Disclaimer: So this'll be the first time I write a story for Harry Potter OR Doctor Who! Very exciting, don't you think? I was just browsing through the site and couldn't find any stories that did this storyline the way I'd like to see it done, so I thought; "Hey! Why don't you do it yourself?" I hope you have as much fun with it as I am, and I hope that this starts off a series of exciting adventures that we'll all share.

Oh, and, I don't own Harry Potter, I guess? I mean, if you can't figure that out on your own, well, I'm shocked you have the mental capacity to read.

The Reapers of Shan Shen

Chapter 1-The Silly Old Watch

On the night before September First, in a small bedroom on the second floor of Number Four Privet Drive, a little boy sat on his bed staring at an old broken pocket watch. His fingers danced across the strange archaic design etched across its surface, his eyes glassy as he thought of its significance.

Eleven-year-old Harry Potter was what you might call a contemplative child. While most children his age spent their time asking questions about the world around them, Harry tended to ponder over what he observed instead to figure it out himself. This was due mainly to the fact that his relatives, the Dursleys, discouraged him from asking questions and often punished him by way of isolation.

Now, this is not to say that he never asked questions, but any inquiry he may have had was met with a slap in the mouth and a week without food, so he made it a point to keep his questions internal. Thus, young Harry spent many days of his life taking in everything he could, be it from the many books he read from the local library or the natural world around him, or the rare human interaction he was blessed with before the Dursleys snuffed it out. This contemplative attitude gave him a certain intelligence that set himself apart from other children his age, allowing him the smarts to get out of many situations that would have gotten him killed long ago.

Still, life was hard living with Dursleys. He was given no iota of human decency and was only ever referred to as 'boy' or 'freak'. He was forced to do all the choirs around the house while his relatives lazed about, and was punished severely if he failed to complete his tasks, and he held many scars across his body as proof of their extremity. He wasn't allowed to eat more than megger scraps, despite the fact that he was the one forced to make the food for his ungrateful 'family'. Because of Aunt Petunia's lies when talking to the neighbors, everyone thought him to be a delinquent and a thief, earning him the general disdain from the adults. He even had to hide his intelligence from showing in his schoolwork, as he would be beaten if he in any way showed up his idiot of a cousin Dudley, who repeatedly bullied him and scared any of the other school children who would have wanted to be his friend.

But the one thing that provoked the most hatred from the Dursleys was simultaneously Harry's salvation, and that was magic. You see Harry was a wizard, as his father was before him. His mother was also a witch, something his aunt once was jealous of and then grew to hate. Aunt Petunia had sworn long ago that she'd put that foolishness behind her, and it only fueled her hatred when she was forced to raise her sister's 'freakish' spawn.

Harry, of course, was unaware of all of this until about a month ago. It all started when a letter addressed to him found its way into the Dursley's mail. So shocked that anybody would send a letter to him, he never thought to hide the letter before his relatives saw it. Quickly it was confiscated from him and he had been locked into his cupboard under the stairs, and the letter was disposed of. Soon after he was moved to the small guest bedroom on the second floor.

That would have been the end of it, but soon more letters came, first two, then six, then a dozen. Day after day the number increased until, finally, it became too much for the Dursleys to take, so they packed everything they had and fled to a shack set upon a rock in the middle of the sea. The Dursleys thought themselves quite clever after that, that was until, as the clock stroked twelve ringing in Harry's eleventh birthday, there came a heavy knock on the door.

What followed still had Harry's head spinning when he thought of it. The door had been knocked off its hinges by a giant of a man who introduced himself as Rebus Hagrid, who had been sent to collect him for his trip to gather his school supplies. This led to a heated argument between Hagrid and Vernon Dursley, who turned a funny shade of purple as Hagrid explained to Harry not only his status as a wizard, but the truth about how his parents died. He had never believed the story the Dursley told him, never accepting their lie that his mother and father were worthless drunks who wrapped themselves around a tree one night. Though, Harry thought sorrowfully, the truth wasn't much better.

After a string of threatening words and a new pig's tail attached to Dudley's backside, Hagrid took Harry to London where they rode the tub to the Leaky Cauldron on Charing Cross Road. There Harry was given his first taste to the level of fame he held in the wizarding world. It was certainly a startling and uncomfortable experience to have over twenty wizards and witches crowding him so that they could shake his hand. Thankfully Hagrid was able to easily part the crowd for them so that they could head to the entrance for Diagon Alley, and when it opened the boy's discomfort was quickly forgotten.

