My Sister's Shadow

Your sister is a very special girl.

I only recall my parents informing me of this once, but they really needn't have bothered--it was everyday implied, every moment implicitly understood.

The parenting books all say you shouldn't compare siblings, should never hold one up to the light of another and ask, why doesn't she burn as brightly as her sister? They tell you not to do this, but they don't tell you how hard it is not to do this. At least, it was hard for my parents.

They started off trying to treat us as equals. We were born two years apart, and they named us both for Shakespearean heroines. She was given the name Hermione, for the virtuous, wronged queen of The Winter's Tale; I was named Rosalind, for the plucky young girl who hides her love away in As You Like It. My parents weren't literary scholars, as you might expect from our names, and I don't think they'd ever read either one of those plays, but Gregory and Helen-Jane Granger always wished for everyone to think they were more sophisticated than they really were.

As children, Hermione and I looked eerily similar and were often mistaken for twins. But as we grew, my hair darkened and my eyes lightened, and now, there's only a passing resemblance. I began to walk and talk early, as is often the case with younger siblings. And with a sister as bossy as Hermione, you can imagine I had a built-in teacher. She simply refused to play dolls with anyone who couldn't form complete, grammatically-perfect sentences.

I think I was around three when my parents first noticed Hermione's special abilities. First, she made dishes fall off the table without touching them. Then, she lit the candles on my fourth birthday cake without using matches. When I was nine, Hermione got the letter inviting her to that special school. And even though I had never made things move, I assumed the same was in store for me. I waited and waited the summer I was eleven for my own letter to arrive, inviting me to Hogwarts, which Hermione spent every waking moment chatting about. July turned into August, and Hermione was busily reading her textbooks for the year and writing letters to her friends at school, making plans and catching up. Still, there was no letter for me. I decided there had to have been some mistake. I just knew I was meant to go to Hogwarts as well, so on the morning of September 1^st, I followed my sister down the front stairs and started toward the car after her, my trunk packed and ready for the school year ahead

"Um, Rosalind," my father said hesitantly, as I tossed my trunk into the car. "What are you doing, sweetie?"

"Putting my trunk in the car," I replied and pointed to my watch. "We better get going because I don't have any supplies, and I still need to get a robe and a wand and everything!"

My parents and sister exchanged pained glances.

"Roz, if you didn't get a letter, you can't come to Hogwarts," Hermione explained, trying to be diplomatic about it.

"But you got one," I retorted weakly. "Why shouldn't I get one, too?"

"Darling, now, just because Hermione goes to a special school, it doesn't mean you have to as well," my mother explained in her own clumsy way of being compassionate. "We love you just the same, even if you aren't a wizard."

Even if you aren't a wizard. Again emphasizing the difference between us, the lack on my part.

"Why don't you go back inside and wait for us, and then we'll all go for lunch and maybe to the zoo later today?" my mother suggested, but I knew there weren't any options. Crestfallen, I dragged my trunk out of the car and stormed into the house without saying goodbye to my sister.

It didn't help that they never let me come along with them when they send Hermione off to school every year. I know it was initially because they thought they couldn't trust me not to let slip the truth of my sister's special school. Later, they didn't bring me along perhaps because they didn't want to overstate the obvious and emphasize how very ordinary my school was by comparison.

I wasn't a stupid or ordinary child by any means. In fact, I was the kind of child most parents would be overjoyed to have. I was a conscientious student with many friends. I played on the field hockey team and sang in the school choir. I was popular, even. Early on, my teachers identified me as one bound for university, perhaps even Oxbridge. But no matter what I did, my sister had something more than made her different, that made her unique, and it is perhaps my own flaw that special was all I ever wanted to be.

"Hermione got the highest scores in Hogwarts history on her exams this term!" my mother would boast. Or, "Hermione's been named prefect, just like we expected!"

Sometimes, in my darkest moments, I imagined that Hermione was just making it all up--the good grades, the honors, the extracurricular adventures where she and her friends always managed to save not only their school but the entire wizarding race. Wouldn't it be such a satisfying irony to learn that the golden girl was really cutting class to smoke cigarettes and mess around with questionable boys?

When I received my letter from Oxford, telling me I'd been accepted to study literature at Magdalen College, the college of Oscar Wilde, of C.S. Lewis, I bounded downstairs to show my parents. I was going to study under the best teachers at the best university in the world. Surely, they had to be proud of me. Even Hermione hadn't managed that!

But as I descended the stairs, I saw my sister standing in the living room, hugging my parents. We hadn't been expecting her to return home for a visit for at least several more months. She'd been off in Norway or Romania or somewhere in her second year of training to be an Auror, which, as I understood it, was a wizard version of an MI-5 agent or something like that. She wasn't allowed much contact with us.

"Rosalind!" my mother exclaimed joyously as I walked into the room. "Look who's here! Isn't this a wonderful surprise! Hermione's telling us all about what she's been learning in Auror training!"

"Well, not everything about my training," Hermione drawled in a complacent voice. "There are some things meant to be kept secret. What's that in your hand, Roz?"

She pointed to my acceptance letter from Oxford.

"Oh this," I said, trying to be nonchalant. "It's nothing. Just a letter from Oxford telling me that I got in."

Hermione beamed and looked like she was about to say something, but my mother jumped in instead.

"Oh that's wonderful, darling!" my mother exclaimed, and for a moment, I thought she was truly proud of me. But then she said, "Really, really wonderful. And you can tell us all about it later, after Hermione's gone. She's only permitted a few hours before she has to leave and get back to her training."

My parents busily returned to chatting with my sister, asking her all manner of inane questions, which she gladly fielded. I slunk down on the couch next to my father as Hermione told us all the wonderful things she was learning about disguising herself and tracking bad wizards, along with Ron, her boyfriend, and Harry, her other best friend from school. Those three were joined at the hip, even still.

After another hour or so, she glanced down at her wristwatch and announced she had to go. On her way out the door, she grabbed me by the elbow and brought her bushy-haired head close to my own.

"That's brilliant about Oxford, Roz," she whispered. "You'll have to write and tell me all about it."

She smiled at me then turned and was gone.