For most people, wandering around the particularly frozen, extra-mountainous parts of the European countryside wasn't exactly the most inviting pass-time. Particularly during World War Two. But Evangeline Potter had never been 'most people'.

This particular little adventure had started with an accident, as a great many of her other adventures had before.

After the war with Voldemort, Evangeline had buried herself in studies. There was nothing like study to get Hermione off her back about getting out and being social. After all, if Hermione had to be physically dragged from her books by her fiance just to eat, then it would be hypocritical of her to suggest Evangeline be removed from them to socialise with people she barely knew – and certainly didn't care to.

At her twentieth birthday party – which was as small an affair as it could be when the Weasley clan was invited – she announced her intention to become a healer and a doctor. Kingsley had been bugging her via owl to please join the Auror corps since the war ended. Evangeline had no such intention. She'd had enough of that life.

She'd never forget it. She'd never stop being totally, utterly, and completely paranoid (because there were still factions out for her head on a pike, and she wasn't stupid). But she didn't want to go on like that.

Becoming a non-magical doctor took years. Becoming a healer was just as time-consuming. A lot of the studies involved overlapped though – just for example, anatomy was anatomy, magical or muggle – so she quietly acquired a time-turner, and did both sets of studies at the same time. The repetition drilled it all into her head and made sure it all stayed very permanently lodged there, if nothing else.

She eventually graduated in the top ten of her class, for both sets of study. Not the ultimate top of the class, but top ten, and she was happy enough with that.

The accident happened about a week after that.

Now, it's important to understand that travelling backwards through time with a magical artefact like a time-turner is not at all something that is advisable when done at the exact same time as you are travelling across space. Be that by portkey, apparition, or simply walking along. Always be as still as possible when turning the time-turner. The side-effects vary for how much movement across space to how much movement back in time. A few steps while going back an hour might put you in, for example, entirely the wrong room in Hogwarts, but the time you were aiming at. Apparating across the country while going back an hour will probably land you in the wrong country a day or two ago. A portkey, on the other hand, adds extra spin. The spinning of the time-turner and the portkey will amplify each other if they're both active at the same time.

That was how Evangeline ended up on entirely the wrong continent, roughly half a century in the past. And just possibly in a different dimension.

She'd used her invisibility cloak to sneak about the strange, militaristic base where she'd ended up, trying to figure out where and when she was. Because she was definitely not in Ireland, and judging from the particular fashions of the uniforms being worn all around her, she wasn't in the early two-thousands either.

Now, her German was very nearly non-existent, but she knew it when she heard it, and she hadn't heard the word 'Grindlewald' anywhere. Based on a calendar she'd found, it was definitely WWII, so she really should have. The Statute of Secrecy had been created in the wake of this war, immediately followed by mass obliviations and a whole lot of death. She was hearing the word 'Hydra' a lot though for some reason, but she'd never heard the word related to Nazi Germany before. In fact, apart from a basic study of Greek monsters (yes, just like the Cerberus she'd met in her first year at Hogwarts, Hydras were real too), she'd never come across the word at all.

Then everything was blowing up all around her.

Evangeline held tight to her time-turner to make sure that it wouldn't turn again, and quickly apparated out to what she guessed was the nearest place she could clearly visualise. She did not want to splinch herself in these conditions.

Okay, so the mountains in his homeland that Viktor had insisted on showing her the Christmas after the war ended were a bit further away than she'd thought. At least, judging by how winded the apparition had left her. Though it was possible that the high altitude and driving wind were contributing to that feeling as well.

Well, no pressure, she supposed. She did have pretty much everything in her trunk, which was shrunken down and dangling from her charm bracelet. Along with the finger-nail-sized red box was an itsy-bitsy black motorcycle, a tiny gold cage with nothing in it, a small silver stag, and a little blue-and-white medical symbol on a circle of silver the size of her finger-nail.

Each one had a purpose. The trunk most obvious, as it contained just about everything she owned, from books and underwear to number twelve Grimmauld Place. Okay, so she'd gutted, de-magicked, and sold the building, but everything out of it (that she hadn't sold or set fire to) was inside her trunk. The motorcycle was simply shrunk down. It was Sirius' old enchanted Harley Davidson. Arthur Weasley's beat-up old car that he'd enchanted didn't have a patch on Sirius' bike, if for no other reason than Sirius actually knew what-all he was doing, and was a much better wizard than Arthur could have ever hoped to be.

