A/N: October 1939: Hitler makes plans for the invasion of Belgium and the Netherlands. His peace offers to England and France are turned down by Chamberlain and Daladier.

Although Dumbledore and Slughorn had spent a day or so in meetings, they returned fairly soon. There was little to be done at that moment – they simply did not have the fighting force to even take on Grindelwald and his wizards, let alone the Muggle army along with it. After a lengthy meeting with the Muggle government, however, the Muggle world did agree not to make peace with the aggressors.

“If it were merely a Muggle affair, we might lend you aide but leave it up to you how to fight this war,” Prewett had argued, “I am aware you cannot face this wizard and his troops as well, and this prompts you to agree to peace, but we are working hard to gather our own troops. Our war council has been active for quite some time and we have a good idea what our enemy is up to. It is vitally important that we communicate and work together, now. We stand no chance against an onslaught of armed Muggles – you stand no chance against a group of power-hungry Wizards, and he wizard behind the German Chancellor is extremely power-hungry. He will come for you, no matter what promises he or his ally make now.”

It took several more hours, but the Muggles agreed not to accept any peace offer and stand by their declaration of war.

“If you do not, you will soon find yourself at a standstill, with most of Europe under German control,” Prewett had reminded them. Albus had grown to respect this young man a great deal. He was proving most capable.

Eventually the Muggles had agreed, though he understood there had been some pressure from some countries who had declared neutrality to accept the German offer.

“Until there are outright hostilities, the best we can work with is spies,” Horace grumbled, “and the Wizarding World is not big enough to send in a spy unnoticed.” He lifted his firewhiskey – they had decided on a short stop at Hogsmead before going back to the school.

Aberforth, taking a break from stocking shelves, nodded in agreement.

“I could,” Albus hesitatingly put forth, “I could make him believe I was ready to join him…to pick up our rela…”

“NO!” Both his brother and his friend exclaimed immediately.

“That is out of the question,” Aberforth grunted.

“You know very well the risks of such an enterprise,” Horace sharply reminded his friend, “Not to mention there is not just yourself to consider. You have a son, now. A son that desperately needs you. Think of what it would do to the boy if you were to sacrifice yourself needlessly.”

Albus stared at them. “People would die.”

“We’ve told you before, and I am telling you again,” Horace said bluntly, “We may be able to take on one Dark Lord and recover from our losses. We will never be able to handle two.”

“Do you not trust me?” Albus asked, slightly hurt.

Aberforth turned to stare his brother in the eye. “Do you trust yourself?” he parried.

After a long, tense silence Albus looked away. “No. Not yet,” he had to painfully admit.

ssssssssss

Alastor stomped into the Great Hall where he’d agreed to meet Tom to work on a Charms assignment, threw his bookbag on the table and sat down with a huff.

Tom looked up from his books in surprise. “Al?”

“First years can be SO annoying!” Alastor complained, “I am certain WE never were such pains in the arse!”

Tom blushed, but was saved from replying by John Shephard.

“Alastor Moody!” the passing Prefect admonished, “language! I’d hate to take points.”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry, John,” Al waved away the older boy.

He turned back to Tom, who wondered what he had missed. He certainly had heard nothing untoward about the first year Gryffindors so far.

“There is this annoying girl in our House. She is Muggleborn.”

Tom started a bit. Even though anti- Muggleborn sentiments were common among the Purebloods, Alastor never seemed to have had any problem with that. For the largest part of last year, they had assumed Tom was Muggleborn, after all.

“I was Muggle raised,” Tom offered quietly.

“It’s not that she is Muggleborn!” Alastor threw his Charms book in front of him, “I don’t mind that! It’s that she is asking so many questions! Can’t she just read a book or something?”

At that moment, Filius Flitwick entered the Hall, his ever-cheerful attitude beaming at the small girl by his side.

“Oh no,” Alastor moaned, “there she is! Hide me, Tom!”

Tom studied the girl. She wasn’t a particularly attractive girl. She was in that stage all first year girls seemed to be at, where they were all teeth. Her brown hair had been cut to shoulder length where it curled around the edges a little. She seemed quite common to Tom, though he did think she suited Gryffindor – not many first years would dare approach a seventh year, especially not in the first weeks.

