Chapter 30 - Operation: Raising Tom Riddle, part 3

The Diary of Tom Marvolo Riddle-Figg-Dumbledore

August 1, 1941

Back from Durmstrang. The last week was especially stressful, but nothing bad happened. Everyone had warned me that kids who go to Durmstrang can be really intense and scary. Alek was still nice to me even though I couldn't help him. He didn't bring it up again. I'm not sure how I feel.

Dad defeated Grindelwald while I was away! I wish I'd seen the battle. Apparently it went on for days until Grindelwald passed out from exhaustion and Dad could've died if Fawkes hadn't been there to help him. Dad got Grindelwald's wand...it's really cool looking.

So, in one month it's back to Hogwarts. I can't believe it's my fourth year already. I'd better really get going on that fixing Slytherin thing. Alphard sent me a letter at the London house while I was away. He wrote a lot of things down that could really hurt him if they got out, so I know for sure I can trust him now. I sent him a letter with similar information so he knows he can trust me.

December 8, 1941

Yesterday Japan attacked the U.S. at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, and today the U.S. joined the World War.

I don't know if that declaration of war prompted me to declare today in the common room that I'm the Heir of Slytherin, but I think the timing was perfect. You should've seen their faces. I even demonstrated some Parseltongue. They were awed. Amazing how important bloodlines are to some people. They've all seen how good I am at magic and I'm still getting top marks, so I'll just keep being 'awesome' (Harry-word) and then (at some point) let slip that my birth father was a Muggle and maybe they'll see being pure-blood doesn't mean anything? I can at least stop a lot of bullying now by saying 'Salazar Slytherin wouldn't approve', even though it's probably a total lie cos the man was a git.

It's weird, I've got a Muggle, a Squib, and one of the most powerful witzies of all time (even though he's a Half-Blood, c'mon Slytherin, open your eyes!) linked together as a surname. Well, if the Slytherins don't believe the evidence that's right in front of their faces at the very least it might confuse the hell out of them, which at least is a step towards questioning their beliefs.

This whole plan seemed a lot easier in theory. Kind of like D.A.D.A. theory vs. practice. Really fighting is difficult. Really standing up to evil.

I can't stop thinking about what Alek said. This was probably what he intended, to make me think about it but not push me into anything. Thinking about it is one thing, but doing it...I don't know if I have what it takes, even if the reasons are right. I should never go back to Durmstrang. I wonder if they'll let me go again next summer.

May 17, 1942

Mum and Dad said I can go to Durmstrang again. As soon as they said yes I got really nervous, but I can't change my mind now without explaining why. Okay, I could make something up but I don't want to. It's hard to explain. There are things happening. There are things I need to know.

Aleksandr Varsky, now sixteen, had grown a lot in a year. He was still lanky but now leanly muscled, and there were patches on his pale wolfish face where his beard was coming in. His expressions were unreadable. He was an even better duelist.

The training was tougher this year, and more focused on stealth and strategy. The students were sorted randomly into two teams, each given a base of operations and allowed to battle for hours at a time, until one team captured the opponent's base. Nobody ever surrendered, they always fought to the last soldier, and some of the hexes would've caused permanent damage if not for the Mediwitch on site.

Then the instructors changed the game, and players were now allowed to defect to the other side if they desired, and light torture (such as the tickling charm) was allowed for purposes of obtaining information. Fewer soldiers 'died' that way, but the battle became much more complex.

"Why do you think they did that?" Aleksandr asked Tom, sitting down next to him at dinner.

"There are lots of ways to wage war."

Alek nodded and began to cut up his steak. "I think in the future it will all come down to information. It won't matter how much firepower one nation has over another, but the accuracy of their information. With the right information you can sway the world, but people have to listen. Last November, the Polish Underground reported on the Chelmno camp. They sent the report to Britain. Did you listen? No. And in the spring of this year, more reports about other camps were sent to Britain and the U.S...but has anyone published them? No. I bet you haven't heard a thing about it."

"You're right, I haven't. What happens in these camps?"

