11th September 1995 (63:5:25)
— Contact plus 00.00.09:02.45
The door clicked open, a middle-aged man poking his head out. "Miss Potter? The Commander will see you now."
Beth got up from her chair in the crowded, extremely slapdash 'waiting room'. Really it was just a hallway they'd put some furniture in — a large part of it feeling crowded was the people coming through the hall, not in the 'waiting room' so much as passing through it, weaving their way between chairs set against both walls. The government's move to Oxford had been on very short notice, obviously, and they were still in the process of getting things into anything like a working order. The office they'd set aside for the commander of the still-forming joint muggle–magical...thing had been some professor's office in one of the University buildings — from the signage, maybe a business department or something? Beth wasn't really sure what muggles studied at university...
The UK and magical Britain had only had an official alliance for literally less than twenty-four hours — Bones had met with the PM and his people here in Oxford just yesterday — but things were already moving quickly. Beth had heard that wardcrafters, both working for the Ministry's Department of Public Works and freelancers, were being organised to put up protections over important muggle sites, government and military and food and transportation and stuff. Some of them were still needed for mages' stuff, especially putting up new living spaces for people made homeless by the first week's bombings, but a lot of them were freed up by the Morrigan promising sanctuary on Ireland — because apparently the literal Morrigan was real? Beth had heard her mentioned, kind of like a boogeyman-type figure — people literally called her the Queen of Nightmares — but apparently she actually existed, just, an absurdly powerful immortal sorceress who'd been around for literally thousands of years. (A metamorph and a mind mage, supposedly, which was just cheating at life.) But even her power wasn't limitless — she could protect Ireland (and had protected Dublin, apparently, knocking fireballs out of the sky long before they reached the ground), but she couldn't extend the same protection to Britain. A lot of the homeless mages had already been relocated to Ireland, and Beth had overheard muggles talking about finding boats across to the North, it was a whole thing.
They'd already opened up their stores of resources for each other, which didn't make a big difference yet, but Beth expected it would pretty soon — magical Britain happened to be a major food producer, the magical population growing almost everything themselves and even exporting a big surplus to the Continent. Back at Rock-on-Clyde, Hermione had pointed out that, even if the aliens left today, probably millions of people would still die: the damage done by the initial attack would have disrupted international trade badly enough that there would still be terrible famines all over the world, and it was only going to get worse as the fighting continued. She claimed Britain wouldn't be as hard hit as a lot of places, but they would still have trouble, since a lot of the grain and stuff they did grow was meant to feed livestock, cows and sheep and stuff, and might not be easily retooled for human consumption. The mages had a surplus, yes, but they were a tiny fraction of the overall population, so Hermione had no idea how much of a difference it would actually make. Making potions and healers available to muggles had already been a big help, though, since magical healing cut down recovery times for almost everything by a lot — there were a bunch of volunteer healers helping the people injured in the bombings, which, that was probably going to end up being the first experience most people had with magic, which might be a good thing in the long run? Who knew.
Beth had heard there were other things going on too, like helping get reliable international communications and transportation going again — they already had communications back up, for the most part, but they were still working on transportation, too unsafe to just use air travel — and apparently they were putting together teams of muggle scientists and magical, like, artificers and shite, to figure out ways to make their stuff work better together. Like, wards and enchanted stuff were great to protect people from the continuing bombings from space, but a ward solid enough to block a fireball would completely stop radio signals too, and you needed to carefully shield wired signals to stop them from getting all scrambled. Apparently Élysée Palace had already set up stuff to deal with that, decades ago, they were working on doing something similar in Oxford, but it was a work in progress. Especially over the large area they wanted to protect, it was a pain. And there was other stuff, like, if mages and muggles were fighting together, the interference from the mages doing magic would screw up radio signals the soldiers and commanders and shite used to talk to each other, not to mention the soldiers' radios just exploding if they got too close to a big spell...
Not to mention, with international shipping practically dead, they were going to start running into power issues pretty quickly. The UK was rationing petrol and electricity, trying to stretch it out as long as they could, and they had pretty big reserves, but it wouldn't last forever — Beth wasn't an expert, but she'd heard six months to a year, at most. If they didn't get things running smoothly again by then (which, given how fucked everything everywhere was, didn't seem likely), they were going to be in serious trouble. So yeah, magical power plants or something sounded like a great idea, people were already on it.
None of that was Beth's problem though — some of those things Hermione could maybe help with, but Beth was really only good at the one thing. Luckily, there were plenty of aliens in Africa and south Asia and the Amazon to go blow up, so there was something she could do to help. Langley, the same one just admitted to the Wizengamot a few days ago, happened to be the head of the Queen's magical bodyguards, which Beth hadn't even realised was a thing. The Ministry and the UK had agreed to make a sort of experiment. The UK would be sending normal Army people out, and the mages their Hit Wizards and stuff, but they also thought it was a good idea to have mixed groups, you know, some mages and some muggles in one team fighting side-by-side. Mages and muggles were better at different things, so Beth thought that just made sense. They'd agreed to put Langley in charge of the thing, take a bunch of volunteers and send them out to the alien landings around the equator as soon as possible.
They'd probably start loosening the rules as things got worse, but for the moment at least, Beth was too young to join the Army, and you needed at least a few OWLs to join the Hit Wizards. But this mixed group said they were talking volunteers, and Beth hadn't heard anything about requirements — it'd be kind of hard for them to have one set of standards for everyone, since mages and muggles had different qualifications and different laws. She hadn't thought it was super likely she'd get in, she might end up needing to join one of the volunteer groups being put together by the weird pagan priests on the magical side, but she'd gone ahead and put her name in anyway.
