I do love the snow, Tzipporah reflected as she rested her elbows on the windowsill in the Gryffindor common room, having completed all of that night’s homework. Beside her, Millie sat feverishly scribbling a potions essay, sending drops of ink flying in all directions, while Clarice penned a letter to her parents. Tzipporah turned away from the snow-swathed grounds and watched with lazy interest as Edward Potter mock-dueled Prescott Longbottom in front of the blazing fireplace, rooted on by a circle of older students.
Tzipporah joined in the cheer that went up when Edward executed a particularly good leg-locker curse, causing Millie to lose interest in her essay, glare viciously at her enemy, and then raise her eyebrows at her friend.
“What’re you cheering him for, Zippie?”
“It was just a fine bit of spellwork, that’s all,” said Tzipporah, turning back to the window and the view of the frozen grounds.
Urged on by Clarice, Tzipporah had immediately told Millie her secret when she returned for the start of term. She had been rewarded by a rather unpleasant and very loud telling-off, during which “I’ll never trust you again!” was uttered quite a number of times. Millie had then refused to talk to Tzipporah for three days, forgiving her only after much pleading by Clarice, and was still being rather short with her.
Clarice rolled up her completed letter, tucking it into her bag as she turned to Millie. “Are you done with that essay yet? I could go for a game of Exploding Snap.”
“No, me explanation about moonstone properties still isn’t quite “”
Millie broke off as Annika burst through the portrait-hole, speaking with more confidence than Tzipporah had ever heard her use. It took her only a moment to realize that this was because Annika was talking in Russian, and because she was shouting.
Annika’s face was bright red with fury as she stalked across the common room and flopped into a chair beside Tzipporah.
“What happened?” Clarice asked in a hushed voice.
Still shaking with rage, Annika tried to find the words in English.
“I meet a boy in our Charms class who speak Russian, and ve talk after the lesson. It is so nice to talk all in Russian again! And it is good, until he tell me he is Ukrainian, and ask me vhere I am from. So I tell him Moscow, and he begin to shout at me ‘You and your government make slaves of my people!’ and I shout back that I do not. And then I try to come back here to get away and he follow me. And I am so mad! I never do anything to Ukrainians. Vhy so much hating? Vhy?”
Annika began to sob, her words in Russian again. Clarice, always the first to offer comfort, sat down next to her and tried to put an arm around her shoulders, but Annika pushed her away gently and stood up.
“Haff you seen Rosa?”
“She’s in the dormitory,” Clarice said, pointing up the stairs.
Annika nodded her thanks and ran out of the common room, still murmuring incomprehensibly.
“How awful,” Clarice said, after Annika was out of earshot.
“Well, if the Russians really did enslave the Ukrainians, then she deserves it, doesn’t she?” said Millie mildly, finishing her essay with a flourish.
“Millie, how can you say such a thing?” Clarice gaped at her.
“Easily!” Millie flamed up. “I can’t ever forget how me people, the brave Irish, were oppressed by the English, and this Russian business sounds just the same.” She looked pointedly at Edward Potter, who was now chatting with his friends by the fire.
But that’s wrong, Tzipporah thought indignantly. This is exactly what the sorting hat warned us against, this division by hate. She had half a mind to say something to Millie, but bit back the words at the thought of starting another row so soon after she had been forgiven. Ah, well, perhaps she’ll figure things out on her own.
But as she watched Millie glower at Edward Potter, Tzipporah thought she might be expecting too much of her hot-headed, grudge-holding friend.
At breakfast the next morning, Sove soared in bearing a package containing the customary challah and Shabbat candles, and a letter from Dr. Stein. Millie and Clarice fed Sove bits of the bread and let her drink from a goblet of pumpkin juice.
