At the top of the roof, Harry scanned the horizon and saw the Doctor standing near the outhouse about fifty feet away. The Doctor glanced over each shoulder before entering the little shack. After a moment, the air around it seemed to waver, a bit like a television screen with terrible connection, and Harry, who was craning his neck to get a better view, developed a headache. He removed his glasses and gave his eyes a rub.

When he replaced his glasses and looked back, a big wood box that said 'Police' on top stood in the outhouse's place.

Harry's heart gave a startled stutter. He could've sworn that had been an outhouse! He had to get a closer look. Keeping his eyes on the box, he began to descend the shingled roof quickly.

There was one thing he overlooked: the frost.

Almost immediately, Harry uttered a startled cry as he slipped on a patch of ice and went sliding down the slope. Certain he was going to go over the edge and die for sure, Harry clamped his jaw shut and waited for it to happen.

When he got to the edge, however, he stopped.

Frozen a moment, Harry realized he was in the rain gutter. He was alright. He relaxed his tensed muscles and turned to get a better view of the blue box.

Paying absolutely no attention to where he was stepping, the boy didn't realize that the half-dead leaf below his left foot (all of his weight at this point was on his right side) covered the opening to the drainage pipe. As his weight shifted, a sick feeling of falling overcame him. All of a sudden, he was tumbling through a dark tunnel, yelling all the way down.

After what seemed like both an eternity and an instant, the pipe curved and Harry was launched into the air out the other end, landing several feet away in a patch of grass. The boy uttered an "Oomph!" as he landed.

With a quiet groan, he got up and brushed the grime off his pants and coat. Suddenly, the wind picked up and from behind him came a strange groaning or wheezing, soft at first, then it got louder with each moan. Harry whirled around and witnessed the same blue box from before fade in and out of focus and become solid three inches in front of him.

Harry, simply put, was shocked. His eyes were large as they could go and he stumbled backwards when the doors were swung in by themselves.

Harry's jaw unhinged at this point, when he saw the inside. On the outside, it appeared to be no larger than three square feet, maybe four. But this…this was an entire room, and an especially large and unusual one! There was some sort of control panel on a raised glass platform, lights all around, strange humming noises, and at least three staircases that no doubt led to other rooms.

"Well, come on in!" The Doctor poked his boyish head out from behind the column-like structure. He proceeded to dance around it, pulling levers, flicking switches, turning knobs.

Harry found himself climbing up into this impossibly huge box, or whatever it was. It was incredible! Absolutely amazing!

"Welcome, Harry Potter, to the TARDIS!" The Doctor spread his arms wide to indicate the entire room, and then went back to the controls.

"Now, I'll just go ahead and say it, I haven't been completely honest with you. But now, it's my turn to tell you a story!" While the Doctor said this, Harry was struggling to climb the few steps that led to the console platform. "One, I'm not human. Two, I'm from space. And three, yes, it's bigger on the inside. It's called a T-A-R-D-I-S, which stands for Time and Relative Dimension in Space. And she does more than look sexy, this one! So, Harry, brace yourself and hold! On! Tight!"

At the last word, the Doctor animatedly flicked a large lever and Harry (who had reached the Doctor) quickly grabbed the cuff of his pants leg—which was rather short on the man—and held on for dear life. The Tardis shook and lurched and the Doctor, with Harry steadying himself by pressing his feet to the Doctor's boot, did many complicated, spacey-wacey things.

As quickly as it came it stopped, but Harry was determined to not let go until he was sure he was safe.

The Doctor bent down and lowered a hand to the boy.

"C'mon," he said excitedly, "You'll want to see this!"

Hesitantly, Harry dropped onto the Doctor's hand. His heart was racing and his head was pounding. But nothing could prepare him for what lay beyond the door.

The Doctor stopped at the threshold, exchanged a look with the tiny boy in his hand, and clicked his fingers. The door swung open and revealed the white, dusty, cratered surface of—

"The moon." The Doctor grinned at Harry's dumbstruck expression. The boy slowly stood in the Time Lord's hand.