She was honestly a little surprised when a letter telling her to come in to see the Commander had turned up the very next morning.
Shouldering her way through a stream of people passing through the hall, she noticed she was getting funny looks from the other people waiting their turn. Some of them were obviously mages (mostly in duelling clothes, one actual enchanted armour, expensive), and they'd clearly recognise the name — one man earlier had been nosey about it, asking if she knew what this was for, if Sirius and Dumbledore approved. Sirius wasn't happy about it, of course, but he understood where she was coming from and hadn't tried to stop her — in fact, they'd applied for it at the same time, though Sirius's return letter said he was in and that he should show up at their training camp immediately — and Dumbledore very much disapproved, but had ultimately said it was her decision, so. Also, it wasn't this random stranger's business, so piss off. The muggles in the hall were probably just thinking she was too young, which she guessed was fair — magical ageing being what it was, she wouldn't be surprised if she looked even younger to muggle eyes than she really was, probably seemed ridiculous to them.
Hopefully Langley himself wouldn't be unreasonable about it. He was a multiple-century-old metamorph, and supposedly they'd had a different concept of childhood back then...
The office had obviously been commandeered — there were still academic books on the shelves, personal knick-knacks and things. Beth even spotted framed pictures set aside on a shelf, maybe of family. At least, she assumed they weren't Langley's, they were just kind of packed into an available spot on a shelf, presumably waiting for the office's original owner to come claim them. The whole office was kind of a mess, papers and books haphazardly stacked in a corner to make room for Langley's things, a second desk crammed into the back half of the room for his assistant — some low-ranking Army officer or something, in the plain greenish uniform Beth saw on a lot of the people just walking around Oxford these days. Both desks were scattered with papers (and even some parchment), in stacks or folders or just strewn around. When she came in Langley, wearing the same black uniform from his Wizengamot appearance, was looking over what looked like a letter, on lined muggle notebook paper.
"Lady Elizabeth," he said, not bothering to look up from the letter. Gesturing at one of the chairs across the desk, "Have a seat."
Beth tried not to grimace, and probably failed. "You don't have to do all the formal my lady stuff. Sir." The sir was appropriate, she guessed, since he was a proper knight and everything...
He nodded, to show he heard, but he kept going over the letter, even after she'd (somewhat awkwardly) sat down. The Army bloke had gone back to his desk, to go over papers there — by the snippet Beth could make out from here, working on getting supplies and stuff for the group they were putting together. Langley finished with the letter he was looking over, made a note on what looked like a ledger or something, then picked up a file, flipping it open. Apparently that was a file on Beth herself, she saw the letter she'd sent right at the top. The Army bloke finished writing something, folded a few papers together and got up to slip out the door, just as Langley finally looked up at her.
"In ordinary circumstances," he started, voice low and smooth, "I would not consider this even for a single second. While you may have reached the age of contract in magical Britain—" He meant the closest thing magical law had to an age of majority — which was only thirteen, because magical Britain was a backward mess. "—you are still a minor on this side. You haven't even taken the OWLs yet, were Secrecy not abandoned you wouldn't be qualified to cast the meanest charm in public. You are too young."
Yes, well, Beth had sort of expected that. "You said, in ordinary circumstances."
Langley let out a heavy sigh. He leaned back in his chair, hands hanging limp off the ends of the armrests, giving her a hard, steady stare. It was making her a little uncomfortable, honesty — it didn't help that she knew Langley was stupidly powerful, she could feel his magic in the room around her, sharp and warm... "Unfortunately, Miss Potter, these are not ordinary circumstances. And neither are you an ordinary fifteen-year-old girl. The reports we have gotten so far from the landing sites are...concerning, to say the least. The major militaries of the world have already been significantly weakened in the initial wave of attacks, losing much in the way of men and material in doomed counter-attacks before we began to adjust our tactics. Air forces in particular are badly crippled. So this will be, largely, a ground war, in unfamiliar jungle, against unknown numbers utilising unknown equipment and tactics — it will be a miserable campaign, and we will need all the wands we can get.
"Furthermore, the affected areas are some of the most linguistically diverse regions on the planet, and, not coincidentally, also the most underdeveloped. We will need to coordinate with the locals, but there is an unfortunately high probability that, due to the low penetration of modern international culture in these regions, we will not share any language with them. Perhaps we will be able to communicate through local intermediaries who have learned English or French as a second language, but it will be difficult. For that reason alone, we are attempting to recruit omniglots, specifically. Were you not an omniglot, and had I not heard of your actions in London, Manchester, and Paris, you would not be sitting here right now."
...Fair enough. Honestly, as much as she was maybe under-qualified, not having taken her OWLs or anything, she had kind of kicked arse against the aliens, even compared to a lot of adult mages — she'd gotten pretty damn good at blowing up their ships solo, for example. Really, she thought that was enough to want her along despite her age, but if he just wanted her because she was an omniglot, that was also fine, she guessed. "So, why am I sitting here right now? Sir. I know Sirius was just told to go right to the training camp you're setting up."
Langley tilted his head, giving her an almost Snape-like look — not sure what that flat expression was supposed to say, but. Turning back down to her file, he said, "I understand you are able to apparate without assistance."
"Yes, sir."
"I checked with the Department of Transportation, and it doesn't seem you've applied for a licence."
"They wouldn't give me one — you have to at least have your OWLs before you can get an apparation licence. Sirius thought it was important I learn it early, for emergencies."
