JKR owns HP
Note: Daphne was telling the truth.
Disclaimer: In this chapter, a child is said to appear out of nowhere. This is a figurative expression.
I will set upon you snakes, and serpents that cannot be charmed (Jeremiah 8:17)
"Homework—twelve inches contrasting Alohomora and Colloportus! Put your hand down, Mr. Corner; if I wanted your memories modified I would bring in trained Ministry Obliviators. And before you go, stop by the desk and form a line to sign up for the train home for Christmas!"
It was hard to believe it was December already. Every new thing Yehuda learned only made him more aware that there was a huge world of things he didn't: for every successful Alohomora he and Michael practiced there was a botched Colloportus that locked them out of their dormitory until a prefect could come and lift the charm. At least they had avoided the fiasco that was Potions with Gryffindor and Slytherin, where someone's Swelling Solution had exploded and half the class had to wait for Deflating Drafts before their heads were small enough to fit through the classroom door again.
He had not mentioned that in his letters home, not that anyone seemed too traumatized by it anymore; from the whoops of laughter coming from the Slytherin table at breakfast, they almost seemed to be celebrating.
"Come on." Terry stood up. "Let's go over there; I want to ask my brother what's going on."
"Do we have to?" Yehuda muttered, keen to avoid Daphne Greengrass. He had written to Rabbi Zeller, carefully eliding the details of the story so they wouldn't know he had talked to his girl classmate, and the rabbi had said that Nicanor in the Mishnah was Jewish but the name was from Greek Alexandria. He could almost hear the smile in the handwriting, but how was he to have known that? Unwillingly, he followed Terry across the hall.
"Good morning," Terry said, sliding in next to Benjamin. "Why're you so excited?"
"Mercy's just had a letter from home!" Benjamin said, jerking his thumb toward the thick parchment, which had been sealed with a crest in glittering green wax.
He couldn't remember ever seeing her bouncing up and down or grinning so widely. Usually she wore an expression of dignified boredom, but today she was chattering like a little girl. "I've got a baby brother—he was born last night, a bit early but doing really well. And my mother's all right, too! They've named him Shepherd—he looks just like my little sister did when she was a baby. I can't wait for Christmas!"
"An heir to the manor?" Malfoy said, patting her on the back. "Congratulations, Montgomery."
There was a photograph, too, just like Totty had sent him when Yosef was born. The baby was little and bald, the mother looking rather frail against a sea of headboard and white sheets. She was moving, like the dragon in the picture Michael had sent him, she was shifting the baby so it faced the camera. "Congratulations," he said awkwardly. He had stared too long.
At calligraphy later, Penelope showed them how to do serifs, which were little tails you added to letters to make them looked typed. While he worked at incorporating them into the crowns of his alef-beis, his arm curved protectively around the paper so no one would see the odd alphabet, Mercy perfected her flourishes, making a card for her parents and the new baby.
The snow began the next week, and it went on and on for what seemed like ages, through the end of Cheshvan and into Kislev. With each parsha sheet he sent home—Toldos, Vayeitzei, Vayishlach—Ferric looked at him ominously, as if to express the unlikelihood that his letters would make it back to London in this weather.
"They ought to teach us the Warming Charm, instead of playing out how Lockhart bit the head off a vampire or whatever it is he's done today," Michael grumbled as he slid into the desk beside Yehuda.
"Hmm?" he said, distracted. The Rashi in perek mem was long, maybe forty-five words if you counted the Old French, but all it said was that the words "it was like blossoming" meant that the grapevine appeared to be blossoming, but in a dream. The rest of it was just places in the Torah where other blossoming things appeared. He wrote this on his parsha sheet in Muggle ballpoint pen.
"Might want to put that away," Terry said, behind them. "Anyway we'd do Warming Charms with Flitwick, but not until fourth year—"
In the Chumash, the chamberlain was telling Yosef his dream: V'kos Pharaoh b'yadi, va'ekach es ha'anavim va'eshchat—Rashi said va'eshchat was like the Targum's translation, in many places all over the Mishnah—
"Yehuda!" Terry hissed.
He looked up. Lockhart stood directly over him, his eyes surveying the Hebrew letters with interest. Yehuda snapped the Chumash shut and swept it into his lap.
