Disclaimer: Own Nothing
Dedicated to CrazyMacky
This is war
To the soldier, the civilian
The martyr, the victim
This is war
-30 Seconds to Mars
Amy Pond slowly woke with a grunt of discomfort. She blinked drearily and swallowed. Her throat felt as though someone had forced sand paper down her throat. Memories of before her black out came back in a rush. A bushy haired girl with a dark shadow over her eyes. Though there was that dangerous, reflective, glint.
Automatically, her wrists flexed—her fingers curling inwards. The ropes weren't there anymore, but something was keeping her bound that wasn't chaffing her skin. Oh God, she was going to be absolutely covered in bruises thanks to that bushy haired twat. The thought made her growl and twist her feet. She was bound down there too. Whatever it was wasn't metal. Probably some sort of alien technology.
Then her eyes snapped open and adjusted to the light that came from a few hanging lanterns. The walls looked as thin as fabric—in fact they were fabric. Was she in a tent? Her brow pulled together as she looked around, certainly the roomiest tent she'd ever been in.
"Ah, you're awake." A masculine voice interrupted her thoughts and a face was quickly matched to it. A young man with a strong jaw, sharp green eyes, and terribly mussed black hair. It pointed in every direction. There was a hint of caution in his gaze, but he also looked a bit worried. That's when she noticed the green and yellow bruises that swelled up on his cheek and neck, a grotesque purple one on his forearm. Several cuts and scratches littered all over his skin and his split lip looked particularly painful. "Would you like some water? I've taken some of that potion before, it's foul."
Was that why her throat was giving her issues? She nodded and raised her wrists, wagging her hands around as if it were a hint.
"Sorry, can't do that, not right now anyway." He said apologetically, walking down a corridor of the tent. (Tent's have corridors?) Then he came back with a cool glass of water and a straw. The boy set the glass in her grip and she lifted it to her lips, sucking on the straw.
Amy sighed in relief, "Ah, now that feels better, anywho, where's the Doctor?"
"The who?" He blinked several times, confused. Then something registered. "Oh, that man—Hermione's taking care of him."
"What?" She bristled.
"Er, are you alright?" He asked, quickly changing the subject.
"Just peachy, after all, it's perfectly normal to be tied up after blacking out from some girl's stick."
"Stick?" Another flash of recognition, "Oh, she was right again. You're a mu—I mean, a normal person."
"That I am!"
"Then why are you here?" He tilted his head to the side. "All the way out here."
Now that had the ginger stumped. Her tongue stuck on the fact that normal people weren't supposed to know about the whole Time Traveling thing. Then again, these weren't normal people. They used bloody sticks for weapons for god's sake, so they had to be some kind of humanoid alien.
His gaze had drifted a bit from her gaze and toward her neck, his mouth twisting into a grimace, "Merlin… would you like me to take care of that?"
Instantly her hand went to the spot he was staring at and she winced, "Depends on the stuff you're usin'. I've got a few allergies." That was a lie, but she didn't want some weird alien goo in her human flesh.
The boy chuckled, "Don't worry; you won't be allergic to this." He raised his stick and she flinched away, eyeing it warily. "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise."
Before she could snap back at him about how she didn't know him and didn't trust him, he pointed his wand at the sore part of her neck, "Episkey."
The wound became warm, then pleasantly cool. Amy blinked a few times before touching her neck again. It wasn't sore. The wound was gone.
"Who are you—? What are you?"
He hesitated, "Well, since you did appear in a big blue box, I guess we can trade secrets." She liked the sparkle of humor in his eye. "I'm a Wizard and my name is Harry Potter."
The Doctor sluggishly woke up from the deep sleep he was forced into. Wait, he was asleep? He didn't need to be asleep. Sleep was for those who needed to heal brain synapses and re-energize while they were unconscious. He didn't need that. He didn't even dream, so he couldn't watch anything entertaining either. Not even memories danced before his eyes during that sleep. He couldn't remember the last time he tried to sleep. Perhaps when Rose had suggested it. Or Sarah Jane?
He pursed his mouth and opened his eyes, automatically sitting up. Ah, he was bound, but not by rope. It was a harnessed psychic energy that kept him from moving. If only he could reach his Sonic Screwdriver. That would be very useful.
