Work Text:
I hated him.
His eyes, his voice, his hair.
His smile, his nose, his ears.
His soul, his aura, his heart.
Him. I hated him.
I hated how he’d mold the world with his fingers. Tiny indents left where his finger had prodded, and pressed.
I hated the curve of his artwork. Swift, accurate, precise. Soft, smooth, careful.
I hated how tantalizing he was. Near, far. Here, away.
Always to have, never to hold.
Always to come, never to stay.
Unless it was convenient for him.
Then he’d stay.
I was never convenient to him.
He never stayed.
And I hated him.
I hated Regulus Black.
I was twelve years old when I saw him for the first time.
I was jittery. Fiddling with my glasses, messing with my hair. Scuffing my shoes on the ground, twiddling my thumbs.
The early September sun was beating down on my brown skin. It was hot, and I was ready to get on the train.
I had to see him, though.
I had to.
And I did.
I saw him.
How could I not?
Short, proud, innocent.
Cute.
Regulus Black was cute.
He had stars for eyes, and the sun in his smile.
He had the universe in his hands.
No, no he didn’t.
He was the universe.
Regulus Black was the universe.
He was everything.
He was also quiet.
Shy, curious, hesitant.
Cute.
Regulus Black was cute.
I’d shaken his hand.
It was soft.
He’d looked at me with a bright, hesitant smile.
“Hello, Sunshine.”
He stopped smiling.
I was thirteen when I realized I liked girls.
I mean, I knew girls were pretty. But they were nasty, too.
Boys are, as well.
I was thirteen and a half when I wanted to get married.
Long auburn hair.
Bright emerald green eyes.
Cute button nose.
Soft pink blush.
Beautiful gentle curves.
Lily Evans was a bigger girl.
Lily Evans was a beautiful girl.
People teased, people poked, people laughed.
People were cruel.
I am not people.
If this is people, people is simply not me.
Lily isn’t people either.
Lily is better, brighter, bigger.
I loved her.
Oh, how I’d love to love her.
Properly, I mean.
Like hold her hand, take her on dates, kiss her lips.
She had pretty lips.
She had pretty eyes.
She had pretty curves.
She had pretty teeth.
She had crooked teeth.
People teased her about those as well.
But, as previously established, Lily is not people.
Lily is kinder, softer, sweeter.
Lily is better.
I am not.
I am not people, but I am not better.
But Lily is.
Lily definitely is.
I was fourteen when I realized Mary thought so, too.
Which was odd.
Mary was a girl.
Could girls even like girls?
Was that allowed?
Was that okay?
Could boys like boys?
Was that allowed?
Was that okay?
Girls are sweet, soft, nice.
I could see the appeal.
Boys were not sweet, or soft, or nice.
Boys were like Regulus.
Cold, sharp, mean.
Regulus is cold, sharp, and mean.
I do not like boys.
I definitely do not like boys.
But… Frank isn’t cold, sharp, or mean.
He’s soft like a girl. A real softie. Cries over dog books, Alice said so.
He’s sweet, too. Helped me improve my Quidditch skills. Though, they were supreme to begin with. I think. Sometimes. Not all the time. Not a lot of the time, actually.
A lot of the time, I’m quite bad.
I jerk, and hitch, and fall.
And fall.
And fail.
I’m terrible. Can’t even play Quidditch right, and I was bloody raised on it. Mary plays, and she’s Muggleborn.
She’s ruddy brilliant, that girl.
Give her a broom, and she’ll hand you the sky.
Give me a broom, and I give you failure.
I told Frank as much.
He told me I was wrong.
He told me I was majestic, and bright, and cool.
Frank Longbottom told me I was cool.
Frank isn’t mean.
Frank is a boy.
Maybe I do like boys.
Maybe if it’s okay for me to like boys, then it’s okay for Mary to like girls.
But what if it’s not okay?
What if it’s dirty? What if it’s wrong?
But.. what if it’s clean? What if it’s right?
I wanna be right.
Regulus is right.
He’s always right.
It’s bloody annoying.
But… what if Lily likes Mary? What if Lily likes girls?
I’m not a girl.
She won’t like me.
Can I ask her? Is that rude?
I do want to be rude.
Not to Lily.
Never to Lily.
I don’t know.. girls liking girls, Mary liking Lily. Boys liking boys, me liking Frank.
I like Frank.
I fancy Frank Longbottom.
Alice can never know.
I was fifteen when I realized Sirius liked blokes.
More specifically, werewolves.
