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מִרְיָם רִבְקָה [userpic]

The Perfect Blue Sky (1/3), HP/DW Crossover

Series: Perfect Blue Skies, Part One.

Title: The Perfect Blue Sky (1/3)
Author angelofcaffeine
Charaters/Pairings: HP/DM slash; Doctor + Draco friendship.
Canon Placement: Harry Potter: pre-epilogue, Doctor Who: before The Waters of Mars.
Rating: PG-13 to light R.
Warnings: Night terrors, sexual references, mentions of war and prison.
Wordcount: ~25,000
Disclaimer/Notes: I do not own Doctor Who or Harry Potter, and ‘When You Were Young’ belongs to The Killers. Beta-read by the lovely moonlitelupines, written as a gift for magic_at_mungos
Summary: There are mountains and there are molehills, and the Doctor teaches Draco it’s really just a matter of perspective.


You sit there in your heartache,
waiting on some beautiful boy to
save you from your old ways.
You play forgiveness; watch it now, here he comes:
And he doesn’t look a thing like Jesus.



Psychics and scientists and Pansy Parkinson would later refer to it as a mere coincidence, but Draco Malfoy always did have a problem with coincidences (especially on the odd occasions when they involved time-travelling aliens).

He wouldn’t have been on that particular street at that particular moment in time if it wasn’t for a drunken man stumbling into the reception and throwing up all over the floor. Of course, when was it ever not about a drunk man in his reception throwing up all over his floor? It seemed, these days, that every story in his life began the same.

However, today it had been a very specific drunken man in his reception. Draco had seen the way that others looked at him every time he came in: like he was vermin, something that the cleaners had failed to sweep up the night before and should be rotting quietly in the corner where it belonged, not causing commotion and drawing attention. Draco knew better. Draco saw how scared he was, hanging onto his sanity, and for some reason Draco was the only person who went out of his way to find him a room every time he came in, put him on a Healer’s rota, and tell him he’d be taken care of (not that Draco would easily admit to caring).

So if it hadn’t been for that particular inebriated man in his reception when his shift was ending, Draco would have been on time and never would have crossed paths with the Doctor.

But he wasn’t. And he did. And because he did, everything changed.

He didn’t notice the blue box appear on the crowded street, more interested in checking his watch and– damn it all, he was ten minutes late, which meant that Pansy would be arriving any moment and if he was later than her then he would be killed (or possibly left to dine alone).

It was in these thoughts that Draco first heard a tentative, “Sir?” This was quickly followed by a more desperate, “Excuse me! Sir!”

The would-be Healer in Draco made him turn around and check for an emergency. The Malfoy in him saw that the messy-haired man in the suit was perfectly healthy, physically speaking, and therefore he had no responsibility to care. However, the man seemed to have noticed he’d caught someone’s attention and began to approach Draco. “Merlin,” Draco muttered under his breath as the man’s attempts at recapturing his attention grew louder.

“You, sir! Excuse me!”

“Yes?” Draco snapped, finally stopping completely and turning around. The man almost bumped into him, then stepped back, eyes bright and wild. For a brief moment, Draco was honestly scared.

“Hello,” he grinned, eyes glinting. Draco swallowed. “Sorry to bother you, but... where exactly are we?”

“You don’t know where we are,” Draco deadpanned, glancing around at the shops and people that littered Diagon Alley.

The man scratched his head, further messing up his brown hair. “Well, see, the thing is,” he started, staring confusedly at a shop whose sign was glittering with fairies trapped in jars, “I’m a traveller of sorts. And I’m a bit... lost. And confused. Very confused. Could you tell me where we are?”

Draco raised an eyebrow, crossed his arms, and replied, “Diagon Alley.” He watched as the man’s eyes widened, then narrowed, looking up and down the street.

“Oh,” he said, eyes zooming in on the fairies yet again as if realising where they were. “That’s... Oh.” Draco glanced at the watch attached to his blue robes. Upon seeing that he was now fifteen minutes late, he turned and walked away from the madman in the street. “Wait! Excuse me!” the man called after him.

Draco stopped, clenched his fists and asked, “What?”

For once, the man actually seemed to recognise that Draco wasn’t exactly in the mood for a chat, and he smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, but could you just... tell me what year it is?”

The irritated expression faded from Draco’s features. “Step out of the sunlight a moment,” he ordered in a clipped tone. The man followed him, looking curious. “Look at me.” Draco lifted up his wand and whispered: “Lumos .” The man flinched backwards, eyes widening, but Draco clasped one hand around the back of his head – why did he have to be so bloody tall? – and shone the light into his eyes. “Head injury?” he asked, and the man tried to shake his head. Draco’s fingernails bit into the sensitive skin on the back of his neck and he winced. “Your pupils look okay. I think you might’ve been hit by a spell, though. I can do some simple charms to see what the problem is, but your best bet is St Mungo’s.”

“St Mungo’s!” the man replied, eyes brightening again. “Oh, that’s just brilliant. But no, I’m not hurt, I’m just... lost.”

“Lost in time?” he asked, distain staining his voice.

“Something like that. So what’s the year?” Draco ended the spell for light, and with his left hand dug his fingers into the man’s hair, searching for a lump or a knot.

“It’s 2003,” Draco informed him, sounding exasperated. “Who did you say you are?”

“I don’t believe I did,” the man smiled, face close enough that Draco could count the pale freckles. Satisfied that there wasn’t any sign of injury on the man’s head, he pulled away.

Draco glanced down at the small clock face once again, and sighed. “I have a lunch date,” he informed the man. “You are going to check yourself into St Mungo’s. Tell them Draco sent you.”

