For Sophie

Warnings: mentions of racism, transphobic remarks

A note on pronouns: While Phoebe is a trans man, she/her pronouns are still used. This is in keeping with the time and the Black family's strict upbringing; I think it would be likely that Phoebe wouldn't realize using different pronouns would be an option.

Word Count: 1903

"Hesper tells me that you seem to think you're a boy, Phoebe."

She freezes when her mother enters her room unannounced with narrowed eyes. There's a fear in her mother's eyes that mingles with suspicion, but, above all, Phoebe notices the desperation, the silent, unspoken plea of do not break my heart like this.

And so Phoebe does the only thing she knows to do. She smiles sweetly because she knows how to play her role, to be the perfect daughter her mother expects her to be. It is a part she's played all her life, even when her skin stopped feeling like it fit her bones quite right, even when she noticed that she is far more like Licorus and Eduardus than she is Hesper or Alexia.

"A boy?" She adds a giggle for good measure, because could be more feminine than a delicate giggle? "Hesper must be mistaken, Mother. Perhaps she overheard me telling Licorus that I envy him his sex."

It is not the answer her mother wants. After all, Phoebe is meant to be a good girl, and her mind should be focused on finding a husband. That is her duty as a Black, and the sex she was cursed with often reminds her that as long as she lives here, she will never have another purpose.

Still, her mother smiles because Phoebe can do no wrong in her eyes. Sometimes Phoebe thinks she could do the most shameful things, but her mother would always accept her with open arms and call Phoebe her perfect little girl.

But she doesn't know. Phoebe often wants to tell her because the weight in her heart is so heavy, but she is afraid it might hurt her mother. So she smiles. She plays a part. And each day that passes, she hates herself a little more.

…

"You damned wench!" Phoebe draws back like she might hit Hespers, and it delights her far too much when her sister cowers and whimpers, begging for mercy almost instantly. "How dare you fill Mother's ears with your vile lies!"

It seems to click into place. Hesper stands a little straighter at that, and she holds herself with a strange confidence. Phoebe still thinks she could so easily reduce Hesper to a crying mess again with one sudden move; her sister has always been the worst kind of spineless. "That," she says, and she smirks like it's the funniest little secret, like it's something she can happily hold over Phoebe's head. "Am I truly lying, sister? Or should I say brother? I overheard you telling Licorus, you know."

"Alexia's madness must have been catching," Phoebe says dismissively. "It appears you have developed your own brand of lunacy, my dear."

Hesper smiles in a way that unnerves her. Like she understands something. Like she can see the darkest parts of Phoebe. Perhaps Hesper is not one to be underestimated.

"My dear Phoebe, I am hardly mad. Perhaps I have not been given the gift of education like you have, but my mind is quite sharp. You are demented, yet Mother loves you best, doesn't she?"

Phoebe scowls. It's hardly her fault. She had never asked for her mother's love. More than anything, she has always longed for her father to notice her, to pretend to care about her. It never happens, of course. Her father only has eyes for Licorus, his perfect heir who he thinks he can shape however he pleases. If only her father knew that Licorus doesn't want that life, and he only wants a future with his precious Xavier.

Phoebe almost laughs at that. She and Licorus are the favored ones, but neither of them want what they've been given.

"Mother will always believe me over you, you disgusting beast," Phoebe says because she knows that words are a Black's greatest weapon, and she knows exactly what to say to hurt her sister the most. "Do you know why Mother and Father let me go to Hogwarts, but they didn't let you? Shame, Hesper. They are ashamed that something so disfigured and horrendous could ever call itself a Black."

She crumbles all over again, her strength and confidence stripped away. Phoebe watches with a smile as Hesper touches her face with trembling fingertips, her breathing suddenly labored. She isn't actually grotesque, merely plain and rather unremarkable. Still, Hesper only sees a grotesque monster. How could she not? Their mother has spent over a decade urging Hesper to be more like Phoebe.

Satisfied that she won't have to worry about Hesper for the rest of the evening, Phoebe turns on her heel and walks away.

…

"But you said you weren't leaving until after you finished Hogwarts!" There's enough accusation and betrayal in Licorus' words that Phoebe almost feels guilty for her decision.

"Well, it's that or murder your twin," Phoebe huffs, digging through Licorus' wardrobe. "I would rather not have blood on my hands."

"But you'd be so much more like Mother if you did."

She slings the vest in her hands, hitting him in the chest. It is a lightweight bit of fabric, so it doesn't do any damage, but it drives home the fact that she is hardly in the mood for his teasing today. She has too much on her mind.

