A.N: Thank you to Laura (Someone aka Me) and Bex (DobbyRocksSocks) for beta-ing!

This story will be a more detailed rewrite of the Black Family history I started in the fic "The Widow's Web".

Any prompts are at the bottom.

i
A New Life

Phoebe Black

Born: 1812, Died: 1882

Parents: Oberon and Lyra Black

Siblings: Licorus, Hesper, Eduardus Limette, Alexia Walkin

oOo

1826

Lyra Black smiled as she brushed her daughter's hair in long, even strokes, and Phoebe watched her mother in the mirror that they sat in front of. It was a daily ritual for Lyra to come to Phoebe's bedroom and brush her hair by the dressing table—and Phoebe knew that the action was more to benefit Lyra than herself.

Now that Phoebe was fourteen and had been at Hogwarts for the past few years, her mother had to wait until the holidays to continue her traditions. After she had finished combing her hair, she placed her hands on Phoebe's shoulders and looked at her daughter through the mirror. Phoebe's bright blue eyes met her mother's dark opaque ones, and Lyra beamed. "You're the most beautiful girl who ever lived, Phoebe," she said softly, and Phoebe thought of her two sisters, who her mother never spoke of in such high standards. "That's why I gave you your name. I knew you would be a handsome woman, and you will make a glorious wife one day."

"What about Hesper and Alexia Walkin?" Phoebe asked quietly, her cheeks reddening. The compliments her mother showered her with always made her uncomfortable, especially when she was so terse and unkind to her other children.

Her mother's smile faltered. "Hesper and Alexia have their own talents," she said slowly, though she sounded unconvinced. "Now, it's time for bed."

Of course, Phoebe thought. Her mother would rather usher Phoebe to bed than speak kindly about her sisters. She allowed Lyra to tuck her firmly into her bedsheets and press a powdery kiss to her forehead. "Goodnight, Mother," Phoebe murmured, as Lyra left the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Once Phoebe was plunged into darkness, she was able to be alone with her thoughts. She did feel somewhat sorry for her two sisters, who didn't receive the same amount of attention that Phoebe did, but at the same time, she envied them. Phoebe couldn't remember a day when she had been home at Grimmauld Place when her mother hadn't coddled her. It had been a relief when her father, Oberon, agreed to let her go to Hogwarts when she turned eleven.

She loved her mother, but Lyra was a constant, painful reminder of everything that Phoebe didn't want to be. Lyra praised her for her beauty and good-looks, something that Phoebe despised about herself. She didn't want attention for being a girl with handsome features and long, pretty hair. Lyra made her wear figure-shaping corsets under petticoats and dresses with elaborate ruffles and lace, and it just felt wrong to Phoebe.

When Phoebe was forced to spend sunny days indoors with her sisters and mother during the holidays, learning how to correctly prepare an olive or practicing a dainty walk with a heavy book balanced on her head, Phoebe couldn't help but gaze out of the window and into the garden. Licorus and Eduardus were allowed to spend their school holidays playing on their broomsticks, circling each other in the sky with the wind whipping through their hair. Oberon and Lyra would never allow Phoebe to ride a broomstick—though, she had secretly been getting a lot of practice in during her years at Hogwarts. She smiled as she thought of school. The castle of Hogwarts really was the key to her future; the one place where she would be able to achieve something great.

Phoebe closed her eyes, thankful that it was only the Easter holidays. Soon, she would be able to go back to school, and return to the life she had begun to see as normal—away from her mother's suffocating nature. The image of the bright night sky enchanted on the ceiling of the Great Hall danced behind Phoebe's eyelids as she sank into a slumber.

oOo

The sound of someone humming softly stirred Phoebe from her sleep. Her eyelids fluttered open and she focused on a pale, dark-haired figure by the side of her bed.

"Alexia," Phoebe murmured, as her sisters features swam into view. Alexia, like Phoebe, had long, pin-straight black hair and chalky skin, but unlike Phoebe, her wide eyes were the same charcoal colour as their mother's. "What are you doing in here? It's late."

"Eyes," Alexia whispered. "Blue, blue eyes."

Phoebe rolled her own eyes at Alexia's words and threw an arm over her face. "Alexia Walkin, you have to stop with this obsession. If Father allows you to go to Hogwarts, people will think you're completely crazy."