“Draco Malfoy?” the Doctor asked in a disbelieving voice, and Draco sighed. It was going to be one of those days. “Well, look at you, you’re all grown up! I’m the Doctor, nice to meet you.” He shook Draco’s hand enthusiastically, grinning.

“Pleasure,” Draco replied in a flat tone, snatching his hand back when the Doctor’s grip slacked. “I’m going to go now,” he said slowly, trying to make the strange man understand, and then turned and walked away. He wasn’t even surprised when he heard the Doctor’s footsteps falling beside his own.

“So, where are we going?” he asked, looking around curiously like some unruly child.

Draco felt that if he sighed much more he would begin to turn into his mother. That was a rather scary thought.

“I,” Draco replied, annoyance giving way to simple exasperation, “am going to have lunch with Pansy. You are stalking me.”

“Pansy Parkinson?” the Doctor asked and then laughed loudly. “Pansy Parkinson! Tell me, did you two ever get married?”

Draco gave him a confused glance. “No, we’ve never—what did you say your name was? Doctor what?”

“Just ‘the Doctor’,” he replied, in a light voice.

Draco frowned, wondering when he had stopped trying to walk away from and begun walking with the man.

“So what am I supposed to call you? Doctor what?”

“Just call me Doctor, Draco. Draco. Hah! I like saying that. Dray-co. You have a strange name. Did you know it’s the name of a constellation? Full of galaxies, beautiful, all of them. And the Cat’s Eye Nebula. When—”

“Doctor,” Draco interrupted him, shaking his head. “If you’ve been hit by a spell, you should really be at St Mungo’s.”

The Doctor shook his head. “Nah, I’m always like this. Well, not always. Most of the time though. I don’t need medical attention—Hey, do you even call it ‘medical attention’ here? I bet you call it something like, I don’t know, ‘magical attention’.” The Doctor paused only for a moment before adding, “Well, I guess ‘magical attention’ could be a lot of things. Could be romantic. Draco?”

“Yes, Doctor?” Draco replied, beginning to wonder after his sanity as he continued to walk alongside the madman.

“Are you even listening to me?” he asked, one hand grasping lightly at his arm. “Oh, I bet you’re the type that doesn’t listen.”

“Do I know you?” Draco asked, pulling his arm away. “Because you’re acting like you know me. Or are you just making assumptions from War books and the Prophet? I can assure you that neither tend to be exactly accurate.”

The Doctor suddenly looked rather serious, staring at him, and then he nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. Best not to judge someone based on someone else’s perspective.”

Draco looked straight back at him. “Yes. Precisely.” He spent a moment just watching the Doctor, and then blinked and shook his head. “I have to go, I’m already late.” He opened his mouth as if to say goodbye, then frowned deeply. The Doctor smiled brightly back at him, as Draco took a step backward, then turned around to walk away.

The man’s laughter followed him down the street, and Draco chose not to examine the reasoning behind his own smile.

*

The TARDIS was not working.

She was still alive, beaming brightly from every surface back at him, but she refused to move. It was like she was giving the Doctor the silent treatment, sitting on the street corner like a box of lights rather than a ship. It was extraordinary; he couldn’t recall a time that she had defied him as blatantly as this.

However much he tried, no matter what he tweaked or moved or asked, the TARDIS refused to do anything but sit and look pretty.

The Doctor scratched his head, looking around at the controls. She was ignoring him.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked her, one hand stroking over a panel. The machine hummed happily, and still refused to respond to any action the Doctor took.

After several long minutes of vague frustration, the Doctor stepped out of the TARDIS and walked back onto Diagon Alley. Could the magic in the atmosphere be interfering with the electromagnetic field of the TARDIS? Was there even magic in the atmosphere, or was it all confined to the bodies and minds of magical beings, then forced outward with controlled spells?

“This makes no sense,” he said quietly to himself as he wandered away from the TARDIS, a click of his fingers slamming the door shut behind him. If the answer wasn’t in the TARDIS then it must have been somewhere in the outside universe.

Theories ran through his mind at sonic speed as he walked down the street, glancing into shop windows and trying to contain his glee. It was a strange juxtaposition of emotions: on the one hand, he was worried that he could not find a way back to his own reality; on the other hand, well, it was the Harry Potter reality. The Harry Potter reality was actually a reality in its own right!

He could not restrain a short bark of laughter, leaning over to look into a shop with several broomsticks on sale. A whole new reality at his fingertips just waiting to be figured out.

A whole new reality that he had no right to be in.

The Doctor straightened, his hands buried into the pockets of his long brown coat (feeling oddly out-of-place amidst the robed strangers – really, now, was he a Muggle?). He should not be taking so much enjoyment in a universe that was not his own. He needed to return to the TARDIS and determine the issue (if it was a form of radiation from the “magic” interfering with the electromagnetic pulse of the TARDIS, perhaps he could reprogram the TARDIS to protect herself), and then he needed to get as far away from this reality as possible.

Taking one last long look at the broomsticks in the shop, the Doctor nodded and turned briskly to leave.

In his haste, the turn resulted in him colliding heavily with another body. “Oh, sorry—”

He didn’t have time to say any more before he was being lifted into the air and crashing back against the shop window. He dropped heavily to the floor, window still intact, wincing at a spark of pain running up his spine. “Oh my goodness,” the other person said quickly, rushing to crouch beside him.

“Okay, ow,” the Doctor said, then smiled up at the woman. “Next time could we just shake hands?”

“I am so sorry,” the woman said, looking pale and scared. “I just, I just lose control of my magical reflexes sometimes—since the war— Oh my goodness, I am so sorry, are you okay?”

