Thank you to patriciahodnett, Qwen Cooper, Chri330v, and govoninja for your support! :D
For clarification, any scene with a singular Doctor, I will occasionally use 'the Doctor'. For multi-Doctor scenes, their number-name.
Nine's destination was the Apothecary, where he was supposed to buy all the potions supplies for himself, plural. He scowled, a bit ruefully. What was he supposed to carry them in? Who knows what might happen if he mixed them in with all the bananas and things in his pocket?
He turned the corner, seeing the shop just ahead. Quickening, he hurried ahead into the shop, and was instantly hit by the awful smell of rotten eggs and other dead things. He wrinkled his nose, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. Was it a good idea to keep them here, out in the open, where it smelt this bad?
Nine walked up to the counter, manned by the shopkeeper, who stared him oddly. Used to receiving all manner of looks, including ones that probably implied 'get off this planet', 'what are you doing here' and 'who are you', he simply shoved his arm deeper into his pocket in search of the letter with the supplies list. Finally coming up, he allowed himself a triumphant grin, which didn't seem to change at all from being de-aged.
"Firs' year potions set, please, and make that triple."
After all, there was always something to be gained from being polite.
"Aren't you a bit young to be here on your own? Where're your parents?"
Although, apparently, the shopkeeper thought otherwise. The Doctor fixed him with a nasty glare, who looked away sheepishly and started to gather up the ingredients that would be needed. In the meantime, he wandered about the shop, now somewhat saddened. Did he even have any family he could call so? Certainly not parents, no. Not after the Time War… He supposed the closest thing to family would be his future selves, and past companions. It was a shame, really. He liked Rose, he really did! But, he supposed that she had her own life to get back to. Not certainly going to give it up to go gallivanting about time and space with him…
He was interrupted in his thoughts by the shopkeeper's slightly impatient attempts to catch his attention. Nine blinked as he studied the collection of items he had gathered. In fact, he didn't recall collecting them at all, but he must have when he was lost in his thoughts.
The Doctor shook his head, proceeding over to the counter. There was no point in dwelling in the past now. The future is now, tomorrow, and yesterday when you're a time traveller. He had to strain a little to put everything he had picked up on the counter, and silent, and silently cursed his smaller stature. Either way, there was no use in returning everything back to their proper places, so why not buy them?
The shopkeeper read out the price for all the items, including the items he had just added, clearly disconcerted and more than likely a bit suspicious, but unwilling to risk another look from the strange bother look from the strange boy who had flitted into the shop all on his lonesome. Nine took a moment to scrounge into his pockets, coming up with a handful or two of coins. Paying the man, the Doctor accepted the change with still a bit of a glare aimed at the keeper.
He exited the shop, arms full of boxes and bags of potions ingredients plus the equipment necessary to actually make the potions. Already, his arms were starting to ache slightly, with the weight of several pounds of assorted ingredients, plus sets of scales, vials, and three cauldrons. Not for the first time that day, he cursed his diminished strength and height, seeing as he could barely see over the top of the stack, and hurried off as fast as he could to Madam Malkin's.
Upon later reflection, he would think that the shopkeeper deliberately did not cast a Feather-light Charm on all of it as revenge for the scorching look he had given him.
When Ten stepped into Flourish and Blott's for the first time, it was unlike stepping into any other library he'd ever known, and that was including the Library, capital L, and/or the TARDIS library. The Gallifreyan Archives? Well, maybe. But only the first time.
Inwardly, he shivered slightly. If this was any indication of what was to come, he didn't think he'd survive making it to the Hogwarts Library, clearly remembered of that it was 'the largest library in Great Britain,' or something along those lines.
He jolted, realising he was blocking the way, and hastily moved out to let a few grumbling others fully into the shop. All in all, he thought he could probably stay in here forever, well, not forever, more like until he read all the books, which was admittedly a long time, but probably not forever, and would likely regenerate of old age before then…
Regenerate. He will knock four times… The Doctor started. There was a sudden double knock, but only two. A quick glance revealed that an assistant had dropped some books off her stack, which landed on the floor. He wiped his mind of those thoughts, jumping to help her. Ten picked up the books off the floor, noting the titles. 'The Science of Magic; A Study in Arcana,' and the other, 'Breaching the Void; The Worlds Between Our Own,'
"Oh! Thanks!" The assistant seemed surprised that he had helped her, smiling slightly. The Doctor turned the books over in his hands, looking up at her questioningly.
"Oh, no. It was my pleasure. Where do you need them?" Interesting… Very interesting that he should come across these books in his special circumstances…
At this, she sighed, shifting the books in her arms. "Oh, these? They were on the shelf for a really long time, but no one's interested in them, so the manager's decided to put them in the storeroom. Quite a shame, really. They're very interesting, but it's just that no one in this world has a taste for them, I suppose."
Finding themselves at the storeroom door, he watched the assistant place the stack onto an empty shelf. When she turned to him for the books, he offered her a small laugh, waving her away.
