Walk In Eternity

Chapter Two:Captain Jack Harkness

By BlackBlade

Disclaimer: I do NOT, and sadly probably never will, own Harry Potter, Torchwood or Doctor Who, nor am I profiting in any way shape or form from this entirely fictional story involving the characters in the aforementioned Book/Series. Thank you.

Summary: Even after the War with Voldemort was over and done with, everyone had lost, everything Harry knew and loved had been destroyed and so he resorts to a very complicated and dangerous bit of magic in order to save the world. He goes back in time, trying to prevent the whole War from ever happening. Of course, after everything is done and over with, he is still stuck in the past with no way back and who should he meet there but a certain Captain Jack Harkness?

Author's Notes: Yeah, I guess from the title of this chapter you can pretty much guess who Harry's meeting now. Just a head's up…it might not be what you think ;D


December 1940 – Undisclosed Location

After his brief stint in the hospital, he had received orders to travel back to London. He had been confused at first because the rest of his squadron had received no such order and were to stay in position until further notice; his confusion of course had, while not completely ceased, been ignored after he had been told the order came from very high up, namely the Air Marshal in this case. That had quieted down any possible protest and Harry had proceeded to pack up and fly back home.

The peaceful flight, so very different from the usual chaos and mayhem of battle he was now getting used to, gave him a bit too much time to think about things he would rather not think about


It was done.

He had fulfilled his duty, his destiny or whatever other idiotic name it could possibly be called. It was done, over with, finished. Now what?

Harry would have been perfectly content to find some remote cabin or cave in which to hole himself up, cry for his losses and the miserable wreck that was his life, and eventually die. There was only one tiny little problem with that plan of his…he couldn't die.

Oh, it was nothing noble like 'I can't die because I could still do so much for the world' or even something selfish like 'I can't die after everything I've been through, I deserve to live'. Not at all, it was the simple, proven and undisputable fact that he couldn't die, he was physically incapable of it.

This fascinating little piece of news had been discovered years ago, when he was still fighting a war that could never be won. The first time he got hit with a Killing Curse and just got up, very much in pain but alive, he had been positively freaked out but had eventually convinced himself it was just luck and the curse had probably not been cast right; after the third time he miraculously walked away from some should-have-been-fatal encounter, it became obvious that something had happened to him.

Back then he hadn't known what it was; he hadn't even considered the Deathly Hallows because the Elder Wand was still in Voldemort's possession. Months later he would find that the wand had been his ever since he had 'won' it from Draco Malfoy. He was the Master of Death and that apparently meant Death couldn't or wouldn't take him. At the time it had of course been considered an excellent advantage, an edge over his enemies that could mean victory.

At the time, he had been hopelessly naïve.

He couldn't die, yes, but everyone else could. Day after day he had lost friends while he remained alive. Years later, he would also find that he not only remained alive, but unchanged, forever the same as when he first gathered all three Hallows. He was going to be a 22 year old forever. Fate hated him.

Well, at least that little detail he could hide rather easily. The last few years he had simply modified his appearance to look older, applying a subtle glamour charm to himself once every year. He knew it was now something he would have to do for the rest of his life if he ever wanted to stay in the same place for more than a couple of years, but the hassle of it as worth whatever bit of stability he could get in his life.

Anyways, he was trapped out of his time, unchanging, undying and with nothing to do with himself but slowly go mad from grief and pain and heartache. He couldn't allow that either, he was simply much too dangerous to go insane; who knew what an insane immortal wizard could do to the world…Well, he did know, and he had no intention of ending up like Voldemort.

So, after months of wandering around aimlessly and almost losing his mind, he had finally given up, walked to the nearest recruitment office and promptly enlisted himself in the Royal Air Force. He supposed he could have found himself a place in the Wizarding World, even in this time, but he was nowhere near ready to see, much less interact with people he knew to be dead and buried, hence his decision to go muggle for the time being.