"Yes, Lord Black is a very practical sort, isn't he." Beth wasn't sure whether Langley meant that as a bad thing or not. "It was noted, by one of my subordinates in London, that your proficiency with battlemagic is far more advanced than one would expect of anyone at your age. Would I be correct in the assumption that you have learned to leverage omniglottalism to quickly acquire all manner of information beyond the linguistic?"
"Um, yes? Sorry, you're saying it like it's a big deal, but I thought that was just an omniglot thing? That all of us can do that."
"Theoretically, all omniglots possess the potential, yes — many never learn to fully utilise it." Oh, well. She hadn't known that, actually, she'd just thought it was normal. "I imagine you'll be able to do the same to absorb an accelerated course of basic training."
She hesitated for a second. She didn't know what that meant, exactly, so. "As long as I'm being taught by a person who knows what they're doing one-on-one, or in a small group of, like, four or five, yes."
"That shouldn't be a problem. How many languages are you proficient in?"
"Um...twenty-three? Fluently, it's twenty-two or twenty-three."
One of Langley's eyebrows twitched, but he didn't comment on what Beth realised seemed like a ridiculous claim to most people. "Any non-European languages?"
"...Not really, I mostly picked them up at school, during the Triwizard Tournament. There is ǹKhēmi, that's not European I guess, but I think that's only spoken by mages? Oh, and I know some Arabic and Marāṭhī, and a tiny bit of a Chinese language — um, Hak-kâ-va, specifically — but I'm not fluent in any of those." Hermione spoke a little bit of Arabic, picked up from her Tunisian relatives, the Patils' first language was Marāṭhī, and Cho's family spoke Hak-kâ-va at home — Beth had picked up enough Marāṭhī to get through a conversation, maybe, but she wouldn't count on her Arabic or Hak-kâ-va.
Langley just nodded. "I presume one of these twenty-three languages is French."
"Oh, yes, sir." There were a lot of former French colonies around the alien landing sites, Beth assumed that was an important one to know.
"How long would it take you to become comfortable with an entirely unfamiliar language?"
"...I guess it depends. If I'm working at it really hard, you know, hanging out with a native speaker and focussing on picking it up all day...less than a week, probably?"
Both of Langley's eyebrows arched up. "Less than a week?"
"Well, I wouldn't be fluent by then, but good enough to actually talk to people without getting confused, yeah, less than a week. Sir."
For a few seconds, he didn't say anything, just tapping at his papers with a pen, staring blankly at her. "Perhaps you don't realise this, Miss Potter, but that's unusually quick for an omniglot."
"...No, I didn't know that. I don't really know any other omniglots, so, I'll take your word for it, sir." She hesitated, just for a second. "So, I guess learning fourteen languages to fluency in the eight months the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were over for the Tournament is also really fast."
"It certainly is. For the average omniglot, one language a month is considered a reasonable estimate — it is often somewhat quicker for young people, but nearly two a month is still exceptional."
Okay. Good to know, she guessed. "Well, as long as we're talking about me learning stupid quickly, it rarely takes me more than a couple minutes to learn a new spell, and I picked up apparation in like two afternoons. It probably won't be any different for, um... Basic training, you mean I'm going to learn how to use, like, guns and shite? Um, sir." She tried not to look embarrassed that she'd just babbled, and slipped and cussed, oops.
There was definitely an expression on Langley's very bland and unremarkable face — which was still slightly odd, since he was a metamorph and could look like whatever he wanted, he must be doing that on purpose for some reason. She couldn't say what Langley was thinking, exactly, expression too mild and... Surprised, definitely, she thought — Beth realised learning a new spell in a couple minutes was slightly absurd, and most people thought learning apparation that quickly (especially at her age) was impossible — and maybe amused about something? She wasn't sure. Whatever he was thinking, he said only, "Everyone must know the basics, Miss Potter."
So, that was a yes on learning to use guns and shite. Seemed kind of pointless, since she knew curses that could do way more damage than any single firearm, but whatever.
"If we are to do something so foolish as bring you with us," he said, a note on his voice she didn't know how to read, "one of your duties will be as an interpreter. I hope to have at least one omniglot — or mind mage, if we must — with each detachment, to ease communication with the largely isolated locals we're likely to encounter. As soon as you arrive on site, you'll need to familiarise yourself with the local language as quickly as possible, so as to enable commanding officers to develop a more thorough understanding of the situation on the ground, and to coordinate with local forces. We may also need you to negotiate with the locals to secure permission to set up barracks and defences, and possibly to acquire food and the like — I expect supply lines will be quite shaky for some time. Whatever teams we put together will be far more mobile than the Army proper, so you may be moved around between problem areas on short notice, which may require starting all over again with additional local languages. Your team will be relying on you, on any number of matters. If that sounds too stressful for you, say so now — by the time you become overwhelmed out in the field, it may already be too late to prevent serious repercussions."
...Well, it did sound intimidating — she was never great at not making an arse of herself, trying to talk about serious shite — but it didn't sound any more 'stressful' than fighting for her life, so. "Um, will whoever I'm negotiating with take me seriously? I do just look like a random schoolgirl, so."
Langley's lips twitched. "You haven't the authority to come to an agreement on your team's behalf — your commanding officer will be with you for these discussions."
Lending whatever she said an air of officialness just from his very presence, Beth guessed. "Right. I should be able to do that, then. Sir. Um. It might be better if I can get at least a couple days talking to the locals before needing to do any serious talks, you know, just so I can understand the basics, at least. Like, if it would be possible to send me ahead a couple days before everyone's ready to move, so I can get a head start on the language? That would make it a lot easier, I think."
"The other omniglots I've already spoken to have all made the same request. We will attempt to send small advance teams ahead with the omniglots, but that might not always be possible. Though, most I spoke with suggested a week at the least, to establish a baseline."