Alek took a bite of steak. "They round up people by the thousands, the tens of thousands, Jews, mostly, but gypsies, homosexuals, and anyone who opposes the Nazis, and put them in these camps, where-"

A girl at the table said something to Alek in German, and they began to argue. Eventually, the girl slammed down her plate and left, and Alek continued as if he hadn't been interrupted, "Terrible things happen in the camps, Tom. The worst, most unimaginable kinds of things, but we have to imagine them. Innocent people are being tortured, killed, burned and shoveled into mass graves."

Alek took another bite. Tom just stared at his own plate. "I'm sorry, I've ruined your appetite," said the older boy.

"Do the German citizens know about this?"

"I doubt they believe that Jews are actually being 'resettled'. But if you disagree with the Nazis..."

"They send you to a camp."

Alek took a sip of juice, then cast several privacy spells around them. "I'm going to do something tonight. The offer from last year still stands."

"Why not just kill Hitler?"

Alek sighed, then laughed bitterly. "He has his own wizards, and they're very powerful, the kind of wizards that don't need to go to school to learn magic, the kind that the Wizarding World never talks about. Don't look so surprised. Hitler is obsessed with magic...what Muggles call the occult. Maybe an exceedingly clever spy could get near him, but I'm not that clever. No, I focus on trains...trains carrying Nazis on leave, and trains bringing people to the camps."

Tom's throat felt dry, but he was worried that he might choke if he tried to drink. Suddenly he wished he were home instead, listening to Hermione talk about something, anything, while petting one of the Kneazles, but he pushed that thought away and asked, "So, how do you do it, exactly?"

Alek fixed him with a calculating expression. "This isn't some kids' game. You cannot repeat what I tell you to anyone."

"I know."

"With a Swedish train, I Disillusion myself and fly alongside on my broomstick looking for high-ranking officers, if possible. If I'm taking out a single target, I wait for them to go to the toilet or to get some air between cars. The Killing Curse is indistinguishable from a heart attack or aneurysm to Muggles, and there are lots of desolate parts of Sweden where someone could go missing if they wanted to defect. For multiple targets, the trick is you can't take too many at once or it looks suspicious. I've staged derailments and fires. I've Imperiused fights that turned deadly. I try to provide a rational explanation because believe me, there are wizards and witches who would come after me if they knew, and not just Nazis. I don't think I have to tell you that I could go to prison for life for what I've done."

Tom nodded, as it fully dawned on him that he was looking at a killer. Even if Alek's actions were justified (and Tom wasn't entirely sure they were), he was still a killer. "You said you look for high-ranking officers. How do you identify them?"

"I have access to information."

"What about your soul? Doesn't killing people tear apart your soul?"

Alek took another bite, chewed it slowly, swallowed. "You know how I said my parents and I came here from Germany? I lied. They were killed in Berlin four years ago, trying to defend our neighborhood during Kristallnacht, while I was here at school. You see, my heart was already broken. So, why not my soul?"

Tom feel ill. Alek pushed back his chair, preparing to stand, and said, "You don't have to do what I do. I could still use help in other areas. But I understand if you can't. This isn't really your fight, and if you've got a family you must think of them. You seem like a good kid-"

"What about the other sort of train?"

Aleksandr smiled.

It took four Apparitions to make it to Poland, and Tom couldn't help but vomit when they arrived. "At least you didn't eat any dinner," said Alek, putting up a ward that shielded them from view.

Tom looked down the tracks and saw a train slowly approaching from the horizon. His heart began to race. Alek appeared calm. "I'm going to handle the engine first. The train will stop, and the armed guards will come out. There will be fewer than you think. Locking people in boxcars means you don't need as many guards. I'll handle them, then give the all-clear signal. A blue spark. After that, we open the cars. Then comes the hard part...convincing five thousand people that they were on their way to their death, that they can't go home, that they have to take this envelope I'm offering, and to believe that they'll be magically transported somewhere safe when they touch the banknote inside."

Aleksandr set down the two large rucksacks he was carrying. One read U.S., the other read Canada, "Did you make all these Portkeys? And where'd you get the money?" asked Tom.

"Shh, it's time. I'll Disillusion you, too, just in case, but don't jump in without signaling me. I don't want to accidentally hurt you."

Soon they were both invisible, as was Alek's broomstick. The train was very close now, steam rising from the black locomotive. Alek said, "If I die, use a Portkey and get out of here."

