They were led into the most magnificent hall Sofia had ever seen. Elegant candles hovered in midair, illuminating hundreds of faces which stared at them curiously from long wooden tables. She glanced up at the ceiling to see the glorious night sky, with hundreds of stars winking at her.
Compared to the tiny eleven-year-olds, she felt like a clumsy giant. Herself, Lavi and to an extent Nova, were certainly attracting curious whispers and giggles from the current students. They did their best to ignore them, and kept walking ahead in crocodile fashion, Hirshel still gripping Sofia’s hand.
They came to the front of the hall, where there stood a bumpy three-legged stool and a ragged hat. There was a complete silence as everyone stared at it. Sofia wondered if something was wrong, and Lavi looked equally perplexed. Suddenly, a tear by the rim of the hat opened, and the hat launched into a song. It sang so fast and Sofia was so surprised, that she could barely understand it, and could only catch brief lines.
Oh you may look at me as merely a hat...
Her fellow students looked delighted, but she felt Solomon grip her robes, and knew he shared her anxiety.
...Or maybe ambitious Slytherin’s your home...
The hairs on the back her neck prickled, and she felt a desire to repeat the strange word ‘slytherin’. She imagined it would feel smooth to say.
...Some of you may have travelled from far and wide,
May I urge you to heed my song,
No man, no war, no heart can this school divide...
There was more singing, even faster now, and the hall erupted into applause and grins, though the first years looked even more confused. Professor Dumbledore stepped forward with a long scroll.
‘Anderson, Donald.’
A little boy with curly hair hurried up to the stool. Dumbledore placed the Sorting Hat atop his head, which slipped down to cover his eyes. A few moments passed. ‘HUFFLEPUFF!’ the hat screamed. A table underneath a yellow banner cheered and banged the table with their fists. Looking both terrified and delighted, the boy went to join them.
This continued for a few more children, before Dumbledore called out, ‘Goldhirsch, Sofia.’
An old man, who Sofia assumed was the Headmaster, Dippet, stood up suddenly from his high backed chair, which made a hideous scraping noise as it was pushed back, and glared furiously at Dumbledore. Sofia didn’t move, afraid of the reaction. ‘Goldhirsch, Sofia,’ said Dumbledore again, firmly. Dippet sat down, still looking livid, yet apparently unwilling to make a scene.
Sofia walked nervously up to the stool, conscious of the hundreds of eyes following her. The hat was placed on her head, and though it did slip to her brow, she could still see the ocean of suspicious faces watching her. She sat uncomfortably on the tiny stool, unsure of where to put her hands or feet, feeling incredibly stupid.
Hmmmmm.... said a voice in her head. She tried not to let the surprise show in her face, but by the sounds of the giggles from the audience, she imagined she failed. Well now, aren’t you an interesting one, eh? Difficult, most difficult, it’s hard to say how much events have affected you... Had I sorted you at eleven you would have been in a vastly different house... But you are not eleven anymore... You want freedom, oh yes, you long for freedom... and power, you’ve watched so many men with so much power, but you’ve never had your own... You’re still just a child... But... You would love some power... you’re not smart enough to be in Ravenclaw, sorry about that, but I’m sure you’ll go far regardless; you have determination for it. Well... that only leaves...
‘SLYTHERIN!’
It was not the same thrilled applause as the other children had received, but there was scattered clapping and cheering nonetheless, and that was enough for Sofia. She walked towards the table and looked up at the green banner. She immediately loved it. The elegant curves and lines of the snake, the shining silver and the rich green, which reminded her of nature and life, and was a far cry from the greys and blacks and browns and reds of life in Krakow.
She sat down, and was watched closely by her fellow students. Shy, she looked down at her plate as another student was sorted into Gryffindor.
‘What’s your name again?’ asked a girl with curly brown hair. ‘You’re not eleven.’
Sofia looked up at her. ‘Sophie,’ she said, after a pause. Her desire to fit in and be considered English, coupled with the knowledge that people didn’t seem to like calling her ‘Sofia’ anyway, meant that the English name rolled of her tongue with ease. ‘Sophie Goldhirsch. I’m a refugee from Poland.’
‘I’m Betty,’ said the girl. Her blue eyes flicked up to the staff table. ‘Professor Dippet doesn’t seem too happy about you being here. I swear I read in The Prophet that you lot had been refused entry. How old are you?’
