Chapter 25

JKR owns HP… and, of course, Laazov owns Goldstein.

Note: If you want to see more of this, you can follow, favorite, or (better yet) leave a review. Nothing motivates me like feedback. Also, suggestions and ideas are always welcome. I hope to post more often, so stay tuned! I'm planning to post a post-Hogwarts story (no spoilers, don't worry) in the near future as well.

Fear and terror will befall them; by the greatness of your arm they will become still as stone… (Exodus 15:16)

The holidays lasted nearly a week after Pesach, but even when yom tov had ended and he was allowed to write again, Yehuda did not open any of his schoolbooks. Rather, he learned Gemara with Tatty, played some ordinary chess with Danziger, even volunteered to help Mummy with her grocery shopping on Thursday: in short, he did all he could to carry on as though Hogwarts did not exist. Mostly, though, he wandered around the house, pretending everything was normal despite the turbulence in his brain.

This was his sixth time going to Hogwarts (seventh, if you counted the week after his bar mitzvah), but the first time he was going willingly. They had given him the choice of whether or not to go back, and he had decided, of his own accord, to attend a goyish school. He felt sick every time he thought about it.

Half of him wanted to call the whole thing off, to just tell Tatty and Mummy that actually, he would go to yeshiva. It was probably the right thing to do. A Jewish boy belonged in yeshiva. All he needed to do was say the words. So why was it so hard? What was wrong with him?

He sat down on the couch and rifled through the pages of the nearest book without even looking at it, still lost in thought. Mummy and Tatty had not criticized his decision once since leaving the rabbi's study, which made the whole thing worse somehow. He didn't want to figure out his future for himself; he wished they wouldn't just allow him to do what he wanted (whatever it was that he really wanted), but to tell him that it was really, truly all right. More than that; he needed them to believe it. He needed to believe it himself.

"Are you reading that?"

Esti's voice broke the stillness. Yehuda gave a start and looked at the book in his hands. It was a novel Adina had got for her afikoman; the cover held a drawing of two girls sitting by a lake. He threw the book aside, blushing. "I was just —"

"It's okay," Esti said, laughing. "I didn't really think you liked Adina's books. I'd leave you to stew in your own thoughts, but Mummy says you need to pack 'cause your flight is tomorrow."

Yehuda pulled himself off the couch and headed for the stairs. The Hogwarts Express would indeed be leaving at eleven tomorrow, and he was entirely unprepared. His homework had not been touched. He had not filled out the form for the classes he would take next year (though he already knew he would choose Arithmancy and Ancient Runes). At least Tatty was taking care of his mishnayos and Gemara.

"Oh, and Yehuda?"

He paused with one foot on the bottom step and poked his head back into the living room. Esti was still watching him. "Hm?"

"Whatever's been bothering you about your …yeshiva…" she said, delicately emphasizing the word, "I hope it works out for you."

Yehuda flinched. He blinked rapidly at his sister, trying to retain his composure. She definitely knew about Hogwarts; there was no denying it anymore.

"You've been walking around like a zombie for days," Esti continued. "You look miserable, and you didn't fight with Sholom or Adina once this week."

"There's no such thing as zombies," Yehuda blurted. The Muggle stories were really about Inferi, or so he had once heard Terry telling Kevin. He could think of nothing else to say.

Esti considered this for a moment. "Well, that's good to know," she said, "but that's not —"

"What's good to know?" Adina asked, flouncing into the room, and the moment was lost.

"That there's no such thing as zombies," Esti replied smoothly. "Don't you think that's good to know?"

Yehuda laughed, because he did not want to cry.

"What are zombies?" Adina asked, looking from him to Esti as though unsure of whether they were making fun of her.

"Nothing," Yehuda said, joining in the teasing. "They don't exist."

Adina stamped her foot. "Yehuda!" she yelled. "What are you talking about?"

"Zombies," he said, and he and Esti broke out in giggles.

