Over Dover, England, 2004

Flight Officer Jonathan Weasley was one of the odd ones out in his family. Without any magic to speak of, he'd first gone into accounting, and nearly made it through school for that. Then, however, he'd lost his job and couldn't keep up with the tuition AND living. So, for lack of anything better to do, he'd enrolled in the RAF Officer Training corps. He'd felt that a stint in the reserves would provide food for the table, money for the rent, nothing big. And an officer in Her Majesty's Armed Forces? Well, that'd be something, wouldn't it? Even to magic folk.

It wasn't. Not really. They were barely even aware of what airplanes were. Then again, he was in the reserves of the RAF-Not even called on to go to Afghanistan or Iraq. He flew air defense patrols over Britain that had become mere habit long ago. Sure, flying was preferable to accounting-The sheer thrill of pulling gees was fantastic-but who was he defending his country for? Who was he serving for?

Or was he simply trying to make up for having no magic?

"Slayer 4, close up! Close up, over!"

Weasley increased the throttle and pushed his Harrier GR7 up, making sure he was in formation.

"Sorry Slayer 1, lost focus. Over."

"Try not to, Slayer 4. We've got a whole lot of company coming," the leader of the section said.

Weasley looked out ahead. The dark storm clouds surrounding the portal (as it'd been described in the very short briefing) were dark and ominous. And the shapes of dozens... Hundreds... Thousands of flying monsters filled his sensors.

He knew magic. He knew how it laughed in the face of modern technology. Stupid, foolish Muggles. They hadn't a chance-His whole life was proof of this to him. Johnathan Weasley. Squib. Accountant. Nobody.

Why was he here? He couldn't stop these monsters! Not even if he was a true and proper wizard! They were showing up all over the world, invading everywhere... Why was he here?

"Damn... It's like bloody Revelation... The end of the world," another pilot muttered.

"Slayer 1... Can we take them? Over?"

Weasley wondered the same thing. He felt the temptation to run, despite his training. What good would it do? He was in this... Why? To be a hero? To make up for not being a wizard like everyone else?

The line was silent for a few moments, only to be answered by this: "What the bloody...? On your right, left! They're everywhere! Bloody fucking HELL!"

Weasley looked around, and his jaw dropped behind his mask. All around them, the ghostly shapes of Spitfires, Hawker Hurricanes, Mosquitoes, Gladiators-A regular WWII RAF parade was with them. They flew with the Harriers and Tornados and Eurofighters all streaking across the Channel, headed for the onrushing hordes.

Weasley felt tears come to his eyes, as one of the ghostly pilots turned his head and gave a thumbs up. He didn't think he was the only one. He turned his head back to the coming monsters, legions of them. So many they would blot out the sun from the ground, cast Britain into darkness.

It wouldn't be the first time that someone tried it though. Tried... And failed.

"... All right lads," the section leader said. "Let's give 'em hell!"

"TALLY HO!" Weasley shouted, as the Royal Air Force, old and modern, living and dead, opened up their weapons into the demonic armies, riding fire the whole way in.

In Harry Potter and the Sorceror's Stone, Ronald Weasley talks about one of his cousins being "an accountant, but we don't talk about him." I thought it'd be nice to give a non-magical Weasley the chance to kick some ass in the name of his country. That, and how could I leave The Few out of a magical invasion of Great Britain? It'd be downright rude.