AN: Twice in one day? But SleepPerchance2Dream, HOW!? Answer: My creative juices are flowing! The plot bunnies just keep coming. ; )

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and *sniffle* never will.

"Get up, you lazy fleabag!"

Sirius opened one eye. Damn, I overslept. I won't be able to run.

"There's a Quidditch match today!" James practically roared in his ear.

He groaned, getting unsteadily to his feet. Sirius had only taken Quidditch because James had pressured him to and, well, why the hell not? Now, however, he was severely regretting his decision. Practices had been grueling enough, and he didn't think matches would be any better.

"Prongs," he cut across his friend's rambling, "who are we playing?"

"The Slytherins." James sniffed in disdain.

Sirius swore as he walked over to the bathroom.

"What?"

"I have to play my brother," he sneered. That little coward was a seeker on the Slytherins' team, and while Sirius himself was a keeper, he would still have to see Regulus.

They give you everything you ask for. He could almost see his brother, pulling him closer in the train's hallway, hissing words of warning. You have to stop fighting against them.

But what did Reg know? He had worn his mask of the perfect son far too long for Sirius to distinguish what was skin and what was cold, silver metal. His brother had been born to adapt, born to never let a single truth flicker across his blank face, like a porcelain plate painted to cover the cracks.

Sirius had sought refuge with Uncle Alphard and Andromeda instead of attaining solace through another's spilled blood. He rebelled against his family after meeting his friends, after being put in Gryffindor. But his brother had been corrupted by their parents' pure-blood mania, and it had been too late for Sirius to draw him out of it.

He slammed his hairbrush down onto his trunk, having finished washing up and brushing his hair.

"C'mon, mate!" James urged.

After a haphazard breakfast in which Sirius had refused food and Prongs had berated him for twenty minutes straight until Moony told him to step back and calm down, the two friends were stepping out onto the Quidditch pitch, James rattling off statistics.

"The ground is pretty hard, that's good; looks cloudy, that isn't so brilliant, we'll have to hope it doesn't get foggy; or rain, for that matter - rain could impend out vision quite a lot, obviously that's not good. Padfoot, you have to cover all three hoops, these Slytherins won't go easy--"

"Prongs, mate, take a deep breath," Sirius said. "I know what I have to do. You just concentrate on scoring, okay?"

His friend huffed out an annoyed breath and made his way to the changing rooms to give his team a pep talk.

I'm not nervous, Sirius thought as his stomach fluttered. I do not get nervous.

But he was all too aware of his rapidly pumping heart as he stepped out onto the pitch and watched James shake hands with the Slytherin captain. He pointedly avoided Regulus' gaze, squeezing his hands on his broom's sleek handle.

Madam Hooch brought the whistle to her lips and blew, Sirius kicking off into the sky.

His heart gave an almost painful jump, but his mouth twisted into a grin. Sirius loved being up in the sky, feeling the wind lash against him and his robes flow out behind him. He settled in front of the hoops, narrowing his eyes and fixing his gaze on the Quaffle and players surrounding it.

However, it was well after ten minutes that the red ball came close to Sirius. A big, bulky figure in green robes attempted to score, but he caught it easily and threw it to James, who sped off toward the opposite goal and managed to score.

Then the rain began to pour. It didn't come slowly, instead dumping bucketfuls of cold, searing water onto the players below. Sirius shivered and glanced toward the stands, making out Remus and Peter admits the downpour. He could barley see the Quaffle in this weather, nonetheless the snitch.

The others were having similar problems, most seeming jolted by the wind and heavy rain. Hand shaking, Sirius pulled his wand out from beneath his robes and pointed it at James, muttering a spell that would make him able to see though his glasses. The teenager shot him a grateful look, as he hadn't brought his wand with him.

Through the sheets of water Sirius saw a Slytherin approach him, the Quaffle under his arm. He dived for it as the player threw it at a hoop, reaching out.

But a shock of lightning and thunder flashed through the pitch, and Sirius yelled, voice lost in the downpour, ducking wildly against his broom.

He cursed when he realized the Slytherin had scored, still trembling from the fright.

"Padfoot! Are you okay?!"

"James!" Sirius screamed above the howling wind, looking at the approaching chaser. "Just someone find the snitch!"

His heart was beating too fast, shuddering vividly against his chest. Sirius bent over, trying not to throw up.

"Pads! Are you sick?!"

"Just go!" Sirius coughed out. "I'm fine." He attempted to straighten, but the wind pushed him flat against his broom. Shivering at another bolt of lightning, he scanned the pitch.

Two flashes, one of red and one of green, were flying neck-to-neck after what appeared to be the snitch.

The crowd and the wind and the yells all blurred until they were one big mass of unidentifiable noise, a bludger whirling towards him as he kicked it away. But it came again, and he wasn't ready, letting out a breathy groan as it hit his arm, but forcing it away from him all the same.

His body on fire, Sirius searched for Moony among the crowd, desperate for the werewolf to meet his eyes.

The cry of "GRYFFINDOR WINS!" barely registered, but Sirius angled his broom towards the ground and sped away from the sky. He nearly crashed into the ground, pulling himself up sloppily just in time, collapsing into Remus, who had run out to meet him, and James, who was thoroughly soaked as well.

"M-Moony," Sirius whispered. "I really don't like storms."

"Padfoot, you're hurt. We have to get you to Madam Pomfrey," his friend said urgently. "Come on. Let Prongs celebrate his victory alone."

"You prats, I'm going with you," James protested, and the three headed off of the muddy, drowning pitch.

oOo

Two hours later, Sirius clutched a butterbeer, thankful for its warmth, a newly healed arm draped over James' shoulders.

They were sitting in the common room, Sirius next to James on the sofa, both Peter and Remus seated on separate armchairs, each of them clutching a bottle of butterbeer. All were silent, and the common room was as well, for the rain had washed away all happiness of winning.

Sirius distantly remembered a time when he'd been excited to hear the loud claps of thunder, but that was before lightning had given him away to his mother.

He didn't remember what he had done to Bellatrix when he was six, only that she had run after him, his mother on her heels, and Walburga had caught him hiding under a table when the lightning had illuminated the dark room, ready to tell his father to administer a beating.

The first time Orion had used an unforgivable spell on an eleven-year-old Sirius, thunder shook the house.

When a tempest took over the sky, Orion had held a knife to Sirius' throat, drunken eyes narrowing as he threatened to kill his son, who was only fourteen.

Sirius hated storms.

"Well, we won," James said hollowly.

"It was kind of a disaster," admitted Remus.

"I let in a goal," Sirius muttered scathingly. How could I?

"Everyone lets in goals," James amended bracingly. "You saved another. Besides, we won."

Mumbling his assent, Sirius closed his eyes. The steady hum of rain echoed in his mind and he rested his head against James' shoulder.