Hermione was thoroughly enjoying reading a forty-five page dossier concerning house elf living conditions in Saudi Arabia, when something else pinched her attention. She stood up to look over the walls of her cubicle, where some sort of commotion was taking place at the other end of the office.
"What's going on?" she asked. Terrance, her colleague in the cubicle next to hers, shrugged dismissively.
"Some nutter, as usual."
Hermione sighed. "Why do they always choose here? Of all the floors in this building, what is it about the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures that attracts the complete mad and... oh."
"What?" asked Terrance.
"It's my boyfriend."
"Hermione!" Ron yelled, finally catching sight of her and waving frantically.
"Oh, lord," she mumbled. Then she shouted to the ministry guards trying to hold him back at the entrance, "Rob, Geoff, it's alright. He's with me, let him through."
The large, disgruntled guards reluctantly let go of Ron, who dusted himself off and spared them a brief victory smirk, before shooting across the room to Hermione, bumping into the various cubicles and knocking over waste baskets and plant pots as he went.
"Ron, are you trying to get me sacked?" asked Hermione when he finally reached her.
"Why weren't you back at the flat?" said Ron breathlessly. "Where's Harry?"
"He went home, and since you were supposed to be at the bank I thought I'd come into the office and get a bit of work done."
Ron stared at her in wonder. "It's your day off. Only you would willingly come in on – you know what, never mind, it doesn't matter."
"Look, Ron, you know I love your enthusiasm, but if you've shoved your way into the Ministry of Magic because they've sent you the prototype of our Chocolate Frog Cards, I swear to -"
"Hermione, I've just seen the Doctor."
Hermione blinked.
"...what?"
"The Doctor. Just now, in Gringotts."
She was half aware that the entire office was staring at the two of them, and ten seconds ago she may have been bothered by that. But sometimes the mere mention of a certain person's name can change everything. The Doctor had one of those names.
"Call for Harry," she said. "I'll get my coat."
As they rushed out of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Terrence, who had been no-so-subtly eavesdropping, was forced to ask, "...Doctor who?"
"You're absolutely sure, Ron?" said Harry for the umpteenth time. "Properly sure?"
"Yes!" said Ron angrily. "The Doctor. All tweed and bowtie and smiley. He patted me on the back and asked how everyone was, then he was just gone."
Hermione and Harry shared a look, and Hermione shrugged.
"That does sound like him, Harry," she said.
Harry looked around again. They had searched every inch of Diagon Alley for evidence of the Doctor, and had ended up back at the steps outside of Gringotts. Harry stared up at the building, as if looking for answer in it's bricks.
"Can't be," he said.
"Harry, I'm not blind," said Ron. "I know what I saw!"
"No, no," Harry cut in. "I believe you. What I mean is, it can't be coincidence."
Hermione crinkled her brow, "Well, no, Harry. It could be coincidence."
"Oh, come off it, Hermione."
"You said it yourself, Harry, the Doctor can go anywhere and anywhen, and this is Diagon Alley. He's probably blown through here a thousand times."
Harry ignored the sensible voice in his head pointing out the truth in this. "All I know is, if you'd seen those lights – oh for goodness sake."
It had taken only one person to notice, and the whisper had spread. There was Harry Potter. The Harry Potter! With Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley too. A reunion outside Gringotts.
"We should go," said Hermione quickly, as a crowd started to circle the three of them.
"Can't even have a good old investigation anymore," grumbled Ron.
After a hasty escape from Diagon Alley, mostly caused by Hermione discreetly setting fire to a lamppost, the three of them now sat around Harry's kitchen table in a disgruntled silence. This was unceremoniously broken by an excited squeak from the corner of the room. The three of them turned to glare at Ginny.
"Sorry," she said, unable to hide her smile. "But does this mean I get to find out who the Doctor is now?" Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged noncommittal looks. "Oh come on! That's not fair. I've had to listen to you three mention him in passing for years without anyone willing to provide an explanation. Not my brother, not my best friend, not even my boyfriend. Well, now there's an actual, proper reason to tell me who he is, not just because I feel left out of some weird inside joke."
"It's hard to explain, Ginny," said Hermione kindly. "The Doctor was – or is I should say – a long story."
"A scary story," Ron added.
"You're telling me," chimed Harry.
"Oh this isn't fair!" Ginny wailed, taking a seat at the table. "To not tell me is one thing, to sit there making cool, mysterious comments about it is just plain mean."
Ron grinned at Harry, who feigned scratching his nose to hide his return-smirk from his girlfriend.
"Look, George gave me the afternoon off to come all the way here," said Ginny, pointing out the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes uniform and namebadge she was still wearing. "The least you can do is tell me how you all met him and I didn't."