The Doctor stretched his legs out in front of him and then shifted to stand. “Oh, I’ll be fine. Are you okay? I must have given you quite a scare, for a reaction like that.” The Doctor thought briefly about the light that had gleamed out of Draco Malfoy’s wand earlier. He definitely preferred that kind of magic.

The woman shook her head, still looking afraid. “I’m fine. I’m sorry. I don’t actually know what I hit you with, we should… go to St Mungo’s.”

“What is it with you people and St Mungo’s?” the Doctor asked, laughing as he checked his pockets for something to get him out of this (after all, he hadn’t avoided the hospital with Draco Malfoy (Draco Malfoy!) just to get thrown in there now; the kinds of questions that would arise weren’t going to help his predicament). After a brief pat down he found his psychic paper and smiled at the woman. “Actually, I work for St Mungo’s myself. Doctor—Mediwizard Smith, I’m sure I can look after myself.”

The woman stared at the psychic paper for several moments, eyebrows drawing together slowly. “Sir, that paper is blank.”

“What?” the Doctor asked, glancing at the paper. He shook it feebly. “No, no it’s not. See?”

At this point, the woman was looking very worried. “Well, Mediwizard Smith,” she said slowly, “I’m Katie, and I’m just going to take you to get checked out, okay? I insist.”

“What?” the Doctor asked, still staring at the paper.

Katie’s hand grasped his arm gently. “I’m going to Side-Along, okay?”

Before the Doctor had time to remember what ‘Side-Along’ meant, there was a horrible lurch and a tight burst of energy, and Katie was smiling at him from inside a large room.

The Doctor stumbled slightly, pulling away from her. He shook his head quickly, trying to rid himself of the hazy feeling of falling from a high drop. Apparition appeared to be one thing he could leave behind without regret when he finally got out of this reality.

Katie was not watching him anymore; instead she was glancing around the room. There was a circle of rickety old chairs, but they weren’t the only people standing; it appeared to be a particularly busy day. “Over here,” Katie called out, and a man in blue robes turned toward them.

The Doctor’s face split into a grin. “Draco Malfoy!” he greeted, as the other man eyed him wearily. “Fancy seeing you here!” Draco did not appear pleased to see him, but that did not stop the Doctor from beaming excitedly back at him.

“Doctor,” Draco greeted, nodding at him. He then glanced quickly at Katie, who was holding herself tall and staring back at him.

“I trust I can leave him in your care,” she said, voice much harsher than before.

Draco looked down at the clipboard in his hands, and did not look back up at her. “That is what I’m here for, Bell.”

“Well then,” Katie replied, then turned around and walked out of the reception.

The Doctor scratched the back of his neck. “That was... uncomfortable.”

Draco finally looked up, staring after Katie. “Yes, well,” he started, then hesitated, “I almost killed her once. Don’t think she’s quite forgiven me for that.”

Realising what Draco was talking about, the Doctor replied, “That wasn’t your fault.”

“And just how would you know that, exactly?” Draco’s gaze snapped toward the Doctor, glaring at him defiantly. After a moment, the angry look faded into a tired kind of frustration. “I’m going to need your name for my chart,” he sighed, “so that I can assign you a Healer in Spell Damage. Just to check that you’re a British citizen. Shouldn’t be more than a twenty-minute wait.”

The Doctor backed up slightly, glancing at the exit. “Right, a British citizen. About that...”

“It’s fine if you’re not, I can find you anyway. Might be a bit of a longer wait; we prioritise British citizenship when it’s not an emergency. Full name?”

The Doctor took another step backwards, but this time Draco followed him, a challenging glint in his eyes as he did so. “Right, see, that’s where it gets a bit complicated. I’m not really a citizen of... well, Earth.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “Look,” he said shortly, “I have a room full of patients to deal with, and I need to put you on the rota. At this point I don’t care where you’re a citizen of, just as long as you’re a sentient, magical being. Now please tell me your name so that I can deal with some other patients.”

“You look annoyed, Draco honey, what’s going on?” a female voice asked, stepping around Draco to glare at the Doctor. Her eyes landed on the Doctor, then widened. “Oh,” she said, the tone of her voice changing dramatically. “Hello, there. Draco, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

Draco sneered in obvious annoyance. “Doctor, Pansy Parkinson. Pans, the Doctor.”

“Pleased to meet you,” the Doctor said, grinning at her. Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson, all in one day!

Pansy’s painted red lips curved into a predatory smile. “Oh, the pleasure is all mine, Doctor,” she insisted, red nails digging into Draco’s arm where she held him.

“Stop it,” Draco ordered her simply. “Doctor, I’m going to need your name.”

Running out of options (psychic paper, no, screwdriver, not going to help), the Doctor sent Pansy a pleading look. She seemed to recognise the desperation there, and sent Draco a coy smile. “Oh, I think he’ll be just fine. What were you hit with, honey?” she asked.

“Just something that threw me into a window,” he said lightly. Draco glared at him.

Pansy huffed, “Oh, see, Draco darling? It’s nothing, just a little bump. How about I take him home with me and keep an eye on him?”

Draco took a step backwards, rolling his eyes. “Yes, fine, keep an eye on him. And Pansy, don’t work him too hard. I don’t like finding corpses in our flat.”

“I’ll take good care of him,” Pansy insisted, grinning lecherously.

The Doctor began to wonder if this was really the better choice.
Draco just shrugged at the Doctor before walking away toward another patient. The Doctor watched him disappear between the other bodies in the room, white-blond hair and tired eyes reappearing every few moments as people moved around and past him. A board to their right flashed in reds and yellows as the young man pointed his wand at his clipboard.

“He looks tired,” the Doctor pointed out, the flickering light of the board bright in his peripheral vision.

Pansy’s hand curled around the top of his arm. “Never mind him,” she insisted, and then they were Apparating.