Alexia frowned, and Phoebe peeked through the crook of her elbow at her little sister. She seemed confused, standing there with her hands behind her back, a strange look in her eyes. While Phoebe did feel an amount of pity for her strange sister, she couldn't bring herself to show much interest in why Alexia Walkin acted so unusual. She had her own issues to deal with—and besides, Eduardus did enough worrying about Alexia for the whole family.

"Eyes." Alexia's hands shifted behind her back.

"What have you got there?" Phoebe asked, trying to peer around her. Alexia brought her hands to her front, holding out the object she had been hiding. An ornate silver melon baller, which Lyra generally only used when she was hosting particularly important guests. "What on earth are you doing with that? This is hardly the time for making melon balls. Go put it away before Mother catches you with it."

"Eyes."

"For heaven's sake!" Phoebe made to sit up and push her sister out of her bedroom, but before she could, Alexia used her palm to push Phoebe back down into the bed, with a strange force that couldn't be Alexia's strength alone. When Phoebe tried to struggle against her, it was like pushing back against a brick wall. "How are you doing this?" Phoebe gasped, straining against her. Alexia was too young to know any spells, so it must have been an occurrence of accidental magic.

"Eyes!" Alexia raised her free hand with the melon baller, and brought it close to Phoebe's face.

"What are you doing?!" screamed Phoebe, but it was too late. The cold metal pressed against her left eyelid, and Alexia applied the same amount of pressure that she was using to affix Phoebe to her bed. Her eyelid slid behind the baller, and the metal cup secured itself around the flush sphere of her eyeball. Alexia rotated it swiftly, as though she'd done this a thousand times before, and something snapped behind Phoebe's eye.

Her screams rang out into the night, fading with her consciousness as everything went black.

oOo

It was several weeks before Phoebe woke up again. She opened her eyes slowly and carefully, cringing a little as her eyelids broke apart from a layer of sleep.

She was still in her bedroom, and her mother and Hesper were sitting close to her bed. "Come a little closer, darling," Lyra said, leaning forward. Phoebe struggled into a sitting position, moving closer to her mother. "Hmm," murmured Lyra. "They're a little brighter than normal, but no one will notice. Hesper, the mirror."

Hesper nodded and held up a hand mirror to Phoebe's face. A pair of electric blue irises gazed back at her, set in bright white orbs. They looked glassy and shiny, but at least they were there, instead of a pair of empty sockets.

"Why did she do this to me?" Phoebe whispered, her stare flickering between her mother and sister. "I've never done anything to harm her."

"Don't worry about Alexia Walkin anymore, sweetheart," Lyra insisted. "Her life of derangement and illness has come to an end."

"She's...dead?" Phoebe's eyes widened. She was angry that her sister had maimed her like this, but she didn't want her dead. It was clear to anyone who knew her that Alexia was deeply demented and unwell. "What happened?"

"It was Eduardus Limette," Lyra said firmly. "He suffocated Alexia in her bed shortly after she attacked you."

Lyra would say no more on the matter.

oOo

Phoebe was ecstatic when her mother finally allowed her to return back to Hogwarts.

With her return to school came the return of her confidence. No one had to know about what happened to her eyes—Lyra had spun an elaborate tale of Dragon Pox, and while some people commented on the brightness of Phoebe's eyes, she assured anyone who noticed that it was just a reaction to the illness. She went back to soaring through the Hogwarts grounds on her broomstick with the other boys on the Slytherin Quidditch Team, laughing with her friends at her mealtimes, and learning magic during lessons.

She realised, when she was in the air with the wind blowing through her hair and stinging her eyes, that this was where she belonged. Among those whom she belonged with.

Her change started off small. She swapped her school skirts for trousers, being the first female to make such a choice. No one questioned her, and that only made Phoebe feel more confident.

When she looked at herself in the mirror, she hated the ample lumps and curves of her female physique. In her mind, she was trying to fit in with her male friends, and the reminders of her femininity only brought her down.

So, using bandages, she wrapped her bosom tightly, binding it flat to her chest. It was uncomfortable, but when looked at her reflection afterwards, she couldn't be happier.

The only thing that was left to deal with was her hair. The long black hair that her mother had groomed meticulously for as long as Phoebe could remember. It would break Lyra's heart if something were to happen to her hair.

As Phoebe held a pair of iron scissors to her ponytail, her mother's reflection burned back through the mirror at her. "It's not your decision," Phoebe said firmly. "It's my hair." She clamped the scissors down on her hair, cutting each lock away until there wasn't much left. When she was done, her hair hung in uneven tufts around her ears and at the nape of her neck. She beamed at her reflection, feeling lighter than she ever had in her life.

oOo

Phoebe landed gracefully in the back garden of Grimmauld Place at the start of the summer holidays, and let herself into the house. Lyra was standing in the kitchen, watching the clock idly. She flinched when Phoebe came through the door.