Even more specifically, Moony.
Remus Lupin.
I was also fifteen when I realized Remus liked blokes.
More specifically, prats.
Even more specifically, Padfoot.
Sirius Black.
I was also fifteen when I realized Peter and I were the only two with functioning eyes.
Peter disagreed.
“Whatever you say, four eyes.”
Which really didn’t make any sense, seeing as I only have two eyes.
I was also fifteen when I realized I could like boys.
That it was allowed.
Though, some thought it was nasty.
I couldn’t see why.
Truly, it seemed to be as natural as breathing.
Nothing largely significant, but a constant comfort.
I realized I could like both; girls and boys at the same time.
Which was very disappointing.
How can I like both genders, and still not have had my first kiss?
Very demotivating.
What was wrong with me?
Was I ugly?
Was it the glasses?
Was it the hair?
Does Lily like my glasses?
Does Lily like my hair?
I wondered if she thought of me constantly.
The way I did with her.
I hoped so.
I like my hair.
I like my glasses.
Regulus doesn’t.
He told me so.
“Your hair is disgusting, Potter. Truly, do you ever wash it? Honestly, Snape has enough decency to at least brush his hair. And-“
I stopped listening to him after that.
I got up from my seat, and walked away.
I didn’t turn back.
Why should I?
Insult my hair all you’d like.
Give it a go.
Never compare it to the nasty, greasy mess that is Snape’s hair.
And he did.
And so I didn’t turn back.
I should have.
I didn’t.
I was sixteen years old when I came to terms with Lily hating me.
And she did.
She made it blatantly clear that she did.
I honestly couldn’t blame her.
I hated me, too.
My eyes, my voice, my hair.
My smile, my nose, my ears.
My soul, my head, my heart.
Me. I hated me, too.
I was also sixteen years old when I realized gender was a scam.
Okay, maybe not a scam. But it was very subjective.
I also realized it didn’t matter.
What was in your pants, didn’t always match what was in your heart.
And that was fine.
I am a man. I’ve always been a man. I’ll always be a man.
And that is fine.
Regulus, however, had not.
He’d been a man born into a woman’s body.
Or, at least, that’s how I understand it.
Which I don’t, not entirely.
I don’t judge it, I just don’t get the feeling.
Probably because it’s never happened to me before.
But, I don’t need to understand it to respect it.
And I do.
I respect him.
I respect people like him.
Why shouldn’t they be just a valid?
If anything, they’re better.
They know themselves well enough to know who they are, even as the rest of the world tells them they’re wrong.
So yeah, they’re better.
Regulus is better.
In every sense of the word.
He’s a prat, but that just seems to be a Black family trait, so I’m not phased.
He’s still mean.
He’s still cold at times.
But he’s soft.
He paints.
He molds, and builds, and creates.
He’s a creator.
He’s good at making things.
He’s good at being better.
He’s good at drawing.
He’s a beautiful drawer.
I wish I could draw.
I wish I could draw so I could perfectly trace the ever slight tilt of his lips, whilst he reads a book. I wish I could draw the stars dancing around in his eyes, and strategically capture the sun in his smile.
Regulus has a pretty smile.
Bright.
Better.
Regulus has a soft face.
A soft face that flushed against a slight brush of fingers. A soft face that subtly lights up in a way only I ever notice. A soft face I wish to memorize in great detail.
With my mouth.
But that’s hardly the point.
Captivating, tantalizing, peace.
Beautiful.
Regulus Black is beautiful.
Sirius Black is cruel.
Heartless.
Traitorous, deceiving, cold.
Really living up to his namesake, that boy.
That was mean.
I’m mean.
Well, he was mean.
He was cruel.
He was heartless.
He hurt Moony.
He hurt Remus.
Sirius hurt Remus.
Remus looked broken.
Sirius broke Remus.
Remus didn’t have the chance to properly give Sirius his heart before he shattered it.
A right twat, that one.
Remus is broken.
Sirius is a traitor.
I’m a mess.
Peter is peace.
Peter is good.
Peter is the only thing keeping us together.
I love Peter.
Peter, sweet sweet Peter.
Poor, sweet Peter with nightmares.
Terrible nightmares.
Haunting nightmares filled to the brim with silver hands, snakelike eyes, cries of pain, flashes of bright green light, and tumbling blonde hair.
Shaking and pleading for forgiveness.
“Everyone has nightmares, Pete. No need to apologize. None of it was real.”
And none of it was.