The Doctor would never get used to that squeezing, dizzying sensation.

“Where are we?” he asked, looking down the hall as Pansy pressed her hand to a door. He was beginning to be very aware that he was getting further and further away from his TARDIS.

The door appeared to recognise Pansy’s hand, glowing white under her palm before opening for her. “This is where Draco and I live,” Pansy told him, stepping inside and smiling at him over her shoulder. “Make yourself at home.”

“Nice place you’ve got here, Pansy,” – Pansy Parkinson! – “but the thing is, I sort of have this... ship, and I need to fix her and get going.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a bright invitation, complete with moving—ringing!—golden wedding bells embossed upon the thick white parchment. “Hey, who’s getting married?”

He glanced up at Pansy, who was watching him with a confused frown on her face. “I told Draco you’d stay,” she said carefully. “And it’s Weasley and Granger’s wedding.”

The Doctor blinked. “You were invited to Ron and Hermione’s wedding?”

He had no idea what happened between the last chapter and the epilogue of Deathly Hallows, but this seemed a little... out of place. He wondered if Rowling had imagined it would happen this way, or if the reality chose its own path to the epilogue.

Pansy crossed her arms, moving toward him and leaning a hip on the table the wedding invitation was sitting on. “Well,” she said, “not exactly. I’m Draco’s ‘plus one’. Are we really going to talk about this instead of having sex?” She sounded a little disappointed, but mostly just blunt.

“Um,” the Doctor said, looking up at her and smiling sheepishly. “Yeah, sorry.”

Pansy shrugged. “No, it’s fine,” she answered, tucking a piece of strangely straight hair behind her ear. “I’ve got my eye on someone else, anyway.” The Doctor looked back toward the wedding invitation, and she seemed to take note of this. “Were you invited?”

“Me? Nah, I don’t know them,” the Doctor admitted, frowning at the little white card. “But—no offence, Pansy, but I don’t understand why they would invite you two.”

“Not me,” Pansy reminded him, walking away from the table and picking up a stray robe from the floor behind the sofa. “Granger just has this weird thing for Draco now. It’s sort of hard to explain. Poor darling, he’s terrified of her.”

The Doctor laughed. “And rightly so!” He moved around the room slowly, pausing at a moving, framed picture of Draco and Pansy from what he assumed was their Hogwarts days (due to the striped scarves and her tall pointed hat). Pansy was alternating between grinning at the camera and pushing Draco until he smiled back at her, face somewhat more pointed and sickly than his older self. In another frame across the room, Draco was wearing Muggle clothing and spinning Pansy while she laughed.

He smiled and walked toward the second frame for a better look, when his gaze fell upon a small stack of boxes next to what appeared to be a television. He tilted his head. “Pansy,” he called, hearing her footsteps stop some way behind him.

“Yes, darling?”

“Why do you two have DVDs?” he asked, not entirely sure whether he was feeling amusement or confusion.

Pansy shrugged, sitting down carefully on the sofa behind him. “Draco wasn’t allowed to use magic for a few months, after he got out of Azkaban,” she said by way of explanation, lying back on the sofa and dangling her legs off one arm.

The Doctor briefly thought of escaping through a bathroom window back to the TARDIS. He couldn’t stay here. He needed to fix the TARDIS (somehow) and return to his own reality.

He knelt on the floor next to the stack of DVDs and turned to face Pansy properly. Just a little longer. “He went to Azkaban?”

“Of course,” Pansy replied in a slightly scathing voice. “We were Death Eaters and we lost, what do you expect?”

“You went, too?” He had not imagined that their stories went this way, but in retrospect he saw the logic. They had, been Death Eaters, after all. Draco had been an accessory to murder, and had fought on the side of the Death Eaters until the end. “How long?”

Pansy turned her head to look back at him, straight hair falling just past her cheekbones. “I was there for a year,” she said in an unusually small voice. “Draco was there for four years.”

The Doctor stared back at her for several moments, his lips pursed tightly. “I’m sorry,” he said eventually, and she nodded in response.

“It’s fine. We’re here now, right?” Pansy smiled, and the serious atmosphere seemed to lift.

The Doctor began to look through the DVD case again. All Draco appeared to own were a dozen Disney DVDs and all three versions of Titanic. “Say, Pansy,” the Doctor asked, pulling a DVD case out of the pile. “Do you happen to have any popcorn?”

Some time later, with magic dancing through the kitchen and a bowl of half-heated popcorn spinning lazy circles on a counter, the Doctor decided that escaping out of the bathroom window would be a really rubbish idea.

*

Draco pressed his hand a little too roughly against the door to initiate the recognition of himself, and the door slammed open after the split-second glow.

“Pansy Marguerite,” he snarled, closing the door behind him with a flick of his wand. “Forget something?”

“Shhh!” she hushed him, waving her arms and staring, transfixed, at the television screen.

The red-haired Muggle on the television screen whispered, “I’ll never let go, I promise,” and Pansy burst into sudden tears. Draco had never seen a dam break before, but he was always reminded of this when Pansy cried. She grasped the Doctor’s arm, burying her head into his neck (which was a good thing, really – she had a tendency to look rather unattractive when she cried). The Doctor sent Draco a slightly horrified glance over his friend’s head.

Draco raised an eyebrow, and then walked briskly into his own bedroom.

He loathed the idea of taking the underground to and from work, but on occasions when Pansy neglected to take him home using Apparition, he was left with no other choice. There were still a few hours to spare before the Knight Bus would start working (and even then, the tubes tended to have a smoother course that was less likely to upset his stomach – which was saying something about the quality of modern magic, if you asked him).

