Chapter 26

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

Were your Torah not my plaything, then I would be lost in my sorrow. (Psalms 119:92)

Classes resumed on Monday, but normal life did not. The last two weeks of Sefirah were even worse than the winter had been; even the pure-bloods now looked around nervously, seeing monsters in every alcove and behind every plinth. People didn't linger late in the common room now; everyone just went to bed when they were finished working. If not for the teachers shepherding them from class to class, Yehuda wouldn't have been surprised if some of the Muggle-borns had left Hogwarts entirely.

On top of everything else, Dumbledore was gone. The castle seemed exposed without him, unprotected; it was somehow colder than usual, despite the bright May sunshine warming the grounds, which nobody used these days in any case, as they were not allowed outside the castle unless it was for Herbology.

Unfortunately, Yehuda could not enjoy Herbology classes very much, as the Ravenclaws spent them with the Slytherins, several of whom were clearly thriving on the Muggle-borns' discomfort.

"Shouldn't be much longer before the Mudbloods get the message and leave, eh? What say you, Goldstein?" The voice came from behind Yehuda, not loud enough for Professor Sprout to hear, accompanied by quiet tittering from two or three others.

Beside him, Michael tensed, but Yehuda grabbed his arm to stop him from saying something. "Ignore them," he muttered. "Please. It's not worth it…"

It was never worth attracting extra attention from people like that. If Michael or Terry defended him now, eventually the Slytherins would find him, or Kevin, or one of the other Muggle-borns, alone, and they would pay. It was better to ignore them, let them have their fun, and hope that a teacher would notice next time. He did not turn around to see who had spoken, but hunched over the Abyssinian Shrivelfig he was supposed to be pruning, trying to make himself small.

It was no great relief when Professor Sprout dismissed them: they were taken directly to Defense Against the Dark Arts, where Lockhart's nauseatingly award-winning smile was brighter than ever.

"There's nothing to worry about!" he assured them. "Hagrid has been arrested; fortunately the Minister was in full agreement with my longstanding concerns about the threat he posed. You have my firm guarantee that we are all perfectly safe."

This, Yehuda thought, was somewhat less reassuring than no guarantee at all: none of the other teachers seemed to think it the least likely that Hagrid (who was talkative, not particularly adept at magic, and a Gryffindor to boot) could have been secretly unleashing Slytherin's legendary monster on the school. Professor Sprout had clutched her wand all the way from the greenhouses to the front doors; Snape, though no more sour-looking than usual, had a wary alertness in his face that had not been there two weeks ago.

Most of his class were scared too. Kevin tended to jump at any loud noise or sudden movement these days, Su Li (even though her father was, apparently, a wizard) had developed an odd twitch, and nobody ate much at meals. Sometimes Yehuda was unsure if Lockhart was fooling himself, or if he just thought he was fooling everyone else.

Unfortunately, some people were indeed fooled.

"This is so pointless," Terry grumbled as they trudged up to Ravenclaw Tower after dinner. "We should be able to go outside and enjoy the summer, instead of hiding inside like a bunch of goblins. Nothing is going to attack anyone; they caught Hagrid anyway."

Michael rolled his eyes; Kevin glared at Terry and muttered, "Easy for you to say," though very quietly, so only Yehuda heard. Yehuda privately agreed, but said nothing. He could not understand how someone who had never scored under ninety-nine on a test could be so stupid about something so obvious.

The nice thing about traveling in a group, though, as even Terry had to agree, was that it made entering the Ravenclaw common room much easier.

"Is your second cousin once removed a closer relative than your first cousin thrice removed?" the melodious voice asked, when the little pack of second-years reached the landing.

Mandy, who had knocked, slowly lowered her hand, looking perplexed. Yehuda looked at Terry, who shrugged.

"I want to remove some of my cousins," Michael said, and everyone laughed, though this was not particularly funny, in Yehuda's opinion.

They all stood in silence for a few seconds. Then Lisa answered, "Only counting upward."

"Very concise," said the voice, and the door swung open.

"How on earth did you know that?" Michael asked Lisa as they funneled into the common room. "And what were you talking about, anyway?"

"Cousins," Lisa said, rolling her eyes and tossing her head like Adina sometimes did when she was talking to her friends. "Grandfather makes sure we know the family trees and inheritance lines in our sleep. We're very proud of our pureblood heritage. I actually met some of my fourth cousins last —"

"What do you mean, proud of being pureblood?" Michael demanded, cutting her off. Terry nodded vigorously next to him. "You're not better than everyone else; this isn't Slytherin here, you know —"

"She didn't say that!" Stephen leaped to Lisa's defense. "Everyone can be proud of their own background; that doesn't mean she hates anyone else." Lisa blushed and twisted her fingers.