Before Tom could answer, he heard the other boy kick off. The train crawled by and nothing seemed to happen for a while, but then there was a loud hiss. The steam abruptly stopped and the train began to gradually slow down until it ground to a halt. There was a lot of muffled yelling, from the people inside the cars, Tom thought, but there were also several sharp cries and words shouted in Polish and German. Just as Alek had said, armed guards appeared and began to make their way to the locomotive. They fell one by one in utter bafflement and panic, spraying bullets at nothing in particular. After the fifth or sixth, Tom couldn't watch anymore. He looked up at the pale lavender clouds, hanging low in the evening sky, and wondered about the sort of God who would look down on a scene like this. Minutes passed, with just the murmuring voices of the people in the boxcars and the soft thumps of their hands against the walls. There was one last shot followed by one last cry, and then Tom saw the blue spark. An instant later, Alek Apparated next to him. He was drenched in sweat, hair plastered to his forehead in spikes. He swayed slightly. Tom's face went pale as he saw the bullet wound in the bicep of his wand arm. "You any good at healing spells?"

"Yes," he said, recalling the spells Ashley had taught him.

The wound was gushing. Blood had already soaked the sleeve and was dripping off his fingertips. "Fix it, Riddle-Figg-Dumbledore."

Tom fixed it. They grabbed the rucksacks, Alek drank a few potions, and then they walked over to the train instead of Apparating, to give the blond boy a chance to regain some strength. They opened all fifty boxcars with the help of the freed prisoners. Alek was right, it wasn't easy to explain the truth of the situation. It took a few demonstrations to prove that they were wizards and that the Portkeys were safe. After a volunteer Portkeyed away with Alek and returned queasy but unharmed, with a positive report of the destination, people began to reach out for the envelopes. Within three hours, everyone was gone. "Alek, those Portkeys...they don't come back here, right?"

"One-way tickets. I had a different Portkey for the demonstration."

"How many times have you done this?"

"This was the fourth."

"That's twenty thousand people!"

"For every train I stop, dozens get through," he said flatly. "Do you want to destroy the locomotive, or shall I?"

Tom pointed his wand at the engine and said, "Confringo."

The explosion was magnificent. Alek raised his Shield around them both just in time to prevent them being perforated by shrapnel. The part of the locomotive that remained was melted and fused to the track. Alek said, "Well. You're good at that. Care to go bigger?"

"Bigger?"

"Do this whole area of track, make a crater as deep and wide as possible, so it will take them a long time to fix."

They mounted the broomstick to get a bird's eye view. Tom was in front, and he could smell Alek's blood when he reached forward to point at a spot on the tracks about ten meters in front of the destroyed train. "Aim there."

Tom gripped the broomstick tightly with his left hand and aimed his wand with his right. He had never been very keen on broomstick flying; there wasn't much of a seat, and he couldn't help but be terrified of falling off. He glanced over his shoulder at Alek, who flicked his wand at the broom and said, "Sticking charm. Relax, you won't fall. Focus on the spell. Anger helps with this one."

Tom thought about the people in the boxcars, about the people in the camps, about the people all over the world who were living in fear and misery. He thought about the death and inhumanity and horror of the war. These things made him feel sick and sad, but his anger didn't spill over until Alek whispered, "Imagine if this was all happening in the Wizarding world. Imagine if the trains were full of Muggleborns."

It shouldn't have made the difference, because people were people and every life was equally important, but the idea of Hermione being killed just for being born made his blood boil. He screamed the curse this time, and the earth opened up.

It took all of Alek's remaining strength to Apparate them back to Durmstrang. He collapsed into bed and was unconscious within seconds. Tom listened closely to make sure that he was breathing, did some cleaning charms on his clothes, and removed his shoes.

Tom felt strangely blank, considering what they'd just done. He got out his quill and paper and wrote his daily letter:

"Dear Mum and Dad (+ Everyone),

Sorry if this is a little late, I stayed up late studying with a friend. Do you know how many interesting uses there are for Portkeys?

Love, Tom."

He sent the owl off. He fully expected to have trouble falling asleep. He didn't.

