Fandom(s): Doctor Who
Characters: Tenth Doctor, Donna Noble
Genre: Sci-fi, fantasy, adventure
Word Count: 1318
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!
Stepping off the bus onto the sidewalk, the Doctor paused a moment to orient himself. He’d been around London countless times on his travels, and though this London seemed to be mostly identical to his London, this universe was so different that he didn’t want to take any chances. Too much was hidden in this world of magic and he needed to stay alert.
From what he could tell, this portion of the city was exactly like the city he knew and he could plot a path back to either where he had been abducted or back to the TARDIS. His primary objective was to find Donna, and that solidified his choice: Donna was no fool and would retreat to the TARDIS if she could, and if she couldn’t, the only way he might be able to track her was there, too. He turned on his heel and headed in that direction, not running, but walking as quickly as he could.
Physical similarity to his own universe was definitely a comforting advantage. The unfamiliar timestream still nagged at him, and he scratched at the back of his neck as he walked, as if he might be able to massage the discomfort away. Did magic affect the time vortex in ways that he wouldn’t understand? Possibly; he had no previous experience with magic and couldn’t predict what could be done with it. If he got the leisure, he would have to explore the timestream further, see how this world flows, where things might go in the future.
As he traveled, he maintained vigilance, looking around at every building and every nook that might hide something, and glancing at each person he saw. In this world, anyone could carry a wand, be a direct threat. But he saw not a single person do anything out of the ordinary. If magic was commonplace, people would be using it to make everyday tasks easier, such as levitating a box of magazines from the truck to the newsagent, rather than carrying them. If everyone could teleport, few would be walking on the street. Unless teleporting was difficult or exhausting. After all, transmatting was not commonplace at home, either.
After some observation and consideration, he concluded that magic was rare. The majority of the humans in this world were what the Voldemort called “Muggles,” living their lives much like the humans at home. Did these Muggles know about magic? That didn’t seem likely either, from an economic standpoint. He was absolutely sure that if they did, there would be evidence of wizards selling magic services to Muggles. He doubted that wizards were so different that they would pass up the opportunity to make a profit off their abilities. The fact that he had been attacked and abducted in a quiet, deserted area only supported this theory.
That realization came a moment too late, as he realized that he was now in an alley, having ducked into it as a shortcut. Looking back, he saw a man in long shabby overcoat, leaning against the wall and watching him. The Doctor was sure he wasn’t there a moment ago. He hastened his step, but as he looked ahead, he could see that the alley opened into a vacant lot on a quiet side street. Worse and worse.
The moment he stepped out of the alley, a figure appeared to his side, leveling a wand at him and circling to surround. He didn’t need to turn around to know that the man in the alley had come up behind him with a wand, too. The Doctor raised both hands, holding them at about the level of his ears, then moved to his right so he could get a look at both of them.
The figure to his right was a petite but strong woman with a pale face, dark eyes, and bright blue hair, wearing an ensemble of clothing that could best be described as goth. Her stare was adamant. The other was a tall, worn-looking man, with more gray hair than would be expected for his apparent age and wearing a shabby trench coat over plain utilitarian clothes. He kept his demeanor detached, but the expression in his eyes told the Doctor that he was no less alert or adept than she was.
“Keep those hands out of your pockets!” the woman warned him.
The Doctor nodded. “They’re up. They’re up.”
“We’ve got you, Crouch. Don’t try anything. We’ve got clearance to kill if we have to.” The man’s voice was calm.
“I… I’m not who you think I am.”
“Oh, give it up.” The woman rolled her eyes. “No one believed you in front of the Wizengamot, and they’re not going to believe you now. Lupin, tie him up.”
The man stepped up and pulled the Doctor’s arms behind his back. “Incarcerous.” Black ropes snaked around his arms and legs, immobilizing him.
“No, really, I’m not. You’ve got the wrong person. What did this Barty Crouch do?”
They ignored him. Lupin patted the pockets of the Doctor’s trousers, coat, and jacket, then reached into the left breast pocket and pulled out the sonic screwdriver. “Oddest wand I’ve ever seen. It’s metal! He’s not carrying anything else.” He handed it to the woman.
“That’s my screwdriver.”
