A/N: So this is sort of HHGTTG fusion and sort of just really weird HP fanfic that doesn't at all fit my headcanon of what really could happen in the Potterverse. If either of these things bother you, don't read, lol.

"Dock?"

"Nnngh."

"Dock, open up. I know you're in there."

Dock rolled out of bed and stumbled to the door. He blinked against the light as he opened it, revealing a familiar face with a familiar ratty red mustache. They belonged to Dock's friend, the unfortunately named Smith Jones. The two of them preferred not to dwell on names too much. "Whaddaya wan'?" he mumbled.

"You need to come with me, now." Jones grabbed the fabric of Dock's t-shirt and hauled him through the door. "Quick, Apparate us to that hill I like to visit."

Dock glared. "Get a license and Apparate your own self there. I was sleeping. I'm not interested in a picnic right now."

Jones glared right back, and something in his expression made Dock obey without another thought.

When they arrived, Dock immediately sprawled on the ground. "Wake me up when you're done with your picnic or whatever," he said. But Jones prodded and pulled at him till he'd gotten Dock upright again and dragged him towards the hill without once looking back or answering any of Dock's questions or insults.

When they reached the base of the hill, Jones let Dock go and said, "Shut up and everything will make sense in a minute." With that he turned towards the hill and closed his eyes. Dock was surprised to see a doorway appear. Jones, having apparently decided that pulling him around by the fabric of his t-shirt was the best way to go about things, dragged Dock through the door.

"So," Dock said, unimpressed, "you dragged me out of bed to tell me that you found out your hill is actually a…" He paused and looked around at the ornately decorated walls, disappearing up into shadows until the ceiling was lost in darkness but for some odd shapes that glowed bright blue. The stone floor was devoid of furnishings and people. "What is this place, anyway?"

Jones closed his eyes again, and when he opened them – as suddenly as that – a great crowd of people bustling back and forth appeared in the room. When Dock looked closer, he saw that they weren't really people, or not in the usual sense of the word. Some had the heads of animals, some were odd colors, some had too many limbs – or not enough. He saw one creature that seemed like nothing more than a large head with two arms on top and bottom. It moved acrobatically, whirling slowly from hand to hand. Still others looked nearly human, but for small details: oddly-proportioned faces, pointed ears, or just an indefinable air of the unfamiliar.

When Dock turned to ask Jones just what was going on, he saw that his friend had changed as well. Gone was the ratty red mustache. Jones' nose had grown longer and pointier, and tufts of hair that looked – almost amusinhgly – like they might have been the mustache, once, grew up the center of it, forming an odd sort of mane that extended up to blend in with Jones' eyebrows, which in turn blended into his hair, until Dock wasn't sure where one started and the other began.

"Why," Dock asked, trying to keep his voice steady, "why do you look like that?"

Jones shrugged. "Because it amuses me." He shook himself briefly, and Dock saw the familiar face, mustache and all, smiling at him, but now he could sense the same unfamiliarity from Jones as he had from the almost-human creatures in the crowd. There was a feral gleam in his eyes now, and Dock couldn't help but shrink back.

"You're not human," he said.

"And you're not in the human world anymore." Jones gestured at the crowd. "These are the fairy folk – my people – and you're in our world now." Jones sighed, and his face softened until he looked nearly human again. "I missed it. I've been in exile – annoyed one of the kings. I got a message this morning that my exile was at an end."

"And why did you bring me with you?" Dock demanded.

Jones looked at him steadily. "Your part of the human world is dangerous. It's dangerous here, too, but at least if you keep your head down you'll be all right. There they'll kill you for being what you are. You've been my friend while I was in exile. I couldn't leave you there to die."

Suddenly Dock was seized by panic as he finally wrapped his mind around where he was. He turned to wrench the door open and leave, only to find his hand closed on thin air.

The door was gone.

"Let me go!" Dock shouted, whirling on Jones.

"I'm sorry," Jones said. "I can't do that. Once you get in…it's hard to get out. Unless you get exiled – but that's not always the consequence for making trouble, so don't try it."

"I…I…" Dock ran his hands through his hair and paced back and forth a few times. "This is just…it isn't possible. It's some crazy dream. I'm going to wake up in my bed and go punch you in the face. No, I won't do that. I dunno. Maybe." He stopped. "It is a dream, right? This can't be real."

"I'm afraid not," Jones said.

"So I'm in the fairy world."

"Yes."

"Which doesn't exist."

"That's what the Muggles think about your world," Jones pointed out. "We have our own vow of secrecy, for a lot of the same reasons. Not all of us escaped when we moved underground for good, of course. You enslaved the brownies, and the goblins as well."

"I…" Dock swallowed. "Don't change the subject."

"All right." Jones looked amused.

"So…where was I? Oh. Fairy world. Doesn't exist. You're a fairy?" Dock asked.

"That's the general term, yes. More specifically, I'm a kind of pooka."

"Don't even want to know what that means."

"A shapeshifter," Jones supplied unhelpfully.

Dock frowned. He'd heard a little about fairies – stories anyway. "Are you immortal?"

"Barring accidents, yes. Pretty much."

It took Dock a minute to find words again after this revelation. "How old are you, then?" he squeaked.

"Actually, not that old. Only about fifty or so. We don't keep very good count down here, though."

"Right. Fifty or so. Not too weird." Dock paused, a thought occurring to him. "Wait a minute. You're not Smith Jones, are you? You made that up."

"Yeah, I did," Jones said ruefully. "We have, er, different ideas about naming down here. We don't have two names, for one, so I didn't think to differentiate between surnames and given names. And then when you asked what my last name was…I'm just glad you phrased it the way you did or I might have really exposed my ignorance."

"How did I phrase it?" Dock frowned, diverted.

"'Is there another name that goes with that?'" Jones' imitation was uncanny. And probably supernatural, Dock realized.

"Well…what's your real name, then?" Dock asked after a moment.

"Jones will do to be getting on with," his friend said with a sly smile.