The little gold cage was also shrunken down and covered with enchantments. It was for putting people in, cruel as that might sound. Anything put into that cage would shrink with it, and it had a ward scribed on the bottom that prevented any and all magic use within it, so, no transforming into an animagus and making a get-away, and no cursing her from within the cage as it dangled from her wrist. No getting away at all, in fact. It could only be opened from the outside, and only after it had been enlarged. The lock vanished completely when it shrank. Evangeline had learned that it was a good idea to always have somewhere to put a prisoner, just in case. She'd delivered five wanna-be's to the DMLE for questioning thanks to having that little cage on hand.

The stag carried protective wards. They'd been micro-etched all over the little guy with a laser and a powerful magnifying glass, so that each rune-sequence looked like a stroke that gave the illusion of fur. With a tap of her wand, they'd activate either layer the area around her for twenty metres, or else latch onto the building (or tent) she was in when she did it (and potentially extended for the same distance out around the outer wall of the structure). It also had a permanently active anti-Dementor ward, which prevented the foul creatures from getting within ten feet of her. Yes, she could cast the Patronus Charm, and cast it well, but that was only good if she was awake to cast it, and she had to sleep some times. After the war, the Dementors hadn't been returned to Azkaban, but they hadn't all been destroyed either. For Evangeline, that particular ward was not paranoid, but practical.

The blue-and-white Rod of Asclepius was, of course, a representative of her being a member of the British Medical Association, ie, a Doctor. It was also micro-etched with runes. Specifically, runic versions of charms that induced calm and trust. Not a whole lot, because Evangeline knew that some people (like herself) would just panic more if a wave of calm washed over them when they were on the edge of a panic attack, and out of nowhere she suddenly trusted a complete stranger with her life. This was just a nudge. "I'm a medical professional, and I can help if you let me. Breathe." That was about as much influence as that charm had, but she'd found it was utterly sufficient and didn't make her conscience ping about mind-control. It was tweaked to specifically only effect people who needed medical aid too, so there was no way she was going to be able to use it to create her own army of followers.

Not that she would. Not her style.

No, her 'style' was accidentally getting lost in the annals of history a couple of dimensions over from her native one. Well, to avoid anything even remotely like this happening again (at least, any time soon), Evangeline popped her trunk off her charm bracelet, enlarged it, opened it, and put the time-turner into its secure little cubby-hole. She'd only had it out at all because jet-lag was still a thing, even when travelling by portkey, and a little time-travel would have helped her body-clock adjust without issue.

That would teach her to be pre-emptively ready for that. She'd always been sensible enough to leave the time-turner in her trunk until she got to where she was going before.

While she had the trunk out, she pulled on a few extra layers for warmth and changed her city shoes for hiking boots. Sure she could just pull out the broomstick and fly, but that would probably attract attention of all the wrong kinds, and besides, it wasn't like she had anywhere she needed to be right now. Not any more, anyway.


When she wasn't running from Snatchers or hunting down horcruxes, Evangeline quite liked camping. Even in the frozen tundra of wherever she was – and yes, she was pretty sure she was lost by now. Every day, she packed up camp and started walking, so she'd long left behind the spot she had apparated to, and a half-century (and a dimension) made the place not look very much like it had when Viktor had showed it to her. Then again, that had been a flying visit, literally. They had been on broomsticks the whole time. The closest they'd come to touching down was when one or other of them dived to scoop up a handful of snow, which was promptly thrown at the other before rising off into the sky again at breakneck speeds.

So, yes, lost, but she was enjoying herself despite that.

It was a nice day, for war-torn Europe, peaceful, at least in her little slice. Evangeline had made it all the way down to the bottom of the valley a couple of days before (at last) and had been walking along beside the river.

Peace didn't last long, but in all honesty, Evangeline was surprised that she'd not heard the noise of guns and warfare sooner. There was an explosion high above her somewhere, and when she heard the echoing scream of someone falling, expecting to die and refusing to go out silently, she was instantly alert, scanning all around, seeking out the owner of that terrified scream.

There was a cracking splash, like thin ice breaking, and she started frantically searching the river she was walking along beside. She didn't know if it was a Nazi or one of the Allied Forces. At that moment, it truly didn't matter. Her 'saving people thing' kicked in, honed, hardened, and polished into diamond brilliance by first the war, and then her medical studies.