She examined the device. “It’s made of metal and wires. Like no wand I’ve ever seen.” Pointing her wand at it, she murmured, “Specialis revelio,” but nothing happened. She then pointed the blue end of the screwdriver at a rock and, with a swishing motion ending with a flick, intoned, “Wingardium leviosa! No, doesn’t respond at all.”
“I told you. It’s a screwdriver.”
Staring pointedly at the Doctor, she tucked the screwdriver into one of her own pockets. “No wand?” Tonks eyed the bound man up and down. “Didn’t get a new one by now?”
The Doctor tried again. “Because I’m not Barty Crouch!”
“Let’s silence him before he tries anything, Tonks,” Lupin suggested. “Don’t take any chances.”
Tonks raised her wand, but as she opened her mouth, a dreadful cold enveloped them. The two wizards spun, looking around and up.
“Dementors?” Lupin breathed.
“There they are!” Tonks pointed upwards. “Gotta be Fudge. Look how many there are! He’s taking no chances this time! Expecto patronum!” Silver vapor in the form of a jack rabbit leapt from her wand and flew into the sky.
The Doctor stared up in the direction the jack rabbit was flying, but saw nothing, though he couldn’t tell if it was because of the blurry oppression that was taking over his mind. The entire world went gray as all hope and happiness drained from his hearts. Unbidden, horrible memories dredged from his ancient past flew in front of his eyes and taunted him.
Falling to his knees and then heavily to the ground, as the ropes prevented him from catching himself, the Doctor screwed his eyes tightly closed, but there was nothing he could to do stop it. The face of a brown-haired boy swam in front of his eyes, telling him, “I’ll find my own way.” “Adric?” he murmured, his voice hoarse. Then more faces: a blond girl on a cold Norwegian beach fading into nothingness; a dark-haired girl flying out of a breached airlock; another aging to dust before his eyes; a pretty woman in a servant’s dress falling into the heart of a nuclear storm drive; the only other member of his species in existence dying in his arms. Then a thousand more faces: some he failed to save, others he’d had no choice but to kill, and even more whose lives had been forever ruined by him, directly or indirectly. He gasped and gagged, kicking and writhing.
Behind it all, a low keening grew slowly, right behind his eyes, developing into screams, crescendoing through his mind, threatening to burst his skull: the anguish of billions of souls extinguished by his own hand.
The witch and wizard directed their patronuses around the sky, rebounding the dementors. There were at least fifteen of them, sent to deliver the Dementor’s Kiss to Barty Crouch, Jr., this time without fail. At first, they didn’t notice the reaction of their quarry. Tonks was the first to hear the grunts and moans. Looking down, the sight of Crouch, crazed and delirious, destroyed her concentration. Her Patronus winked out.
“What’s wrong with him?” She dropped to a squat and tried to stop his writhing by steadying him with her hands.
“Tonks!” Lupin reprimanded.
“Right!” Still squatting, she fired her patronus back up into the air, with one hand on the prostrate man, trying to steady him, but his manic gyrations knocked her off-balance and she fell backwards. Screaming a word she didn’t recognize, he convulsed, his bound legs catching Lupin behind the knees and almost sending him sprawling into the dirt.
“Shift!” she yelled. “Get away from him or he’ll knock us both over!” They jumped a few feet away and concentrated on driving off the last few dementors, while the figure on the ground screamed and writhed. When the last dementor flew off, Crouch wailed one last time. His body rigid, his eyes flew open sightlessly. He collapsed, his bound arms awkwardly and painfully splayed beneath his back.
Tonks dropped down next to him and rolled him onto his side to ease the strain on his arms. Leaning over, she positioned her ear in front of his face. He was still breathing. “Never seen a reaction like that before.”
Lupin squatted beside Tonks and felt Crouch’s cheek. The skin was cold and clammy. “Me neither. Even with the worst Death Eater in Azkaban, where there are far more dementors than what we just had. Crouch was imprisoned for over a year. This isn’t new to him. Let’s get him to Dumbledore before more of those arrive.”
Tonks nodded. Awkwardly, she lifted the inert body to a sitting position, then hugged it tightly and Disapparated. Lupin took a moment to cast about, searching for anyone who might have noticed the commotion. Satisfied that they had been unobserved, he also vanished.