They set off in the car the next morning, he and Tatty, his newly-packed trunk in the boot and his overnight bag at his feet. Mummy had packed his usual sandwiches, and he had stuffed his homework and several feet of parchment inside as well. (After a moment's hesitation, he had put his Gemara in the bag too; it felt more right that way.) Hopefully he could make up for lost time on the train.

"What do they teach you, at your school?"

Tatty had asked the question abruptly, and Yehuda was thrown off balance. "I — we —" he stammered, his heart hammering. Why would his father care about his Hogwarts things? "All sorts," he mumbled. "Charms. Transfiguration. Potions. Some other stuff."

"Ah," his father said. He looked uncomfortable.

There was a pause.

"Which one —" His father cleared his throat. "Which is your favorite?" he asked.

Which Hogwarts subject was his favorite? What was Tatty playing at? But it wouldn't be derech eretz to ask. He struggled to come up with a response to his father's question instead. "I guess Transfiguration," he said, after a few moments, fidgeting in his seat.

"What is that?"

This, at least, was a question he could easily answer. "Turning stuff into something else," he said. "We started last year with things like matchsticks into needles, but last term we turned porcupines into pincushions." Tatty's eyes widened, and Yehuda continued, his enthusiasm growing as he spoke. "There are all these rules and equations you have to follow, like how big the thing you're Transfiguring is and what you're turning it into, and how it's easier to do the more closely related the concepts of the things are. Also you can actually make useful things. I once lost my pen so I turned my quill into another one. When we get older we'll be able to make stuff out of nothing."

"Out of nothing?" Tatty echoed faintly.

"Well, not really," Yehuda said quickly. "Only Hashem could actually make something — something completely out of nothing. If you conjure something it doesn't last very long; maybe a couple of days if you're really good. They say Dumbledore — that's our headmaster — once managed a week."

"Hm," his father murmured, and a stilted silence filled the last few moments of their drive.

Then they were among the bustle of King's Cross, loading his trunk onto a trolley, and lolling by the barrier between platforms nine and ten. They did not have to linger long; a large group of tourists conversing in loud German (Tatty winced) blocked them from view, and they pushed through to platform nine and three-quarters.

They were a bit early, this time; the scarlet steam engine had not yet managed to fill the entire platform with vapor. None of his friends were around that he could see, and Yehuda quickly found an empty compartment. He helped Tatty maneuver his trunk onto the train, then stepped back off to wait.

With nothing to do but watch the goings-on around the platform, the twisting in Yehuda's stomach began again. He was headed off for real this time, and suddenly he could not bear the tension any longer. "Ta —" he blurted, then stopped.

His father looked down at him curiously. "Yes?"

Yehuda swallowed and bit his lip. Then it all burst out of him, before he could stop himself: "I'm sorry. For going back and everything. I know you didn't want me to. I didn't want to either, until I did. I don't know why I'm doing this. I don't know what's going to happen to me…"

He trailed off. It was all he could do not to cry. He shouldn't have said anything, he thought; it would just make Tatty upset with him, and he had made himself more upset already —

"Listen to me, Yehuda," his father said, his voice flat and toneless. "You will go back to — to your school. We were told by a rav to do this, and we will do it."

He sounded, Yehuda thought, as if he were talking to himself as well.

"It is a mitzvah of v'asisa k'chol asher yorucha. You have nothing to feel bad about. None of this is your —"

Fault, Yehuda finished mentally. Whatever his father said, clearly he did not really think Hogwarts was the right place for him. No one did, except Rabbi Zeller, but he was going anyhow.

Tatty took several deep breaths, seemingly unable to speak. Then he put his hands on Yehuda's head and recited jerkily: "Yesimcha — Elokim — k'Ephraim uk'Menashe. Y'varech'cha Hashem — v'yishm'recha. Ya'eir — Hashem — panav eilecha — v'ychuneka. Yisa Hashem panav — eilecha — v'yaseim l'cha — shalom. Make us proud, Yehuda."

Yehuda nodded slowly. He didn't say anything; there was nothing left to say. Though it was not yet time, he kissed his father's hand and turned to board the train.

