May 28, 1940

Hannah squirmed under the covers of her scratchy bed sheets. Fire danced wildly in her mind, growing to the point where she could almost feel it were hands. The pain was sharp and hot. The eyes of her mother and father were paralyzed with fear. A man stood in front of them, his eyes blue with cruelty. When Hannah looked into them, her body tensed. His face was full of malice and murderous intent. The legs of the crooked cross adorned on the wrists looked animated, ready to snatch her as prey.

"Jews," the soldier spoke in a commanding voice. "From this moment on, this is no longer your property. I ask you to cooperate-"

"I will not let you take our home," her father said, firmly standing his ground. Both, the mother and child, huddled together behind him as he prepared himself for whatever may come. "You have taken away my job and the right for us to live peacefully. I am not going to give everything that I've worked for without a fight."

"I'm afraid you shall not, Dr. Grunberg," the soldier sneered. The girl gasped as her father was taken forcefully by the hand, a gun pointed to his back. The pain in his eyes was frightening. She watched the soldier pin him to the ground, tying his hands. "There is no place for you in Germany," was the cold, ghostly response. "There would never be a place for Jews."

That was when the family looked down in defeat. There was no way to deny it. They were just going to be pushed away. Would it be best to just put a stop to this sooner?

"That is what I thought," the soldier saw the scared looks of the family, smirking to himself. "Let this be a reminder of what I am capable of."

In a blink of an eye, her father and the soldier were both gone. The girl's mother lost control of herself, falling onto her knees. In her dark pupils, she saw the reflection of the world. Bodies littered the streets. Shadows moved in and out of the bright lights. Piercing cries were heard. Glass showered the streets with ashes. Behind them, Germany burned.

Hannah gasped, lifting her head up in exasperation. She took a quick look around her darkened room. The bed sheets have become uncomfortably scratchy, but they always seemed to be that way. Her eyes darted around the room, landing on the photograph of her mother and father. They looked like the picture perfect family. She took the picture and examined it closely. It was very clear that she looked more like her mother. She had her mother's dark curly hair, while her father's was bushier and untamed.

The memory of her parents made her feel sick. It has been nearly a year since Hannah last saw them. While her mother was trapped in Germany, she had no idea what the Nazis were doing to her father. All she knew was that he was sent to work and hasn't heard from him since. Guilt overwhelmed her constantly. The journey to England was difficult for her, and it was all to keep her safe.

The light in the room flicked on. Hannah lifted her head, only to see a man with a small, pointed white beard, circular glasses perched on the tip of his nose, and dressed in a robe colored with crimson and gold. It was no other than Professor Kirke. As soon as she saw him, the gentle sparkle of his grey eyes calmed her. It was he who cared for her all these months, as she adjusted to living in England. If it wasn't for him sponsoring her, Hannah knew she wouldn't be there.

"Hannah dear, what is it with all this whimpering?" he said, raising his eyebrows. "I'm starting to get worried about those nightmares-"

The Professor was interrupted by a sound of footsteps rushing towards them.

"Sir, you don't have to get up and deal with the child. I could've been able to-"

A stern looking woman with brown hair streaked with grey walked into her room, her cold brown eyes softening at the site of the Professor with the girl. Hannah tightened, hoping not to get into trouble with Ms.Macready. She knew how cross the woman could be. From the first glance the two shared at Liverpool Station over a year ago, Hannah knew that the woman did not like children.

"How many times have I told you not to disturb the Professor?" Ms. Macready asked, harshly.

"It wasn't really my fault," Hannah replied, avoiding her accusing stare. "It was the nightmare. I didn't mean to wake the Professor up."

"I'm sure you didn't, Hannah," the Professor reassured her, turning to Ms. Macready. "I'm sure that I'm not in need of any assistance."

Reluctantly, Ms. Macready headed out the room, leaving the two be.

"I was really trying not to have any nightmares," Hannah said sincerely. "I even avoided dairy as I read from the library."

"You can't just stop the nightmares from coming," the Professor explained in a calm tone. "They're creatures of the night, very unpredictable."

"My nightmares are nothing more than predictable," she replied, simply.

"They will disappear through time, like your accent."

Hannah chuckled to herself, knowing that this was true. She noticed that her German accent wasn't as sharp as it used to be, but there were those who still noticed that slight reminder of her past.

"There's that smile," the Professor said, "Hopefully you could think happy thoughts and sleep soundly. Think of how well you're improving with your English."

"That not much of a happy memory," Hannah laughed. "I can't go to sleep because of that."

The Professor rubbed his chin, exaggerating a thinking pose by cocking his eyebrow. "What about the summer holiday? Isn't that something to look forward too?"

"I don't think I'd be able to follow asleep while thinking of summer," she replied, slightly cheerful. "It'll make me hyper."