"Well, well, well," said Lockhart. "What have we here?"
He swallowed. His throat was dry. "It's—"
"—Voyages with Vampires, yes, yes, I know. Not surprising that it's been translated into Chinese, when you have admirers all over the world as I do, that's to be expected. But I must say, you certainly don't look it, Mr.—Gomez, is it?"
"Goldstein," he said, then stopped himself. There was no reasoning to be done here. Chinese didn't look like Hebrew at all.
"And you would be correct!" Lockhart proclaimed. He turned to the board and wrote VAMPIRES with a flourish. "Today: my staking of theVratsa Vampire! Five points to the one who can name the decorations awarded by the Bulgarian ministry for its defeat!"
To no one's surprise, Terry answered. "Order of Sveten Georgi, first class."
"But sir," Kevin said, "aren't vampires harmless unless they're actually biting someone?"
Lockhart wagged his finger. "You might as well say that werewolves are harmless unless they're actually biting someone—and none of us would rely on that! There are Dark creatures everywhere, young man, and many of them look just like you or I—well, just like you, I should say. If you have any aspirations to your own Order of Sveten Georgi, first class, I suggest you attend my dueling club tonight."
"Dueling club?" Michael said as they left the classroom. "That wasn't up there with all the other clubs at the beginning of the year. That's something new."
"It's because of Mrs. Norris and Colin Creevey," Kevin said. "You'll be next, Mudbloods."
Stephen's head turned so fast it looked painful. "Stop saying that."
"How do you know that's why?" Michael asked.
Kevin looked at Yehuda, and they both looked back at Michael. "Isn't it obvious?" Kevin said finally. "They want us to be able to fight back, against whatever did it."
"Whoa, it's empty in here," Michael said.
Yehuda, who had seen the Great Hall at the end of last year bare but for the teachers' table, merely gazed around them. Someone had removed all the House tables and erected a glittering gold stage where the teachers' table would have been. It could only have been one person, who was currently standing on that stage wearing the brightest violet robes Yehuda had ever seen, and he had a six-year-old sister.
"Gather round, gather round!" Lockhart shouted, waving his arms. "Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me?"
The hall seemed mostly full of first, second, and third-years. Perhaps, Yehuda thought, the older students thought they could take on—whatever it was—without extra help. Dueling was a fight to the death, wasn't it, but no one there looked ready for that.
"Excellent!" Lockhart said cheerfully. "Well, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little dueling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions—for full details, see my published works."
"I told you," Kevin whispered. "I told you that's what it was for. There's something that's out to get us—"
"Shhh!"
"Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape! He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about dueling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Don't you youngsters worry," Lockhart said reassuringly. "You'll still have your Potions master when I'm through with him, never fear!"
"Yes," Michael whispered, "but will we have Defense?"
Yehuda stifled a laugh; Snape looked not only as though he could best Lockhart in any contest, but as though he badly wanted to. Thankfully, he wore his usual black; their eyes probably couldn't handle more than one professor in robes that brightly colored. Snape and Lockhart faced each other, raising their wands out in front of them like swords.
"As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position," Lockhart said. "On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course. One, two, three—"
"Expelliarmus!"
Bang. Lockhart flew backward and hit the wall behind the platform, while Snape lowered his wand, looking bored. There was a smattering of Slytherin-sounding cheers behind Yehuda, which quickly dissolved into giggles. Lockhart clambered to his feet, blinking dazedly.
"Well, there you have it," he said. "That was a Disarming Charm. As you see, I've lost my wand—thank you, Miss Brown. An excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don't mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy—however I felt it would be instructive to let them see…"
Beside Yehuda, Michael had dissolved into helpless laughter.
"Well, enough demonstrating!" Lockhart announced. "I'm going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you'd like to help me?"
"You ready for me, Goldstein?" Michael said, drawing his wand mock-threateningly.
"'Course," Yehuda said. Over where the Gryffindor table was supposed to be, a giggling Parvati Patil had slung one arm around Lavender Brown, and Padma shrank quietly into the throng, the only girl in blue. He glanced quickly over his shoulder—Mandy and Morag, Su and Lisa. She was going to be alone.
"Miss Patil, you can work with Miss Fawcett." Lockhart was moving among the students, pairing them up. "Mr. Goldstein, do you have a partner?"
