The sky above Watford was low and gray all day on Thursday, but Simon only saw it in brief glimpses out Miss Possibelf's classroom windows and didn't think much of it. At football practice in the afternoon, the rising wind was actually rather refreshing. Simon did notice that his horrible roommate, Basil, kept peering up at the darkening clouds, and that his face seemed a little paler than usual, the brisk wind blowing his black hair across his big, grey eyes… but it didn't stop him from stealing the ball from Simon again and then scoring yet another goal, so Simon didn't think much of that either.

The wind was blowing even more fiercely outside the dorm room as they got ready for bed that evening. Well, as Simon got ready—Basil was in his green-striped pajamas, but still on his computer, frowning at the monitor.

"Crowley, Basil, it's time for bed," Simon finally said, through a mouthful of toothpaste. "Just give it a rest, won't you?" The other boy had been obsessively checking the online weather reports all day, every time Simon had seen him near a screen, and enough was enough.

Basil snorted and finally closed his laptop, but instead of getting into bed, he started fussing with the window.

"Baz—"

"Don't call me that," he said over his shoulder.

"You told me to call you that," Simon said snidely. "Remember? Two months ago?"

"Yeah, and you refused, you git. So maybe I changed my mind."

Simon ignored this as he crawled into his bed. "What are you even doing?"

Basil seemed to be poking at the weather stripping along the edge of the windows. "It might storm tonight," he said.

"So?" That sounded great—Simon loved thunderstorms, and there hadn't been a real storm here since the start of the year. My first storm as a magician, Simon thought. The word still made him shiver a little.

"So I'm just... preparing." Finally reluctantly satisfied with the seal around the windows, or so it seemed, he pulled the curtains shut and crouched down to the outlets on the floor.

"Now what are you doing?" Simon had never seen his roommate behave this way.

"If there's lightning, you should really unplug your computer, Snow."

"You're ridiculous. The fortress is made of stone," Simon said, then added, "Baz."

"You never know," Basil said vaguely, from under his desk.

"Well, I'm not getting up." Simon punched at his pillow and tried to settle. "The weather's the weather, it's not like you can change it." Probably, he thought. He almost asked about weather-related spells, but then decided he didn't fancy looking stupid. And anyway, no doubt weather spells would be too advanced for first years.

"I know that," muttered Basil, as he finally shut off the light and climbed into his bed, shifting around and rustling on his mattress even more than usual.

Simon pulled his blankets up around his ears to dull the sound, and fell asleep.

Simon heard the rush of rain against the window, dimly, even before he properly woke up. He couldn't see a clock, but the room was very dark, and it felt like the middle of the night.

And it was definitely storming outside.

He didn't really want to wake his roommate, who would doubtless just whinge about it, but there was no way Simon was going to miss this. He slid out of bed and crept to the window, making an attempt to be quiet as he pushed open the curtains and peered out.

Rain was sheeting down outside, but it seemed the wind was mostly blowing away from them because it wasn't streaming down the windowpanes. Given that, Simon couldn't resist unlatching and pushing them open, he just couldn't. He leaned, the windowsill digging into his stomach, and reached his hands out far enough to feel the cold drops on his palms.

Their window looked out over the Great Lawn, on the southwest side of Watford, over to the Veiled Forest. Simon carefully refrained from looking down, where the deep water of the moat churned several stories below. Instead, he watched the wind thrash in the branches of the trees of the Forest, oak and birch and chestnut. Any of the autumn leaves still hanging on would be gone after this, he thought. He fancied he could hear the creaking of the wood above the rain and moan of wind, though really he couldn't.

Then the lightning started.

It snaked across the sky, momentarily illuminating a fantastic roil of wind-driven clouds, like layered tatters of dark wool, and freezing the blowing tree limbs in strobe-like glimpses of twisted shapes and flying leaves. Everything lit up cold and white, and several seconds later, when the thunder followed it in a slow, deep rumble, Simon felt he was going to burst, holding in the thrill. Surely there would be more, wouldn't there?

"What are you doing?" came a voice behind him.

Ah, Basil was finally awake, and there was no need to be quiet anymore, so Simon whooped. "Come over here, Baz, look at this!"

"Close the window this instant, you cretin, what are you thinking?"