When he returned to his compartment, he did not immediately turn to the window. Instead he retrieved his homework, parchment, quill and ink from his bag and rummaged in his trunk for his Transfiguration book. Only when he had put "Differences Between Mammal and Reptile Transformations" at the top of his parchment did he stick his head outside to wave to Tatty. It was much better when he had work to do; remembering what he was going for made it easier to say goodbye.

It was strange to see the now-crowded platform from the train; he usually got on at the very last moment, when everyone else had already boarded. He scanned the crowd and found his father; he waved, making a feeble attempt to smile. It didn't quite come off; he did not have much to smile about today. His father waved back, wearing a similar expression.

Yehuda watched the rest of the crowd with a detached sort of interest; there were not many people he knew on the platform. Penelope was nearby, talking to her friends, and Kevin was at the far end of the train, being hugged by his mother, but that was all. Remembering the ride home, he looked around for Terry, but did not see him.

"Hello, Yehuda!"

The voice came from behind, making him jump. He turned to see Benjamin Boot standing in the open doorway of the compartment, lugging his trunk behind him. "How was your holiday?"

From Terry, your holiday would have meant Pesach, and a lot of questions to answer, but Benjamin had never tried to bother him about his yiddishkeit. He smiled.

"Good," he said, although it hadn't been. "How was yours?"

"Wish it was longer," Benjamin replied, dropping his trunk. "Hogwarts is great, but there's nothing like home."

Yehuda heartily agreed with this sentiment, though Benjamin, at least, truly belonged at Hogwarts. "Do you want to sit here?" he asked, instead of saying this aloud. "There's plenty of room; I'm the only one in here. Where's Terry, by the way?"

"Oh, he'll be along any second; he always is," Benjamin said, looking over his shoulder. "And I don't need a seat, thanks. Yeah, he's coming now… I'll see you around, Yehuda." He started to wrestle with his trunk again.

"Are you managing that on your own, Ben?" came Terry's voice.

"I'm fine, thanks!" Benjamin called back, struggling to drag his trunk down the hallway. "I'll see you later!"

Terry's head appeared in the door a few seconds later, pink and strained. Evidently his own luggage was no lighter than Benjamin's. "Give me a hand, Yehuda, will you?"

The train whistle sounded as they maneuvered the trunk into the compartment, and Yehuda scrambled to the window for a final wave to his father. The train began to roll forward: it was real now. He watched and waved, the platform shrinking into the distance, his father with his black hat blending into the small crowd of parents, until the station disappeared around the bend, and he was alone again, the only Jew for miles.

It was all wrong.

"If you're looking for me," Yehuda said, standing up from the dinner table, "I'll be in the—"

"—library," Michael finished, rolling his eyes. "You should just move your bed in there already."

This, Yehuda thought, would not be an entirely bad idea.

It was nearly two weeks into spring term, and Yehuda had spent every spare moment so far hunched over old newspapers at the library tables, combing through the daily chronicles of Wizarding life. His curiosity of last term had been replaced by a grim, anxious determination, almost a need, to find the answer, to discover the identity of the last Jewish student who had walked these halls. It was as though if he could only prove that he was not the only one, if he could attach a definite name to what was now merely a concept, then everything would be all right. There would be precedent for his existence; his actions would seem less of a betrayal of all he ought to believe.

And if that witch or wizard was still alive! They would be younger than his grandparents; he could ask them all sorts of questions: what they had done on Shabbos, and yom tov, how their parents had reacted when they got their Hogwarts letter, and — most of all — if they had also felt so completely, utterly different, so totally alone, with no one, anywhere, who could truly understand them…

And so he searched, searched through stacks and stacks of newsprint, no longer detouring through the details of decades-ago Wizardkind which had once seemed so fascinating. His eyes blurred past politics, advances in potion-making, advertisements for the upcoming publication of Quidditch Through the Ages, a headline about the formation of the Snallygaster Protection League. He scanned the society pages; births, deaths, marriages (one of which had to be a misprint: Cygnus Black to Druella Rosier (Slytherin '56) couldn't have been printed in 1951); all flashed in and out of his consciousness, discarded mentally when there was, yet again, no sign of a Jewish name. And still, after all this time, nothing…

