I woke up to the sound of angry muttering beside me, and a small smile crossed my face before the words actually reached me. For a second I was able to pretend that the worried/angry British voice was the Doctor. Then I remembered he was Scottish at the moment. And the voice was female, and muttering about magic.

"Daft men, what were they thinking? Apparating a patient with a head injury, I should have their hearts for dinner those no good Ministry scoundrels!"

I opened my eyes, taking in the sight of a skinny looking older woman fussing around with a bunch of vibrantly colored vials on the table by my bed. I sat up slowly, leaning against the back of the bed. When she didn't notice me still I coughed. Nothing. I coughed a bit louder and she finally turned to me, jumping and cutting off her commentary.

"Oh, Merlin, child, you startled me. Are you feeling alright? How's the head?"

I wasn't able to respond before she pressed cool fingers to my forehead. I felt something like an electric shock travel straight into my brain. The electricity was stopped by the feeling that I had always gotten from being nudged a certain direction by the TARDIS. I was tempted to open my eyes again, when had they shut?, to look for her. But the electricity was spreading, going through every part of me, pain like I had never felt before, and I'd nearly been turned by a Cyberman. It was worse than having your brain nearly ripped out. The woman, probably a nurse of some sort, touched my arm, I felt the electricity spreading there as well. I wanted to protest, to tell her to stop it already, but that guiding force that felt like the TARDIS kept my mouth firmly closed. I felt it then, the shifting.

The slight changing of something inside me. I'd met psychic races, I knew when someone was shuffling around in my head, and I knew the TARDIS very well by now. I was screaming mental questions through the pain, only to be gently hushed, a memory thrust forward from my own mind to calm my questions.

"How did they do it, though? In the war, how did those creatures survive the sudden change in the world?"

The Doctor, sporting a bow tie and fiddling under the console while telling his story glanced at me before answering.

"They used Time Lord technology Mara. Something called a Chameleon Arch. I've used it myself. I have one, tied in to the matrix of the TARDIS. Blasts away every cell in your body, rewrites your biology. All you need is a sample and boom! You're the right species to survive wherever you need to go. I used it a bit differently though, did some memory finagling...but that's another story, hand me that thingamagig there by your hand- no your other hand, that's it. Now…"

The memory faded and I panicked, thrashing my limbs slightly, belated realising that someone had tied me down already and there were several more people hanging around, all muttering moving around my bedside. I tentatively poked the 'TARDIS',

Is that what you're doing? Changing me? Why can't you just bring the Doctor here to help me, why do I have to adapt? Why can't I just go home?

The TARDIS has no real words, no straight voice she can use, even telepathically, although the Doctor tells me she had a body once. Now however she was only able to feed me the emotion of sadness, and a feeling of disconnection, along with one last memory.

"It's the TARDIS, in your mind. Set's up the translation matrix, helps you understand things, keeps things safe during your travels."

"Safe? Safe from what?"

"Aren't concerned about her being in your head? I've had rows over that."

"Beautiful alien technology in my head whispering the answers? Why should I complain?"

"Knew I liked you for a reason. Come on, the ambassadors going to eat all the cookies."

The piece of the TARDIS that remains in my mind, but if she was disconnected from the Doctor and couldn't reach him did that mean I was well and truly separated from him? From Earth? The Doctor could travel to different planets, he could go anywhere. Well except Manhattan, but again, different story. Did that mean alternate reality? It would explain the rip, the traveling, and the Wizardry, but how did it get there? My brainstorming was interrupted by my small piece of TARDIS thoughtwave sending a brief impression of apologizing. Then the pain was overwhelming.

Waking up was infinitely more difficult the second time and it took me a moment to figure out why. Chameleon Arch equation, functioning on the small genetic sample of a medical witch who had been manually checking my temperature. I was alone, somewhere I had never been, without identity or any clue of what to do, and the Doctor wasn't with me. Sure, I'd been separated from him before, all companions break the 'don't wander off' rule at one point in their travels, at least once. But this was different. Because he wasn't coming to my rescue now. I probably wouldn't see him again unless I used magic to find my way back through the dimensions. Wait-magic. That woman was a witch. The arch changed me to match her kind, did that make me a witch as well?

