A.N.: Hello, my dear readers! Many apologies for the delay in posting. *smiles sheepishly* I wasn't really in a good place emotionally and writing was a bit hard. I'm happy to finally present – chapter 2! Enjoy! ^^
Oh, and do stay for the post-chapter author's note: some exciting information there! ;3
Disclaimer: Much to my continued disappointment, I still own neither Harry Potter, nor Doctor Who. *sighs*
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Chapter 2
Place & Time: Ministry of Communication, London, England; 28th of July, 2001
Twelve years.
Twelve years since the Doctor's TARDIS had brought him to the Time Lord's favourite planet.
Twelve years since he had set out to celebrate his freedom and regeneration that fateful night.
Twelve years since by pure chance the existence of the wizarding world had been revealed to him.
Twelve years since he had decided on his course of action for the newest round in his and the Doctor's game.
Twelve years had passed and for those twelve long years he'd had to deal with the stupidity of the human race while silently moving into a position from which he would be able to fool and outmanoeuvre the Doctor so thoroughly that his old frenemy would have no choice but to concede to his superiority.
To his victory.
The scowl which had been marring the Master's face since he'd had to endure an entire hour of the Minister of Magic's mindless prattling eased and a smug smirk replaced it. The thought of the sweet, sweet victory awaiting him at the end of his and the Doctor's long game reminded him why he put up with the idiocy of the barely intelligent apes populating this world, particularly the sheer nonsense spouted by the pureblood wizards and witches. He closed his eyes as he luxuriated in the concept of finally winning against his best enemy.
He was the Master of All and he would make the Doctor see it. Acknowledge it. Bow to it.
Bow to him.
The Master's daydreams of his ultimate defeat of the Doctor were abruptly interrupted by the distinct sound of apparition in the near distance, the tell-tale crack created in the wake of magicals forcing their way from one point in reality through to another causing hazel eyes shot through with amber to snap open and instantly focus on the door of the office. How curious, he wasn't expecting any other wizards or witches today. Several moments passed in silence before the handle was pushed down and his unscheduled visitor stepped into the room.
The Master immediately straightened in his seat and propped his elbows against the edge of his desk as he leaned forward, anticipation bright in his gaze.
At first glance, the wizard in front of him appeared completely unassuming: brown eyes, brown hair, common facial traits. The man's average height and commonplace clothes further reinforced the impression that there was nothing even remotely remarkable about him. It wasn't a far-fetched thought at all that he was capable of seamlessly blending in with both the magical inhabitants of Hogsmeade and the inhabitants of a purely muggle settlement; the kind of person who would hardly be spared a look, never mind a second glance. In short, this man was someone who would be able to easily move between the two societies without arousing any suspicion – and this was precisely why the Master had chosen him.
"Well?" the Time Lord asked with feigned nonchalance.
"It arrived just after sunrise, Master," came the deferential reply as the wizard took out a letter from an inside pocket of his summer jacket and held it out to his employer with a blank look. "The post owl magic has been confunded into accepting the letter as having been successfully delivered to its recipient."
The Time Lord eagerly snatched the letter away and all but jumped out of his office chair in barely reined in excitement. Tempted though he was to stare at his newly acquired prize, he had to first take care of tying up any loose ends. Hmm, how to make it look natural? Locking his eyes on the wizard's, he spoke in a smooth, mellifluous voice: "You will obey me. You will go home to wait there until midnight. You will not communicate with anyone in that time. You will then go to the most secluded area of the Thames and jump into the river. You will not swim. You will obey me."
"I obey," the wizard tonelessly replied before he turned around and walked out of the office. A few seconds later the crack of apparition from the storage room the Master had set aside as an apparition point confirmed that he had left.
The Master returned his attention to the letter in his hand with a wide grin. Finally! He could now start on the next step in his consolidation of power in the wizarding world. If he wanted to have everything ready by the time the Doctor found his way back to Earth from Malcassairo, then he couldn't allow the hidden societies of the wizarding world to get in the way of his future rule of this planet.
Especially a wizarding world guided by Albus Dumbledore.
