This is more than a Doctor Who/Harry Potter crossover, it's a mix of the two, more like combing than crossing… but still. I liked the idea and hopefully any Doctor Who and/or Harry Potter fan will like it too. This isn't going to tell the whole story of Harry Potter because I can't hold myself back from writing the good stuff so soon, I may put in a few whole sentences taken from the book but not many as I am trying to summarize most of it. Disclaimer: until I have psychic paper or a wand I can't tell you that I own either the Doctor or Harry, although I wouldn't mind owning David Tennant, but that's totally another story. Enjoy!
The Dursley's were the most normal, Muggle family you'd ever meet. So if you'll get off their grass, thank you very much. They kept as far from anything abnormal as you would want to keep from a man-eating crocodile, so it was rather strange that all this should happen to them. However, it did.
Mr. Dursley had left for work, perturbed slightly by the cat outside reading maps and signposts but quickly shaking it off, and Mrs. Dursley was cleaning up the mess made by Dudley's "WON'Ts!' and "NO's!" as word spread across the whole world of owls flying at day, shooting stars, and incredibly loud parties with an inconceivable amount of noise, yet hidden from the eyes of passerby so easily it was as if no one was there. Mrs. Dursley conveniently ignored the owls and strange people gathering in whispering groups on the sidewalks asDudleytowed her to the sweets shop, for the first time quiet except for when he yelled at his mum to hurry up. She had seen the tabby cat with black markings like spectacles over his eyes, but it only stared yellow-green orb eyes back at her, stern and accusing like a scolding teacher's look on a dozing pupil, and Mrs. Dursley hurried away, pretending it was absolutely normal because what else could she do?
Mr. Dursley would've had a perfectly lovely day if it hadn't been for the strange people grouped around wearing robes! Of all things, robes! From magenta to forest green, the robes and strange suits flashed out and billowed around them, starkly contrasting with the uniforms of schoolchildren running out for lunch and businessmen trying their best to keep from staring because that was simply rude. Mr. Dursley rushed back to his office, his grip tight on his pastry, and sat with his back to the window for the rest of the day, unable to keep the words they had been whispering out of his head.
"The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard—"
"— yes, their son, Harry—" But surely, the name Harry was as common as the surname Potter. In fact, he wasn't even sure his nephew's name was Harry, it could've beenHarveyor Harold or some other H name. He was certain it had nothing to do with him, however. At the same moment, when Mrs. Dursley heard the name "Potter" and "Harry" in distinctly the same sentence (she was rather good at overhearing things she shouldn't with her long neck), she found herself reassuring her of that same thing. How wrong they both were.
Mrs. Dursley opened the door to reach down for the milk and touched soft, cold blankets. Puzzled, she looked down, gawped a minute, than let out a piercing shriek she quickly stifled. A small baby with a letter clutched in its tiny fist stared up at her with disarmingly serious green eyes, brown hair already poking haphazardly over his forehead. A thin scar, still pink and raw, zigzagged from his hairline to his right eyebrow, looking remarkably like a lightning bolt. Mrs. Dursley clutched her hand over her mouth for so long you'd have thought she turned to stone, but then she quickly scooped up the baby and disappeared into the house. This was not out of concern for the baby, mind you, she knew who he was and wanted nothing to do with him. This was out of concern for herself, her reputation, and her husband as well.
"This will not do," she muttered to herself as she whisked the child away, completely forgetting the milk.
Ten years later, the sun rose onDudley's birthday, and Harry Potter was woken abruptly from a dream involving a familiar giant and flying motorcycles.
"Wake up, will you?" he aunt demanded, rapping furiously on the door.
"Getting up, getting up," Harry called back, swiping his peaky brown hair from out of his eyes, his fingers brushing the familiar pale scar that stitched up one side of his forehead. Brushing a spider or two off his socks, he pulled them on and bent as he clambered out of the cupboard under the stairs. Maybe it was due to living in a cramped space, but he was pale and thin with age-old eyes that shone a serious green from behind black square-framed glasses, his undomesticated hair poking up in every which way like the scar struck his hair when it wounded him. But he was definitely tall for his age, which was odd because of his restricted quarters you would expect bad posture, but he was tall and thin as an arrow. Flexing slender, cramped fingers, Harry helped his aunt in making the breakfast for "Diddy-kin's" birthday as he smiled a small smirk to himself asDudleyhad troubles calculating how many birthday gifts.
"Thirty-seven," Harry muttered to himself. "And I actually noticed the one from Marge, thank you very much. Plus your "mummy and "daddy" are prob'ly gonna buy you another couple so you don't cry. Blimey." He shook his head at his cousin's thickness. "Coop a math genius up at the oven and this's what you get..."