At breakfast the next morning Aleksandr looked no worse for wear (he'd looked a little worn to begin with), but Tom's mind had thawed from its numbed state and begun to race. What would he have done if Alek had been killed? Would he have had the strength to continue the mission and free the prisoners from the train, even if he had to kill a few people, or would he have fled as Alek had instructed? What if he'd screwed up and been shot, too? What if wizards had shown up? How would he have explained it to the Wizengamot, or the Durmstrang Highmaster, or his family for that matter? He was already guilty of being an accessory to Alek's killings, even if he hadn't personally used any Unforgivable curses. Yet, this was wartime. Did that make what Alek was doing less wrong? By whose standards would they be judged and punished?

Tom thought of Azkaban, of the Dementors' Kiss. He thought of people dying by the thousands, being shot and gassed and starved. He knew that it was worth risking death in order to save innocent people, that it was part of being heroic, but he felt a panic attack coming on, his first in months.

He looked at the other boy, who was tapping his spoon on the shell of a poached egg. Alek met his gaze and cast the privacy charms. "Tom, you're safe. You're not going to die."

"Yes, I am!"

"Well...we all die someday."

This statement didn't help to alleviate Tom's feeling of impending doom. He broke out in a cold sweat. Alek said, "You aren't dying now. But, you know, if you really don't want to die, ever, there is a way to avoid it. I've thought about making a horcrux. I could take even bigger risks if I were immortal, and I've got everything I need to do it."

Tom was so shocked that he half-forgot about his panic attack. "They teach you that here?"

"Only in theory. They withhold the incantation. It wasn't hard to find, though."

Tom regarded him with amazement. "Why are you still at school?"

"I want to graduate. The war will end someday, and life will continue. Also, this is a perfect base of operations."

"How did you get so good at magic?"

"Study and practice. There's no mystery to it. Have you ever heard the phrase 'wisdom makes the wizard?' For me it's more like knowledge, because I can't say I'm wise in the slightest."

"I think you're brilliant."

Alek offered him a crooked grin. "You did a superb job last night. Feeling better yet?"

Tom realised that his panic attack had ended before it hit its usual climax of terror, and that he actually felt good. "Yeah...did you do something?"

"I sent you feelings of comfort and safety, reflecting the emotions you feel about your family. Please trust that I'd never Imperius you. It's temporary, to calm you down from this...panic attack you were having. I can't say I've ever heard of such a thing. Is it a medical term from the future?"

The dark haired boy nervously averted his eyes. Aleksandr chuckled softly and said, "Oh, Tom...I saw about the time machine and the time travelers the first day I met you. Besides, all throughout your memory, certain people close to you don't age. It's harder to notice with David, Michael, and Ashley, because they're older, but Hermione and Harry are always about sixteen. Haven't you wondered about that?"

"Of course. They travel through time a lot, still."

"But they always come back to you. Why?"

"They're part of my family, even though we aren't blood relations."

"How did that happen?"

"In their travels they became close friends with my parents, before I was born. They're like aunts and uncles to me."

"Why haven't they taken you to their present, ever?"

"They say a terrible war is on in the Wizarding world, in their time. They haven't been back, either."

"War there, and war here. I see you've asked about preventing this war, and that it's impossible. I also see you've been warned not to make prophecies or even talk about the future. But will you please confirm that what I've seen in your mind is true? Germany surrenders on May 8, 1945. Just nod if it's true."

Tom nodded. Aleksandr's expression was impenetrable, as were his thoughts. "We win, in three more years," he said quietly. "We win. But by then, millions will have died. I wonder why your family didn't tell you about the camps."

"They don't tell me everything. I get very...personally upset by things, well, you just saw how I panic. That used to happen a lot. They're trying to spare me from the pain of knowing about things I can't prevent. I'm sorry I can't handle it better, or I would have more information. I know I've lived a very sheltered life compared to you."

"No, Tom, it's all right. I can imagine how such future knowledge could drive one to insanity, and I understand why your family wants to protect you. Keeping you safe is for their sake, too. They see that you care deeply about human suffering, and perhaps want to stop you from putting yourself in danger. I don't know if I could do what I do if my parents were still alive. But you...you've already put yourself in danger by going on that mission with me. I don't know if that's disregard for the agony your parents would feel if they lost you, uncommon dedication to what's right, or some other motivation that I can't understand, but the fact is you helped save those people and I bet you'd do it again."