"Oh, um, actually, I think I'll take these with me. Y'know, might be an interesting read."
"Alright then, always nice to see an interest in the metaphysical. Tell ya what, discount, just for you. I'll warn you though, I doubt you'll be able to understand them for a good while yet."
Ten grinned at her. "Thanks, but you might just be surprised."
"If you say so, kiddo. Now, how can I help? You must have been here for a reason." She beamed right back at him, as he extracted the booklist from his pocket.
"Okay, so, I need the whole of the Hogwarts booklist for first years, times three, although it really should be only one, but you never know, so three it is. Please." He rambled over his words, brain to mouth filter practically non-existent.
"First year at Hogwarts, eh? Good times, good times. Know what house you're hoping for? I was a 'puff, and despite what everyone thinks, not as useless as they think we are." The assistant accio-ed over a hamper, moving off to collect his books, while he trotted behind, hugging the two he had already close to his chest.
"Uh, not really. If I had to guess, Gryffindor, or Ravenclaw. Maybe Slytherin, although I hope not." That was especially true of him. His past self, well, he was more a brave, hero type. Straight to Gryffindor. The bowtie, he wasn't so sure about.
She laughed. "From what I can see, you'd fit right into Ravenclaw. Smart cookies, they are."
Eventually, the both of them made it to the counter, where the Doctor produced the money for all the books and stationery, which included a bundle of quills, ink and some really nice parchment, which he was sure he could've found somewhere in the TARDIS, except this was different, and added his own two books to the suspiciously large pile of everything. He frowned. Did he miscalculate? It was more expensive than he thought… he probably did.
The assistant waved her wand, and it all separated neatly into three stacks, one of which, he noticed, was somewhat larger than the others. It was all tied together with a tap of her wand.
Ten passed over the right money, after a moment fumbling to count it all. With a wink, the assistant slid the bundle over to him. Hefting it, he found it lighter than expected. Feather-light Charm, his mind supplied for him. He exited the shop, stumbling past a blonde-haired man, who sneered at him.
Making a beeline for the robes shop, he noticed a small scrap of parchment sticking out of one of the books. He read it upside down. It was a note from the assistant.
'Hey, Smart Cookie, I put some extra books in for you, so I hope you don't mind that you paid a bit extra. Don't worry, half of it's on me! If you're really as clever as you say you are, enjoy~ See you next year.'
Eleven and Twelve hurried along the Alley down to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Twelve led the way, and with his imposing figure, easily cut a line through the crowds, giving Eleven a wide berth to work with. He ran along behind, half wondering how this had happened. It was usually him who did the running ahead.
But who was this Scottish, old 'Doctor' anyway? He claimed to be him, and for the most part, similar enough to him, but if the Time Lords really were alive, then he could pretend to be any of them.
There was also the matter of fact that he was on his last leg. There was no magic loophole, no miscount on his end. He was, indubitably, the last regeneration. So, how on Earth (seeming appropriate, that was where they were after all) was he even possible? The Impossible Doctor.
He cut off that train of thought as the two of them entered the shop. His eyes wandered over the racks of clothing, bolts of cloth and some very cool pointed hats.
Witch hats are cool, except I'm not a witch, I'm a wizard, blimey, a wizard, sorry, no, warlock? Warlock? I am Merlin… no, wait a moment, I'm not. Not here at least. Wait, was I ever?
So while Twelve rooted through the other clothing racks for whatever reason, maybe for appearances in public, although he could help but wonder exactly why he cared, Eleven was booted over to the back of the shop and stood on a footstool next to two other boys, from what he presumed, also being fitted for Hogwarts robes.
He squirmed slightly as the witch began taking his measurements, causing her to tut a little. This was admittedly boring, he thought, and would much rather be somewhere else, running away from things or blowing up something. The Time Lord began tuning into the other two boys' conversation, without actually giving much indication that he was. At first, it did seem atypical of any two boys raised with an ounce of magic in their lives, but the more he listened, the more strange he thought it was.
He glanced sideways, feeling a sense of déjà vu from all this. The one closest to him, blonde and in his opinion, looked a lot like the natives of Gyl 10, minus the magic. The other was strikingly familiar, although he couldn't place where from. He appeared to have finished, and hopped down from the stool. The faux-Gyl-10 sniffed haughtily and glared at the Doctor.
"What are you looking at?"
He bristled and turned away. "'S nothing. No need to shout."
Thankfully, he was soon finished with his business, and left Eleven standing there alone and desperately wondering why he felt like this had happened before. He fiddled with his bowtie, which earned him another tut from the witch working on his robes. If he was being honest, the Doctor felt rather silly, standing here, getting measurements taken for robes. Robes were decidedly not very cool.
A minute or two later, he found his past selves joining him, the both of them looking none too pleased either.
"Bad day?" He asked pleasantly.