Kind of baffled, because apparently she was weird even by omniglot standards, Beth shook her head. "If I'm doing literally nothing else but picking up the language, a few days is fine. I mean, I wouldn't be able to keep up a real conversation by then, but basic stuff, like asking where the aliens are and where they really need help, where we can set up camp, dealing with food and stuff, that shouldn't be a problem. I'll give myself an awful headache pushing it that fast, but."
"Very well," Langley said with a nod, making some kind of note somewhere. "Given your performance on a broom over that first week, we'll almost certainly want you in the air. Most air forces worldwide will remain inoperative for some time, we expect — and while the invaders have had no difficulty shooting helicopters out of the sky, mages on broomstick are far more manoeuvrable, especially when one considers the potential afforded by apparation. While you may on occasion need to fight on the ground, the most common scenario will likely see you flying cover for your team. Intercepting enemy aircraft, blocking or redirecting missile and mortar fire, engaging in air-to-ground attacks against enemy infantry. This will often put you out ahead of the rest of your team — and depending on the situation, how many other units are operating with yours, you may not have any backup at all. You will draw fire, I'm certain, and you will be alone. The role is necessary to protect our forces on the ground, given the state allied air forces have all been reduced to, but it will be extremely dangerous."
So, basically she'd be asked to do what she'd been doing that whole first week anyway, was what she was hearing. Feeling the smirk twitching at her lips, Beth said, "Sir, I'm a Gryffindor — crazy reckless shite is my speciality. Oh damn, I cursed again, sorry sir..."
That twitch at the corner of Langley's lips was definitely amusement, but it didn't last for very long, a more serious cast coming over his face almost immediately. He was quiet a moment, eyes turned down to his desk but not seeming to be focussed on anything, the fingers of one hand idly tapping. Not really sure what was going on, Beth, just, stayed quiet — if she opened her mouth she'd probably just put her foot straight in it again, so. Kind of silly that part of the reason why he was even considering bringing her on was to be an interpreter, considering how very, er, undiplomatic she was, had been even in this conversation. Not complaining, she did want to help, and given how fucked everything was she kind of doubted any of the people they were turning up to help would give a damn if she said something off-colour, just saying.
After what had to be a minute or two, Langley let out a thin sigh. He reached for a stack of papers on his desk, pulling out a couple sheets, and immediately started scribbling away at them. It was hard to see from Beth's angle, but she thought they were forms of some kind. "There is a temporary clinic set up in the courtyard outside, you might have seen it on the way in."
He paused, but that might just be because he was focussed on his writing. Just in case he was expecting her to respond, she said, "Yes, sir."
"You will present yourself to the staff there..." He flipped to another page, made a couple notes before scrawling what was definitely a signature. "...and you will give them these." Quick folding the papers into thirds, he held them across the table toward her.
Reflexively starting to reach for them, she asked, "So, I'm in?"
"Assuming the medical staff have no serious objections, yes." Oh, well. Beth kind of hated seeing doctors (or healers), but she guessed she could deal with one little exam. She tried to take the papers, but Langley didn't let go, steadily staring across the desk at her. "Don't make me regret this, Potter."
"...I'll try not to, sir." That was the best she could promise, really. The world was kind of fucked at the moment, and shite happens.
Beth was waved out with little fanfare, just as Langley's assistant was returning, another person waiting in the hall called in after her. Anyway, right, all the tents and shite she'd seen on the way here, she'd come in...this way, okay. Navigating through the rather crowded halls — it was busy here, the relocated government and the Army still in the process of pulling themselves together — Beth was tempted to take a look at the papers she was carrying, but managed to stop herself. She had no idea whether she was supposed to look at them or not, and Langley would probably like a good excuse to decide the little girl wasn't worth it, and that would be a stupid reason to get stuck here. Besides, it was probably super technical government paperwork shite, and she wouldn't get anything out of it anyway.
The medical exam ended up being way more involved than she'd expected, and kind of tedious. The clinic they had operating down here was apparently mostly for clearing volunteers to join up, so it was pretty low-tech, just tents set up, split up into individual exam rooms with flimsy cloth dividers, folding chairs and tables around. The...nurse, probably, that she handed her papers to gave them and Beth a very sceptical look, before having a quick muttered conversation with another of the workers and squirrelling Beth away in a corner.
At one point, people getting their shite together, she overheard something about "Sir William" ordering they do the full thing — maybe they were going a little easy on the requirements for most people, but Langley wanted to make very very certain she was healthy before letting her in? Silly, especially since she would bet she was in better shape than literally everyone else in the building (er, tent), but fine, whatever.
Some of it was pretty basic stuff, like what she'd get going to the paediatrician as a kid — Petunia probably wouldn't have bothered, but bringing her along for Dudley's appointments and never setting anything up for her would have been suspicious. (Beth still hadn't seen doctors growing up nearly as often as Dudley, but it wasn't like she'd needed it, so. Though, if she had gone more often, they might have caught the abuse early...) You know, height and weight, blah blah, basic medical history stuff, blah. The nurse was slightly concerned that she seemed to have very little fat on her — she wasn't, like, dangerously underweight or anything, but that was mostly muscle and stuff, which apparently also wasn't super healthy? — but Beth did work out a lot (if only incidentally doing other things, like quidditch and duelling practice, she wasn't making herself super skinny on purpose), and her appetite came and went sometimes, so that was probably it? It didn't seem like the nurse thought it was a big deal, at least. Or, not once Beth assured her she wasn't doing it on purpose, anyway, she was just like this...