It had been 1937 when he joined and he had planned on staying with the RAF for just a couple of years, just until before WWII started, just until he could deal with his issues. Needless to say, Harry's plans never go as they should.

He had stayed. There were a number of reasons for this but the main two were that 1) He was still no closer to dealing with his wizard-related issues and wanted nothing to do with that world for the rest of his life if possible and 2) he had found a place to belong in the RAF.

Harry was pretty sure that he had simply been part of a war for much too long to feel comfortable as anything but a soldier, and so he had found himself settling comfortably first in training and then as an active member of the RAF. When it was time for the War to start, Harry, by then known as Flying Officer Harrison Evans had already developed too much loyalty to the military and his comrades to abandon them just before their hour of need, so he had stayed.

He had been one of the many pilots to participate in what was known as the Battle of Britain, flying his beloved Spitfire with a skill that many of his mates envied, most of them thought Harry flew more naturally than a bloody bird. Harry himself didn't know if his skill was something that carried over from his Quidditch player days or if he was simply a natural enough flier to be good in both a broom and a plane, but he didn't much concern himself with finding out.

The campaign had lasted months, it had been frightening, bloody and fatal to many of his comrades, but Harry had survived; that was not exactly an impressive achievement, due to his inability to die, but considering the sheer number of battles he had fought in, it certainly impressed his superiors. They were apparently impressed enough that he got promoted to Flight Lieutenant on August of 1940.

He had since been part of several other battles, the last of which had seen him shot down and 'miraculously' live.


December 1940 – London

A group of three officials walked into the room he had been led to just a few moments ago. Harry wasted no time in standing at attention and respectfully saluting them, they were after all his superiors by rank.

"At ease, Flight Lieutenant" said the most senior officer in serious though not unkind tone.

Air Marshal John Bennett, said senior officer, was a no-nonsense sort of man, the kind of man no one wanted to mess with regardless of rank. He was apparently from a military family and had dedicated most of his life to the RAF, rising through the ranks until he found himself in his current position. He was very good at tactics and strategy, but he still remembered what it was like to be on the field enough that he cared about the men he sent out there. For this, Harry respected the man.

"Sir" The wizard offered instead as way of greeting, along with a respectful nod.

"You must be wondering why I had you brought here, Evans. As I am a very busy man, and I'm sure you have other things to be doing with your time, I shall go straight to the point." As he spoke, the Air Marshal's grayish blue eyes seemed to pin Harry down in place, never even blinking as far as he could tell.

Finally, the man seemed to finish with apparently trying to intimidate Harry (it didn't really work, he had seen much more frightening things in his life) and continued talking.

"We know what you are."


13th January 1941 – Somewhere over Cardiff

After the scare that had been the meeting with the Air Marshal and two Air Commodores, Harry had found himself back in the air and with a new mission…and a new rank. It had turned out that yes, the RAF higher-ups definitely knew that he was a wizard, and that he had hidden this fact from them for personal reasons. To be honest Harry had been surprised that they even knew what a wizard was, but once he thought about it, he really shouldn't have been…wizards weren't all that good at blending in with a muggle crowd. Not just that, but a certain groups of radicals under the command of Gellert Grindelwald were making a lot of noise in the continent, getting themselves noticed.

It was actually because of them that Harry's senior officers had called him. Grindelwald and his followers were helping the Germans in the War, hiding their camps and the like under wards, aiding during the raids, helping to infiltrate the country and all in all making themselves a thorn in the side for the British. Harry was apparently the only wizard they knew of within the military and as such, the only one who could detect their traps and hidden camps. He had been given his own squadron, being promoted to Squadron Leader at the time, and ordered to take out as many of these enemy camps within their land as he could.