"Phoebe!" she gasped, pressing a hand to her heart. "What are you doing here so early? I thought the carriages bringing the girls home from Hogwarts didn't arrive in London until six-thirty."

"I didn't want to ride in those old carriages anymore, Mother," Phoebe replied. "The professors at school have assured us that the train will be working next year, so I thought I would give myself one last opportunity to fly home from school by myself."

"Put that broomstick away," Lyra hissed. "If your father realises that you have ridden that thing from Scotland, he will have you hanged."

"Don't be dramatic, Mother," Phoebe sighed, and made to move past Lyra so that she could head up the stairs to her bedroom.

"Aren't you going to take your outdoor clothes of before you go upstairs?" Lyra asked, reaching for Phoebe's flying hat. Phoebe tried to duck out of the way, but Lyra was too quick. She snatched the quilted cap away from Phoebe's head, and choked back a scream at what was underneath.

Phoebe tried to cover her head with her hands, but it was too late. "Mother, I can explain."

"What on earth have you done?!" Lyra screeched.

"I cut it," Phoebe explained hurriedly. "It was getting in the way during Quidditch practice, and it was just too much upke—"

"Quidditch?!" Lyra threw her hands up in the air. "I knew it was a dreadful idea to send you to that school. Your father didn't want to allow it. Hesper was never given the opportunity, so why should you? That's what he said. But I convinced him to let you, because you're so smart and beautiful and intelligent." Lyra collapsed into tears. "What have you done to yourself, my girl?" She sank to the kitchen floor.

Phoebe knelt down in front of her mother, gripping her wrists. "Mother, this will be difficult for you to understand...it's still difficult for me to understand."

Lyra looked up at her daughter with watery eyes. "Understand what?"

"I'm not your girl," Phoebe spoke in a rush of words. "I've never been your girl. I've never—I will never be—anyone's girl."

"You're speaking in riddles."

"I'm not a girl!" Phoebe almost shouted. "I mean...I know I am…but I'm not...in here," she touched the side of her head.

"Then what are you?" Lyra's voice had become low and terse—it was the same voice she reserved for her other children.

"I'm...I'm…" Phoebe took a deep breath. Despite beginning to accept herself for who she was, she still hadn't admitted it. "I'm a boy."

oOo

It had only taken Lyra a few swift moves to part Phoebe from her wand and have her sent up to the attic.

"Mother," Phoebe begged as Lyra forced Phoebe to the back of the dusty attic room while she conjured up a small bed and other basic necessities. "This is madness. What are you thinking?"

"Your father will have you disowned or killed for this," Lyra muttered. "I have lost two children already, all in order to protect you, because I loved you the most."

"You loved me more than the others?" Phoebe knew Lyra favoured her over her other children, but she never thought that Lyra actually loved Phoebe more than her siblings.

"Of course I did!" hissed Lyra. "And this is how you repay my love. By dressing up as a clown and making a show of me."

"This is who I am!" moaned Phoebe. "Mother, please."

"I will not lose you, Phoebe." Lyra held out her wand and moved back towards the attic trapdoor. "I will protect this attic with enchantments to keep your father from discovering you. Until you can put this nonsense behind you and go back to normal, you will remain here." She backed down the ladder, closing the trapdoor firmly behind her.

Phoebe scurried over to the trapdoor as soon as Lyra was gone, but it was pointless. No matter how hard she pulled the handle, the door didn't budge. She was locked in.

She was locked in.

oOo

1829

The days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, and Phoebe never once stopped believing that she would escape from her confinement to the attic. She knew that there was a future outside of this house for her, even if it meant that she had to turn away from the magic world.

She had a lot of time to think about that, and wondered if it would be all that bad. Her parents and ancestors had always used magic to their advantage to better themselves or cause harm to people they didn't like. When Phoebe touched her eyelids, she could feel the magic coursing through the replacement eyeballs that her mother had planted there. Of course, magic had saved her sight and made her able to see again, but it was magic that had made Alexia Walkin deranged. Not magic exactly, but the determination to make the Black family line as pure and magical as it could be. Oberon and Lyra were cousins, their ancestors had been cousins, and in some cases, siblings. It was clear that keeping their blood so pure had caused problems down the line.