I didn't know whether to be terrified or ecstatic about this fact. On one hand I had been a scientist for a while, and a defender of logic, but on the other-this was magic. The giddy realization that I might be a witch was crushed slightly by the aching in my limbs. Once I had thought my way through enough that I thought I might understand my situation at least a little bit, I forced my eyes open, wincing at the light. The room was typical hospital style, only without the usual monitoring equipment. The chair by the bed was empty and my laptop bag was lying on the floor beside it, my clothes folded neatly on the table beside a glass of water and a vial of something a terrifyingly bright green. I was wearing a loose fitting long sleeved shirt and pants combo, grateful that they both covered the evidence of my adventures with the Doctor. It made me uneasy that someone changed me while I was knocked out, but then again, there was probably a spell for that. The TARDIS key was still around my neck on it's delicate looking chain, the perception filter most likely standing up to magic scrutiny.

The door opened to admit several people, none of whom looked surprised I was awake and sitting up once again. I figured they must have had some sort of spell in place to let them know and giggled internally. Spells. Who knew that after taking all sorts of aliens in stride I would struggle slightly with things I had been familiar with in stories for years. The first man in line was a doctor, no doubt about that. His no nonsense attitude and white attire attested to that. The second man was an unknown, but the third was familiar. Last I'd seen him he'd been on a movie screen. The way he was twisting that hat was familiar as well, but my mind was struggling to accept that this would really be Cornelius Fudge. For one thing, he wasn't in any sort of position to end up here by the end of the books, where did that put me in the timeline? Were the books even reliable? And another thing, if he was the minister at the moment, why was he in my hospital room?

The doctor swept closer, waving his wand over me. I followed it's path curiously, only looking back to him when he spoke.

"I am Healer Bowman. You've been in an apparition related incident and are now currently residing in St Mungos Hospital in London. I am going to ask you a few questions and I want you to answer them to the best of your ability. Do you understand?"

I glanced at his two companions, noting that Fudge still looked nervous and the short skinny man beside him looked unimpressed. I turned back to Bowman and nodded.

"Alright then. What is your name?"

"Marissa Swift."

Where are you from?
"Helena, Montana. United States of America."

"When were you born?"

"I…"

What year is it anyway? When would I have to be born to be my real age now? I couldn't very well say the real date, that hasn't happened yet if Fudge is Minister. And that was looking more likely because of the way he was dressed, professionally with the materials being expensive looking.

I looked down at my knees, staring at them in concentration for several seconds of silence before I looked back up at the healer.

"I don't know. November maybe? Why don't I know?"

The thin man beside Fudge was scrawling something down on a clipboard, using a quill, with Fudge looking at it worriedly. The healer didn't answer, moving on instead.

"Don't worry about it for the moment, we'll go back to that later. Next question, can you tell me your wand core?"

I gave him a look I'd seen the Doctor utilize several times, a look that screamed "You're the stupidest thing on this planet at the moment".

"I'm not sure I follow. Wand? Like...magic wand?"

Bowman nodded and I changed the look to pure confusion.

"What are you talking about, there's no such thing as magic."

There was a pause, the man scribbling on his clipboard looked up at Fudge for several for several seconds before going back to his scribbling. Bowman didn't pause, instead moving on one again.

"Tell me, what did your parents do for work when you were a child?"

I narrowed my eyes, unsure where this was going. He waved a hand at me dismissively,

"Relax child, checking long term memory is standard. Now answer the question please."

I tilted my head to the side,

"My mom was an art teacher at the local elementary school, I didn't know my Dad."

He nodded, as if he knew this already and was just making sure.

"And your mothers name?"

"Allison."

"And Swift is your father's-"

"No, it's my mother's maiden name. Again, didn't know my Dad."

The healer nodded, glancing back at Fudge, who had sunk down slightly to make himself smaller.

"Well there you go, Minister. Proof's in the pudding, as they say. Your people apparated with a muggle born witch fresh out of an apparition accident and knocked the memory of magic straight out of her head."

No. It can't be that easy for me. There's no way. The Ministry of Magic is portrayed as incompetent and prone to assumption in the books, but there is no way they are this stupid. That was a children's novel, this is real. They can't be that stupid. Or is this a possible conclusion based on their facts? Did the TARDIS mess with their heads while she was dicking around with my biology? Or did that good luck that evaded me in the presence of the Doctor suddenly pop back up now that he wasn't here?

The 'Minister' fumbled with his hat, gesturing to me vaguely,

"Well, the girl's muggleborn, as you said. Can't we just leave her with the muggles? They have contingencies for when people forget themselves. She doesn't remember magic, can't we just obliviate this talk and be done with her?"

The slow turns and incredulous looks from the other wizards in the room told him no. Bowman glared down at the man, crossing his arms.

"She has rights. Muggleborn or not, American or not. Your administration is to blame for her condition, you are required to fix it Minister. Or do you want the Daily Prophet getting wind of this?"

