Sunday, August 30th, 1992
Tonks took a deep breath, pulling on their short, approximately chin-length, Dusty Coral pink bob-cut.
Could it really be considered a ‘cut’ if it wasn’t actually cut to a bob, they just made it that way?
It didn’t matter, they had more important things, namely their father who was sitting on a plush chair in front of them. They should probably sit, they looked weird, but they could not handle the sensory input from the fabric at the moment. They preferred sitting on the floor all together, but that might make him think they were childish or unprofessional and so believe them less.
“I need to tell you something.” They breathed out quietly, very different from their usual disposition, but they were unable to mask and hide their discomfort at the moment, pretend to be energetic and happy. Not to say they were always faking it, their clumsy joy was usually true, but when they didn’t feel that way…people didn’t know.
“What is it, Dora?” Ted smiled to hide his worry, but it wasn’t working very well. Still, they were too bad at body language to realize.
“I—” It felt like they were going to vomit, but based on the burning going from their stomach to the back of their throat it would only be stomach acid.
There was acid in their stomach, they hated that fact so much, especially since it was made of hydrochloric acid. It was corrosive.
“What?”
“Please, stop.” They whimpered, trying to pull themself out of their brain for long enough to just do this one simple thing.
They couldn’t stop thinking about if their haircuts could really be called ‘cuts’, masking, and hydrochloric acid.
“Stop what, Dora?”
“That.” Hydrochloric acid, pepsin, and pepsinogen.
“Calling you Dora?” Ted confirmed, less concerned now, but definitely more confused.
“Yeah.” Many eating disorder clinics, at least in movies, had a rule that you couldn’t use the bathroom for an hour after eating so you didn’t make yourself throw up which they thought was totally unfair.
What if they really needed the toilet or had a stomach bug or something?
If they had an eating disorder they would never follow the rules, they, the rules, sucked.
“How come?”
“I don’t like it.” Why else wouldn’t they want to be called Dora? It was pretty obvious and they felt a wave of anger come over them, but they wouldn’t say anything. If they acted angry whenever they were, they would rarely act any other way.
People were frustrating.
“Why?”
“It makes me uncomfortable.” More pointless questions with obvious answers.
The anger grew.
“Why?” Ted really just wanted to understand his child, but, based on their clenched fists, it wasn’t doing any good.
They felt the common sensation building in their chest accompanied by an itch in the back of their throat telling them they needed to scream. No words or anything, just wailing. They had lost control and done this around their parents twice, no one else ever, and they would make sure it didn’t happen a third time.
“Just don’t.” They insisted, needing this conversation to be over even though they hadn’t even begun telling him what they were here for.
“Okay….Is that what you wanted to tell me?”
“No.”
“What then?”
They needed a potion. What potion? They weren’t sure, but the one that made your stomach and chest stop burning.
Hydrochloric acid. Johan Tholde. 1565-1614. William Prout. 1823. Gastric acid—hydrochloric acid and digestive enzymes.
“I’m genderfluid.” They admitted, too worried about their stomach acid to care too much about being coy or quick or descriptive. They needed to do more research on it.
Maybe they should have decided to be a gastroenterologist instead of an auror.
Too late now….They would probably be too scared to do their job anyway.
“You’re what?” Ted really didn’t know what that meant.
“My gender is fluid….Like soup….I’m a boy and a girl and both and neither…and everything.” Everyone, regardless of gender, had stomach acid.
How unfortunate.
“So…you’re a man?”
“Yes.”
“But, you’re still a woman?”
“Yes.”
“....Okay….What do I call you, then?”
“What?” They were still thinking about gastric acid and the burning in their abdomen.
Did they have acid reflux? Or an ulcer? Or both?
They really needed to do more research on the stomach.
“Like…do I call you my daughter or son? He or she? Like…what?” Ted wanted to be a good father, but it wasn’t the easiest when you had no idea what an important part of your child meant.
“I don’t care.” They did care, but they needed to leave to look into stomachs and the acid inside of them. Anyway, it would be more likely their parents would accept them if they made it as close to before as possible.
“What about your name? No Dora or Nymphadora, but what?”
Digestive enzymes…gross. “Everyone calls me Tonks.”
“But that’s our last name….It would feel weird to call you that.” Ted hoped he wouldn’t offend them with that, but it was the truth. At least what he considered to be the truth.
They sighed, everything was up to them to solve, as usual. “Just call me…Dee.”
“Dee? Why?”
“Because I said so.”
“Alright, alright, sorry…Dee.” Ted smiled in an effort to make a connection and provide comfort, but it didn’t really land. “You know I love you, no matter what.”
“I love you too.” They replied before walking off distractedly.
They really needed to do more stomach research.