"Look, Gin," said Harry. "Let's just say, the Doctor would be the perfect person to talk to about a thing like what we saw last night."
Ginny frowned. "Which is another way of saying you won't tell me."
"Yes," said Harry sadly. "Sorry. Not right now, anyway. It's just a long story."
Ginny shook her head. Then she stood up from the table with a dramatic sigh. "Fair enough, I suppose. I mean, I don't tell you all of my secrets. Speaking of which..."
She picked up her jacket and headed for the door, leaving Harry to stare intently at her.
"Oi," he said indignantly. "What secrets?"
She shot him a smile as she passed through the kitchen door. "Oh, sorry Harry. It's a long story."
When she had left, Harry looked back to Ron and Hermione.
"She's just bluffing. She is bluffing, isn't she Hermione? Is she bluffing?"
Hermione merely smiled. "I'd tell you, Harry, but as you're so fond of saying whenever Ron and I have a disagreement, I'd rather not get involved."
She held up a hand, which Ron quickly hi-fived. Harry scowled at them.
"Back to serious business. What are we going to do?"
"I don't think there's anything to do, Harry," said Hermione gently. "Yes, it's strange that Ron met the Doctor the day after you saw something unexplained that you'd like to talk with him about. Strange, yes. But right now, nothing more."
Ron found himself being fixed with a desperate look from Harry.
"Sorry, mate," he told him. "But she's right."
Harry stood up from the table in a huff. There was window above the kitchen sink, and through it Harry could see the last of that day's sunlight just beginning to pale; but none of the strange lights that had hung there the previous evening.
"Maybe you're right," he said finally. (Hermione and Ron, who'd been expecting an outburst, breathed out in relief). "But I don't know. That sky last night, if you had seen it, you'd understand why I made me edgy." He shrugged apologetically, and sat back at the table, where he gave them a thoughtful look. "Just... next time somebody sees the Doctor, don't let him run away."
Despite her mysterious air, Ginny had actually apparated to nowhere more interesting than the little shop around the corner from the flat she shared with Hermione. Making Harry fret was all well and good, but Ginny had promised Hermione she'd remember to buy milk.
The scene as she walked home that evening was almost picturesque. It was one of those gorgeous summer evenings that always reminded Ginny of childhoods spent at the Burrow The sky was covered in strokes of orange as the sun began to call it day. The last of it's light shined off the pavement of the empty street she walked along. Everything felt calm, and peaceful. She could swear, even, that the sound of the Beach Boys floated in the air.
Then Ginny suddenly stopped. Because she wasn't imagining it: she really could hear the Beach Boys.
Across the little cobbled road she was on, in an alleyway behind the large department store that sat on the corner of the street, there was a man. He was an older bloke, Ginny saw, clad in a leather jacket and with a strange glowing blue object in his hand – all things that would usually cause alarm bells for a young girl walking home alone.
And yet, the man seemed off in his own little world. From somewhere close by, Don't Worry Baby by the Beach Boys was playing softly, and the man was happily singing along. (Though with a very un-Beach Boy Northern accent.)
"Well, it's been building up inside of me for, oh, I don't know how long. I don't know why, but I keep thinking, something's bound to go wrong."
For some reason – and honestly, if asked, Ginny wouldn't have the slightest clue why even as she was doing it – she crossed the street and slowly strolled towards the man in the alley. He had what looked to be a dummy, prosthetic arm in his hands, and he was pointing his metal-blue-shiny-gizmo at the plastic fingers. Which, to Ginny's quiet astonishment, wiggled ever so slightly in time with the music.
The man continued singing along; apparently singing to the plastic arm, as one would a newborn baby.
"But she looks in my eyes, and makes me realise. And she says, don't worry baby."
Ginny came to a stop just out of the alleyway, in front of the man. There was something about how he was leaning casually against the wall, running his metal device up and down the plastic arm as he sang. Ginny couldn't look away.
"D'you know," the man spoke, letting Bryan Wilson take over the vocals for the moment. "Quite a lot of philosophers believe that intelligent life; wherever they come from, wherever they settle; at some point, will end up resorting to violence."
Ginny quirked an eyebrow. The man had not once looked up from the prostethic arm. She wondered if his words, still spoken in that strange sort of calmy-rough Northern voice, were directed at her, or his plastic friend.
"Could be the nicest bunch of people you've ever met," he continued. "Eventually, one of them will kick off, and sooner or later you'll end up with war. And the philosophers have got a pretty good point, considering. I mean, just look anywhere on this planet – there's as many places at war with each other than there isn't. And it's the same thing on all the other planets. Look up at the stars and you'll be looking at other people and other worlds killing each other over nothing."