Simon didn't even bother turning, just pushed his fringe back with his wet hands, and opened his mouth to the cold drops, laughing. "This is brilliant…."

Another lightning strike—the sharp light of it made Simon feel like he could see everything, every tiny detail of everything, the blades of grass far down on the lawn, the leaves on the trees, the rough, wet surfaces of the fortress walls, if only the light would last a little longer… if only it weren't the middle of the night so he could run out into the rain, even if it was cold… maybe he could sneak out before it was over, maybe he wouldn't get caught…. Thunder followed again, growling, sooner and louder than the last time.

"I think it's getting closer," Simon said, excitedly.

There was an odd, choked sound behind him, and Simon turned his head, puzzled. "Basil?"

Lightning flashed again, a long strike, and Simon was surprised to see his roommate cowering on the far corner of his bed.

Simon reached over to his desk and clicked the little lamp on. It was true: Basil was huddled against the wall, looking so… small, blinking in the soft orange light, his black hair mussed and sticking up, his long skinny legs pulled up and his arms locked around them. "Basil? What—"

"J-Just close the bloody window, Snow," Basil snapped, but his voice was trembling.

Simon opened his mouth to reply, when suddenly there was a thunderclap, sharp and so loud it hurt Simon's ears. He thought he could feel the vibrations of it in the floor, in his chest—it was almost like being slapped in the back, and it made Simon's stomach jump in alarm and excitement. He grinned—but Basil flinched, so violently that it looked like he hit his head against the wall, and then dove underneath the purple and green duvet on his bed.

"Oh Crowley, are you afraid of storms?" Simon couldn't believe it: snarky, high-and-mighty Basilton Pitch, afraid of a little rain and lighting? He couldn't wait to tell Penny and Martin, this was crazy... finally, something to tease Basil about...

But then he heard it—a terrible whimpering keen of sound, almost inaudible under the wind outside. Was that—?

Another thunderclap, almost as loud as the last, rattling the window frame. The desk lamp went black, and the shape under the duvet jumped, made a bit of a scrabbling motion and a bit of a yelping sound, and then subsided... but it was shaking. The lump that was his roommate was shaking worse than the leaves on the trees outside, and that awful sound like a gasping whimper, like he was biting down on something and trying not to let it out, but it kept escaping on the end of every breath...

Simon knew that sound, that middle-of-the-night sound, from years of communal sleeping at the orphanage. He'd followed it to the source, to some scared or homesick smaller new kid, or not so new, more than a few times. He'd even made it a few times himself. And that was definitely Basil.

Crowley.

Quickly, Simon tugged at the window handles, wrestling them till they swung shut, squeaking in the wet. The sound of the wind dropped considerably, but the thunder that followed was almost just as loud.

"Basil? I closed the window," Simon said, tentatively, as he approached, feeling carefully across the rug with his feet in the dark, now that the power was out. Did they have candles anywhere? Oh wait… Simon rolled his eyes at himself, and, picking up his wand for a moment, cast twinkle twinkle little star. It came out rather dim, just the slightest of glows near the ceiling, but he called it good enough for now, and left his wand on the bedside table as he padded over to the other side of the room.

More thunder, and the lump jumped again, and seemed to try to curl smaller.

Simon sat gingerly on the edge of his roommate's bed. "Basil?"

No reply. He tugged at the cuff of his own red flannel pajama sleeve and tried to think. Should he get help? It was the middle of the night, though, and Basil wasn't actually hurt, just scared... awfully scared though. Can't do anything about the weather.

Lightning, and then thunder, almost right on top of each other, and Basil's blanket-smothered form jumped again, with a choked yelp, and then Simon remembered Rover, the Irish setter at the foster home when he was nine.

This might be an awful idea, but Basil's wand was all the way over on his desk, so at least he wouldn't be able to hex him for it.

Simon took a breath and shifted, pulling his legs up onto the mattress and scooting closer to the lump. He was fairly sure which end was Basil's head, but he tentatively put a hand on his shoulder, just to be sure.

"What are you—" Basil's voice was interrupted by another crash of thunder, and ended in a squeak. Simon squeezed his shoulder, tightly, and when his roommate didn't throw him off, he huffed a sigh and lay down behind him, pillowing his head on one arm and pulling Basil closer with the other as thunder rolled again.