"When's the next mission?"

"I have to make more Portkeys."

"Can I help?"

After class and late into each evening for the next week and a half, the boys turned twenty-dollar notes into Portkeys. Aleksandr could program one every fifteen seconds or so. Tom was much slower, but he hadn't had years of practice. Tom asked again about where the cash came from, and Alek told him that he had help from American and Canadian wizards who lived undercover with Muggles and assisted the people Alek sent with the Portkeys. Alek told him that he wasn't the only wizard in Europe trying to help people escape in this manner, but that they worked alone or in groups of two or three at the most to avoid detection. Tom knew that the more information Alek gave him the deeper he got into this underground network, and eventually he would feel compelled to take on a more active role in the missions. If there was a time to get out, this was it, while his soul was still intact...but Tom was no longer sure it was true that killing damaged the soul. What are the signs and symptoms of a damaged soul? Tom wondered one night while looking at Alek. He couldn't detect any soul-damage from the boy's appearance, and his behavior towards his fellow students was kind, even while dueling. Some of them could be vicious, using spells harsher than necessary during practice and humiliating and cursing an opponent after they'd fallen. A couple had even used Cruciatus on each other during a fight to settle a personal disagreement (staged on their own time, in the woods), a fight that Alek had stopped. Aleksandr killed Nazis, but he wasn't sadistic. Tom was at a loss to explain him. One evening, he suddenly recalled the words of the Sorting Hat: No-one with a broken soul would feel the need to worry so. "Do you worry about turning evil?"

Alek didn't look up from his spellwork. "Why? Because of what I've done?"

"Yes."

"No. The Nazis can't be allowed to commit such atrocious acts with impunity. Believe me, I wish I didn't have to kill anyone, but until the Muggle world governments stop what's happening I'll do whatever's necessary to save as many people as I can. I don't think that's evil."

"You don't feel bad for killing them?"

"I feel bad that I became a killer, but as for my conscience, no, it doesn't weigh on me in the slightest. They would burn me, Tom."

Just because Alek wasn't worried about turning evil didn't prove that he had a broken soul. The Sorting Hat had said that nobody with a broken soul would worry, not that anyone who didn't worry had a broken soul. Tom might have felt more comfortable if his friend had admitted to even a faint whisper of doubt over his actions, but then again, that would mean he had considered that his actions would make him evil and had chosen to continue anyway.

Was it better to willfully embrace darkness or to slip into it through self-righteous delusion?

Tom suddenly began to write more letters to Violet, lighthearted letters full of fantasy and flirtation, the likes of which he'd never written before. It occurred to him that he was trying to prove that he was still loving, thoughtful, grateful, gentle, kind; all of the virtues his family had instilled in him. She replied to every letter, and she seemed happy despite living in occupied France. On July 15th, he shyly asked if she would like it if he came to visit. At dinner the next evening he received her response:

"Dear Tom,

I would love to see you.

I must warn you, though, things are awful here. The police are rounding up all the foreign Jews. It started this morning. My parents are trying to get documents for their friends.

Still, please come if you can.

Love,

Violet"

Tom wasn't sure he believed in fate. His father put little faith in Divination, and Tom had been raised as a skeptic, but he now felt like he was holding an invitation to his destiny. He showed the letter to Alek. "I know you specialize in trains, but I thought you might want to see this."

"Do you trust her?"

"Yes, completely. I've known her since we were children."

"Have you told her about what we do?"

"Of course not. 'Don't tell anyone' means don't tell anyone."

"You would make an excellent spy."

"Especially now that I can Apparate. So, what shall we do?"

"I would pass this information on to one of my French contacts, but I see you want to handle it personally. Tell me how you would go about it."

"We find out where they're being taken, we Apparate in and use the Portkeys, as usual."

"There will be a lot more guards than on the trains."

"Imperius to not attract attention, AK if we need it."

"What about wizards?"

"We're both skilled fighters."

"We are fifteen and sixteen. I seem like a skilled fighter because you've only seen me fight Muggles and schoolchildren."

