My Sister's Shadow

Chapter Three

I sat bolt upright in bed. It was the day after the end of exams, the first day of my fellowship. For the next four months, I would be involved in serious literary research, and I was nearly giddy at that prospect.

I was set to meet with Dr. Holman at nine o'clock and could barely contain myself. I took a shower, dressed, and headed out the door with half an hour to spare.

Dr. Holman was in her office, nursing a mug of tea, her legs propped up on her desk. She wore a pair of tatty shorts and an ancient Clash t-shirt. Her auburn hair hung in waves and looked a bit damp. This was quite a departure from her normal attire--she usually hid her slender frame beneath business-like suits and floor-length skirts, and her hair was almost always pulled back in a severe bun. My befuddlement at seeing this lauded professor attired like one of her students must have registered on my face.

"I'm sure you're not used to seeing me dressed this way," Dr. Holman acknowledged, swinging her legs off her desk. "But it's summer, and we can take certain liberties, don't you think?"

I nodded, unsure of what else to say.

"Have a seat," she instructed, holding up a kettle of hot water. "Tea? I have Earl Grey or Chamomile."

"Earl Grey," I replied. She nodded and smiled and poured me a mug of tea.

"Excellent," Dr. Holman said, smiling as she handed me the mug. "I go for the caffeine as well." She took a sip of tea. "So. I suppose we should get started."

For the next two hours, Dr. Holman and I laid out our plan for summer research. My first task was to track down every last bit of literary criticism written about Felicia Hemans's poem "The Homes of England." After I'd read that, I'd move on to whatever of her personal correspondence, particularly with Percy Shelley, could be found. Most people would probably find it incredibly tedious, but I couldn't wait to get started. And if all went well, I could possibly be credited in the paper she was planning to publish later in the year. I felt like I was walking on air as I left her office and made my way directly to the library, where I ensconced myself in a pile of books until five.

As I made my way back to my residence hall, I saw a familiar figure standing in front of the main door. It was Hermione, arms folded across her chest. She kept looking to her left and right, as if she wasn't sure she should be there.

"Hermione!" I called out, waving, and her face positively lit up as I ran toward her.

"Rozzie!" she replied, throwing her arms around me. "I wasn't sure if this was your hall?]. Mum and Dad told me where to go, but I was beginning to wonder if I'd come to the right place." She paused and hugged me again. "It's just so good to see you. It's been forever, hasn't it?"

Both of us were painfully aware of the fact that we had not spent more than a few months in each other's company for the last ten years. And a lot had happened in that space of time.

"It has," I nodded. "Look, do you have a moment to go into town? I could use some dinner right about now."

We headed toward the center of town, and I suggested the Lamb and Flag. But Hermione took one look at the boisterous crowd already inside and shook her head. She walked a few more blocks and found a small, quiet café off St. Giles Street. The hostess showed us to a table in the center of the restaurant, but Hermione shook her head again, pointing instead to another table in a corner against the back wall. She insisted on taking the seat facing the rest of the café. Rolling her eyes, the hostess set down a few menus and left.

"So," Hermione said cheerily after we ordereour meals. "Tell me all about this fellowship. It sounds brilliant."

I really wanted to know about Hermione's job as an Aurinator or and Aerator or whatever of was called, but I obliged her, and she listened intently as I laid out the particulars.

"So there's a chance you'll be mentioned when she publishes the paper?" she asked, beaming, when I had finished.

"Yeah, if all goes well, I'll probably get credited for something," I replied.

"Wonderful!" Hermione exclaimed but soon fell silent as I could see she couldn't think of anything else to say.

I took a sip of coke and cleared my throat.

"Well, now it's your turn," I began. "I want to hear all about your new job."

Hermione's face lost its elated expression and she smiled nervously.

"Um, all right," she conceded, glancing at the table nearest us. The couple seated there were obviously having a private moment and seemed oblivious to the rest of the world. Reassured, Hermione began her explanation. "Well, you know a bit about how things are set up, with the Ministry of Magic and such. I'm what's called an Auror. We work in the Department of Law Enforcement. We gather intelligence about wizards doing dark magic and sometimes, we have to go after them."

Hermione likely wanted to expound further on her job, tell me everything she learned in her three years of training, and no doubt regale me with her latest exploits, tracking down bad wizards and bringing them to justice. But she stopped short, with an oddly pensive look on her face.

"That's really it," she said at last, but we both knew it wasn't.

"So, you're kind of like MI5 agents then?" I prompted. Hermione blushed and nodded.

"Sort of, yes."

Good God, I thought, was that unlikeliest thing I'd ever heard. My rational, brainiac sister gallivanting about like something out of Mission: Impossible.

"So what are you doing in Oxford?" I asked. A pained expression crossed Hermione's face and she bit her lower lip.

"It's sort of sensitive information, you understand," she said at last.

"Oh, I get it. It's classified, isn't it? You could tell me, but then you'd have to kill me, right?" I joked. Hermione's eyes widened in horror.

