A/N : I hereby confess twisting this poor JKR's characters into something that only remotely reminds us of what there are supposed to be in the basic story... Needless to say, the aforementioned characters are not mine. I'll give them back in the same condition I borrowed them (or almost).

June 1944 - Caen, France

A tall, dark figure was wandering in the streets of Caen, seemingly aimlessly. Sometimes, the man, almost a boy as far as his face betrayed his age, turned his head and looked behind him to check on any possible follower. Then, satisfied, he would resume his walking, though sometimes he would also stop to verify the name of a street on the map he kept in his pocket. It was early in the evening, and not much people remained outside, which meant the teen was almost alone, as no one accompanied him. It served his purposes perfectly.

Tom had been in France for now over six weeks, but it was the first occasion he got to contact the underground. His being with Rommel meant he was, most of the time, in company of German officers, and that was not the kind of friends he would likely bring to a secret underground meeting. Besides, as the Feldmarschall's new orders were to inspect the German lines on the cost, they had stayed a lot in tiny fishermen villages, and Tom had no idea about their implication in the resistance. Thus, he had prefered not to take any risk, and had waited for the propitious moment. Which had come now.

Once again, he checked his position on the map. Yes, he should turn right, and then... ah, there it was. A shop sign indicated the name of the inn : the Fisherboat. The teen reached for the door and knocked loudly, before folding his arms and waiting. His high stature, though he was rather slender, gave him an intimidating aspect, and he knew it.

The door finally opened, and an average heighted man, with a receding hairline and greying hair, his face deeply wrinkled, poked his head outside. Tom was, as usual, dressed in civilian clothes, but his mere presence at this time of the day made him suspicious. And the man had some reasons to be distrustful of everyone, especially with the number of denunciations, anonymous or not, which were sent each day to the Germans. Not mentioning the informers the Gestapo had everywhere. The innkeeper was a muggle, knew nothing about magic, and no obliviation spell would ever save him if some funny business happened around him. Therefore, he did not exactly roll out the red carpet for the stranger that stood in front of him.

"L'auberge est fermée", he said in a surly voice.

"I think not", Tom replied coolly. "I'd like to taste your famous rainbow fish."

The man narrowed his eyes, as the teen gave him the ridiculous password. Tom had spoken in a subdued voice, after he had checked no one was close enough to hear him. His speaking english could be his death warrant, and was at best dangerous to use. Of course, he could always pretend he was trying to gather intel for his "uncle", but it would draw unwanted attention on him, and possibly endanger the French underground. But he did not speak french, though he was able to understand a few words.

"In that case", the inn owner drawled with a heavy French accent, "that's different. Please come in."

He too had spoken in english, and somehow, the way he behaved, with caution but relaxed gestures, so as to fool a possible spy, gave Tom the feeling he was used to that kind of business. That was quite possible, as the war had been lasting for now five years, but if the man had survived that long, then he was good.

The teen entered the room and followed the innkeeper in the back shop, where the elderly man motioned for him to take a seat. Tom complied, and nodded his head in thanks as the man brought him a drink. Then, the innkeeper seated himself in front of the British wizard and introduced himself.

"My name is Julien Nogaret."

For a second, Tom was half-tempted to present himself as Voldemort, but quickly discarded the idea. This name, that he had sometimes used in school but only with his closer comrades - not friends - he would keep for greater deeds and higher purposes. Until then, he would remain...

"Tom."

He did not feel safe enough to use a last name, either Riddle or Ritter. His first name would do. But, once again, he thought that he really loathed that stupid name. Tom. Three simple letters, not nearly as impressive as if he had been a Julius, or a Napoleon, or even, Merlin save him, an Albus. It was a muggle name, and nothing in it could inspire fear or awe. Yet, for now, an inconspicuous name was exactly what he needed, so he would assume and bear it a little while longer. Anyway, his name was none of the innkeeper's business.

This innkeeper is risking his life to help you, an inner voice nagged at the teen's mind.

Yes, but only because I'm taking even greater risks to get rid of Grindelwald, he answered himself. He does not really have a choice. I did, when I decided to come here in the first place.

"Now, young man, I'd like you to tell me why you have come here", Nogaret's voice pulled Tom out of his thoughts.

"I need to contact London", Tom replied. "You have a radio, I suppose ?"

"Could have", the Frenchman answered in a stand-offish tone. "We avoid to use it too much, so we usually broadcast only once a month. It lessens our chances to be located by the Germans."