‘Sixteen. I’ll be seventeen in December.’
‘Oooh,’ said the girl with delight. ‘You’ll be in the same year as me. Be my friend,’ she commanded, and Sofia laughed, not sure if she was joking or not.
‘Miller, Lavi.’
Sofia whipped round. ‘It’s my friend,’ she told Betty. ‘He’s from Warsaw.’
The hat had barely touched Lavi’s head when it screamed, ‘GRYFFINDOR!’
Betty groaned. ‘What a shame. Sorry about that. You’ll make new friends anyway.’
‘New friends?’ asked Sofia, as Nova’s name was called. ‘What’s wrong with Gryffindor?’
A boy with cool green eyes and a posh accent laughed. ‘Oh, Sophie, we’re going to have to teach you. The Gryffindors are all reckless, arrogant fools. They seem to confuse bravery with stupidity, then use it as a reason to feel like they’re better than everyone else. For some reason they seem to think that bravery is a greater quality than ambition, intelligence or loyalty. Nobody likes them... Except the Hufflepuffs, but they’re all sheep; they like anybody who’ll be nice to them.’
‘Oh,’ said Sofia, as Nova was also sorted into Gryffindor. ‘But I like them. We were on the train from Krakow together.’
The boy shrugged. ‘Some of them are probably all right. But you’re a Slytherin now. I’m Cetus, by the way.’
Sofia continued to half talk, half watch the sorting. Hirshel and Solomon were both sorted into Ravenclaw, Hirshel giving a wave to Sofia as he skipped past.
Betty laughed. ‘Oh, how sweet! If only he were a Slytherin!’
‘Rather!’ agreed Cetus. ‘He’s got the perfect build for a Seeker, the little runt!’
‘He’s a nice boy,’ Sofia told them. ‘I had to carry him through Berlin station because he fell asleep!’
There was a chorus of ‘awwww’ from Betty and another Slytherin girl, and Sofia felt pleased. The faces around her were now a little friendlier and a little less suspicious, and Sofia now felt a strange sense of achievement.
The hall fell silent as Professor Dippet rose. He still looked irritated, but not quite as enraged as he had been before. ‘To our old students,’ he began, ‘welcome to a new year, and to our new students welcome to Hogwarts. It appears that we have five guests from Poland tonight. I encourage you all to be friendly and give them an evening they will remember. In other notices, Professor Powell has retired and so Professor Raul shall be taking his place as Herbology Professor.’ The school gave a polite round of applause as Professor Raul gave a sharp nod. ‘The Forbidden Forest is of course, as usual, out of bounds, hence the name, as well as self-spell checking quills. I know they’re new and exciting, but I will not tolerate them, no matter how much you paid for them. Now, you may begin.’
There was a sigh of relief from the student body, and the plates and dishes in front of them magically filled with a delicious feast. On the one hand, Sofia was so ecstatic at the incredible food and beautiful hall that she found it hard to care about anything. On the other hand, an uncomfortable feeling of dread lurked in the back of her mind as she remembered Dippet’s description of her as a ‘guest’.
‘Hey, Sophie. What’s Durmstrang like? You must have been there at some point.’
She looked at Betty and smiled. As she described her old school, she decided that even if she did have to go home, these few months of happiness were enough to keep her going.
***
The five Jewish children, Dumbledore and Dippet were all sat in the Headmaster’s office in awkward silence as the pendulum clock whooshed in time with Sofia’s heartbeat.
‘I told you that it was a firm no,’ said Dippet accusingly at Dumbledore. ‘Look what’s happened now! You’ve given them false hope.’
‘They’re here now, you may as well allow them to stay,’ replied Dumbledore lightly.
Dippet pounded the desk with his fist, making the children jump. ‘Confound it, Dumbledore! Sometimes I think you feel like you have more power than me in this school! Well you don’t! These children have to go home!’
‘Why? They’re here, they speak English, there’s space for them. Are you really going to send them back to certain death?’ asked Dumbledore shrewdly.
‘Yes! Yes I am! We’re not a refugee camp or a charity, Dumbledore! And I said no! You deliberately disobeyed me. Your concern should be for the children of this country.’