Oh, the elderly wizard had done his best to establish himself as the 'leader of the light' and a generally affable and kindly persona, but to an expert manipulator like the Master it was obvious that Dumbledore had surreptitiously manoeuvred himself into a position of considerable influence and power: as Headmaster of Hogwarts Dumbledore had access to the wizarding world's future and seven years to fill the children's impressionable young minds with his views; as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot Dumbledore had the power to steer, whether through subtle or direct approaches, the laws of wizarding Britain; and as Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards he had a valuable position within the international political arena of the wizarding world which gave him an appreciable level of sway over the British wizarding world's place within the global magical community.
Albus Dumbledore was the ruler of British wizarding society in all but name and had a voice that was listened to within the international community.
When the Master achieved world domination he could NOT allow someone like Albus Dumbledore to have such a position of power. It was a well-fortified position at that, too, the Time Lord had to give Dumbledore credit there: his defeat of Grindelwald had seen a rise in his popularity and he had successfully built a positive image with a mostly favourable reputation since then. How, then, could he go about toppling Albus Dumbledore from his lofty throne?
The answer to that question was currently in his hand; or, at least, the first step towards achieving that aim.
The Master grabbed his black topcoat and strode out of his office, distractedly calling out to a nearby secretary to have one of their drivers ready immediately. "Something urgent came up – reschedule any appointments". The answering "Yes, Mr. Saxon" was completely ignored by him as he swiftly exited the building and got into the car which had just finished pulling up to the curb. All haste was demanded now if he wanted to set his plans into motion, and he wasn't going to allow his so called 'work' for the Ministry of Communication under his alias of 'Harold Saxon' to stop him.
After all, Surrey was at least an hour's drive away from London.
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Place & Time: Little Whinging, Surrey, England; 28th of July, 2001
It was a perfectly ordinary day: the sky was overcast (as was typical of Britain's weather), the streets were devoid of traffic, the handful of early-risers already out and about was not-so-stealthily trying (and failing) to discover some juicy new secret to pass on to the Little Whinging gossip network… and amidst the usual Surrey morning life Harry was calmly taking a sip of water after having eaten the simple but sufficient breakfast he had prepared for himself, just as he did every morning.
There was, in short, nothing to suggest that anything out of the ordinary had happened, was happening, or would be happening.
However, ever since he had set foot into the pristine kitchen, Harry hadn't been able to settle down and dive into his book on advanced physics. Something was making it difficult for him to pay attention for longer than a few seconds and it was gradually beginning to fray at the edges of the ten-year-old's patience – the need to pace around, to move, was starting to become overwhelming, much to his dismay. His eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. With his concentration so affected, he might as well give up on attempting to maintain his usual morning routine.
The chapter on phase transitions would have to wait, it seemed.
Closing the book with a rueful sigh and tucking it underneath his arm, Harry stood up from the dining table and went over into the kitchen. His destination: the window above the sink. Regardless how disappointing Petunia was as a human being and a blood relation, he grudgingly had to give his aunt some credit for finding spots well-suited to spying on their neighbours and the street out front. Her need to be in the know was an unusual drive in how it contradicted her obsession with maintaining an image of normality, but in this instance it would serve his current self-set mission rather nicely indeed. If only his aunt were as skilled at intelligence application as she was at gathering it…
Alas, family was something that no one could choose.
Using his free hand to discreetly push aside the white muslin curtain to allow him a better view, Harry carefully scanned the outside for something, anything, which might help him identify the origin of the peculiar feeling of growing anticipation he had been subject to since he got downstairs. What he observed only served to vex him: Ms. Huntington from n°2 was gazing bleary-eyed into her travel mug of coffee on her way to her part-time job at the DVD store, Mrs. Stuart from n°3 was picking up two milk bottles from her doorstep, and Mr. Frederick from n°8 was walking his Cavalier King Charles spaniel. In short, there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary.
Frustration welled up inside Harry as the fruitless outcome of his search put him even more on edge than before.
Absentmindedly, he started tapping his fingers against the windowsill. The steady repeat of the rhythm of four soothed away some of his irritation over not discovering even a small clue to help him solve the mystery of the 'impending event' feeling that had become such a nuisan- Wait. Emerald green eyes narrowed as they tracked the object that had grabbed their attention. There! A pleased smirk found its way onto Harry's face. He may not be an avid bird-watcher, but even he could identify the avian that had just flown off into the distance as a barn owl; a decidedly out-of-place barn owl. What on Earth was a normally nocturnal animal doing there, flying out and about in broad daylight for no apparent reason whatsoever?