"Oh, come off it; we all know what it means when pure-bloods are proud of their background," Michael sneered. He had been bad-tempered around Stephen since Stephen had lectured him about his middos, Yehuda knew. "You aren't so sensitive to all the Muggle-borns now, are you? You're probably proud of your background too —"

"How dare you!" Stephen cried. "Are you accusing me of being some kind of a — a pure-blood supremacist? I've never thought anyone is a better person because of the way he was born! My best friend is Muggle-born!" (Kevin, who was standing opposite Yehuda, eyes swiveling to follow the argument, went scarlet and fixed his gaze on the floor.) "You sound like you think there's something wrong with pure-bloods!"

"My grandmother is pure-blood!"

Heads were turning all over the room as the argument grew louder.

"Well go tell her how you feel about —"

"Don't you talk about my grandmother!" Michael pulled out his wand.

Stephen mirrored the movement, and a hush fell as the little circle of watchers backed away, leaving Michael and Stephen facing off, the tension crackling between them, each silently daring the other to make the first move.

He should try to stop them, Yehuda thought; not that he would be listened to, but someone had to do something.

"Boys!"

Everyone froze. Hilliard was advancing across the room, his face thunderous. "What is wrong with the pair of you? The school is under siege, your prefect is Petrified in the hospital wing, and you two are fighting over blood status? Are we patrolling the corridors every night, fighting to keep the school open, for this? Have you considered that this is exactly what the Heir of Slytherin is hoping to accomplish?"

The would-be duelists withered under the prefect's glare. They lowered their wands, not looking at each other.

Hilliard let out a puff of breath, seeming to deflate somehow. He shook his head wearily. "Ten points from Ravenclaw, and I won't report this to Flitwick if you don't make me."

The crowd dispersed with some awkwardness, and the room slowly returned to its usual low hum of conversation.

A fight, a real fight, Yehuda thought as he and Terry dragged Michael to a circle of armchairs some distance from Stephen. His roommates had pulled their wands on each other. If this was where things stood barely two weeks after the attacks, Yehuda wasn't sure they could make it to the end of term without an all-out war.

Michael spent the next few minutes grumbling about pure-bloods and how they thought they owned the Wizarding world, with Terry adding his earnest agreement from time to time. Yehuda didn't quite know what to think. It wasn't right, the way some people acted about the pure-blood thing. He didn't need Michael to let him know; the Slytherins — most of them, anyway — did the job well enough.

But Stephen was also right. Wasn't he? It was all right to be proud of where you came from, if you didn't say anything bad about anyone else, wasn't it? What if you were proud of being Jewish? Terry was very proud of being Christian, and he certainly sometimes acted like he thought he was better than everyone else, but no one else really cared about that, much.

Or were you supposed to think that, if you were Jewish? He wondered what Terry and Michael would say, if they knew what he was thinking. "Have you finished the Wizards' Council essay for Binns?" he asked them, fishing for a change of topic.

"Not yet," Terry said. He slung his schoolbag onto the nearest table. "Been too busy studying for exams. I was planning on doing it tonight. You?"

Yehuda shrugged. "Sort of," he said, pulling his own homework out of his bag. Michael, still sulking, did not. "I already put in a conclusion, but then I realized I still needed another three inches. I'll have to throw in some footnotes; I'm not rewriting anything for Binns. You think he'll switch to exam review like Flitwick and McGonagall anytime soon?"

"Fat chance," Terry scoffed. "I doubt he even knows that it's the end of May already. He probably keeps teaching straight through the holidays. The entire castle will be empty and he'll still be floating on about Gregory the Smarmy and Ethelred the Ever-Ready. Have they announced when exams are starting, anyway?"

"Next Tuesday; they'll be announcing it tomorrow," said Padma quietly. She was sitting at the next table with her notes and had been silently watching their conversation. "I just asked Flitwick at dinner."

Last year's exams had been announced more than a month in advance, but Yehuda was not surprised. The school seemed to be in a kind of fog these days; it was as if the castle was holding its collective breath, waiting for something to happen. Rumor had it that the governors were considering closing Hogwarts altogether.

He sharpened his quill, trying to marshal his thoughts. Snape had assigned a foot and a half on the effects of thorn-apple in Scenting Solutions, which was due on the first day of Shavuos, the day after tomorrow; he would have to ask Michael or Terry to hand it in for him. Parshas Naso was huge; it was a good thing the second half had almost no Rashi at all. He needed to practice his Cushioning Charms, which hadn't been working properly; hopefully Michael would be in a better mood later, and they could practice together. They were pruning the Mandrakes tomorrow; the plants would be ready soon, and the Petrified students would be back to themselves. He saw them again, in his mind's eye, on the floor, still and glassy-eyed, like the statues lining the halls —

Stop it, he told his brain firmly. He didn't need to be thinking about that right now. He tried to return his attention to his homework, but the images of that Shabbos morning were still burned into his eyelids, and it took several minutes for his heart rate to settle.

