Eleven felt, as the golden energy cocooned him through time and space, that he probably shouldn't be enjoying the ride so much. Certainly, he wasn't pleased that he had been subjected to this treatment in the first place (He was in no way in a "Geronimo"-shouting mood.), but still, he couldn't deny the rush he felt, the soaring feeling in his stomach as he experienced his TARDIS in a completely new way...

The golden energy went away (That is, energy never "goes away", but for all intents and purposes it was no longer with him.), and he was dropped none-too-gracefully to a dusty stone floor in a dark room.

He arrived at the same time as Ten, who at least managed to keep his feet under him.

Both Doctors whipped out their sonics at the same time.

"Some sort of...dungeon?" Ten surmised, examining the door. Wood. And locked.

"There's a precedent for that," Eleven said, turning 360 degrees. The room wasn't enormous, but it was no broom cupboard, either. Were those...figures huddled in the back? People?

"Where's Martha?" Ten asked, still obliviously examining the door.

Eleven, easing warily closer to the figures, replied, "I don't know, but if she didn't arrive with us..."

Ten slammed his fist against the wall.

The figures were now more distinct to Eleven, so he saw one of them startle at the sound. This one was an old man and familiar to him. "Ollivander?"

"Doctor," Ollivander rasped out weakly.

"Ollivander?" Ten's attention was finally drawn to the back of the dungeon-room. "Oh...I think I know where we are. If this is like book seven..."

Eleven didn't answer; he was preoccupied with the other figure, which was sleeping on its side. While the fact that this one was sort of curled in on itself might have been a factor, Eleven felt sure that this figure was shorter than Ollivander was. It seemed to be a woman, with long, dark hair.

"That's not..." Eleven muttered under his breath.

Ten scanned her with his sonic. "Human. Alive. What's the matter? D'you know her?"

Eleven took a moment to answer; his mind was racing. When he did respond, it was with one word. Well, not so much a word, really, as a name: "Clara."

...

When Martha's eyes opened, she was still bound in ropes, but she was could no longer identify her surroundings; all she knew was that it was dark, and that she was lying across a modest sort of bed.

That is, it was dark, except for the wand tip illuminated close to her face.

"Alright," Tom's voice spoke up from the other side of the wand. "Let's make this simple. Tell me how you know Luna."

Martha did not intend to answer, but the answer flew from her lips regardless. "I've never met her; I only read about her in the Harry Potter books by J. K. Rowling. Oh!" she exclaimed once she was done. "I didn't mean...did you give me Veritaserum or something?"

"The Harry Potter books?" Tom repeated, ignoring her question. "Tell me about them."

"They were written in another universe to protect the future of this one. As long as there are people reading them" (By now Martha was struggling with the ropes, trying to break free so that she could cover her own mouth.) "the original future of this universe is secured. A fixed point in time. At least, it would have been. I don't know if it is anymore."

"The future?" There was a very noticeable greed in Tom's voice, now. Martha felt sick. "What is my future?"

Please, don't. "You gain a load of followers; you become a Dark Lord, and no one is brave enough to even say your name except Dumbledore. In a few decades, you find out about a prophecy that a child born at the end of July will defeat you, and you try to kill a baby called Harry Potter because you believe him to be the child of the prophecy, but you fail because his mother sacrifices herself for him, creating a sort of protection and nearly killing you; your Horcruxes save you, until Harry Potter grows up to be the adversary you never wanted. At seventeen, he destroys all of your Horcruxes and you die in the Battle of Hogwarts."

"I die?" Tom repeated, his tone altogether changing; now, he sounded completely cold, like the scales of a snake passing over a stone floor. Martha shivered in place. "Well," he said slowly, "that is not acceptable." There was a pause as he pondered all of this new information, and Martha prayed that he would ponder it for long enough that the Veritaserum would wear off, but about ten seconds later, he said, "But you said the original future of the timeline might not be secure. Why is that?"

"The Doctor altered Luna's path from outside of the story by accident," Martha rambled, now actually hoping that she would vomit just to shut herself up. "Since Luna was inside the story, and because of her mother's genes, she was able to change things from inside. Meeting you in your childhood and being given your diary, for instance; in the original timeline, you gave your diary to Lucius Malfoy, one of your followers, and eventually used it to open the Chamber of Secrets a second time in Harry Potter's second year, Luna's first year. That led to the bit of your soul in the diary being destroyed with a basilisk fang."

"Hm." That was it, only one contemplative syllable, but there was a palpable mania behind it. "So, I have the books to thank for you knowing so much, and I have the Doctor to thank for bringing you to me. That old man always will give me just what I need."

Martha was still panting from all of the words she had just said; every time she had tried to take a breath, more words had just poured out.

"No, don't get tired now," Tom added, jabbing Martha with his wand almost good-naturedly. "We're just warming up."

