Regulus Black is not pretty.
He was not pretty when he was eight and his mother forced him into frilly pink dresses and made him play with the girls, even though he would have killed to put on trousers and play in the mud with Sirius.
He was not pretty when he was ten and cut his hair. When he looked in the mirror and, for the first time in his life, thought that's me. When he stared at the mirror for thirty minutes, and with adrenaline and joy pumping through his veins he'd called his brother to the bathroom to look at him. Then his brother walked in and his face fell as he listened to Regulus tell him that he was happy he looked like a boy, he just felt right that way. And then his lips curled up into a smile as he said "I've always wanted a brother."
Regulus was not pretty then, he was powerful.
After that night he started telling his mother that he didn't want to wear dresses anymore, that he wanted to play with the boys.
Sirius gave him his hand-me-downs and those are what he wore instead. His mother had simply rolled her eyes and promised his father that this boyish phase would pass in a year or two when he started liking boys.
And then Sirius was heading off to school and Regulus had been afraid, afraid that his mother would make him wear dresses, that he wouldn't be allowed to be himself if Sirius wasn't there to protect him.
It was an understandable fear, and it became a reality on numerous occasions when his mother forced him into stuffy dresses and awful bows.
But most of the time she let him be, Sirius was the heir and she didn't care what Regulus did because he was just the second child. As long as he didn't dishonor the family in some way, then she didn't give a shit.
He was praised for having feminine hobbies, like painting, drawing, and music. His mother had encouraged his love for the arts and he was happy that she didn't seem to hate him. In later years it would become conflicting, he loved to paint but feared he came off as feminine.
And again, Regulus Black is not a girl. He is not pretty. So he only paints in the safety of the come-and-go room.
Regulus was not pretty when he was twelve and his chest started growing and he started his period. When he was forced to use the feminine products that disgusted him, his body felt wrong and itchy and gross, because he was a boy. He was a boy, dammit, why didn't his traitorous body understand that?
His brother got him a gift though, something muggles used called a binder. It hid his chest and made him feel safe, made him feel like himself.
He was not pretty when he was thirteen and an older man at one of the parties had looked him up and down almost hungrily, when the man stared at his chest the entire conversation. That was the last time he allowed his mother to force him into a dress.
Regulus wasn't pretty when he entered his fourth year and started going by his name. Regulus is named after a star in the Leo constellation. Sirius and Regulus were stars that were rarely seen together but could always see each other, he thought it was fitting, and Sirius agreed. Sirius pretended not to get teary-eyed when Regulus told him he chose the name because he wanted to be like him.
Sirius was the brightest star in the sky and Regulus's favorite, but all stars must burn out eventually.
Soon Sirius stopped returning home for breaks if Wallburga or Orion didn't ask him to. Soon Sirius stopped talking to him as much. Soon Sirius felt so far away that Regulus couldn't see him anymore.
Then Regulus was suddenly thrust into the classes Sirius took. Classes on handling finances, protecting the home, and learning what jobs would be acceptable.
Then his parents started calling him Regulus, and the rest of his family did too. They did it so casually, but it was as if his soul blazed with hope every time his parents uttered his name.
Sirius seemed to know what was happening, but Regulus was fourteen and didn't yet understand. Didn't realize what this meant for his brother.
Sirius knew this meant he would be fazed out as the heir, but he didn't care. He couldn't find it in himself to be mad, not when he saw his brothers' hope-filled eyes every time his parents treated him like the boy that he was. It's not like Sirius wanted to be the heir anyway, so he ignored the hurt. He was there for his brother, just as he always had been.
When Regulus entered his fifth year of Hogwarts he was happy. He finally felt like he was being accepted by his parents, he had his best friend Pandora, and he and Sirius had become somewhat closer during the summer holiday.
And then Christmas came around, and Sirius's light on Regulus's life was snuffed out.
Sirius ran and he didn't even say goodbye. That was when Regulus realized his parents didn't accept him, they just needed an heir.
So, with red-hot anger in his heart and a need to prove himself, he took that title with pride. Cold, calculating, unfeeling, that's what he had to be. He ignored his brother's attempts to talk to him, and he ignored his friends when they asked him what was wrong, and why he had changed. Barty, Pandora, and Evan got used to it eventually, but Pandora looked worried, she wasn't sure if he was him anymore.
He climbed and climbed, he never took a moment to look back and see who he'd hurt along the way. He couldn't bear to. He needed to be like this, he needed to be the perfect heir. He needed to prove to his parents that he could do this, that he could be a boy.
And then he hurt somebody who he hadn't meant to hurt. He hurt Pandora, sweet, kind, muggle-born Pandora, who'd always been there for him.
She left and he forced himself not to turn back. He kept climbing.
And then his sixth year changed everything. He stopped. His head became silent and his world stilled because he'd done it. He was accepted, and respected, by everybody around him. If he wasn't then he was feared or hated. He proved he could be perfect, he could be a boy.
But as he looked at the awful mark on his arm he wasn't sure it was worth it. He felt empty.
He wondered if Sirius would still love him. He questioned if his older brother would protect him from himself as he once protected him from his parents. But he wasn't naive, he hadn't mattered to Sirius for a long time.
And he and James Potter got paired together in potions (which Regulus took the grade level above where he should be) and he didn't hate James. He wanted to hate James, wanted to despise him for taking away his older brother, but he couldn't.
He couldn't hate James Potter when he was so relentlessly kind. He couldn't hate James Potter because he was so unapologetically himself. He couldn't hate James Potter because he fell for him before he could even find something to hate him for.
James was the sun, and Regulus was an unworthy witness to his magnificent glory.
He burned hot and quick.
And Regulus basked in the warmth of James Potter, in the feel of his lips, in the touch of his skin. He relished in the light, in the pure wrongness of it all.
And when James called him "baby black" or "starlight" he couldn't help but feel weak in the knees.
When he smirked in that awful, beautiful, wonderful way he did and called him "pretty boy" He found he didn't mind.
Regulus Black is not pretty. He is selfish, and broken, and wholly flawed, but he is not pretty.
And he doesn't suppose he minds being pretty for James, because somehow James makes everything wonderfully bright. Even an awful word like pretty sounds nice when it's James who says it to him.
He doesn't mind being called a "pretty boy" because he knows full-heartedly that he is a boy.
And nothing can take that away from him, not even a stupid word like pretty.