"Yes sir," he said hastily, "I'm with Michael." Terry fell back, looking disappointed, but Benjamin appeared out of nowhere and tapped his shoulder. "Can you be my partner, Terry?"
That left Stephen to work with Kevin, and once everyone had paired up, Lockhart mounted the platform again. "Face your partners! And bow! Wands at the ready!" Yehuda stifled a laugh as he and Michael bowed to each other, it all felt so formal. "When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponents—only to disarm them—we don't want any accidents—one, two, three—"
"Expelliarmus!" Michael yelled.
Red flashed, something punched him in the stomach and his wand flew out of his grasp; he stumbled backward, knocked into Terry and they went over, slamming against the stone floor in a tangle of arms and legs. There were clouds of smoke bursting out among the crowds—probably someone had said Expellimellius or something—and he was coughing on the stone floor, his rib cage thumping into Terry's shoulder blades.
"Are you all right?" Michael ran forward to help them up.
"Sorry," Terry muttered, then "Ow!" He had stabbed himself with the tip of his wand.
"Pinch it hard," Lockhart told him, "it will stop bleeding in a second, Boot. You're lucky it didn't snap altogether."
"That's the first thing he's said that I agree with," Michael said. He looked with concern at Terry's hand. "You ought to see Madam Pomfrey."
"He said it'll be all right."
"Can't a wand be put back together if it snaps?" Yehuda asked.
"Not really. Have you seen Ron Weasley's?"
They backed away as Lockhart made room for some pair to demonstrate. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy stood at the center of the clearing, Malfoy smirking, Potter gripping his wand and looking apprehensive.
"Now, Harry," Lockhart said, "when Draco points his wand at you, you do this—" It looked sort of like a Protego, but the books said it was best to keep a simple down-and-half-back-up motion, that embellishments would make it less effective, and this firmly cemented Yehuda's impression that Lockhart had never read any books but his own. "Just do what I did! Three, two, one—go!"
"Serpensortia!" Draco shouted.
Michael yelled: an enormous black snake shot out of Draco's wand, hooded, rearing back to strike. Yehuda stumbled backward. Terry gripped his arm and sucked in a breath. All the girls were screaming now, and Potter still stood frozen in front of the giant serpent.
"Allow me!" Lockhart wielded his wand with a loud bang. The snake bounced high across the floor—too close, he thought wildly, it's too close—and it whipped forward at Justin Finch-Fletchley, its fangs baring to strike.
"No!"
He didn't know who had cried out—maybe him, maybe Michael, maybe everyone in the room had flinched or put a hand out as though they could stop it, everyone screamed—but it was Harry Potter who ran forward straight at the snake, hissing and spitting at it as if he were a snake himself, and quietly, obediently, the snake lowered its head and backed away.
Under his breath, Michael said a word that Yehuda's mother would have washed out his mouth with soap for using.
Justin stumbled backward, then turned and ran out of the room.
"Vipera Evanesca," Snape said coolly. The snake vanished. Terry's fingers still dug into the bone of Yehuda's arm. Potter stood frozen, his wand dangling limply at his side, but before anyone could move or do anything more than mutter, Ron Weasley and Granger had ushered him through the crowd, flanking him on either side like guards, through the great doors of the dining room.
Outside the entrance hall, white snow swirled thickly into a blizzard.
Yehuda had not written to his parents about what had happened. Neither had Michael. "They'll just get scared and tell me to come home," Michael said. Terry had, and his parents had sent a long letter that he read under his blankets, and a parcel full of Chocolate Frogs and Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans. After Transfiguration, Benjamin followed them back up the long spiral staircase to Ravenclaw Tower.
"Don't you have Herbology?" he asked, panting.
"Canceled," Yehuda said, indicating the bulletin board. "Too much snow."
"Excellent, we won't have to see that snakeface Malfoy," Michael said briskly, throwing himself into an armchair. "Did you see him with that—serpent-sortia thing? What was he playing at?"
"Don't insult snakes by comparing them to Malfoy," Benjamin said lightly. He flipped over his Chocolate Frog card. "Oooh, Severus of Barcelona. I should send this to Mum."