Luck wasn’t on Alastors side that day. Filius walked over to where they were sitting.

“Hello!” his high, squeaky voice greeted them, “I saw your names on the list for the Dueling Club – great! And well done for moving up to third year, Mr Riddle.”

Even though everyone knew by now Tom had been adopted by the Transfiguration Professor, he still generally used his own name in school. It would prevent a lot of teasing and accusations of favouritism if people weren’t constantly reminded of his relationship with a teacher. There were already rumours circulating that Toms moving up to Third Year was the doing of his adoptive father.

That is why Tom grimaced a bit. “I worked hard for the tests,” he defended himself.

“Of course you did,” Flitwick seemed surprised, “I looked up your grades in the records. What they say about your father buying or otherwise influencing your grades is rubbish – those tests are foul-proof. You must have done the work yourself, and if your father helped you study, well, other parents do that, too. In the end, it’s your own brain that has to have all the information inside for you to pass the tests.”

He hesitated a little. “But practical spellwork is something else. Not everyone’s power level keeps pace with their knowledge, and no matter how safe we try to make it, duelling is dangerous.”

Tom’s face became blank. So he wouldn’t be allowed to join the club. That was unfair. Angry thoughts began to run through his head, fuelled by the disappointment.

“Now don’t be like that!” the older boy shook his head and glared down at Tom, even though Tom was at least half a head taller. “I never said you could not join. I just want to do a little practice with you before the club starts, to make sure you can do the spells required. I am responsible for the club, after all, and if I deem it unsafe but let people join anyway, I would be remiss. You are not the only one I’ve asked to do this, there are other Third years and even Fourth years that are going to meet with me prior to our first session.”

“And First and Second years?” the girl next to him piped up.

“I was getting there,” Flitwick seemed unperturbed by the girl’s interruption.

“This is Samantha Maylee,” he told the boys, “Alastor already knows her, I expect, since she is in your House. She has told me I have been neglectful in not providing the same opportunity for the First and Second years.”

“I can only imagine,” Alastor muttered from under his book.

“Professor Dippet agreed that the First and Second years can have a club of their own, but a Defence Club. It will be a preparatory club to the actual Dueling Club and will focus on offensive and defensive spells, and the theory of duelling. I KNOW, Sam,” his voice squeeked a little higher than usual, “it is not what you wanted, but better this than nothing, right?”

As the girl reluctantly nodded, he went on, “Plus, it provides me with an alternative for those Third years who do not pass the test for the actual Dueling Club. I may require them to study with the First and Second years for a while if they truly want to join the Club.”

He took his leave. “Come see me tomorrow evening,” he told Tom, “oh – I heard you were studying Gobbledegook last year. Do you plan to continue that this year?”

“I may not have as much time to devote to it, but yes,” Tom answered.

Flitwick nodded. “My grandfather was a Goblin,” he said, “If you like I can help you with the proper pronunciation. Humans never seem to get that quite right.”

With a vague ‘until tomorrow, then’ he walked off to his own table, leaving the girl standing by the two boys.

Alastor muttered something about forgetting his quill, and positively fled from the Hall. The girl looked crestfallen.

“Hi, I am Sam,” she offered to Tom, sounding a little down.

“I am Tom,” Tom replied, mentally closing his Charms book for a bit.

She nodded, and was silent for a little while.

“Does your friend hate me?” she finally asked, “he always avoids me. Does he dislike Muggleborns? The other girls tell me some Purebloods do.”

“Al doesn’t dislike Muggleborns, he dislikes you asking him so many questions,” Tom replied bluntly, “he doesn’t like to be bothered so much.”

“Oh…” the teeth disappeared and the mouth formed a small circle. “I didn’t realize…I just…everything is so strange, and I just want to know…” the girl stammered.

“I know. I was Muggle raised. If you want, I’ll loan you some of the books I read,” Tom reached inside his bag and pulled out a few books on Wizard culture and society, “here. These should help.”