Surprisingly, it wasn’t necessarily because of all the Muggles that Draco found himself detesting the underground as a means of transport. In actuality, it had been a pleasant kind of escapism to dwell among Muggles in the years that he had been free, because (though they looked at his robes as if he were a madman), he was unrecognisable. Nobody knew Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater in the Muggle world. Nobody knew who he was.

No, the reason that Draco hated the underground was due to the same reasons that Muggles hated the underground: not enough air, too many people (acting like Inferi), bright lights, and too many delays and closures.

He changed quickly into black robes; it had been hours since he’d been able to change, and the cleaning charms he had used on his work robes did not make up for the fact that he had been thrown up on twice and bled on semi-constantly throughout the day.

“Draco?” a male voice called into his room, fingertips tapping against the wood. Draco crossed the room and opened the door to face the Doctor’s grin. “I’m going to be off now that you’ve seen I’m still alive. It was brilliant meeting you. Draco Malfoy.”

Draco huffed an annoyed laugh. “You don’t really think you’re leaving me with a crying roommate, do you? You cretin, get back in there and cheer her up. I’m not dealing with that through dinner.”

The Doctor stared at him for several moments, his strange, freckled face shifting into a thoughtful smile. “Of course,” he said, then disappeared from the doorway.

Draco sighed, wondering how the man he had thought was so odd on the street had managed to take over his day like this. However, if the fact that they were both dressed the same as they had been earlier and neither looked particularly debauched was to be trusted as a clue, then Pansy must have liked him enough to keep him around even though they didn’t end up sleeping together.

When he entered the living room again, it was to see the Doctor sitting a little uncomfortably next to a still sobbing Pansy. “Pans,” Draco called, not a drop of sympathy in his voice. “It’s a film. Really, do pull yourself together. You’re not a Hufflepuff.”

Pansy glared at him through red-rimmed eyes. “Not all of us are heartless bastards,” she pointed out, sniffling unattractively.

Draco scrunched up his nose at the sound. “And some of us have class. Go. Get ready for dinner. It’s on me tonight, to make up for how late I was earlier.”

His roommate visibly brightened. “Free dinner?” she offered the Doctor, ignoring Draco’s irritated glance.

The Doctor opened his mouth, and then froze for a moment, looking thoughtful. Really, why was Draco constantly surrounding himself with such tasteless people?

“Actually, yeah. Yes, that’d be nice, thanks.”

Draco returned to his bedroom, listening all the while to the sound of laughter in the other room. He did not share Pansy’s effortlessness with life – had not since his return from Azkaban. Thoughtful, he sat on his bed and tried to ease the tight anxiety in his chest.

In the corner of the room, a shadow shifted.
*

When Pansy walked ahead of the men toward the table they were directed to, Draco grasped the sleeve of the Doctor’s suit-jacket and asked, “Are you a Squib?”

“What?” the Doctor asked, looking confused.

Draco back-pedalled. “It’s not that it would make any difference to me, per se,” he said quickly, and the Doctor could not help but be amused that Draco Malfoy of all people was afraid to offend him. “I mean, I was practically a Squib myself for months after I was released. But there’s something not right about you.”

“’Not right’?” the Doctor asked, face splitting into a grin. “If I tell you,” he said quietly, sitting down and glancing at Pansy who was busy flirting with a waitress, “then you have to promise not to... Well, not to react badly. Right?”

“I’m not making any promises,” Draco replied warily, frowning across the table at him.

The Doctor leaned forward. “Well,” he said, “I’m not exactly... a wizard.”

Draco’s frown deepened. “You’re a Muggle?”

“Well...”

“Draco!” a voice suddenly called out, and both Draco and the Doctor leaned back, the secrecy of the moment breaking. “How good to see you! I brought wine.”

Draco stood to greet her, kissing both cheeks as the blonde woman pushed the bottle against his chest. “Astoria, you shouldn’t have,” he replied as if on a cue, and she grinned back.

“And if I didn’t you would both complain,” she laughed, settling the bottle down onto the white tablecloth. “You wouldn’t believe, Pansy,” she went on, standing by their table as Pansy and Draco sat down, “I ran into your Weasley twin today. Well, I guess he’s not a ‘twin’ anymore, after—well, you know. The one that survived, anyway. Hello.” Her eyes suddenly shifted to the Doctor, a pretty smile gracing her features. “I’m Astoria, so nice to meet you.”

“Greengrass, I know!” the Doctor exclaimed excitedly, looking from Astoria to her future husband. “And it’s George, by the way.”

“Pleasure, George,” she said, extending a hand to shake his.

The sharp, carefully-painted nails looked somewhat dangerous, but the Doctor leaned forward to grasp her hand anyway.

“No, I mean the Weasley twin who survived was George. I’m the Doctor, good to meet you.”

Astoria suddenly took her hand back. The Doctor tried not to wince as her nails scraped his skin. “Doctor?” she asked. “You mean that disgusting Muggle profession with the scalpels?”

“Er... Not that kind of Doctor,” he responded, and Astoria regarded him with calculating eyes.

“If you say so,” she replied, and then the smile suddenly reappeared on her face. “Anyway, I have a restaurant to run, can’t stand around talking all day! I hope you enjoy your wine.” She kissed Draco’s cheeks and Pansy’s hand before withdrawing, Pansy giving her a slightly obscene look.

“Astoria Greengrass,” the Doctor said to himself, looking around the restaurant. She didn’t even have a name in the book, let alone a real character, but he was already beginning to feel overwhelmed by the amount of familiarity in this reality.

And it reminded him that he really, really needed to get out of there.

The trio waited to order their food with small conversation, Draco giving him thoughtful glances over his wineglass. The Doctor decided on his escape before the waiter arrived. It was awfully rude, he realised, but there were warning bells shouting nonsense in his head.

