cold, clipped. "I'm not the one who walked away and never looked back. I'm not the one who threw away everything for a house and a group of friends who don't even know what real loyalty means."

"Loyalty?" Sirius laughed—bitter, ugly. "You don't know the meaning of the word. You bow to a madman because Mother told you to. You wear that mark on your arm and call it loyalty. It's cowardice."

Regulus's face went white. His hand moved instinctively to his left forearm, where the Dark Mark lay hidden under his sleeve. James reached for him, but Regulus pulled away, eyes blazing with a pain older and deeper than this night.

"You don't know anything," Regulus said, barely a whisper. "You never did."

The door creaked open again. Remus Lupin slipped inside, robes damp, expression carefully neutral. He looked around—at the three figures frozen in their tableau—and let out a slow breath.

"I thought I might find you here," he said quietly.

"Remus." Sirius's voice cracked. "He was with him. James was with him."

Remus's amber eyes flicked to James, then to Regulus. Something like understanding crossed his face. He didn't look shocked. Didn't look angry. Just tired.

"I know."

Sirius stared. "You knew?"

"I suspected," Remus admitted. "For a few weeks now. James has been... distracted. Happy, in a way that didn't quite make sense. I saw them once, leaving the greenhouse." He shrugged, apologetic. "I didn't want to believe it."

"And you didn't tell me?" Sirius's voice rose again, trembling with betrayal.

"What would you have done if I had?" Remus asked gently. "Come here, just like you did. And you would have said all the things you're saying now. And it wouldn't have changed anything."

Sirius opened his mouth to argue, but Remus moved toward him, placing a steady hand on his arm. "Let's take a walk," he said softly. "Just you and me. Clear your head."

"I don't want to clear my head. I want—"

"I know what you want." Remus's voice was firm but kind. "But you're not going to get it tonight. You're hurt, and you have every right to be. But this isn't going to end well if you stay here. Trust me."

Sirius looked at him, chest heaving, eyes bright with unshed tears. He looked at James, and the pain in that gaze was a physical thing. Then he looked at Regulus, and his face crumpled.

"Why?" he whispered. "Why him?"

Regulus didn't answer. Couldn't. The answer was too complicated, too tangled in years of rivalry and resentment and the desperate ache of wanting to be seen.

Remus tugged gently on Sirius's arm. "Come on. Let's go."

For a long moment, Sirius didn't move. Then, slowly, he let Remus steer him toward the door. He paused at the threshold, looking back.

"This isn't over, James."

"I know," James said quietly.

Remus met James's eyes—a promise in them, to handle this, to bring Sirius back from the edge. Then he closed the door, and the tower was silent again save for the rain.

James let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He turned to Regulus, who stood stiff and pale, arms wrapped around himself like he could hold the pieces together.

"Regulus."

"Don't." Regulus's voice was barely audible. "Just... don't."

James reached for him anyway. Regulus flinched, but didn't pull away. James's hand found his—cold, trembling—and held on.

"We'll figure this out," James said. "I promise."

Regulus laughed—hollow, broken. "There's nothing to figure out. You heard him. I'm a Death Eater. I'm nothing."

"You're not nothing," James said fiercely. "You're mine."

Regulus looked up at him, and for a moment the mask cracked. Underneath was a boy as lost and lonely as James had ever seen. A boy who chose the wrong side because it was the only side that had ever offered him a place.

"Is that enough?" Regulus asked.

James didn't know. He pulled Regulus into his arms, held him close against the storm, and said nothing at all.

Outside, the rain kept falling. The dark mood settled over them like a shroud. But somewhere far below, the first faint light of dawn was beginning to break through the clouds.