Hagrid had had a smile on his face as he led young Harry to their first destination; Gringotts. The Wizarding Bank had left Harry perplexed by its wonky architecture, then startled as he was led inside to meet the fierce-looking goblins. Hagrid quickly assured him that he was safe as long as he didn't do anything to insult the creatures, then ushered him to the nearest desk.

"What is it?" The goblin had said with barely concealed annoyance, glaring down at them from his throne-like desk.

"Mornin'," Hagrid said, holding himself straight, "We've come ter' take some money outta Mr. Potter's vault."

The goblin quirked his eyebrow, leaning forward as a vicious smile graced his lips, "And does Mr. Potter have his key?" he asked, his eyes boring into Harry's.

Before Harry could reply, Hagrid gave out a grunt, "Aye, got it here somewhere." he said as he patted his coat pockets. The Goblin frowned and leaned back, looking somewhat disappointed as Hagrid pulled his hand out quickly, a solid gold key resting in his palm, "Got it!"

Handing over the key, the goblin inspected it for a moment, before flicking his eyes towards them, "One moment, please." He jumped from his seat and scurried off.

Minutes later the goblin returned with another accompanying him, his companion dressed expensively and his head held high as if to show off his importance, "Mr. Potter? My name is Rawback, I'm the account manager for Lily Potter's personal holdings, opened April Seventeenth, Nineteen-Seventy Nine, set up by your father James Potter. If you would come with me, please?"

"Ah well, Ah don' know abou' tha'..." Hagrid spoke up, looking rather unsure of himself, "Professor Dumbledore tol' me only ta 'ave youn' Harry takin' to his trust vault."

"Mr. Hagrid," Rawback started, giving the giant an irritated glare, "My office was given specific orders to deliver certain articles to young Mr. Potter upon his eleventh birthday, including a letter written by Lily Potter herself! Surely you would not deny Mr. Potter such a personal item as the parting words of his own mother?"

Hagrid still looked rather unsure of himself, so Harry decided to give him a little push, "Please Hagrid? I'm sure it wouldn't take long, and, well, I'd really like to know what my mum had to say. I don't even remember what she looked like, having things she wanted to give me would be fantastic." He looked up at Hagrid as he said this, his bright sad emerald eyes pleading with the man.

That seemed to bring Hagrid to a decision, quickly muttering under his breath, "Damn them Dursleys… oh, alrigh'. I suppos' it wouldn' hur' for ya to hav' wha' yer mum left ya."

Harry smiled and hugged him, before turning toward Rawback who was waiting for him, "Lead the way, Mr. Rawback."

Rawback nodded, leading Harry into a private office in the back of the bank, sitting down behind his desk before waving his hand to lock the door, "Now then, Mr. Potter, I have here within my possession one item of which was left here by Lily Potter during the Spring of Seventy-Nine."

"Just Harry, please. You're older than me so it seems wrong for you to be calling me 'Mr'." Harry insisted, earning a genuine smile from the elderly goblin.

"So be it, Harry. Now about four months into her pregnancy, Mrs. Potter had her account updated so that the item that is in my possession would be delivered to you upon your eleventh birthday."

"Six months later, she returned with the aforementioned letter to be delivered alongside said item. Regrettably, she was not seen again until after her death on October Thirty-First, Nineteen-Eighty One." Rawback opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a black ornate box with a letter strapped onto the top, "I now hand these over to you."

Harry, who had been holding his breath since the start of Rawback's explanation, shakingly reached up to take the box, cradling it in his hands as if it might break. Untying the letter, he broke open the wax seal on it and withdrew the parchment inside, unfolding it as he slowly began to read.

To My Darling Son,

I hope that you have lived a happy life from the moment you were born to the time you have read this letter. We are living in troubled times, and I can only hope that I and James have been there every step of the way. Sadly, if we have not then that means we are dead, and if that is so I want you to know that we're sorry, baby. We're sorry we couldn't be there for you, to love you and tell you that everything was alright. I only hope that Sirius and Alice have been there to see you become the good young man I know you will become.

Regardless, there are certain items I would like to give you now. If I am there I could explain to you in more detail than what I will put down in this letter, but as it is, the items inside the box you have received once belonged to my father, John Evans. Your grandfather was a great man, Harry, and a humble one, too, but there were many things about him that were a mystery. These items were a few of them. He never could remember where he had gotten them nor what they were for, but something inside of him told him to keep them close at all times.