Yet another mystery added to the already worryingly large pile that had gathered over the course of the past hour.
Harry's eyebrows furrowed and the speed of his tapping picked up in response to a renewed surge of aggravation. Puzzles may have been something he generally enjoyed solving, but ones that affected him to such an extent were anything other than pleasant; no, they were an irritant he was keen on getting rid of – except he couldn't do so with this one because he didn't have enough information to even begin figuring it out. A low growl worked its way past the ten-year-old's throat. After a final resounding tap against the windowsill he started on his way back to his room, a scowl on his face. Much as it pained him to admit it, he had no choice but to wait for the answer to reveal itself in its own time.
How… annoying.
"Boy, fetch the post," his aunt's unpleasant voice greeted him at the top of the stairs, unwittingly offering a new target for his displeasure.
Petunia's initially demanding tone rapidly trailed off into a meek one by the time she finished voicing the request-slash-demand when she found herself subject to her nephew's angry gaze, the full impact of the emotions reflected within rooting her to the spot. She had trouble swallowing past the sudden tightness in her throat as the heavy silence left in the wake of her words pressed down upon her like a one-ton-anvil and her unease rose to match it. Subconsciously taking a step back, the sensation of her back hitting the hallway wall with a soft thump did nothing to distract her from the boy's penetrating glare.
"I- I mean, if you'd be so kind," Petunia stammered out with a tremble to her voice, hoping that the belatedly added politeness would assuage her nephew's ire; or, at least, be enough to shift his attention away from her.
There was no verbal reply from him and the silence which hung between them grew thick to the point a simple butter knife would have been able to effortlessly cut through it. Sometimes it was easy to forget that her nephew was no longer a timid child easily intimidated by sharp words and multitudes of chores; but then those vivid green eyes would zero in on her and she would remember that the boy in front of her was now someone she couldn't allow herself to antagonize anymore. With every passing second the tension heightened…
… and then the moment passed as the ten-year-old wordlessly turned on the spot and descended the stairs. The tension keeping her muscles taught, ready for her to act upon the primordial flight or fight reflex her nephew's anger had caused to surface, abruptly drained away. Had the wall not offered her a surface to lean on, Petunia was certain her legs would have given out beneath her. As it was, she had to stop herself from actually gasping for air. Not for the first time she wondered if this was some kind of punishment for her behaviour towards her sister throughout their adolescence.
Her nephew was a frightening child when he chose to let his mask of polite neutrality drop.
Harry had to rein in the urge to stomp down the stairs. His days of virtual slavery under the yoke of the Dursleys had ended, certainly, but for the sake of creating an at least moderately tolerable atmosphere in n°4 he still had to occasionally make minor concessions such as this one. It grated on his nerves, but such was his life that he could ill afford to completely alienate his relatives. Of course, this didn't mean that he would let his aunt get away with telling him to 'fetch' the post. He wasn't some kind of animal to be commanded about! He veered into entrance hall with a huff of indignation. It had been a tiresome month so far thanks to Dudley literally breaking in each and every single one of his thirty-seven birthday gifts and endlessly whining about it. The sole silver lining had been when Harry had managed to persuade his relatives not to take him on that spontaneous outing to the zoo. No, the ten-year-old's tolerance of his relatives' puerile pettiness had already been sorely tested the past few weeks.
Needless to say, Harry was steadily nearing the limit of both his patience and his calm.
As he was thinking up all manner of creative ways to remind Petunia not to treat him like an obedient pet his eyes landed on the pile of mail at the foot of the front door, the last letter landing among its fellows and the creak of the mail slot still sounding its distinctive squeak while it settled back into place. The post had, admittedly, proven over the years to be a valuable source of information in regards to his aunt and uncle's moods and had on occasion even given him something to hold over their heads that would enable him to have one or two demands fulfilled.
