the second time

Harry Potter was thirteen years old, and was desperate for news from the Wizarding World. He had resorted to sitting at the park and eavesdropping on the Lewis family's television, which was right next to the playground, and which they turned to the news every day at exactly six. The volume was always fixed at exactly 33, which bothered Harry as it was an odd number. Nevertheless, it was easy to hear the anchors if he sat on the swings and made sure not to swing too fast or the chains would creak.

Their schedule was like clockwork: Mr. Lewis and Mrs. Lewis would always finish dinner at exactly 5:45, and would do the dishes until 5:58, by which time the very last plate was being wiped dry and set back in the cupboard. Mrs. Lewis would then gather her knitting supplies, which were all kept in a large wicker basket in her own cupboard under the stairs. Then, at exactly six o' clock, she and her husband would settle down, side by side, each with a cup of chamomile tea and black coffee respectively, to watch the news.

Harry always went home at varying times, so they never suspected anything, but he also always stayed for at least three quarters of the program. This had been going on all summer, and it was the end of July – in fact, his birthday was tomorrow.

Today, at only a couple of minutes past six, while listening for anything that could possibly be linked to Harry's hidden world, a sudden strange noise filled the air. With irritation clearly evident in Harry's frown, as he could no longer hear the anchorman describing the attack made on a small family in their home, Harry hopped off the still swing. He peered around at the streets surrounding the park, wishing to take his ever-growing temper out on somebody. However, Harry was the only human being in sight. He swept his angry stare over a row of boringly identical houses with identically manicured lawns, over the corner of the sidewalk, over the deep blue police box nestled at the other end of the park, over the field behind the swings, over –

Harry stilled very suddenly, and whipped his head around to stare at the box parked directly next to the slides. He had never seen this box before in his life.

Unable to focus on the news now that this strange blue enigma was sitting on the street corner, Harry abandoned his swing and slowly began plodding his way over to the box. He stood in front of the doors, and stared up at the backlit sign reading 'POLICE PUBLIC CALL BOX' in black blocky letters. On the left door, another sign advised 'POLICE TELEPHONE, FREE FOR USE OF PUBLIC. ADVICE AND ASSISTANCE OBTAINABLE IMMEDIATELY. OFFICER AND CARS RESPOND TO ALL CALLS. PULL TO OPEN.'

With a hand on the wand he always kept tucked into the waistband of his jeans, Harry reached up for the silver handle on the bright blue door. He grasped it lightly, and gave a solid tug.

Only to go sprawling backwards onto the mulch of the park. Not only was it new and he was curious, but the stupid box was locked. With a start, he realized that the wood also seemed to be… humming.

Harry scowled and peeled himself off of the wooden chips. Feeling safe enough to not have a hand ready to whip his wand out at any second, Harry grabbed both handles this time and pulled again, feet firmly planted. Nothing. He tried pushing instead of pulling too. But the box stubbornly refused to open.

Stumped, Harry stepped back to examine the doors a little more. The blue panel beneath the sign seemed to have hinges. Harry pulled the hatch open to reveal an old time telephone – the kind where the earpiece was a cone and was attached to a cord – mounted to the box. He shrugged and picked up the receiver. Nothing. The phone wasn't even hooked up. With a frown, thirteen-year-old Harry Potter swung the hatch shut harder than necessary, and tried one last idea. He raised a fist and knocked soundly against the door three times.

He stepped back, only to catch himself actually waiting for someone to answer, as though he really believed there was a person locked inside a police box. Because the news was still playing, Harry turned to go back to his swing.

Only to be halted by the sound of a wooden door opening, someone stepping out, and then the same door closing. Slowly, Harry turned, hand hovering over his wand again.

"Very good," an eclectic man praised the bewildered teenager. "I was wondering how long it would take you to knock."

Harry was not to be deterred or distracted. "Who are you?" he demanded, pulling his wand out of his waistband, as he figured anyone with the ability to conjure a box from thin air was definitely a wizard. Well, that and his atrocious attempt at normal muggle clothing. "And how did you make this box appear?"

While the young wizard was no stranger to the absolute befuddlement that magical people felt when it came to dressing like muggles, Harry had never seen a fashion sense quite like the one of the man in front of him.

He did a better job than most wizards, but his brown pinstripe suit jacket and trousers didn't exactly match his black tie decorated with curling red roses. Even worse was the pair of strawberry red Chuck Taylor high tops – a shoe brand Hermione was known to wear every so often with her Hogwarts robes – tied up with brand new laces, still bright white. Over his suit was a long, brown trench coat with a hem that brushed the back of his calves. His hair was a shock of brown poking out over his head in spiky waves.

The wizard grinned jovially at Harry. "I'm the Doctor. Who're you?"

The Doctor. The mysterious man who broke into his home when he was four and gave him a key. As time had passed, and Harry had grown to actually understand what 'the Doctor' had once said, he began to believe him less and less. When was there going to come a time when some random key was going to be what he sorely needed?

