the third time
The third time Harry Potter met the Doctor was the first time the Doctor met Harry Potter. Harry was fifteen years old (just barely), it was the summer after the Triwizard Tournament, and Harry was sitting inside his bedroom at Number twelve, Grimmauld Place, fuming as yet another Order of the Phoenix meeting convened downstairs in the kitchen. He was completely and utterly unconcerned, thanks very much, that they were most likely talking of nothing but him and this secret weapon Riddle was trying to get his filthy – but unfortunately very real – hands on.
He was even less concerned by the fact that Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and even Fred and George had been giving him a relatively wide berth ever since his rather noisy tantrum upon his arrival at Sirius's home.
So he sat and he waited on his bed, even when he could hear his friends next door, in the room Hermione and Ginny were sharing, playing Gobstones. He happened to be in a remarkably foul mood, one that he doubted would be appeased by anything other than some information. Unluckily for him, nobody had deemed him that infuriating yet, even with his sour looks and his arms that seemed to stay firmly crossed, even while he slept.
A loud crack emanated from the floor above him, and Harry looked up, immediately aware that Fred and George were having another go at their newly acquired apparition skills. In fact, they seemed to be apparating at least a couple dozen times a day, and for any reason at all: to go to the bathroom, to wake up Ron (and by default, seeing as they were bunking together, Harry) in the middle of the night, to fetch something from their trunks during dinner.
To be honest, the stewing (and somewhat hormonal) teenage wizard had had quite enough of listening to that god awful cracking noise, and finally heaved himself off of his bed, determined to go sit in the hall downstairs and wait for the Order to get out of the kitchen.
He trudged out of the bedroom, down the hallway, and stepped onto the landing, arms crossed and purposefully ignoring the loud sounds of laughter and the squishing as the Gobstones spat ooze.
Harry had never managed to get a better impression of the entry hall of Number twelve, Grimmauld Place in the little time he'd spent there. It was still gloomy and very grey in colour, with a large array of shriveled house elf heads mounted upon the wall. The umbrella stand Tonks had taken to knocking over almost every time she walked past was still there by the door, the chandelier hanging down from the third floor was still caked in sticky cobwebs, and everything was still rather dusty.
With a heavy sigh, Harry sat down. Sure, it was dank and eerie and kind of gross, but it was also quiet and not ruined by the laughter of those traitorous people he called friends. He huffed like a child and leaned back against the front door.
Only to jump forwards again, startled by a quiet and firm knocking that rumbled the heavy wooden slab.
Startled, Harry scrambled away on hands and knees, kicking up a large cloud of dust from the ancient carpet while he was at it. Nobody was supposed to be able to see the house, right? So how could there be someone knocking on the front door?
They – whoever they was – knocked again.
Harry looked around. The Order obviously hadn't heard, or they would have swarmed the hallway by now. Perhaps it was an Order member running late. Resolved, Harry stood and – in one of his more severe lapses of common sense – opened the door to the Order of the Phoenix's headquarters.
Only to find a rather strange pair standing there. A girl was holding a rather intricate looking device, and the bloke staring up at the front of the house in confusion.
"Who're you?" the man standing on the front stoop asked, rather rudely.
"Who am I? Who're you?" Harry snapped right back, some of his sour mood leaking out through his words. "And how'd you get this address?"
The man squinted at Harry. "We didn't get this address, we saw a house on the street giving off some strange readings and knocked on the door. That alright with you?"
Harry spluttered. "You can't just decide you're going to come up to this house, you have to know it's here!" He eyed the strangers in front of him suspiciously. "Are you Death Eaters?" Immediately following that question, Harry mentally smacked himself upside the head. What kind of a Death Eater would admit being a Death Eater to the Boy Who Lived?
This man sure didn't look like a Death Eater, what with his enormous ears and close cropped black hair and large nose. Death Eaters also never lowered themselves to dressing in muggle clothing, not even ominous leather jackets and heavy black boots and olive coloured jumpers.
The girl (she definitely wasn't a Death Eater, with her bottle blonde hair and very dark eyes and Union flag tee), who had been immersed in the gadget in her hand up until this point in the conversation, looked up, her eyebrows furrowed. "What, like in the books?"
