Of Snakes And Foxes

[Qualerei]

Well, well... here it is, at last. And who knows, someone might be crazy enough to read all that stuff. Maybe I do write too much, lol.

At any rate, here is my first finished long fanfic, which stars Erwin Rommel, naturlich, but also Tom Riddle. Strange duo, you think ? Wait till you read it. You've seen nothing yet. Everything else you might need/want to know will be at the bottom of this first post.

Chapter One : The Secret Meeting

December 1943 - England, The Minister for Magic's office


With a loud "bang" and a green lightning, a man appeared in Minister Lazarus Cornwall's fireplace. Outside, it was nearing dusk, and the office, barely lit with a few candles, was a little grim. Behind his desk, minister Cornwall was sitting, a quill in his hand, writing on papers that looked like official documents. He finally raised his head and nodded to the newcomer with a weary sigh.


The man came from the shadows in plain sight. He was a short blond man, slightly limping as he slowly approached the minister, with piercing blue eyes that were currently half closed in exhaustion. He was clad in a military outfit that made him seem slightly out of place, as it was a german uniform. Yet, the minister didn't seem to pay attention to that detail, and he motioned for the blond man to have a seat.


"My dear Rommel, you are most welcome. Long travel ?" Cornwall asked politely to his guest.


"Yes", Erwin Johannes Eugen Rommel answered, in a heavily accented voice. "I myself have a hard time believing it, but they do not have chimneys in Africa."


The minister managed a tired smile, but the blond man shook his head impatiently.


"Minister", he said, "I would appreciate some explanations. I was not supposed to come here in the first place, and it could blow my cover."


"I apologize for that", Cornwall said stiffly. "But it is important."


"I would hope so", the german murmured dryly.


His tone was not very deferent, but he was exhausted enough as it was and didn't care much. Besides, he was not technically under Cornwall's authority, so he could pretty much say whatever he wanted. Yet, he shall be careful ; he needed the English minister for magic's help almost as much as the other man needed his. That was the reason he had agreed to come, in spite of the danger. That and the fact that the Minister would not have asked him to come if it hadn't been important.


"I take it you are in a hurry, so we will get directly to the reason of my summoning you. There are two things I need your help with ; first, the confirmation of some intel we have been gathering, but from agents we do not trust entirely. That intel is critical and we need to know now if it is reliable. Numerous lives could depend on it."


"I understand", Rommel nodded. "What about the second thing ?"


"One of our companies is blocked in Lybia. Their captain is a wizard, and we need to get him back."


Rommel raised an eyebrow at that.


"You are asking me to take that much risks to save one wizard ?" he queried disbelievingly.


"Well, yes", Cornwall said irritably. "He is an important asset. Lots of people believe he might be one of the few that could confront Grindelwald and hold against him more than thirty seconds."


"Of course, if the rumor has it that he is our savior, I could not do less than help him", Rommel ansered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.


"Oh, please !" the Minister groaned. "Today has been trying enough as it is. Will you do it ?"


"I will look at the informations you want me to check. About your captain, I will see what I can do, but no promise."


"I understand, but keep in mind we need him alive and well", Cornwall said in a commanding tone. "His name is Albus Dumbledore. On this paper, you've got his last known localisation... that's not too far from your Headquarters, I believe. The man does not really have the soul of a military man, but I'm sure you would get along with him if you get to know him."


The Minister pulled out of a drawer a bunch of papers, which he gave to Rommel.


"Here are the informations we want you to check. If you will."


The german officer nodded and took the papers. He opened the folder and started to read what was inside. Then he took a quill on the Minister's desk, without asking him for it, and added a few details on a page, before turning it.


Cornwall watched him proceed for a few minutes, then silently stood up and left the office. He then entered his secretary's office, in which was waiting a black haired seventeen years old boy. Lazarus had his doubts about involving someone as youg as he was in this war, but he was a logical choice, for many reasons. And the boy had willingly offered to help once he had been told what was expected of him.


When the minister entered, the boy stood up at once, his green eyes shining in the dark room.


"Riddle, my dear boy, I want to thank you again for accepting this mission in spite of the many dangers..."


"Yes, yes", the boy cut impatiently and without much respect. He corrected himself almost at once, though. "Please pardon me, Minister. I am a little nervous. May I be introduced ?"


"Why, certainly, my boy. And your nervousness is understandable. Come."


The Minister led Tom Riddle to his office, in which Rommel was finishing to check the file. The german added still a few remarks before putting the file back on the desk. He then turned to face Cornwall.


"Most of it was reliable", he said. "There was a lack of details on some aspects, but depending on the rank of your informer it is understandable."


"I am glad to hear it", Cornwall nodded, then gestured towards Riddle. "May I introduce to you Tom Marvolo Riddle ? Tom Riddle, this is Feldmarschal Erwin Johannes Eugen Rommel, whom you've heard of."


"Mr. Riddle", Rommel nodded politely.


"Feldmarschal", Riddle answered respectfully.


He didn't say more, but his tone was eloquent enough. Rommel appreciated the lack of flattery. He felt the utmost contempt for those trying to get favors by abject flattering. He studied the boy ; Riddle seemed to be around eighteen, though his cool green eyes made him look slightly older. He was tall and lean, and quite handsome.


But more than that, Rommel felt in him a great power, something both chilling and inspiring. Oh, well, he was tired and imagining things. The moment passed, and then Riddle was just a teen with a piercing green gaze.


"May I ask for what reason you brought here Mr. Riddle tonight ?" Rommel finally asked, as the Minister offered no explanation.


"Of course", Cornwall nodded. "As I know it is difficult for you to pass information, and even more to come to that kind of impromptu meeting; I thought that would be a good thing for you to have an agent that could take care of that for you, and would be a little less conspicuous."


Rommel stared at the Minister as if he had gone insane.


"Excuse me, Minister. You are giving me an assistant ?!"


"Now, I would not put it that way", protested weakly Cornwall.


"I do not care how you put it", Rommel hissed. "If I need help, I will find my own men, thank you very much. No offense, Mr. Riddle", he added with the utmost courtesy.


Far from being disgruntled, Riddle had a slight smile, as if he deemed the scene very amusing. As a matter of fact, he did ; seeing Minister Cornwall intimidated like that was worth watching. What a pity he did not have a camera...


"None taken", he assured the german officer.


"I must protest", Cornwall exclaimed. "Do you not trust us ?"


"This is not a matter of trust", Rommel retorted blankly.


"Yes it is", the Minister replied. "Tom Riddle knows Albus Dumbledore and will be able to recognize him if need be. He also speaks almost fluent german, and he is a very gifted young man. I'm positive you will find his assistance very helpful."


Rommel glared at the Minister. He didn't like... no, actually, he loathed being ordered around. Yet, Cornwall seemed to be enjoying himself as he did so. Annoyed, the german checked his watch.


"I need to be going", he said.


"Riddle is going with you", Cornwall insisted.


"Fine", Rommel said stiffly. "But I will send him back if I feel like it, and you will not say a thing about it. Do we have an agreement ?"


"Yes", sighed the Minister. "We do. Thank you for your help."


"Keep your thanks. I am not doing it for you."


"We already talked about that", Cornwall said, shrugging. "We are still grateful for the lives you contribute to save."


Rommel shrugged and motioned for Tom to follow him. They headed to the fireplace and took some chimney powder.


"Scheinacht Castle", he said after throwing the powder in the hearth.


He arrived a few seconds later, ashes in his blond hair, and he cleared the fireplace so as to let Riddle arrive. The boy appeared only seconds later, and came out of the hearth, looking all around him with curiosity.


"Where are we ? In Germany ?" he asked.

At least, he wasn't thickheaded, Rommel thought. But if Cornwall was enough of a moron to try and impose him an assistant, he still was clever enough so as not to give him a stupid assistant... And it was better that way, for Rommel did not feel very patient at the moment.


"Yes", he nodded. As I told Minister Cornwall, there are not many chimneys on Africa. Not that they would need them."


"Then how do they do to move from one place to another ?" the boy asked, seemingly honestly curious.


"They have other means. I might show you, if we get the chance. For now, we will Apparate in Africa. Let's hope my men are not looking for me. I told them I was going on a walk, but it has been a notably long walk. Which is the reason why we are going to Apparate a little further from my Headquarters."


"I understand, sir."


"Do you have your Apparating licence yet ?" Rommel inquired.


"Not really", the boy smirked. "But as I am able to do it anyway, the Minister gave me a special authorisation today."


Rommel showed no surprise, though it was impressive for such a young wizard to have mastered the art of Apparition without courses. And it was also proof he had practiced, which was both dangerous and illegal. Truth to be told, Rommel did not care. As law-abiding as he was, this was a time of war, and he would take advantage of his subordinates abilities, no matter what they had done to master their skills.


"Good. You will need it. But as you don't know where my headquarters are, nor how to pass round the wards, I will Apparate us both. Before we go, though, we have to take care of your cover. I cannot just take you to my Headquarters and pretend I found you in the desert."


"Actually, I have already thought about it", Riddle said. "I believe I have a solution."


"I am all ears."


"I will hide under some invisibility spell, and tomorrow I will "arrive" to your headquarters, to be under your orders. I am certain you could forge convincing papers."


"Hmm", Rommel nodded thoughtfully. "Not a bad idea... With some improvement, it might work."


"Improvement, sir ?" Riddle asked in a slightly offended tone, as if he felt insulted that someone could improve an idea of his. Amused, Rommel acquiesced.


"You will be... hmm, say you will be my nephew. That way, no one will dare ask too much questions."


Now getting his new superior's idea, Tom started to smile. He liked it all the more since it would give him more power. As Rommel's nephew, he would have a lot of influence.


"So I will be Tom Rommel, sir ?"


"No. That is too uncommon a name, and I do not want some gestapo or Gezaupo zealous officer who would look into it to find too easily you are not really a blood relative of mine. You will be... let's see... Tom Ritter. That is close enough to your real name, so you will not have problems answering to it."


"Very well, sir", Riddle nodded, obviously satisfied with his new name.


"We will go now. I have been away way too long already."


Tom nodded and held out his hand for Rommel to take it. He didn't like much touching people, and usually kept a safe distance with them, but in that case he did not have much of a choice. Rommel's hand was cold, but dry and farm.


"Now", the german added, "keep in mind most of my staff are Muggles and do not know anything about us. So, be careful what you say in their presence, and hide carefully your wand."


"Understood."


