When the Sun and Stars Unite (Jegulus Oneshots)

a firework in a thunderstorm

It had started to rain, now. Of course it had. Because where Sirius was lightning and crackling electricity, Regulus was the drizzle that accompanied. He was grey skies and bleak clouds and thunderstorms and, behind his brother, he was nothing but a blurry background. And James—

James was the sun.

Not just because he was warm, or charming, or beautiful, but because he was always there. James Potter was infallible. Even Regulus, moody and miserable as he was, couldn't drive him out of the sky.

The rain started to come down harder, clamping frigid fangs into his bare skin, but Regulus couldn't move. Couldn't do anything but stare at James as he tilted his head up, water gathering along the rims of his glasses and fogging up the lenses.

And, Merlin, Regulus wanted to kiss him.

Or, it's Sirius Black's 17th birthday, and James is determined to fix the relationship between the brothers in time for it.

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 Regulus

Regulus Black knew restraint.

It had taken years to learn. Years of straightening his spine until the bones locked; rolling his shoulders back to hide a flinch; setting his jaw so that he didn't scream like the storm waging inside of him begged to.

But, though it had taken so long to perfect, the method itself was quite simple.

A polished, oakwood coffin, latched with rusted gold and sealed airtight in his head with every thought he'd rather not think—every action he wished he could take. And when his nails bit into his palms, and his tongue turned leaden in his mouth, he locked the coffin tighter.

That was why, upon finding James Potter pacing outside of his dorm room, Regulus didn't react.

No. Instead, he just walked straight past, clicking the door shut behind him and listening to Potter's dumbfounded yelp through the wood.

"Regulus," he called, knocking gently.

Pressing his lips together, Regulus didn't turn back to the door.

His room was empty—Barty and Evan had probably gone off to find some dark corner to make out in—and the chill of the October evening seeped through the draughty windows. The curtains had been pulled shut, casting flickering shadows over the green walls.

"C'mon, mate," James continued, still muffled through the door. "I just wanted your help with something."

Against his better judgement, Regulus peered over his shoulder. But still, he didn't open the door.

James Potter was trouble. Regulus had seen him with Sirius—everyone had. The marauders were infamous. That little, tight-knit group that had taught Regulus more about the word family than Grimmauld Place ever had.

Even just the thought of it made him writhingly, nauseatingly jealous.

But more than the marauders, James and Sirius were inseparable. The two were joined at the hip, like each other's portable life support. Whenever one was near, the other was often close behind. They were best friends.

Brothers, Regulus thought bitterly.

"It's his birthday."

Regulus froze. Ice simmered beneath his bones, a constant cold that he'd never been able to shake, and he ground his teeth together, fighting against the twisting of his stomach.