N/A: Because, like Remus, summer rain is my favourite thing about home.

Disclaimer: Sirius and Remus are the property of J. K. Rowling. The title is a song by Placebo, which I haven't listened to for some years.

English Summer Rain

"Sorry Rem,"

"Sorry for what?"

"You must have got drenched."

"No, not really." Fed up of people apologising for something that they had absolutely no control over, Remus sank down into his armchair and smiled at the rain dashing the windowpane. Proper summer rain that had dulled the sky until the light became grey and heavy; the sort of rain that warns of a thunderstorm.

Sirius had turned back to his newspaper, absorbed in some flat, drawn out explanation of unexplainable carnage. Remus chose not to think about it and instead stood up, his wet cardigan sticking to the leather of the armchair and headed back to the door. He opened it casually, hit by a few, breeze swept raindrops and leant back against the wall. The garden was gazed over by a steady curtain that flashed white in the dull light and daubed the wilting rhododendrons in inky green. Summer rain, he'd always thought, sounded lighter than November drizzle, more musical than April showers. It would cascade down now for hours, splashing off windowsills and upturned plant pots and drenching the ground parched by the dazzling sun.

A drop splashed against his bare foot, and the pattering on their sickly green plastic table grew more frantic.

Remus leant back against the wall only to feel Sirius' arms encircle his waist.

"You were in such a mood."

"I was not!" Remus arched his head back and stared at Sirius, caught between annoyance at having his rain watching interrupted and the slowly seeping satisfaction that being in Sirius' arms never failed to bring him.

"Well your hair," Sirius smiled, as he tugged at a sodden lock. "Looks like a disaster zone."

"You're pushing it." Remus looked back out into the sodden garden, watching the sheets of rain as they flickered to the ground.

Sirius smiled. "And you're wearing yesterday's cardigan."

"Since when did that bother you?"

"Since today," Sirius nuzzled his nose against Remus' neck, "When you pay more attention to our erratic English weather than you do to me."

"And you assume that putting me into a mood will change that?" Remus snuggled closer to Sirius as the frequency of raindrops splashing against his nose grew.

"Of course," Sirius grinned. "It normally works, doesn't it?"

Quite abruptly, the rain stopped. Remus sighed, and moved to close the door.

"See," Sirius was beaming, "Even the weather agrees with me. It's not nice to be favouritist, Remy."

"That's not even a word, Pads."

"Well I'm claiming it as mine then."

"Sirius Black, world renowned lexicographer?" Remus snorted. "I think not. Your words would all be about food."

"Or my bike," Sirius added, contemplatively.

"Or food."

"Or sex," Sirius grinned, and then, rubbing his nose against Remus' collarbone added, "But you never know, my best words could be about you."