"Not very talkative, are you ?" Rommel's lips twisted suddenly in a smile. "Off we go."


They Disapparated with a loud "bang".


End Note : Aaaall right guys, a few things we need to set straight before going on. Sorry, that's gonna be a bit long, but that's stuff you need to know in order to understand the story correctly.


First of all, this is an alternate universe, which means I will be evilly twisting the track of time so as to get my plot right, at least in the first part of the story. This story takes place in 1943 - 1944, mainly in Africa and Germany. Then we will move on to England, but not before at least the tenth chapter, if not the fifteenth. Field Marshall Erwin Rommel had, in 1944, already left Africa, which was in the hands of the Allied forces. For the purposes of that story, Rommel is still in Africa, fighting for the Fatherland.


I will precise that straight away, so you're not mistaken ; I am by NO means pro-nazi, and Rommel was NOT a nazi either. It's never simple writing about that war from the german's side, but this takes place in Africa (at least for the first chapters) and Rommel always showed chivalry toward his opponents, which is why they respected him so.


Why Rommel, will you ask. The reason is simple ; I admire him greatly, for he had many qualities, was respected among his foes as well as among his friends, and had a great sense of honour (oh crap, I nearly wrote "humour" instead of "honour". I must be more tired than I thought. Yet, these two words do sound alike...) . He was no nazi, mind you, though he was respectful of the power in place, and followed the lead of Hitler. A military genius, he was one of the germans's top generals, and was nicknamed the "Desert Fox". That is only against general Bernard Law Montgomery, and with insufficient men and supplies, that he finally was put in difficulties. So, in the end, he was just a brilliant military man, who unfortunately happened to be on the wrong side.


Historically speaking, he was born in 1891, so he was 53 in 1944. In this story, he was born in 1914, which makes him 30. A bit young to be a Field Marshall, right, but, well, in this story he's a wizard, and I assume Hitler gave him a key position because of that too.


In this story, Adolf Hitler's real name is Grindelwald - the very dark wizard Dumbledore vanquished, according to HP tome one. The dates are maybe not exactly the same, but I don't really care for the dates. Just don't use this fic to do your history class homework, and everything will be fine. I am too lazy to look and compare history with HP dates and I don't have the HP books here anyway. If someone remembers the dates, and is willing to send them to me, I'd be grateful, though.


Tom Riddle is 17 in 1944, which makes his birthday the December 31st 1927. I found it rather funny he was born on New Year's Eve, because so was I.


Dumbledore is 45 in 1944, so he was born in 1899.


For Grindelwald, I saw little reason to change it, so he was born the April 20th 1889. That makes him 55 in 1944.


I will use historical events in this story, don't ask me to tell you which 'cause I want to keep some suspense. Besides, if you have some knowledge of History, you will probably have no trouble guessing which ones I will use.


The main characters in the first ten chapters or so will be, of course, Erwin Rommel, and Tom Riddle (who is not yet Voldemort, but will become him a few years later). However, and as unlikely as it may seem reading the first chapters, the Marauders will have a part in the story after I'm done with the first part (as I said, that should be ten-odd chapters, I'm not sure as I have not written the details of the plot yet). Dumbledore will appear too, but only as a secondary character.


One more thing ; as you probably already guessed, English is not my mothertongue, and it is difficult writing in another language (though that's also much fun). So, if I make mistakes, please tell me and I will correct them as soon as possible. Actually, I would need a beta-reader, so if you want to volunteer, that would be most appreciated. That, and you would get the chapters sooner than everyone else. If you are interested, leave me a review with a way to contact you (unless I have no connection, I shall answer very quickly). But don't worry, as I've read the HP books in english (not all of them, but the fifth and sixth tome), the characters' names will be the english ones.


Oh, yes, before I forget ; my chapters are short, yes. On the other hand, you will get very frequent updates. I'll try three or four each week, and no less than one, except when I've got exams. Or even when I have exams, it depends. (I do, currently, but I'm kinda working my english and history as I write this, so it makes a good excuse.) I find writing that way more motivating, rather than writing twenty pages chapters as I used to. Once I'm done with that story, I might regroup the chapters together, but 'til then, you'll have to bear with me.


Ah, the disclaimer. I never think of that. I don't have any money anyway, I spent it all to buy the nice laptop I'm currently writing on.


I owe nothing, though I wish I did...


Okay, so I think that's all, have fun !

[Qualerei]

December 1943 - Africa, Feldmarschal Rommel's Headquarters


Seated on a chair behind his desk, Rommel was musing. He did not do that very often, but sometimes, when there was a lot of pressure on him, it felt good to let his spirit wander freely and to try to sort things out.


Well, if he was honest, he could not maintain the situation was really bad. But it was not good either. He was used to it, though. Whatever his choices were, he knew people would probably suffer from it. That was one of the first things he had learnt as an officer ; he could not go to battle and expect to have the same number of soldiers at the end of the day. In fact, he should even be grateful he made it to the end of the battle. But for him, getting out of it alive was not enough. Never had been.


Oh, shut up, Erwin. You are just mad because you agreed to take the teen with you. He can take care of himself.


When they had Apparated back there, the day before, everything had gone as planned. Of course, Rommel's long absence had been noticed, and had made his men worry. A patrol had been sent to search for him, and he had been glad he had taken the precaution to Apparate a little further from camp.


Riddle had had enough time to perform a minor invisibility charm - not all that efficient, but quite enough for muggle's eyes - and he had discreetly followed as Rommel met his men and went back to camp with them.


Then, the boy had come to Erwin's office, and he had given him some forged papers quite realistic looking. But now, with the help of magic, it was pretty easy to duplicate muggle papers. As long as no one from the Gezaupo looked at it...


But, as Rommel was more or less trusted by Grindelwald, for the moment at least, he had not too much problems with these wizard minions of Himmler's. The Gezaupo were a minor branch of the Schutz Staffel ; the name stood for "Geheime Zauberer Polizei". Himmler had them spy on most of the prominents wizards of the Third Reich. But he did not seem to deem Africa worthy of his attention. Not that the Feldmarschal was complaining about it.


Rommel glanced at the window ; it was the middle of the afternoon, and there was not a cloud in the sky. Riddle was due to arrive any moment, now. The german stretched and poured himself a glass of water. That was during times like that he really appreciated the privileges of rank. Water was not rationed, but lukewarm most of the time. But he got to have cold water. And it was much needed. A squint at the thermometer told him the temperature was nearing the 45°C. He felt sincere sympathy for the poor sentries who had to stand guard in this sultriness.


A knock at the door drew his attention.


"Yes ?" he called.


A man with light brown hair, clad in a german major's uniform, entered the room, and saluted smartly. Rommel recognized him as major Rolf Merhoff, a subordinate he had noticed for his sharp intelligence and wit. He saluted back, though a little more slackly. He was still tired, and the night had been short.


"Herr Feldmarschal", Merhoff said once given the authorisation to talk, "a young man presented himself at the sentry, claiming he is... ehm, your nephew. He has a pass which seems authentic. Shall I have him arrested nonetheless ?"


He was a little nervous, but tried to hide it. He was not really successful, but that was not everyday one would meet a blood relative of Rommel's. If the boy was indeed as he claimed he was, which Merhoff had also some trouble believing. But his superior's reaction surprised him.


"Ah, yes", Rommel said, acting as if suddenly remembering something. "I had forgotten to tell you he was supposed to come here. I had that dispatch somewhere, but we have had quite a few other things to do."


"Yes, sir", the major nodded. He was prudent enough as to follow some unwritten rule that all officers knew ; never contradict a superior officer. Even when you think he's gone sheer crazy. But now, that was Rommel they were talking about. Either it was indeed his nephew, or he had his reasons to claim it was. And if he had special reasons to act like he did, Merhoff did not want to mess up with him. The Feldmarschall hid a smirk.


"Well, have him report to me at once and get back to your duties."


He dismissed the man with a casual handwave, and the major saluted at once, before striding out of the room. Only minutes later, Riddle was allowed to get in Rommel's sanctuary - his office, so nicknamed because he spent so much time there. His officers were not aware he knew about this nickname, but, well, what he was not supposed to know could not hurt him.


Rommel nodded to Riddle, who saluted with a mischievous grin. The german raised a hand to hold him silent, and taking his wand out of his arm sheath, he cast a silencing charm around them.


"Seems like it worked", the Desert Fox commented then, a little more relaxed now he was sure the walls would not hear anything.


"I had no doubt it would", Riddle replied. "After all, they have no reason to be wary of us. You are their great military hero."


The german's eyes narrowed at that.


"That is no subject for jokes. I do not enjoy betraying the trust they gave me, even if I feel it might save countless lives."


Riddle held his gaze for a few seconds, before averting his eyes.


"I apologize", he finally muttered.


"Accepted", Rommel answered after a few seconds.


There was an awkward silence, before Riddle finally cleared his throat.


"Um, so, I'm in the place, and now what ?"


"Now we take care of that Dumbledore problem your minister pestered me for", Rommel sighed grumpily.


"Oh." Riddle did not seem to find the idea very stirring, and Rommel wondered if he held any grudge against that Dumbledore fellow. But if that was the case, Cornwall would not have sent him, now, would he ?


Well, actually, he just might. The german officer rubbed his nosebridge tiredly. He did not need problems like that at that time. Besides, he did not have any evidence toward that conclusion, so he would not do one darn thing about it, he decided. He would take care of it if and when faced with the problem.


"So, how do we proceed ?" the boy asked.


Rommel went to his desk and took a map out of his drawer. He unfolded the paper, and gestured for Riddle to come and have a look at it. The boy complied, and examined it closely.


"Where are we ?" he inquired.


"There", Rommel showed him the place that bore the name "Bir-Hakeim". "From what your minister told me, his last known position was around here."


He pinpointed a place about three hundred kilometers west from Bir-Hakeim.


"Now, we must think strategy. We must get there, contact these englanders without being noticed by my forces, and get them out of here."


"Will it not be difficult for you to, hum... disappear for such a length of time ?" Riddle inquired.


"I can always find excuses", he shrugged. "The only thing is I will have to reinforce the wards so no one, even knowing they are here, can pass round them. I do not care for some wizards to show up while I am not here."


"What if they ask why you did it ?"


"A security measure against the Allies, of course", Rommel answered easily.


"All right", Riddle nodded. "What about our transportation ?"


"That is another problem. I can take my staff car without arousing suspicion, but that's it. You will act as my driver, of course."


"You said the Africans had other means of transportation. What about that ?"


