12. You've got to pick a pocket or two.

River threw her clothes into her bag under the watchful and very pleased eyes of Umbridge. After Dumbledore had fled Hogwarts, Fudge had started trying to reinforce his influence within the school. This had meant making yet more regulations for the remaining professors to follow (he couldn't sack them outright and replace them with his own choices without risking a parental riot), creating a squad of students – mainly Slytherins – to help Umbridge implement them, and posting an Auror at the gates should Dumbledore try to return and plan a coup.

Umbridge had of course reported River's strange and suspicious appearance and, though River had tried to explain it in what anyone else would have considered reasonable terms, Fudge had decided that she was too much of a security risk and demanded that she leave immediately. She had told him that, being a refugee from Voldemort (which could be considered true, if not quite yet), she would have nowhere to stay and would be vulnerable to attack, since she was (quite probably) a Squib. Fudge had simply said that what she did now was up to her.

River zipped up her bag with almost enough fury and enthusiasm to break the zip. It was quite clear that Fudge thought she was a secret addition to Dumbledore's so-called army, ridiculous and unfounded as the idea was.

"Are you finished?" The sickly sweet voice that she had come to loathe so much asked.

"Yes," River replied tightly, resisting the urge to beg. She would never get any help from anyone here. That much was obvious. Not that she would ever even consider asking Umbridge, of course.

"Then I suggest you get a move on," Umbridge continued with a faint giggle of pretend embarrassment at such rude wording. "We need to restore this room to its original purpose."

River slung her bag over her shoulder and stalked breezily past Umbridge, not even bothering to look at the shorter woman.

Unfortunately, Umbridge had somehow managed to time River's departure to coincide with the end of classes in order to ensure maximum embarrassment. The corridors were lined with students chatting outside of classrooms, bags slung over their shoulders and heavy books cradled in their arms.

At first, she was able to squeeze through the crowds without being noticed; the students were more than used to her milling around doing caretaker duties. But Umbridge seemed intent on following her, and her pink clothes, short stature and deadly smile soon attracted the students' attention.

Before she knew it, River was the only one in the corridor walking; everyone else had turned to stare openly. As she moved further down the corridors, muttering began to rise in volume and some students began to follow her, probably hoping for a dramatic scene similar to Trelawney's dismissal.

The staircases cooperated, almost as though they could sense the mood in the air. River descended them with dignity, ignoring all the chatter and prying eyes of both students and portraits alike.

Here and there she heard whispers of students explaining the situation to newcomers ("Umbridge's sacked her because she was in on Dumbledore's plan", "she hates her because she's a squib"). Umbridge continued to trot along behind her, giggling and smiling at a few of the more outrageous comments. Though she pretended not to hear, it made River's blood boil.

She had not even had the chance to talk to the Golden Trio (as the professors had dubbed them, given their many decidedly un-golden escapades) yet, so she had no way of knowing if the Order of the Phoenix even existed, let alone if it would be willing to help her. Dumbledore had certainly never mentioned it.

From now on, she was on her own.

Finally, after what seemed like an age, River reached the main doors to the castle and stepped through them into the snow. Her footsteps crunched into being, becoming just one in the many scattered across the landscape, yet she had never felt more alone or more helpless.

She continued to walk down the grounds, aiming for a simple, dignified departure, but Umbridge trotted after her.

"Don't you have any final words?" Umbridge asked. "You were, after all, such an important member of the school."

River stopped suddenly in her tracks, causing Umbridge to bump into her and skid on an icy patch, falling backwards to land in the snow with a surprised shriek. She turned around to regard the sodden other woman with an icy glare.

"There are many things that I could say," she said, suddenly very aware of the giggling students surrounding them, "to humiliate you. And believe me," she growled, as Umbridge simply sat in the snow and stared up at her, "you've given me reason enough to want to. But the best thing I can hope for, the most rewarding thing, is to be there for your downfall. I've heard that it will be unmissable."

And with that she turned her back on Umbridge, who was now puffing up in indignation, and walked off, relishing the stunned silence of the students staring after her. When she was a few meters away, she reached into her pocket and took out a hideously bright pink purse and counted the money inside. Her eyebrows flew to her hairline.

Well, there were two good things about Umbridge, at least. One: she was stupid enough to follow a stupid man and earn a lot of money doing so, which she always kept on her person out of pure greed. Some people simply loved to count their money. Two: she was ridiculously easy to pickpocket.

The chattering of the students grew quieter as she continued down the winding path towards the school's gates and before she knew it they had shut behind her, shutting out any hope of help.

oOo

Several days previously in another timeline:

Amy stared at the bizarre contraption that River had somehow managed to turn into a necklace, and couldn't help but wonder how something so small was supposed to get River from one universe to another. After all, the TARDIS couldn't even do that, and it was huge. Or small. She supposed it depended on your outlook.

"So it's definitely ready now?" She asked, hoping that it actually was this time.

"Yes."

There was a brief silence before Rory piped up. "But it doesn't look any different."

"I only had to add something to the existing information on the Doctor," River explained, "so it was a relatively simple process as far as Dimension Canons go."

"So you can find him?" Amy asked, remembering River mentioning something about Doctor Detectors and Wrong Versions. Whatever that meant. "You can find our Doctor?"

"Yes," River answered, standing up and picking up her bigger-on-the-inside bag.

Amy stood immediately, pulling Rory to his feet at the same time. There was no way that she was just going to sit around the house again, not this time. She had spent weeks staring at the scorch mark, thinking that she had lost her daughter yet again just when she had found her, and it had been pure torture.

