I'm sure this has been done many, many times before, but I just wanted to have a shot at it myself, hopefully adding in a few unique twists of my own design. And so, for your viewing pleasure, here is yet another 'Harry gets adopted by the main/most fatherly/most motherly character in another series' story. Enjoy.
I don't own Harry Potter, Doctor Who, or anything else remotely cool or interesting. Except for me. I'm pretty sure I own me. And I might not be cool (at least not by anybody's standards besides maybe the Eleventh Doctor, because he has a slightly skewed sense of cool – it's fantastic, but not a widely accepted definition for anyone who isn't a Whovian) but I like to think I'm at least pretty interesting when I want to be.
"Where have you taken me this time, Old Girl?"
There was no answer to his spoken question, but the man hadn't been expecting one. The TARDIS rarely ever actually responded with any sort of audio; she was more of the flashing lights and sparking bits of machinery type in lee of a proper answer. But this time the panels all just glowed contently and no wires shocked him, so the man decided the best way to answer his own question was to open the door and have a look at his surroundings.
The man reached the door on the other side of the surprisingly large room in no time, his long legs bounding nearly effortlessly over the grating on the floor, pausing only to grab his beloved trench coat from where he had tossed it earlier in the crook of a support beam that looked suspiciously like a giant piece of yellowy sea coral.
Pulling on the coat before reaching into the breast pocket of the brown pinstriped suit he wore, the man grasped what could be best described as a metal, futuristic-looking torch, slimmer and shinier than most normal torches, with what looked like a little blue light bulb at one end. He opened left hand side of the double doors in front of him and stepped out.
As large as the inside room was, from the outside it looked to whoever might be passing by that the man had just stepped out of what looked like a blue phone booth. Anyone who was more curious might glance up and see the words 'Police Public Call Box' written across the top, but unless they were somehow familiar with circa 1960s English police practices, they wouldn't realize it was supposed to be a temporary jail cell. Most just assumed it was an old phone box, if they took the time to assume anything at all before hurrying on their way. Which worked fine for the man, because despite what the stories all said, he was rarely trying to be noticed.
Stopping just outside the blue doors, the man looked around, sniffing the air. "England, nineteen eighty…five, or thereabouts. Not London, definitely not London, but…" he trailed off, a concentrated look on his face as he tried to puzzle out his location.
"Surrey," a small voice sighed. "You're in Surrey."
"Surrey!" the man exclaimed cheerfully. "I haven't been here in ages. And the year?" He turned to see a little boy sitting on a bench behind him, looking down forlornly at his two-sizes-too-big sneakers that looked as though someone had dumped a bucket of pinkish orange paint all over them.
"1986," the boy mumbled, not looking away from the monstrosities on his own feet.
The man frowned; the boy was far too subdued for a child looking to be around four. Children that age were all energy and excitement and curiosity, unable to sit still for any length of time, and…and he now realized why his friends described him as 'childish' sometimes. Pushing the thought away, the man crouched down in front of the boy, who shyly hid his eyes further under the messy shock of black hair on his young head.
"Are you alright?" he asked gently. When only silence answered him, he decided to take a more circuitous route. "I'm the Doctor. What's your name?"
"Harry," the boy replied after a moment. "Just 'the Doctor'?"
"Just 'the Doctor'," the man nodded, a smile creeping onto his face. He liked little Harry, the boy was quick. "Are you just Harry, or have you got a last name to go with that?"
"I…" he hesitated, glancing up for the first time, green eyes meeting brown. "Can I just be Harry? If you're just the Doctor, I want to be just Harry."
"Fair enough," the Doctor grinned, and Harry gave a tentative smile. "How old are you, Harry?"
"Turned six two weeks ago," the dark haired boy said without a hint of joy in his voice. Obviously, birthdays were nothing to get excited about in his home. Anger started coiling inside the Doctor. Harry was nearly small and skinny enough to pass for a toddler, not a primary school student. Whoever was supposed to be taking care of him wasn't doing a very good job, and he suddenly felt compelled to have words with them. "Doctor," he continued, "Are you a…a freak?"
"What makes you say that?" the Doctor asked curiously. He wasn't offended, as he had been called far worse things and the boy was obviously just repeating a word he heard often. The anger coiled a bit tighter at the thought of anyone calling the innocent, malnourished Harry a freak.