“Just going to the bathroom,” he said as casually as possible, smiling at Pansy’s small wave.

It would be the wave to say goodbye.

He did, in fact, head toward the bathroom. It was in the opposite direction to the door, and there was no way to walk directly out without being noticed. Draco and Pansy had been Slytherins, he reminded himself; Slytherins were not about to overlook an obvious escape.

The window in the bathroom was locked shut, with what the Doctor could only hope was a Muggle key. They were on Diagon Alley, after all; goodness knew it could be any manner of magic. But keys, keys might be easier for wizards in situations like this. The windows weren’t locked for any particularly important reason.

“Come on,” he said under his breath as he pointed his sonic screwdriver at the lock. The screwdriver buzzed gently, and the lock clicked.

Victorious, the Doctor pushed the window open and held the screwdriver between his teeth.

After a brief struggle, he landed somewhat gracelessly outside, the triumphant “HAH!” muffled by the screwdriver still inside his mouth. He extracted it carefully – never did get used to the taste of sonic – and locked the window behind him. It wasn’t an emergency, so he could stand to be polite for once.

He had to walk around the building to get back to the main street, and in doing so he had to walk past glass walls. There was a moment of brief panic when he spotted the table he had been sitting at to find Draco looking directly back at him, but he just nodded at the Doctor. The corner of the Doctor’s mouth twitched up into a smile. “Good to meet you, Draco Malfoy,” he said quietly, and Draco’s gaze switched back to Pansy, who was speaking emphatically with both hands moving. Her sharp hair was pointed to her cheekbones and down her neck, glinting brightly in the light of the restaurant.

With a slightly sad smile on his face, the Doctor turned to walk back on the pavement in the direction he thought the TARDIS was situated. It had become dark, and the moon was shining a bright glow over the concrete path back to his ship. The Doctor’s footsteps resounded in the relative quiet of Diagon Alley, and he wandered with both hands deep in his pockets, until he caught sight of the blue box on the street corner.

Inside the TARDIS was too bright in comparison to the outside world. The Doctor looked around inside and sighed; she was no different than before, sitting like a box of lights, not reacting to him with so much as a soft vibration of welcome. “Hello, girl,” he said quietly, taking quick steps to her controls.

There was no difference. She was quite alive, bright and happy beneath his touch, but she refused to listen to him. He spent many minutes trying to solve the riddle, but he found himself just repeating his former actions. “Do you not want me to leave?” he asked eventually, looking up at her and rubbing his palm against the back of his neck. “Why would you not want me to leave? Think, Doctor, think.” Head’s too full, he thought, too full to work properly anymore. Heavens, but he was getting old.

Think, think, think.

The minutes blurred into each other as the Doctor paced the TARDIS, added and removed what he thought (hoped) might help, deactivated the isomorphic feature (which did not help at all, but his hands just wanted to do something) theorised the logistics of magic interfering with the TARDIS and reset her defences, recounted the events that had led to the TARDIS crashing into this reality in the first place, and continuously begged for the ship to listen to him. Nothing appeared to work.

“Are we having an argument?” he asked finally, looking up at the brightest point of light. He let out a huff of breath. “Can’t we do this at home? Maybe? Possibly?”

The TARDIS refrained from responding.

“You know what?” he asked eventually, arms flailing slightly. “Fine. You just... think about what you’re doing.”

He left the TARDIS with heavy steps, then stood on the expanse of pavement outside with his head in his hands. He could not be stuck here; not while the TARDIS was still perfectly alive and well. If he was here, he was interfering in a reality that was not his own.

And what if he never got back? Sure, this reality was nowhere near boring – it was universes away from boring – but it wasn’t his. This universe did not have Martha Jones on the other side of a phone call, Donna safely back home (that one still hurt), or—wait, did this universe even have aliens? Was he the only non-Earth creature the expanse of the universe knew?

Impossible. No, improbable: the Earth did not have the same history, so he could not grapple with impossibilities in a universe that did not work off the same rules.

The Doctor looked up at the night sky and the blanket of bright stars, and wondered. There was so much here he did not know.

There was so much here he was not allowed to know.

Theories still ran through his brain, but he kept coming back to magic. Magic was the big difference he was aware of between the realities; he could come up with no reason for the TARDIS crashing here, but there was a possibility that the magic was making her unable to leave.

The Doctor found himself standing outside the restaurant again, watching stoically through the glass wall as Draco and Pansy finished their dessert. They spoke to Astoria Greengrass once more before rising to exit the restaurant, and the Doctor moved to the door as they did.

“I’m sorry for being rude,” he started, catching their attention. Pansy appeared slightly inebriated, a shine over her eyes that was not there before. “I shouldn’t have left so abruptly earlier, but I need some help now from someone who knows a good deal about magic.”

Pansy glared at him. “I’m mad at you. You left. You said you’d come to dinner and then you left.”

“If you want magical theory from someone who is currently mostly sober—partly sober, that is—then you want to talk to me,” Draco told him, trying to detach Pansy’s hands from his arm. “Is there a problem? Why did you come back?”

“I knew you knew he left!” Pansy suddenly shouted, pointing at Draco with a wavering arm. “I’m going—going home.”

Draco frowned. “Pansy, it’s probably best not to Apparate when you’re—” A loud crack resounded in the air around them. “Or you could ignore me, let’s go with that.” He glared at the empty space for a moment, then shook his head. “Wait, what was it you wanted?”

The Doctor crossed his arms. “Perhaps it’s better we talk about this when you’re more sober.”

“I am perfectly—” Draco started indignantly, and then waved a hand as if dismissing the sentiment. “Tomorrow.”