"Did I hear you say something?" Mr. Dursley narrowed his eyes at Harry, mustache bristling.
"Nope, nothing," he turned, smiling brightly. "Tea, Uncle?" His uncle only grunted, staring at his odd nephew who was currently enjoying a yellow banana with his daft grin turned inwards.
"Vernon, bad news," Aunt Petunia grimaced as she covered up the phone's receiver. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg, she can't take him." With that went the kitchen's earlier ordered semblance. Over Harry's racing heartbeat, all he could hear wasDudleyfake sobbing to get Harry out of his birthday. Finally he'd be able to be by himself, maybe. For one day, maybe the Dursley's would let him stay home. He could study the TV's parts or learn to navigate and hack a computer. He'd read the books, maybe now he could do it himself…
"I could just stay home," Harry suggested hopefully.
"No way in hell," Mr. Dursley bristled even more. "We'd come home to find the house dismantled and burning."
"It was just a book," Harry muttered, though it really had been a book on home repairs, that is, home repairs after a serious accident like a flood or explosion. Harry couldn't help it if he was curious about every little thing that worked on this planet.
Much to Harry's amazement and somewhat muffled disappointment, he was stuffed in the back of the car with Dudley and his best friend, Piers Polkiss who looked somewhat like a rat, on his way to the zoo. True he wouldn't be able to fiddle around with wires and circuitry around him as he liked, but it would be better than being cooped up in Mrs. Figg's ancient house where the only electrical thing she had was a broken television set from the fifties and an egg timer. Oh, and the pervading cat smell accompanied by, of course, cats. Harry wasn't sure if he disliked cats before he met Mrs. Figg's or after, but he fairly certain it was after.
The zoo was crammed with people and Harry felt awkwardly out of place, and his fingers twitched nervously at his sides as a bout of agoraphobia washed over him. He politely refused the ice cream parlor to look at the lions that prowled about in their dens, looking as sour and skittish as Harry felt at the moment. The gorillas reminded Harry of Dudley, but not blonde, and he watched them with an amused half-smile twitching his lips, arms crossed over the bars. It wasn't until they were in the reptile room that he felt at ease, oddly at ease. The room was darkened for the animals, and Harry liked the way he couldn't really see others faces' because that meant they couldn't see his. He watched the snakes with an unattached interest, pulling his glasses down his nose to look more closely at the boa constrictor thatDudleyhad been annoying.
"Bet you're sick of that, eh?" he asked softly. The snake's soft black eyes met his, and it seemed to Harry that a look passed over its impassive face that, as the snake pointed its tail at Dudley's back and rolled its head, meant I get that all the time.
"I know how that feels," Harry smiled slightly, kneeling down to level his face with the snake. "People rapping and tapping outside your door, doesn't it drive you mad?" The snake only smirked as if saying Harry had no idea. "You came fromBrazil, right?" The snake made a sort of shrug with its coiled body. "Well, technically fromBrazil. Well, born here, but, you know, ancestry and all that." The snake nodded. "Still, I bet it'd be nice to go…" Harry grunted asDudleyshoved him from the window, Piers shout to see the snake had brought him running. Harry's glasses skewed off his face and clattered on the floor. He grabbed them, hastily pulling them on to see, with delighted shock, Piers and Dudley scream in fear as the glass vanished and the snake, perking slightly, swept from the exhibit and passed Harry with a smile and a wink.
"Thanks, mate, Brazil, here I come!" it hissed as it slithered quickly from the shrieking tourists. Harry, stunned at the snake's voice, was yanked up by his uncle and they quickly left the zoo.
Harry was very aware of the door slamming as he curled up on his bed, unable to fully stretch out. Thinking back on the events that had passed, Harry insisted to himself he had only imagined the snake's voice, and switched his mind to other topics as his hands tinkered in the dark with a broken clock ofDudley's. As usual, the topic of his parents was brought into his head and his hand tightened on the screwdriver in his right fist as the green flash echoed through his mind. That could not have come from the car crash that his aunt and uncle had told him his parents had died in, unless they crashed into a toxic waste pit, which was highly unlikely. And his scar, how could metal have done it so perfectly that it looked like it did, and not have done worse to his face than that? No, a car crash was not logical, not possible, like that. So how had they died and why were the Dursley's lying? Harry thought on the other strange things that had happened in his life, strangers knowing him, shaking his hand and bowing. Bowing, of all things! He felt so uncomfortable when Aunt Petunia had rushed him out of the market when a strange had taken off his hat and bowed to him. Bowed!