He davened Maariv in the dormitory, as had become his habit recently; the common room was too full these days for good kavana. At refaeinu, he thought again of Penelope and Hermione Granger (Justin and Colin Creevey, too; they had been in the hospital wing for months already). He couldn't say the extra yehi ratzon, because they didn't have Jewish names, but it couldn't hurt to just have them in mind.

It was forty-nine days which were six weeks of the Omer (exactly), the very last night. Unlike last year, though, he had not counted every night, even though he was bar mitzvah already and it was for real now; he had completely forgotten on the night after the attacks. He whispered the count without a bracha for the sixteenth time, still as mortified as at the first. Next year, he vowed, he would make twice as sure to make it to the end.

There was also his weekly letter to Rabbi Zeller to finish. One thing in particular was bothering him, though he had left it for the end of the letter so the rabbi wouldn't realize how important it was.

10. Is there a tefillah to stop — That would be way too obvious. He twisted his pen in his hands, trying to find a way to make his question sound unconcerned, like he was just curious. Is Hamalach Hagoel supposed to — No, that wasn't much better. He wasn't a baby; nobody had to know about this.

He chewed his lip for a minute, thinking. Why do we say Hamalach Hagoel? Is it to keep away bad dreams? There. That would do.

Hopefully Rabbi Zeller would answer with whatever it was you were actually supposed to say for nightmares. If he didn't — well then, he would have to continue living with the snakelike Slytherin monsters and Petrified friends haunting his dreams, because there was no way he was telling anyone. Maybe there was some kind of potion for this; he could try to look that up himself. That, though, would involve the library, which he was doing his best to avoid.

That night it was Benjamin and Mercy who were Petrified in his dream, while Draco Malfoy stood to the side and laughed. Yehuda lay awake, listening to Terry's even breathing and Stephen's quiet snores. Not for the first time, he wondered if he was only getting what he deserved, for coming back here instead of going to yeshiva where he belonged.

In the morning, at least, he had yom tov preparations to keep him busy, though there was a lot less to do when it was Shavuos that was coming; this was the only yom tov that didn't have him checking his kitzur every few hours. Shavuos was really just two more days of Shabbos in the middle of the week, except that you stayed up all night learning and ate some blintzes and cheesecake, so you had milchigs like the yidden in the desert.

They had Charms right after lunch, where they were still working on Cushioning Charms. After reviewing the theory, Professor Flitwick gave them each a dozen eggs to charm, which they were then to throw, hard, at the wall.

"Half a point to Ravenclaw for every egg that doesn't break!" he cried from atop his desk, gesturing with his wand like a drill sergeant. "And watch out — they haven't been boiled!"

Yehuda had never had so much fun in class. Everyone took it in turns to hurl eggs at the back wall of the classroom, cheering when they didn't crack, laughing and groaning when they did, then dashing back to their desks to charm some more. The back of the room was soon a slimy mess of runny whites and yolks, with eggshells peppering the wall and the unbroken eggs rolling all over the floor.

"Beat that, Goldstein!" Michael yelled as his fifth egg in a row slid softly to the floor intact.

Yehuda fired off three eggs in a row. None broke, which brought his total to seven. "We're still even!" he called, laughing; he hadn't successfully Cushioned as many in a row as Michael had, but Michael had broken three eggs already, which made him tied with Yehuda.

There was a loud splat, followed by more laughter; Kevin, who had thrown the egg, ducked his head and backed away to make room for Morag, who was winding up to throw. Was it bal tashchis, Yehuda wondered, to ruin the eggs like this? It was probably fine; they were using them for a reason, and anyway, they wouldn't be wasted if he did the charm properly. He went back to charming and throwing eggs, trying extra hard not to break any more.

When the bell rang, Flitwick Vanished the mess and Summoned the remaining eggs back to his desk, smiling benevolently at the class. Yehuda was pretty sure the professor had arranged this lesson on purpose to lift everyone's mood. If he had, Yehuda thought, it had certainly worked. They followed Flitwick out to go to History of Magic, more animated than for ages.

"Did you see me hit that torch?"

"I got all of them except my first; it's not bad…"

Terry and Su hadn't broken a single egg, but Yehuda was happy with eight out of twelve; Michael had only beaten him by one, so he couldn't gloat too much. They had earned a total of fifty-three and a half House points, which Flitwick had kindly rounded up to fifty-four.

"Mr. Goldstein, a word, please," Flitwick called, as they descended the staircase to the fourth floor.

He fell in to walk beside his teacher, Michael's curious eyes following him. It was never a good thing if a teacher asked to talk to you. He was doing fairly well in class these days; what did Flitwick want from him?

"According to the schedule you submitted in September," Flitwick began, "you have a holiday for the next two days. Is that correct?"

Yehuda nearly missed a step, his heart plummeting. Were they going to mess with his yamim tovim again, like last year? Not now, on top of everything else?