Phoebe had been raised to believe that Muggles were simple and clueless, merely a less important counterpart to their magical kin. But the Muggles Phoebe had seen in London and in the neighbourhood seemed happy, and most importantly, free.

She longed for that kind of freedom more than anything.

The months turned into years, and Phoebe remained determined not to let Lyra break her spirit. It had taken long enough for her to finally accept who she really was, and even longer to admit it. It would take a lot more than locking her in an attic to make Phoebe go back to being a girl.

"I hope you enjoyed your dinner," Lyra said stoically as she gathered up the empty dishes and cutlery. Phoebe leaned back against the attic wall as Lyra concentrated on making the dishes float down the ladder behind her. She closed the trapdoor behind her, and Phoebe waited for the telltale click of the door locking.

She waited, and it didn't come.

Curious, Phoebe edged towards the trapdoor and twisted the handle tentatively. It turned, and Phoebe knew that if she lifted the door, it would open. Lyra had forgotten to lock the door.

It had taken three years, but she had finally made a mistake. Phoebe let go of the handle and shuffled back to her position against the wall. She had to be careful with this opportunity. If she ruined it, Lyra would be sure not to make any such mistake again.

oOo

Phoebe counted down the minutes to each hour, until she was sure that it was past midnight. It was hard to tell without a clock or a watch, but Lyra had made sure dinner was prepared for five 'o' clock every evening for as long as Phoebe could remember, so it was easy enough to work out the time.

It seemed like an eternity before Phoebe finally made a move towards the trapdoor. She turned the handle carefully and pulled the door up, basking momentarily in the air below the attic that wasn't musty and stale. Being as quiet and mindful as she could, Phoebe slid the ladder to the hallway below.

She slipped down the ladder and moved through the dark house silently, making sure she held her breath as she passed her parent's bedroom. Once she was downstairs, and close to the front door, the air seemed to come more naturally to her lungs.

As Lyra was being careful not to alert Oberon to anything unnatural, she hadn't taken any extra precautions to keep the door magically locked, so it was just bolted with the usual latch. Phoebe unlocked it greedily and burst out into the street, breathing in the fresh air gratefully.

She hadn't thought to stop and look for her wand or broomstick, but in that moment, she didn't care. Phoebe ran into the street without closing the door behind her. She didn't stop at the park, or at the Muggle roads ahead of that.

As she was running wildly through the dark roads, she suddenly crashed headlong into another person. When they distangled themselves from each other, Phoebe realised that she was looking down at a familiar face. "Eduardus?"

He was older and his face was wearier, but it was definitely Eduardus. "Phoebe?" He pulled her to her feet, clutching her shoulders. "What are you doing running through the roads in the middle of the night?"

"What are you doing here?" Phoebe gasped, trying to catch her breath.

Eduardus held up a leather briefcase. "I work night shifts for a Muggle law firm near here. It's a long story."

"Did you kill Alexia Walkin?" Phoebe suddenly asked, ignoring the statement about the law firm. Eduardus's face paled, and Phoebe automatically regretted the question. "I'm sorry. Of course you didn't."

"She got to you too, didn't she?" Eduardus asked softly. "Our mother." Phoebe looked at her feet, but her brother tilted her chin upwards. "Don't worry. You can come and stay with me. You'll be safe."

"I'll be safe," Phoebe repeated. "I'm finally free." She could see the future ahead of her clearly, much more clearly than she had done for a long time.

"Of course you are, Phoebe."

"No," Phoebe said suddenly. "No, it's not Phoebe. My name isn't Phoebe anymore, and I'm not your sister," she took a breath. "My name is Phillip. I'm your brother."

Eduardus looked momentarily surprised, but he smiled nonetheless. "Well done, Phillip. Let me take you home."

A.N: I'd just like to point out, that it was quite difficult to remain true to the 1800s era here when writing about a trans character. I chose to avoid changing Phoebe's pronouns to he/him and using his male name until the end, because I felt that before was a transitioning period for him, and due to the era, I wouldn't imagine he would know much about what turmoil was going on within him.

Once he felt free from Lyra and the restrictions of his family, he felt free to accept himself for who he truly was :)

Written For:

- Assignment #4 - Muggle Music/Task #9: Write about someone looking forward to the future.

- Writing Club: Amber's Attic - Phoebe Black

- 365 Prompts: (title) A New Life

- Serpent Day: Eyelash viper - (dialogue) "Come a little closer, darling."

Word Count: 3,378