Oooh, a doctor who cares about the patient rather than the money. That's nice for me, not so much for Fudge. I watched the two of them, doing my best to look neutral rather than amused. The small man to Fudge's right cleared his throat, bringing our attention to him. He turned watery, narrowed eyes to the man.

"As the representative for the Justice department I have to agree with Healer Bowman. The ministry is responsible for her recovery."

Sweet cheese, it was the Doctors bad luck that got us in all that shit, because so far, none of the usual things have gone wrong to me. No one has tried to kill me, steal my face, or rip out my soul. All in all, better than usual.

Fudge looked lost, and slightly annoyed, muttering to himself.

"Of all the times for that man to take a vacation, it had to be when the muggleborn lost her memory."

I didn't have time to think about this because the Minister stepped forward, giving me a false fatherly smile.

"Do you know how old you are, dear?"

I deadpanned,

"24."

The three in the room looked taken aback and Fudge swore quietly,

"There goes my chances of sending her to Hogwarts." He froze for a second before turning to the man beside him,

"Can I legally send her there? Remedial education is basically the same as having forgotten it all in the first place."

The Healer didn't get a chance to chime in, the man next to Fudge was shrugging.

"That would be up to the Headmaster, of course. I'm versed in general magical law, not the fine points of the school rules of Hogwarts."

He quickly excused himself to 'send an owl'. The lawyer went with him, leaving me with a stewing healer. I tugged gently on the edge of his sleeve to get his attention. When he looked at me I raised an eyebrow,

"What's going on here?"

The healer sighed, pulling up the chair and sitting with a huff.

"Since the Minister is going to neglect his responsibilities I suppose I'll give you the rundown."

Bowman had to turn a vase into a bird in order for me to 'believe' that magic was real. I was given the horrible electric green 'potion' and left alone with my thoughts after a while, advised to get some rest. Sleep was impossible. I was more than a little worried about the future. Going to Hogwarts...on one hand, it was Hogwarts and I couldn't pass up a chance to visit there. On the other hand, it was a school for children and teenagers. I would be stupidly out of place. I wasn't lying, 24 years old was more or less accurate, even if legally I was closer to 23 rather than almost 25. Traveling with the Doctor does things like that to your age, or your perception of it. I fell into the Magarthian 'fountain of youth' once, and we still hadn't figured out if that was going to affect me in any way. The Doctor reckoned it was a fake, a placebo of sorts. But then again, the Doctor lies.

I had time to wonder extensively about the Hogwarts issue, finally deciding in the end that it wouldn't matter anyway because Dumbledore (if he was Headmaster at the moment) was going to refuse Fudge just out of principle.

By the time the Healer returned (and it was a relief to say healer the title Doctor was taken in my mind) I had moved on to pondering what other options they would have for me. Bowman was scowling when he entered, not that it was unusual for him I had deduced, but it was slightly fiercer than earlier.

"The Minister has decided not to inform the American's about your presence and attempt to help you recover your memories before getting them involved."

I raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the pillows.

"So he's hiding the fact he fucked up until there's no longer proof that he fucked up?"

Bowman let out a startled sounding snort, examining me for a second before nodding.

"Yes, something like that." He seemed to shake himself before continuing.

"Our expert took a look at your magical core, and everything looks stable at the moment. There was a massive fluctuation in your magical core shortly after you woke for the second time, but everything seems to have settled down now. It was probably caused by the same thing that lead to your apparition deviation."

I just stared at him blankly and waited for him to finish. I was used to occasionally, or more than occasionally really, having to nod along while someone rambled specialized knowledge into my ear. This was nothing compared to the thermonuclear physics of that one planet where up was down and no one had ears.

He sighed,

"Everything will settle down quicker once we you can get your control back. There was some accidental magic when you were asleep and your core was still equalizing. It will get better when you have a wand and can relearn some of the control you got in school."

I managed to keep a straight face, nodding slightly. He must have noticed something off in my expression because he patted my shoulder lightly.

"Don't worry Miss Swift. It will make sense when your memories start to return. And if they don't...well, I'm sure they will."

That would have been no help at all if I was really suffering from amnesia. But I let him get out his many reassurances, him talking at me for a while until the door opened, admitting a slightly flustered but grinning Fudge followed by a tall woman in maroon robes with her hair tightly bound in a severe bun. She was very familiar as well.

Fudge practically danced in, motioning towards the woman beside him.

"Miss Smith this is the Deputy Headmistress for Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, Minerva McGonagall. She's here as a representative from Hogwarts to help with a solution for your...condition."