After a moment he remembered that he had not answered his teacher's question. He nodded hastily, still gripping the banister. "Yes," he said. "Yes, sir. Is there a problem with…?"

"Don't worry, Mr. Goldstein, I'm not going to interfere with any of your religious observances. You are excused from all classes as usual. I must insist, however, that you remain within Ravenclaw Tower whenever your friends are in class. This is for your own safety, as I'm sure you will understand. I cannot have one of my students wandering the corridors without supervision in the present climate."

Was that all? Yehuda had not dreamed of going anywhere himself anyway. "Of course, sir."

Shkiah was so late these days that by the time he was ready to light, Michael was getting into the shower and Kevin was sitting on his bed in his pajamas, strumming his guitar and singing quietly. It was strange, puttering around in his Shabbos clothing for a yom tov that was just getting started, while for the others it was the end of a normal weekday.

"Holiday tonight?" Stephen asked, watching Yehuda set up his candlesticks.

Terry, who was stretched out on his bed, holding The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 aloft with both hands (Yehuda could not imagine a more uncomfortable-looking way to read), glanced at them, then looked back at his book with an air of casual disinterest in their conversation. Yehuda was not fooled.

"Yeah," he answered Stephen. He could almost feel the waves of curiosity coming from Terry, so he added, "For the next two days, also. I'm going to be up all night tonight."

"All night? Alone?" Stephen asked, frowning. "Even after —"

"I'll be fine," Yehuda said shortly, though his stomach twisted at the thought of a full night's learning, awake in the sleeping castle. He tried to brush his friends' concerns away with an airy wave of his hand. "I'm not leaving the common room."

Kevin had stopped playing, and was watching apprehensively; Terry closed his book and sat up. "But you can't —"

"It's fine," Yehuda repeated. "Really. I'm as safe downstairs as you lot up here." It was nice of them, really, to worry about him like that, but he didn't need it. He was going to stay up tonight.

And so he lit candles, davened Maariv, ate a roll (he had eaten a proper dinner earlier), and proceeded to the common room. Most of the older students were still there, hunched over books and the occasional cauldron. There was a game of wizards' chess in one corner, but nothing more spirited than that.

He set himself up at a table: his Gemara and notes open in front of him, his other seforim stacked neatly behind them, and a large thermos of iced coffee on the side, courtesy of the house-elves. He opened the Gemara first; he would leave the Chumash and Kitzur for later, when he was more tired. But he barely had a chance to read the first Mishna when a hand landed on his shoulder.

"What are you doing here, Goldstein?" Hilliard asked, frowning down at him. "It's past curfew for you."

"I have a holiday," Yehuda explained. How many times had he said that over the last two years? "I'm staying up the whole night, learning. I'm not going to class tomorrow anyway."

"Are you sure? I don't think this is such a good idea." The prefect's forehead creased. He sounded like Terry and Kevin and Stephen. "Will you be all right, down here alone?"

"I'm fine," Yehuda said flatly. Why did everyone think he couldn't spend a night alone in the common room? He was perfectly capable of looking after himself. He returned his attention to the things you weren't allowed to do with the money you were given to watch.

Professor Sinistra came along at around midnight, to take the fifth years to the Astronomy Tower. The room was quiet and empty when they had gone, but it was a warmer quiet, because they would still be coming back later.

Vehilchesa, Yehuda read softly, techilaso bepshia vesofo beoness chayav. There. That was all for the current Gemara. He turned back eight-and-a-half blatt, all the way to where he had begun at the beginning of the year, before his bar mitzvah, before the attacks.

Hamafkid etzel chaveiro kesef o keilim…

The fifth years came back and made their bleary way up to bed, and now the room was truly empty. Only the single torch in front of Yehuda was lit, and its light flickered on his Gemara, whose words seemed to dance strangely on the page. So did the shadows all around, in the corners and the niches. The stars woven into the carpet glittered at him, and the white marble figure of Rowena Ravenclaw was unpleasantly reminiscent of the unmoving girls he had found outside the library…

He shivered and returned his focus to his learning. Lamed-hei amud alef had a few small pieces of Tosafos, and he made a stab at deciphering a couple on his own, in honor of Shavuos. It was tiring, though; there were a lot of oaths that the watchman had to make, and it was a struggle to keep track of the flow of the sugya. The clock had struck two quite a while ago, and his coffee was nearly finished.

If only he had a chavrusa. His shul in Golders Green was surely bustling now, humming with the arguments and raised voices of a hundred men and boys paired up for the evening. His father and Sholom were no doubt learning together, and maybe Snapir and Abulafia, and Danziger surely had someone to learn with… Only he, Yehuda, was here, stuck in an empty tower with giant arched windows, trying to make it through the night with no one else around. He thought again of the last Jew who had been here, fifty years ago. Had he also sat here, or perhaps in one of the other common rooms, through a lonely Shavuos night?

Rustle.