Although the day had yet to truly begin, a weary sigh escaped Harry's lips as he bent down to collect the various letters and postcards from the carpeted floor. Might as well see if there were any interesting bits of potential blackmail material, right? Swiftly scooping up the mail in one hand, his other efficiently flicked through it, green eyes wasting no time in taking in the content of each delivery even as his mind filed the newly-acquired information into 'useful' and 'useless' categories. Sadly, there was nothing of particular interest in the mail. Well, this morning just kept getting better, didn't it?
Just as Harry was about to metaphorically throw his hands in the air and write off the morning as wasted, an abrupt knock on the door sounded. Raising an eyebrow in interest, he regarded the door with unhidden curiosity. Who would be calling on the Dursleys at this time on a Saturday? The ten-year-old had no intention of adding yet another unanswered question to the sizeable stack already piling high this morning, much less waiting for his aunt to come downstairs and do her usual 'who are you to call on a respectable normal family like ours' routine.
Within seconds the door was open and Harry was carefully taking in the form of the unexpected visitor. Clean-shaven and in a bespoke suit, the man gave the impression of being a bureaucrat or even a politician, the charming smile on his round face further strengthening it. There was something in the way he held himself, however, that equally made the young boy a little wary and intrigued him. This certainly wasn't someone from around the neighbourhood or even, Harry suspected, from Surrey in general. Who was this man?
"Good morning. How may I help you?" Unknown or not, showing good manners never did any harm.
"Good morning, Mr. Potter. My name is Harold Saxon, I work at the Ministry of Communication. May I speak with you?"
Odd. The man recognised him. Oh, Mr. Saxon had probably known that Harry was a resident of n°4 Privet Drive, but to know him on sight? And then ask to speak with him? Harry's eyebrows slightly furrowed as he failed to stop himself from frowning at this development. No matter how little he thought of Uncle Vernon, his uncle was far more likely to be the one being asked for by a government official. Harry gave the man before him a long look, absently noticing the amber flecks scattered throughout his iris. "On what matter? To the best of my knowledge, I have done nothing wrong to draw the attention of the government."
"Oh, nothing so negative. In fact, the opposite – I'm here to personally give you your Hogwarts letter," Mr. Saxon replied with a calming smile, extending a letter to him as he did. "Congratulations on being accepted into Hogwarts – I'm certain your relatives are proud their nephew has been invited to attend Britain's foremost school of witchcraft and wizardry."
Harry blinked. Wait, what? Confusion rapidly replaced the young boy's previous mien of wariness.
"My Hog-what letter?" he blurted out. Hogwarts? Britain's foremost school of witchcraft and wizardry? Was this man seriously talking about magic as if it were a real thing? The ten-year-old's mounting disbelief came to a sharp halt as a possibility he had dismissed a few years ago once more rose to the forefront of his mind. His grip on the advanced physics book tightened. The energy inside him… could it be magic? Harry's sharp intake of breath was loud in the face of the absolute silence which had fallen in the wake of Mr. Saxon's explanation for his presence at n°4 this morning. A spark of hope lit up in his heart at the thought that there were others like him. He might not be alone. Harry reached out to take the proffered letter with a trembling hand. "I- I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."
Now it was Mr. Saxon's turn to frown in confusion. "You don't know?"
Mr. Saxon's reaction was everything Harry needed to know that it had been expected of him to be aware of magic and Hogwarts; it was everything he needed to know that it had been expected for him to have been raised with that knowledge; it was everything he needed to know that his aunt had known and not told him. A deep anger unlike any he had ever felt before began to unfurl within the ten-year-old. Until three years ago he had been treated as less than nothing without being told why. Worse, he had been denied awareness of his heritage, of what was rightfully his. Oh, his relatives would pay for that. Silently seething, Harry returned his attention to the person who had just opened the way to a whole new world for him and mutely shook his head.
Mr. Saxon regarded him with a contemplative expression before a faint grin slid onto his lips.
"Well, then, Mr. Potter, it's my delight to inform you that you are a wizard and have a place not only at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but in the wizarding world as well." Amber-flecked hazel eyes shifted to somewhere beyond Harry's shoulder. "And there is nothing Mrs. Dursley can say or do to stop you from reclaiming your birthright." A peculiar gleam entered the man's gaze while Harry followed it to the frozen form of his aunt. "Isn't that right, Mrs. Dursley?"
