all for myself
To bare it down to be in flight, to bare it down to be in flight
It wasn't about me it was only a stone in my shoe
Then worries came to perch on us
Impatience and a painted bus
I kept you close to me close to my ear
(All for myself - Sufjan Stevens)
07:43. Saturday.
Regulus woke up with a tender ache in her neck and shoulders from sleeping in a curled up position on the couch. Her throat felt raw. She sat up, realizing that there had been a blanket draped over her, and wiped her eyes, squinting from the morning sunlight spilling in from the windows. Regulus now realized that there were a lot of windows in the living room. Anyone could have easily stood outside in the yard and watched her sleep.
Regulus stood up, folding the blanket and laying it neatly on one of the couch cushions and grabbing his wand from between one of the cushions. It must have slid there when she was asleep. How it hadn’t snapped in half, Regulus didn’t know. Regulus looked around, seeing an open kitchen behind her and a woman, who Regulus assumed to be James’s mother, making tomato and spinach omelets at the stove. She turned to Regulus, a kind smile illuminating her face.
That’s where he gets it from, Regulus thought to herself. That James Potter smile belongs to his mother.
“Oh, hey, you’re awake! I’m James’s mother. You can call me Euphemia.” She wiped her hands on her floral patterned apron, putting the spatula down. She offered a hand for Regulus to shake, which was hesitantly taken. “James and Sirius are still asleep upstairs. I thought about waking you up earlier because you were in kind of a weird position, but you looked too peaceful, so I just let you sleep. How are you? How was the couch?”
Regulus nodded. She hadn’t really been able to speak since yesterday. She didn’t know if her voice was still hoarse from when she had screamed.
“You do have a bedroom upstairs you can sleep in, by the way. It’s the third room down. If you want to sleep on the couch, through, you are more than welcome to, of course. I just figured you’d want a real bed.” She flipped an omelet in the frying pan. “James left you some clothes on your bed. They might be a little big for you, but we can run into town soon and get you some things, okay? There’s also a bathroom at the end of the hallway if you want to take a shower. Towels are under the cabinet. Breakfast will be ready soon.”
Regulus swallowed, nodding and trying to give Mrs. Potter a small smile, but it did not come out quite right. Regulus turned away and went up the stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible.
Regulus pushed the door of the third bedroom down the hall open, praying it wasn’t one Sirius or James was sleeping in. It wasn’t. It was mostly empty, a bed pushed against the wall, a desk, a dresser with a set of drawers, open windows, and a folded stack of clothes with note on it sitting on the bed. Regulus walked forward, picking up the note.
Sorry if any of it doesn’t fit. I didn’t know your size.
Hope you slept well and feel better today :)
-James
Regulus looked to the clothes. Some t-shirts, a dark jumper, some blue jeans, a pair of linen trousers, a few pairs of shorts, and socks. She took a couple of items from the bed and headed towards the bathroom to shower, closing the door behind.
The hot water against Regulus’s back felt like a fever dream. Regulus could not remember the last time a shower had felt so good. The tea tree shampoo’s scent lingered in the bathroom, feeling cool to the touch.
Regulus wiped the steam off the mirror, coming face to face with the person on the other side of it.
It was not who he was.
The reflection staring Regulus down knew he could never be who he was supposed to, even if he wanted to and had tried his very best to. He knew deep down, he could never live as a girl. He could never be what his parents wanted him to be. He couldn’t live with himself, living in this fucked-up sort of lie.
Regulus knew that if he was to come out, his quality of life might have a chance of improving, but Regulus didn’t know if he was ready for that. He didn’t know if he would ever be ready.
He didn’t want to impose anything onto the Potters. They had already been kind enough as to have given him a place to stay, clothes, a bedroom, and more than Regulus could be thankful for. He didn’t want to test out their limits of peace with him.
Regulus knew that he wasn’t the only transgender person at Hogwarts. He knew that one of his brother’s friends, Peter, was also transgender. He knew that his brother and Marlene were both non-binary. So it wasn’t that he would be fully alone in his transition, he just didn’t know if he was ready to start it yet. Maybe he would talk to Peter later to test the waters of coming out.
He was glad James hadn’t given him feminine clothing.
He pulled on one of the T-shirts James has lended him that had the logo of Pulp Fiction on the front of it and a pair of black shorts. After hanging his towel on one of the empty hooks on the wall, he left the bathroom.
Regulus noticed that both bedroom doors beside his were open, meaning that his brother and James were both awake and probably downstairs. Regulus felt a pang in his gut. He’d have to go downstairs. He couldn’t just sit and waste away in his room forever, no, he had to actually show that he was thankful to be there. He had to show that he wasn’t just something to be dealt with.
Regulus put his clothing away in the set of drawers in his bedroom, running his fingers through his wet hair. Would the Potters judge him if he came downstairs with wet hair? He looked at his wand, next to where the note lay on his bed. He couldn’t cast a spell on his hair because he was still in Hogwarts. He wasn’t allowed to use magic outside of school.
He’d have to walk downstairs in his wet-haired shame.