Her wand flicked into her hand and she quickly levitated him out of the water. As a child, she might have thoughtlessly dived in after him. An adult now, she knew that would be pointlessly counter-productive when she had magic to do the rescuing for her. If she'd not had magic though, she would have stripped off her outer layers and dived in, however cold the water might be.

She didn't recognise the uniform the man was wearing, but she didn't let that bother her. What she did let bother her was that, somewhere along the line, possibly during his fall, his left arm had been torn almost completely off. Magic could do much, but it couldn't re-grow a whole limb. Moody wouldn't have gone so long limping around on a peg-leg if it could.

Yes, there was skele-grow, vile potion that it was, but it re-grew bones inside the body that had been vanished for one reason or another. Similarly, the potions that restored lost tissue – muscles and the like – needed the bones to be there to grow onto. Skin repair salves most of all couldn't be applied onto nothing.

Non-magical prosthetics were... better than a wooden peg. Not that most of the magical community was aware of that, with the way they by-and-large viewed non-magicals as something between a Neanderthal and a child, as far as intelligence went. Better than that, she could probably (almost certainly) add enchantments to such a prosthetic so that the fake limb acted just like a real one. It would take a lot of work though. Creating and enchanting objects wasn't exactly her speciality. She had the books for it, and she knew that plastic was out as a material, since plastic generally tended to either melt or explode when enchanted (something about the synthetic material it just wasn't robust enough), but...

Evangeline shook her head, banishing the speculative thoughts for the present. None of that would matter if he died of hypothermia or blood-loss before then.

She cast drying charms and warming charms and a charm that would make him cough up any water he'd inhaled or swallowed. She conjured a bandage that would do for now, and once she'd wrapped the bleeding stump that was all that remained of his left arm, she bundled him up. She had to conjure a big, thick, fluffy wool blanket, hot water bottles, and heat packs to bundle him up in but he was sufficiently bundled, for now. His lips were blue and he wasn't shivering, which was not a good sign.

She kept half an eye on him while she quickly set up her tent with a few more flicks of her wand, stepped inside it, and activated all the wards lying dormant on her charm bracelet. Once the tent and wards were up, she stepped back out to the man, who she floated in and set down on her bed. It was a lavish tent, but it was only meant for her own private use, which meant there was only one bed in it. Not that it would take a lot to conjure another bed, but conjured furniture never lasted the week, and while she didn't think it would take quite that long for him to heal, she still didn't want to risk it disappearing out from under either of them, with him in this condition and her the only one in a position to take care of him.

She got the fire going in the fireplace, then returned to her patient.

Even if she'd cast warming charms and drying charms, she needed to strip him. Needed to make sure that there weren't other injuries besides the obvious missing arm.

She started with the boots, and worked her way up. Each garment carefully set aside to be washed, pressed, and folded later. The only thing she left him wearing were his under-shorts, and only didn't strip those off as well because she could tell there was no blood on them. He did have other injuries. Mostly just scrapes and bruises, but the few other injuries were serious ones. A broken leg, a bullet in his side, and a concussion.

She'd have to use Legillimency to make sure his brain, his mind, was still intact. Legillimency wasn't gentle though. He'd probably thrash about a little while she was in his head, poking at his mind to make sure everything still worked. That would aggravate his injuries.

She treated the bullet wound first. The bullet was lodged in his side, the wound bleeding sluggishly, but it hadn't hit anything vital, which was good. She just has to pull the bullet out, cover the hole with bandages so he didn't bleed out, and force a potion down his throat that would (over the course of about five hours, unfortunately) fix the damage.

But five hours was better than five months, which is how long it would be before any non-magical doctor would be content to declare him fit from such a wound.

The potion to fix the bullet hole meant that she couldn't use a potion to fix the leg though. Not until it had run its course anyway. It was frustrating, but so many medical potions didn't play nicely with one another. She had to set the leg non-magically, and bind it up so that it could begin healing on its own, naturally. When the bullet wound was completely healed, then she would give him another potion, which would fix up his leg completely over the course of twelve hours. It would be like it had never broken. The muscles around the break wouldn't even be bruised.