"You're better than anyone at this school!"

"But I'm still a student, and so are you. If we face off against adult wizards who are trying to kill us, there's a very strong chance we'll lose. You can't help people if you're dead."

"Then make the damned horcrux already!"

Alek absentmindedly rubbed the back of his hand over the sparse whiskers on his chin and calmly asked, "Do you think I should?"

Tom's agitation faded. "I don't know."

Aleksandr closed his eyes and tilted his head back against his bed frame. "I don't know, either. If we're to believe my soul is already damaged just from killing, what difference does it make if I seal a piece of it in an object? It could be a pebble in a field...or in a forest of gigantic old trees, with just the sunlight and the sound of birds and a stream running through, clean and innocent, far from the war..."

As he trailed off, his expression opened up, fully displaying his weariness and sorrow. "We don't have to do this," Tom said gently. "I'll just go visit Violet, and you alert your French contacts."

Alek opened his eyes and shook his head, face like a mask again. He stood and grabbed up the magically extended bags containing the Portkeys, two broomsticks, potions, and other supplies, and they Apparated to Violet's address in Paris. Tom rang the doorbell. After a long pause, Violet's blue eyes appeared at the pane of glass next to the door, and a moment later she was on the stoop, hugging Tom tightly, her fair hair tickling his face. She smelled of orange blossom, and her willowy figure felt like perfection pressed up against his body. She sized up Alek, then glanced around nervously and gestured them over the threshold. "My parents are out. They told me not to open up the door for anyone, but it's you."

"How do you know I'm not a spy?"

"Tom, don't joke."

Her cheeks were flushed and she was tugging nervously at the cuff of her shirt. Alek caught her gaze for a moment and said, "The people in the wine cellar. We can get them to safety."

Violet's eyes went wide and her mouth fell open. "H-how...who are you?"

"Alek is a wizard, too. He's telling the truth. We really can help," said Tom.

The family hiding in the basement chose to relocate to Canada. "What about the others?" asked Violet.

"Do you know where they're being held?"

"The indoor cycling stadium, Vel d'Hiv, sorry, Vélodrome d'Hiver."

Aleksandr said, "Probably Drancy, as well...an internment camp northeast of Paris."

He cast his Patronus, and said to it: "Message for Justine: Priority Drancy. Engaging Vel d'Hiv."

The shining bear disappeared through the wall. "What? What was? What?" stammered Violet.

"Magic tricks," said Alek, flashing her a smile.

She turned to Tom, "What are you doing?"

"We're going to help those people."

"I'm coming along."

"No, Violet-"

"I'm not going to sit here and be useless! What is it, too dangerous?"

"It's not like that. Please, listen...take a bunch of these Portkeys, and when your parents get home, explain to them that they're better than any identity papers they could find for their friends. Have you told them about magic?"

She nodded, blushing. "I've told them a lot about you."

"That's good, they'll believe you. Help people escape before they're rounded up in the first place. It's equally important and dangerous as what Alek and I will be doing. If you're caught by the police, use a Portkey. I will find you when it's over."

She reached out and stroked his cheek, and then kissed him very deliberately on the mouth, as if she'd thought about it for a long time, which she had. He returned her kiss, while Alek examined a framed print on the wall.

Vel d'Hiv was already packed with people when they arrived, and more were being brought in. Tom and Alek took plenty of time to observe the situation. There were no bathrooms and barely any food or water. A few relief groups and a few doctors and nurses were allowed in, but it was hardly sufficient for the thousands of people being held there, which included a large percentage of women and children. The heat was terrible, and so was the smell. Some people tried to escape and were shot on the spot. Some committed suicide. "Wait. We have to wait," said Alek, sensing his friend's impatience increasing with the aura of desperation inside the building.

"Wait for what?"

"For the roundup to be complete."

He sighed, then added, "We may miss class."

More people were brought in through the night and into the next day, but by the time night fell on the 17th, the numbers had slackened. Eventually, all of the guards retreated outside and barricaded every possible route of escape. When nothing changed for three more hours, Alek took a final count. "Seven thousand, seven hundred and sixty four. We don't have enough Portkeys. People will have to share."