"We've…We've moved," the boy uttered at last. "We're in…we're in space! But that's—that's impossible!" The boy ran both hands through his hair, trying to take this all in.

"Not impossible," the Doctor countered, "Just a bit unlikely."

With a grin, the Doctor stepped onto the lunar surface.

Caught off-guard, Harry quickly gulped in a breath to hold.

"It's alright," the Doctor reassured him, now holding Harry in both hands. "The Tardis has an air shell around us. You can breathe."

Harry exhaled slowly, wondering whether or not to trust this man. He had a huge box that was bigger on the inside, an alien spaceship! He should be frightened for his life!

But then…There was something about this man that made Harry want to trust him. So, with newfound faith, the boy inhaled. Then he exhaled. Then he inhaled again.

Harry Potter was breathing on the moon!

"You ready?" asked the Doctor.

"For what?" Harry looked up at him.

"For this." The Doctor held out his hands and let the boy drop.

Harry yelped, expecting to fall quickly. Instead, he was falling in a sort of slow-motion, He felt like he weighed less than a feather.

When he finally landed, the moon dust buried his feet. He felt like a human child might at their first show. He reached down to grab a handful of the stuff and let it sift through his fingers. It, too, floated noiselessly and easily to the surface. Harry chuckled, realizing that no borrower had ever set foot on the moon. Every step he took was another milestone for all borrowers, and he made sure to take many.

Harry lifted his head to look at the—not the sky anymore, but at the billions of stars in the blackness above him. He had always dreamed of seeing stars like this. There was one blue ball, larger than the rest, and Harry recognized it immediately as Earth.

A strange feeling appeared in Harry's gut. Somewhere, on that planet, his mother was waiting for him. And here he was on the moon, hundreds of thousands of miles away. He realized that he'd rather be on earth with her than on the moon by himself, not counting the Doctor.

"I want to go home," he decided, loud enough for the Doctor hear. He turned to see the man smiling a warm smile down at him. The Doctor nodded.

Back in the Tardis, Harry sat atop the Doctor's shoulder, his head spinning. "Penny for your thoughts?" said the Doctor, looking at Harry while he leaned against the console doing nothing.

"I just can't believe it," Harry breathed. "I was on the moon. I was the first ever borrower on the moon!"

"Borrower?" the Doctor inquired curiously.

Harry's smile stayed where it was. He looked up at the Doctor, knowing somehow that he could trust this man and said with no fear:

"Yes. That's what I'm called, what my people are called."

The Doctor nodded. "I must say; I've heard of many species, many races, many peoples, but I've never heard of borrowers."

"I'm sure you haven't." Harry's voice contained no mockery or smugness.

"Why is that?"

Harry explained the secrecy of borrowers, the fact that they hid from humans and why, and he even told a few stories about him and his mother. The Doctor nodded though all this, listening intently. At the same time, his brilliant mind was working. He had to fix this boy's timeline, but he was so happy in this one. And he still had no idea how the boy had gotten like this.

And then it dawned on him. Of course. The solution was right in front of him.

So, as the Doctor piloted the Tardis back to the earth and said goodbye to Harry for the night, he knew exactly what he had to do.

"Harry?" Skyla rapped on the boy's door the next day.

"It's open," the boy called back.

She opened the door, smiling down at her son, who was sitting at his desk with a pencil lead tip in his hand sketching the moon. She pulled over a large wooden spool and took a seat next to him.

"That looks amazing darling!" she said, encouragingly squeezing his shoulder. Harry smiled proudly. He had drawn it from memory.

"Thanks mum." Harry leaned up to peck her cheek and set down his stick of graphite.

"It's nearly lunchtime," his mother informed him. "Tell you what, though, don't get up. I'll bring you something. Whatever you want."

Harry's smile widened. He felt a pang of guilt in his stomach, however. He had the best mother he could wish for, and here he was—well, not exactly lying to her, but keeping certain truths from her. It still felt like lying, though. He didn't feel like he deserved to be brought lunch. But, despite all this, he said: "I'm not too hungry; maybe just some toast and jam?"