It was awkward, and rather like hugging a large marshmallow. Simon couldn't feel any heat through the duvet, couldn't even feel the poke of any of Basil's thin limbs or joints, but he could feel him shaking and shaking. He shifted a bit closer and squeezed tighter.

They lay like that for three or four more bursts of thunder. Lightning lit the room in dramatic flashes, though now Simon couldn't see anything but shadows briefly on the wall, and every time the thunder sounded, Basil jerked, and Simon squeezed a little more, and Basil would freeze, and then tremble. Now that he was paying attention, Simon could feel his breathing, quick and uneven and rough. He could hear him sniff like his nose was running... or maybe like he was crying.

At last, as the thunder and lightning got a little further apart, Basil's voice emerged, muffled and a little shaky. "What are you doing, Snow?"

Simon was quiet for a moment. "Um, I lived with a dog once."

Somehow, even the silence before he replied managed to be incredulous. "Really, Snow? A dog?"

"Shut up. He was a nice dog. And he was deathly scared of storms. He'd whine and cry and run around and break things... but if we wrapped him up tight in a blanket and squeezed him, it seemed to help. Like, the pressure or something. It made him—" Thunder drummed again, and he could feel Basil jump, through the thick batting of the duvet, but maybe a little less than the last time? "—feel better, I guess."

He wanted to ask, Is it helping? But he figured if Basil didn't like it, he'd probably just say so. Or turn around and shove him to the floor. Hadn't happened yet, though. Maybe it wouldn't. He hadn't seen Basil pester any cats or anything since the first day, which was an improvement, even if he still seemed more than happy to give Simon a bad time.

But the way he was still shuddering… Simon had to at least try. Maybe talking would help? "So have you always been, um… nervous about storms?"

The lump stiffened. "Yes." His voice was muffled, but Simon could still hear the resentment.

"Oh." Now what? "Any particular reason? 'Cause you know, the walls are stone, we're pretty safe from lightning or whatnot—"

"Crowley, I know that, Snow," Basil snarled. He was probably just getting started, but another clap of thunder cut him off. Simon held him tighter, feeling his back heave as he gasped. He wanted to say something soothing, but he didn't think Basil would take well to being hushed like a small child, so he said nothing.

"You're probably loving this," Basil said at last, his voice shaking almost as much as his body. "You probably can't wait to tell everyone how your roommate who's a big, scary—" he cut off suddenly, freezing for a moment, and then made a sobbing sound, and continued, "just, how I like to talk big, but I'm so scared of thunder I cry like a stupid baby."

Simon hesitated, then patted where he thought Basil's head was. "Nah, babies are cuter than you, Pitch."

Basil gave a startled, hiccupping laugh. "What?"

"You heard me. And anyway, I don't know what you're talking about, Basil, but you're not that scary."

A snort. "Well, certainly not right now."

"Hmm." Simon cocked his head. "Do you want to be?"

"No." The other boy's voice had an odd catch to it. "No, I really don't."

Simon had no idea what that meant. So he shrugged and said, "Anyway, I'm not going to tell anyone about this."

Basil made a skeptical sound.

"I'm not. Not if you don't want me to."

"Why not?" He paused and then said, reluctantly, "I'd tease you about it."

"Probably," Simon said, feeling oddly calm about it. Maybe he just couldn't be mad at someone who was shivering in a burrito of quilted fabric. "Would you now?"

A long pause. "No."

Simon thought, then slowly said, "Besides... everyone's scared of something. I'm... I'm scared of water."

There was silence for a moment, and then the top of Basil's head peeked slowly out from under the duvet, turned awkwardly to see him, and raised an eyebrow.

Simon shrugged, feeling his cheeks flush. "Deeper water, you know. Ponds, lakes, rivers. The ocean." He shuddered briefly. "I don't even like to take baths."

Basil said nothing, but his eyebrow arched even higher. It made Simon laugh a bit.

"Go on then, I know you're dying to say it."

A roll of his eyes, and then Basil turned his head away, probably easing the strain on his neck. "Well, now you spoiled it, Snow."

Simon laughed again, and shook his head. "I don't mind showers, you know."

He expected some comment about the general stink in the room suggesting otherwise, but it seemed Basil was still taking the high road, because all he said was, "Nor rain in your face, apparently?"