The medical history was more of a problem, at least in parts, because she didn't know shite about what conditions her parents or grandparents might have had. She personally didn't have any of them (or at least not the ones that she knew what they were), so it was probably fine. Her own history, well, she didn't get ill kind of ever? Mages, you know, they were more resistant to those things, they normally only caught the really bad ones. (Mages got infections super rarely, but when they did it was almost always a serious medical emergency.) She'd gotten injured a lot, but those had all gotten magical healing, so she was pretty sure there'd be zero sign even on an x-ray or whatever, most hadn't even left a scar. The big blotch on her arm was from a basilisk — wicked, right? — the phoenix tears had taken care of everything internal, but it hadn't gotten the chemical burns from the venom on the upper layers of her skin, and basilisk venom resisted healing magic, so. Oh, and all the bones in this arm had been vanished, shoulder to fingertips, but they'd regrown overnight, and she didn't think she'd broken anything in that arm since? So they should all be fine.
The nurse seemed slightly horrified by the injuries Beth had gotten over the years — welcome to her life, wasn't being the Girl Who Lived grand.
Apparently, it was slightly disturbing that Beth had never gotten a vaccination once in her life, so she was going to be getting a whole bunch of those. (Petunia hadn't been one of those paranoid weird people who distrusted vaccines, she'd gotten Dudley all of them, just not Beth — she suspected Petunia had been half-hoping she'd catch something and get dead, or at least be extra miserable for a little while.) Not all of them right now — since she'd never had one before, they were going to look out for allergic reactions or whatever — they'd spread them out over like the next week. And then she'd probably need to get more after that, depending on where she was being sent — there were, like, tropical diseases and such, which you didn't develop a resistance to growing up on a cold, wet, miserable island in the North bloody Sea, and some of them could be pretty fucking miserable, so they gave everyone a few jabs as a precaution. Not that Beth thought it was likely she'd get measles or whatever the fuck either, but mages could still spread shite even if they didn't get ill from it themselves, so fine, whatever, guessed she was doing that.
They also wanted to do a bunch of blood tests, because sure, why not. They did that right at the beginning, actually, so they could run her blood off and hopefully get results back by the time they were done with the rest of the exam. Beth was asked if she was silly about needles, which she'd never been stuck with a needle once in her life, but she was hardly squeamish, so probably not? (Which led into a question about vaccinations, but a different nurse took her history later, so she actually ended up having that conversation twice.) They kind of needed a lot, like, multiple big vials, because apparently they were testing for everything all at once? Langley had asked them to be thorough, she guessed, whatever. Watching someone stab her was kind of weird, but it wasn't like it hurt at all — she did take enough blood that Beth started feeling kind of dizzy and tingly and nauseous (blood loss, she recognised the feeling), but after a few minutes and a couple biscuits (shortbread, very plain, but homemade and perfectly edible) she was feeling better again, so.
After drawing her blood and the height and weight stuff and talking about her medical history, an actual doctor came in. They were also supposed to check for, you know, skeletal and joint problems and stuff, and some of that they would normally do with x-rays. (But most of it with, like, stretches, and just watching the person walk, or whatever.) The machines at the hospitals were terribly backed up, still dealing with all the injured from the evacuation of London — so they would be doing it by hand instead. Which involved Beth stripping down to her underwear and being prodded at by a stranger, which was extremely awkward. It didn't help that she wasn't wearing a bra today (she usually didn't, didn't have enough up there that she needed to), but the doctor said she could keep the vest she had on under her jumper. How uncomfortable she was being about it led into a talk about the Dursleys somehow, which was super fucking awkward, but thankfully it didn't last very long — once the doctor had confirmed that she wasn't living with them anymore, and had been getting the support she felt she needed since to help her get over stuff, she just moved on.
It wasn't that bad, really. Most of it was just, like, stretches and stuff, you know, showing she had proper range of motion without hurting herself or anything, and proving her hips and knees and shite were working right by just walking normal. It was a little awkward that the doctor had to watch her at it in her underwear to confirm that, but whatever, Beth just tried not to think about it. The prodding was uncomfortable, but thankfully there wasn't too much of that. The doctor thoroughly checked her wrists and her ankles, like, pressing against the bones in there to make sure they were in the right places or whatever, those weren't so bad — but doing the same with her shoulders was more awkward, Beth just stared at the cloth divider and tried to ignore it. There was also prodding into her stomach, hard enough that it kind of hurt honestly, but that was actually checking for, like, liver inflammation and stuff, not bone-related. The doctor also wanted to check something to do with her spine, which involved Beth lying face-down on the table (trying not to think about the fact that her bum was covered with only a single thin layer of cotton) while the doctor's fingers pressed firm along her spine, and... That one felt kind of good, actually, but Beth was trying not to notice that, because that was also seriously fucking awkward.
The doctor being a woman probably didn't help, because Beth could be frustratingly gay sometimes. Not that she would have been less uncomfortable with a man doing all this, just saying.
She was doing a final few things with the doctor, like listening to her lungs and her heart and talking about random stuff — the doctor actually guessed that she had pretty rough periods sometimes, apparently that could happen to especially athletic girls, and double especially the first few years after starting, which was just unfair — when the blood test results came in. Which seemed fast to Beth, but she had needed to wait a bit between seeing the first and second nurse, and then again before the doctor turned up, so maybe it'd been a while, what did she know. The results turned out mostly normal...except it turned out she had a vitamin D deficiency, which was news to her. She got plenty of sun, or at least as much as anyone on this grey fucking island got — quidditch practice did tend to involve going outside a lot — but apparently some people were just worse at producing the stuff, for no identifiable reason. (Well, not really, it was heritable so it was presumably a fuck-up in her genes somewhere, but it was still stupid.) You still got vitamin D from food and stuff, but that wasn't always enough — especially since, with the inevitable famine looming on the horizon, vitamin D -rich foods were probably going to start being scarce pretty soon, it might be better to get in the habit of taking a supplement.