"Well, you will have to make a breach to your habits", the British wizard answered back arrogantly. "This is important."

His attitude seemed to displease the older man, who glared sternly at the teen. Tom was young enough to be his son, and he was not used to having younglings speak to him that way.

"If this is of such importance, why don't you carry the information yourself back in England ?" he scoffered crossly.

"I said important, not vital", Tom barked back. "But if you don't want to cooperate, then it's fine. After all, it is not my country which is occupied by ennemy troops. Why should I care whether the information is sent or not ?"

Actually, he did care, since he was risking his life to send whatever little information he had gathered thanks to Rommel on the location of German wizard squads and such. But Nogaret did not need to know that.

"We are all involved all the same in this war", the Frenchman said with hostility. "And your country might be next on the list, so back off, young man ! You should adress your elders with respect, or did your parents not teach you that ?"

"My parents are long dead", the teen retorted calmly.

He had learnt long ago to use that fact to embarrass people. It had been quite useful ; who would ever suspect this young, good-looking, studious orphan, to do evil things like, for instance, opening the Chamber of Secrets ? And, as he expected, a shade of remorse and abashment flashed on Nogaret's face. When he spoke, it was with much more self-control.

"My, I did not know that, my boy. Let's forget that little argument, and give me whatever information you want me to send."

Tom hesitated for a second, irritated to be adressed to as a child. He saw on the man's face that he still did not like him, and would rather get rid of him as quickly as possible, but as he had little choice, he gave the folded paper to the innkeeper, who took it and headed to the door which led to the basement.

"Wait for me here, kid."

The teen finished his drink and waited, though he was quickly bored. There was nothing in the small room, but papers, bottles of various drinks including wine and beer. Well, he was in France, after all. He somewhat regretted he had not just killed the annoying muggle and sent his message himself, but he had no idea how these muggle devices worked, and using a chimney would be sheer madness, as the Gezaupo kept a close watch on the network.

The innkeeper finally came back, about an half hour later, with a look of surprise on his face. He squinted at Tom with something like unease and wariness gleaming in his eyes.

"London seemed most interested in your information. But maybe even more in your name. I... ah, I have some things to... arrange for. When can you come back ?"

"Come back ?" Tom repeated with disbelief. "No return was ever mentioned. Coming once was dangerous enough as it is."

"It's a formal order. From a man known as... Dumple... Dumi... Dumby... ah, some kind of weird name like that."

"Dumbledore ?" Tom half rose from his seat. The old fool was a pain even when he wasn't there.

"That's it", Nogaret flapped his fingers. "He said it was very, very important, and that you should inform your friend too, the Dutch one. He said you would understand."

"I do, unfortunately", Tom muttered angrily.

It seemed like Dumbledore had made his homework, and pestered the Minister for Magic long enough for Cornwall to release the informations about Rommel. The blond wizard would not be pleased... but for now, it waas the least of the teen's worries.

"It is... never mind, boy, I'll explain everything when you come back and I've taken care of a few other things. I will need some time... three days. Come back in three days", the elder man hedged.

He suddenly seemed very agitated, almost afraid, though excitement outweighed in his nervous smile.

"I will try", the teen replied distantly. "But no promises. I had enough trouble coming here without arousing suspicion in the first place."

"You have to come back", Nogaret insisted.

But he refused flatly to give any further detail, and Tom had to reconcile himself to leave obediently, resisting the urge to curse the infuriating muggle. It would be unwise to do it, he knew, yet that did not make it easier to stand the man's reluctance to talk.

He got quickly back to the old castle where the Feldmarschal had set his headquarters, and overawe the sentries into letting him go to see his fellow wizard in his office, in spite of the high-ranking German's orders not to be disturbed. Of course these orders did not include Tom, but if Rommel had been kind enough to tell that to the sentry, it would still have been easier... oh, well, it had been fun enough to scare the young soldier.

"Dumbledore knows who you are", he announced to his friend after closing the door.

The blond wizard raised his head from the bunch of papers he was studying and signing, and he curved an eyebrow.

"He does ? Who told him ?"

The annoyance was clearly audible in his voice, and Tom saw his hand get tense on the muggle pen he held.

"Minister Cornwall, I suspect", the teen shrugged. "But, well, Dumbledore always had his own sources. Back in school, he always seemed to know what was going on before anyone else."

"Maybe, but in school people's live were not jeopardized because of his knowledge", Rommel commented acridly.