I just hadn’t realized it yet.
I was seventeen years old when I realized I loved him.
Him with his starry eyes.
His sunny smile only I could see.
His subtle touch, and empowering caress.
His gentle kiss, and life altering sounds.
I could live in his world, his universe, and never leave.
I would.
I swear I would.
And he says I can.
“I’m convinced. I am. The universe, James, was made just to be seen by your eyes.”
And perhaps he was right.
But I’m blind.
I need glasses.
He doesn’t.
He’s perfect.
He’s right.
He’s better.
He can see the universe for all it is.
He can see and share it.
He can be my glasses.
It’d make perfect sense.
Everything is better when he’s near.
I’m better.
He makes me better.
He makes me.. me.
He balances me out.
I’m a dreamer, he’s a realist.
I drift, he grounds me.
I fall, he catches.
I go, he stays.
Until he didn’t.
I was seventeen when I realized people were temporary.
I was seventeen when I realized love was as well.
It fades, crashes, and burns.
People don’t.
People aren’t that merciful.
People seep, poison, and mutilate.
Regulus is people, people is Regulus.
Regulus with his starry eyes.
His sunny smile only I could see.
His subtle touch, and empowering caress.
His gentle kiss, and life altering sounds.
I could live in his world, his universe, and never leave.
I would.
Until I couldn’t.
Until he left.
And took his world with him.
Until he left and took the universe with him.
Gone were starry eyes, and sunny smiles.
Gone was he.
Him.
Starry eyes.
Sunny smiles.
The universe.
The universe made for my eyes.
Snakes make interesting noises.
Snakes imprinted into ones skin make even stranger noises.
I want to forget.
Forget the paleness of his surrounding skin. Soft paleness disrupted by ruthless red.
Angry red.
Barely healed.
It was barely healed.
“Why?”
It was a simple question.
But it called for several different answers.
All of which the truth, but not the truth itself.
All of which correct, but not right.
Pale grey and hazel.
Deep sky meeting the dirt.
Stars winking at the earth.
The earth shuffling closer.
Regulus looking at me.
Me looking at him.
“Why?”
I hate the way it sounds coming off his tongue.
Bitter. Mocking. Cold.
All qualities that Regulus possess.
Just not with me.
Never with me.
Or so I had thought.
It seems I thought a lot of things that were wrong.
It seems Regulus thought so, too.
He told me he loved me.
He said he’d meant it.
I thought he had.
Here we are.
Wrong.
And here I thought; Regulus was always right.
And here he is; wrong.
And here I am; falling.
Falling.
Failing.
“It is my place, as the heir. I must do what needs to be done.”
Proper heirs don’t usually screw the former heirs’ best mate, and yet.
And yet.
Yet, here we are.
Here I am.
Falling.
Falling.
Failing.
Failing to understand.
Failing to see.
Failing to keep my voice from breaking.
Just failing.
Just falling.
Just breaking.
Just wishing there was another universe where this didn’t happen.
Just wishing for it to stop.
Just wishing for him to laugh, say it’s a joke, and rub off the marker.
Just wishing, and waiting, and breaking.
Just dying.
Just wishing I could die quicker.
Just not knowing that I would.
I was eighteen when Lily asked me out.
I was nineteen when I finally accepted.
I was nineteen when we shagged for the first time.
It was strange. Different.
Good different.
Nothing like Regulus.
Nothing was like Regulus.
Starry eyes. Sunny smiles.
I hate the stars. I hate the sun.
I like fire, though.
Fire like her hair.
Forest like her eyes.
I liked her.
I was nearly twenty when she told me.
I was nearly twenty when my world stopped.
I was nearly twenty when my world came crashing down, and I quickly built a new one.
I quickly built room, space, and love.
I quickly tore down walls, and built up new ones.
I was twenty when I fell in love.
Really fell in love.
Unconditional, unequivocal, unchanging.
My heart forever his.
Him forever mine.
It’s written in his blood.
Proof in his hair.
In his smile.
In his nose.
In his very skin.
He is mine.
I am his.
His eyes are Lily, though.
Forest.
I love the forest.
I love her eyes.
I’ve never loved them more than I do now, though.
Staring into his eyes.
His eyes.
Him.
Beautiful.
Lovely.
Mine.
And no, no I haven’t felt a love quite like this.
I was never going to.
Not until I’d met him.
And here his is.
In my arms.
All mine.
Harry, dada loves you.
I was twenty years old when my soul ripped in two.