She cleaned the cuts and scrapes, applied salves and covered them with bandages so that the stuff wouldn't be rubbed off. Then she went back to his missing arm.

She'd only done a quick bandage of it before, to make sure that he definitely wouldn't bleed out from it. Now she pulled those bandages away again, and got a proper look at the wound. It was nasty. The limb had truly been torn off. The remaining flesh was peppered with dirt, bits of rock, torn bits from his uniform, and half-melted chunks of ice.

He was unconscious for now, had been through her setting his broken leg, but now he was starting to shiver at last, which meant he was coming out of his hypothermia, which meant he would wake up soon. Cleaning the wound would likely be painful to him, and she didn't want to give him anything to make him sleep. He needed to wake up.

Biting her lip, knowing it was a bad idea, but also aware it was more-or-less her only option, she conjured straps to hold him down to her bed. Then she got to cleaning the wound, thoroughly, carefully, disinfecting and applying skin-growth-salve as she went.

He started thrashing five minutes in.

"Shh," she soothed. "Shh. I'm just treating your injuries. You're safe."

"Barnes, Sergeant, three-two-five-five-seven-two-nine-five," he recited, his tone delirious, mechanical, and defeated.

"Potter, civilian, doctor," she answered as she reached up to gently smooth his dark hair back from his forehead. "You're safe now, Sergeant Barnes. You're not in enemy hands. You're only strapped down so that you don't jostle your wounds. I can't give you any anaesthetic, but this needs to be cleaned. I'm sorry if it hurts."

"British accent," Sergeant Barnes said softly. "Knew the British let women become Agents, didn't know they let women become doctors. Nice surprise. You wouldn't happen to know Agent Carter, would you? You're not faking it, right? You're not actually a German spy who's faking it real well?" he asked hopefully.

"Not every English woman knows every other English woman, however much it may seem like women are a secret network unto themselves sometimes. As for being a Nazi, or any other affiliate they may have at this point, no, I'm not," Evangeline answered with a smile. "I'm not anything except a bit geographically displaced, and in a position to help you through pure chance. Here," she conjured a smooth wooden stick out of his sight, then offered it to him by holding it out over his mouth. "You can bite down on this while I finish cleaning your wound. I've already set your leg and dealt with the bullet in your side. This is the last thing."

His lips parted, and closed around the stick when she set it between his teeth.

She finished cleaning up his stump to the sound of his pained grunts, applied salve to his hisses, and re-wrapped the lot to silence before she reclaimed the stick from his mouth and banished it – again, out of his sight. No reason to frighten him with the supernatural when he's already going to have to deal with losing an arm.

"I'm sorry I can't do more right now," she whispered as she brushed her fingers across his brow again. A tender action that also let her check his temperature. It wouldn't do any good for him to go from hypothermic to feverish.

"How bad is it?" he asked quietly. "Be honest with me, Ma'am, please."

"I pulled a bullet out of your side, but that will be completely healed in about -" she checked her watch. "Three hours. You had hypothermia, but you're out of the woods there, and luckily no signs of frostbite at all. You were half-drowned, but you coughed up most of the water on your own, even unconscious, while I worked on getting you warm, dry and a bit cleaner. After you've had something to eat, I think I'll be able to give you something to help speed up the healing for your leg."

"So I'll walk again?" Barnes asked hopefully.

Evangeline chuckled softly.

"Sergeant Barnes, if you're of a mind to, you'll be able to go dancing again," she assured him with a smile. "As far as your leg is concerned, anyway," she added with a frown that she directed to the remains of his left shoulder.

"Don't hold back on me Ma'am," Barnes begged. "I can see you're holding something back."

"Your left arm is gone," she told him softly. "You've got two, maybe three inches left of your upper arm after the shoulder joint."

"... So I might as well be dead then," Barnes croaked out.

"No!" Evangeline objected instantly. "No, don't you dare say that!"
"I'm not going to be able to get any good amount of work with only one arm, Doll," Barnes said ruefully. "I will be shipped home as one of the injured, and I won't be able to get enough work from one day to the next to afford food, let alone a table to put it on."

"You also have a concussion, and seem to be talking jibberish," Evangeline noted. "I want you to try and relax for a moment, alright? I'm going to do something that will probably hurt, but I think it needs to be done."

Barnes sighed and did his best to relax under the restraints that still held him.

"You're the doctor, I guess."