Tom could have raised a few details as an objection, like for instance evocating the basilic he had found fast asleep, hibernating in the Chamber, but he was wise enough to keep silent. He did not need anyone - not even the Feldmarschal, or maybe especially not him - to know about that. After all, knowledge was always a weapon.

When he reported the discussion he had had with the French innkeeper to Rommel, the short blond man did not seem any better informed than Tom himself. He did not have any idea what this whole commotion meant either, but they agreed it must be pretty big if Dumbledore was involved in it. They both knew that the powerful wizard was one of the spearhead of the Allies, on the wizard side, and his decisions weighed a lot in the war effort. It could mean only one thing ; if they succeeded in whatever the elder wizard wanted them to do, they would hit Grindelwald a blow.

Therefore, three days later Tom went to the meeting. Of course, Rommel could not come along ; not only would his absence be noticed, but even if he clad in civilian clothes, the risk was too high that he could be recognized. However, if the teen was not back within six hours, then the Feldmarschall would assume something had turned wrong, and would rescue him one way or another. To his own surprise, Tom trusted him enough to do that. He knew, without a shade of doubt, that his friend would come for him no matter what. It felt weird to have someone watch his back without a second thought on Tom's part, but in some way, it also felt good. Well, truth to be told, he did have second thoughts, but carefully buried them in the depest recess of his mind. That was not the kind of things he needed to focus on for now.

He arrived at the inn right after dinner, so he would have time to come back before curfew. He had a pass in any case, but he'd rather avoid to draw attention to him at that stage. With Grindelwald, they were walking on a thin edge, and they knew it.

At his knock, Nogaret opened the door and motioned for him to enter. As Tom complied, he noticed the lack of customers. But, because of the Germans, few dared to go out in the evening, especially when the penalty for being out at curfew, could be very harsh. The worse being a firing squad on account for possible sabotage activities. The measure was ruthlessly effective.

Quickly, the innkeeper urged Tom in the back shop. To the teen's surprised, they weren't alone there ; a third man soon appeared, lurking in the shadows. When he tolted his head to the side, the young wizard was able to see the light of the candles reflect on his light brown reddish hair. His eyes, of a dark hazel shade, remained laid on him. To his displeasure, Tom felt unease under the gaze of the man. Usually, it was the other way round, as he readily caught people off-guard with his bright green stare, which made him look older than he ought to be, and he got an instant dislike of the stranger.

"So this is the boy ?" the man's voice was higher-pitched than his build let it presume, and he spoke with a distinct British accent. Tom hated the condescendant tone he had adopted.

"Yes, captain, it is", Nogaret respectfully nodded. "Tom, meet captain Mark Harr..."

"I think the boy shall introduce himself", the British officer cut the innkeeper.

Tom adopted a deep frown and looked daggers at the man. He did not like his name - a muggle name, of all things ! - for one, and he did not deem it was the stranger's business. After all, it was not he who had requested this meeting.

"So ? Don't you know your own name, or do you have an actual reason to remain gaping at me like that ?" the captain asked mockingly, as the teen cast him a scathing glare. "Never mind. I have heard of you, Tom Riddle."

At once, the teen knew the man was a wizard. By no other means could he be aware of that information. Yet, it did not come as a surprise, since he had expected it. Maybe it was the subtle aura of power that originated from him, but he could definitely not be mistaken for a muggle.

"Well, you know my name. State yours" came the disdainful reply.

Tom saw the man's lips twitch visibly, though it lasted barely for a few seconds. Obviously, that Mark Something was not used to being talked in such a tone. He must be a pureblood, or an incredibly arrogant mudblood. Yet, honor required that the man introduced himself. Hiding his identity would be considered shameful, as it would mean he had something to fear.

"Mark Harrison", he said curtly.

"The captain landed here two weeks ago", Nogaret stepped in, seemingly unaware of the tension weighing between the two British. "And from what we know, you might be able to complete an important mission. You are here to be briefed."

"And just why would I accomplish this mission ? I do believe I'm already doing more that much people in this war", the teen said coldly, contempt gleaming in his eyes.

Harrison's fist slammed on the table, and he seemed to barely restrain a flare of anger. It was too easy to make him react. But that also made him dangerous, as he might act rashly, with no care for his own safety, if put in certain situations.

"You know nothing", he spat acridly. "You should consider yourself honored to have been chosen."

"Well I don't", Tom shot back, unwavering. "If you consider it such an honor, then do it yourself."