Tzipporah, meanwhile, was busy with her father’s letter. It read:
Dear Tzipporah,
Tidings are darker still since I last wrote you. I have been forced to send Maria and the other servants away, as I cannot pay them any longer. All of my gentile clients now go to non-Jewish doctors, and my Jewish patients have so little money that they can barely afford food, let alone doctor’s fees. Many of them have lost their jobs. I treat them just the same, but I will not deny that times are hard. Austrian sentiment has swung towards the Nazi party, and Chancellor Schuschnigg has agreed to meet with Hitler in the next week. I fear he has not enough strength left to resist his commands. We must pray for him, and for Austria.
Your friend Channa and her family have fled to France. Her father, I believe, obtained false passports for them all with the help of a gentile friend. With their light hair and complexions they had less trouble than I have had trying to buy a boat ticket. Yes, meydeleh, I am making plans to leave Vienna. It will not be safe for much longer, and as much as I love this city I am not willing to die for it. Someday I pray we shall both return without fear for our lives.
Write to me more of what you are learning about magic. Your letters are a wonderful distraction when all seems to become unbearable. If I am able to get a boat ticket I may not be able to write for some weeks, so do not be alarmed if you do not hear from me.
A happy Tu B’shvat to you, meydeleh.
Love, Tateh
Tzipporah folded the letter, squinting against the tears that prickled behind her eyes. He’s leaving Vienna, she thought. I’ll never go home again.
Even the sound of Rosa’s intake of breath couldn’t break her stream of miserable thoughts. Distantly, she heard Clarice ask Rosa what was wrong. Tzipporah turned to look at Rosa and saw that her face was deathly white.
“It’s…my mother.” She held a letter in her trembling hands; some of the ink seemed to be blurred by water-stains. Unable to speak, she held out the letter to Clarice, who took it gingerly and began to read, her eyes slowly widening.
“I forgot a book in the common room,” Rosa mumbled. “I’ll meet you in Transfiguration.” She got up and stumbled out of the great hall, weaving like a drunk.
“What does that letter say, Clarice?” Tzipporah asked. I will not think of my own problems when my friends need me, she resolved.
“It’s from her aunt. It says…it says…oh, Merlin…”
“Go on, then!” Millie pressed impatiently.
“Yes, sorry.” Clarice scanned the letter, her mouth hanging open in horror. “It says Rosa’s mum went with some of her neighbors to offer help to a nearby muggle village that was attacked by Grindelwald. They thought he had gone, and wanted to help the injured, and the ones who had lost their homes and families. But Grindelwald came back while they were there and starting attacking them too. Most of the witches and wizards are dead.” Clarice’s voice broke, and she handed Tzipporah the letter, unable to go on.
“Grindelwald took a few of the witches and wizards captive, including Rosa’s mother,” Tzipporah forced herself to say. “He’s taking them to the prison he’s built in the east.”
“Nurmengard,” Clarice whispered. “I read about it last week in the Daily Prophet.”
Clarice, looking like she was barely holding back her tears, put a comforting arm around the silently crying Annika. Millie, however, had a hard, determined look on her face, like someone about to enter a battle.
“She needs us right now,” Millie said firmly.
“Haff we got time to find her before Charms?” Annika snuffled. Millie checked her watch and nodded.
“Let’s go, then.” Clarice stood up from the table, then seemed to remember something. “Zip, what did your letter say? Is everything okay at home?”
Tzipporah spoke quietly. “My father’s leaving Vienna. The Germans are coming soon, and when they do all the Jews will be rounded up, maybe killed.”
“Oh, Zippie.” Clarice squeezed Tzipporah’s hand. “You’ll get back there someday. I know you will.”
“Yes.” Tzipporah stopped halfway up the staircase, staring down at the hall below her, which was mobbed with students walking to class early. If she didn’t look too hard, it could have been a busy, bustling street in Vienna’s Jewish quarter.
“Hey, isn’t today a holiday for you?” Millie asked, clearly worried by Tzipporah’s sudden lapse of attention. “That one you told me is about trees?”
“Tu B’shvat. Yes, it’s tonight.” Tzipporah had almost forgotten.