He watched the girl stammer her thanks and skip off with the books. Inwardly he congratulated himself on such a good idea. He didn’t need the books anymore, having practically memorized them, and if the girl left him and Al alone, they might actually get some work done.

sssssssssssss

“Gather around, gather around,” Professor Kettleburn limped towards the pen, “So. You lot have taken up Care of Magical Creatures, eh?”

He surveyed the crowd of young faces. “Let me tell you something. Every creature in this class is beautiful. Not just the cute baby unicorns or the Kneazle kittens. All creatures. Might be the ugliest son-of-a-bitch you’ve ever seen, but something in it is beautiful. If you aren’t prepared to learn to see that, you will never make it in this class. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Professor,” some hesitant voices called out.

“Good. Now.” The man reached inside his pocket and pulled out some slimy long things. Several girls took a step back with a silent ‘eww’ written all over their faces.

“Honestly. You’d think you’d all seen Flobberworms by now in Potions,” Professor Kettleburn shook his head, “ain’t a lot of difference between the live and dead ones, though. You, Riddle. Come here.”

Tom stepped forwards, prepared to be called upon to help feed the Flobberworms, but the Professor put them in a jar with some lettuce and motioned him to a large crate.

“Oh,” Tom said, “Fire crabs!”

“Clever boy. Yes, these are Fire crabs. Young ones.”

The small creatures were clamouring over each other, resembling little tortoises with small jewelled shells.

“Normally, you wouldn’t see these,” Professor Kettleburn said, covering himself and Tom with some fire-resisting spells, “They don’t live near here, but in Fiji. They are endangered. The shells, you see. Valuable, of course, but the poor creatures have been hunted too much because of it. I have a special permit to import these as part of a breeding program. Once these mature, we will see if they will produce eggs. Any offspring will then be returned to Fiji. Trick is, they shoot fire out of their rear end – yes, laugh if you like. Wait till your first shot of firewhiskey, then you’ll know how uncomfortable that can be. So handling them requires some care. Riddle, I want you to very carefully pick one up without upsetting it. If you do upset it, you are protected, but it’ll still hurt. Pain will teach you to be more careful next time and to keep a healthy respect for all creatures.”

Kettleburn pointed to a large pond. “Place it in there.”

Tom bent over the crate, and slowly extended a finger to one of the squirming young crabs. It sniffed, if that was the right word for an amphibian, at his finger.

“Oh come on, pick one up already,” one of his classmates said, impatiently, “what are you waiting for? Trying to steal its gems?”

Tom ignored the man and extended his whole hand. The small creature looked at him, crawled onto his hand, opened its tiny jaw and gave his thumb a firm suck.

“It has no teeth,” Tom remarked in surprise.

“And it won’t. It eats soft foods right now. When mature, the jaws will harden to allow it to eat solids.”

Carefully standing up, Tom walked towards the pond. There he lowered his hand by the water’s edge, and let the creature climb down from his hand and into the water. It peddled around comically, apparently happy to have freedom of movement.

“Well done,” the gruff voice of his professor said as the girls ooh-ed and aah-ed over the small crab.

“Now. I will put spells on you. All of you get a crab and put it in the water. Take your time, just like Riddle here did. Never rush with animals. Never rush.”

Several of the others took this advice to heart and also managed to get their crab safely from crate to (heated) pond. Some of the others did get theirs to the pond but suffered the creatures flames as well. Tiny as they were, the effect was limited to their hands and the spells prevented any actual damage, but they still had sore fingers for the rest of the day.

The boy who had mocked Tom thought simply grabbing the crab and tossing it in the pond from a distance would prevent burns. It took Professor Kettleburn some time to calm the fortunately unharmed but upset crab, and he immediately dismissed the boy, sending him to the castle and Horace Slughorn to explain being banned from the class.

All in all, Tom thought, it had been quite a good lesson.

“Professor? How long until they mature? I mean – when will they produce eggs?”

Kettleburn looked at him. “That might be a while, lad. I’d be surprised if we have the first batch of eggs while you lot are still in school. Fire crabs take time to mature.”

“How old do they get?” one of the boys asked.

“We’re not sure. They don’t generally die of old age, since they’re hunted so much. This bunch may be our best chance to research that, too. There’s plenty of opportunity for extra credit assignments for you, the next few years.”