The dormitories were perfectly cozy, and Holly was pleasantly surprised that she had a room to herself. Her mom's stories from Hogwarts had left her dreading the shared bedroom experience, but the rooms at Beauxbatons, though small, were singles. It was nice to have some peace and quiet after she retired for the night.

She had stayed up in the common room later than she had meant to, but Emilie and some of the other students in her house had been pestering her about this English witch who had been sorted into Bellefeuille—Rose something. Holly hadn't noticed her at the sorting ceremony, but according to the others, they shared an almost uncanny resemblance. Holly had assured them that they had imagined or exaggerated the similarities between them; yes, her mother was English, but Holly's family was very small, and she certainly didn't have a sister. Maybe the girl was a distant cousin or something, but Holly wasn't losing any sleep over finding out.

As they had agreed, she and Emilie met in the common room to head down to breakfast the next morning, but she had a surprise waiting for her in the hallway: the girl who could only be the doppelgänger everyone had been talking about, because she did, in fact, look eerily similar to Holly. "Told you," Emilie said, earning her a disgruntled frown from the other girl. "Meet you at breakfast?" Holly nodded, and Emilie headed off down the hall.

"Okay, so...this is weird, right?" The girl raised both eyebrows at Holly, who did her best to form a neutral expression.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Don't be daft. You see it, don't you?"

Holly shrugged. "See what?" She brushed past the girl and started off toward the dining hall. It was certainly weird, the resemblance, but they lived in a world of magic; surely there were stranger things.

"Hey!" The girl caught up with her and stood in her path. "Don't you see it? We could be...I dunno...twins or something."

"That's ridiculous." Holly put her hands on her hips, but the girl wasn't budging.

"What's your name?"

"Holly Granger. What's yours?"

"Rose Weasley."

"There, see? No relation." Holly tried again, but Rose side-stepped her, and she gave an indignant huff. "I'm not sure what you expect me to say. I don't have any siblings. And I definitely don't have a twin. Now, if you don't mind, I would like to go to breakfast." This time, Rose let her pass. She was nearly to the end of the corridor when Rose spoke again.

"I'm going to figure this out," she called to Holly. "Until I do, don't tell anyone about us."

Holly turned and gave a nonchalant shrug. "Tell them what?"


Rose sighed and slammed another book closed, earning her a sharp look from Madame Blanchet. "Désolée," she whispered, and the librarian went back to her writing.

She had been at Beauxbatons for almost two weeks now and had ended up spending most of her free time in the library of all places, searching high and low for anything that might serve as a magical explanation for the similarities between herself and Holly Granger, who, much to Rose's chagrin, had more or less been avoiding her since Rose had ambushed her outside her dorm on their first morning here. It completely baffled Rose that Holly seemed oblivious to—or at least willing to ignore—just how alike their appearances were, and it frustrated her to no end that she wasn't remotely interested in getting to the bottom of it. It was either the world's freakiest coincidence, or something major was going on.

Rose trudged back to the common room and found Marc and Pauline still up, tossing a quaffle back and forth between them. "Ze library again?" Pauline asked as she entered. "You nearly missed curfew."

"I know, I know. I was doing—"

"Recherche," the two of them chorused knowingly.

"Yes." Rose flopped onto the couch nearest them. "Still nothing."

"You know," Marc said slowly, "zere is a simple way to get your answers." Rose raised an eyebrow at him, and he tossed her the quaffle. "Écris à ton père."

"Ha!" Rose scoffed. "And say what? 'Hi, Dad, how's the weather? By the way, have I got a secret twin sister you've neglected to tell me about all these years?'"

"Well? Is zat what you suspect?" Pauline pressed.

"I dunno. I mean...that sounds insane, right?"

"Oui, mais...how else do you explain it?" Rose frowned. She didn't have an answer.


"I told you, Mum, the trip was a bit of a whirlwind." Hermione cradled the telephone against her shoulder as she bustled around the kitchen, trying to make dinner while she read over her most recent case file. With Holly gone to school, she was working even more than usual, and still bringing work home. The flat was too quiet, and she needed something to fill her time.

"Yes, but to be that close to London and not even stop by," Jean complained. "I haven't seen my granddaughter in months. Not since her birthday."

"We were in Paris for three days to get her school things, and then I had to come right back to work. You'll see us both at Christmas, Mum. Promise."

Jean gave a beleaguered sigh. "Alright. And how is work?"

Hermione frowned. "Why'd you say it like that?"

"Would you rather discuss your love life?" Hermione could hear her mum's smirk through the phone and shook her head.

"Work's great."

"That's what I thought." Jean sighed. "Honestly, Hermione, I know you've been focused on raising Holly, but now that she's at school, don't you suppose you ought to think about trying to meet someone?"

"No," Hermione said flatly. "I thought we were talking about my work?"

"I'm worried about you."

"Because I'm not married?"

"Because I think you're lonely."

"Well, I'm not."

"Hermione—"

"Mum, I have to go, something's burning. Love you, talk soon!"

Hermione just barely heard her mother's (rightfully) disbelieving sigh as she hung up the phone. She was lonely, but only at home, because the flat felt empty without her daughter in it. But she had friends. She got on well with her colleagues. She went on very occasional dates. But romance was not, and never had been, high on her priority list. She had had strong romantic feelings for exactly one person in her life, which had resulted in the only serious relationship she had ever been in, which had subsequently ended in more debilitating heartbreak than she had imagined possible to exist and her living in New York, raising her daughter alone. It wasn't an experience she had any interest in repeating, despite her mother's insistence that it was time. As far as Hermione was concerned, the only thing it was time for was dinner.