"No", the german shook his head. "That kind of transportations works through oasis. It would take us on a precise point, and we do not know where they are, not to mention there are not any aosis closeby their position. We will have to do it the Muggle way."


"The hard way", Riddle groaned.


"Aren't you the lazy one", Rommel chided him. "Fortunately, things have been pretty calm of late, so we should be able to leave tomorrow morning, and if we are lucky, we will not be away for more than one or two days."


"Fine by me", Riddle agreed. He hesitated, then added, "I do not know the desert. What should I bring along ?"


"Be sure to have some kind of hat, it can get pretty hot out there. I will take care of the water and other equipment. And of course, keep your wand at the ready. Try not to get too wand happy, though. We will want to be as discreet as possible."


"Of course", Riddle said in the offended voice of someone who need not be reminded of such things.


"Meanwhile, I will have a room near my quarters be prepared for you. As you are my "nephew", it is only natural that I should keep you with me. The men expect it. That is all, for now."


"Very well, "uncle",", Riddle smiled. "I will get some rest now, I think, and settle in my new quarters. I'll see you tomorrow morning, I trust."


"Five o'clock, in my office", Rommel answered.


"Why so early ?"


"Because it is relatively cool in the morning, and much easier to travel", Rommel explained.


"Oh. I understand. Tomorrow, then, uncle."


He left the room, and Rommel remained alone, in his darkening office. Shadows grew as the day neared its end, and the Feldmarschal heaved a sigh. He would better get some rest as well. But first, he had major Merhoff summoned. The man appeared only seconds later in his office.


"Sir, I have taken care of preparing a room for your nephew. He told me he was to be housed near your quarter."


"Good."


Good thing of course, Merhoff decided. As the boy was probably not his nephew, Rommel certainly wanted to keep an eye on him. But what was such a youngling doing there, in Africa ?


The sudden thought that crossed Merhoff's mind was horribly embarassing, but he couldn't quite dismiss it that easily. Was it possible that the boy was sent in Africa by Reichsführer Himmler, so as to spy on Rommel ? That would explain everything... But such a young boy, being given such an important assignment ? Unless... Of course ! The Reichsführer wanted to remain discreet about the whole thing. If people discovered he was spying on someone like Rommel, that would not be good for him. Even more so since the Führer seemed to trust Rommel - after all, it was him who had given him the command of the Afrika Korps... so, would spying on Rommel be understood in the Fatherland as a mistrust of the Führer's judgment ? If so, the Führer would have no choice but to take measures... Yes, it made sense.


After an hesitation, but seeing that Rommel had not dismissed him straight away, Merhoff carefully spoke.


"May I be of assistance, sir ?"


"Yes. My nephew has never been to Africa before, and would like to visit. As it has been dead calm, lately, I think I can take one or two day off to give him a tour. If you think you and the rest of my staff here can handle everything. General Loewy should be here shortly, anyway, so if anything should happen he can take command."


"Yes, sir", the major nodded, though it wasn't quite what he had had in mind. Rommel leaving his headquarters ? He had never done that before, and certainly never alone. Gathering his courage, he couldn't help but protest. "However, sir, are you certain you will be safe ? Maybe you should take an escort with you, or..."

"That will not be necessary", Rommel replied calmly, silencing his subordinate with a patient look.


Merhoff reluctantly nodded.


"Don't worry, there will be no problem during your absence, I assure you", he said, not bothering to hide his disapproval. He knew the Feldmarschall was not the kind of commander who would punish him for caring.


"I have no doubts about that", Rommel asserted. "We will leave tomorrow, so I would like my car ready for five in the morning."


"Do you wish for a driver as well ?"


Merhoff prayed Rommel would say yes. He just did not fancied him going out there alone, or almost so, even though german forces controlled most of the country.


"That won't be necessary. What are nephews for, anyway ?"


The major had a quiet laugh, trying to slacken the atmosphere, though slightly forcing it.


"Then I hope your nephew does not resemble mine", he said with a sickly grin.


Rommel seemed to suddenly think about it and had a mock shiver.


"Good lord", he said. "maybe I should have my will written before we leave."


"If so you wish, I can have a notary come here tonight", Merhoff said, playing along.


"Here, in Africa ?" Rommel asked, surprised.


"Well, it would have to be a local, but..."


"I don't believe it ! He wants to send me some kind of chaman", the Feldmarschal scoffed. "Away from my sight, you idol worshipper !"


The major disappeared with a wider smile, and Rommel, shaking his head, reverted his attention to the maps laying on his desk so as to plan the travel of the following day.


Out in the corridor, Merhoff stared at Ritter's door for a few seconds, deep in thoughts, before leaving for good. For his commander's sake, he would keep an eye on the boy, and he knew of some other officers who would gladly help him do so. They had little esteem for Himmler's men.


End note : I am using celsius degrees, for I am not used to fahrenheits. Heck, I'm not even sure I spelled it right. If you are not used to celsius degrees, well, I don't really know what would be the fareneight equivalent, but I can tell you it's very, very hot. We're in Africa, after all.

[Qualerei]

December 1943 - Africa, Bir-Hakeim


Tom stiffled a yawn as he edged his way in Rommel's staff car. What the hell he was doing there, he was still wondering.


You volunteered, you idiot !


Well, that may be so, but he was starting to regret it. He had not expected Africa to be so hot. It was a little past five, and it was still night time, but he was already sweating. And Rommel had told him it was cool in the morning !


Maybe it was because he came from England. And it was snowing in England, at that time of the year !


Tom glanced at the man, who was currently finishing to inspect their equipment. He was inhuman, to wear a leather coat in that sultriness. And clad in his uniform. Even his men, or most of them, reverted to shirts and shorts when it was too hot. If he didn't remove his coat, he would die from insolation. Tom almost pitied him. He would not be in his shoes for all the gold of Gringott's.


Hmm, on second thought...


"Is everything all right, Herr Ritter ?" a grim-looking man, clad in a major's uniform, asked him, as Rommel sat in the car.


"Yes, thanks", Tom replied. "We are ready to leave, whenever you feel like it, uncle Erwin."


"Then off we go. See you soon, Merhoff."


The men saluted as Rommel's staff car moved, as Tom drove it slowly out of Bir Hakeim. As he did so, the Feldmarschal remained silent, only speaking to indicate directions. As time went by, the sun rose high in the sky, and Tom started to understand just why Rommel had told him it was cool in the morning. Such sultriness shouldn't even be allowed. What was he talking about ? It shouldn't even exist !


He cast a sidelong glance at Rommel, who seemed quite confortable. The ---- man was not even sweating !


There was a trick. Tom just knew it. But he ---- sure would not ask. What would he look like, whining like a toddler just because it was a little warmer than what he was used to ?


Rectification ; a lot warmer.


Finally, he grew tired of that silence, and cleared his throat before adressing the german.


"Say, what was all this about, in the Minister's office ?"


The Feldmarschal did not even look at him, eyes steadily narrowed at the road in front of them. If one could call that a road.


"What do you mean ?" he finally queried, absent-mindedly. Tom could tell he was not quite with him at the moment.


"I'm speaking of when the Minister thanked you for, and you answered you were not doing it for him, and he said you had already talked about it."


"Oh. That."


It was a few seconds before Rommel went on, but Tom merely waited, not wanting to make an issue of it.


"I was merely referring to the fact I am not helping the Allied from the naive goodness of my heart. I would not have turned traitor if I did not deem it crucial for the future of Germany. All I am doing now is for my country. Even if some people may not share that opinion."


Tom slowly nodded, fully understandig what he meant. For most people, the fate of Germany and the will of the Führer were one and same thing. Betraying Grindelwald meant betraying Germany. Yet, there was Rommel's dilemma, for following Grindelwald meant bringing Germany on the verge of its very destruction. So, either turn traitor, or sacrifice one's country. Hardly a choice.


"Though my opinion probably matters little to you, I do think you took the right decision", Tom commented.


"I am certainly glad you approve", the Feldmarschal replied, his voice trickling with sarcasm.


The British teen merely shrugged, knowing that Rommel's anger was not directed at him, but rather at the situation he was in. By then, the sun was just above them, and with a groan, Tom stopped the car so as to remove his shirt.


"You do not want to do that", Rommel said off-handedly.


"I don't ?" Tom inquired, his chest already half bare.


"If you remove your shirt, you will not feel much cooler, but you are sure to have a lovely red shade by tonight. The sun can be quite harsh in Libya."


Tom considered it, came to the conclusion Rommel may be right, and groaned in frustration. But he was way too warm to even imagine putting back his shirt.


"Never mind that. It cannot get worse anyway."


"So you believe", Rommel murmured quietly.


Tom shrugged, and threw his shirt in the back of the car. His pale british skin was barely fainter than Rommel's, whose clothes seemed to prevent him from tanning. Well, if he wanted to play masochist, so be it. Not Riddle's business.


Now a little more at ease, he resumed his driving. Rommel cast him an amused look but said nothing. However, the travel was quite boring, and they finally resorted to talking, for lack of anything better to do.


"Why were you picked for this assignment ?" the german asked after a little while.


"Surely because I was stupid enough to volunteer" he snorted.


"So you did volunteer." The Feldmarschal raised an eyebrow at that.


"Oh, well, I had the occasion to be a hero, how could I refuse such an offer ?" Tom said dramatically, rolling his eyes. "No, seriously speaking, it was well paid, and as I speak german, the Minister offered me to do it."


"You are doing this for the money ?" Rommel's surprised was genuine.


"Of course. I was never really one for patriotism. I respect yours, but my country never gave me anything, and I have little wish to put myself in harm's way solely to protect it. Not if I can get something out of it, anyway."


"That is very bitter for someone so young", the german remarked. "Did not your country give you an education ? A place to live ?"


"An education, yes, I will admit that. A place to live ? Hardly. What did your country give you to make you protect it so fiercely ?"


Rommel was quiet for some time before answering.


"I am not fighting for a mere piece of land", he finally said softly. "What I am trying to protect is the people I know and love, the soldiers who trust me to spare as many lives as possible, our lore, our art... everything that make us german and not Italian or French, or even British. I once thought Grindelwald was the one who could give us back our pride after the defeat we suffered, at the end of World War One."


"But he didn't", Tom said carefully.


"No. He took our souls instead. Now that I come to think of it, that was some kind of Faustian deal - except we got nothing but war out of it."


"Tell me about bitter", Tom muttered, getting a brief smile from the german. "Besides, you should not be all that surprised. After all, the Faustian stuff is sort of a german thing, is it not ?"


