Prologue - The Bet
"Settle a bet?"
Amy had to raise her voice just slightly, in order to be heard over the familiar wheezing-groaning sound that filled her sitting room. The large wooden box which had just materialized between the couch and the television seemed like a natural part of her home's decor—maybe this was because the sight had become so familiar to Amy, or perhaps she and Rory had subconsciously chosen their color palette to complement TARDIS blue.
The last echoes of materialization were still sounding, and that peculiar breeze was rustling the magazines on the table, but the tall double doors of the TARDIS had swung open, and the vast infinity of a Type 40 Time Capsule could be seen within the cozy Pond-Williams home. The Doctor stood, boots planted on the metal floor of the TARDIS entry, but leaning far into the ordinary world of real space. One hand gripped the door frame, while in the other he held the ancient telephone on which he'd just answered Amy's call, the taut cord stretched all the way back to the hexagonal console.
But at Amy's greeting, he dropped the receiver (it sprang back toward the console, of course, hitting it with a loud smack, but the Doctor didn't seem to notice). His face fell from grin to grimace as he glanced from Pond to Pond and back to Pond. "A bet?"
Amy smiled and folded her arms across her chest. Rory leaned sheepishly against the wall, hands in pockets. His expression said, "her idea, not mine," but his mouth said, "Hello, Doctor."
"Yes, hello. I know. But I don't do bets," the Doctor objected wandering out the doors and into Amy and Rory's home. "I am not available for bets. Adventures, yes, investigations, yes, a bit of uneventful sightseeing…" Rory rolled his eyes, "…when I can get it, yes. But I don't settle bets. I am not Google." After barely a pause, the Doctor made a face. "Although if Sergey'd had his way…"
Rory cut him off. "Is Magic real?" The Doctor stopped and once again shifted glances from his closest friend to his second closest friend, and then back and forth a few more times, not sure what to say. Tentatively, Rory continued, "It's just… I thought there's no way it could be—"
"And I thought," Amy interjected, "how could it not be real? I mean, the things you've shown us—"
"Aliens, obviously," said Rory, counting things off on his fingers, "and spaceships, and alternate universes, and lizard people, and—"
"And a box that's Bigger On The Inside," Amy said pointedly, "Which has a heart and a soul, and sometimes looks like a woman, and—"
"But that's all just science," Rory objected before the Doctor could get a word in edgewise. "And maths, and… y'know… quantum stuff."
The Doctor swung his gaze back toward Amy for the inevitable rejoinder, but Amy was looking expectantly back at him. The Doctor took a moment to cast off his previous objections and turned to Rory. "Quantum stuff?" the Doctor asked. "Tell me, Rory Pond, can you explain "Quantum Stuff in rational, mechanical terms, any better than you can magic?"
Rory was frustrated—there was the "Rory Pond" bit, the Doctor's preferred means of condescension. He had a sinking feeling that he was about to lose, but the Doctor wasn't getting off that easy. "No, I can't. But you can."
The Doctor stiffened visibly at this, perturbed by the all-too sensible response from sensible Rory. "Well. Yes. Obviously." But then he softened. "But you see, Rory, that's exactly it. 'Magic' is just a word, isn't it? It's all magic—" But Amy shot him a look, and the Doctor could tell he wasn't impressing either of them now. Apparently this particular avenue of discussion had been raised, debated, and dismissed. "What?"
"Well that's one thing, Doctor," said Amy. "Because, 'magic', in that sense, of course, we know that, that's all well and good."
The Doctor couldn't help but feel slighted by Amy's dismissal of the boundless infinitude of time, space, and possibility as "all well and good."
"But Rory and I are talking… y'know. Curses. Spells. Potions."
"Proper Harry Potter stuff," Rory said in summation. Rory saw the Doctor's face grow serious and grave at this. "And there's… I mean, there's no way that could…"
"Why not Harry Potter stuff?" asked the Doctor. Rory couldn't tell whether his indignation was playful or genuine. "What's wrong with Harry Potter?" The Doctor turned and spun on one heel before storming back into the TARDIS. Amy and Rory glanced at one another, nodded, and followed the wise, ancient wizard into his magic cabinet.
The Doctor was already circling round the console, pausing here and there to touch a panel or throw a lever, but stepping over the tangled phone cord and ignoring the fallen earpiece, which Amy retrieved for him and set down on the receiver.
"Well?" the Doctor asked, ignoring this. "Tell me, what are the stakes?" Amy and Rory didn't understand. "Your bet?" the Doctor clarified.
"Oh, that!" said Amy.
"Chore bet," said Rory.
The Doctor paused and made a face at this before returning to work on the console. "I've got one," he announced to his puzzled companions. "One I've been saving up for quite a while. A visit I've been meaning to pay," he explained, still working away at the console. "A momentous occasion—one of those things you can't just squander on any old thing. But for a chore bet—."
"What are you on about?" asked Amy, bemused.
"Saving it up?" Rory repeated slowly.
Finished at the console, The Doctor stood upright to face them once more. "It's somewhere I've been meaning to go… somewhen I knew I had to go… I've known it for years. I just haven't gotten around to it, and now's as good a time as any."
Amy laughed a nervous laugh. "Doctor," she said, "It's just a stupid bet."
"You could always just explain it to us," said Rory, though he knew there was little chance of that.
"Nonsense!" the Doctor cried, bounding forward to maneuver himself behind their backs. "Who better to bring along than the Girl Who Waited—" (he placed an arm around Amy's shoulder), "and the Last Centurion—" (and he placed the other around Rory's), "when you're got an appointment with the Boy Who Lived?"