Yehuda's heart nearly stopped. He whirled around and sprang from his chair, grasping for his wand before remembering he had left it upstairs, because it was yom tov. Someone was here! Who would be — ?

"Oh, I'm sorry," said a girl's voice dreamily. "Did I startle you? I didn't mean to."

Yehuda blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dimness. He could make out a silhouette, with long straggly hair, sitting a few tables away: it was the strange first-year girl who had offered him that odd fish with legs, months ago. Lovegood, her name was, he remembered. Michael had called her Loony.

"Er — what are you doing here?" he asked, for lack of anything else to say. It was nearly three in the morning, for heaven's sake. Couldn't he learn in peace?

"Painting," the girl said, still sounding as though she were talking mostly to herself. Indeed, she had set up a small easel on her table, and had a paintbrush stuck behind each ear. How she could see well enough to paint in the dead of night, Yehuda had no idea. She hadn't even lit her wand.

"Oh," Yehuda said, nonplussed. Would she be here all night? If she was as mad as everyone seemed to think, she just might. "Keep, er, painting, then." As he said this, it occurred to him that this was probably yichud.

"Thank you, but I've just finished," said Loony, or whatever her real name was. "I come down here at night sometimes, to look at the stars, or to paint. I miss Mum, you see. She died the year before last."

"Oh," Yehuda repeated. He did not suppose you could say baruch dayan emes to a non-Jew. "How can you see in the dark?" he asked instead, awkwardly.

She regarded him with unblinking, too-big eyes. "It does get very dark sometimes," she agreed. "But I have my own light. You have your own light too, you know. Look." She turned her easel to face him, and Yehuda found himself stunned.

The painting moved, like all the others at Hogwarts, but Yehuda had never seen one quite like this: the paint itself seemed to glow, looking almost like fire on the canvas. The true surprise, though, was the painting's subject: she had painted him, sitting over his Gemara, swaying slightly. The torch on the wall was blocked by his body, so that its light created a sort of halo around him. He watched himself for a few moments, strangely moved.

"I think I'll go back to bed…" the girl said at length. "I'm feeling better now. Painting usually helps." She packed her paints and easel into her bag. "You can keep this," she added, holding out the painting.

Yehuda took the canvas from her, nodding his thanks; she was already drifting off to the girls' dormitory. He stared at the painting a little longer, then rolled it up and returned to his table.

True, he had no chavrusa. But he was still here, learning, and that would be enough. He began to read in the chanted sing-song of home: quietly, so as not to wake anyone upstairs, but loudly enough to fill the silence. Soon he had lost himself once more in discussions of watchmen and rented cows and the korban for swearing falsely, his mind many miles from Hogwarts.

In the windows behind him, at the eastern horizon, the sky was slowly beginning to lighten.

After the long night, Shavuos day felt rather flat; the house-elves made excellent cheese blintzes, but once lunch was finished, he had hours and hours to spend cooped up in the common room with no one to talk to. It was still a mitzvah to learn when Shavuos night was over, he reminded himself; still, he was glad when it was four o'clock and the others returned from class.

"I gave Snape your essay, Yehuda," Michael said, dropping a large stack of books on the floor and flopping into an armchair. He held out a deck of cards. "Can you play Exploding Snap on your holiday? I'm bored of all this studying, I need a break."

Playing cards was for goyim, had been the rule back in Torah Temima. "I don't think I can," he told Michael. It was true; those were the cards that burst into flames. "I don't even know the game, anyway."

"Oh, well." Michael shrugged. "Terry?"

"You know exams are in a few days, right?"

"I know," Michael said, wrinkling his nose. "That's why I need a break."

"I'll play," volunteered Mandy. "I'm good, though; I'm warning you."

Michael grinned at her, smoothing his hair. "Oh, yeah? Let's see you play. Bavarian rules?"

"Any rules," Mandy said coolly.

Michael dealt the cards, and Yehuda alternated between watching the game and his Chumash. Eventually all the cards blew up in Michael's face, singeing his eyebrows. Yehuda could not understand why anyone would want to play a game where you might burn your face if you lost.

Michael didn't seem too upset, though. "You are good," he was saying. "Now I need my eyebrows fixed."

"You're not bad either," Mandy said.

Michael winked at Yehuda behind Mandy's back, blushing a little. Yehuda wasn't sure what his friend was so happy about. The whole exchange made him uncomfortable for some reason.

They all went down to dinner. Yehuda hadn't set up candles for the second night yet, but that was all right; you didn't light until after tzais on the second night, Rabbi Zeller had specifically mentioned it in his last letter. He was quite tired for this time of day, which was unfair, considering that he had only woken up past noon. Shavuos was funny that way.

The next morning he finished a leisurely davening and sat down to learn yet again. After around an hour of this, he shut his seforim in frustration. He had done nothing but learn in solitude for the last two days; he needed something to do. He briefly considered going to class, just to see other people, but that would take so much awkward explaining, and anyway, he reminded himself, he couldn't leave Ravenclaw Tower alone.