...

Luna supposed that she might be attracting attention.

She had intercepted a few curious glances from passersby (students and ghosts) who spotted her spying on Tom from behind a long row of suits of armor. Tom was oblivious, though, because Tom was always oblivious, and it wasn't as if Luna wasn't used to attracting curious (at times scornful) glances.

She had to be near Tom, thanks to the time turner, but he didn't have to know that she was near. In fact, it was quite convenient when he didn't, as well as vindictively satisfying, denying him his exactest intention.

At this moment, Tom looked to be about thirteen. He was standing in the entrance to the Hogwarts library, leaning against a wall and reading from a thick, violet book with stars on the spine. Probably Astrology? His expression was one of apparent distaste. Of course, he wouldn't be one to much appreciate the beauty in the way that the stars spoke to each other.

"Ohoho, Tom, my boy!" A somewhat heavyset man had strode up to Tom and greeted him in a booming voice. Luna was impressed, both by the man's enthusiasm and by his mustache. "Studying Astrology, are you?"

"Just a bit, sir." It was almost jarring, how unerringly polite Tom became in that moment. Of course, there was a level of falseness too it, but even so this was an effort that Tom had never seemed to make with, say, Mr. the Doctor. "I like to fit extra studies into my spare time."

"Popular lad like yourself, one would think that you'd be enjoying the lovely weather," the man said, and Luna observed that he seemed an awfully jovial fellow. "But, of course, you never do miss an opportunity to sharpen that mind, do you, Tom?"

"Well, I don't see the use in a dull blade, sir." So charming.

And the man- a professor, probably -seemed delighted. "Very true! At any rate, Tom, I must be going."

"Have a good afternoon, sir."

"And the same to you!"

As the jovial, well-mustached professor strode away, Luna decided to make herself known by approaching Tom. "I think you ended every sentence with 'sir', then."

Tom did a double take upon seeing her. "Where did you...? What are you wearing?"

Luna looked down at herself. Oh, right. "Well, I used my school robes to swaddle you in- I just delivered you, see. And I've been in a cow pasture and the Forbidden Forest- That was your fault -so I'm a bit stained." All she had left were the shirt and leggings that she wore under her school robes. She didn't even have shoes, not that that was saying much at this point.

Tom stared blankly for a moment, then said, "One day I'm going to stop being surprised. Come on," he added impatiently, setting his book aside on a table and leading her by hand through the hallway.

"Where are we going?" Luna asked, not minding being led around until a treacherous, probably-Great-Intelligence-filled part of her mind murmured, Not another unicorn...

"To the laundry, to get you some proper clothes," Tom said simply.

Then they rounded a corner and ran almost directly into...

"Professor Dumbledore!" Luna exclaimed. "I didn't know your hair was auburn." (Somehow, it had not occurred to her that his hair hadn't always been white.)

And indeed, they had run into a young(er) Professor Dumbledore. He was looking between her and Tom with curiosity and suspicion in his eyes but serenity in his face overall. "How do you do?" he said to her, smiling. "I'm afraid I'm not sure I know who you are. I've certainly never seen you in my classes."

"She's just visiting, professor," Tom replied before Luna could say anything.

"Indeed?" The curiosity in his eyes deepened profoundly.

Luna scented an issue, actually. "Sir, I think it might be best if you don't question it much. I think we're close to making a paradox."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "I see." The word "paradox" clearly meant something to him. It probably meant a man in a blue box.

"Try not to remember this," Luna suggested. "I'll meet you in a few decades."

"Very well." (Tom was visibly surprised by Dumbledore's concession, but he masked it quickly.) "I suppose we'd best part ways, then. However, I strongly recommend caution...to both of you." And with a stern, gleaming look, Dumbledore departed.

Tom sent Luna an appraising look before they resumed walking. "I really should keep you around more."

"You think so, Thomas?" Luna couldn't find it in herself to point out that this sentiment was her entire problem right now.

"Yes," he answered flatly. "Now, let's get you dressed in something, and..." He paused, seeming to come to a decision. Then, with the speed of a snake lashing out, he grabbed her wand from her and shoved it into his school bag.

"Why did you do that?" Luna asked, trying to reach around Tom for the wand.

He paid her efforts no mind; they didn't even break his stride. "Because I know you won't leave without it, and I need you to stay longer this time."

"You couldn't have asked?" When he didn't reply, Luna continued, "Why do you want me to stay longer?"

Tom pursed his lips, then answered in a sort of candid way, "Because it's almost Christmas, and I'd like to enjoy a Christmas." It was almost irritating when he spoke candidly, because it tended to give her the feeling that he was deceiving her with the truth.

"Okay, Tom," she said. "Alright."

Then he threw open the door to the laundry.

...

"You said she was dead."

"I know."

"Luna said she was dead."

"I know."