‘Please, Sir,’ said Sofia, suddenly feeling a strange urge to speak. ‘We have travelled so far, over so many countries. We’ve learnt so much already. We are so grateful to be here, and we think you are so generous. We surely believed that you must be the greatest Headmaster in history, to allow us to survive.’
‘Yes, yes, all good and well, but you cannot stay here! You’d be happier at home anyway.’
‘I could tell you such stories of horror and fear from Poland, but your country has given us such joy. All the stories my mother told me about the greatness of your school, and of you, they all make such sense. Please, Sir... even in the darkest corners of Krakow we heard of your generosity.’
Dippet seemed to stand a little taller. ‘Even in Krakow, you say? Well, I am usually very generous... But don’t you see, my dear, it is not because I don’t feel sympathy for you, not at all! But it’s just not right. There are lots of children in Krakow I couldn’t save, as much as I would have liked to.’
‘But you did something, and that’s enough. That’s enough to make you a hero in Poland. For so long we have been ignored and abused. But you have treated us differently.’
There was a strange prickling warmth about her chest, particularly as the other children nodded and agreed with her, quickly catching on.
‘The best Headmaster in Europe, I did hear.’
‘A man of great spirit!’
‘We will be of so much gratefulness; we are so sad and you are so kind.’
Their heavy flattery seemed to be working; a proud blush appeared at the top of his cheeks, and he could not seem to help but grin. ‘I shall treat you differently! It’s not fair that our own kind is treated with such contempt... All right, I
shall allow it. But mind you realise how lucky you are! I mean, really, this is completely immoral if you truly think about it. But, as long as you all work hard I will provide safety for you. Just don’t make me regret it.’
‘Thank you, Sir, thank you so much!’
‘Off you go, all of you. Have a good night, and good luck with your lessons.’
The children and Dumbledore left, the children laughing and jumping and skipping, Dumbledore smiling gravely. He touched Sofia on the shoulder. ‘That was quite remarkable,’ he said quietly. ‘I have never seen someone convince Dippet of anything so quickly. He’s usually a lot more stubborn.’
‘I just guessed he liked to be feeling important?’
‘Indeed, that is quite right. Your speech was perfect.’ He looked at her strangely. ‘Very good speech,’ he said again, more to himself. ‘Sleep well,’ he added with a vague wave, and wandered off, apparently deep in thought.
Sofia looked around at the maze of moving stairs and corridors. ‘Where do I go?’ she called after him.
‘Ask a portrait,’ he called back.
‘Which house are you in, dear?’ asked a monk in the portrait next to her.
‘Slytherin.’
‘Ah, follow me! I shall show you the way!’
Sofia followed the stout little monk down the grand staircase into the depths of the dungeons below, her heart thumping with excitement and pride.
***
At that precise moment, Pan Brigham threw a pathetically small bucket of sand over a blazing workshop, the heat pounding at his face as the piercing sound of an air raid siren tore through his ears. It would be easy to cast a spell, but Sergeant Elsewood was helping him, so it was by Muggle methods only that he could fight the fire.
A woman proudly rushed forward carrying two buckets of sand, her face set in hardened determination.
‘Bloody marvellous, those women,’ shouted Elsewood over the crackles of the flames and screeching wail of the siren. ‘Each one deserves a medal.’
Pan nodded, feeling rather ashamed that he was afraid, and even more embarrassed at the thought that he would much rather be in his mother’s arms as she lectured him for some petty thing. The column of thick black smoke vanished into the dark night sky, which buzzed with the drone of planes. A few yards away, a woman in Red Cross Uniform, visibly shaken and pale, dragged a bloody and smouldering body out of the Operations room.
‘Do you think we’ll stop the fire?’ yelled Pan, though knowing it was rather hopeless. ‘How many planes have we lost?’
‘Four Spitfires,’ replied Elsewood, holding up four blackened fingers. ‘Bloody shame; they weren’t even in the air. All the telephone lines are down too.’
Pan cursed, watching a steady stream of ambulances rushing the injured to hospital, dodging the rubble and devastation around them. ‘Anyone would think we were the only important aerodrome in London!’
‘You think this is bad?’ laughed Elsewood. ‘The war’s only just begun, lad. Things may be in poor shape, but Old Jerry hasn’t broken our spirit.’
Bicie Serca by BlueJoker
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