It wasn't an easy job, no one else in the squadron could see past the wards and notice-me-not charms, so they had to fly in blind and simply follow his lead; fly to where he flew and shoot whatever he shot at. It was hard and confusing and Harry had already lost planes and people, but it was a job that needed to be done and no one else could do it. Occasionally they were unknowingly helped by British Aurors, who went after the foreign Dark Wizards whenever they discovered them, usually during or after an attack; Aurors, however, had absolutely no idea what to do about things like machine guns and planes, which they left pretty much alone, and so Harry's job also included cleaning up after the either caught or killed Dark Wizards.

And it was not only that, they also occasionally had to respond to emergencies and fight in more conventional battles whenever their support was needed.

Such as now.

The chaos of battle was by now familiar to Harry, so he didn't allow himself to be distracted from his target. The German bomber he was trying to bring down was even now firing at an ally pilot, from the 133 Squadron from what he could see, and Harry was not willing to allow such a thing on his watch. He stealthily came from the side and carefully targeted the bomber's blind spot before finally pushing the button and letting the machine guns on his plane open fire against the enemy. He took the rear gunner out first, damaging the bomber in the way, before more safely shooting the pilot and finally bringing the plane down.

He flew his Spitfire next to the previously fleeing ally, turning to see if the other pilot was hurt or his plane damaged. The other man saw him and offered a thumbs-up. Harry took that to mean that he was alright and could keep fighting; he returned the gesture along with a friendly nod and then returned to the battle, trying to bring down as many of the bombers as he could.


Later that same day

When the last of their enemy had finally retreated or been shot down, Harry and his squadron followed the others back to base, their planes needed refueling and were too far away to make it back to their hidden camp. They would spend the night with their brothers-in-arms and fly back tomorrow morning.

Harry was just jumping down from his plane when he was approached by a group of pilots he had never met, led by a man Harry found familiar. He was rather tall, with short black hair and light brown eyes, a handsome man, Harry supposed.

It took the wizard about a minute of staring to realize that said man was the pilot he had just recently helped, the one who was being chased by a relentless bomber before Harry intervened, the man he'd probably saved. He gave the man and his companions a curious glance before finally offering a friendly nod in greeting.

The familiar man walked a bit ahead of his group, came to Harry and offered his hand.

"Captain Jack Harkness." He said, his accent immediately identifying him as an American, introducing himself with a smile and firm handshake. "I appreciate the help back there."

"Squadron Leader Harrison Evans, sir. It was no problem." Harry answered, adding in the 'sir' as the man's rank was higher than Harry's own.

The Captain nodded, still smiling rather cheerfully. "Still, you must let me repay you. My men brought some whiskey I'm very sure they would not mind sharing with you."

Harry paused a moment to consider this. On one hand, it had been a rather long time since he had had a moment to rest and have a drink and he was technically off-duty until tomorrow morning; on the other hand, he didn't want to leave his men to go off drinking with a bunch of Americans, especially as he would be flying in the morning.

The moment of indecision was broken when Jeremy Price, Harry's second- in-command called out all the way from his own plane, having just touched down.

"Go on, sir, I'll make sure the boys are taken care of for the night." The younger man offered.

Harry made a mental note to get Jeremy something nice for Christmas, if he was still alive by then, and finally allowed himself to be convinced. He gave an amused chuckle before turning back to the friendly Americans.

"You heard the man, you may lead the way Captain."

Well, best enjoy the simple pleasure in life whenever he could, before he and his men were called back to the line of duty.


Author's Notes: And we get to see a bit more of Harry's past and also a bit more of action for our brave pilot. Also, I'm aware that Jack Harkness should introduce himself as Group Captain Jack Harkness, since that's what the RAF rank is called and he is currently serving with them, but I decided to respect the way he introduced himself in Torchwood…I hope I did the right thing there.

Another thing, please forgive any and all historical errors I might have made here, I've been reading up on WWII since I started this story but other than that and what little (very little indeed) I learned of it back in school does not make me an expert by any stretch of the imagination. If I've made an error, I am very, very sorry but please point it out to me and I'll make the necessary corrections.