His schoolwork was beginning to suffer; his grades dipped slightly, not enough to earn disapproval from his teachers, but enough to further stir the confused pot of his guilt. He could hardly concentrate in class, his mind fixed on the clock and the next pile of old papers. Surely soon he would have his breakthrough… It would have to come eventually, if he searched hard enough…

Shabbos morning dawned bright and clear, and Yehuda raced through his davening, anxious to get back to the library. There was a Quidditch game today, or at least he thought there was: there had been a lively argument at Friday night dinner (or was it a seudah? He was never sure) about the merits of the various Gryffindor and Hufflepuff players ("I'm telling you, they should've put Cedric on the team," Terry had said, not that Yehuda had paid much attention to the conversation), and everyone had left the room much earlier than they usually did on Shabbos. Today, at least, he would avoid the comments his friends had started making about his constant trips to the library; everyone knew he never came to the games.

The corridors were empty when he emerged from the common room; everyone must have gone out to the game already. Across half the castle and down two floors, he met no one but the Fat Friar, drifting through a wall on the fourth floor, and the oldest Weasley, who was smiling to himself as though he had thought of a joke.

He walked faster as he neared the library; the papers were waiting. A girl was lying on the floor, and he stepped neatly over her (you weren't supposed to do that, were you —

Lying on the floor?

The meaning of what he had just seen crashed through Yehuda's brain. He spun on his heels, the blood draining from his face. The girl on the floor was frozen, stiff and solid. She had long, bushy brown hair — Hermione Granger, some distant part of his brain supplied — but it lay rigidly around her face, as though it were made of stone.

Hashem Hashem Hashem help no no no…

She was not the only one, he realized with a fresh spasm of horror. Penelope lay next to her, equally Petrified, her wide eyes staring at nothing. She was a prefect, Yehuda thought; whatever had attacked her was powerful, too powerful to think about. His hands were shaking, he noted dimly. Why were they shaking?

His brain was fuzzy, he could not think. The monster, the monster could be anywhere. It could be behind him right now. He looked around wildly. There was no one and nothing in sight.

Get help, his brain said.

His feet moved without him telling them to. They carried him back in the direction he had come, down corridors and staircases, running as he had never run before in his life. He did not stop running until the entrance hall.

People were pouring onto the grounds, they were chattering excitedly, they were going to watch a game. It was like a normal day, like there was no horror at the front of the library. A teacher, he needed a teacher. He elbowed through the crowds, toward the Great Hall and the remains of breakfast. Pushing people, banging into people; he hardly noticed. There were bodies, bodies, two of them, lying on the floor; he had to tell a teacher before anyone else was hurt…

"Professor!"

He skidded to a stop, panting. McGonagall could help. "They — they — upstairs —"

She was frowning at him, he needed to talk, the words would not come out. He had to breathe.

"Hermione Granger and Penelope Clearwater are — they're Petrified," he said, his voice somehow very calm and level. "They're in the corridor outside the library." It was like someone else was doing the talking instead of him.

She clutched a nearby chair in shock, which made him even more scared. Nothing ever shocked McGonagall; she was always in control.

Then abruptly she was. "Mr. Sherwood, Miss Belvedere, Miss Branstone, Mr. McAdam," she called, picking four prefects out of the thinning crowd, "please come with me. Mr. Goldstein, you come too. Immediately, please!"

They fell in behind Professor McGonagall as she marched off back toward the library. Sherwood glanced curiously at Yehuda, while the prefect called Branstone, who was a Hufflepuff, looked very unhappy about leaving the game.

"Be on your guard," McGonagall said. She was holding her wand rather like Snape had at the dueling club.

"Professor," the girl called Belvedere said, looking alarmed, "is everything all right? Has there been another —"

"Yes," McGonagall said shortly.

The prefects raised their wands, looking around nervously. Yehuda's heart beat faster; they were getting closer to the spot.