He made his excuses and was out the door before I could open my mouth. I turned to the professor, smiling sheepishly.

"It's Swift actually. Not Smith. Marissa Swift. I do remember that much."

McGonagall looked me up and down, expression stern but not unkind.

"Well then, Miss Swift, at the request of the Minister we at Hogwarts have agreed to set up a tutoring schedule in attempt to help you regain your memories of magic. We have gained permission from the Minister to house you at Hogwarts, where you will have access to the library and whatever teachers remain on campus. I am to take you to Diagon Alley where we shall purchase what you need for your lessons."

I sheepishly raised my hand like I was in class, feeling that this was happening all too often lately. There was a small smile on her face when she inclined her head towards me.

"Yes Miss Swift?"

I put my hand down, looking up at her nervously,

"Well, I don't really have much money on me. If I do it will all be American currency…"

And most likely not valid yet. This is just like when I tried to use a dollar bill from 2012 in 1961…

McGonagall shook her head, small smile still present.

"No worries dear, the Ministry is being kind enough to help fund most of what you need. If you would like to earn anything extra you are allowed to go to Hogsmeade, the village near Hogwarts, and get a part time job if you so wish."

Oh, allowed am I?

I didn't comment on their assumption that they were in control of me, letting it lie. Biting the hand that feeds you and all that. So I nodded, looking thoughtful,

"When were you planning on leaving?"

The Healer pulled my clothes from behind him on the table, converse lying on top of the pile.

"We're getting rid of you right at this moment, Missy, get changed."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, taking the close and nodding to the Professor. I slid down off the side of the bed and caught the surprised look on McGonagall's face as I went by. I'm a bit under five feet tall, and a bit on the scrawny side because all the running. I closed the door to the bathroom behind me, seeing McGonagall turning to speak in lowered voices with the Healer. They were probably conspiring against me about those stupid potions.

I dressed quickly, noticing there were disposable grooming products in little pouches. After I brushed my hair and teeth the little utensils sealed themselves up again and vanished. I spent a second to wonder about the waste of resources, where it went, and why I couldn't just keep them before pushing my way out of the bathroom. I had redone my ponytail, and the dirt from falling was gone from my clothes, even the bottom of my shoes. Probably spelled away. I took another second to be bitter about the dirt on the bottom of my shoes. That was from home, and several other planets, those jerks.

McGonagall was waiting for me when I exited, glancing over my outfit, raising an eyebrow.

"Is this what muggles wear these days?"

I looked over myself, checking the time period in my head before shrugging.

"I'm American. European 'muggles' probably dress slightly differently."

She took that explanation easily, motioning me out the door in front of her. Healer Bowman had disappeared sometime before I exited the bathroom so it was just me and the Professor as she led the way through the hospital. I grabbed my laptop bag, throwing it over my shoulder before following.

"We're going to be traveling to the Alley by Floo, the Healers recommend you avoid apparating for a while. Floo is the linking of fireplaces. I shall explain more when we arrive at the Floo point. Are there any questions you have for me in the meantime?"

I stayed silent for a few seconds, weighing what someone who would have asked had they had no knowledge of this world whatsoever.

"Can you...tell me about this...Hogwarts, was it?"

So while she marched through the halls I was treated to the basic explanation, a list of subject offered, who taught what, an explanation of the houses and a promise to see a game of Quidditch. I listened with half an ear while examining the hospital around me. The scientist in me was screaming, my mental version of the Doctor freaking out in a good way, and outwardly I eyed the maladies with vague interest. I did my best not to stare, perfectly aware of what they would be feeling at the moment. There were several occasions where the Doctor and I had run into trouble because of the various odd features we had taken too long a look at.

I was probably free to 'subconsciously' accept some of this as not too unusual because of a 'magical' background, when actually it would come from experience with the extraterrestrial rather than supernatural. Speaking of Supernatural, all of my shows, I was going to miss the new episodes. That was depressing. Not as depressing as never seeing the Doctor again, but I pushed that to the back of my mind, it happens to every companion eventually, after all. But none of us ever really expect it to come so soon…

It took longer than I thought to reach the room filled with fireplaces, and I was given a swift and concise explanation and a handful of sparkling green powder. McGonagall showed how it was done, promising to meet me on the other end. I took a deep breath, praying my American accent wouldn't screw me over like Harry's stutter/cough had.

"Diagon Alley!"

A bit strange of a way to explain what's going on, but with the stuff that happens on Doctor Who, this seems plausible. Stranger things have happened.

~TimeLordOfPie