Beth was sure there was a potion she could make that would take care of it, she'd ask someone later. So, thanks for telling her, she guessed? Apparently one of the symptoms of low vitamin D can be a vague feeling of weakness and tiredness and something that kind of seemed like mild depression, which, that explained a lot...
So, yeah, that didn't turn out too bad, all told. The doctor lady signed off on her being healthy enough — she seemed super unhappy about it, since Beth was only barely fifteen, but..
Beth was given a card — pretty plain, her name and a string of numbers and letters scrawled on it — and was told to go wait by the trees over there. Okay, then. There were a handful of people already there, presumably more recruits for the mixed muggle–magical thing. Some of them were obviously already Army people, wearing the same khaki uniforms as a bunch of people walking around Oxford these days — these blokes were all packed and ready to go, with stuffed backpacks and duffles and shite, and they were even armed, pistols on hips and rifles strapped onto bags. One of them had a case that she assumed was a sniper rifle or a fucking grenade launcher or something, Jesus, she didn't know. Beth had hardly even seen a firearm in person before like a week ago, and it was still slightly weird, but as long as nobody was pointing the things at her she could mostly ignore it.
There were five Army blokes — Beth didn't know how to read the rank stuff on their shoulders and lapels, but they didn't all match, so she guessed they were a mix — one woman probably in her thirties, and two men who were definitely mages, in the trousers and tunics and cloaks she saw all the time off the main street in Charing, or in Hogsmeade. (She thought robes were a more, like, upper-class or super formal thing, somewhat more modern-looking clothes were more common with average mages.) She noticed the muggles and the mages kept shooting each other glances, the muggles probably not quite used to magic existing yet. As she got closer, she noticed that the muggle woman and the pair of mages also had bags with them, which... Beth hadn't realised she'd be going straight to...wherever they were putting the new people up, she probably should have brought things too.
Oh well, if she needed to she could always apparate to Rock-on-Clyde, grab some things, and come back in like five minutes. Not a big deal.
The adults, naturally, assumed she was lost, one of the Army blokes asking if she was trying to find someone — probably trying to be all helpful and friendly (proper Hufflepuff-like), but a big damn bastard walking up to her with a visible gun on his hip was still slightly unnerving. (She was wearing a wrist holster, so she could definitely get a hex off before he could even draw that thing, but still.) Also as expected, they were very sceptical about her coming with them. The mages were less sceptical once they realised who she was, immediately started babbling to the muggles about Girl Who Lived stuff, which was very embarrassing. Desperate to change the subject, Beth might have mentioned, that first day in London, single-handedly bringing down a pair of alien fighter ship things that'd been firing on the government convoy, and thereby personally saving the lives of Princess Mary, Prince William, and the Prime Minister — maybe exaggerating a little bit (not by that much, honestly), but it was much better than the mages filling the muggles' heads with nonsense about that Hallowe'en.
The looks she was getting after that were also rather uncomfortable, but over something she'd actually done, which she could live with. She guessed.
They only had to wait for what was probably ten minutes at most — which was long enough for another mage to show up (this one a woman, but at least twice Beth's age), sparking off another round of the oh my god the Girl Who Lived talk, ugh. There was a soft pop of apparation from nearby, made by a black-haired woman wearing what looked very much like the same trousers and jacket as the officers walking around, with the rank thingies and the weird cross belt thing and everything...except hers was in all black, the leather bits in white (instead of the normal brownish colour). That was...weird. Beth thought all the Army stuff was supposed to be that, like, off-greenish khaki colour, you know? She didn't know what the hell this was.
It wasn't until after the woman started walking toward her that Beth noticed the odd, numb tingling in her scar. Beth hadn't recognised her at first — she'd never had a chance to see her up close at the Wizengamot meeting — but this must be Phoebe Ramsey, the woman who'd claimed the Gaunt seat. And also claimed to be Voldemort's actual daughter.
It seemed like that should be bigger news than it'd ended up being, but between someone claiming the Slytherin seat and selecting a new Lord Protector and making a formal alliance with the goblins for literally the first time ever — negotiated personally by a prince, their queen's grandson, and the goblin royalty hardly ever set foot on the surface — and the literal Morrigan randomly appearing in the middle of the floor despite apparation to the Wizengamot Hall supposedly being impossible — because she'd heard them talking about her, from Ireland — there'd kind of been a lot to talk about coming out of that meeting, so.
Now, Beth still wasn't quite sure what to think about all that. She guessed it was plausible Voldemort could have had a kid at some point — the thought of that snakey bastard doing something so normal as having sex was, just, weird, but presumably he hadn't always looked like that. If he did have a kid, she wouldn't have expected them to end up with the muggle mages (mages loyal to the UK, she meant), but, her very existence was odd enough Beth would be surprised by her turning up pretty much anywhere, she guessed. Honestly, magical Britain was fucked up enough that she'd normally consider siding with the muggle government instead to be a point in her favour, she definitely saw where the mages who'd defected to the UK were coming from.