Rage seethed in Harrison's eyes, along with something that was close to hatred. The man relied a lot on his feelings and emotions. For someone who knew him well enough, it should be possible to play with him as if he were an instrument. A melody in do-mination major...

But the officer quickly regained control over himself, and contented himself with a sneer.

"If I could, I would certainly like to concur to hit Grindelwald a fatal blow", he hissed in a low voice, oblivious of the muggle who cast him a surprised and confused look. Hopefully, the filthy idiot would believe it was some kind of code name.

"A fatal blow ?" Tom repeated, his interest aroused.

"Willing to help, now, are you ?" Harrison jeered.

"Not really", the younger wizard lied smoothly. "But I'd like to hear more. Of course, if you don't want to... well, I spared some of my time for you in the first place, I wouldn't mind getting back to my own business."

It was all a flat lie, but Harrison had not really a choice and he knew it. The covetous look he cast the teen made something fit into place in Tom's mind.

So that's it... that's why he seems to hate me even though he doesn't even know me...

"Not that you deserve to take any part in this, but unfortunately, we will have to rely on you for this job", the captain snorted.

"Would you mind getting to the point ?" Tom asked in a counterfeit bored voice.

Harrison's eyes narrowed to burning slits, but he pursed his lips and drew a briefcase from under the table. Tom expected him to draw out papers of some kind, but the captain merely dropped the object on the table. There was an awkward pause, as Harrison kept silent, obviously waiting for Tom to ask him about the briefcase. The younger wizard decided to grant him this pleasure. After all, the British officer was fangless, in this whole affair, no matter his attitude.

"So ? Care to tell me what this is before I really fall asleep ?"

Harrison's disdainful glance spoke volumes about what low opinion he had of the teen's dreadful ignorance, but Tom pretended he did not see it.

"This", he announced in a hollow voice, obviously sparing the impression, "is a bomb. A very special bomb, made to measure in Great Britain, to match certain... requisites."

"I still don't see what it has to do with me", the younger wizard yawned.

"Insolent child !" the captain hissed. "If you get alive out of this, you will regret..."

He seemed at a loss for words, and the teen smirked. His jealousy reeked from the older man like an expensive perfume.

"This bomb has a target even you should guess without too much trouble", he pursued, regaining his composure.

What he hinted was so obvious, and at the same time so unbelievable that it took a moment for Tom to figure it out. When he did, his jaw almost dropped, though he caught himself on time.

"You don't mean..." Harrison's satisfied sneer when he saw he had, at last, managed to impress Tom, told him everything he needed to know. "And that's the best you came up with ? A bomb ? It took you five years to think of it ?"

Tom had an unnatural laugh. Not that the idea was so funny ; no way he would commit suicide trying to kill a great wizard with such a stupid muggle engine. The irony was too much for him.

"Shut up, you idiotic child !" the captain growled. "This is a unique occasion. Something he will not expect. But don't worry, we would not entrust such a delicate mission to you. I don't care what the minister says..."

So that was who that "we" was. What could Cornwall have said about him to Harrison ? Had they been in radio contact ? Tom suspected there was some implication from Dumbledore in this. This mugglely ridiculous plan could very well originate from the old fool's mudblood-loving mind. And he would definitely not be beyond sending Tom on that kind of missions...

But he doesn't trust me. Why would he put such a delicate matter, no matter how fated to screw up, in my hands ? Unless he doesn't have a choice...

"Unfortunately, time runs against us. You do not need to know more. Your instructions are simple ; you should be able to remember them without having to write them down", Harrison went on scofferingly. "You must give this briefcase to one Claus Schenck von Stauffenberg..."

"I did not say I accepted the mission yet", Tom hissed.

His parseltongue ability made that kind of noises in his mouth very unsettling for those who heard it. Harrison gazed at him blankly for a second before ignoring him.

"This man, a trusted general of Grindelwald, is currently in Germany. I don't know how you are supposed to get there, nor do I care. After all, you look like you are a big boy."

The mockery in his tone was painfully obvious, and Tom took in a sharp breath, trying to control himself.

Keep your blood cold, just as a snake. And silent as a snake I shall be when I will strike back to him, one day... Tom meddled inwardly the first and second person, but barely registered it as he stared into the depth of Harrison's hazel eyes.

"Fine", he finally said, his voice louder than he intended to. "I take it you will go back safely in England", he added with a pretanse of courtesy, but Harrison knew exactly what he meant. His face contorted in burning anger. Somehow, Tom knew that this man had never in his whole life practiced occlumency.