"Look at you," Licorus sighs. "I'm stuck here while the plan my union with Magenta bloody Tripe." His lips curl at the name. She's a lovely girl, but Licorus doesn't like girls, so it feels like a punishment to him, like his own personal torture. "Meanwhile, you're running away to live out your days as a man. D'ya reckon you can manage to actually marry Moira?"

Phoebe blushes at the thought. It's something she's entertained before, but she's rarely let herself believe it's possible. As a Black, marriages are arranged. They aren't about love and happiness; they are about strategy, what is best for two families.

"I just mean, you can call yourself a man all you'd like, but you… Well, you really aren't. They won't allow you to marry her."

She keeps her head high. This is not him trying to hurt her. Phoebe knows her brother too well. She knows that he is a graceful man in most areas of his life, but he is a clumsy oaf where words are concerned. Perhaps Father has not taught him how to sharpen his words with care, how to use them to hurt or heal as the occasion calls for.

"I am very much a man, despite the fact that my body does not reflect what is inside my head and heart," Phoebe says. "Whether Moira and I attempt to wed shall be between us."

Silence hangs between them for several moments. Licorice hangs his head. Shame? Regret? Something else? Phoebe cannot be sure, but she takes it to mean he has learned his lesson. "I have sent word to Moira that we are leaving tomorrow night. I pray that you will keep Mother and Father off my trail."

"What trail? You haven't told me your plans at all, dear brother. Not really. Should I be offended?"

Phoebe beams at being called his brother. It's the small things like that, the little moments that remind her that Licorus is trying, that he believes in her, even if he does not always know how to show it.

"The less you know, the better," she tells him. "Should they think you know where I'm going or what I'm doing… Well, you know as well as I do that Mother knows how to get anything she wants."

"I'll miss you," he says with a heavy sigh. "Who else is there I can trust with my secret."

Phoebe abandons the wardrobe and makes her way to her brother, gripping his hand gently. "I will send word to you that I am safe," she assures him. "And I will stay in touch with you as long as you need me. But if you ever decide that you wish to live your truth, as I have decided to live mine, my home will always be open to you and Xavier. You have my word."

…

The next evening, she waits and waits. It's just before midnight when the house is silent, and everyone is in bed. She suspects Licorus is still awake, wide eyes upon the ceiling as he listens out for her. Phoebe hopes he doesn't try to say goodbye. Leaving is surprisingly difficult already. If Licorus asks her to stay, she might break.

She quickly changes into Licorus' clothes, tucking her long, dark hair into a hat before checking her reflection. Her body still betrays her in places, but a stranger on the street might just mistake her for a man. She pulls on a long coat, and it hides the feminine curves, making her outside appearance match what she feels inside. It isn't perfect, but it will have to do. Time is ticking away, and she cannot leave Moira waiting.

…

Moira Flin is stunning, as always, with her brown skin and tightly braided hair, her dark eyes and plump, smiling lips. When she sees Phoebe, her whole face lights up.

Some say Moira is little more than a beast, that she is filthy because her father bedded a woman in his journeys to Africa. Phoebe had always assumed blood purity would be the only thing the Purebloods worried about, but she had been wrong. She has seen the way Moira has been treated for the color of her skin, for the circumstances of her birth, and it makes her angry.

How can they not see that Moira is an angel, that she is the most beautiful creature to walk this earth? Phoebe is a lucky man to have someone like Moira love her.

"I was beginning to think you changed your mind," Moira says, extending a gloved hand.

Phoebe accepts the hand, pressing a kiss to Moira's middle knuckle. "Change my mind about you, my love? I would sooner die than leave you waiting."

"Hush, you. Don't go around talking about death," Moira says. "Especially not yours. It's a bad omen."

Phoebe doesn't know if that's true or not, but she knows better than to argue with Moira. "Yes ma'am. Whatever you say, my love."

Moira smirks, looking quite pleased with herself. She links her arm with Phoebe's. "Not that I'm complaining, my dear, but we said we weren't leaving for another year. What's changed?"

"I fear my secret will not be safe for much longer. Hesper has become a thorn in my side, and she is working to turn my mother against me," Phoebe answers. "I thought it was best to just go ahead."

She knows Moira will be happy with it. Her father is gone more often than not, and his wife treats Moira worse than she treats the family's house-elves.

This is a big moment for them both. Neither know a life beyond what they've been raised in, the expectations their families have forced upon them. But it's time for them to strike out on their own, to live their truth without fear or hesitation.

Phoebe is trembling on the inside, but still she smiles. She would rather face the unknown with Moira by her side, than live a life of luxury and certainty without her love.

In the end, she knows this is the only way forward.