"I guess you are right", Rommel admitted.


"Thanks to that Goethe fellow."


"You read Goethe ?" The man's surprise was palpable. "Even though he was a squib living among muggles ?"


Tom shrugged non-comittaly.


"I felt I had to read before criticizing efficiently and using the book to prove how living among muggles distorted Goethe's sanity", he said stiltedly.


Rommel chuckled.


"I was wondering about that wizard, Dumbledore. You certainly do not seem too fond of him."


Am I that easy to read ? Tom had to wonder, for he had tried to hide the dislike he felt towards the man who had brought him for the first time at Hogwarts. Yet, the Feldmarschal had seen through his in a matter of days.


"Well, he was a teacher of mine", Tom said lightly so as to alleviate the atmosphere. "You know what it's like. I still resent him for that detention he gave me last year."


"Is that so ?" Rommel murmured thoughtfully.


"Does it matter ?" Tom replied, shifting uncomfortably on his seat.


"I suppose not", the german answered with a twitch of his lips. "As long as you do not kill him on sight or turn him in to my forces."


"As you could easily have him released, I hardly see the point. It would endanger us both, for little results", Tom pinpointed.


"So you would do it if you could."


"What are you getting at, anyway ?" the British teen groaned, annoyed at his not-yet-a-friend-but-not-a-foe-either.


"Nothing at all", the german replied innocently. "Tired of driving ?"


"As a matter of fact, yes."


"Stop the car, then, and let's switch seats."


A moment later, Rommel was driving, while Tom stretched in his seat with delight. He had not realised how tense he was before he had stopped the car, but remaining still in the driver's seat, focused on the road, was tiring. And dirty, too. The sand just went everywhere. Tom knew he had some of it in his clothes, and probably underwear too. Of course, he wouldn't say a thing ; that was just too ---- ridiculous. Besides, Rommel did not seem to be bothered by the sand in any fashion. But now, the man was special. Tom only wished he knew how the german did it.


As they went, Rommel kept an eye on the compass, and they were still heading west. After half an hour or so, the german stopped the car and took a map from under the seat. Then, he started to mutter numbers under his breath, and after a few minutes, he made a red dot on the paper.


"Here we are", he said. "They should be somewhere in this area. The problem is, they will be hiding."


"The problem, I'd rather say, is your uniform", Tom said. "What are they going to do if they see a german-looking man in a german uniform driving a german car ?"


"Oh, well, that is not really much of a problem."


Rommel took his wand out of its sheath, which was tied on his forearm. Tom peered at the wooden stick ; it was a beautiful piece of work, carefully crafted, and obviously lovingly taken care of.


"Is that ebony ?" he asked.


The Feldmarschal raised an eyebrow in surprise, but showed him the wand so he could examine it more closely.


"It is. Twelve inches long. You seem to be knowledgeable about wands."


"Not all that much, but I took a personal interest in it a few years earlier, and studied the specificities of the different woods used in wand-making. If I remember well what I learned then, I would say ebony makes excellent wands for duels, protective spells and dark arts, is quite good for charms and transfiguration, but is just terrible for healing and not so good for some minor stuff."


"That is... quite accurate", Rommel said, not seeming to like much having someone know everything about the strength and weaknesses of his wand.


"If I may ask, what is inside ?" Tom pushed nonetheless.


"Griffin feather", the german said reluctantly.


"Quite an impressive combination", Tom admitted. "Though it would make a wand slightly more rough than with more... prevalent components."


"What about your wand ?" the Feldmarschal retorted irritably.


"If you must know, yew and Phoenix feather."


Rommel shook his head irritably, and turned it towards himself, before muttering a few words Tom did not quite hear. His outfit did not seem to change at all, though. The same trick was used with the car, which did not seem to change either, still hoisting german flags.


"What did you do ? It did not change anything", Tom said, after observing mutely the german's work.


"You see nothing different. That is because you expect to see me in a german uniform."


Tom blinked a few times in surprise.


"What do you mean ?"


"If we encounter british, they will see me in a british army major's uniform. If we encounter other allied soldiers, they will see the same thing. But if we meet germans, they will not be affected by the spell, and see my real uniform."


"That comes in handy", Tom said gleefully. "I take it that works the same way for the car ?"


"Quite correct. But you need not change your clothes, as you look like a civillian."


"What about your accent ?"


"Yes, what about my accent ?" Rommel asked patiently.


"You speak english well enough, but you will never pass as a native."


"No worry. I have a lie at the ready if the question is asked. And you will do most of the talking in need be. If they react badly, I will Obliviate them, and keep silent. Now, let us find these british soldiers."


"And just how do you intend to do that ?" Tom enquired with curiosity. He had seen that Rommel had more than a few things up his sleeve.


"Are we wizards or not ?" the german retorted with a deridingly smile.


Once again, he took his wand, and performed some kind of spell. A red arrow appeared above the wand, started to spin round, then stopped, indicating the north.


"And there we go", the Feldmarschal said contently. Now we just have to follow the arrow."


"If I may, sir..."


"What, such coldness", Rommel said ironically. "Am I not anymore your dear uncle Erwin ?"


"Uncle it is, then. How did you pull out that last trick ?"


"Easy enough. I adjusted the arrow to point towards the strongest source of magic nearby, barring us."


"We could run into someone who is not Dumbledore."


"Sure thing. But there are always odds in war. Besides, with that bit of camouflage, the hazard is limited."


"Do you always have an answer to everything ?" Tom finally asked irritably.


"Do you always have a question for everything ?" the german smirked. "Come now, my nephew. We've got a stray wizard to find."


"I sure would not be too sad if we don't manage", Tom groaned.


But he followed the Feldmarschal back in the car.

[Qualerei]

December 1943, Africa, in the desert


"Well ?"


"We are getting closer. Did not anyone ever teach you patience is a virtue ?"


Feldmarschall Erwin Rommel checked once again the red arrow hanging above the car's dashboard. They had been looking for quite some time now, and they still had not found the wizard known as Albus Dumbledore. What made the matter worse was they were running short on fuel, and they had just enough in the jerrycans for two hundred kilometers or so. Which was not enough to get back to camp. And Rommel was more and more feeling like they were making circles.


"You know", his British companion said thoughtfully, "I think..."


"Oh, you do, now ?" Rommel asked tartly.


Searching around the whole day had done nothing to improve his mood.


"Why, yes, my very dear uncle", Tom said sweetly - which infuriated the german even more.


"Well, go ahead !" he finally said, no patience left.


"If I know Dumbledore, he will have thought of that nice spell you are currently using. I'd bet he's been muddling up his magical signature so we can't find him."


"Oh, that is just great ! And you could not have told me that before we looked all around the place uselessly."


"Hey, I just thought about it. Don't blame me if your trick didn't work !"


Tom wiped the sweat on his forehead and went for the water-bottle. he felt awfully thirsty, and he definitely hated Africa. That was a boring place, with only sand everywhere, and, with enough luck, a tree or some stones here and there. No interest at all in that country - what was its name ? Ah, yes, Libya. Rommel had told him before he liked the place, but he had been there for years. Stunning, what too much sun could do to a man. Enough to make him actually like the place. For his part, Tom would have liked it better with some more clouds. He just couldn't get used to the sultriness.


Awww, come on, you have been here for barely a day. Give yourself some more time.


The only thing was he didn't want to get used to it. He wanted to forget it all about that whole "saving Dumbledore" nonsense, and get back to England as soon as possible. A pity he couldn't.


Unsuspecting these rebellious thoughts, Rommel had stopped the car - no point in moving on if he did not know where to.


"You know", the german finally said, "I am starting to share your opinion."


"That is to say ?" Riddle asked, cocking an eyebrow.


"That Dumbledore fellow can rot in hell for all I care."


"No need to go to hell to rot. This place is warm enough", the British teen muttered.


"You will get used to it", Rommel smirked. "In a few months time, you will feel like you have always lived here."


"Merlin save me ! I certainly hope not. Speaking of rotting, isn't it what's going to happen to us if we don't start moving ?"


"Certainly", Rommel said politely. "Care to give me directions ?"


"You are the one supposed to save Dumbledore", Tom pointed out with a mischievous smile.


"And you are supposed to assist me", the blond german retorted.


"Well, truth to be told, I do have a few ideas", Riddle smirked, "but you won't like them so it's no use.."


"Do tell anyway."


"You could take that fancy wand of yours and write up in the sky, with very big and bold letters, in red or something flashy, "we are here to save you Dumbledore"."


"Right", Rommel snarled. "And we could say hello to some nice german soldiers of mine too."


"Told you you wouldn't like it. It's the quickest way."


"The quickest that you can think of", the Feldmarschal corrected him.


With a sigh, he got out of the car, soon imitated by the British teen. Above them, the sun was shining and beaming - it was around four in the afternoon. A glance toward Riddle told Rommel the teen's bare chest was already hoisting a redder shade. He would soon enough regret he had not listened to Rommel. But you can't make a donkey drink if he's not thirsty.


He cast a look over their surroundings. Nothing seemed to move, apart from them. No place to hide, either. No water. So what ? They could not have just disappeared ! Well, Dumbledore could have, but not in front of his men. Besides, had he done so, forsaking the soldiers under his command, Rommel would have felt the utmost contempt toward him.


That was the problem, when war involved both wizards and muggles ; it was just so much more difficult to hide one's nature...


"Hands up !" a voice barked behind him, bringing him back to reality rather brutally.


In other circumstances, he might have tried something foolish. But, he had no cover, the man probably had a gun, and Riddle was with him, and he could not abandon the teen. Besides, he did not like all that much muggle guns. It hurt like hell, though it was often less dangerous than a wand. So, he raised his hands as ordered.


"Turn round", the same harsh voice commanded.


He obeyed, and found himself face to face with a British sergeant, holding a gun aimed at him point-blank. Impassived, he stared at the man. The British was not alone ; soon enough, a dozen other men rose from the sand, uncovering the holes they had been hiding into. They had buried themselves in the sand... weren't they the clever ones.


Near Rommel, Riddle had also his hands raised, glowering at their captors. The german hoped his companion would not try anything stupid. But no... the teen was anything but stupid, and he was not suicidal either.


The british soldier who had spoken gestured for his friends to search their new prisonners, and the Feldmarschal stiffened slightly. His Deceptive charm was good enough, but it would not hold if they searched him thoroughly. If that happened, he would hav to draw his wand, no matter what.


