Harry, like all wizards of Hogwarts, hated O.W.L. preparations. It came as a surprise to nobody that when the bell sounded, he slammed his books together and flung them into his bag, exiting the classroom in record pace. After all, everyone else was preoccupying themselves with doing the same thing, as Umbridge's classes sucked even more than the usual. Even the Slytherins, whom prided themselves on their allegiance to the (as Ron would put it) crazy old bitch, couldn't help but let their boredom exhibit itself into dazed expressions during class. Harry was first out the door, Ron and Hermione trailing right behind him.
"I'm going to the library to check up on that last paragraph of section four." Hermione instantly chimed in. Her two friends just nodded mindlessly and placed the appropriate 'uh-huhs' and she disappeared down the other end of the hall. They'd stopped asking themselves long ago why anyone would want to delay dinner in favour of the library.
"C-mon, I'm starving," Ron said, accelerating his walking pace, barely ahead of the mob all rushing to the same destination. Harry made a noise of agreement and moved to catch up; though tripping over his own feet was one of the last things he would have expected. The Slytherins sniggered as they glided past in all their obnoxious glory (except Crabbe and Goyle, who walked with their usual stomps loud enough to scare the wits out of any first year) and Harry looked down to his feet to see the culprit - a half undone shoelace.
He let out a short sigh and quickly bent down to fix the problem, seeing Ron in his peripherals shake his head and continue on his way to the Great Hall. Harry did the relevant knot required of a shoelace, all the while thinking about how empty his stomach was. Perhaps it was his vacant belly, but it took a good three tries to fix the shoelace, and by that time he was deserted in the hallway.
He made his way through the familiar twists and turns of the castle, every corridor, every door, every painting and their accompanying sounds known to him like the back of his palm, or how many inches to swing your wand arm to the right after completing a monitoring spell, thanks to Umbridge and her repetitive copying practices. This intimate knowledge of the castle was what made him freeze in his steps when his ears picked up a sound most unfamiliar. It was barely audible; though Harry still got the feeling it was quite close. It was a kind of… whooshing sound, coming from one of the many empty rooms surrounding him.
Now many students would have ignored it, assuming it came from a painting whose occupants were having perhaps a really strange duel, or something. But Harry Potter was Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Be-Suckered-Into-Potentially-Dangerous-Situations-Almost-Constantly, and the thought did not even occur to him to not bother to find the noise's source. After deducting which door the whooshing came from (said noise which had ceased by now), he stepped up to it and slowly tried the handle. He was met with an instant resistance – locked.
"Alohomora" spilled out of his mouth almost automatically, wand at the ready. The door handle instantly moved against his palm, and he opened the door to find what was likely to be one of the last things he was expecting.
Though, truth be told, he had no idea what he was expecting. Voldemort? Death Eaters? Draco Malfoy caught red handed helping either or both of them in some shape/manner/form? What he found instead was a tall, rectangular blue box that read Police Public Call Box and Harry recalled the object from watching old British telly growing up when his relatives had permitted it. What on earth was it doing…?
Before he could think any further, its front doors opened with soft creaks, revealing a young man wearing rather distinctive clothing. The man reminded Harry of all those times he'd seen pure-blooded wizards try to blend into the muggle world in the worst possible outfit combinations. He wore a long, long rainbow scarf around his shoulders, stopping inches from his ankles, a bowtie and a long red hat thingy… fez? Was that the word? Nevertheless, Harry had intruded (though what on, he didn't really know).
"Uh… sorry," he blurted, turning around to leave.
"Wait!" The man called, stepping out of the police box, catching up to Harry. "How did you get the door open? I locked that!" Harry turned his gaze back onto him to see the peculiar man now unravelling his long scarf from his neck, bunching it up in his hands.
"S-Sorry, I just used the unlocking charm… I heard a noise and I just…" Harry stuttered, not entirely sure what he was saying. What was this man doing here? Dumbledore had to know he was here, how else did he get into Hogwarts? Harry glanced at the police box, noting the resemblance it had to the telephone box he and Arthur Weasley had used to get into the Ministry. Perhaps that was where this man was from?
"Unlocking spell?" The man enquired, disbelief sounding in his voice. "Alohomora?"
"Yeah."
"No you didn't. That's impossible!" The man said, voice elevating slightly. "Alohomora was only invented after the sixteenth century, it shouldn't exist-" The man cut his voice short, eyes lifting above Harry's eyes to his forehead, to no doubt the telltale scar. "Oh. Oh. Blimey, you're Harry Potter." Although everything about the man was eccentric, at least this part Harry knew well, even though he may not have had a lot of it since the Daily Prophet's slanders. The man's mouth instantly stretched into a wide grin, and he moved the ridiculous scarf to one hand as he clasped Harry's in the other frantically.
"Always wanted to meet you, I have! This is great – just brilliant!" He shook Harry's hand up and down enthusiastically, before opting to hold his scarf again and almost bouncing toward the police box. He opened its doors and threw the scarf in haphazardly, reaching up to the fez on his head and giving it the same treatment.
"Almost a thousand years off this time! This place doesn't even remotely resemble Godric's quarters anymore! Shame, he still owes me a few galleons." He turned to Harry again, smile still playing on his lips. "So, what are you up to here? Is it not dinner time?"
The man was getting more and more confusing by the minute, and Harry ignored the question to make his own.
"…Are you from the Ministry? N-No offence, but… who are you?"
The man opened the door to the police box wider. "Wanna see?" He then disappeared inside it. Harry reluctantly took several steps forward, curiosity outweighing his caution, and peered inside.
It was bigger on the inside, like the tents at the Quidditch World Cup, though Harry didn't understand why anymore would model a police box as its front cover. The room was dominated by shades of grey and had a sort of had a control-hub-thing in the middle that reminded Harry of science fiction movies. It didn't look very homey.
"Ta-da!" The man chimed. "Hello, I'm the Doctor! And you're Harry Potter and this is the Tardis and it can travel in time and space, see?" The man gestured wildly with his hands, and Harry must have been looking at him like he was crazy (which he was) because he deflated a little. "Damn wizards, if you were muggle, you'd be all awe-y right now and would believe me. Anyway…" He bent down and picked the scarf up from the floor. "Shame, I dug this out special for Godric, last time I saw him it was my favourite item of clothing. So long ago, now." He hung it on a coat rack gently, before stepping right behind the doors, closing them around him and obscuring the room from view.
"Well, cheerio, Harry Potter! Gotta go!" The man said, grin widening again as he reached forward for another long, enthusiastic handshake. "You'll be wonderful, Harry Potter. Simply exceptional! I think we're going to become great friends one day… one day…" he said, shutting the doors to the police box. Harry went back a few paces, dumbfounded, as the box began to fade in and out of vision, the whooshing sound from earlier back full force. By the time he left the empty room, he still had no idea what had just occurred, and how to go about telling anyone. Magic made people weird.