Downstairs, everyone was sitting at the kitchen table, that was covered in a quilted tablecloth. It was colorful, just like everything in the house was. James was sitting next to Sirius, who was sitting next to James’s father, who was reading a copy of the Daily Prophet. Mrs. Potter was putting one last omelet on a plate that had a piece of toast already on it, handing it to Regulus when he walked by.
James and Sirius were playing some game involving slapping one another’s hands. Sirius held their hands below James’s, and would ever so often slightly move them, causing James to flinch and move his hands away. Sirius cleared their throat when Regulus was in the room, and the two of them stopped playing.
“Did you find everything alright?” Mrs. Potter asked him as he sat down in an empty seat across from James and Sirius. Regulus nodded. He didn’t know why it hadn’t bothered anyone that he hadn’t actually spoken yet.
“So you’re Regulus, then?” Mr. Potter put the newspaper down. “Well, we’re glad to have you. Glad you got out of there.”
Regulus looked down at his omelet and began cutting into it, taking small bites.
James and Sirius were talking about anything anything and everything. Quidditch, N.E.W.T.S., Remus, if they were going into town to get an ice cream later, James’s upcoming tryouts for the professional Quidditch teams he was trying to play for, and whether or not they think Marlene would notice if the two of them stole oranges from the tree in their backyard.
Regulus listened in silence, glad that no one was wanting to talk to him. He still did not feel like talking and was more than happy to observe everything.
“Okay, I’m going to go get dressed. We’re gonna do a Quidditch Friendly on the beach with Romulus, Marlene, Mary, and Peter today,” James announced, standing up. He handed his and Sirius’s plate to his mother, who cleaned them with a swipe of her wand.
“You go on ahead, I need to talk to Regulus for a bit,” Sirius was staring straight into Regulus’s eyes. Regulus swallowed, taking a small bite of what was left of his omelet. James headed upstairs, and Mrs. Potter went through the kitchen door to work on the garden. Mr. Potter had left for work a little while before.
Sirius’s eyes were intense, staring down Regulus. They were the same eyes that they had inherited from their mother, stern and fire-filled.
Two could play this game.
Regulus stared back, a cold glare in his face, arms crossed and refusing to speak first. Refusing to speak at all.
“Why are you here?” Sirius asked.
You know why I’m here, brother.
“Regulus, why are you here?” Sirius asked again, leaning forward slightly. “What happened?”
Regulus didn’t answer.
“Fine. If you won’t fucking talk to me, then.” And with that, Sirius stood up, slammed their chair into the table, and stormed out of the room. Regulus could hear their feet stomping up the stairs and a door shutting very loudly.
Regulus’s head was whirling.
He was seven.
He was seven years old, and he was hiding.
Regulus was seven years old, and he was hiding in his room, under his bed. He had accidentally knocked over a teacup, causing it to hit the hardwood floor with a crash and shatter into a million pieces. It was also one from his mother’s most prized tea set, the one she had inherited from her own mother when she had gotten married. When he had heard the clattering of the teacup, he knew in an instant that this was bad. Very bad. Very very very bad.
He could hear loud footsteps coming up the staircase. His mother, a hurricane, was looking for him. Her footsteps were loud, coming as a warning of what was about to come. He covered his ears. He knew the worst was to come. He knew what was coming. He didn’t want to face it. He knew there was no way out of this, even if you were your mother’s favorite. There was no eye of the storm his mother was about to put him through.
From under the bed, he could see his bedroom door open and his mother’s black, pointy-toed boots walking towards the bed.
All was still.
All was silent.
Regulus’s breath was frozen in his chest. He was shaking. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t sit still. He couldn’t see the facial expression his mother was making. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. All he knew is that he had to get out of there. He couldn’t breathe. He tried to breathe.
His breath hitched, and he felt his stomach give out.
He was caught.
The bed above Regulus was lifted up by magic, revealing the fuming face of his mother. Regulus knew better than to scream. He’d get in more trouble than what he was already in. He knew what was coming. He knew the sharp sting of that curse, sending waves of painful shocks throughout his entire body. He knew she would call him selfish and disgraceful and stupid and a slew of other remarks. He knew he was going to shriek in terror, and his mother would yell at him, and she would say to him him that the sooner he could be quiet, the sooner it would be all over.
The sooner he could go into his brother’s room and he could sleep in Sirius’s bed. And Sirius would hug him, and they would tell him that it’s okay. It’s okay, it was only a teacup. It’s not your fault that she’s so mean to you. It’s not your fault, you’re gonna be okay. You’ll be okay. You can sleep in my room tonight. This was the closest thing to the end of the hurricane he would know.
He was seven.
Regulus wasn’t seven anymore. That was ten years ago. He wasn’t hiding under his childhood bed anymore, praying he couldn’t be heard. He wasn’t staring at the pointy black boots his mother always wore which seemed to amplify her footsteps.
Regulus was seventeen. He was still sitting at the Potters’ table, his omelet now cold. There was a tear streaking down his face, his lips slightly parted. He wiped it. He hoped no one else had noticed it. He stood up, his legs slightly shaking, and went to scrape the rest of his omelet into the rubbish bin. He washed the plate with shaky hands and a tremor in his chest at the kitchen sink, his grip extra tight, so he would not drop it.
He was still seven somewhere deep down inside, after all.