But, fortunately, one of the brits merely felt his clothes, and seized the gun Rommel was wearing on his belt. The dummkopf did not even find his wand. Well, good for him and Riddle. Whom they did not even bother to search, as his chest was bare.


Time for some talk, now. Diplomacy might get them out of this annoying situation.


"I don't understand", Rommel said in his best english. "We are Allied soldiers, just like you. No need to be so harsh."


When he really tried, he managed to speak almost without a foreign accent.


"Don't bother, you Kraut", the sergeant who seemed to be their leader sneered. "We heard you talk with that fancy german accent of yours."


Riddle cast him a glare that clearly meant "told you so", and Rommel pointedly ignored him. Right, now was the time to pull out some nice lie.


"I'm Dutch", he argued. "Ah, it's always the same thing", he cast the man an annoyed look. "Just because I've got a foreign accent doesn't mean I'm german."


Some uncertainty was now wavering in the man's eyes. The Feldmarschal did not give him the time to ponder over this assertion.


"What are you doing around here anyway ? I thought there were only Krauts in that part of Libya... Be that as it may, that's a fluke we met. You are alone ?"


He made a mistake asking the last question, for it seemed to arouse suspicion amongst the British soldiers.


"Why would you care ?" the leader asked with open hostility. "We won't take any chances", he added for his men's benefit. "Our orders are to take you to our leader. You won't get hurt if you behave. Don't try to escape. What are your names ?"


Hum. That one, he should have expected it.


"I am major Erwan Romester", he lied. "And this is Tom Riddle."


"That's not a Dutch name", the soldier said dubiously.


"My father was a Scot, but after he married my mother he asked for the Dutch nationality, and he lived there with her and myself."


That was just indredible enough to make the British soldier believe him. He nodded curtly.


"If I may, what is your name ?" Rommel inquired.


"Sergeant Thomas Matthews", the man replied.


He didn't add "sir", and the unsaid title hung between them for a short while.


Then, he turned away, and the blond german tensed slightly ; that may be his chance. But he refrained from doing anything. The other British soldiers kept their weapons carefully aimed at him and Riddle. No, they would not drop their guard for the time being.


"McFerson", he called, "is the car intact ?"


"Yes sir", answered a bald man with a scottish accent. "And there is even loads of fuel."


"Good ! How many can fit inside ?"


"No more than six or eight, and only if we squeeze up a little bit", came McFerson's answer.


"Fine. Take it back to camp, we'll bring the prisonners on foot", Matthews ordered.


Rommel cast a sidelong glance at Riddle.


"Up for a little walk ?" he asked, deadpan.


"Humph", the British teen mumbled in answer. "I knew we should not have stopped the car."


Seeing his companion in a foul mood, the german shrugged and did not insist. At Matthews' command, they started walking, the British soldiers behind them. Undoubtedly, if they tried running, they would be immediately shot. They had no choice but come along and pray these soldiers were Dumbledore's men. Because otherwise, Rommel would have to escape at all cost, and that probably meant kill a lot of them. Because he could not bring them along, and stupefying them to let them rot on the ground would mean condemn them to a slow and excruciating death.


The walk lasted for half an hour, during which neither Rommel nor Tom spoke. The British talked quietly among themselves, not quite loud enough for the two prisonners to hear.


Soon enough, they approached the camp, which was more like a few tents pitched together than an actual military settlement. The sand-coloured tents made a good camouflage, and no one would probably notice it unless they came very close, and even more so since it was set in a small pit. There must be about a hundred people or so in this place... impressive enough. Their car stood nearby.


Matthews led them towards one of the tents, at the end of the camp, drawing the other men's interest. They kept their eyes on the two prisonners as they went through the settlement. Finally, he stopped in front of the tent.


"Captain, sergeant Matthews reporting. We brought the prisonners."


"Come in", the man inside the tent replied.


Matthews put away the folding screen, and the two prisonners entered the tent, both holding their breath.

[Qualerei]

December 1943, Libya, somewhere in the desert


It was very dark inside the tent, and at first neither Rommel nor Riddle saw anything but the shadow of a man. Behind them, Matthews had entered as well, with three of his men. They really weren't taking any chances, Rommel thought, annoyed. And they kept aiming at him in a way he definitely disliked.


The man - presumably the captain, whose name would be Albus Dumbledore if he and Riddle got lucky - turned to face them, and stared at them for a few seconds.


"My, my, I certainly did not expected to meet one Tom Riddle here", the man finally said cheerfully. "A most pleasant surprise indeed."


So, that was the man Cornwall had been so enthusiastic about. And, obviously, he did recognize Riddle, so he probably could be more or less trusted. After all, the British had no interest in double-crossing him, since he was on their side - or rather, they had a common ennemy.


Dumbledore did not even sound really surprised, much to Rommel's annoyance. Yet the man could not have been expecting them. But of course, the Feldmarschal was in no position to ask. Hopefully, though, Dumbledore would set things straight with his men, and everything would work out eventually.


Oh, well, at least we did find him. Now comes the "easy" part. Duh !


Chasing these thoughts, which did not resemble him anyway, Rommel brought back his attention to their "host". Now, he was accustomed to the darkness, and was able to make out the man's features. He was tall, with brown hair and the hint of a beard - probably did not have a lot of water to waste for a shave, lately - and his steely blue eyes were twinkling madly behing his glasses.


Well, Cornwall had been right at least about one thing. In spite of his uniform, the captain certainly did not look military. And even less so when he had that beaming smile of his, for now directed towards Riddle. Poor boy.


"That is quite alright, sergeant", Dumbledore added after a few seconds. "I know these men, and they are no danger to us."


The muggle soldier looked as though he would have like to argue, but he was clever enough to keep his mouth shut and to understand the dismissal discreetly hinted by the wizard captain.


"Are you certain you don't want me to let a guard... just in case ?" Matthews finally insisted, without much hope.


"Absolutely certain", Dumbledore answered firmly.


And Matthews had no other choice than to leave the tent, although he did take the time to cast a glare at Riddle - who did not even notice it.


Soon enough, there was only the three of them remaining in the tent ; Dumbledore, Riddle and Rommel. The older wizard cast his two former prisonners an amused glance.


"So, I believe that is the time for some explanations", he said casually. "I take it it's not by chance you happened to appear out of nowhere, Tom, my dear boy ?"


"That's right", Riddle admitted.


"But maybe before getting to that you would care to introduce your friend to me ?" Dumbledore added, as if on second thought. "And also maybe explain to me why you are with a man who wears a german uniform."


Now, his voice had steely edges, as he observed the Feldmarschall. Rommel remembered with relief that his rank insignias were hidden under his leather coat. If this Dumbledore fellow had seen them, he might have taken more... radical measures than to merely ask Riddle about it.


"I am here, you know", the german said in annoyance. He did not like being ignored.


"Of course", the elderly wizard said at once. "Please accept my apologies. I certainly did not mean to be rude. My name is Albus Dumbledore."


"Yes, I know that", Rommel said, biting back his temper. "I am Erwan Romester", he added, using the false name he had invented less that an hour ago. "I was sent to rescue you by your minister for magic, Lazarus Cornwall. Riddle here can testify that."


"What about the uniform ?" Dumbledore insisted, much to the blond german's irritation.


"What do you usually wear when going in a german-controlled country ? Besides, if you feel curious, I strongly suggest you ask questions to your minister, not to me. By the way, how did you see through the spell ?"


Dumbledore smiled in an infuriating way.


"I just know how to use my eyes", he said with a mysterious smile that Rommel was quite sure he had practiced in front of a mirror. "Tom ?"


"He tells the truth. We are here to help you", Riddle said, bearing it out.


"Is that so", Dumbledore said, not seeming all that convinced.


"Oh, please", the Feldmarschall groaned. "If we had wanted to capture or kill you, believe me, we would have come with much more manpower."


Either Dumbledore did not really care, either he was powerful enough to let the matter skip out. Rommel was prone to believing the second option. Be that as it may, the elderly wizard suddenly shifted to an openly friendly smile. Obviously, he had decided to accept what they had told him. For the moment, at least.


"Well, I certainly appreciate the assistance. But I don't really see how you could help. I have a hundred men here, and taking them through the german lines will not be an easy task", he said cheerfully, as if discussing the weather.


Or maybe not. The weather in Africa was not a subject one could be cheerful talking about.


"Do you happen to have a map ?" Rommel asked.


"Of course. Here is is", Dumbledore said as he pulled the object from his coat, which was laying on the campbed. "I am afraid I don't have a table to go with it, though."


"No matter", the german replied absent-mindedly, as he waved his wand that Dumbledore had not bothered laying hold of. The man really was overconfident, Rommel decided as the map unwinded itself, hanging in the air with docility.


"Lumos", the german muttered before studying the thick piece of paper.


Dumbledore and the British teen observed the map with him.


"We are around here, if I'm not mistaken ?" the Feldmarschal said, pinponting an isolated place in Libya.


"Quite. Right here, actually", Dumbledore said, showing him a red dot he had obviously made himself.


"Uh uh", Rommel muttered, as he kept studying the map.


After ten minute or so, he shared a look with the two other wizards.


"I trust you have been trying to find a way to get out of Libya as well", he said to Dumbledore. His tone clearly implied a question.


"Of course. I have come to the conclusion there are only two ways to bring my men safely back to England."


"With either a plane or a submarine", Rommel nodded. "In both case, we would need the cooperation of the Allies."


"Don't you forget the third solution", Riddle said off-handedly.


Both other men narrowed their eyes at him, but while Rommel looked mainly curious, Dumbledore remained wary, if not slightly hostile. Yet, when he answered his tone was most courteous.


"And what solution would that be ?" he asked politely though almost reluctantly.


"Turn your men in to the germans, and Disapparate to another Allied country. That way, you are safe back, and your men will not have anything to fear in a prisonner of war camp. They will just have to sit out the remaining of the war, which is not such a harsh fate, as far as I am concerned", Riddle said with a sweet smile.


Well, the boy certainly did have a way to present it and make it almost sound right. He should be introduced to Goebbels, Rommel thought darkly. They had the same ways to manipulate one's mind.


Dumbledore, on the other hand, looked at Riddle in dismay - whether it was an act or sincere, Rommel couldn't tell.


"Tom, my dear boy, I do hope you realise how horribly wrong is what you just suggested. I could not do that to my own men."


"That would be saving their lives", the boy replied politely. And one had to admit he was only slightly distorting the truth. But that was still a distortion.


