Author's note: just something I wanted to write. Honor you like it. RESPECT THE -insert random fruit name here-. Disclaimer: do you think I own DW or HP? If I did, I would skip the disclaimer. I do not own anything except OCs and the plot. There may not be any OCs, and the reason this is italic is... I forgot to turn it off. YAY IT'S OFF! I figured out how to use this separator thing! My life is complete! Not really...
Television, Ron decided, was- amazing. There was no other word for it, it was spectacular. Well, at least one other word for it then. Moving pictures, on a screen, how did muggles do it? Instead of stare at a photograph of some bloke picking his nose, watch it happen over, and over, and over, and- well, you get the idea. You could choose a show, and watch that. It was amazing. Oh, but now he was becoming his father. Oh bloody hell no.
He was sitting on the sofa with Hermione and Harry, and they were watching Doctor Who. Good show, but Hermione kept complaining about the TARDIS. As she was saying this (for the bazillionth time, mind you) the magical wards on Pigwidgeon's cage broke. A ball of feathers was unleashed, and the magical shock wave appeared to suck them into the television. They appeared on a sidewalk in London, and stared at the man in front of them.
"Who the bloody hell are you?" Harry asked, once he had recovered from his shock.
"Hello, I'm the Doctor."