Tzipporah was such a bundle of nervous excitement during the Shabbat service that she kept dropping her prayer book, earning her reproving stares from the elderly couple across the aisle. The third time this happened, Dr. Stein tugged the book gently from her hands and made her read from his own, something she hadn’t had to do since she was five. This shamed her into a comparative calm, which vanished the moment Rabbi Herzl completed the final prayer. Then she was nearly sprinting out the door, dragging her father behind her.
“Hurry, Tateh, I told him seven thirty!” Tzipporah reminded her father, who insisted on slowing down. “Do you think Maria made the Kasnockn macaroni like I asked? And the apfelstrudel? I hope Professor Dumbledore likes it…”
Dr. Stein smiled indulgently at his daughter’s preoccupation. Tzipporah had acquainted her father with the details of the two letters she’d received, the one she’d written, and her conversation with the Rabbi. Dr. Stein had given her Avigail’s old wand, and his blessing. Having suspected for some time that his daughter was in fact a witch he had accustomed himself to the idea that she would be leaving him. He just hadn’t thought she would be going so far away.
“Tateh, are you alright?” Tzipporah asked, pausing midway through her rant about the supper menu. “Do you need to rest?” All desire to rush home faded from Tzipporah’s mind when she saw the pallor of her father’s face.
“No, meydeleh, it’s not that.” He sighed. “I’m going to miss you, Tzipporah.”
“And I you, Tateh.”
They walked the rest of the way home in silence, each deep in thought.
The last reverberations of the Shabbat blessing had just faded from the dining room air when the doorbell rang. Tzipporah, who was carrying the two silver candlesticks from the mantle to the table, nearly set a napkin on fire when she heard it. She ran for the door, but Maria reached it first.
“Is this the Stein residence?” asked a strong yet gentle voice from the doorstep. Tzipporah peered into the entrance hall, but her view of the visitor was blocked by Maria’s broad backside.
“Ach, of course it is, Mister. Are you Miss Tzipporah’s guest, then?”
“Yes, I have come to see Dr. and Miss Stein. My name is Professor Dumbledore.”
“Come in, then.” Finally, Maria got out of the way, and Tzipporah got her first look at the professor.
Tzipporah tried not to stare at the eccentricity of Dumbledore’s attire. The professor’s tall, thin frame was adorned in a plum-colored suit and bottle-green tie, and his shoes were of a strange reptilian material which Tzipporah did not recognize. Dumbledore had twinkling blue eyes that seemed to smile from behind crescent-shaped spectacles, and a long auburn beard which reminded her of Rabbi Herzl’s, although the professor looked younger. When he saw Tzipporah hovering on the threshold, he beamed and strode up to her, extending a large, long-fingered hand.
“Ah, my dear Miss Stein, I trust that you are well?” said Professor Dumbledore with evident sincerity and interest, shaking Tzipporah’s hand.
“Yes, sir. Um, we’re eating in the dining room right away, sir, if you’ll just follow me.” Awkwardly, Tzipporah led her guest into the other room where her father stood waiting at the head of the table.
“Dr. Stein, I presume?" Dumbledore said, striding over to shake hands with the doctor. "How wonderful to finally meet you!” Seeing that her father was taken aback by Dumbledore and his manners made Tzipporah feel a little less discomfited. I guess I wasn’t the only one who expected a wizard to look different, Tzipporah thought wryly as her father showed Dumbledore to his chair.
Moments later Maria bustled into the dining room with platters of steaming food. Dumbledore thanked her as she spooned schweinsbraten and tafelspitz onto his plate, and had just raised a spoonful of applesauce to his mouth when Dr. Stein began to speak.
“So, Tzipporah has made up her mind to go to your school,” he began slowly, watching Dumbledore as if still unsure what to think of him. “And I won’t stop her. But I do have a few questions.”
“Of course,” prompted Dumbledore cheerfully.
“How is it that she is a witch? Is it because her mother was? I can’t quite understand it.”
“Miss Stein comes from a long line of witches, I believe, which she is related to through her mother’s family. Not all children born of one magic and one nonmagic parent are magical, but it is a relatively common occurrence.”
Tzipporah reflected privately upon this piece of news while Dumbledore and Dr. Stein continued to discuss the patterns of hereditary magic, their suppers lying forgotten upon the plates. So I come from a tradition of witches, Tzipporah thought in wonder. If only someone had been alive to explain all this to me… She thought despairingly of her maternal grandmother, whom she had never known, and her mother, who had never gotten the chance to tell her. Her father interrupted these reflections with another question.
“I am aware of the current safety hazards, what with the coming war, but do you think Tzipporah could one day go to a closer school, when the fighting is over?”
Dumbledore thought for a moment. “She could transfer, if she wished to, when the war is over. I believe there is a school in the Alps which is much closer. However, Hogwarts does, and I do not mean to brag, employ some of the most accomplished professors in Europe. I do not think it is an exaggeration to say that Miss Stein will receive an education at Hogwarts which is superior to that of any other school. Also,” Dumbledore transferred his attention from Dr. Stein to Tzipporah. “I believe your mother attended Hogwarts herself, and her mother before her, even though they lived in Austria, because her family knew it was the best. I think you will find that Hogwarts, though very far from here, will become a second home to you. It is likely that after several years of study you will not wish to leave.”
“But if she wanted to…” insisted Dr. Stein.
“Then she could,” said Dumbledore simply. “No one would try to stop her.”
“Professor,” Tzipporah said, chiming in for the first time. “Could you tell me a bit, about Hogwarts? What it is like? I can’t…I can’t even imagine it.”