The Doctor’s impatience sapped out of him as he watched the young man shake his head tiredly. “All right,” he replied, “I’ll wait until tomorrow.”

Draco inclined his head forwards in lieu of pointing. “You staying with us tonight?” he asked, and the Doctor was almost certain that had he been sober Draco would not have made the suggestion.

The Doctor shrugged, but began to walk with the Doctor. “Not far, is it?” the Doctor asked, looking up at the stars as they walked.

Draco shrugged. “It’s too far to walk,” he admitted. “We’ll have to get to the nearest Tube Station. Or get the Knight Bus. Do you have a few Sickles on you?”

The Doctor shook his head, smiling sheepishly. “Can’t Apparate us?”

“Not allowed to Apparate,” Draco admitted. “I’ve still got some restrictions on my magic. I can’t do anything particularly strong, apart from some healing spells, and that’s only out of necessity.” He turned his head to look at the Doctor seriously. “It makes them feel more powerful. They take the pure-blood families and turn us practically into Squibs so that they don’t feel threatened anymore.”

The Doctor frowned, beginning to feel uncomfortable. “I suppose by ‘them’ you mean the Muggle-borns.”

Draco looked away, and raised his shoulders slightly against the wind. “I understand why the Ministry restricted my magic,” he admitted, sounding more sober than he had. “I was a Death Eater; there isn’t much to debate on the matter. But I did my time in Azkaban, and... Haven’t they taken enough away from me?” He was frowning suddenly, glaring out into the street. “I wanted to be a Healer, and I know what the Ministry is doing. They’re taunting me, because we all know that I’m never going to get past ‘glorified secretary’.” He turned to look at the Doctor, resentment shining through his grey eyes. “It’s my right to use magic. I was born with the ability.”

“You wanted to be a Healer?” the Doctor asked.

Draco continued to glare. “It’s their own loss. I would have been the best Healer St Mungo’s had ever seen. Damn sight more than Potter ever did, the tosser spends most of his time getting into fistfights for a living. Auror, Merlin’s garters.”

The Doctor listened to the echo of their footsteps for several moments as they walked, Draco’s eyes trained directly in front of them. “Listen,” he finally said in a grim tone. “People might not forget about the war, but that doesn’t mean you have to give up because of it. You want to be a Healer? You’ll find a way.”

Draco stopped walking, looking impassively up at the Doctor. After a few seconds he drew a deep breath, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Come on,” he said, turning away. “I’ll pay the Knight Bus.”

Draco took a few steps and held out his left arm, and the Doctor felt a rush of affection along with the smothered panic that had been residing in his chest since the TARDIS had crashed. He might be stuck for now, but after the night was out of the way he would have Draco go over some of his theories about magical interaction with the TARDIS. And if that didn’t work, well, he would come up with another theory. The TARDIS couldn’t stay silent forever.

The Doctor was brought out of his thoughts by the sudden appearance of a large, purple bus, which literally seemed to appear out of thin air. The Doctor stared up at it, eyes narrowing, and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Everything in this reality is just impossible,” he muttered, wondering for the first time if he was just going mad. Stark, raving mad.

He followed Draco onto the bus and watched as he handed over some silver coins, and the Doctor waved enthusiastically at the elderly driver. The entire bus was decorated in garish colours, several beds lining the walls. Draco approached one and sat down, leaning his head against the wall. In the artificial lighting, the Doctor could see dark circles under his eyes. “I feel like I could sleep for days,” he said in a low voice.

The Doctor shrugged. “Then do it. I’m sure St Mungo’s” – St Mungo’s, he was never going to get used to this! – “can find a replacement for a day.”

Draco snorted derisively, eyes still closed. The bus rocked heavily, almost causing the pair to fall off the bed. “I can barely sleep for hours nowadays, let alone a whole day. I just feel like I could.”

“You could try,” the Doctor pointed out, finally reaching out to grasp a bedpost to keep him from moving too much. “I might be stuck here,” he sighed, “I could always try with you.”

“Haven’t got a home to go to?” Draco asked, now sitting up enough to open a curtain and peer outside.

It was asked as a casual question, but it still made the Doctor frown and say grimly, “The closest thing to home is a long way from here. There’s a chance I can’t go back.”

“Well,” Draco said, sharing a look with the Doctor. “You could—I mean. You could always stay with me and Pansy.”

The Doctor couldn’t help but smile slightly, even if he knew he had to work his hardest to escape this reality. “If I can’t get home,” he said, smile widening, “then I think I’d like that.”

The bus stopped abruptly then, and Draco was forced to his feet if he wanted to keep from falling. After the initial breathless moment, the pair stood and brushed themselves off. The Doctor took a final glance around the Knight Bus.

“Where is home, anyway?” his friend asked as they stepped off the bus.
The Doctor laughed. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Draco either lost interest or was too tired to show his stubborn streak, because he did not demand an answer as the pair walked to his apartment. The Doctor observed that he looked unhealthily pale with concern, but Draco just shrugged off any questions and led him into the apartment.

When they were inside, Draco raised a hand to signal silence, then stepped through the front room and to Pansy’s door. After a moment he nodded. “Pansy’s sleeping,” he told the Doctor quietly. “Come on. Get something to eat. I’ll find some bedding for you. You’re sleeping on the sofa – or in Pansy’s bed, I suppose, but she has cold feet and she snores.”

Draco retired to bed after forcing the Doctor to eat and change into some Muggle pyjamas. Too entertained by the fact that Draco wore Muggle pyjamas (and wondering what Wizarding pyjamas would even look like) to argue, the Doctor found himself lying under a pile of blankets on the sofa.

Draco had left the hallway light on, and it was not powered by electricity so the Doctor had no idea how to go about turning it off. Instead, he simply stared at the patterns of shadows on the ceiling and allowed all the panic and theories of his day to rush through his head.