"Mr. Goldstein," McGonagall said, her eyes still roving, searching for trouble, "where exactly —" She sucked in a deep breath. "Ah, I see."

There they were, at the end of the corridor, still as he had left them. His breath came in sharp bursts. He could not watch; he looked away as the prefects picked them up and carried them away. They were bodies, and he had almost become one of them. It could have been him.

"…yours?" McGonagall was asking him something, she was holding something out for him to see.

"What?" It was a mirror, a little round mirror like the one Esti had, at home.

"This was on the floor next to them. It isn't yours, is it, Mr. Goldstein?" McGonagall repeated.

"No, of course not," he said quickly. He would never carry such a thing. "I'm not a girl."

McGonagall's expression briefly resembled a smile.

"Indeed," she said. "I shall have to ask their friends."

They had reached the hospital wing. Yehuda was numbly surprised; he did not remember walking there. The prefects were carrying Penelope and Hermione Granger into the ward, Madam Pomfrey was exclaiming in shock and fussing about, Professor McGonagall was saying something about canceling the Quidditch game. He felt a sudden urge to flee. He could not bear to be there any longer.

"Mr. Goldstein," McGonagall was saying, "thank you for your quick action this morning."

Yehuda shrugged uncomfortably. He did not want to stand here, though it would not be proper to say so. He wanted to leave, to get away.

"Please return to your common room with Mr. Sherwood and remain there," McGonagall continued. "Your housemates will join you shortly." She set off briskly for the grounds, conjuring a large purple megaphone as she went.

The Ravenclaws spent Shabbos afternoon in sad, subdued silence, which suited Yehuda's mood perfectly. No one studied for exams, or did much of anything else for that matter. There was a lot of sitting around and occasional talking in low voices. An older girl named Elizabeth Cranford, who was apparently Penelope's best friend, spent much of the afternoon crying. If anyone spoke too loudly, they received glares from the rest of the room.

Dinner — shalosh seudos — was more of the same. Percy Weasley came over, his prefect's badge askew, his face pale and drawn, to ask if Penelope had looked like she was in pain.

"I'd go see her in the hospital wing," he said, his voice woebegone, almost cracking, "but Madam Pomfrey's not letting anyone in…"

"I — I really don't know," Yehuda stammered apologetically. "I didn't really see their faces, I just wanted to get a teacher…"

"Yes, yes, of course, not your fault…" Percy muttered. He wandered off, leaving Yehuda, Michael, and Terry deeply shocked.

"Blimey," Michael said, shaking his head. "I didn't know they were that close…"

Sunday morning they came down to breakfast (chaperoned by an uncharacteristically grim Professor Flitwick) to the news that Dumbledore was gone, having been suspended by the school governors the night before.

"Are they mad?" Michael said. "Who else do they think is going to have a chance against the monster?"

"I'm not sure they want anyone to," Benjamin Boot said bitterly. He had lingered longer than his usual "Good morning," and seemed to be seeking respite from the Slytherin table. "Malfoy — the pig — has been crowing about it all morning. He claims his father's behind this."

"Has anyone checked if he's the Heir of Slytherin?" Terry asked offhandedly. "Or do we assume that the actual Heir would be a little more subtle about it?"

Yehuda and Michael laughed, but only a little.

"Have you noticed that Hagrid's gone too?" Mandy piped in.

Their heads swiveled in unison to look at the staff table, where, sure enough, the unmissable giant bearded form of Hagrid was nowhere to be seen.

"Huh," Michael said. "What's Hagrid got to do with any of this?"

"He's probably just busy or something," Terry said. "You don't think they think he did it?"

"Who knows?" Mandy said. "They say he's always busy trying to collect dangerous beasts. Maybe one of them got away from him or something. You never know."

They contemplated this for a moment.

"I've got to go," Benjamin said at length, sounding reluctant. "I don't need anyone else telling me I don't belong in Slytherin…"

He walked away, squaring his shoulders. The Ravenclaws finished their meal quietly; nobody had anything more to say.