Dumbledore smiled, eyes twinkling at her. “Well, where shall I begin? Ah, perhaps the lessons. Yes. You will learn Transfiguration, Charms, Herbology, Potions, Astronomy, History of Magic, and Defense against the Dark Arts, and in your later years, other classes of your choice. Upon your arrival you will be sorted into one of four houses. Your house will be like a family to you, and you will share a common room and a dormitory with your house-mates. Then there are the ghosts at Hogwarts “ oh, they are all quite friendly!” he interjected, catching sight of Tzipporah’s shocked expression. “Except Peeves…but never mind him, he’s a poltergeist anyway. And there are many, many floors and doors and staircases, which tend to move around, but you’ll become used to that. The castle is very large, and there is plenty of it that even I do not know very well. It is really quite a school,” Dumbledore finished, waiting for Tzipporah’s reaction.
“And…and…is the food good?” asked Tzipporah, struggling for something, anything, to say. Dumbledore chuckled.
“Our cuisine is the very best.” Maria, who had looked in from the kitchen, met this remark with a scowl; evidently she did not think much of English culinary techniques, especially when compared to her own. She also appeared to be somewhat offended by the untouched look of many of her dishes, a fact which Dumbledore did not miss.
“Galloping gargoyles, my discourse has kept us all from what I am sure is a delicious supper! Do allow me to make amends.”
Dumbledore pulled a long, thin wand from the breast pocket of his suit and gave it the slightest of flicks. Tzipporah watched in amazement as steam began to spiral upward from the previously stone-cold platters.
“When will I get to do that?” Tzipporah asked excitedly. Dumbledore smiled as he tucked his wand away.
“Soon enough, Miss Stein, soon enough. Ah, my dear woman,” Dumbledore addressed to Maria as he tasted the tafelspitz, “this sumptuous selection makes the meats of Hogwarts seem a mere trifle in comparison! I have seldom eaten such a fine meal.”
Maria was unable to hide her blush of pleasure at this praise, although she did her best to maintain her usual scowl.
Tzipporah mostly listened as Dumbledore told her father about the equipment she would need for Hogwarts and gave him careful instructions as to how to reach the nearest wizarding village to purchase it. It was intriguing to imagine growing up in a magical community, not only knowing from birth about spells and potions and owl-post, but also using them every day. But I don’t regret not having that kind of childhood, Tzipporah told herself. It would have meant living somewhere besides Vienna, and I’m sure I would have hated that.
When Dumbledore had eaten three full servings (the last of which Maria had insisted upon) the ruddy-faced cook passed him an enormous plateful of her famous apfelstrudel, positively beaming.
“So, professor, what will Tzipporah do after she has finished with her schooling?” asked Dr. Stein, steering the conversation in a new direction.
“Well, there are many positions in the Ministry of Magic which she might aspire to,” said Dumbledore. “Or she could train to be a Healer “ a wizarding doctor, you know “ or perhaps even a teacher. But there will be plenty of time to think of that later.” Dumbledore took an enormous bite of apfelstrudel. “She is only eleven, after all.”
Tzipporah played with her apfelstrudel as the talk turned to muggle foreign affairs, about which Dumbledore knew a surprising amount. She had no appetite even for her favorite dessert, her stomach being so full of butterflies that she could not even take a taste. I’m going, I’m going, I’m going, kept flashing through Tzipporah’s mind; she hardly heard the conversation between her father and the professor, until she realized suddenly that they had both stood up and were shaking hands in farewell.
“It was very kind of you to have me to dinner,” Dumbledore thanked Dr. Stein.
“Kind of you to come and explain things to us,” he replied. “You should have seen Tzipporah, she’s been ecstatic all day.” Both men turned to look at Tzipporah, who immediately got to her feet to walk Professor Dumbledore to the door.
In the hall the professor paused to shake Tzipporah’s hand once more.
“An honor to meet you, Miss Stein,” he said brightly, one hand on the doorknob. “I shall see you again at Hogwarts.”
“Professor, please wait!” Tzipporah blurted out, hardly knowing what she was doing. “I have…one more thing to ask. Will I…I mean, that is to say…is Hogwarts beautiful?”
Dumbledore looked at her with understanding in his blue eyes. “The most beautiful place in the world.”
“More beautiful than Vienna?”
Dumbledore did not hesitate. “Yes. The most beautiful place. I have never yet met a student who did not leave Hogwarts wishing that they could come back. I do not think you will be the first exception.”
Tzipporah stood in the doorway, wringing her hands. Dumbledore seemed to catch the hesitation still gleaming in her eyes.
“You may miss your home at first,” Dumbledore said softly, “and that is natural. But you must believe, Miss Stein, that you belong at Hogwarts, because you truly do. It is the best place for you now, not to mention the safest. And you will grow to love it as much as Vienna. That I promise you.”
Tzipporah nodded, reassured. Dumbledore turned again to leave.
“Do give your cook my compliments. That was the best apfelstrudel I have ever tasted.”
And with that, Professor Dumbledore walked out into the street, turned on the spot, and vanished. Tzipporah shook her head vigorously, her eyes glued to the place where Dumbledore had disappeared. I guess I’ll just have to get used to magic, she thought, then smiled. Soon it will be my turn!
Chapter Endnotes: I know this isn't the most exciting chapter, but please don't abandon my story just yet! I promise, the plot will pick up.
Here's an excerpt from Chapter Four: Aboard the Hogwarts Express:
Billows of steam and cigarette smoke clouded Tzipporah’s vision as she pushed through the congested station, searching wildly for the correct platform.
Ten minutes until the train leaves, she moaned internally, her eyes sweeping the large numbers posted above the adjoining platforms. She could see numbers nine and ten, but there simply was no nine and three-quarters. It did not exist, and she could not board a train whose platform did not exist.