If you haven't read my previous HP/DW crossovers, then you'd better do, or this won't make much sense. Sorry.

Prologue one.


These creatures were called Veela, from what he knew. His researches had been fruitful enough so that he knew where to find them, and their abilities had no effect on his Time Lord mind.

He had about five or six dozen of them linked into his machine, ready to be drained. Their power would then be sent over the world, convincing all the men of planet Earth to bow to their will – and that meant that they would bow to the Masters.

He flicked a switch, and sat back in his chair. The Doctor hadn't noticed anything yet, and by the time he did, the Master would have four or five billion men at his command, including UNIT.

"Excuse me," came a voice from behind him. "I hate to be annoying, but you do realise that you can't do this, don't you?"

The Master spun around in his chair, and found himself facing a man in a plum suit, with long silver hair with streaks of auburn in it, and a long beard.

His first reaction was that this was the Doctor, regenerated. It had to be.

"Doctor, that body is absolutely ridiculous," the Master said, smiling. "Even worse than the last one."

The man looked confused.

"I fear you may have mistaken me for someone else," he said. "My name is Albus Dumbledore, and I represent –"

When he heard that, the Master whipped his TCE out and aimed it at the man.

"I do not care who you represent," he said, grinning his devilish, catlike grin, "but if you aren't the Doctor, you're merely an annoyance. Goodbye."

He shot the man. He stared for three seconds. He shot the man again. He kept staring.

Alcus Dumblemore, or whatever his name was, was still standing, his own size, his own shape.

"You should be dead," the Master pointed out.

Dumbledore held up his wand, and smiled.

"I'm not one to confront dark wizards in their lair unarmed," he said.

"Dark wizards?" the Master said. "There's no such thing as Wizards, you old fool, I'm the Master!"

"Good for you," Dumbledore said. "Now…"

At that point, a vworp vworp noise came out of nowhere, and a blue box materialised. A man with thick blonde curls popped his head out of the door, and looked around, before fixing his gaze on the Master.

"And what do you think you're doing?" he asked. "You do know that this is totally, utterly wrong, don't you?!"

The Master grimaced.

"Please Rassilon, why can't you ever leave me alone?!" he screamed.


Dumbledore stepped back as the two men began exchanging insults and babble that he didn't recognise, although he knew that it had to be muggle stuff. He knew practically all wizarding terms, and he recognised almost nothing these men were saying, apart from the various insults that the blonde man was throwing.

The clothes this other man was wearing were hideous, though. Horrible coat of clashing colours, yellow trousers with black stripes, purple waistcoat and a horrid blue-with-white-spots tie. No self respecting muggle would ever go out dressed like that, if he knew his muggles, which he liked to think he did. He was never an expert, but he did know his muggles.

"And," this new man said after a while of technobabble, in an incredulous tone, "you really expected this to work?!

"Yes, it will work," the Master said. "I have made every possible preparation."

"And him?!" the other man yelled. "What's he doing here? Another of your hypnotised lackeys?"

"No," the Master said, "he's here of his own accord, trying to stop me."

"Well, a fat lot of good you've done!" the man suddenly yelled at Dumbledore. "You've been here, what, ten minutes now? And yet you still haven't made a move?"

"I intended to, before you arrived," Dumbledore said calmly.

The man looked at him in absolute anger with a mixture of shock, shame and confusion, before turning back to look at the Master.

"Now!" he yelled. "I'm going to put a stop to this!"

"I don't think so Doctor," the Master said. He aimed his TCE at the Doctor and smiled. Dumbledore quietly held his wand out…

And suddenly the Master was holding a pen. He looked at it in absolute shock for a moment, while he tried to work out what he was doing holding it. The Doctor smiled, and pressed a button on the console. The Veela were released instantly as the machine powered down. The Master looked up at the Doctor, who smiled again, then he ran for a Grandfather Clock in the corner, and went inside in a moment.

The Doctor turned to Dumbledore with an inquisitive look.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I'm no one in particular," Dumbledore replied. "Who are you?"

"I'm the Doctor, time traveller, Time Lord and occasional doer of good deeds," the Doctor replied, smugly. Then his smile softened, and he said, quieter "Thank you for holding him up, before I came."

He walked over to his box, and turned to face Dumbledore.

"And nice suit!" he said. Then the door closed, and the box vanished. Dumbledore looked down at his suit, and then shuddered. As soon as he could, he would burn it, and buy some decent robes. He would never wear something that man thought looked good.

He looked at the Veela huddling around - they looked forlorn, afraid, shell shocked by their ordeal. He swore privately to himself that he would find out who those men were - and then there would be answers.



Harry Potter walked into the room, where Ron Weasley, his friend and colleague, waited. The body was stretched out along the floor, eyes open and staring, and Ron was kneeling next to it. Harry leaned over and stared into the blank, staring eyes.

"What're we dealing with here?" he asked his friend.

"What do we usually deal with?" Ron replied, smiling slightly. "The weird, the unexplained..."

"Anything on Earth or even beyond," Harry finished. "So which is this?"

"I'd say beyond," a light female voice came from behind him. Hermione Weasley walked in, with a roll of parchment. "Cause of death was a massive shock to the system, definitely beyond anything we can do."

"The Avada Kedavra?" Harry reminded her.

"Leaves no marks," Ron said, "but this guy has a burn in his chest."

"Lovely," Harry grimaced. "So what do we think?"

"Could be the Daleks, I suppose," Hermione said. "But I don't think so."

"Why not?" Harry asked.

"I've seen these kinds of wounds before," Hermione said, grimly. "On the bodies of men killed during the battle of Hogwarts, by the Master."

Ron stood up, his face suddenly devoid of colour.

"He's dead," Harry pointed out.

"That never stopped him before, according to the Doctor," Hermione replied.

"Then what do we do?" asked Ron. "If it is him..."

"We call the Doctor," Hermione said, resolutely. "And then... we hope he can stop the Master."

"And if he can't?" Harry asked - someone had to. They knew full well how dangerous the Master could be, what it had cost the planet once to stop him.

Hermione had filled the Auror office in on the Doctor, the Master and all the other things she knew shortly after the Battle of Hogwarts. She had paid special detail to the Master and his actions. When Harry Saxon had become Prime Minister, nobody had dared breath, and the Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, had made sure that he hadn't revealed the presence of the Wizarding world to him. They all knew that the Master had died at Hogwarts, but as Hermione told it, that had never been an obstacle for him previously - the echo of the Master having been a prime example of the mans resourcefulness. Even if it wasn't the same Master who had died at Hogwarts, since he was a Time Traveller, he could be in any point in his history.

Having been informed of the Master, not to mention various other threats, the Ministry created what was known officially as the Department of Extra Terrestrial Investigation and Combating, or ETIC. Their job was to effect a defence against all alien threats to the Wizarding world. Since most threats ignored the Wizarding world and concentrated on the whole one, it was a pretty quiet job, but there were occasions when the ETIC were called in. Like now.

"Answer me, Hermione," Harry insisted. "What if the Doctor can't stop him?"

Hermione looked at him, her eyes filled with stoicism and dread in equal measure. That was all the answer he needed.