As the afternoon wore on, shock, sadness, and fear were joined by the rapidly-developing symptoms of cabin fever.

"I can't believe you found them," Michael said at some point in the interminable evening, sounding almost jealous. He was sprawled across his bed and appeared to be very bored.

Yehuda nodded without looking up from his Gemara, hoping Michael would get the hint and stop talking.

There was no such luck. "At least you got some excitement yesterday," Michael prattled on, oblivious to his discomfort. "Couldn't the monster have waited until after the game, at least?"

"That's a horrible thing to say, Michael," Stephen snapped. He was sitting on his bed, his Potions book open on his lap and the year's notes spread out around him. "Excitement? There's four people Petrified in the hospital wing, and all you care about is the game?"

"Of course I care!" Michael was indignant. "But what do you want me to do about it? We're stuck in here all evening, we can't go anywhere without a teacher, and there's nothing to do!"

"You see!" Stephen's tone was a perfect match for Michael's. "You only care about yourself! What about all the friends of the ones who were Petrified? What about all the Muggle-borns who are terrified they'll be next? Your best mate found them; did you think about how he's feeling?"

Yehuda blushed crimson at this, determinedly keeping his gaze on the Gemara. He did not dare look up to see Michael's face. "Leave me out of it," he mumbled.

A painfully awkward silence fell. Yehuda sat on his bed, trying to focus on whether you had to pay for moving the barrel you were supposed to be watching if you didn't actually use it. There was no use. Stephen was right, not that Yehuda would say as much to Michael. He might be sitting here with his friends, but his mind had hardly left the corridor with the bodies (bodies bodies on the floor where's the monster no no no) since Shabbos morning. They had not had calligraphy that morning, as all clubs were canceled until further notice. Not that they would have had calligraphy anyway, without Penelope (no no don't think of Penelope). It was a good thing they had class again tomorrow, because he was starting to drive himself insane.

In his dream that night, Yehuda was in the Great Hall, which was empty except for the teachers, who were all Petrified. He ran upstairs to the library, where Tatty was telling Michael and Terry that Yehuda was the Heir of Slytherin, and he would have to come home. He started to protest that he was a Ravenclaw, not a Slytherin, but the monster (who looked like Madam Pince) came out of an old Daily Prophet and said, "You're looking for Jewish students? Slytherin hated Jews!" and turned them all to stone.

He woke up, sweating and shaking, but relieved to still be in full possession of his body. He tried to catch his breath as his heart rate slowly returned to normal.

Was he looking for Jewish students who had been here before? He had been for months, he had spent hours and hours on it, but he had not thought about it since Shabbos. Somehow it just didn't seem important anymore.

Glossary

Pesach. Passover.

Yom tov. Jewish holiday.

Goyish. Non-Jewish.

Afikoman. Piece of matzah at the Seder which is (in some customs) stolen by a child and exchanged for some gift.

(Matzah. Unleavened bread eaten on Passover.

Seder. The Passover feast.)

Mishnayos. The Mishnah.

Derech eretz. Respectful behavior.

Hashem. God.

Rav. Rabbi.

Mitzvah. Commandment, or the fulfillment of one.

V'asisa k'chol asher yorucha. And you shall do like all they [the rabbis] will command you. (Deuteronomy 17:10)

Yesimcha Elokim k'Ephraim uk'Menashe. May God make you like Ephraim and Menashe. (Genesis 48:20)

Y'varech'cha Hashem v'yishm'recha. Ya'eir Hashem panav eilecha v'ychuneka. Yisa Hashem panav eilecha v'yaseim l'cha shalom. May God bless you and guard you, may God illuminate his face to you and be gracious to you, may God lift his face to you and grant you peace. (Numbers 6:24-26)

Yiddishkeit. Judaism/Jewishness.

Davening. Prayer/praying.

Seudah. Festive/celebratory/Shabbos/yom tov meal.

Shalosh seudos. Literally, "three meals". The third Shabbos meal, generally eaten in the afternoon.