When the Sun and Stars Unite (Jegulus Oneshots)

Through the Mirror

When James Potter finds a doorway where a mirror should be, and a man standing there, he's fairly sure it's a fever dream. Only when it isn't, James makes a decision that changes the entire course of his future.

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Shirtless, with a towel round his waist, James shimmied into his bedroom with his phone clutched in his hand, music blaring from the small speaker. He immediately stuffed it onto the dock, his desk speakers blaring out music he wouldn't have played if anyone else were home, or nearby.

His hips swayed as he stepped in front of his mirror, squinting for lack of glasses as he shoved his fingers up into his hair, making it spike all over, then fall into an untidy, slightly damp mess. He ran his hands down his face, then over his torso. It was one year and nine months since his top surgery, and he was getting most of the feeling back now. The scars were a shade lighter than his dark brown skin, and although he occasionally still got looks when he ventured out with his mates from time to time, he was proud of himself.

The music switched again, and his eyes brightened as he did a little spin, and grabbed a sorely neglected hairbrush from his desk. "I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want..." He shimmied his hips again, the towel falling to reveal hideously coloured plaid boxers hanging midway down his hairy thigh. He danced to his bed, flopped down, and struggled into his white socks. "I wanna, HA, I wanna, HA, I wanna, HA, I wanna, HA..."

He jumped up, dancing and spinning to his wardrobe where he grabbed a t-shirt and pair of jeans. Hopping on one foot, he got one leg in, then the other as he lost the shirt somewhere on the floor. "I wanna really, really, really wanna zigga-zig..."

He turned to look in the mirror and... "AHHHHHHH!"

James flew backward, knocking into his desk which sent his earlier morning's teacup flying off, hitting the wall and breaking into several pieces. His heart was thudding against his chest as he stared. Because there was a person in his mirror.

Only that wasn't it. Because actually there was a doorway where his mirror used to be, and a person stood in it wearing a rather amused expression, arms crossed over what looked like long, black robes. And okay so he was incredibly, almost achingly good looking but that was bloody-well beside the point because stuff like this didn't happen and he was probably hallucinating or delirious from an untreated fever he didn't know he had because....because....

What?

He realised also his crash into the desk had knocked his mobile down and cracked the screen. The music stopped and now there was only the sound of silence, along with his heavy breathing as he grasped as his chest, hoping this wasn't like some sort of vision you had right before kicking the bucket.

"Am I dead?" he gasped. "Are you like...a reaper or something?"

The man leant in the sudden doorway, then raised an elegant eyebrow. James—for all that he was terrified, was also still very much James so he took a minute to appreciate. The man was shorter than him, his olive skin a few shades lighter. He had straight, black hair falling elegantly over his forehead, clipped short to his ears. His bone structure was gorgeous, and had James not been terrified out of his mind at the sudden appearance of a doorway where a mirror should be, and a person where one should not be, he's have found the courage to start flirting.

"You're not dead." His voice was soft, a lilting London accent which made James even more confused because random Londoners normally didn't show up in random mirrors-turned-doorways. "I um...well. It's a bit difficult to explain, really. And I think I only half understand."