Disclaimer: I own nothing. DUH!
A/N: Ok, just want ya'll to know that the Professor's thoughts on the Germans aren't my own beliefs. Living in that time, I think he would have a prejudice against them naturally, but I, personally, have no prejudice whatsoever against the German people. His thoughts on the Germans do not reflect my own. Also, I apologize if I messed up the tea and language. I am not British; I'm actually going to England for the first time during the summer. I don't pretend to know everything about the country and the people.
Chapter 1: The Blitz
"And now, live from London with the latest report on the German attacks, American reporter Ernie Pyle!"
Digory Kirke leaned over the wooden table in his study and switched off the radio, allowing the echoing voices to die out. He leaned back in his chair with a quiet sigh, tugging slightly on his beard, a habit that he had recently developed when he was thinking.
Those blasted Germans. They had been bombing London and Coventry continuously for weeks now, flying in at night as omens of destruction. The radio could speak of nothing else, only how many people were killed, injured, and orphaned that night. It was always the same.
His little mansion was burrowed deep into the country hills, but that did not stop Professor Kirke from know exactly what was happening to his fellow compatriots. He knew that the air sirens did not always go off to warn them of an attack; he knew that there were the underground bomb shelters where children huddled in fear; he knew that every time the Germans came, there was pain. Winston Churchill was doing his best, but London was being shattered nightly.
He stopped tugging on his beard and rubbed his forehead with one hand, exhausted. He was getting old, now, he realized. If he had been twenty years younger, he would have joined the brave young men who were battling those Germans. During most of the year, he did not mind so much, for he was teaching in London. Nevertheless, during the summer, as it was now, there was a terrible feeling of uselessness that plagued the professor from dawn until dusk.
What could an old man do to help save his ailing homeland?
Groaning softly, he stood, shoving the papers he had been working on into a cubbyhole nearby. He was tired of messing with such things. There was tomorrow. And the next day, and the next, and the next. It was not as if there was anything else for him to do. Oh, if only it was not the summer…
A sharp rap at the door startled Digory from his thoughts. "Professor? I've brought you some tea." His housemaid's voice echoed down the empty hall outside the door. The professor smiled and made a waving motion with his hand, despite the fact that she was outside the room and could not see him.
"Come in, come in."
Mrs. Macready pushed the door open with her foot and hurried into the room, her hands full with the tea tray. "And there's been a letter for you, sir," she continued, setting the tray down on Digory's desk.
"Ah, probably Jones down at the university. I asked him to write and send me next year's curriculum guidelines." Professor Kirke nodded to himself as sniffed the tea appreciatively. "Good man, Jones. Mrs. Macready, the tea smells superb!"
Mrs. Macready poured the tea into a cup and handed it to the professor, shaking her head. "Actually, sir, I don't think it's from the university a' tall. There's a French postmark on it and it's been previously opened. I think it's from the battle lines." She took the cream and sugar off the tray and placed them on the desk before rummaging around in her apron pockets.
Digory raised his eyebrows. "From the war? Indeed. How peculiar." He placed a pinch of sugar in the tea and stirred it carefully as Mrs. Macready produced the envelope. "Here it is, sir."
Digory took the envelope from Mrs. Macready carefully, setting his tea down as he did so. "Hmm," he muttered, flipping the letter over in his hands several times. It was plain, extremely plain, actually. There were no markings on the envelope except his address and the postmark. And as Mrs. Macready had said, the flap had very obviously been torn open and glued back down. "Censored, no doubt," the professor muttered to himself.
He reached for the letter opener in its slot and glanced at the housekeeper. "Thank you very much, Mrs. Macready." She nodded her head at him and left through the door, allowing it to fall shut behind her with a firm thump.
The letter opener sliced the paper open with little difficulty, and Professor Kirke produced a single sheet of plain white paper from the envelope. He leaned back in his chair again, the edges of his mouth twitched up in the beginnings of a smile. This was very interesting, indeed.
My dear Professor Kirke, the letter ran, I don't presume for you to remember me as I do you, for I know that you have a great many students that have attended your classes at the university in London. I was one of them, quite some time ago, when you were beginning to teach there. As I said, I truly don't expect you to remember me all too well. Despite that, I am writing you to ask you a most magnificent favor, one that I feel I can ask of only you. There are few others that I can trust so thoroughly in these days. I am fighting for England, as you can probably tell by the letter, but I am afraid that I cannot tell you precisely where. Censorship, you know.
Digory chuckled. Yes, he knew.
I am no longer the young boy that you once taught, Professor. I am married and have four children, who are currently standing directly in harm's way. They are living in the heart of London, where the Germans are bombing the hardest. I cannot protect them as I should, for I am far away from them. I remember you telling me on graduation day that if I ever needed help, you would be there. I do not need any help, sir, but my family may one day need it. If my family ever needs assistance, I am asking if you would be ready to help them.
My wife, Helen, has your address tucked away in a drawer and I have told her to contact you if the need ever arises. Professor, I do not know if I will make it home. I know that this is a huge favor I am asking, and I promise you, I will do my best to make it up to you one day.
Your faithful student, Robert Pevensie
Professor Kirke dropped the letter onto his desk next to the cooling teacup and sighed thoughtfully. Robert Pevensie. He had been one of his first students, and, despite Robert's belief that he would be forgotten, there was no way that Digory could forget any of his students, much less Robert, who had been part of his first class so many years ago.
He had a family now, and they might need him.
Digory's eyes drifted to the silent radio and his mind was made up. He would be ready, should they ever need him. If all he could do to help in the war was watch out for a friend's wife and his four children, then he would do it, even if it was from afar.
He reached over and turned the radio back on, no longer disturbed over his lack of aid in the war effort.
"And now, back to your classical music…"
A/N: Ok, just so ya'll know, this replaced a really short oneshot by the same name. I'm working on Chapter 2, just R&R! I love feedback...