A voice — McGonagall's voice — echoed through the room out of nowhere, making him jump.

"All students to return to their House dormitories at once. All teachers return to the staffroom. Immediately, please."

Yehuda's stomach sank to the floor. There was only one reason for them to make such an announcement. He stood up and began to pace the room, too scared to think. Who had been Petrified this time? Was anywhere safe? His mind flitted between memories of the last attack and thoughts of Michael, Terry, Kevin, Mercy, Benjamin, Stephen…

Someone rapped the eagle door knocker outside, and the voice began to ask some riddle, but Yehuda didn't wait; he wrenched the door open, heedless of who might be standing there, desperate for news from outside his shelter.

His friends poured into the room, their faces a mixture of confusion and fear. He counted heads — hoshia, es, amecha — and let out a deep breath when he saw they were all there. "Everything all right here, Yehuda?" Michael asked.

Yehuda swallowed and nodded, still shaky. He was just glad they were all safe. "Do you know what — ?"

"No," Terry said. He was pale and wide-eyed and looked even more afraid than the others. "I can't believe I thought it was over. I don't know where my brother —"

The knocker sounded again, and Padma, who was nearest, opened it to let in the first-years. Terry pounced immediately.

"Did you see my brother?" he demanded of no one in particular.

"Yeah, he was with us in Potions," someone said after a moment, and Terry slumped weakly against a wall in relief.

Chaos ensued as their housemates returned in small groups from their classes, with much shouted confusion as everyone tried to find their friends and siblings. Still no one knew what had happened, but even the worst speculations were not as bad as the truth, which was eventually delivered by Flitwick.

"A tragedy has occurred," he said, his normally cheery voice somber and eerie in the utter stillness of seventy silent Ravenclaws. Yehuda could see him through a gap in the crowd; he looked even smaller than usual. "A student has been taken into the Chamber of Secrets."

There were gasps and wails all around the room. Terry clapped his hand to his mouth in horror; someone behind him burst into tears. Yehuda felt sick.

"Hogwats will be closed immediately. The Hogwarts Express will depart early tomorrow morning. I don't know when the school will reopen, if ever."

There was a pause.

"Who — who was it?" someone ventured. "Who was taken?"

"Miss Weasley, of Gryffindor," Flitwick said gravely.

The crowd slowly broke up. No one said anything else; there was nothing else to say. The whole school knew the Weasleys, and now one of them was gone. If she was still alive, she wouldn't be for long.

They sat numb and listless through that whole afternoon, not really doing anything. Many girls cried. Michael made a halfhearted attempt at packing, but he gave up on even that after a few minutes. Yehuda could not pack, because it was still yom tov, even if it didn't feel like it at all. He tried not to think of Ginny, so he wouldn't be sad on yom tov, but it didn't help much.

"You think maybe tonight they'll be able to figure out who did it?" Michael asked at some point during the afternoon.

Yehuda looked at him quizzically.

"Oh, I forgot you weren't there at breakfast. McGonagall said they're gonna revive the Petrified people tonight. Maybe one of them will know who did it."

Yehuda nodded, not really caring.

The hours ticked by. Michael suggested that they send Ferric, who was after all still living in their dormitory, with letters for their parents, but Yehuda reminded him that he would not be able to write until nightfall.

"And I can't write it for you, can I?"

No, he couldn't. Yehuda shook his head, but didn't say anything. He was not too eager to write that letter, truth be told; he was not looking forward to his parents' reaction when he told them the school was shutting down several weeks early because a student had been killed by a monster.

The sun sank lower in the sky, bathing the room in an incongruous gold glow. Still no one really spoke much. Terry brought out his beaded necklace and prayed with a quiet ferocity that suggested he felt personally responsible for the attacks.

People began going up to bed, even though it was still early. Yehuda was inclined to follow, but he wanted to make havdalah first, so he continued to wait as the sun slipped beneath the horizon. He tried to open a sefer, but it was no use. Nearly everyone had gone from the room, abandoning their pointless vigil, by the time darkness finally fell and Yehuda peeled himself off his chair.

Their room was dark already, with Terry, Stephen, and Kevin sleeping already, or pretending to. Yehuda wondered if anyone was really sleeping in the castle tonight. Only Michael sat at the window, in his pajamas, writing his letter by moonlight. He had evidently waited up for Yehuda.

"I'll be ready in a minute," Yehuda whispered. Havdalah was quick on motzaei yom tov, with no candle or besamim. He didn't really mind at the moment.

He had just swallowed the last bit of grape juice, just resigned himself to putting pen to paper and somehow explaining the situation to his parents, when a sudden commotion downstairs made him jump. Were people cheering?