"Not quite", Dumbledore retorted sternly. "I told them I would get them safely back to England, and I fully intend to do so."


"As you wish", the teen replied with a shrug. "I merely felt we had to consider each and every possibility."


The elderly wizard sighed with frustration. He never got anywhere whenever Riddle was concerned. The boy just defended his opinions as if his life depended on it - even when he was wrong. That would do him no good, and that would mean no good to the world either, if Dumbledore was right. He certainly hoped he was. And now, there was the problem of that Romester, whatever his real name was - for Albus was quite certain it was anything but Erwan Romester. And his vague explanation for wearing german clothes did not sound right either. After all, Riddle was clad as a civilian.


Yet, he could sense no deceit in that Romester fellow, other than his name and uniform. He seemed to be really here to help. Maybe... But Dumbledore shall still be careful around the man, even if he did not quite show his wariness.


Unaware of these thoughts, Rommel kept thinking about the interesting tactical problem he was confronted with. Eyes half closed so as to better concentrate, he considered the field, mentally adding the presence of his men to the equation. He had himself placed them where they were, with the help of his staff, and he knew the maps by heart. His unfailing memory and the countless hours he had spent on his maps gave him all the elements he needed to think their way out. Now, if only...


"Getting a plane to land here is out of the question", he finally said.


Both Dumbledore and Riddle nodded at that.


"It would be too hazardous to have one come here and go back, not to say, not very discreet. That leaves one way out..."


He shared a look with Dumbledore, then smirked.


"I hope you don't get seasick, captain", he said without hiding an amused smile.

[Qualerei]

December 1943 - Libya, south to Ras Lanouf, Allied camp



"You want him to impersonate WHO ?!"


The shout that came out of Dumbledore's tent was loud enough to be heard all across the camp, and several soldiers turned their heads towards the origin of the sound. Inside the tent, lieutenant Jonathan Parck stared at his superior with utter disbelief.


"Permission to speak freely, sir ?"


Dumbledore nodded with a fatherly smile.


"I apologize for being so crude, but... this plan sucks."


Now, that was being quite blunt, Rommel mused. But Dumbledore did not seem to take offense and merely tilted his head to the side, clearly inviting his subordinate to explain his position in a slightly more detailed way. Behind him, the Feldmarschal and Tom merely waited, while lieutenant Parck seemed to think how to best voice his mind.


Most of Dumbledore's staff having been killed, there was only one lieutenant left for a hundred men, and a few petty officers, which accounted for his explaining his plans to the man and actually listening to what the other had to say. Parck's approval would be useful, because he'd do a d**n better job if he believed they could make it. Someone who feels like he is going on a suicide mission has usually slight difficulties to focus at the best of his abilities.


Actually, it was not really Dumbledore's plan ; it was rather Rommel's, with a few hints from Tom, but they all had agreed it would be easier if Dumbledore claimed it was his. After all, the men trusted him ; certainly more than Dumbledore himself trusted his two new "friends". From what Rommel had seen, the man did not like Riddle much, and had not made his mind yet about him. But the Feldmarschall was quite certain the elderly wizard knew they hadn't been telling him the truth - not all of it, at least. The man had a hell of an insight. Well, anyway, he would never have agreed to relinquish his command to either of the two newcomers. Which was, truth to be told, understandable.


For the last five minutes or so, that is to say after having been told the plan, Parck had remained gaping, unable to utter a sound. But now, he seemed to steady himself.


"It is plain crazy !" the lieutenant pursued. "You want us to steal a hundred german uniforms, without the theft being noticed by the germans. And then, you want him (he was pointing at the Feldmarschal) to impersonate Erwin Rommel, no less ! And take us through german lines pretending he is taking us on a mission !"


He turned toward Rommel, and shook his head.


"Excuse me, sir, but just how do you expect to pull that off ? You'll never impersonate the Desert Fox well enough to impress the guards ! Not to speak about the papers they will ask you to show them. And, with all due respect, you just don't have the Feldmarschal's stature. And that is only if we manage to steal the uniforms."


The blond german tried very hard not to laugh and to keep a serious face, but that was getting harder each passing second. He choked back a cough.


"My, my", Dumbledore smiled. "You have a way to make it sound dreadful, my boy."


Obviously, the elderly wizard called everyone "my boy". The only one who had skipped the appellation yet was Rommel himself, and he had a feeling his luck would not hold much longer.


"But I can assure you", the wizard captain prattled, "that we have considered all the aspects of the situation, and there are solutions to everything. See - Tom, dear boy, would you mind handing me that map ? - we are here. We can reach the cost between Ras Lanouf and Marsa el-Brega. In Ras Lanouf, there is an important dump, in which we shall find what we need. That is to say, a hundred german uniforms. So, we will move this way..."


Dumbledore's finger drew their way on the map.


"... stop there, not too far from Ras Lanouf, and then we'll send a commando in to steal the uniforms."


"I have already been to Ras Lanouf once - with a disguise, of course", Rommel interrupted, speaking for the first time. "I know where exactly is located the bump. From what I know, Rommel lacks men badly, so it will be a little less difficult to sneak in and outside."


It felt very strange to speak of himself in the third person.


"Allright, we might be able to steal the uniforms - and that's a big maybe. But what if one of the Kraut officers we'll meet on our way knows personnally Rommel, and sees it's not you ?" Parck asked defiantly.


Rommel bit his lips to keep his face straight, while Riddle sniggered and Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. As far as the elderly wizard knew, they'd be using a spell to make the germans see him as Rommel. But the truth was, they would not need the spell. Only Riddle knew the whole truth - apart from the Feldmarschal himself, of course - and he seemed to find it amusing to no end.


"No one ever said there wouldn't be risks executing this plan", Dumbledore said soothingly. "I don't think you prefer to wait here, now, do you ?"


The lieutenant lowered his eyes, as aware as his commander was of the lack of water. They had still enough for a week, if they rationed it. But then what ? Turn themselves to the german, after all this ? Rommel was known for the chivalry he exhibited towards his foes, but that did not make defeat any less bitter. No, apart from surrendering, Dumbledore's crazy plan was their best hope.


"I understand, sir", he finally sighed. "And I'll make sure the men do as well. I just hope there would be another solution."


"So do I, my dear fellow. So do I", Dumbledore said wearily, showing for the first time some of the tension and exhaustion he felt.


"By the way, would you happen to have a radio ?" Rommel asked, after they had kept silent for a while.


"Yes", Parck immediately replied. "But it's short range only."


"That's fine. Bring it here, please."


The lieutenant looked at Dumbledore for confirmation, and when the elderly wizard nodded, he aquiesced and went out. Once he had left, Dumbledore cast a sidelong glance at Rommel.


"What do you want the radio for ?" he asked.


"To send a message", the german answered absent-mindedly.


"Yes, I figured that much", the older man replied patiently. "A message to whom ?"


"I have to tell a friend of mine I'll be late", the Feldmarschal explained.


He felt Dumbledore's suspicious glance linger on him, and raised his head to cross the man's scrutiny.


"Really", he muttered.


Then, after checking lieutenant Parck was still busy outside, he drew his wand and directed it toward himself.


"Juramentum", he said distinctly.


The two other wizard's eyes widened slightly, as it was an uncommon spell, and difficult to really master. Rommel held Dumbledore's gaze with steely eyes.


"I solemnly swear I am not going to betray you, and that I am really trying to get you safely back to England."


He said nothing about his personnal feeling on the matter, which anyway was irrelevant. Dumbledore hesitated if only for a second, then slowly nodded. If Rommel had been lying under Juramentum, some very unpleasant things might have happened to him. As he seemed perfectly at ease, he had to be telling the truth. At least on this matter.


"Fine", the older wizard finally said, though still a little reluctantly. "You may use the radio."


Rommel sheathed back his wand, and a few seconds later Parck entered the tent, unaware of what had happened during his absence.


"Here it is. Do you want me to operate it for you ?" Parck asked politely.


"No, I think I will manage, thank you", the Feldmarschal said, waving him out dismissively.


"Go speak to the men", Dumbledore interrupted. "Tell them we will move as soon as possible and I want them ready to leave. You can also tell them we're going near Ras Lanouf, but nothing else for the moment. We'll explain the rest later."


"Yes sir !"


The lieutenant saluted sharply before leaving the tent. Rommel had already knelt on the ground near the radio, and was starting to activate it, the headset on his ears so he could hear his people's response. Though Dumbledore would hear what he would be saying, he would not hear what Rommel heard. He didn't like it, that much was obvious in the way he looked grumpily at the blond man, but the spell he had used was an irrefutable proof he was on the Allies side. And, once again, Dumbledore sensed no deception - though Rommel's was a shadowy truth. Yet, sometimes, one just had to let things happen.


"Old fox to Sand-fortress one. Procedure 12", Rommel called.


The "old fox" part was his codename when he had to call his men. Knowing his nickname was "the Desert Fox", using such a codename could seem not very subtle, but a lot of his soldiers used the "fox" codename too. So, he wished good luck to the Allies to determine which, between "young fox", "white fox", or "fox company" was him. Not to mention some Allies also used the F word in their codenames. So, in the end, it was perfectly safe for him to use it.


He had spoken in english in the radio ; "procedure 12" meant, according to the manual (which Rommel had himself written with his staff) that he feared his transmission might be intercepted by the allies and, so as to confuse them, spoke in english to make them believe it was an Allied transmission. There was still the problem of the accent, but the radio cracked enough to cover most of it, and anyway, in an army where French people were fighting alongside British, Polish, American, of even Dutch people, an accent did not mean that much.


The true reason being, in that case, that Rommel could not really start to speak german in the radio, in front of one suspicious Albus Dumbledore.


There was some crackling, then an answer came, and Rommel recognized the voice of the operator.


"Sand-fortress one, listening. Over."


"Please relay a message to Head of Fortress."


Head of Fortress meant the higher-ranking officer present in HQ, which currently meant major Merhoff.


"He's already here, sir", came the operator's answer. "Do you wish to speak to him directly ?"


"Yes."


Soon, the Feldmarschal heard his subordinate's familiar voice.


"Sir, is everything all right ?"


"Yes, quite. Only my car broke down, and it will take two or three days to have it repaired."


"Do you want me to send you another car ? Captain Aldinger arrived this morning, and I'm sure he would be glad to go fetch you" Merhoff proposed with a concerned voice.


"That won't be necessary. I understand there has been little perturbation while I was not here. I will merely be a little behind schedule, but there is nothing to worry about."