Ginny moved forward. Why had she done that? This was a weird guy, in a leather jacket, with a plastic arm, in an alleyway, talking about war on other planets. Why in goodness name was she was walking closer to him, and why was she so drawn in by what he was saying?
"But a long time ago," said the man, still not having spared her so much as a glance, "I stumbled upon something really quite facinating. D'you know what the one thing is that can calm absolutely everyone down? Man or woman, human or otherwise? D'you know what's capable of making something completely bent on death and destruction, suddenly calm, and cool, and content?"
"No," said Ginny, vaguely aware of how misty her voice had gone. "What is it?"
The man looked up at her with starting blue eyes. And he smiled.
"The Beach Boys," he said. He nodded to the fingers on the arm, swaying to the music. "Fantastic, isn't it?"
And Ginny was smiling back. But, like, really, really smiling. They just stood there, two strangers in an empty street, smiling at one another while a plastic arm danced to music coming from nowhere.
"Otherwise?" Ginny said without thought.
"What?" asked the man.
"You said human or otherwise," Ginny clarified. "And other worlds. Are you talking about aliens?"
"Oh. Yeah, I suppose I am. Say hello, then." He waved the plastic arm in her direction. Ginny frowned.
"That's an alien, then, is it?"
"Yep," the man nodded. He looked at her pointedly. "Problem?"
Ginny smirked. "No. It's a free country, so you're free to be as barmy as you like."
The man gave her a toothy grin. "A freedom I'll take full advantage of, thank you very much."
Ginny laughed. Then, quite out of the blue, her brain kicked in and she realised it might be best to part ways with this stranger in the alleyway, no matter how entrancing she apparently found him.
"Well," she said awkwardly. "I better be off. Have a nice night."
"Ta," said the man. "And you. Oh, hang on a mo'." She had begun to walk away when he stopped her. "This shop behind us. Do you come here often?"
Oh, boy. Was the funny older gentleman trying to chat Ginny up? She forced herself not to smile in case she hurt his feelings.
"Err... yeah, I suppose," she answered truthfully.
"Really?" said the man. He gave the back of the building an unimpressed glance. "There's other shops, y'know. Loads of 'em. Someone was raving to me the other day about the other one. Y'know, the one about two streets down the way?"
Ginny frowned again. The conversation was starting to lose her.
"I like this one fine, thanks. They make nice tights. I'm actually supposed to be coming her tommorrow with my flatmate so we can - "
"Don't."
The man had stopped smiling. Now those blue eyes were piercing right into hers.
"Don't go in to this shop tomorrow," he said plainly. "Go to the other one, two streets down the way. They do nice tights as well."
It wasn't a threat. That's the thing that confused Ginny most. His voice had gone low and firm, but not in the least bit malicious. If anything, it seemed closer to plea than a threat.
"Okay," she said to him.
The man's expression softened again. Don't Worry Baby ended, and the arm went peacefully still. Sometime during their talk, the sun had set, and it had gotten pretty dark pretty quick.
"Right," said the man, putting away his metal device. "I think I'll make a move as well. Goodnight Ginny."
Ginny almost locked up in suprise and let him walk down the alley and out of sight.
"Hey!" she shouted, getting his attention. "How the hell did you know my name?"
"Oh, I'm psychic," the man grinned. "Dead psychic, me. Earlier today, I looked deep inside myself, in my mind's eye, and I was struck by the most unearthly premonition that we'd meet today." Ginny gaped at him. He nodded to her shirt. "I also predicted you'd be wearing a name badge."
Ginny looked down. Her nametag from work was indeed still displaying her name for all to see. She smiled despite herself, and looked back up to see the man had started walking down the alley again, into the shadows. But just before he disappeared, she shouted after him again, "You know, it's not fair if I'm wearing a namebadge and you're not?"
She heard him laugh, and while he didn't come back this time, she did hear him reply, "And I probably should. Most Doctors do."
An hour later, after running into the alley after him, after searching and shouting and not finding any trace of him, Ginny now sat on her couch, staring at her telephone. There was no way, she kept telling herself. No way at all. What are the odds having a conversation with friends about a Doctor they won't tell you about, then meeting a Doctor thirty minutes later? It wasn't possible. Of course it wasn't. So she decided she wouldn't call Harry, or tell Hermione. She decided not to add any more crazy theories to the mix. She decided to keep it to herself.
That is, until the next morning, when the department store they had been chatting behind blew up.
End of Chapter Three
(A.N.) Before anyone calls me out in reviews, my headcanon is that Ginny knows the Beach Boys because of Harry or Hermione. Probably both. Because if somebody hadn't ever heard a Beach Boys song, you'd just have to do something about that, right? :D
