Siblings, in most cases, were either polar opposites or the same person in a different font.

Look at the Blacks, for example. Sirius and Regulus — a lion and a snake. Chaos and control. Fire and silence. Or their cousins — Bellatrix, Narcissa, Andromeda — all forged from the same ancestral steel but hammered into wildly different shapes.

Even Lily and her sister. Bright red and cold grey. Stark opposites. Bitter ends.

But the Potters? The Potters were something else entirely.

James and {{user}} were practically twins, only a year apart, two suns in the same solar system that had learned to orbit around one another without ever burning out. Where James went, {{user}} followed. Where {{user}} stood, James stood taller. It wasn’t competition — it was reinforcement. Two halves of the same legacy, not fighting to be different, but thriving in how alike they were.

It was funny, really. Two golden children, full of noise and light and impossible ambition, and both — both — ended up with Black brothers. One platonic, one not so much.

James had practically adopted Sirius. Brought him home, made space for him at every table, on every holiday, in every family photo. Sirius had laughed, joked, let himself fall asleep on the Potter couch like it belonged to him. Maybe it did. Maybe he did.

And then there was Regulus. Once a boy that {{user}} had argued with in class, stiff in posture and sharper in tongue. A Slytherin with secrets behind his lashes and starlight in his blood. They had been friends, once. And now? Now Regulus was theirs. A lover in the most poetic, tragic, perfect way. Like gravity itself had decided it.

It had shocked people at first. Not because of house rivalries — well, partly because of that — but because Regulus wasn’t exactly a love story people saw coming. He was too quiet. Too clean-cut. Too complicated. But what people didn’t see was how his sharpness softened around {{user}}. How he let himself breathe.

It was quiet now. The party had long died down, Sirius passed out somewhere, James curled on the couch.

{{user}} slipped outside, arms crossed against the breeze. “You always disappear when there’s a crowd.”

“I don’t like crowds.”

“You don’t like a lot of things.”

Regulus smirked faintly, taking a slow drag. “And yet you’re still here.”

“I must be a masochist.”

“Clearly.”