"Toast and jam, coming up." Skyla got up and went to the door. "Do you want some juice?" she asked over her shoulder.

"Sure," the boy beamed.

She nodded and shut the door behind her.

Harry stared at his door for a long moment, and then moved to the foot of his bed. He felt so guilty and exhausted from pretending nothing had happened these past few weeks.

"I have to tell her," he concluded out loud. He decided he'd do it when she came back with his lunch.

Harry sat there a few minutes more, trying to work out what he'd say; when he saw that his right hand was still silver from the graphite. He got up and went down the hall to wash his hands.

When he returned from the washroom, he passed by the kitchen, he did a double-take.

The kitchen was empty.

"Mum?" he called. There was no reply.

Harry checked the sitting room, the den, even his mother's bedroom, calling for her the entire time. Finally, he circled back to the kitchen in the kitchen in a panic.

"Mum, where are you?"

Suddenly, he noticed the small bit of paper on the kitchen table. 'She must've left it here for me!' thought Harry. He snatched it up and unfolded it.

Harry, it read in his mother's script, we're out of jam. I'm going to borrow some real quick, maybe get some other things while I'm at it. I'll be right back, sweetheart.
Love, mum.

This relieved Harry so much that every single muscle in his body relaxed and he collapsed in a chair. He had thought for a moment that something terrible had happened to her. But she was fine and she would be back soon.

So Harry sat there and waited. And waited. And waited. Nearly two hours later, Harry was pacing the floor frantically. Right when he was about to go out and look for her, the front door creaked open and Skyla stepped into the dim light. Harry's heart jumped into his throat.

"Mother!" he ran to embrace her tightly and he wouldn't let her go for forty-five straight seconds. When he finally did, he looked up into her face and his happiness began to waver. Her eyes wouldn't meet his, her head hung and she had no smile. She almost looked older, but at the same time she looked her age.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Harry asked slowly.

She let out a long breath and finally looked Harry in the eye.

"Harry, I—There's something…Something I need to talk to you about."

~Earlier that day~

Skyla had been making Harry's lunch when she realized they were out of jam. She sighed in frustration, ran a hand through her hair, and then glanced at her son's door. She would have to borrow some more. It would be a quick trip, though, she thought. She could afford to leave Harry here for ten minutes or so. What difference did it make?

Skyla's borrowing gear had been thrown into a chair in the sitting room, so she quietly strapped it on, put her hair up in a ponytail, took the empty jam jar, and snuck out. She left a note for Harry, of course, on the table. Soon, she was struggling to open the jam jar in the pantry.

Once she had refilled her own jar, she figured she could take this opportunity to stock up. So she continued borrowing a few crackers, some dry cereal, and a tea bag.

Just as she was replacing the lid to the tea bags' tin, the Doctor happened to pass by and see her. Skyla was too busy closing the tin to notice.

'Aha!' the Doctor thought. Quieting his step, he approached her.

Skyla's back was to him. When, with a grunt of effort, she had closed the tin, she took a deep breath and strolled toward the edge of the table.

"So!" the Doctor began loudly. Skyla stopped walking, but didn't turn or even gasp. She stood perfectly still and let the Doctor finish.

"You're the one I've heard so much about. The mother of Harry Potter." Skyla's brow knit. How did he know about Harry?

She heard a chair scrape the floor and the table wobbled a bit; the Doctor must've sat down at the table.

"Which would be perfectly fine by me," the Doctor continued, "if you were, in fact, his mother, who I know you aren't."

Skyla inhaled deeply. How could he possibly know that? She whirled around and drew her hat pin, holding it up menacingly at the Doctor.

"Oh, come on. What is it with you borrowers and these pins?" The Doctor leaned forward and snatched the pin right out of her hand.

"Hey! Give that back!" Skyla made a grab for it, but the Doctor lifted it out of her reach.

"Only if you promise to not use it and hear me out."

