Three people, three scarily similar stories
Tuesday, September 20th, 1983
It hurt every time Ron overheard Molly talking about how happy she was to finally have a girl, Ginny. Ginny was a miracle. Ginny was beautiful. Ginny was perfect. Ginny could do no wrong.
It hurt because Ron knew she didn't feel that way about the other kids. Just Ginny. Because Ginny was a girl, and they weren't.
Except Ron was a girl. She knew she was, but....Her mom insisted otherwise. Ron didn't know why, she was just as much a girl as Ginny. She always had been. Mommy had to know that....But, she didn't.
Ron puffed her cheeks out, her hands on her hips. She was going to tell mommy and daddy and Charlie and Percy and Fred and George and Ginny that she was a girl! She wanted to tell Bill too, but he was at school, Hogwarts, in his first year right now, so she couldn't. But, that didn't matter because everyone else was going to know! She could tell Bill at Christmas anyway.
Ron practically ran down the stairs to breakfast, everyone else was there already because mommy had called for them a few minutes before, but Ron didn't mind. It just meant that she didn't have to wait.
Ron sat in her seat at the table, with minimal difficulty, kicking her legs in excitement.
"Someones happy today." Arthur commented with a laugh. "What's gotten into you then, Ron?"
"I'm happy because I'm a girl!" The second youngest Weasley revealed with a giggle, putting her hands over her head as she had seen others do when giving a surprise.
Molly laughed now. "Oh, Ron. Don't end up like your brothers with all these pranks."
"Pranks?" Ron questioned, she barely recognized the word, but she had heard people say that's what Fred and George were doing when they did naughty things. She didn't like her saying she was a girl being treated like a naughty thing. "It's not a prank. I'm a girl."
Molly shook her head, not laughing this time. "Ronald, you are a boy. I know you're a boy. The only daughter I have is Ginny."
Ron felt tears prick her eyes. "Mommy, you have two daughters. I'm a girl. I'm your daughter."
"Ronald Weasley! Stop this nonsense. You are a boy!" Molly shouted, getting agitated.
Ron began crying. What did she do wrong? Why....Why was mommy acting like this? Why couldn't she be a girl? She was a girl!
"M'sorry mommy. I'm a boy. I'll be a boy." Ron begged. She was not a boy, but....She didn't want mommy to be angry with her any longer, it was scary.
"Good." Molly didn't sound like she thought it was very good, she still sounded angry enough to kill someone. "Now eat your breakfast."
Ron nodded. She was decidedly not hungry now, but....It wasn't worth arguing.
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Friday, November 2nd, 1984
For a five year old Hermione Granger was rather smart. Most thought high IQ, maybe he was even a genius, and sure that may be the case, but it was actually because he spent so much of his time reading. People thought Hermione liked reading, and, well, he didn't exactly hate it, but again that wasn't the full picture. Reading was an escape mechanism.
What did a nursery student need escape from?
Bullies, ableism, misgendering.
Bullies. At three-five years old, kids could still be cruel. Hermione knew it wasn't their fault. The blame went to parents who didn't hide abuse, divorce, and bigotry from their toddlers. Parents who maybe even told those kids to avoid Hermione, or at least people like him. But, that didn't change the fact that he was continually harassed by a goggle of children, something the teachers ignored.
Ableism. Most 'girls' weren't diagnosed with autism until they were older, at least in their teens a lot of the time. Hermione was an exception. Maybe it was because his parents were in the medical field, maybe he was just 'too weird', maybe it was his own doing with the interest in psychology, maybe it was something else, or a mix of the previous points. Who's to say? It didn't matter anyway, because at three-and-a-half, a team of doctors said that Hermione fit the criteria. Hermione didn't think it mattered. So, his brain was wired differently, why did it matter? Well, apparently, it did matter. Because other parents were sympathetic to his, other students decided he was too different, and teachers wanted him to be 'less autistic'. Despite functioning levels being inaccurate and literally made by a Nazi, most people described Hermione as 'high-functioning'. That meant they thought he was easy to deal with. Even being 'easy to deal with' that didn't stop him from getting labeled the same as other autistics. His stims were disruptive, his interests were inappropriate for his age, and his meltdowns were tantrums because he didn't get his way. It was hard for anyone to deal with, but especially someone who was barely out of toddlerhood.
Misgendering. Hermione was a boy, but no one else saw him that way. He had told his parents when he was three, they told him he was wrong. He had told the teachers at nursery, they told his parents he was liar. He told the other kids at nursery, they called him a freak. He couldn't win.
So, Hermione pretended to be a girl...mostly. He was girl, but he wasn't subscribing to gender norms on either side. So, no dresses, no dolls, no rough housing.
If he had to be any gender, let alone a girl, he was doing it on his own terms.
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Saturday, August 30th, 1986
Harry put her-his hand over the place on her-his arm. The bruise. The bruise which meant she had to be a boy.
Harry was convinced he was a girl. He knew he was, but....When he told Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia...they weren't pleased.
Harry didn't get the big deal. Aunt Petunia had said she wanted a daughter, but couldn't have another kid. Harry thought that was perfect, because she would be happy to find out she had a niece instead of a nephew. She was not happy about it.
So, Harry got the same thing he always got when he did something bad or freakish. He was belted. Mostly on his back and behind, but....The belt slipped at one point, and his arm was hit.
This had all transpired last night, at dinner. It was dinner time again, but Harry didn't get any. No food for a week. That's what happened to perverted little boys who pretend to be girls. At least, that's what Aunt Petunia said. Harry still had to make the food, though.
He was in his bedroom-his cupboard-right now. Where he always was when not at school or doing chores. It wasn't getting cramped yet as it should. Harry was too small.
At six years old, about to start first grade, Harry was barely three feet and only weighed thirty-three pounds. In other words, he was the size of a three year old. Mostly just surviving off magic; it wasn't good for him or his magical core.
Thanks to this, he was easily able to fit into the cupboard, but that was hardly a good thing. Well, it was a good thing because it meant he had a place to sleep, but....In any other context, it was horrific.
Harry didn't know why, but it was clearly a bad thing to be a girl. But, then, why did Aunt Petunia want a daughter? And why did she always tell little girls parents that their kids were cute?
Maybe....Maybe it's only okay to be a girl if you've always been called one. Maybe if people mistake you for a boy even though you're a girl, it's wrong to say you're a girl. Maybe it was rude. Maybe it was just one of those things everyone but Harry seemed to understand.
Harry wasn't sure, but he knew he would never say he was a girl ever again.