"Just make sure this briefcase reaches its destination" he said stiffly, in a voice cold enough to make all hell freeze.

They both had more or less dismissed the innkeeper from their minds, and he had not dared interrupt them. After all, this was likely to be some top-secret stuff, and therefore the less he would know, the better. Still, curiosity kept nagging at him, and he had avidly listened to each word they said.

"Erm, excuse me, but who is Grindelwald ?" he asked, and two scary glares turned toward him.

Tom left the inn silent as a shadow, and hugged the walls. It was now well past curfew, and he would better avoid being caught outside. The German soldiers might be keen on firing first and asking questions only after. But he had spent seven years in Hogwarts, and whenever he roamed in the corridors to go about his business, he had never been caught by the caretaker. Therefore, mere muggles had little chance to notice him.

After they had obliviated Nogaret (the one and only thing they had agreed upon since they had met) Tom and Harrison had coldly taken their leaves, each hoping the other would get caught by the Germans, and each knowing what the other had in mind. But unfortunately, they were still on the same side, and Tom felt he had enough on his plate as it was. He had thus let Harrison leave unscathed, however confident he could have taken him had he tried, but not without promising himself he would take care of the arrogant tone of the man sooner or later. He had many torments in mind for when that day would come. The mere existence of Harrison made the darkness boil in the teen's blood, and even now a crooked smile hovered on his lips, as he pictured the despisable man crawling at his feet, begging for a forgiveness he would never get. Yes, that would be worth it. He had barely stayed with him for half an hour, but loathed him thoroughly.

He managed to get back to headquarters, which were located in an old (it had been built in the Middle Age), crumbling castle, without being noticed, but not without a little help from his wand. Of course, the patrols stood no chance againts magic.

Rommel was waiting for him, and though he noticed the darker shade which hovered in Tom's green eyes subsequently to his meeting with Harrison, he was wise enough to avoid mentioning it. On the countrary, he wordlessly gestured for the teen to have a seat, and patiently waited for him to make his report. As the younger wizard went through the events of the evening, though it was an edited version, the Feldmarschal felt, more than he actually saw, discreet waves of dark emotion radiating from Tom, betraying his mood.

"This weak attempt is the most utter nonsense I have ever heard", the teen concluded through gritted teeth.

"Yet you agreed", Rommel quietly reminded him.

"Thought it couldn't hurt to give the thing to Stauffenberg", the younger wizard shrugged. "As long as I'm not supposed to be anywhere nearby when it goes off..."

"How do you know the bomb has not been, say, magically improved ?" the German officer suggested. "It may be far more dangerous than a mere bomb..."

"I dare hope they did", Tom muttered. "Or I'd really start to doubt their sanity."

"There are not much ways to defeat Dark Lords", Rommel pointed out. "Though some strange occurences happened throughout history, most of the time it ends up with them dueling a wizard stronger, or being outnumbered by weaker wizards..."

"Well, anyway, our problem is to get that, er... briefcase sent to Germany, with arousing suspicion", Tom groaned.

"It might not prove so difficult, actually", the Feldmarschal replied absent-mindedly, while flicking over some of the paper work that encumbered his desk.

He eventually found what he was looking for, as surprising as it may seem when confronted to the mess which sprawled on the piece of furniture. From what Tom could see, it looked like an official letter. New orders ?

"I have more or less completed my inspection here, so now I'm supposed to go back to Berlin and report to the Führer. I talked earlier with Feldmarschal von Rundstedt. Grindelwald isn't going to be pleased with the said report, for that matter..."

"Really ?" Tom asked, more interested than he would let show.

"As long as the Führer keeps listening to these Seers of his..." Rommel snorted disdainfully, then clasped his mouth as if he had said more than he intended to.

"Well, good for us", Tom grinned. "When do we leave ?"

"In a few days, I'm not sure exactly when. The problem, once we're back, will be to get to Stauffenberg himself, but... we'll have enough time to figure it out."

"This Stauffenberg fellow must really hate Grindelwald, if he is ready to risk his life..." Tom thought out loud.

"He's a little weird", his blond friend commented, "but he has reasons to be. He lost his right hand, and several fingers of the left. With that, he's blind in one-eye."

"That's gloomy", the teen muttered.

"Well, he uses to say that he didn't do anything with his ten fingers when he had them", Rommel had a wry smile.

"Sounds like quite a cheerful fellow", Tom grimaced, overwhelmingly reminded of Dumbledore. That was the kind of things this old fool would say in the same situation.