"It's Serpensortia," Terry corrected Michael. "I didn't know Harry was a Parselmouth. That's not in the books."
"A what?" Yehuda said.
"Parselmouth!" Benjamin said, excited now. "He can talk to snakes. Slytherin was one, that's why the House symbol is a snake. Pretty odd, though—you'd think if Hogwarts got a real Parselmouth they would go to Slytherin!"
"Really?" Terry laughed. "Harry Potter, in Slytherin?"
Benjamin shrugged, abruptly standing up. "Well, I've got to get back to Potions. If you're writing, tell Mum thanks for the candy."
"The Sorting Hat couldn't decide between Hufflepuff and Slytherin," Terry muttered. "Did you ever?"
They only had the one class upstairs, just enough time for Yehuda to finish his essay for Charms, and then in class, Flitwick announced that if there was truly that much interest in being subjected to a Memory Charm, he might just allow for a demonstration.
"You're gonna Obliviate us?" Mandy shouted.
"The technical term would be 'modify our memories,' Miss Brocklehurst! And no, I will not Obliviate you—not being a trained Ministry Obliviator, it would be unethical for me to practice practical memory modification except in cases of extreme emergency, and while a classful of curious children is certainly important, it is not a case of extreme emergency. I will submit a request to the Ministry."
Michael's hand shot into the air. "Can I ask my father to do it?"
"Angulus Corner is your father?" (Michael nodded, beaming.) "I don't see why not; he always did a remarkably subtle Memory Charm, although he was of course quite gifted all around, even with his father pushing him toward Muggle univ—"
There was a bloodcurdling shriek in the corridor.
"ATTACK! ATTACK! ANOTHER ATTACK!" He recognized the sound of the poltergeist, it screamed on and on like an air-raid siren. "NO MORTAL OR GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! ATTAAAACK!"
They were on their feet before he even understood what was happening, and pushing each other to scramble through the door and into the hallway. Doors banged open up and down the corridor. He saw the strange gray cloud floating above them before he realized it was a ghost—the ghost of Gryffindor Tower—and only then did his eyes travel down to the frozen boy underneath. Stiff, staring, how he thought a dead body might look—like the cat, only it was a boy.
Someone was screaming. It was Hannah Abbott, in front of the Transfiguration classroom, her hands pressed against her mouth. "Justin!" she screamed, Justin, Justin—"Remain calm!" Lockhart shouted. "Nobody panic!"—but there were yelps and bursts of shrieking and Kevin was shaking violently beside him. The ghost, the ghost was Petrified too. He wanted to scream like Hannah but his voice caught in his throat.
BANG!
Professor McGonagall lowered her wand. "Professors, please lead your students back to class."
They went.
But somewhere in between their bursting out of the classroom and their straggling back in, the world had shifted. The Muggle-borns in the class walked with their heads down, trying to look small, and although the wizard-born (was there even a word for them, the ones who weren't Muggle-born?) put arms across their shoulders and formed protective phalanxes around them, their backs were all straight. Everyone knew, now, who was who.
The signup list for the train home filled up in less than an hour.
Since the dueling club, people had been steering clear of Harry Potter, and now they were whispering that he had cursed Justin. Benjamin said it was all the Slytherins were talking about, too. It was quite the change from last year, all that Boy Who Lived talk. But on Friday, as he rushed back up to the dormitory to light candles,he heard what sounded suspiciously like the clash of metal spoons on a pot and saw the Weasley twins marching on either side of a mortified-looking Harry, banging loudly on impromptu drums. "Make way for the Heir of Slytherin!"
"Yeah, seriously evil wizard coming through!"
He looked away quickly, not wanting poor Harry to think he was staring. That had always made him feel terribly alone, and there were other Jews in the world, just not at Hogwarts. Certainly it was worse to be the only one who had survived the Killing Curse, or the only one who could talk to snakes.
At Potions, Ernie had said that Justin had only just told Harry that he was Muggle-born and then right after that had come the attack. But how could the Heir of Slytherin be a Gryffindor?
It weighed on his mind all Shabbos, even though you weren't supposed to think about weekday things, but that was hard when "weekday things" meant "someone in the school is trying to curse all the Muggle-borns, probably." There were other weekday things to consider, though—he had found the little plastic bag at the back of his wardrobe. Chanukah would begin right after Shabbos.