"So I was right…" That feminine voice came through and he looked up, feeling his tongue lodge itself into the back of his throat. The sun gave an ethereal glow about the girl, her frizzy brown hair gave a bit of a halo. Her eyes were such a light brown they almost seemed golden, though they were harsh. Her skin was mucked up with dirt, bruises, and wounds. "The potion didn't last long at all on you. Just like the spell."
"Potions? Spells?" The Doctor's voice came out in a bit of a rasp and she handed him a glass of water with a straw, he swallowed gratefully.
"Yes, and you're obviously not a muggle. It took quite some time to stretch the protection spell over your rubbish blue box. It radiates too much…" she paused, rubbing her chin for the right word.
"Psychic energy," He offered and she gave him a strange look, her face pinching into a shrewd expression, "And she's not rubbish—"
"Right," She said, "I've only heard that phrase used in books about time travel and dimensional transfer. And you're certainly not human."
"And how do you know that?" He grinned, liking the speedy process at which she was piecing things together. It saved a lot of stupid questions and explaining. Then the part about there being books about time travel and dimensional transfer puzzled him. He had seen almost every book in the universe that was published up until this time, and further than that really, but none of the books about Time Travel had ever talked about psychic energy.
He looked down and saw that his shirt was partially unbuttoned, then back at her. "And you're not very human either. Well, you certainly look human. Perhaps humanish. Or maybe you are human and there is just a mutation or you're evolving. And then there's—" The Doctor's gaze drifted around the room they were in, instantly realizing where he was, "We're in a tent? A very large tent, or is it just bigger on the inside?"
She nodded and sat down near his bed, her gaze still wary.
"Amazing," He murmured in reverence, "your kind has managed to harness psychic energy to create a dimension of your own to live in. I bet this tent looks rather small and dingy on the outside."
"Just like your Police Box," She said, then her eyes widened as if some sort of revelation came to her.
"Yes, just like my police bo—wait! She's not dingy!" He snapped as she pulled a purse out from under her shirt, it was hanging around her neck.
"Two hearts, Time and Dimension Traveling police box…" She murmured, as if he wasn't there, "It's all making sense." She plunged her hand into her purse until it reached her shoulder. The Doctor was ecstatic. A purse dimension in a tent dimension which was in the current dimension! And the two dimensions were created by mutated, or evolved, humans who could channel psychic energy through their sticks.
Then she pulled out a book with an elaborate and beautiful circular language written across it, there was an English translation written across the bottom.
"That—That is…" He wanted to reach out and grab the book, his eyes wide. He didn't remember anything of the sort being on Earth. "How…How did you get that?" He hunched over and if his hands weren't bound they would be rolling over each other.
"You can read it." She looked shocked for a moment, before setting the book down in her lap, "Oh Merlin… that woman was right."
For once, the Doctor only had half a clue what was going on in the conversation.
"Who are you?"
She pressed her lips together, "Hermione, Hermione Granger."
"Well, Miss Granger, would you mind taking off these binds? Curious these binds are, made up completely of psychic energy—"
"Magic," She corrected, "they're made up of and created by magic, Doctor."
So she did remember his name, he gave a pleased smile, "There's no such thing as magic."
Hermione rolled her eyes and murmured something under her breath. There was a loud rustling and Amy ran into that part of the tent, absolutely excited and livid at the same time.
"Harry!" Hermione called out and the Doctor's eyes lit up as he tried to peer around the fretting Amy. Then he remembered the names and what was familiar about this. From the future. About human psychic manipulators, but said manipulators had different names for everything that he found. They had mystical names in place of his scientific ones.
"She's not dangerous!" Harry's voice rang out from another part of the tent.
"Harry? As in Harry Potter?" The Doctor would have hit himself by now for not remembering in the first place.
"You know him, Doctor?" Amy asked distractedly as she tried to pry the binds from his wrists. Hermione had ignored her shrieked demands.
"He's a celebrity in this world, Amy, it's hard not to know him. Especially now." His gaze met Hermione's. "What's the date?"
Hermione flicked her wand and the date drew out in the air.
September 31, 1997
"So… you're still in the middle of the war."
She nodded, flicking her wand again—the binds on the Doctor's ankles and wrists disappearing, "Which is why you need to leave."
I know this probably seems like a slow chapter, but we can't rush into everything, now can we? Also, the dedication goes to this reviewer because the one that got the most specific answer right was an anonymous reviewer. I don't mind anonymous reviewers at all, but if you want a dedication, then you should get an account. Please review~!