"Then perhaps a story will do," the Professor made his final decision. If any story was to put the girl to sleep, it would be The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. It was one of the first books she read in English. The pages were already torn because of the amount of times she read it.

With a hushed voice, he told her the story of the little girl named Dorothy who was whisked away by a tornado into the Land of Oz. He smiled with satisfaction as he saw the girl's eyelids were starting to close.

"Professor?" the girl asked, weakly. "Every time I finish reading this book, I wonder how it was possible for Oz to exist."

"The logic in books is different than ours, Hannah," the man spoke.

"But is it really possible for a magical world to exist?"

The Professor pursed his lips, looking down before answering her. "Why shouldn't it be?"

"But-"she said, startled at his response. "That's impossible, isn't it?"

"You never know unless you believe that the impossible is possible," the Professor said. "Now that is something schools don't teach."

Before the lamp was turned off, the Professor brushed Hannah's hair from her long eyelashes. Her breaths were deep, and before he knew it she fell asleep.

The Professor locked the door behind him, rubbing his eyes as he entered his room. Ms. Macready was there, fixing his bed sheets and fluffing his pillow. She looked at the Professor with a concerned expression.

"This has been going on for the past few months now," she whispered. "I'm starting to get worried that you'll be up every night."

"You don't have to worry about me," the Professor said, reassuringly. "A traumatic experience isn't something a child could easily forget."

With that, Ms. Macready left him to sleep. The rest of the night was silent, unlike the following morning. Dozens of tourists from the city showed up, the once peaceful manor growing crowded by the minute. The sound of footsteps shuffling through the wooden floors could be heard. Professor Kirke's manor was a landmark for tourists. The house was very old, and filled with antiques and paintings.

This was one thing Hannah liked about the manor. It looked like a house you could find in a fairy tale. It almost had a castle-like experience; grand with beautiful pavements. Decorating the manor was a garden surrounding the porch. Each item had a story to tell, and it was Hannah's duty to give the tour today.

She wore a presentable beige color blouse and frilly green skirt. Her dark hair was tied into a braid with two curls left dangling. She quickly tied the shoelaces of her black shoes, her hands fiddling with nervousness. This tour was very important for her, as they paid money specifically to support the orphanages that held Kindertransport children, so she needed to be a good host.

"The guests are ready for you," Ms. Macready told her.

Hannah lifted herself from her chair, leaving the room. As soon as the tourists saw her, she was greeted with looks of sympathy.

"It's the little Jewish girl," spoke a feminine voice.

"Welcome to Professor Kirke's Manor," Hannah said, clearly. "My name is Hannah, and I am going to be the tour guide for today. As a warning, the artifacts are not to be touched."

A few children that gathered around two paintings paused in their actions. The tourists' eyes lit up in awe as they saw the fascinating objects that looked old and fragile. Hannah remembered each of their stories by heart, as she told them many times. She led them through the corridors and some of the Professor's rooms. However, there was one room that Hannah loved showing off the most. There was a wardrobe that the Professor said he had made himself. Beautiful designs of dancing fairies and different creatures were carved on it.

"Be careful in this room," she led them through the entrance. "The floors are usually wet and slippery."

By the time Hannah made it there, her energy started to wear out. While the tourists were busy looking at would have sat down on the floor if it wasn't wet. She always wondered why the floors were usually slippery, and not only that, but cold. The windows were usually open to let it dry, but the shoes were always making squeaky noises.

"The wardrobe in this room, was made by the Professor himself. As you can see, creatures of mythology are delicately carved. This gives the wardrobe a magical presence."

The guests stared at the wardrobe with fascination, examining all corners of it. The tours usually stretched out to the middle of the day, and Hannah always felt exhausted by the time. She leaned against the wall, trying to tune out the murmurs. Hannah noticed a boy and a girl look up at her with curious eyes. The little boy had neatly combed brown hair and wore a plaid shirt with dress pants, while the girl wore a frilly pink dress and her blonde hair in pigtails. Both seemed innocent, looking no older than ten. The two looked at each other warily, and then at Hannah. This was nothing new to her, as she was used to those types of stares.

"It's not polite to stare," said a woman, who must've been their mother. She sent her an apologetic look. The lovely blonde curls on her hair reminded Hannah of her own mother.

Before things could've got more awkward, the tour came to an end. After a bunch of "thank you's," the guests left with satisfied looks on their faces. Once again, the manor was silent. The Professor went on to read his newspaper in the study room.

Meanwhile, Hannah blissfully sat herself on the sofa, resting her head until she heard a harsh voice call to her. "Don't think you're free, young lady. You have chores to do."

Hannah sighed, knowing there was no way to get out of doing chores with The Macready. She always pictured her as "The Wicked Witch of the West" in some situations. It was obvious that she didn't like children, especially when they were brought along during the tours. There was this nasty look on her face, a roll of the eyes, and sharp sigh. Even when Hannah couldn't understand her years ago, The, was a good fit for a nickname.