“Want us to come with you to celebrate?”
“No. I think Rosa needs you more right now. Stay with her tonight.”
Clarice nodded her acquiescence. Together she, Tzipporah, Millie, and Annika set off for Gryffindor tower to find Rosa and offer what comfort they could.
A full moon beamed brightly overhead as Tzipporah beat a path through the waist-high snowdrifts between her and the beech tree by the lake. Why did I ever think this was a good idea? she thought in frustration as she was forced to stop for the tenth time and adjust her cloak. The spell she had put on her boots seemed to be keeping the snow out of her socks, but her uncharmed scarf wasn’t doing as much good for her face. Already her nose felt red and raw from the wind, and her hair was frozen stiff. Why does that beech sapling have to be the only tree on these grounds?
After many slips, trips, and Yiddish curses, Tzipporah found herself at the foot of the familiar beech tree by the lake. Muttering a quick prayer of thanks, she rested her forehead against its trunk, thinking of the many times she and her mother had celebrated Tu B’shvat together in the Prater Park.
Trees can speak to the soul, her mother had said. You must love the trees, meydeleh, for they are God’s children just as much as we are. Then she had always laughed her rich, bubbling laugh and kissed the nearest tree before kissing Tzipporah on top of her head.
Tzipporah grinned at the memory, momentarily forgetting the cold. Mameleh might even have kissed this tree when she was here, she thought. So wonderful was this idea, and so beautiful were the tree’s spreading boughs in the silvery moonlight, that Tzipporah threw her arms around it and kissed it.
“Snogging trees, are we?” said an amused voice behind her.
Tzipporah nearly jumped out of her skin. Spinning around in shock, she was just in time to see Edward Potter emerging from out of thin air. He seemed to have pulled off a cloak, but she knew he hadn’t been standing behind her moments ago. Or had he?
“What are you doing out here?” Edward asked, with a half-smile. Only the hazel eyes behind his glasses betrayed any sense of apprehension.
“I might ask the same question of you, Potter.” Tzipporah didn’t know where this cool retort came from, but she could feel her icy face blushing beneath the frostbite. He just saw me kiss a tree! A sudden heated anger pulsed through her frozen frame as she pulled her wand from her pocket. She could not remember ever feeling so embarrassed, or so furious. What right does he have to be out here spying on me?
Regretting that he had startled her, Edward took out his own wand and used it to cast a warming spell on himself and Tzipporah. To his surprise this only served to increase Tzipporah’s wrath.
“I can take care of myself, thank you,” she said icily, folding her cloak tighter around her and beginning to walk back in the direction of the castle. Edward stared after her for a second, then snapped into action.
“Hey, wait up!”
Tzipporah whirled around. “Why should I? You were spying on me!”
“I didn’t…I mean, I wasn’t…”
Tzipporah waited for him to finish. When he did not, she gave an impatient “ach!” and continued walking, kicking a path through the untouched snow.
Edward stopped walking, not knowing what to say. He had, in fact, followed Tzipporah entirely for the purpose of spying on her. He hadn’t been able to resist when he had seen her creeping across the entrance hall from under his invisibility cloak.
“Look, I’m not going to chase you, okay?” Edward called out. Up ahead, he saw Tzipporah pause, listening. “I didn’t mean to spy, I just wondered what you were up to. Don’t get mad!” he said quickly, as Tzipporah bristled. “I won’t do it again. But if you ever want to tell me the secret you’re hiding, I’ll be around.”
Edward turned and walked back to the tree to wait for Tzipporah to get a ways ahead before following; he knew her reputation for defensive spells and didn’t fancy being on the receiving end of one of her infamous jelly-legs curses.
Up ahead, Tzipporah stumbled through the snow, her black curls a riot in the whipping wind. And to think I cheered him on this morning, she thought, disgusted with herself. I’m beginning to finally see why Millie hates that Potter boy so much!