To her dismay and anger, River shook her head. "You still can't come with me."

"You can't go by yourself!" Amy exclaimed, gesturing randomly around the room. "What if you need help?"

"I'm a big girl now, Mother."

Amy felt like she had been slapped in the face. Her mouth opened and closed like a goldfish, trying to find words to fill the suddenly heavy silence.

"The Doctor could be anywhere!" She heard Rory say, as if from a great distance. "He could have been pulled into an alternate version of – I don't know – those vampires we found in Venice!"

Amy blinked back to herself at that, focussing on the matter at hand. "Or Angels."

"All the more reason for you both to stay here," River insisted. "It might take me quite a while to find him, and I may be going into a universe where the timeline runs at a different speed to ours, so don't be worried if I don't come back straight away."

"But-" Amy protested, but River had apparently decided that too much time was ticking away, and interrupted her.

"I love you both." She said seriously.

Suddenly, Amy found herself lunging across the room, arms reaching desperately for River.

"Goodbye."

And she was gone in a flash of flight. Amy crashed down to the floor, fingers clutching the empty air where her daughter had been. Shouting in grief and frustration, Amy pounded her fist on the floor once.

There was another scorch mark.

A creak by her left ear told her that Rory had sunk onto the sofa in shock. "We might have to replace the carpet."

Amy glared at him.

"Sorry."

Muttering to herself, Amy got up and went out into the garden. Struggling to calm herself down, she pulled up a patio chair and angrily plonked herself in it, her breath coming as though she had been running.

The TARDIS still stood where it had materialised all those weeks ago, looking as majestic and blue as always, as though it had just come straight from a fairy tale. In a way, she supposed it had; during those long years of waiting, she had found herself on several occasions wondering if, perhaps, they had all been right. Perhaps she was really insane.

But then he had come back.

How could a Time Lord always have such trouble being on time? She still hadn't worked out how he was always so late. Surely his driving couldn't be that bad.

She reflected on that for a moment, considering how the Doctor flew the TARDIS with noticeable turbulence and crashing, while River piloted it with perfect precision. Perhaps he really was that bad at driving.

She sighed and walked over to the blue ship, laying a hand on its smooth wooden surface. It never got older, much like its owner. It got damaged occasionally – like that night when the Doctor had first crashed into her life – but it always seemed to be fixed five minutes later. She sometimes wondered if it fixed itself.

She longed to go inside, to ask the Doctor if it would all be ok, if she would find them both again. And the Doctor would tell her some strange spiel of comforting yet frustrating technobabble as he ran around his console, turning on monitors, flicking switches and getting electric shocks. He would tell her that yes, he was the Doctor, of course he would be fine, he was always fine, and he would pretend to not notice her disbelieving expression.

Because she could always see it; the loneliness in his eyes. It was always there. And he knew that she knew, but he was just so closed and, though she tried, she knew that she could never even hope to understand what he went through on a daily basis. She couldn't even begin to imagine what it would be like to spend so much time with such fleeting beings, seeing them age, seeing everyone age, knowing that they would die and that, soon, sooner than you wanted, you would be alone again. Sometimes she wondered how he could stand to keep meeting people.

"You ok?"

Amy let her hand drop from the TARDIS and turned around to face her husband, not quite able to look him in the eye. He would be able to see the mist in her eyes, and she thought it might just send her over the edge to see the sympathy that would write itself across his face.

"He'd know what to do," Amy said. "If he was here," she added, "he'd know what to do."

Rory walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her. She dropped her forehead to his shoulder. "He knows what he's doing," she heard him say, his voice rumbling near her ear though he was speaking softly. "Wherever he is, he'll be trying to get back. And he's got River."

Amy nodded half-heartedly. "I just wish there was something we could do. I hate feeling so… helpless." She spat the word out almost as though she was swearing.

"I know," Rory replied. She could hear her frustration matched in his voice. "But we don't know the science behind it. All we can do is stay here and keep the TARDIS safe for when they come back."

Amy sighed. "I hate waiting."

"I know. But they'll be back. The Canon… thing… it worked once already, so we know River can get to him safely." He started rubbing her back, as much to comfort himself as it was to comfort her. "And let's face it, they both know how to handle themselves. Did I tell you that the Doctor blew up half a league of cyber ships just to see if they knew where you were?"

"You might have mentioned it, yeah."

"Well," Rory concluded, "he did. And I helped," he added, as though he didn't want the Doctor to get all the credit.

Amy snorted. "I still can't believe you did it as a roman."

"There's nothing funny about a roman," Rory said, deadpan. "We even sharpened a spear just in case I needed it."

"How would a spear help?" Amy asked, pulling out of his embrace and looking at him with her 'are you stupid' face. "They had space age laser guns."

Rory shrugged. "I'm brilliant at javelin?"

To her surprise, Amy found herself give a slight chuckle.

Rory nodded. "Better?"

She smiled at him. "Yeah, thanks. Come on," she added, grabbing his hand and dragging him towards the house, "let's get your stupid face inside before the neighbours get a headache from looking at you."

She ignored his sputtered protests that he wasn't ugly, thank you very much, and shut the door behind them. As Rory wandered into the living room, pointedly trying to look like he was ignoring a nearby mirror while staring at himself out of the corner of his eye, and then knocking a lamp over when he couldn't see where he was going, Amy stared at the TARDIS and the silent light on top.