"As you wish, sir", Merhoff reluctantly agreed. "Where are you ?"


"I'm south-west to Bir-Hakeim", Rommel said, and it was barely a lie. "I shall see you in a few days. Over and out", he concluded.


He put back the headset receiver on the radio, and met Dumbledore's curious glance. Riddle already knew what it was all about, of course, so he merely looked slighty bored.


"By the way, I'd like to get my gun back", Rommel said.


"Why ?" Dumbledore retorted with a frown.


"Because otherwise it looks like I am still a prisonner and that you do not trust me, which means your men will not trust me either. And because I don't want to have to get another one when I get back after your departure", he replied patiently.


The elderly wizard shrugged and pointed at the bed - which was the only piece of furniture in the tent anyway - where the gun was lying. Rommel picked his weapon up and sheathed the Lüger back at his side. To the british muggle soldiers, it looked like a browning thanks to the same spell he had cast on his uniform.


"If we travel overnight", the german added, "we shall arrive at Ras Lanouf around four in the morning, which will be the right time for the theft. At the end of the night, the sentries are not quite alert. Once the men will have switched uniforms, we will wait for the morning and then go through german lines. I will be Erwin Rommel, of course. You will be Adler Dumbleschmidt, and Riddle will be Tom Ritter. Your officer will be lieutenant Pancke. Do you or one of your men speak german ?"


"I'm afraid we don't", Dumbledore said ruefully. "Or at least, not well enough to deceive our german friends."


"All right. So I and Riddle will do the talking. You and your men will shut up and try to look as inconspicuous as possible."


Rommel's tone had unconsciously switched back to a commander's, with underlying authority and quiet determination that revealed a man used to be obeyed without questions. Dumbledore added that to the enigma the man was to him, and decided he would have to ponder over it later.


"We will set the details of our little raid while on our way", Rommel concluded.


"What about the car ?" Albus asked.


"We let it here. Riddle and I will come back and take it after your departure."


"You mean you won't be going back to england with us", the elderly wizard said, frowning. "Why ?"


"We have some business unfinished here", Riddle said, speaking for the first time in a while. "Are you worried for us, Professor ?" there was some underlying amusement in his voice.


"I certainly do care for your well-being", Dumbledore replied gravely.


Riddle's sneer showed plainly enough he did not believe his former teacher, but he did not push the matter.


"All right", Rommel cut in, "we do not have any time to lose, so I would suggest we move on. If your men are ready..."


Less than half an hour later, nothing indicated there had ever been a camp somewhere in the area, and the british soldiers, led by Dumbledore, Riddle and Rommel, had begun their long walk to freedom.

[Qualerei]

December 1943 - Near Ras Lanouf


"That's better guarded than I expected", Rommel admitted as he observed through his field glasses the dump they were supposed to raid.


They had walked restlessly after their leave, and they had been able to make it to Ras Lanouf quicker than the Feldmarschal could have hoped ; yet, it did not seem fate was taking it easy on them. His gaze followed one of the two german sentries that walked in front of the front gate. He hoped they would not have to resort to kill them ; for one, he didn't like the idea of killing his soldiers when their only mistake had been to do their job too well ; and secondly, they wanted to be as discreet as possible, and killing two sentries definitely did not fit the word "discretion".


"So what do we do ?" Riddle asked behind him.


They had left Dumbledore's men five kilometers from Ras Lanouf and had walked the rest of the way, with only a half dozen of British soldiers to back them up. Dumbledore himself had remained with his men, though he had needed convincing. But he had strict briefs to leave if Rommel and the others were not back by dawn. Now, knowing whether he would follow these instructions, that was another thing - even if, technically, Rommel outranked him, the annoying captain did not know it. On the way, the Feldmarschal had hinted he belonged to the British Secret Service, but somehow he did not believe the elderly wizard had taken the bait. Yet, it was worth trying.


"We fall back for now. We will need a diversion."


The eight men retreated a few meters away to where they were sure they could not be spotted, and circled around Rommel. He took a branch and started to draw a map on the ground, with simple accurateness that revealed he was accustomed to doing that kind of things.


"The dump is there, we are here. There are several buildings, the nearest is the one we are interested in. The farthest is where we will set the diversion."


"You really think the sentries will leave their duty ? Even if the diversion is on another building ?" asked one of the soliders, Richards or something like that.


"Oh, knowing what's inside the building, yes, I definitely think so..." the Feldmarschal muttered.


Ignoring the curious look of the other soldiers, he dropped his branch and took the bag they had taken with them - just in case. Inside, there were a few medical supplies, some ammo, a lighter and a flask of whiskey. Now, with that, what kind of diversion could he set...


He thought about it for a moment, discarding several ideas as they came to his mind. Finally, he snapped his fingers as he used to when he found a solution long sought, and he turned toward Riddle, a ghostly smile hovering on his lips.


"Now, my dear nephew, here's what you are going to do..."


-------------


Five minutes later, Rommel was back at his observation point, only this time the six British soldiers were with him and Riddle was not. Richards went lying on the ground near him, his eyes shifting nervously around as if he expected to be caught any time.


"Maybe I should have come with him", he said.


"No", Rommel replied. "As I told you, discretion is what matters most, and one is more likely to sneak in unnoticed than two."


Which was not, of course, the real reason why he had wanted Riddle to go alone. But that, the British did not need to know. After all, what they did not know would not hurt them. Besides, they would not have believed him, had he told them.


Suddenly, an explosion was heard, and the light of high flames lit up the night. The blond german smiled ; Riddle obviously had completed his mission.


Let's hope he does not get caught...


The two sentries in front of their dump had jumped at the sound, and seeing what was going on, they left their station at once, running toward the fire and shouting.


"Good", Rommel said. "I am going first ; when I am inside, I will call for you, and then you will come and pick up the cases."


"Understood", Richards nodded, used to obeying to orders.


The Feldmarschal picked himself up, and started running silently towards the building. It was only a hundred meters away, so he barely needed a few seconds to get there. He tried the door ; as he expected, it was locked. But those who had closed that door had clearly not expected a wizard to come around. But now, who would expect anyone to come there for the sole reason he wanted to steal uniforms ?


"Alohomora", Rommel murmured, and he heard the lock opening.


He pushed the door, which was now open, and peered inside. It was dark, and nothing moved. The only sounds were those of men shouting outside, trying to get the fire under control. That should do it, then.


He went back outside, and gestured for the British soldiers to come. They arrived a few seconds later. In their dark clothes, they were not too visible, though the moon was full and the sky clear.


"The door was not closed ?" Richards asked in surprise.


"Of course it was. Did I forget to mention I happen to have a picklock degree ?" the german lied smoothly.


"You did, but that's a nice discovery of your talent", the British replied with a grin.


He and his fellow soldiers followed Rommel inside, and he showed them the stacked up cases, in which he knew were the uniforms - it was written on them in german.


"There must be about twenty-five uniforms in each, so we need four of them", he said. "Two of you take one each, the others pair up and take two more. I'll stay behind and close the door."


They obeyed and picked up the cases full of clothes. Fortunately, they were not too heavy, and they proceeded quickly. As soon as they were out, Rommel left the building and he locked the door as it was before, with the help of magic, making sure no one could see him do so. Five minutes later, they were all back away from the dump. The mission was a success.


Except Riddle was nowhere in sight.


Richards cast the Feldmarschal a concerned look. He had put his load down, and was currently sitting on it.


"What do we do, sir ? Wait for him ?" he asked cautiously.


Rommel hesitated for no more than a mere second.


"No. You go back to camp."


Slightly ill-at-ease, the men shared an unsteady look. Then, Richards, who seemed to be their spokesman, cleared his throat.


"Em - what about you, sir ?"


"I'll wait for him. Go. That is an order."


They seemed about to protest, but they knew he outranked them, since he was obviously an officer, and they really had little choice. Besides, none of them wanted to get caught any more than Rommel did, so they did not really need a lot of persuading.


They were good men, the Feldmarschal thought as he watched them leave. Brave, daring, yet obedient. But now, his german soldiers too were good men. It was so silly, watching men that could have been friends fight to death. All these death, just because Grindelwald had thought that having a bit of Poland would be nice.


He sighed. Away, the fire was receding, and it would soon be extinguished. They would think it had been an accident, and no one would notice the disappearance of the hundred uniform before a very long time. If they ever noticed it, because at the rate Montgomery had been gaining ground, during that last year...


"Waiting for me ?"


The german almost jumped at the voice. Spinning round, he scowled at Riddle, who had been coming behind his back so sneakily he had not heard his footsteps.


"Never. Do. That. Again", he said caustically.


"Oh, my, did I surprise you", Riddle scoffed.


"You are late", the Feldmarschal retorted icily.


"Yes, well, I lit the fire, but I had not expected so many people to come so quickly. So, I was hidden by my invisibility charm, but that would not have prevented them from stumbling over me, and you said to be discreet. I merely waited for them to calm down a little. What was stored in that building anyway ? I didn't think they would react so badly."


"Explosives", Rommel replied off-handedly.


"Oh, right, I understand bet... WHAT ?!"


The german shrugged carelessely. It was his turn to have a laugh.


"Enough of it to blow up Paris and send it on the moon."


"And you sent me there to set fire to the building WITHOUT EVEN WARNING ME ?!"


"Hush", Rommel hissed. "Unless you want them to know we are here."


Riddle glared at him wordlessly, and the german raised an eyebrow.


"What is the matter, anyway ?"


"The matter is, if they had not got the fire under control, I'd be ---- dead !"


"So would I, and half Ras Lanouf with us", the Feldmarschal replied. "It was the only way. Besides, it did work."


"Oh, yes", Riddle said sarcastically. "I see no reason at all why you should have told me about these explosives. Next time, send Dumbledore. No, actually, next time, I get to give the orders. And believe me, you won't like it one bit."


"You expect there will be a next time ?" Rommel queried innocently.


Riddle looked daggers at him, but did not respond, and by mutual consent they started walking back to camp.


When they arrived there, one hour later, Dumbledore was waiting for them, and he seemed relieved to see them. The elderly wizard welcomed them with a friendly smile, though the german uniform he was wearing made him look a bit off place. The other British soldiers had also traded theirs for german uniforms, and they seemed slightly uneasy in these clothes. Richards waved with his cap, obviously relieved to see them safely back.


The sky was starting to become clearer ; morning was not far. Dumbledore, Riddle and Rommel went aside to discuss their next move out of any ear's reach.