Simon felt a flash of resentment: I could be out there right now…. But no, there was curfew. "Nah, I love being out in the rain."

"You are so strange, Snow."

Thunder rumbled again, further away this time, and Basil's flinch was significantly less than it had been before.

"So what do you do at home?" Simon asked. "To feel better about storms, I mean."

He felt a hitching shrug. "Mostly this. We don't have many, thank Crowley."

"You mostly just hide under the covers?"

"Sometimes it's under the bed," he replied snippily.

Was that—was that a joke? Simon bit down on his giggle, just in case. "But this is… helping?"

"Yeah. Never tried it before."

"No? Not even when you were little, like?"

"My father doesn't really go in for that sort of thing. And by the time he married my stepmother… well, he would've said I was too old for nonsense by then. So mostly I'd just… hide in my room, if I could."

Simon hadn't even known that his roommate had a stepmother. "How old were you?"

"Seven."

That seemed pretty little now, Simon thought, now that they were almost twelve. (Well, Basil was. Simon had months left yet.) Though he supposed he'd thought he was pretty grown up when he was seven. Where had he been living then? At any rate, he shrugged. "Yeah, they always said I was too big for nonsense, too."

They lay quiet for a moment. The wind still wailed dully outside. Simon noticed that Basil seemed to be matching Simon's breathing. Maybe it wasn't on purpose, but Simon tried to slow down his own rhythm anyway. The blanket between them was finally warming up a little, and Simon was starting to feel drowsy.

"I don't suppose a… a hug would've helped with being afraid of water though," Basil said, a little suddenly.

His tone was neutral; he didn't seem to be taking the piss. Maybe he wasn't going to. So Simon replied, "I guess not."

"So what did you do about that?"

Simon shrugged. "Refused to take baths mostly. Nobody's really taking foster kids to the seaside or anything, so."

"What about now? The first years' sea trip in the spring? Or in fourth year? Fourth years spend weeks there, special lessons, studying and all. What are you going to do then?"

Simon gave a little shiver himself, his stomach flopping uncomfortably like a fish. "Dunno. I mostly try not to think about it."

Thunder again. It really was getting further away, and softer, the sound rolling instead of jagged. He could feel Basil tense up, but he didn't even jump this time. Simon hugged him anyway, even though his arm was getting tired.

He still felt a bit awkward, a bit silly. He wasn't entirely sure that Basil wouldn't end up pushing him off the bed just out of spite. This wasn't so bad, though... like hugging a big teddy bear. A teddy bear that might turn on him, and snarl, and snark, and eat all his Aero bars and spell his laptop shut... but not tonight, probably. And he'd never had a teddy bear.

"Well, you can't miss the seaside trip," said Basil, suddenly, and very decisively. "It's traditional, everybody goes."

Simon had been thinking of faking an illness, if it came right down to it. "Yeah, but—"

"So maybe I'll teach you how to swim." Basil's voice was oddly defiant. "Beforehand. I mean, if you like. Because you really do have to go, you know, you can't just skive off, and certainly not on most of fourth year—"

"Basil," Simon interrupted at last, and he fell abruptly silent. Simon swallowed hard and continued. "I… I suppose we can try. I don't know if—"

"I am an excellent teacher, Snow," Basil said smoothly, maybe a little smugly. "You'll be fine."

"Okay." He could try. Maybe. Did this mean they were friends now? Simon was too tired to try to think any more tonight. It was definitely time to sleep, and—

"I think it's mostly over," Simon said, starting to sit up to get a better view of the window. The sound of the wind had died down, and the rain was only the softest patter against the glass now.

Basil turned and grabbed his arm, his eyes big and shadowed in the remnants of the fading charm above them. "But—what if it isn't."

Simon almost always ended up with his covers shoved off to the floor at night, anyway. So he shrugged. "All right." Basil turned back, and Simon lay back down, draping his arm loosely back over the middle of the Basil-lump. Teddy Basil. The thought made him want to grin, maybe even tease him about it, hear him splutter indignantly in response, but his eyelids were already drooping. Maybe tomorrow. "G'night, Basil."

Simon jerked out of near-sleep when Basil's voice came again, quietly. "I suppose you can call me Baz, if you want."

"All right," Simon said sleepily, letting his eyes finish closing, letting himself drift off. "I s'pose I will."