"Yes," and "No," were both said at the same time by Nine and Ten respectively. The two locked eyes, glaring. Eleven snorted softly in laughter. He had forgotten how his past selves could be like that. He didn't stay for long though, as a moment later, he stepped down from the stool, done with fitting. He aimed a smirk at Ten and Nine, flouncing out and almost bumping into Twelve, who frowned at him.
Sheepishly, he dodged around his taller counterpart and found a chair, where he sat for a few minutes, simply experimenting with his sonic wand. There was also the matter of Mr Eyebrows. He'd just have to ask when he there was a chance.
Not long after, Nine and Ten emerged, still glaring daggers at each other. With a sigh, Eleven and Twelve joined them, the latter hustling the group to the counter, coming up with a small stack of Galleons to pay for all the robes. He hefted the bundle of everything, striding out the door, his coat swishing behind him. The three followed at a more regular pace, having split the weight of all the supplies between them.
The Doctors found they had a little bit of time on their hands after shopping, and so, bunkered down at a table at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. While as sure as they were they could enjoy just about any adventurous flavour there was, pears excepted, none of them really bothered to get them.
Except for Eleven, who upon seeing the custard flavoured ice cream, managed to manhandle the manager into baking, then adding mysteriously produced fish fingers to his scoops.
As he had probably the most complicated order of the four, he returned to the table much to the astounded looks of Nine and Ten, and the head shake of Twelve. To be fair, it hadn't actually been that long for him since he had fish custard, if you didn't count the four billion upward years of confession dial, but he still wondered what had possessed him so to enjoy that.
Nine and Ten each had a banana split, with generous amounts of jelly babies sprinkled on. Twelve went more simplistic, just a scoop of lemon icecream, topped with just a few chopped nuts.
Eleven paused halfway through his monstrosity of a dessert. He smiled just a bit mischievously at the assembly of himself.
"Ah, well, more for you, Ears, than for us, we should reintroduce ourselves to ourselves. Sandshoes, you go first. Number and age, if you would."
Nine's mouth turned downwards. "Don't call me that." Ten slowly pulled out the spoon from his mouth, looking awkwardly between them.
"Sandshoes? They're not sandshoes- Ugh. Well, I'm number ten. I'm nine hundred something years old, kinda hard to keep track after a while. "With that, Ten hastily scooped another spoonful of icecream into his mouth, as to not have to say anymore, an unusual occurrence for him.
Eleven shrugged, then stuffed another fish finger into his mouth. He answered in between chews. "I'm the elevenffh! I'm twelffh 'undred som'fing years old, blimey! I'm old! Old Doctor! Aaand now to you, Eyebrows."
Twelve looked affronted by Eleven's flippant nickname. But, seeing as how this was probably the only way without them all getting horribly confused, he played along.
"I am the twelfth incarnation of ourself, and I am over two thousand years old." He decided not to speak about the confession dial. There was no use dropping any more bombs on this already ridiculous situation. Besides, could he even count those years toward his age?
Not for the first time that day, everyone blinked in shock at one of their own.
"Sorry, what?!"
"T-two thousand?!"
"I'm surprised I even made it that long..."
"Ah, but that's where you're wrong!" Eleven suddenly brandished his screwdriver at Twelve, who reacted with a flash of surprise, then amusement. Eleven continued. "Who are you, really? You can't be the Doctor, I'm the last Doctor, last regeneration, at least, number thirteen, that's me, thanks to Gob over there, so you can't possibly be the Doctor, just a trick!"
Behind his back, Nine whispered with Ten, just a tad angrily.
"What do you mean, you wasted one?!"
"Aah, not wasted, just channelled it into my handy spare hand, which, well, it became a meta-crisis, and then it saved the universe, so see, not wasted!"
"Who does that?!"
"You do!"
Dry laughter interrupted their squabble. It was coming from Twelve, who had an amused glint in his eyes.
"What are you going to do? Assemble a cabinet at me? You can't even cast any spells with it. "
"Oh yeah? Try me."
Twelve laughed a little more, shaking his head. "Oh, I remember when I was you. Madman with a box, running around all of time and space. But no, I really am the Doctor. I'll prove it. Fresh out of the Time War, leather and ears in a shop basement swarming with Autons. Found a shopgirl, grabbed her hand and whispered run. Five minutes later, blew up the shop. Best decision I ever made."
They all reminisced fondly for a moment, then Eleven pocketed the screwdriver. "I believe you," he murmured apologetically. "But how, though?"
Twelve laughed for one final time. "Spoilers, Chinny. Spoilers."
Said 'Chinny' scowled venomously at his successor. "I hate that word."
"I know."
Part two of the trip, slightly longer than the first because the bookshop scene was just too fun to write XD Did any of you catch the Sherlock reference? I had just finished watching the first episode and didn't really realise what I wrote until I wrote it. There's a lot of OOCness, I feel, with the Doctors. Maybe? I don't know. Just don't expect the next chapter to come as soon, this was a special case ;D