It felt odd to eat alone, now. Every swish of the plumbing or muffled door-slam below sounded to him like the approach of some monster. Friday night he ate with the others at dinner, picking up his two rolls and his soup and fish in the kitchen, Michael stuck to his side like glue. With the clamor of forks on plates echoing off the wall, and saying excuse me as you pushed by the Gryffindor table, you could pretend everything was normal, even though the teachers' eyes still made sweeps of the Hall, on guard for something.
Shalosh Seudos, though, was too early. He ate in the common room while the others went out to play in the snow, and was glad when they returned. "How was the snowball fight?"
"It was all right. McGonagall told us to go inside and not to be outside unless we had to." Kevin looked over at Michael in confusion; he was stuffing clothing into a rucksack. "What are you doing? The train's not until Monday night."
"I don't care, I'm packing now," Michael said grimly. "Who'd be mental enough to stay?"
Yehuda opened the drawer of his nightstand and rummaged for the candles, the matches, and the little bag of cloves, and stood them all up on the top.
"I don't think anyone is," Stephen said. "Besides, it's Christmas. Everyone ought to be with their families anyway."
"Well, not everyone's got a family," Michael said. "Like Harry Potter—he lives with his Muggle relatives."
"That's still family," Kevin said defensively, "just because they're Muggles—"
Should he just whisper it? He poured grape juice from the jug into his cup. Oh, it couldn't hurt, they'd seen it so many times already even if they hadn't been standing close enough to hear—"Please, can you…" It felt bossy to say 'be quiet,' so he just made a vague lowering motion and tilted his head toward the Havdalah paraphernalia on the nightstand.
"Oh!" Terry said. "Shush, all of you—he has to end the Sabbath."
"Hinei Kel yeshuasi," he whispered, now wishing they would go back to talking— "evtach v'lo efchad, ki azi…" They stood there, Terry averting his eyes, Michael unabashedly staring, Stephen's arms folded, Kevin leaning on the bed, and he raised his voice to a murmur just to fill the stillness. "U'shavtem mayim l'sasson mimaayanei hayeshua…"
When he finished—hamavdil bein kodesh lechol—he poured gold olive oil carefully into the little glass cup, threading the wick through the metal spidery thing. He felt a little pang for the little tin menorah he had abandoned to the cabinet in the kitchen, but this one was shiny and new, and though it was disposable it at least was not spattered with the remnants of some other Jew's candle wax.
Bubby and Zeidy had given Sholom a real grownup menorah for his bar mitzvah almost two years ago, a silver one that stood up with the branches in a U. He sort of hoped they would do the same for him, for next year, but a menorah like that was too proud and show-offy for a boy who had to light alone in a common room crisscrossed with holly and mistletoe. But Bubby and Zeidy didn't know that, and anyway there might not be a next year, if he got control over his magic. He might be in Yesodey with Danziger and Levitt again.
When the train pulled out of Hogsmeade on Monday night, the headlights splitting the thick-falling snow, Yehuda sat in a compartment near the back. He wasn't alone: Michael was there, and Stephen and Kevin, and Terry and Benjamin. Compartments were full all up and down the train. It wasn't just him who had been set adrift: everyone else was leaving Hogwarts, too.
Glossary
Alef-beis. The Hebrew alphabet.
Cheshvan, Kislev. Two months of the Jewish calendar, generally covering late fall and early winter.
Rashi. Medieval Jewish commentator.
Perek mem. Chapter 40.
Chumash. Pentateuch.
V'kos Pharaoh b'yadi, va'ekach es ha'anavim va'eshchat. Pharaoh's cup was in my hand, and I took the grapes and I squeezed [them]. Genesis 40:11.
Shalosh Seudos. The third meal of the Sabbath, eaten on Saturday afternoon before sundown.
Havdalah. Ceremony to mark the end of the Sabbath.
Hinei Kel yeshuasi, evtach v'lo efchad, ki azi… Behold, God is my deliverance; I will trust and not fear, for [God] is my strength…
U'shavtem mayim l'sasson mimaayanei hayeshua… You will draw water with joy from the wellsprings of deliverance…
Hamavdil bein kodesh lechol. The One who distinguishes holy from secular.