shivver13 (shivver13) wrote,

Mistaken Identity, chapter 5

Title: Mistaken Identity, chapter 5
Fandom(s): Doctor Who
Characters: Tenth Doctor, Donna Noble
Pairing(s): None
Rating: G
Genre: Sci-fi, fantasy, adventure
Word Count: 1683

Summary: Doctor Who/Harry Potter crossover: The Tenth Doctor and Donna fly through a crack in the walls of the universe and land in a world where humans can perform magic. Getting mixed up in the cold war between the Death Eaters, the Ministry of Magic, and the Order of the Phoenix, all sides want the Doctor dead!

The Doctor might have been able to twist away from Malfoy’s grasp if he hadn’t been disoriented by being engulfed in total darkness. Sudden intense pressure from all sides forced his limbs together and he couldn’t breathe, as if steel bands were tightening around his chest; his respiratory bypass reflexively kicked in. He clenched his jaw, as it felt like his skull was being crushed. Through it all, the grip of the stranger never wavered.

When the pressure released and he regained his eyesight and normal breathing, they were standing on the porch of a worn-down cabin. Wormtail appeared to his side a moment later and darted in front, scratching his wand on the door and rapping it sharply once. The door opened and he scurried inside.

“Enter.” WIth a noble air, the pale man let go of his arm and indicated with the hand that held the walking stick that the Doctor should precede him inside, while holding the smaller stick with the other hand. The Doctor knew that the answers must lie within, so he bowed in kind and stepped through the door. The man followed him in, closing the door behind him.

The small cabin was furnished with only a few old chairs, an old wood stove that looked unused, and a stone fireplace. A few odd devices sat on the mantle, emitting what was probably magical light. The door was the only entrance; no windows had been built into the structure. In nearly the center of the room was a high-backed armchair, upholstered with worn red velvet, and the man sitting in it was gazing at the Doctor with calm contempt. Hairless, his skin was sickly white over a skeletal body and a skull-like face with slits for nostrils and cat-like eyes that glowed scarlet. Long thin hands protruded from the sleeves of his dark, voluminous robes, a wooden stick lazily held in the right one. A huge snake lay coiled on the floor at his feet. Wormtail cowered to his right, hiding in the shadow of the chair.

Obviously intending to unnerve the Doctor, the skeletal man gazed at him for over a minute before speaking. “And so he returns.” His voice was high and cold, a hiss emphasizing the sibilant consonants. Without releasing the Doctor’s face from his stare, he gestured dismissively at the pale man. “I have no more need of you, Lucius. Begone.”

“By your leave, my lord. Wormtail can tell you later of Nott and Avery.” Bowing deep, Lucius opened the door with the knob and swept out, his cloak flapping behind him. Once the door was closed, the man in the throne-like chair spoke again.

“And what do you have to say for yourself, Barty? Have you abandoned your master? It’s been nearly three months and you have not returned to me. I had expected better from you.”

“Oh, well,” the Doctor drawled. “I’ve been out having fun. Seeing the sights. Avoiding dark run-down cabins in the woods.” He slipped into the seat directly facing the skeletal man and, relaxing back almost to the point of lying down in the chair, he crossed his ankles and laced his fingers together over his stomach. Engaging the man’s gaze directly, he sniffed once, briefly wrinkling his nose.

Wormtail whimpered at the Doctor’s temerity.

“Now that’s a shift in attitude. A servant who doesn’t simper or cower. Think it will make you stand out, that I’ll think you strong and reliable?” The man leaned forward. “Don’t get above yourself. What game are you playing here?”

“The real question is, what game are you playing? Because you knew the moment I walked in here that I wasn’t this Barty person, but you’re still doing the insane evil overlord bit. Who are you? And what are you? A subspecies of humans that can perform magic?”

The red eyes widened in outrage. “‘Subspecies?’ A Muggle, are you? You dare to categorize me with your filth?”

“Not my filth, no. You’re not one of me.” The Doctor jumped up from his chair and paced back and forth, keeping his eye on the man on the throne. He kept his tone very lightly mocking. “But come on, who are you? You must have a name. ‘Master Dolgork the Twisted and Evil’ or something.” He overemphasized the final hard consonant on the made-up name. “Something too long for mere mortals to say.”

The man’s voice was low and threatening. “I am Lord Voldemort.”

“There we go!” The Doctor clasped his hands behind his back and bobbed a shallow bow. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Voldemort,” he greeted brightly.

“He is the Dark Lord!” Wormtail threw out from his shadow.