Of course, Dumbledore didn't really believe it, because apparently the Dark Lord Voldemort had been born a girl, named Tamsyn Riddle. Beth was...kind of sceptical on that point, honestly. He didn't have any proof, or at least not anything he'd told Beth about, basically just said to take his word for it — and since the reasoning he'd suggested for the transformation was super misogynist, Beth kind of instinctively distrusted it. Saying shite like that made her sceptical of Dumbledore, honestly, even though she knew he meant to say that that was what Voldemort (/Tamsyn?) had been thinking, it still made her uncomfortable. It seemed more likely to her that Dumbledore had just gotten the wrong person somehow...but since he hadn't told her why he thought Riddle was Voldemort, she really had no way to say for sure one way or the other.
Not that the Tamsyn Riddle story being true necessarily meant Ramsey couldn't be telling the truth — assuming Voldemort had done the whole proper sex change ritual, you could father kids like normal after that (or he could have given birth to a kid before that, obviously). Dumbledore had talked like Voldemort supposedly having been this Riddle girl contradicted Ramsey's story, but it just didn't? Like, Beth had found that whole (frustratingly uninformative) conversation to be very confusing.
If Ramsey was Voldemort's daughter, she guessed it was...possible that her scar would get this weird tingly thing around her. Curse scars did bloody weird shite just in general. She'd expect the thing to hurt like hell if Ramsey actually was Voldemort, and had done something to himself to make him just look like a normal woman somehow (for some inexplicable reason), but it'd gone super quiet all of a sudden like a week ago, still didn't know what was up with that. Point was, she didn't know what happened to it, so she had no idea whether it would hurt like usual if Voldemort was standing right in front of her nose. This weird numb tingling wasn't really anything she'd noticed from it before, and, she didn't know...
Ramsey was super suspicious, definitely, but at this point Beth had absolutely no idea what was going on with her. It was, just, subtly unnerving, couldn't they have sent someone else to pick them up?
"All right, everyone," she called as she approached, coming to a sharp halt a couple metres away from their group as the people sitting on the ground scrambled to their feet. "I'm Phoebe Ramsey, one of the mages among the inaugural officers of the newly-minted S.C.F. You can go ahead and call me a lieutenant for now — this is still a work in progress," she said, gesturing at her own chest, probably meant to indicate the rank thingies (Beth didn't know what the proper term was). "Are any of you here not applicants to the S.C.F.? nobody? Good.
"We're in the process of setting up a base of operations for the new division, where we'll catch the mages up on modern military organisation and familiarise the rest of you with living and working around magic. We will pack in whatever training we have time for, but it will be very quick and dirty — we hope to start shipping out teams in a week, maybe two, but no longer than that. The longer we let the invaders dig in unopposed, the more difficult it will become to get rid of them. We simply can't afford the time to do a thorough job of it.
"So there's no point in delaying here any longer. Who of you have apparated before?"
Beth raised her hand, and was a little surprised to see only one of the other mages was doing the same. While she blinked in confusion, one of the muggle blokes asked, "I'm sorry, Lieutenant, but what does that mean?"
"Apparation? Magical personal transportation — instantaneous, but can only be done to and from locations the user is familiar with. If you've seen mages disappearing from one place and appearing at another, that's what it's called."
"Ma'am? I think I was brought along through it a couple times, during the fighting in London. Does that count?"
"Did you vomit?"
"No, ma'am."
"Then we'll count it." That bloke raised his hand, and also the woman, since being side-alonged apparently counted. "Very well. I'll have to carry you there one at a time, for safety reasons — we'll start with those who've never been apparated, and move on to those who've been side-alonged before, and finishing with those who can apparate independently. Being side-alonged can be quite disorienting the first few times, so transporting you in this sequence ensures you'll be recovered by the time I've gotten you all there. Go ahead and get yourselves in order and we'll get started. Which of you lads wants to go first?"
While the Army blokes glanced at each other — being teleported around with magic was kind of an intimidating prospect before you got used to it — Beth raised her hand. "Er, Ma'am? Can I pop back home and grab some things quick? I didn't realise I'd be leaving right away, sorry..."
One of Ramsey's eyebrows arched up, she cast a time charm with a snap of her fingers. "Go if you must, Potter, but if you're not back in ten minutes we're starting without you."
"I only need five." Beth turned on her heel, apparating straight into her bedroom at Rock-on-Clyde. "Tisme, can you grab my shower things, please?" She ran over her to her trunk, kicked open the lid, snatched out her book bag, and just held it upside down over her bed, shaking it until everything had fallen out. She didn't think she'd really need much — presumably they'd be given uniforms and stuff — so she went ahead and stuffed handfuls of underwear and vests into the bag, a couple trousers and some shirts just in case. Oh, some socks, obviously, and the jumper she had on now would be fine if it got colder, could just keep rain off with a charm, and ooh, her invisibility cloak — she had no idea if it even worked against the aliens or not, mind-affecting spells didn't seem to, but she might as well try it out...
Tisme showed up with a mesh bag, all of her bathroom stuff crammed inside, she tucked that away too. And her emergency bag too, of course — a portkey, some protective amulets, and also healing potions and stuff, the leftovers of the stuff she'd been given by the government mages in London but refilled and added to since. She wavered a moment before deciding she would bring her Firebolt, carefully shrunk it and tucked it into her bag. She grabbed a notebook from her desk, the pages filled with scripts for enchantments — she wasn't quite as good at remembering enchantments as she was with charms, Sirius had given her a bunch of useful stuff and she'd written them all down so she didn't forget — and, ah, this one, a framed picture of Hermione, Ron, and herself, crammed into an armchair in the common room at the end of third year. (She was tempted to bring a picture of her parents passed out snuggled up on a sofa — taken by Sirius, at the Godric's Hollow house when she'd been maybe four months old — but it wasn't replaceable if it got lost.) And...that was it, she thought, she didn't think she'd want anything else. Oh shite, the potions she took for period cramps, almost forgot — that was it, okay.