Skyla glared up at the Doctor. She definitely didn't like him at all, but this man knew things he couldn't. Things about Harry. She wanted to know how and what. So, through gritted teeth, she growled, "Fine."

The Doctor's serious expression changed in an instant to a childish energy-filled face, complete with wide grin and flashing eyes. He switched the pin to his other hand and held it out to her, holding it by the sharp end.

Skyla took it from his fingers and, with a look of strong dislike, passed it to her other hand and tossed it over the table's edge; it fell to the floor with hardly a sound.

"Thank you," said the Doctor, adjusting his bow-tie. Skyla rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "Now, first of all, my name's the Doctor. What's yours?"

"Skyla," she answered tersely.

The Doctor nodded, maintaining that smile. "Well, Skyler—"

"Skyla. Not Skyler, Skyla," She said this firmly. Skyler was too human a name for her taste.

The Doctor was taken aback a second, but quickly recovered. "Well, Skyla, tell me about Harry."

"Well, I'd say that he's my son, but you somehow know that already," she replied snidely.

"False: he isn't your son."

"How can you possibly even know that?" Skyla shouted. "No human could even know we were here, let alone—"She stopped short. She had suddenly realized that her feeling wasn't there, and she was no more than two feet away from the Doctor. "Oh…" she breathed, smirking a bit.

The Doctor blinked. "What?"

"You're not human…are you?" It wasn't meant as a question.

The Doctor looked her over and pursed his lips thoughtfully. Skyla smirked, knowing she was right.

"How about this?" the Doctor suggested, "An answer for an answer."

It seemed as fair as anything she could suggest, so she agreed, but only if she could go first. The Doctor smiled again, leaned back in his chair, laced his fingers loosely, and let Skyla start.

"How do you know about Harry?" she asked, slowly crossing over to the tea bag tin again.

"I have a machine that contains his database. Plus, I've read the books."

This made Skyla stop for a second to look up at the Doctor strangely. "There are books about Harry?"

"Ah-ah, my turn." Skyla sighed and once again began walking.

"Did you kidnap Harry?" the Doctor inquired.

"No, I did not," said Skyla, confident in her answer. She had reached the tin and was pulling herself up onto it to sit on it. "If you're not human, then what are you?" She removed her backpack and set down her borrowing bags behind her.

"I'm called a Time Lord." The Doctor paused and seemed to study Skyla for how she reacted to that name. She, of course, had no idea what a Time Lord was, so the Doctor cleared his throat. "If you didn't steal Harry, then what did happen?"

So Skyla told him everything about the night she found Harry, from the mysterious note to the liquid on his cheek, from her conflicted emotions of hate and adoration to how she couldn't bring herself to leave the baby where she had found him. "He might've died if I hadn't taken him in. And he seems happy if that's any comfort to you."

Through her entire story, Skyla had kept a constant gaze toward the sunlight streaming in through the window, and once she had finished she looked back into the Doctor's eyes. Instead of projecting emotions of suspicion or indifference, those old eyes—too old to belong to such a young face—made her feel understood. She hadn't felt like that in a long time. The corners of her mouth crept upwards into a smile.

"It's your turn," the Doctor reminded her.

"Oh…right." Skyla thought for a moment. She reviewed the questions she had already asked and considered what she wanted to know. It suddenly dawned on her how quickly this conversation had changed from an interrogation to a pleasant exchange of answers. And then, out of nowhere, she knew exactly what to ask. "Is that bad?"

The Doctor frowned thoughtfully. "Is what bad?"

"That I took Harry in. Is that a bad thing?"

The Doctor sighed, thinking of how to properly word this. "It's a long story," he said finally.

Skyla pulled her legs up and crossed them, now in a position to listen for a long time. The Doctor chuckled quietly and began with the smallest sentence. "You were half-right."

This confused Skyla. "When?"

"When you knew Harry was a human. But there's something else he is, and I doubt you know it any more than he does."

Now, Skyla was completely sucked into the story that the Doctor was building up to. "What's that?"

The Doctor took a deep breath and blew Skyla's mind with three words: "Harry's a wizard."