“The Dark Lord? Is that all? No, you need impressive! How about the Oncoming Storm? Or the Bringer of Darkness? Try those on for size.”

Wormtail sputtered with incredulity, but Voldemort shushed him. “Don’t rise to his bait, Wormtail. Let him have his fun. He only seeks to forestall the inevitable with his blathering. So, I have named myself. It is your turn. Who are you, Muggle?”

“I am the Doctor.”

“You tell me a sobriquet? Disappointing, but no matter. Tell me, Doctor, how do you come to have the face of a dead wizard?”

“Maybe the dead wizard came to have my face. I started this life with this face.”

The snake stretched its head up onto the throne’s armrest, and Voldemort stroked it idly with his left hand. “Come now, Doctor. If you cooperate, I am more likely to allow you to live.”

“We both know that’s not true. You’ll kill me the moment you’re done with me.”

“Oh, you saw through my ingenious ploy.” Voldemort’s tone was smoothly sarcastic. “I can get what I want out of you in other ways. Crucio.”

The spell word was uttered with no change in tone, and the only forewarning was the slight lift of the tip of Voldemort’s wand. Sudden excruciating pain, like a thousand scalding knives cutting over his entire body at once, forced the Doctor’s scream. He doubled over, then fell and curled into a ball. His eyes and head seared in agony.

Voldemort leaned back and relished the anguish of this odd Muggle. After about fifteen seconds, he ended the curse. The Doctor flopped, limp and panting, on the floor, before raising himself to his knees.

The Dark Lord smirked. “Now you understand. You will tell me what I want to know. And if you don’t, well, I can do this all day. Crucio.”

Anticipating the spell, the Doctor steeled himself against the pain, but this time it wasn’t so bad, and it lessened as his resolve against it grew. Pretending to be in as much pain as before, he experimented with pushing the magical pain away. He realized that at least some of this magic could be repelled by force of will. It was not easy, but it was possible.

Again, the Dark Lord ended the spell. “So, tell me who you are, Doctor.” He intoned the name like an insult.

Coughing and faking a raspy, defeated, frightened voice, the Doctor wheezed, “Just who I seem to be. A Muggle with the dumb luck of looking like a wizard.” While he talked, he got to his feet, pretending to struggle and swaying a bit, grabbing the back of the chair he had been sitting in a few minutes ago to steady himself.

“A pity. You have such fire in your soul. You would have made a good Death Eater. Better than many, anyway.” He glanced at Wormtail. “But having you walking around will attract the attention of the Ministry of Magic, and we can’t have that. Farewell, Doctor. You made my day very amusing. Nagini, dinner.”

The Doctor was not going to be caught by surprise a second time. The moment Voldemort’s words were no longer conversational, he dove behind the chair and pulled out his sonic screwdriver. What he dodged wasn’t a spell, but a strike from the huge snake. “Sorry, must dash!” he breathed in a friendly tone. Lunging for the door, he pulled it open - he had seen earlier that while getting into the cabin required a wand, leaving required the doorknob - and, darting out, shut it and sonicked the metal lock. Switching the sonic’s setting, he applied it again, sealing the deadlock. As he launched himself off the porch, he heard Wormtail yell, “Alohomora!” but nothing happened, as far as he could tell. He sprinted around the side of the cabin, disappearing behind the corner as Voldemort thundered, “Fool! Reducto!” and blasted the door into splinters.

No footsteps. They must be trying to see where I’ve gone.

“Which way has he gone, master?” Taking advantage of Pettigrew’s voice breaking the silence and the covering darkness, the Doctor pulled a cricket ball from his pocket and winged it among the trees in front of the house, where it hit the ground with a thump and the sound of crackling leaves.

“That way. Find him and kill him,” Voldemort commanded.

The Doctor watched Wormtail’s dark form scurry off among the trees, and in a moment, after what sounded like some quiet spellcasting, the apparently newly-reformed cabin door slammed shut. Keeping still and silent, he listened; Voldemort was hissing softly, like a snake, but he was definitely inside the cabin. The Doctor crept away as noiselessly as he could. Another evil overlord who sends his minions to do something he should take care of himself. Though, to be honest, he doesn’t want to be seen. Scare babies and all that.

The copse was not large. He stepped out of the trees onto the sidewalk and turning back, he found it difficult to look back towards the cabin. He knew it was there, yet felt that his eyes slipped past it. “Ah, nice perception filter.” He grinned, then set to the task of figuring out where he was and how he was going to get back.

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Tags: donna noble, mistaken identity, tenth doctor

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