Beth apparated straight back to where she'd left, the weight of the bag almost making her overbalance. While she'd been away, the group had been reduced to three — two, Ramsey popped away with one just a couple seconds after she arrived. Slightly out of breath — she might have rushed a little too much — Beth squatted down over her bag to sort through it, trying to put the contents in a somewhat better order than, just, randomly being thrown in there. Which was sort of hard to do without just emptying the thing and starting over, but she did what she could.
Ramsey came back, approached one of the remaining people, told him to hang on, and then disappeared again, leaving only Beth and the single other mage who'd apparated before behind. She was a little confused that, among the mages in their little group, only one of them could actually apparate — maybe that wasn't as common as she'd thought? There was the floo, and the Knight Bus and stuff, she guessed she hadn't really thought about it. A short moment later, Ramsey reappeared, Beth still elbow-deep in her bag, so she took the other mage first. Beth quick crammed everything down, buckled the bag closed, was standing up with it slung over her shoulder by the time Ramsey came back.
Beth didn't like being side-alonged, particularly, especially by strangers — especially since it required physical contact, and she tended to be a bit weird about touching. But if they didn't have portkeys or whatever available, there was really no better way to get where they were going, so, as Ramsey stepped up to her Beth reluctantly held out her hand, trying not to tense up. Resisting the spell, even unintentionally — and being side-alonged was having a spell cast on you — could drastically increase the chances of being splinched, did her best to relax. She'd only be holding her hand for a couple seconds, surely she knew what she was doing, and she could always apparate straight back out or go for her emergency portkey if something went wrong, it was fine...
Ramsey took her hand, skin warm and smooth...but her magic, the skin contact allowing it to flood over Beth without the natural resistance of the air around them, was cool and harsh, like a stiff autumn wind, Beth immediately chilled, tingles sprouting over her skin. Unthinkingly, she wrenched her hand away, took a couple staggering steps back, her breath freezing in her chest. Staring wide-eyed at Ramsey, her heart abruptly banging in her throat and her fingertips, she—
"I realise you're new, Potter," the unfamiliar voice drawled, low and unamused, "but generally one does not draw one's weapon on a superior officer."
...Beth hadn't even realised her wand had fallen into her hand. It was, just, instinct.
Ramsey might look different, speaking with a normal, rich, human voice — the accent was even wrong. But her magic was familiar. Beth knew who this really was, she knew.
"What is this, what— What do you want?"
One dark eyebrow arched up, head tilting to give Beth an impatient, unimpressed sort of look. "We don't have time for this, Potter. Are you coming or not?"
Her wand hand was shaking a little, she probably should have cast something already, but she was, just— "I'm not going anywhere with you. The last time you brought me somewhere it didn't end well for me, Voldemort."
Unbelievably, the unfamiliar woman whose magic just so happen to feel exactly like the Dark Lord's, just, rolled her eyes at her — rolled her eyes, like Beth was being a silly hysterical child, or— "Oh, honestly." She took a quick step forward, Beth's wand twitched, but before she could even try to do anything a wave of magic crashed over her, her head spinning. The tension abruptly draining away, her tangled up head smooth and cool and blank, the confusion and fear and anger, just, gone — a pacification charm, Beth knew, a powerful one — the sudden calm had her going partway limp, she might have collapsed to the ground if Ramsey didn't catch her, firm hands closing on Beth's arms. "Do keep the dramatics to a minimum, if you please. You might have noticed, but we've found ourselves in something of a worldwide existential crisis at the moment."
Beth could hear the words, but the meaning didn't quite click, meaningless sounds ringing in her ears — this was one hell of a pacification charm, Jesus. "That, um, I... What...?"
Ramsey let out a sigh. There was a flicker of magic, one of her hands letting go — Beth had recovered enough by now that she didn't immediately fall over. Ramsey turned her other hand, and...slipped Beth's wand back into its holster.
...Oh, she must have dropped her wand. Numb from the pacification charm, she hadn't even noticed. That was...bad. Dropping your wand with a Dark Lord standing right in front of you was generally bad. At least she'd given it back, Beth guessed...
She was so confused right now, her head spinning, she didn't know what...
"I understand if you may cling to a wish for vengeance — the sins of the father, and all that — but I would delay the pursuit of such personal vendettas until the common treat we all face has been neutralised. Once the invaders are all dead, if you then wish to exact retribution for what was done to your parents, you're certainly welcome to try."
...She, she— Ramsey was sticking to her story, that she was actually Voldemort's daughter — that's what she meant by that, sins of the father. But, she wasn't, though. Beth wasn't sure why she was so certain, and still all light-headed from the pacification charm it felt rather distant and surreal, but she knew, she— "I'll tell. I'll tell everyone, who you really are." That was probably not a great thing to say right to Voldemort's face, but she maybe wasn't thinking straight at the moment.
Amazingly, Ramsey rolled her eyes at her, again — Beth was so taken aback she just blankly gaped back at her, hardly even noticed the pacification continuing to dribble away. "Naturally. I could hardly expect anything else. Besides..." Her hand tightening around Beth's arm just a little, her posture squaring, preparing to apparate, Ramsey leaned closer, looming over Beth, she had to tip her head back. Her voice low, a cool smooth whisper, "No one will believe you."
Ramsey grinned at her, bright and cheerful, pale eyes dancing.
And then Beth was yanked into crushing blackness, apparated away in a maelstrom of nonsense colour, pulled inexorably along by the hand on her arm.