"Roz, don't ever joke about that," she admonished me in a low, measured voice.

"Sorry."

"You know, I really don't feel comfortable discussing this in such a public place, so could we just drop the subject for now, please?" she said urgently.

We spent the rest of the meal talking about nothing really of consequence. The waiter then brought the bill, which Hermione insisted on paying, and we headed out into the Oxford evening, browsing a few closed shops on St. Giles Street.

"Rosalind!" I heard a man's voice call as Hermione and I drooled over a leatherbound first edition of Larkin's The Whitsun Weddings in a darkened shop window. I spun around. Henry was walking briskly toward us, clad in his usual shabby khaki shorts and a Radiohead t-shirt that had seen better days.

"Henry!" I said, surprised.

"Hello, Roz," he said, his eyes darting from me to Hermione, as if he was seeing double.

"Oh!" I exclaimed. "Henry, this is my sister, Hermione. Hermione, this is Henry Mortensen. He's in the English course at Magdalen College as well."

"Bonjour, Mademoiselle," he said in a passable French accent, shaking Hermione's hand. It took both my sister and me a moment to remember that she was supposed to be fluent in French. "Enchanté de faire votre connaissance."

Hermione glanced at me quickly, a mortified look o her face. In all the studying she had done, French was not a subject she had covered, save for a few rudimentary lessons in primary school, and I could tell this perturbed her.

"Um, merci beaucoup," she said hesitantly in a none-too-convincing accent.

"Comment est-ce que vous trouvez la Sorbonne?" Henry continued, grinning broadly.

"Oh, quit showing off, Henry," I said brusquely, trying to hide my fear that he would insist on conducting this conversation exclusively in French, and a wicked smile crept to his face. "She likes the Sorbonne just fine."

"How long are you in Oxford, Hermione?" Henry asked.

"Um, it depends," Hermione began. "I'm on a break...from the Sorbonne. For the summer." It sounded as if this was the first time she had ever uttered the name of the university to another living person, which was probably true.

"Well," Henry said genially, "A bunch of us are meeting at the Lamb and Flag again tonight if you'd like to join us for the drink. Roz knows where it is." He looked at me and winked.

"Thanks," I said. Henry grinned impishly once more.

"Nice meeting you, Hermione," he said. "See you later, Roz."

Once he was out of sight, Hermione turned to me and raised an eyebrow as we continued down the street.

"What?" I asked defensively.

"Well, well, well," she said. "He certainly was cute. Your boyfriend?"

"No!" I insisted.

"Bet you wish he was," Hermione goaded, smiling waggishly.

"Maybe," I admitted. "Definitely maybe." Actually, it was much more than maybe.

"Maybe! Well, maybe you better go after him before someone else does," Hermione warned.

"Who?" I implored. "Like you?"

"Ha!" she laughed in earnest. "No, definitely not me."

"And how is dear Ron these days?"

"He's just fine," Hermione intoned in a voice of loving exasperation. "He and Harry insisted they'd be fine on their own tonight. But you'll see him soon. He's quite curious about my little Muggle sister." She paused. "And you and I most definitely need to speak to Mum and Dad about that ridiculous story they've invented about me. It sounds completely suspicious."

"What would you suggest they change about it?"

"Oh, I don't know. Tell people I'm a bank teller or something," Hermione said dismissively.

"And that wouldn't be suspicious at all, what with you being fluent in four languages and having studied at the Sorbonne. Sounds like the CV of a normal bank employee," I retorted.

Hermione groaned.

"You're right!" she exclaimed, agitated. "Why can't they have at least made up a story about me doing normal things?"

"Because you're not normal," I replied. "And they don't want you to be."

"Well, neither are you," she protested. "I don't see you working in a bank this summer."

"Nope," I said, throwing an arm around my sister's shoulder. "We're both a couple of freaks."

As we reached the next street corner, Hermione stopped abruptly and turned to me.

"Look, Harry and Ron and I would like you to come to our place for dinner tomorrow, if you're not busy," she said, handing me a slip of paper. "Go to this address. It's the side door, just off the street in the alley. But come by yourself, and make sure no one follows you."

"What?" I exclaimed in disbelief. "Why?"

Hermione sighed and shook her head. "I can't really tell you. It's just important that you come by yourself. Can we expect you around six?"

"Yeah, I can manage that," I replied. "But don't you want to come by the Lamb and Flag for a drink?"

Again, Hermione's lips pressed into the anxious grimace I had seen several times that evening.

"Another time, Roz," she replied. "I really should be getting back. But you will be able to come tomorrow night, won't you?"

"Yeah," I said, a bit crestfallen.

"Good," she said, planting a kiss on my cheek. "Well, I should go. It's so good we're living in the same place now."

But there was a look of unease, almost of sadness in Hermione's eyes as she said this, so I knew that couldn't be completely true. I watched, a bit bemused, as she turned and walked down the side street, glancing round and over her shoulder, as if making sure she wasn't being followed.