The sight of his petrified aunt was both satisfying and frustrating. In one instant his aunt's efforts at maintaining an illusion of normality had been shattered – by a government official no less – and the information she had strived to hide from her nephew had been brought to light. Harry had never before been so tempted to use everything he had at his disposal to intimidate his relatives and demand answers to all the questions about his parents and himself they had brushed off for years; maybe even get revenge for their treatment of him. However, it seemed that the abrupt revelation of that which Petunia had tried so hard to keep from him had struck her speechless, a barely perceptible nod her only response to Mr. Saxon's inquiry.
"Excellent! I suggest replying to the letter before we leave, Mr. Potter," the man spoke with a distinctly pleased smile.
"We?" Harry repeated in utter bemusement. Honestly, he'd expected Mr. Saxon to return to (presumably) London without any further ado.
"I only intended to deliver you your letter, but now I can't in good conscience leave you so unprepared." Was there a hint of happiness in his voice? Harry tilted his head to the side in consideration even as unfamiliar warmth slowly spread through his chest – here he was, thrown into the deep end of the pool without any warning, and yet, despite having no duty to do so, the same person who'd just told him the truth was now also offering him a helping hand. "Just a few minutes to make some arrangements and we can go. In the meantime, you can write your answer and we can owl it to Hogwarts when we reach the wizarding shopping district."
With those words Mr. Saxon almost cheerfully stepped past Harry and sauntered into the house, taking out a phone from his coat pocket while he did. Petunia, oddly, made no move to stop him, remaining rooted in the hallway with a peculiarly blank look on her face. The ten-year-old closed the door. Was his aunt in shock? Not that he particularly cared whether she was or wasn't, not after discovering what she had withheld from him. Without a second glance towards her he moved past his aunt, his eyes instead on the letter in his hand. It was only as he was sitting down at his desk to write his acceptance reply that his mind registered what he'd heard.
Wait, had Mr. Saxon said they would owl his reply to Hogwarts?
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A.N.: When I first started putting together this chapter I came to the startling realization (it was a truly facepalm-worthy moment *sighs*) that there was no way in hell I'd be able to progress far in this story without having something more than just a vague idea of where I wanted it to go. So I started plotting, planning – putting together a proper storyline. I wrote up two versions of this chapter and it still felt… not quite right, not quite the direction I wanted to take the story in. Then, a couple of days ago, inspiration hit me and I scrapped much, okay, most of what I'd planned in general and a majority of what I'd written for this chapter. Typical writer's life, eh? *grins* That said, I'm fairly pleased with how this chapter has turned out. Even if the new storyline/plot prompted some pretty mad research sessions, the way it's shaping up is…
Lady A: Oh, just you wait until you see what I have in store for you, my dear readers. *smiles mischievously and has to resist laughing*
Master: Ah, wonderful! I see my lessons are starting to set in. *grins, clearly pleased, and ruffles Lady A's hair* Look at you, drawing out the suspense and torturing your readers with the anticipation of edge-of-seat-worthy content. I'm so proud!
Lady A: *eyebrow twitches* I'm not some sort of pet! *bats away his hand and crosses her arms* And you're a master at this sort of stuff – of course I'm going to make use of that.
Master: I am the Master, point blank. *smirks*
Lady A: *smiles in faint amusement* As you say, Master. *turns to readers* On a side note: just a reminder to those of you who didn't bother with reading the initial author's note in the prologue or the date displayed in the previous chapter – the HP timeline has been moved forward by a decade in order to sync it up with the DW one.
Master: *rolls eyes and mutters* Why you humans tend to skip over these details…
Lady A: The expectation of these details being insignificant, probably; or the expectation that the knowledge already possessed still applies. *shrugs* At any rate: PLEASE, READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTES, my dear readers!
Master: *stares at the readers* You will obey her.
Lady A: I thought we'd agreed there would be no hypnosis, Master. *rolls eyes in fond exasperation before turning back to the readers* At any road, I don't know how much I'll be able to write over the next few months while I try to finish my Master degree studies (hopefully by the end of January!), but I will try my best to update this story at least a couple of times during that timeframe. The delay with this one was… well… *smiles sheepishly* Life happened, basically.
Master: *raises an eyebrow* Doesn't it always?
Lady A: *grumbles* Aaaaanyway… LEAVE REVIEWS, PLEASE!