"Well," Harry bit his lower lip uncertainly, "You and that blue box appeared out of nowhere, and when I make stuff disappear or appear, my aunt and uncle call me a freak. I thought that, if you were a freak like me, then maybe we could be…friends." The last whispered word was accompanied by a nervous glance over the surrounding area, like he was waiting for someone to storm up and take the Doctor away, saying that he wasn't allowed to have friends. The anger clenched tighter around the Doctor's hearts.
"Of course we can be friends, Harry, regardless of whether either one of us is a freak or not," he consoled the boy, "Your aunt and uncle were very wrong to call you that. Didn't your parents say anything to them about it?"
"No," he shook his head sadly, "My parents are dead."
"Oh, Harry," The anger dissipated, replaced by an overwhelming desire to hug the skinny lad. "I'm sorry. My parents are, too. My whole family is. I haven't even got an aunt or an uncle." Unable to stop himself, the Doctor pulled Harry into a tight hug, dismayed to realize that he could count the boy's ribs by touch alone through the thin material of his old, oversized jacket and shirt. Everything Harry was wearing, the Doctor noticed suddenly, from his shoes and socks to his shirt and jacket, were far too big for his tiny frame. He pulled back and frowned at the ill-sized attire. "Don't you have any clothes that fit?"
Harry blushed slightly. "N-no. Aunt Petunia says that would be a waste of money when m' cousin Dudley's old things work just fine." He hunched his shoulders, as though trying to disappear inside the cavernous shirt, and nearly succeeded.
"That," the Doctor scowled, "Is complete and utter rubbish. It'd be one thing if your family was below the poverty line, but judging by the brand names, they clearly are not. Your aunt is just being unnecessarily cruel." Harry peeked up from beneath his bangs as the Doctor continued. "And judging by the size, I'd imagine that your cousin never wants for food, but you're thin as a rake! Clearly Auntie and Uncle should not be raising you, or Dudley. Starve one child and spoil another? Nothing good ever comes from either situation and they've got both brewing under their noses! Rassilon," he shook his head, disgust etched across every feature. "If there was something I could do…"
A thought suddenly struck the Doctor, and his expression abruptly flipped from rage to excitement. "Harry," he said hurriedly, "Your aunt and uncle obviously don't care for you, but is there anyone else you could go to?"
"No. Nobody likes me at school; they're too afraid of Dudley to be nice to me."
"No other family I could contact for you?"
"Aunt Marge, but she hates me more than Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia." He leaned in conspiratorially, "She's got a mustache."
Unable to hold back the giggle that bubbled up, the Doctor nearly bit his tongue trying to stop laughing, but gave up when he noticed that Harry was laughing too, looking more innocent and carefree than the Doctor had yet seen.
"Right, then," he said when their merriment had subsided somewhat. "Just Harry," he sprang up from his crouched position and held out a hand to the boy, "How would you like to run away from everyone who was ever mean to you and never look back?"
Harry gazed at the Doctor in disbelief, his bottle-green eyes almost comically wide. "Really?"
"Really, really, really," the old Time Lord gave the young human a grin so large it looked as though it would split his face in two. "No more Vernon, Petunia, or Dudley, no more too-big clothes, no more going to bed hungry every night –"
"No more sleeping in the cupboard under the stairs?" Harry asked hopefully.
The Doctor literally saw red at that, but brushed it away for fear of frightening the boy. "Definitely none of that!"
Harry thought about it for a moment longer before jumping off the bench and taking the Doctor's much larger hand in his own small one. "Okay, Doctor. But, where are we going?"
And with a manic grin that had sent braver men and monsters running away in fear, but merely lifted Harry's spirits further, the Doctor squeezed the boy's hand and whispered exhilaratingly.
And that's that! First chapter done, second and third in progress, and all that's left is for the reviews to start coming!
Not many companions are going to feature, I'm afraid. A little bit of Martha, maybe a smidge of Donna, and Rose might poke her head in much later, but this is mainly going to be the Doctor and Harry. A sequel is planned, featuring the Eleventh Doctor and some Weasleys. More on that later, though.
Hope you liked it! Let me know in a review!