Early Wednesday evening, 2 September 1942, on the Hogwarts commons...
The first class meeting of fourth-year Enochian didn’t last long, because it mostly consisted of Magistra Mendizabal explaining in very strong Latin that the study of Enochian was Serious Business, that Enochian was a magickal language and not to be safely used on the material plane for daily conversation by those who valued their sanity, unlike Latin, Greek and Hebrew, forms of which were all still used in daily conversation around the world. Invocations and evocations in Enochian were far stronger than they were in English, Latin or Greek, and people who misused Enochian had been known to go mad. She gave several infamous examples, and spent a good bit of time detailing the precautions to be taken while using Enochian, and the attendance policy, which was that if you were in any way ill or unsettled, you could miss a lesson and receive that lesson’s notes without penalty. Rajinder Patil had thought this a fine thing, until Perkin Hawkwood had ruined it by saying something stupid and Magistra Mendizabal had bluntly informed him that she had ways of knowing whether or not you were telling the truth about things like this.
Rajinder had a lot to think about, so he was glad to get out early and wander around the castle. Before too long he encountered his sister, Anjali, who was sitting by herself in the commons, watching people as she had often done in the zenana at home. She had her headscarf on, which made him frown, and the front of her Hogwarts robe closed so that all you could see were her face, her hands and her shoes. There was no colour about her person except for the bit of her Ravenclaw tie you could see where her collar came up over her scarf.
“I thought I told you not to wear the hijab at school,” he said, sitting down on the bench next to her. “You’re wearing your robe like a jilbab. Stop it.”
“I’m more comfortable like this,” said Anjali. “I asked my roommates if it bothered them, and they said it didn’t. Camille said I looked like a nun.”
Rajinder groaned. “They have to say that. They’re being polite. Anyhow, why would you wear something like that around your roommates?”
Anjali shrugged. “Not to be rude, but don’t you room with Bobby Macmillan? I think he’s nice. But I don’t think you can count on someone not looking at you in the wrong way, just because you’ve got nothing they don’t have themselves.” After a moment she sighed. “I put the hijab on in flying class. My hair was in braids and they kept hitting me in the face.”
“Oh,” said Rajinder. “Zeller wears a headscarf to play Quidditch, too.”
Anjali looked up at him with interest. “One of the Jewish girls plays Quidditch? You must mean Mr Goldstein’s friend. She’s the only Jew with a Gryffindor tie that I’ve seen around here. Most of them are in our House. I don’t mind them at all. Mr Zeller is very nice, though Mr Goldstein can be grumpy. And anything I see Mr Zeller eat is probably safe. Anyhow, I don’t understand why some people hate them at home, they’re people of the Book just like we are.”
She was looking at him, questioningly, and Rajinder realised that she was asking him, without asking him, if it was all right that she felt this way. “You’re right, of course,” he told her, patting her shoulder awkwardly.
Anjali smiled at him. After a moment, she un-knotted the scarf under her chin and tugged the ends of it up and out from under her collar. She spread it out across her lap to get the wrinkles out and folded it up, then tucked it into a pocket, but she didn’t unbutton her robe. Her hair really was very windblown; there were wisps of it all round her face that had escaped her braids.
Rajinder sighed.
“I want a pair of trousers to fly in,” said Anjali. “You only bought skirts for me, but we have to fly on broomsticks. I know there’s a charm, but it’s awkward. Can we make an order from Malkin’s? All of the girls in my room want to do it.”
“Sure, if they pay you back,” said Rajinder, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t think you’d want them. You only wanted the longest skirts, and the more conservative girls here don’t wear trousers at all.”
Anjali shrugged. “I wear salwars at home. All the time.”
“Yes, you do.” Rajinder nodded slowly. “Did you really write Mother and ask her to send you that monkey?”
“No, but I’m going to. I know you say he’s messy, but he couldn’t be worse than Camille DeVries.” Anjali rolled her eyes.
Rajinder snorted. “He threw shit at me!”
“Only because you were being a brat,” said Anjali serenely. “He never does that to anyone in the zenana. Maybe he doesn’t like rowdy boys. If so, then he can keep us safe in our own zenana. I do not like some of the boys in our year. Dursley in particular. He looks at me like he found me under a leaf!”
“If he gives you any trouble,” said Rajinder, “I’ll pound him.”
Anjali grinned at him. “Because only you’re allowed to do that?”
“Exactly so,” said Rajinder. “Anjali…remember your promise?”
Anjali took a long deep breath. “Which one?”
“The important one,” said Rajinder.
Anjali looked up at him suspiciously. “The one about not telling Mother we have a cousin in Londinium? Really I should think she knows that. But I won’t. I know he’s an apostate-”
“Actually,” said Rajinder quietly, “he’s not. He never reverted to Islam. No-one on that side of the family has, Anjali.” He frowned. “That would be reason enough not to mention him to Mother, but he is also working for the British.”
“Oh.” Anjali looked down at her folded hands in her lap. “Rajinder, you’re like him. You like it better here than home. But our people at home are not free. And some of the people here don’t respect us, at all. My roommates are nice but not everyone is.”
There was a guilty twinge in Rajinder’s heart. “Maybe you’re right. I do like it here. I lied to our parents, Anjali. When the Christians have their holiday, they let us out of school, but people who don’t have family here or can’t travel home are allowed to stay. I told our mother and father I was staying here at school, but I stayed in Londinium. With our cousin.”
Anjali frowned at him. “Why did you tell me that? You won’t let me tell them. It’ll weigh on my mind, and yet I can’t tell them. That isn’t fair, Rajinder.” She snorted and looked down at her feet. “It’d serve you right if I told.”
Rajinder sighed. “I told you because I was hoping you’d stay with us, too, this year.”
Anjali snorted. “You won’t even tell me what he does, you say it’s a secret! Does he work for St Mungo’s, or not? You don’t know! Does he work for the British Ministry, or not? You don’t know! Does he work for the traders? You don’t know! All you know is he’s got some kind of project here that he can’t tell anyone about, and you think it’s a good idea to stay with him! Rajinder, you have no sense!” She reached for her scarf, to fiddle with it nervously, but her hands found only her braids and she scowled. “It’s very nearly time to eat! I’m going inside.”
Rajinder watched her walk away, a small black-robed figure, and shook his head sadly. Everything his little sister had said was true-but it wasn’t that simple.
namaste_anjali and rajinder