Harry jabbed his wand towards the eccentric man. "You're not the Doctor. I've met the Doctor, and you don't look anything like him." It was true. While the Doctor he met had been on the shorter side, with skin nearly as white as milk, and a large flop of dark brown hair, this man was very tall and had a few freckles, and his skin was more peach than cream coloured. The only thing they had in common was a skinniness rivaling only Harry's own.

He seemed intrigued. "Really? A future incarnation then, I suppose. Definitely not a past one. I'd've remembered meeting such a sullen boy." He looked Harry up and down, taking in the boy's too-big clothing and worn trainers and wand still pointed unwaveringly at his large, sloped nose. His eyes flickered up to Harry's forehead. Harry flattened his bangs down nervously, a habit that had come out of his first meeting with the mysterious Doctor.

The man's eyes lit up with recognition. "Oh, this is brilliant! You're Harry Potter! I never thought I'd be seeing you again so soon! How old are you now? Twelve, thirteen?"

For a traitorous moment, Harry's mind flashed back to when he was four and locked up inside his cupboard, only to have a man climb through the kitchen window. He'd called himself the Doctor as well, and had known he was Harry Potter, too.

Harry blinked, taken aback, and lowered his wand out of shock. "'Course I am. You should know, you being a wizard and all. How'd you conjure this box? And what were you doing inside a police box anyway?"

The man muttered something to himself gleefully, before raising his voice and saying, "Oh, I'm not a wizard. Weell, I suppose some might call me a wizard. I'd certainly make a very impressive wizard… But no, not me! As non-magic as they come, I am!"

"You're not a wizard?" Harry repeated, perplexed. At the man's shake of his head, Harry swore deeply under his breath. The Ministry of Magic would for sure have his wand for this one.

He raised his wand again, pointing it directly into the eccentric man's face. "If you're not a wizard, then how did you conjure the box? And how did you know who I am?"

The Doctor raised a hand and slowly pushed the wand tip out of his face. "Not exactly what you'd call a muggle, either," he admitted, plunging his hand inside his jacket. "Nope, not even human." He grinned quirkily at the puzzled teen, and pulled out a long silver tube, both thinner and shorter than the last time he'd seen it, and not gold and white and green anymore. Now it was silver and black and blue in colour.

"That's your, what… super screwdriver?" Harry asked, eying the device as the man pressed a button on the casing so that the end of the tube elongated. The Doctor spun in a slow circle, scanning the area around him.

The Doctor glanced over at Harry with an eyebrow raised. "Sonic," he corrected. "And right about now she seems very happy to see you. She seems to be interacting with your wand there. Best put it away."

Harry nodded and tucked the wand into his pants. "Yeah. It looks a lot different. It used to be all –"

His sentence was quickly halted by the Doctor's hand over his mouth. "Ah ah ah! Better not," he warned Harry. "Can't have you go messing with the timelines by spoiling my future. Especially about something as important as my sonic screwdriver." The device in his hands buzzed, and the Doctor brought it up close to his face. "I love my sonic screwdriver," he added with a cheeky grin.

The device beeped again, and he peered at the casing with squinted eyes. A bright blue light, the same colour as both the box, continued to spill out of the bulb at the tip. "You wouldn't happen to know where any spatial-hyperlinks are, would you?" At Harry's bewildered look, the Doctor shrugged. "I didn't think so. Well, Harry Potter, it was brilliant meeting you. Again." He grinned and winked at the bewildered young wizard. When he turned to re-enter his box when the door popped open again and an older woman with bright red hair poked her head out.

"Oi, Spaceman! You said you'd be quick!" she chided. She paused then, and glanced Harry over. "Who're you, sweetheart?" she added with a kind voice and a much softer expression, her eyes undoubtedly taking in the bruises on his forearms, the too-big clothing hanging off his near-skeletal frame, and the worn out trainers on his feet.

Harry tucked his wand back into his baggy jeans. "'M Harry Potter," he told her, offering her a hand. She gaped at him.

"Shut! Up! Really? Doctor, is this really–?!" she all but squealed. She went to say something more when the Doctor, still trying to enter the box, shook his head, abruptly cutting her off.

"Best not, Donna."

"Right, sorry," she huffed. "But I am a huge fan! Good to meet you, Harry, love. Take care!" With that, she ducked back inside the box.

"Well, better get going. Like she said, Harry, nice meeting you."

Harry, in a completely panicked fashion, lunged and grabbed the Doctor's arm. "Wait! Are you ever going to come back?" He then dropped the Doctor's arm and backed away, face already turning pink and rather thoroughly humiliated.

"Well you'd better count on it," this strange man promised. With a wink, he followed the ginger woman back inside.

Harry watched in amazement a moment later as the strange blue telephone box faded from view, the noise he had heard upon its arrival accompanying it.

And it was definitely worth it when Aunt Petunia locked him in his room with no dinner for getting home a whole twenty minutes after darling Duddykins.

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a/n: Thanks to everyone who's favorited/followed. Now, please please please drop a review for me. Takes ten seconds: "love your story, keep it up!" Love you all. Till next Sunday then.