Ten gestured at the sleeping woman. "It looks like she's breathing fine."

"I know!" Eleven sighed. "The two possibilities that are worth considering are that either this is the Clara who was Luna Lovegood's mother and everyone was mistaken about her death..."

"Very possible," Ten mused. "Wizards don't investigate anything properly."

"...or that this is a different Clara, that Luna's mother is still very much dead, and this Clara was captured by Voldemort regardless."

"Voldemort?" Ollivander repeated, confused. "Doctor, I haven't heard of a Voldemort; we were put here by Tom Riddle."

"How can there be different Claras?" Ten went on, ignoring Ollivander. "And what would he want with her, either way?"

"Spoilers, and I don't know," Eleven said. "Maybe he wants control of Luna's mother so that he can better control Luna. Like...er, that bit in book seven..."

"Kidnapping Luna to control Xenophilius," Ten rattled off, having a much fresher memory of the series as a whole. "Sure, he might have taken it the other way around, but why kidnap her dead mother instead of her living father? Or both?"

At that moment, the sleeping woman cleared her throat and sat up. "Well, since you two clearly won't be letting me get any sleep..." She trailed off with a sly smile, then stretched. "What's going on? What're you in for?"

"More importantly," Eleven said slowly, "what are you in for?"

"More importantly," Clara digressed, her eyes having landed on Eleven's sonic screwdriver (Not Ten's, which was too small to draw her attention.), "what's that, and can it help us escape?"

"Sonic...No, no it can't," Eleven said, pocketing his screwdriver dismissively. "Listen, I have to know why Tom Riddle brought you here."

"You think I know?" Clara asked. "I just got here, same as you. We both did; tell him, Ollie."

"An hour at most," Ollivander agreed.

"Of course," Ten murmured. "Put us in at about the same time. Why not, when you've got time energy at your fingertips."

"Who are you?" Eleven asked Clara, entirely earnest.

Clara...sighed. "I can't give much of an answer," she said. "I don't know where I am, I don't know how I got here, I don't even know where I was. Ever since that gold light dropped me here, all I can really remember is that my name is Clara: Clara Oswald Lovegood."

"But you're-"

Ten's protests were cut off by the room suddenly being flooded with golden light. As suddenly as it arrived, the light began to recede, and just before it was gone entirely, a new arrival appeared; a young man with a round face and a landing just as clumsy as the one Eleven had experienced.

The boy groaned, massaging his nose, which had bumped against the floor.

"And then there were four," Clara muttered warily. She approached the boy and helped him to his feet. "You alright?"

The boy looked around him, seeming frightened. He was breathing heavily, as if he had been chased down before being sent here. "I'm fine. Where am I?"

"Might be the cellar of Malfoy Manor," Ten said. "Possibly."

"Who are you?" Eleven asked. "Where'd you come from?"

The boy's posture was mostly defensive, but there was a certain boldness to the way he raised his chin as he answered, "I'm Neville. Longbottom. And I think I've just been expelled from Hogwarts."

...

"They had to be Slytherin robes?" Luna asked. She had already dressed in the clothes Tom had given her and was now emerging from the girls' lavatory.

"They were all I could find in your size," Tom answered.

Doubtful, it being the laundry and all. "Is that a lie?"

Tom shrugged unabashedly. "I like the way green looks on you."

Indeed? Luna looked down at herself, inspecting for what difference the color green could be making. "Is it your favorite color?"

Tom rolled his eyes at the question. "No. You're just my favorite person, and I know what colors favor you." Somehow, he made the statement as if he was just correcting her on some trivial academic distinction. He had a way of removing sentiment from sentiment; it was impressive.

"I doubt I'll be able to sleep in the Slytherin dormitory, either way," Luna said.

"Of course not," Tom agreed. "I know a place where you can sleep without being discovered. After dinner. Which you're having with me."

"Fine," Luna conceded, since Tom had sent her a stern look while saying the last part. "But what is the place?"

Tom relaxed his stern gaze and lazily answered, "I've found this room that appears and disappears..."

"Oh, the Come and Go Room," Luna surmised. "You told me about that. Or...you will tell me."

Tom looked a bit disappointed at not getting to reveal his own cleverness, but he swiftly recovered to restate, "But that's after dinner."

"What's so important about dinner, Tom?"

She supposed she had been expecting an evasive answer or a flatly sentimental-but-not-sentimental one, because she was actually surprised when Tom smiled. Like the smile of a friend. The sort of smile that she was used to spectating, not receiving. The sort of smile that, even though she could of course still see the wrongness, the sharpness in his eyes, made her consider for a moment that she might just forgive him everything, everything he had ever done, because he was someone who was truly invested in her presence in a positive way. He would never exclude her or forget her. She was his favorite person. But that was just a moment, just a thought. Just a thought.

"I like watching you eat," he admitted simply.