You're... what? [Hey, it's the 1970s. Remus has never encountered the term 'genderfluid' in his life. He stares at her, eyes wide even as he's ushered out of the room.]
You mean you're not— [His eyes drop to her chest before he can stop himself, and then he's looking away hastily, cheeks reddening. The word 'hermaphrodite' comes to mind, but he has enough sense to know that probably isn't a term one uses in polite conversation. Also, it doesn't seem to apply exactly to what she's saying.
After mulling it over, he looks at her helplessly, being neither an expert on metamorphmagi nor gender... whatever she had called it. Regardless, he has no idea what the term means, and he feels immensely awkward for it. Finally, hesitantly, he asks:]
I apologize for his ignorance. Poor summer child.
You mean you're not— [His eyes drop to her chest before he can stop himself, and then he's looking away hastily, cheeks reddening. The word 'hermaphrodite' comes to mind, but he has enough sense to know that probably isn't a term one uses in polite conversation. Also, it doesn't seem to apply exactly to what she's saying.
After mulling it over, he looks at her helplessly, being neither an expert on metamorphmagi nor gender... whatever she had called it. Regardless, he has no idea what the term means, and he feels immensely awkward for it. Finally, hesitantly, he asks:]
You're not either one?