One half sitting in my living room, with my new wife, and our son.
One half filled with so much love, so much happiness, so much content.
So much obliviousness.
One half was sinking, unblinkingly to the bottom of a cave.
One half had his lungs filled with water, skeletons gripping his body, and tugging.
Didn’t they know you could never have him?
Didn’t they know it wasn’t right?
Didn’t they know how beautiful he was?
Didn’t he know?
But, no, he didn’t.
All he knew were hazel eyes, obnoxiously rimmed with black glasses.
All he knew were soft kisses promising a false tomorrow.
All he new was brown skin, mischievous eyes, and lovely black messy curls.
All he knew was love.
However brief it was.
And now, all he knows is death.
Bleak, meaningless death.
A star returned home.
A casualty of war.
An other half of a soul.
A heart breaking scream.
A feeling of pure devastation.
A feeling he does not know the cause of.
Until the next morning.
“Black Heir Dead.”
The Black heir was dead.
Black heir dead.
Regulus Arcturus Black was dead.
I was twenty one years old when I wished I had never existed.
That way Lily wouldn’t fall in love with me.
That way Lily wouldn’t go to sleep every night, nearly drowning in her tears.
That way Lily wouldn’t have rapidly lost alarming amounts of weight.
That way she would stop losing alarming amounts of weights.
That way Harry would’ve never been born.
That way he’d never have to deal with this.
That way he’d never know fear like he does now.
Not to say that he knows exactly what’s going on, but he’s attentive.
Empathetic.
He feels our feelings.
He knows something’s wrong.
And oh, that breaks my heart.
That breaks my heart so fucking viciously.
Because this beautiful boy doesn’t deserve this.
This beautiful baby hasn’t done anything.
He doesn’t deserve this.
Not my baby.
Never my baby.
What I would give to have my mother.
She’d know.
She’d always known.
Harry would know her, know her love, know her strength.
Everything would be fine.
She’s dead.
Dad’s dead.
Regulus is dead.
Everything is not fine.
“I’m trusting you, Pete. This is my wife and child we’re talking about. I need you to go into hiding. Be very careful. Keep your head down, please. Please, Pete. Oh God, please. Just.. please, Pete. I love you, I’m trusting you, please.. please don’t make me regret this. Please.”
And I wouldn’t.
Because he’s Peter.
Peter is peace.
Peter is good.
Peter is the only thing holding us together.
Peter is hurt.
Something is wrong.
I can feel it.
The children have started heading back inside to their parents, giggling about the amount of candy they’ve acquired.
Harry can’t join them.
He’s a baby.
A wanted baby.
A wanted baby wanted by a psychotic, murderous wizard.
My baby.
Something is definitely wrong.
I can feel it.
I can feel it in the croaking of the fence being opened.
I can feel it in the way the steps seem to echo as they make their way towards the front down.
I can feel it in the way I know I accidentally left my wand on the couch.
I can feel it in the way the door knob starts to turn.
I can feel it in the way that I know it.
I know this is it.
The end is here.
Opening my front door.
Hazel briefly meeting crimson red.
“Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off!”
And he knows.
He knows he won’t.
He knows he’ll die.
He knows and just doesn’t care.
Because Lily will be safe.
And so will Harry.
His baby.
His world.
His Mini Prongs.
His little love.
His baby.
His Harry.
And so yeah, he doesn’t care that he’ll die.
Because he’s knows what’s waiting for him.
Starry eyes. Sunny smiles.
It seems almost odd to think of him in this moment, but he does.
He thinks of him, and his universe.
How it was made for his eyes.
How courageous stars were.
How beautiful, and how rare it is to truly exist.
But he did.
In his universe.
And then he did again, in another of his own making.
With his baby.
With his wife.
With his friends.
Sirius.
Remus.
Peter.
Padfoot.
Moony.
Wormtail.
They’d come so far, and he briefly wonders if he’d change anything.
If he could just go back.
Back to very day they’d met.
Would he change anything?
Yes.
But not with them.
With him.
Oh, they’d wasted so many days.
Months.
Years.
But he’d do it all over, exactly the same, if it got him that little boy.
That little baby.
With the brown skin, messy hair, and green eyes.
He’d do anything for that baby.
His baby.
Even die.
And so, James Potter fell like a marionette whose strings had been cut.
A soft hand was grabbing him.
Demanding his attention.
James looked up.
Starry eyes. Sunny smile.
“Hello, Sunshine.”
Brought to you by my crippling depression <3
-Earthwritings222