"Now, we have the uniforms, and a rendezvous point", the elderly wizard said.


"So you did manage to get to a radio without being noticed."


"It wasn't difficult to slip into Ras Lanouf. The dump you raided was probably better guarded than the radio. I had to Obliviate the operator, but apart from that, everything went as smoothly as one could expect. We are due, two a.m. each day for a week, so we have all the time to get ready to pass through the ennemy lines", Dumbledore replied contentedly. "I am not sure whether they are sending a submarine of a ship, but it hardly matters."


"That's a good thing", Rommel nodded. "So, we are ready to leave."


"Yes, I believe so."


"But we do not have to leave right now", the german concluded. "We have all the time we need to get some rest. I could use a nap, I think, and that would not hurt you both or the men either."


"I'm not... whaaa... tired", Riddle protested, stiffling a yawn.


"Of course not", Rommel scoffed.


"I believe you are right", Dumbledore nodded. "That place is far enough from Ras Lanouf or any road, so we probably have nothing to fear, and I can add a spell or two so if any muggle approaches, he won't see us."


"Then it is settled. We will spend the night here", the Feldmarschal said, stretching a little.


He certainly felt tired enough to drop on the ground and remain there for the whole day... And whatever Riddle might say, he looked tired too. They had not slept of the night, and they had left quite early the day before, so it was only natural.


The three men quickly discovered that thrown over British uniforms made very nice mattresses.

[Qualerei]

December 1943 - Libya, twenty kilometers away from the coast


Rommel stirred in his sleep and mumbled something inaudible. He must be dreaming, Tom thought, as he glanced at the sun. It seemed to be about three in the afternoon. They still had plenty of time, as the shore was no more than thirty-odd kilometers away. It could probably be done in six hours. If no one stopped them.


The British teen smiled at the irony ; what if Rommel, pretending to be himself, was yet stopped by a mistrustful german officer ? Well, he had papers to prove his identity, but papers could be forged... However, an officer would have some nerve if he dared to tell that to someone who could be his commanding officer...


Someone moved behind Tom, and he knew without even turning his head that it was his former teacher, his former most despised teacher at that. Well, former in the sens he was no longer his teacher. Tom still despised him.


"Your friend will probably soon wake up", Dumbledore said cheerfully.


"He's not my friend", Tom replied, before cursing himself for being caught off guard that easily.


Yet, thinking of the german as a friend was... strange. Not that they were ennemies ; they even worked well together, so far. But Tom just did not now him well enough to even think of calling him his friend. Maybe later... he sure did like him.



"No ? I was under the impression you both got along pretty well", the captain said with that irksome mirth of his.


"Did you actually want something, or are you just fishing for information ?" Tom retorted, annoyed at the man.


But the elderly wizard, far from losing his temper, became even more cheerful, if it was possible.


"Just curious", he said. "He's not Dutch, is he ?"


"Professor !"


"Asking can't hurt. Here, have a lollipop."


Tom's eyes widened as the wizard produced a candy from his pocket. The man was incredible. He was sent on a mission in a desert, and what did he take with him ? Candies !


"You really haven't changed", Tom said in dismay.


Then an idea struck his mind.


"You should offer one to my "friend", over there", he added slyly, with a fiendish smile, pointing at the blond german.


Dumbledore smiled politely and put the candy in his mouth. He looked like a six years old, Tom decided scornfully. And what was more frustrating was that the man just never got angry. Every once in a while, the British teen would have liked to see him lose his temper, shout, slap someone, in one word not resort to this calmness and control of himself.


"Have you known him for a long time ?"


"It's no use, sir", Tom scowled. "If you want to know more about him, then ask him, not me."


"Such loyalty", the elderly wizard mused, much to Riddle's irritation.


"I would hardly call it that", he replied. "Only, I'm not your private informer."


"Hmmm", the older man mumbled thoughtfully. "You would not be here if you felt there was a danger to be near this man, of course", he blurted out. "So, what side are you on, my dear boy ?"


Suddenly, he seemed no more like a toddler, but more like a dangerous wizard that wanted answers. He was somewhat less irritating this way. Slightly. But deals of power, Tom understood and mastered more efficiently than Dumbledore's game of making himself look like an inoffensive fool.


"I am British", he said carefully.


This was an act he was used to playing, but Dumbledore had somehow never been really fooled by him, so he had to be careful.


"That's hardly an answer."


"That's the only one I have to offer, sir", Tom replied. "Besides, Rom... ester and myself are your best chance."


He cursed himself. He had nearly given away Rommel's name, and he had a feeling the Feldmarschal wouldn't be pleased if he had. He had never seen the man really angry - and he did not want to. He knew Dumbledore did not like him, so he had to stick by Rommel's side for the moment. At least, the German had no prejudice against him, unlike the old fool.


"That may be so", Dumbledore said slowly.


"Innocent until proven guilty", Tom sneered at him, ironical.


"Quite so", the elderly wizard muttered.


Their discussion was interrupted by the wakening of Rommel. The german rubbed his eyes and checked his watch, then yawned and stretched, before getting on his feet.


"Good afternoon", Dumbledore said with a joyful smile. "Care for a lollipop ?"


He had once more shifted attitudes, and resumed to behaving in his childish manner. Tom scowled. He hated it when he did that.


Rommel cast the man a disbelieving glance, but said nothing. Instead, he turned toward Tom.


"Nothing to report ?"


"Nothing happened while you were sleeping, if that's what you're asking", the teen replied.


The German nodded and cast a side glance to Dumbledore, who had stepped aside and was now talking quietly to one of his men.


"He is always like that ?" he asked Tom in a subdued tone.


"No. You're lucky, he's slightly less irritating right now than he used to be when I was in school. You should enjoy it as long as it last."


"Oh my", the Feldmarschal muttered mockingly.


"Oh, don't worry. You'll get used to it. It's easier to stand him after the first three years or so, you just stop paying attention to his childish manners", Tom groaned.


"Right now, I'm hoping I won't have to."


The German made his way to Dumbledore, followed by Riddle. As he approached the elderly wizard, he recognized the soldier he was talking to ; that was the lieutenant, Jonathan Parck.


"Captain, a word if you please."


"Of course, the british wizard replied, as cheerful as ever.


"We shall leave soon. Better be ahead of schedule."


"I certainly agree", the other nodded. "Lieutenant, would you be so kind as seeing to it that the men are prepared to leave any moment ?"


"Yes sir !" the british officer saluted, and left to do as he had been told, leaving the three wizards alone.


Once he was out of hearing range, Rommel cast a glance at Dumbledore. He did not want to do it, but he had no choice, especially after the discussion he had overheard between Riddle and the wizard captain.


"I take it there is another matter you wanted to talk to me about ?" the older man asked.


"Quite so", Rommel admitted. "You don't trust me", he stated bluntly.


Dumbledore's eyes narrowed slightly, but he kept smiling friendly.


"You hardly gave me any reason to. And you don't trust me either, otherwise you wouldn't have used that audire spell."


"So you knew all along", the German said, impressed.


Despite the childish attitude the elder man enjoyed displaying, he was obviously powerful. The Feldmarschal was starting to understand just why Cornwall had told him the man was an important asset in this raging war.


"Fine", Rommel said sharply. "We need to work together. What will it take for you to trust me ? I already used the juramentum spell. Obviously, it did not convince you. What will it take ? Veritaserum ?"


"My dear fellow", Dumbledore replied smoothly, "I do not make a habit of it to walk around with vials full of veritaserum in my pockets, as I am quite sure you suspect."


"Then ?"


"Tell me your real name."


Dumbledore observed closely the other man's reaction as he said that last sentence. He did not need any kind of potion to know when a man was lying - he had legilimency. Though the German seemed to be unconsciously clouding his mind, preventing him from accessing his thoughts, the elderly wizard was still quite sure he could differ lies from the truth.


Rommel tensed slightly, though he quickly got a hold of himself. He shot Dumbledore a calculating glance, as if pondering whether he should trust the man or not. This distrust alone told the elderly wizard there was indeed a secret hidden in this man.


"What makes you think Romester isn't my real name ?"


"Oh, please", Dumbledore sighed. "Don't insult my intelligence. I can see when someone is lying to me - though you are indeed talented in that particular matter."


The german stiffed and narrowed his eyes at the man.


"Don't ask, and I will tell you no lies", he quoted with a smirk.


"I'm afraid that is not nearly satisfying enough", the older man replied sternly.


"Oh, well. I could tell you another name. But that would be showing quite some faith in you, now, wouldn't it ?" the Feldmarschal observed off-handedly. "Why should I trust you ?"


Now, he had a point, Dumbledore had to admit. But still...


"We are in a stalemate", the elderly wizard said. "One of us has to show some trust at this point, or we won't get anywhere."


"Or you could trust me and not ask questions."


"Or you could trust me, and answer my questions."


They stared at each other, but they both had to admit they were indeed in an impasse. One of them had to give way. Problem was, none of them wanted to.


"Oh, please", Riddle said with exasperation. "I'm frying, here, could we move on ? The swiftest you are all out, the swiftest will I get that cold drink I've been dreaming about ever since I came here."


He wiped the sweat on his forehead. Merlin, he was tired of this country already ! And he had barely been there for three days...


"Sir", he adressed Dumbledore, "we have been sent to help you by the minister for magic himself. If you master legilimency, you can see I'm not lying. So, can you please get over your blatant mistrust and start saying "innocent until proven guilty" as you always did when I was telling you of some other student's pranks ? Why is it you only say it when it bothers me ?"


A little surprised by that unlikely outburst, Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.


"You seem quite vehement about that, my dear boy. But as I am well aware of some... doubtful acquaintances you have had previously, I felt the need to be cautious. Surely you would not blame me for that ?"


"I am well aware that you do not trust me either", Riddle replied. "But as we were sent by minister Cornwall, then it all comes down to the question ; do you trust him ? If you don't, I'll start wondering why you came here in the first place."


"Tom, dear boy, the fact that I am no longer your teacher does not allow you to show disrespect", Dumbledore admonished him.


But he had to admit the teen scored a mark. Anyway, they needed to be moving. And that Romester or whatever fellow had been helping them. So far. But he would get to know the truth, the elderly wizard decided. Even if he had to pester the minister himself to get the information.


"Very well", he finally nodded. "Let's get going, then."


He turned away from them, and called in a loud voice for lieutenant Parck. A few minutes later, they were on their way to finish the last part of their journey.