Liverpool, February 4th, 1939

Just from the first glance of eye contact, little Hannah got a cold look from the woman standing in front of her. The woman had a strict disposition; her tall, poised stance made her feel intimidating.

"You may call me Ms. Macready," the woman said, sharply.

Hannah looked at her cluelessly. Her heart beat rate increased quickly. To this moment, she had limited interactions with the English people, only having arrived to this country just a few hours ago. What was she supposed to say? The woman looked at her with a smile that was clearly forced, causing even more tension in her body.

"The... Macready?" Hannah choked.

The woman furred her eyebrows at her, looking at her crossly. "Excuse me?"

Hannah gulped, her eyes scattering around face. It didn't take her long to notice that what she said might have been incorrect. Foreigner or native, body language was a global language. The girl lowered her head in shame, avoiding her cold stare.

Hannah bent down on her knees, and started to whimper. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I'm sorry!"

Ms. Macready tried to avoid the questioning faces of others. Her face turned pale as men, women, and children looked at her with a raised eyebrow. The wailing echoed through the walls of the station, not to her surprise.

"Child? Child?" she asked, her voice filled with tension. Ms. Macready took the girl forcefully by the arm, helping her up. She smiled with satisfaction as the crying immediately stopped.

"It's alright, just stop crying please," she said. "Would you like it if I get you some sweets on our way?"

Even though this moment was quite nerve-wrecking to think about, Hannah couldn't help but giggle to herself at the memory. This was the origin of the nickname, one that she used as mockery. Ms. Macready shared a good resemblance to the green witch from Oz. If only she could use the bucket of water and melt Ms. Macready away.

The Macready believed that if Hannah was given a place at the Manor, then she should help take care of it. Even though that was fair, Hannah's strength was drained due to the tour. Talking to people and not being able to sit for hours was exhausting. The only thing she wanted to do now was lay down and sleep.

She hoped the squeaking noises the wet mop made didn't interrupt the Professor in his studies. He must've been tired as well, dealing with all the noise that disrupted his peace.

Just a few more inches, Hannah thought. She pushed her mop until it reached each corner of the kitchen. The fact that she was almost finished raised her adrenaline level. She reached a black surface, quickly scrubbing the dust until she realized that standing in front of her, was the Macready.

"There's some important mail from the orphanage that came for you," Ms. Macready informed her. "You're free to go."

With that news, Hannah picked up her speed until she was stopped by a scolding voice, "Don's run in these halls."

She continued on to her room, making sure not to step on the cracks. Ms. Macready had bat-like ears, able to hear even a soft giggle that would come from her room. Hannah passed the guest room until she made it to hers. A stack of letters were piled on her work desk. Those were mostly from the orphanage that were in the Kindertransport program. There was one in particular that she was looking forward to reading.

Her eyebrows raised at the sight of the scribbled name Dinah Klein. She quickly teemed the envelope open, looking closely at the words. Dinah wasn't the one for neat handwriting. The edges contained dried up ink stains. There were many spelling mistakes that were crossed out and corrected, but it was the message that was most important to her.

Dear Hannah,

When I heard you and your sponsor were holding a tour as a charity event for our orphanage, I immediately wanted to write to you. I'm happy to hear you're helping us. I'm miserable here. I have no idea what is going on with my mother, and she hasn't written back. I constantly feel lost. You're lucky you don't have to work in a factory, unlike Miriam and I. Aviva is living with Jewish a family in London. I knew no one would've wanted teenagers.

The pictures of the Manor are beautiful! I stole a newspaper, and the first thing I saw was that house. I was jealous, but you're incredibly lucky. Not to mention you're humble, which is something I admire.

Any news from your Mother? Have you been listening to the radio? Did you know that Germany attacked France? It doesn't seem like the war is turning in our favor. On a happier note, hopefully the small things in life are turning in yours.

Sincerely,

Dinah

The first thing Hannah would've done was to write back, but a thought made her stop in her tracks. Her mother really hasn't written anything back lately. The last letter she received was dated February 7th, 1940. The only thing Hannah knew was that she was in hiding, but very little details were given. It was very vague, as if her mother was trying to protect certain information from her.

Hannah brushed those thoughts away, focusing her attention to her response. She took a pen and dipped it in the ink that laid beside her. It seemed to take hours for Hannah to write back. Her eyes started to close and she wanted to rest her head against the hard, wooden desk. Hopefully, when she did, she wouldn't have any nightmares tonight.

A/N: I hope the time difference makes sense and doesn't bother you. I wanted to get closer to the action. There will be more flashbacks of Hannah's journey in other chapters. She will also meet the Pevensies soon! Thanks for reading and commenting.