He was in the reality of Harry Potter, which meant that the fictional book was a reality in itself. Were all fictions somehow realities? Were all ideas spinning off into their own realities as they were thought of? It could have just been Rowling’s imagination. Maybe he was inside her imagination somehow. Was there an alien he knew of who could do that?

If he were to entertain the idea that all fictions became their own realities, then how in the universe had he ended up here? The TARDIS had spun and crashed and landed in this reality, but surely there had to be more to it than that. It was not easy (or acceptable) to jump from reality to reality anymore; there was something intrinsically wrong about his own presence here.

Restless, the Doctor pushed the blankets away from his body and stood, his ankles bare from the too-short legs of the trousers. He glanced around the flat (not looking for an escape, for once) and paced as he thought, keeping as quiet as possible to refrain from waking Draco and Pansy.

Draco and Pansy. This shouldn’t be real. He should wake up any moment now; it only made sense.

The moving photographs appeared to mock him as he moved around, and he glared back at them. The picture with Draco spinning Pansy was duller with only the hallway lighting, but the expressions on their faces were still happy.

The Doctor picked up the photograph, examining it, and then his sight landed on a piece of parchment behind it. It was a newspaper clipping from – the Doctor squinted as he read – two months ago.

NARCISSA MALFOY FOUND DEAD IN AZKABAN

The Doctor did not read anything more than the headline. He felt like he’d intruded somehow (though the pair had invited him into their home, surely they wouldn’t have minded a little snooping), and placed the frame down in front of it. He returned to the sofa, but did not lie down, instead just sitting and staring around the room.

He was still sitting like that when a terrified scream ripped through the air.

The Doctor jumped up to a standing position, and another scream tore from Draco’s room. Before he could take more than a step, Pansy’s door slammed open and then closed, and she rushed into Draco’s room.

The screaming abruptly stopped, and instead the only sound was Pansy’s voice murmuring.

The Doctor sat back down, sensing that his presence would not be of any help.

Moments later, the door to Draco’s bedroom opened again and Pansy helped a tired-looking Draco across to the other sofa, and he lay down there, eyes still closed.

“Shh,” Pansy said quietly to Draco, petting his hair. “Go back to sleep, my love. Shh, now.”

Draco visibly relaxed under her hands, but continued to shake slightly.

“What’s wrong?” the Doctor asked, no longer able to hide his curiosity.

Pansy glanced at him, then back down at her resting friend. “This just happens,” she said quietly, voice husky, obviously just woken up from sleep. “The Healers think it’s just a form of post-traumatic stress. Shh, now...”

“And you think?” the Doctor inquired. Pansy did not look up at him this time, but she did sigh deeply.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, shaking her head. “It’s only been happening for the last month. I would have thought, had it been... I don’t know.” Satisfied that Draco was now asleep again, Pansy stood. “Shout for me if he seems to be having another one. He probably won’t; he’s usually all right on the sofa.” Pansy smiled tiredly at him before retiring to her bedroom, rubbing her eyes.

The Doctor watched Draco for hours afterwards. Every now and then he would jump and wake himself up, then spend a few minutes staring into the distance before falling back into sleep.

The Doctor counted this happening six times before falling asleep himself.


Continued in Part Two

Comments

Posted by: i made a little meow sound of distress (moonlitelupines)
Posted at: January 3rd, 2010 07:52 pm (UTC)

I JUST HAVE TO SAY THAT I AM SO EFFING EXCITED ABOUT FINALLY SEEING THIS UP!!!!!

Yay! I will start reading the rest tonight after work, dear, and get it out as soon as possible.

<3 <3 <3

Posted by: מִרְיָם רִבְקָה (angelofcaffeine)
Posted at: January 3rd, 2010 07:54 pm (UTC)

I should have had this up a million years ago. :P Thank you for looking through the rest for me! You are several shades of awesome. <3

Posted by: i made a little meow sound of distress (moonlitelupines)
Posted at: January 3rd, 2010 07:57 pm (UTC)

No probem, bb! Oooh, I'm several shades of awesome? That's like the coolest way to say that ever. YOU'RE ALSO SEVERAL SHADES OF AWESOME!

Posted by: מִרְיָם רִבְקָה (angelofcaffeine)
Posted at: January 3rd, 2010 08:02 pm (UTC)

<3!!!

Posted by: ((Anonymous))
Posted at: August 14th, 2010 11:19 pm (UTC)

oh
I love DW and it so nice to see Tenth Doctor in Harry Potter universe


Maara

Posted by: מִרְיָם רִבְקָה (angelofcaffeine)
Posted at: August 15th, 2010 05:56 am (UTC)

Glad you like the premise! <3

Posted by: Katie (akarihime15)
Posted at: September 18th, 2010 05:35 am (UTC)

This is awesome so far, loving it :)

Posted by: מִרְיָם רִבְקָה (angelofcaffeine)
Posted at: September 25th, 2010 11:30 pm (UTC)

Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying it. :)

Posted by: yanagi_wa (yanagi_wa)
Posted at: November 23rd, 2010 04:10 am (UTC)

This is just marvelous. The Doctor in Draco and Pansy's apartment? Fantastic.

Posted by: מִרְיָם רִבְקָה (angelofcaffeine)
Posted at: November 23rd, 2010 09:37 am (UTC)

I'm really glad you think so! :)

Posted by: ((Anonymous))
Posted at: May 2nd, 2011 09:48 pm (UTC)
Nice site, keep up the good work


I've been searching in google for some new ideas and occasionally found this angelofcaffeine.livejournal.com blog. You definitely can write and teach and inspire. Keep writing - I'll keep reading.

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