Yes, they were. Whoops and yells echoed up the stairwell, punctuated by what sounded like small explosions from someone's wand. Could it be? Michael was already racing for the door, and Yehuda followed, the others beginning to stir in their beds as he left.

"She's alive! They killed the monster! Feast in the Great Hall in half an hour!" Marcus yelled to them when they emerged. He was standing on a table, as were several others; people were laughing, singing, hugging. Confetti fell from nowhere, covering the carpet. Pajama- and dressing gown-clad students poured out of their dormitories, joining in the general jubilation.

It's over!

The reality of it broke over Yehuda like rainfall on a hot summer day. There would be no more attacks. They were, at last, safe again. He nearly whooped aloud, but he stopped himself; it didn't feel appropriate. He ran back upstairs instead, to fetch Terry and the others, muttering "Baruch Hashem!" over and over as he went.

They joined the other houses on the way to the feast, a great river of people streaming into the Great Hall. The tables were covered in the strange delicacies that marked every Hogwarts feast, and Dumbledore was back at last, sweeping into the Hall in dark purple robes. They took their seats, laughing and chattering and swapping rumors.

"It was Harry Potter and Ron Weasley again; how they get up to this stuff…"

"Four hundred points!"

"I heard Dumbledore isn't letting them say what happened; he probably doesn't want us to know where the Chamber of Secrets is…"

"Did you hear what happened to Lockhart? Only spell he ever got to work…"

No one really knew what had happened in the Chamber of Secrets, but what all the versions of the story agreed on was that Lockhart had tried to Obliviate Harry and Ron, but the wand had backfired, and that he was a complete fraud who had stolen the stories of many other wizards. Yehuda was belatedly proud of his mother. He looked up from his fish and chips to sneak a glance at Terry. His eyes were fixed firmly on his plate, and his ears were bright red. It was probably very embarrassing, to be proven wrong in front of everyone like that. Still, Yehuda would not be sorry to have a new Defense professor, preferably one who actually knew the subject.

Penelope, Justin, Colin Creevey, and Hermione Granger came in after around an hour, to wild cheers from the entire room (except, Yehuda noted, some of the Slytherins). Yehuda clapped along enthusiastically. He had known they would be all right, but it was still a giant relief to see them back again, waving and grinning and running to be hugged by their friends.

The feast wore on through the night, though it was at least not as raucous as the party from last year, when they had won that Quidditch game. Nobody had the energy to make a great deal of noise; they were all just happy to be alive, which Yehuda agreed with wholeheartedly.

McGonagall stood up and tapped a fork on her glass. The room quieted.

"In recognition of the difficulties you have all faced this year," she said, smiling slightly, "and as a school treat in honor of this celebration, I am pleased to announce that this year's end of term exams will be canceled. O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s will proceed as scheduled."

The school erupted into cheering again, though many of the Ravenclaws were rather disappointed.

"Really?" said Terry. "After all the studying we did? What's the point of being here if they're not going to test us?"

"Speak for yourself," Michael snorted. "Some of us don't get perfect grades, you know."

By the time the desserts appeared, it was already time for shacharis, and Yehuda couldn't eat any, even though the house-elves had made some specially for him. "I'll be back soon," he told Michael. "I have to go pray; it's almost sunrise." He stood up, but Mandy stopped him.

"If you're planning to go upstairs, watch out for Moaning Myrtle. I've just come back from the loo, and she's having a complete tantrum."

"Oh God, not again," Morag groaned. "Did she flood the place again too?"

Mandy nodded. "I hate her; she's awful. I wish they would get rid of her somehow."

Yehuda didn't know whom they were talking about, but they were being terribly rude. His parents would be shocked at such lashon hara. It was only when he got to the second floor corridor (enemies of the heir, beware) that he understood.

Theatrically loud sobs echoed down the corridor, accompanied by splashing sounds. Puddles littered the floor. Yehuda picked his way through, glad he wasn't wearing robes. Someone was standing in an open doorway, talking to whoever was crying.

As Yehuda approached the door, he saw that the disturbance was coming from one of the girls' toilets, where a girl ghost was bawling, evidently trying to attract as much attention as possible. Professor McGonagall appeared to be attempting to reason with her.

"But Myrtle, if you would come to the feast —

"I didn't know about the feast!" howled the ghost. "No one tells me anything, because I'm dead I suppose! And now I'm not even allowed to talk about what happened in my own —" She caught sight of Yehuda in the cracked mirror and pointed at him, changing tack in an instant. "You see! How long has he been here? At least a year! And no one even told me!" She burst into renewed hysterical tears.

Yehuda squirmed, frozen by her outstretched finger. What did this wailing, dramatic ghost want with him? He was starting to sympathize with Mandy and Morag; none of the other ghosts acted remotely like this.

McGonagall glanced at him, clearly just as confused. "Pardon me, Myrtle? Tell you what?"

"That another Jew came to Hogwarts!" she wailed.

What?

"You're — you're Jewish?" he blurted.