They worked as quickly as possible to get everyone out. A blessing arrived in the form of one of the Red Cross workers, a very young witch called Claire who attended Beauxbatons and was working undercover like Alek. She immediately caught on to the plan and prevented the other Red Cross workers from blowing their cover, while enlisting their help in handing out the Portkeys. Tom and Aleksandr patrolled the perimeter. Alek set up protection charms to keep the guards out, along with a charm that simulated the sound of seven thousand people talking, so as not to draw suspicion as things quieted down inside. Everything was going well, and only about a hundred prisoners remained when there was a loud crack, or rather, a series of nearly simultaneous cracks. Three wizards in Nazi uniform materialized on the bicycle track, each with a wand in one hand and a gun in the other. Claire, Tom, and Aleksandr cast their Shields, putting up a huge blue barrier around themselves and the remaining Muggles, who grabbed at the Portkeys in a panic. "Sie sind Kinder," said one of the wizards, frowning. "Ich Hätte Mehr erwartet."

"What'd he say?" whispered Tom, trying not to panic.

"He didn't expect us to be kids."

"Portkeys, die was vieles erklärt. Sind Hallo, Sie die Zug-Räuber?"

The wizard to his left smiled and said, "Halten Sie Ihre Fragen, bis sie gefoltert werden."

Alek whispered, "He suspects we're behind the train escapes. The other one wants to hold off on the questions until we're being tortured."

Tom glanced behind him. There were only about a dozen people left, all men who seemed hesitant to leave the three teenagers. "Go!" shouted Tom. "Get out of here!"

"Ah, English," said the third officer. "Listen, kids, you've been very brave but it's time to give up now. We won't have to hurt you if you come along without resisting."

"You'll torture us for information, then kill us!" yelled Tom.

The first officer glared at the second one, who was still smiling. Tom was starting to get tired from keeping his Shield up at maximum strength and projection, and when he glanced at his two friends, he saw they were beginning to sweat, too. It would only be a matter of time before they had to stop out of exhaustion. Tom looked back and was relieved to see that everyone had left. Alek whispered as quietly as possible, "We're outmatched. They've most likely put up an Anti-Apparation Jinx to trap us in here. We'll have to Portkey out, and they know that. They're waiting for it...likely hoping to uncover more of our network."

"But, aren't Portkeys untraceable?"

"Most wizards think so, but it's not true. There's no such thing as an untraceable Portkey. Every Disapparition and every Portkey leaves a subtle trail that can be followed if one is skilled enough and the trail is fresh enough. We can't run forever, and they know that, too."

"What are we going to do?"

With his free hand, Alek reached behind him towards the bag marked 'Canada' and said, "Accio broomsticks."

Two broomsticks flew out of the bag. He mounted one and handed the other to Tom. "Get on, both of you."

The third Nazi officer couldn't help but laugh. "You can't possibly think you can fly out of here. We could penetrate your Shields in an instant, if we wanted. Please, this is your last chance to come willingly. I know you couldn't have done this alone. If you tell us who helped you, I promise you will not be harmed."

Aleksandr lowered his shield and cast a quick privacy charm. "Tom, if you look at the neck of your broom, you'll see a small piece of black string tied in a bow around it. It's a Portkey. When the bow is untied it will send the broomstick and anyone on it one hundred meters above our current location. I have one on my broom, too. I'm going to count to three. It is imperative that you pull the string when I say three. Leave the bags. One."

Alek reached into his pocket and took out a coin. Tom moved his free hand to the string and gripped it tightly. "Two."

The coin turned into something that looked like a toaster. "Three."

Alek saw Tom and Claire disappear. An instant later, he pulled the string on his broomstick and simultaneously pushed the button on the radio transmitter.

Aleksandr, Tom and Claire floated above the fiery pit where the Vélodrome d'Hiver used to be. The Nazi officers did not appear to have made it out in time. "Bomb in the bag?" asked Tom.

"Bombs in both bags. Transfigured transmitter in my pocket."

"You could've said."

"Sorry, I didn't think it would come to that. I've never used anything like that before. We're lucky that they underestimated us. It probably won't happen again."

Claire was quietly crying, her tears hitting the nape of Tom's neck, but when he turned to comfort her he saw that she was smiling.