However, before he died, my father passed them on to me and told me that if I could, to uncover the mystery behind them. But if not, he wanted me to pass them on to my children, so that they could stay in the family as a silly little Heirloom. Yes, I know, Daddy could be weird sometimes. But, I want to keep my promise, and I now ask that you hold onto that promise, too. I want you to remember that, though you are a Potter, you are also an Evans, and you should never let that go.

And Harry, if anything, remember these words my father told me when I was a little girl, and hold them close to your heart.

Laugh hard. Run fast. Be kind.

I love you, sweetheart.

Lily

-P.S. Don't open the box until you are alone.

Harry lifted his head and sniffed, rubbing his eyes to wipe away the tears he only now realized he was shedding. A Family Heirloom. He hugged the letter close to his chest for a moment, reveling in the feeling that his mother had loved him and left him something so important.

With their business concluded, Rawback escorted young Harry back out into the lobby where Hagrid was waiting, and the two were brought down into the caverns below Gringotts to pick up the money Harry would need for their shopping.

The rest of the day was spent going around the different shops of the alley, picking up everything he needed for Hogwarts. By the time they were finished, Harry was sporting a new trunk packed with books, quells, potions ingredients, school robes, and a wand that Harry kept with the rest of his stuff. Hagrid had even gone ahead and purchased the most beautiful snowy-white owl Harry had ever seen for him as a birthday present.

Still, when it was over Harry had to return to Privet Drive, while Hagrid passed to him a ticket for the train at King's Cross Station leaving on September 1st. They parted ways, and Harry was grateful that the Dursleys hadn't yet arrived back from the island shack. Taking the key from under the pot by the front door, Harry quietly entered the house and made his way up the stairs with his new belongings, hiding them so that the Dursleys wouldn't take them away. After he was finished putting away his things, he sat on his bed with the black box that had been left to him by his mother. He couldn't help but appreciate the strange markings decorating the box, funny little circles and lines that criss crossed each other in fascinating designs. Taking a deep breath he opened the latch on the lid and peered inside, taking on an inquisitive look as he gazed at the items inside.

First, and most notable, was a strange blue and silver cylinder, marked with little knobs and buttons. Curious, Harry picked it up and pressed one of the buttons, electing a low buzzing sound from the strange device. Frowning he placed the cylinder back into the box and pulled out a smaller box that one might put a ring inside. Opening the box he found a small gold key on a chain that seemed to almost glow when he touched it.

Finally, Harry pulled out an old silver pocket watch that held the same strange design as the box it was placed in. Out of all the objects in the box this held most of his fascination. He had never owned something that looked so expensive before, and he took pride in the fact that it was all his. It was certainly beautiful, the strange symbols ordaining giving off a mystical feel to it.

The watch would continue to provoke Harry's fascination for the next month as he prepared for his journey to Hogwarts. Harry made it his mission to read each and every book he had purchased from Diagon Alley, which included not only his school books, but others that he had picked up so that he could learn everything he could about the world his parents had lived in. Titles like The Art of Defence: A Guide to Counteracting the Dark Arts, Famous Wizards Through the Ages, and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts were just some of his list of material that he soaked up like a sponge, more obscure tomes dealing with runes and alchemy on the side.

And yet, he always came back to the watch, which led him to sit there, on his bed alone on the night before he went off to Hogwarts, just staring at the silver object. Why was it so interesting? He wondered, his fingers traced the lines on its surface, taking in its beauty. No matter how many times he put it away, he always seemed to go back to take it out again. It was almost as if it were calling to him, wanting him to keep it as close to him as possible. Everything was packed and sorted except for the watch, because the watch didn't want to be put away. Not now, not ever.

No, in fact, the watch wanted to be opened. 'And why not?' The boy mused. After all, pocket watches were meant to be used and carried around by distinguished folk, and most of all, they were meant to be opened so as to tell the time. It was such a pretty watch, after all, it would be a right shame not to peer inside.

So, it was that night, after being unnoticed for almost fifty years with two members of the Evans family ignoring its existence, that the silly old pocket watch was opened.

-/ↀ\-

Author's Note: So what did you think? Good so far? Wondering where this is going? Hope to see you next time on our grand adventure!

If you would, please leave a review down below. I'm hoping to get anything, be it positive, negative, or constructive.