"I was," she said, with an exaggerated sniffle. "Hadassah Warren, that was my name at home, not that I cared much once I came here. But not anymore, because now I'm dead!"

And with that, she swooped off into the nearest toilet, splashing yet more water everywhere, leaving Yehuda staring after her, openmouthed.

Dear Rabbi Zeller,

Does a ghost have to keep mitzvos?

It was nearly the end of term, and Yehuda was sitting under a tree, shaded from the blazing summer sun. They had a free period, during what should have been a Defense lesson, and he was using the time to write his last letter of the year.

Rabbi Zeller had indeed sent him advice for bad dreams, not that it was really necessary anymore; he had slept much better since the monster had been killed and its victims restored. The past weeks had seen many lazy June afternoons and evenings spent lounging outside with a sefer. He was nearly finished Hamafkid, and lessons would end soon as well.

He thought again of the ghost girl who had said she was Jewish, and he smiled ruefully at the irony of it. All those months in the library, searching through old Daily Prophets, and the other Jewish student he had sought was two floors beneath him, crying in a toilet. He had gone back once, to try and talk to her again, but she had sulked in the plumbing, ignoring him.

What had he been looking for, really? What had he tried to prove to himself? If he wanted Jewish friends, Hogwarts was not the place to look. He was here alone, and he would be for the next five years.

He had searched long enough. If he had learned anything from the experience, it was that Hogwarts would be only as Jewish as he would make it. It was time for him to be his own light.

TO BE CONTINUED

Glossary

Sefirah. The counting of the Omer (see below).

Middos. Character traits.

Shavuos. Pentecost, commemorating the Jews' receiving the Torah.

Parshas Naso. The weekly Torah portion beginning Numbers 4:21.

Rashi. Medieval commentary on the Torah.

Davened Maariv. Prayed evening prayers.

Kavana. Concentration.

Refaeinu. Literally, "heal us". Prayer for health.

Yehi ratzon. Literally, "may it be the will". Additional prayer inserted in the above, for the healing of a specific person or people.

Omer. Forty-nine days between Pesach [Passover] and Shavuos, as counted each night.

Bar mitzvah. Literally "son of the commandment." Age thirteen, at which Jewish boys become adults responsible to keep the laws.

Bracha. Blessing.

Tefillah. Prayer.

Hamalach Hagoel. "The angel who redeems" (Genesis 48:16), recited before bed.

Yom tov/Yamim tovim. Holiday(s).

Kitzur. Abbreviation of Kitzur Shulchan Aruch. Book of Jewish law.

Yidden. Jews.

Bal tashchis. The prohibition against needlessly destroying useful items.

Shkiah. Sunset.

Sefer/Seforim. Holy book(s).

Vehilchesa techilaso bepshia vesofo beoness chayav. And the law is that [in the case of damage which is caused] initially through negligence but ultimately through unavoidable accident, one is liable. (Bava Metzia 42a)

Blatt. Folios.

Hamafkid etzel chaveiro kesef o keilim… One who deposits with his fellow money or utensils… (Ibid. 33b)

Lamed-hei amud alef. 35a.

Tosafos. Medieval commentary on the Talmud.

Sugya. Talmudic discussion.

Chavrusa. Study partner.

Shul. Synagogue.

Yichud. The prohibition against seclusion of a man and woman.

Baruch dayan emes. "Blessed is the True Judge". Said on learning of a death.

Korban. Sacrifice.

Mitzvah/Mitzvos. Commandment(s).

Goyim. Non-Jews.

Tzais. Nightfall.

Hoshia, es, amecha. Literally, "save your people" (Psalm 28:9). A ten-word verse used to number the members of a minyan in order to avoid counting Jews directly (see Yoma 22b).

Havdalah. Blessing to mark the end of the Sabbath or a holiday.

Motzaei yom tov. The night after a holiday.

Besamim. Spices, used at Havdalah after the Sabbath only.

Baruch Hashem. Thank God.

Shacharis. Morning prayers.

Lashon hara. Gossip.

Hadassah. Literally, "Myrtle".

Hamafkid. Literally, "one who deposits". Third chapter of Bava Metzia [a Talmud tractate, which begins thusly.

Author's Note: And that's that for book 2! Special thanks to my friend B., who serves as my beta reader and expert on all things British. Suggestions for book 3 are welcome! (It'll probably be a while until I start that, though.)

Also: Here's the explanation for Lisa's answer to the riddle. The great-grandchild of your first cousin (a first cousin thrice removed) is a closer relative than the child of your second cousin (a second cousin once removed), because he's descended from a closer cousin. That's counting downward. However, counting upward, the first cousin of your great-grandparent shares only a great-great-great-grandparent with you, making him a more distant relative than the second cousin of your parent, who shares a great-great-grandparent with you. Or at least, that's how it works in halachic inheritance. I'm figuring the wizards have similar laws.