Harry stared at her. "Huh?"
"Yeah, in the Ha –" Her sentence was cut off by the man slapping his hand over her mouth.
"Timelines, Rose," he reminded her in a condescending voice, although his eyes were soft. Rose rolled her eyes, but nodded. He took his hand off her mouth. She wiped her mouth on her jacket sleeve, shooting a teasing look up at the man.
"Yeah, I know, I know, ya big lutz. Anyway, this here's my friend John Smith, and I'm Rose, and we were wonderin' if we could have a look at yer house real quick. John 'n I are the electricians. Yer mum or dad must've called. Won't take a mo."
Harry stared at them a moment, then promptly tried to slam the door shut on the two characters standing on the stoop.
However, 'John Smith's' foot had somehow made its way over the threshold, preventing Harry from locking them out. "What'd you do that for?" he demanded in a thick northern accent. "We need to have a look at the lights."
Harry was not amused. He tried to slam the door again. 'Smith' stopped him again.
"Here, I've got identification. John Smith and Rose Tyler, electricians with Gallifreyan electric company. Now let us in. Are your parents around, yer mum said she needed to talk to us." He flashed Harry an opened leather wallet, in which a slip of blank white paper sat, all while trying to push past the doubtful teenager.
"That paper is blank," Harry told them, stopping 'John Smith' in his tracks.
Rose tugged on the man's leather jacket sleeve. "Doctor –" she started, only to be cut off by Harry.
"Doctor?" he demanded. "You're the Doctor?"
The man grinned a toothy smile. "That's my name. 'Eard of me, have you?"
Harry continued on, nonplussed. "So who's the real Doctor then? You or the guy with the bowtie? Or is it the man in the high tops?"
Rose looked at Harry blankly. "This is the Doctor," she said, a little more forcefully than she had spoken before. She pursed her big lips and stared at the suspicious boy with a frown.
"So the man in the pinstripes with the big blue police box that vanishes isn't the Doctor then? Or is he the Doctor and the man with pockets that could house an entire wardrobe is an imposter?"
"Doctor," Rose said, rounding on him. "Does someone have your Tardis? Is there another Time Lord out there?" However, the Doctor's attention was firmly locked onto Harry. "Doctor?" she asked again.
"Who're you then? How d'you know who the Doctor is?" Rose demanded suddenly, whirling on Harry standing solidly in the doorway. Harry pulled his wand from his back pocket, whipping it up so that it pointed squarely at her round face. She opened her mouth to yell at him. He cut her off all too gladly. Harry had a feeling he wouldn't like this girl should they ever meet again. She was much too loud and accusatory.
"I'm Harry Potter. And I'm going to ask one more time. How the hell are you standing here?"
The Doctor backed up as though someone had set fire to his leather jacket. "Harry Potter?" he repeated incredulously, blinking owlishly at the angry teen. Rose stared cross-eyed and terrified down the shaft of Harry's wand. His head whirled around to stare at the street sign on the corner, the one he'd neglected to check before knocking on the door of this very strongly hidden house.
Grimmauld Place.
Oh. That explained the strange readings. And Harry's angry wand waving and demanding to know how the Doctor was even able to see the house, let alone stand on the front stoop and knock on the door.
"C'mon, Rose," the Doctor implored, taking the blonde's hand and gently tugging her back down the steps. She glanced back over her shoulder as though she was thoroughly wishing she had gotten that scream in, but obediently followed the Doctor down the steps and back into the street. Harry watched them go, and when they had reached the other end of the crosswalk, the man pulled out a key and inserted it swiftly into a large blue police box. So this was the Doctor still, only his face was different yet again.
When would Harry ever begin to understand this enigma that was the Doctor? With a shake of his head, Harry finally closed the front door, only to hear the sounds of the Order concluding their meeting. A steady stream of wizards swarmed out of the kitchen and down the hall and past Harry, out into the evening. Behind them came Mrs. Weasley, wearing an apron and holding a wooden spoon.
"Come on then, Harry dear. Dinner is almost ready. You can help me set the table."
Harry followed her into the kitchen wearing the first smile his face had seen all summer.