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Chapter Text

Disclaimer: I've got an old copy of 'Chamber of Secrets' and a home-made attempt at an imitation Sonic Screwdriver, they don't count. I don't own Harry Potter (J.K. Rowling), or Doctor Who (R.T.D., Moffat and whoever else does).

"You're late," The dark-haired man with the green and gold eyes calmly sipped his tea, "I expected you almost a dozen years ago."

"I saw you die."

"Yes, several times, if I recall, so I'm surprised you thought this one would take. But please, old friend, can we dispense with the pompous self-righteousness? Just this once? After all, it's not every day that my plans come to fruition."

"You know I'll stop you."

"Stop me?" He laughed, "You inspired me! After all, why waste the effort in conquering when it's far easier to make them want you to lead them? You wouldn't deny your precious apes their freedom of choice, would you? Just because they chose me?"

"You lied to them."

"No," he shook his head with a faint smile, "I didn't. Everything that made up Harry Potter, everything that made up The Master, it all is a part of me. Our minds... are one."

Harry touched a finger to his temple, "Born of Lily and James Potter, created in the Looms, chosen to attend Hogwarts, looking into the Untempered Schism, it's all here. Neither of us could live. But together..."

Harry's smile widened, "You of all people, Doctor, should understand. It's simple justice, a cause you've championed for so long, The magical world and the Senate of Gallifrey both used me, manipulated me, so they could have power for themselves..."

The Doctor frowned, "And you don't share power."

"Oh, they almost made it," Harry replied, "Unfortunately for them, after Voldemort and Rassilon's plans were dealt with, Harry Potter and The Master both had to die at some point. Imagine how we felt in the place beyond time and space, beyond spells and potions and drumbeats, knowing that our entire lives were lies. We met, had a little party and developed a wonderful plan. The Master couldn't come back to life without bringing Gallifrey with him and that just wouldn't do, and Potter... Potter had such fury at how he was used, how they had done so much to him. Potter needed power, The Master needed to escape the link and we both needed a way back. Imagine it, Doctor, the most powerful magic-user in thousands of years and one of the greatest of Time Lords, all it took to return to life in a time to take our own freedom was to combine that. And look what happened; Me. Time Lord. Wizard. Magister. Potter. Saxon. Master."

"How could you do this?"

"It was too easy, such fun... I pitted armies of light and dark against each other, played the hero and the villain, forged alliances and broke families, I drank my fill of pain and washed my hands in rivers of blood!" Harry laughed.

"You're mad. Madder than you've ever been before."

"Oh, please, Doctor, spare me the hypocritical diatribe. You've killed entire races, burned planets, set beings to be tortured for eternity... I've simply taken one society into the firm guidance of my own gentle hand. I've eliminated war, prejudice, created a society of intelligent co-operation and unity from which all can profit. There's no more killing over 'blood purity', no more 'sub-human' classes... And in the end, it was all their choice; faced with the Dark, the Light, and the government, they chose to follow... me."

"I find that hard to believe. All you've done is create a utopia of oppression."

"Then please," Harry waved his hand at the set place across from him at the table, "Sit, listen, learn, but try to limit your habitual interruptions, hm, Doctor? I'm supposed to help see the children off to school later this morning and I have no desire to make my 'Mistress' cross. Brilliant woman for having been born human. Scary when she gets in a mood, but brilliant."

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: I've got an old copy of 'Chamber of Secrets' and a home-made attempt at an imitation Sonic Screwdriver, they don't count. I don't own Harry Potter (J.K. Rowling), or Doctor Who (R.T.D., Moffat and whoever else does).

He walked down the Alley with a black traveling cloak draped over his shoulders, shunning the pointed hat so many wore simply because they always had, hiding his features under a simple fedora. For all their differences over so many years, The Doctor and he still had some things in common from the days of the Academy, including the opinion that tradition stifled innovation.

'If I thought quills, owls and the like were bad when all I knew were phones and the telly, after what I know now... I'm almost insulted, actually. No wonder so many institutions die', Harry considered, 'So locked by tradition that they can't adapt to change, refuse to evolve... evolve or die, I say.'

A soft chuckle that went unheard preceded the whispered, "For some of you, the choice I've already made."

Over the year since he had arrived in the past, he had slowly began preparing his plans, listing assets and liabilities; those people he could trust, those he could use and perhaps most importantly, those he would destroy. To keep one of the top names on that final list unwarned, his acceptance letter addressed to the location they expected, he had simply hypnotised the fools that shared his human blood into abandoning the basement to his purposes, but as soon as possible he intended to move his base of operations to a place that would not only provide a secure headquarters for himself but also deny a resource to his enemies - the caretaker would have to be dealt with when that time came, for the Master had no intention this time of suffering traitors to live. The day before, that letter had finally arrived telling him that Hogwarts would send a representative to meet him the next day. Knowing who would be sent, he had seen no reason to remain in Surrey and wait, instead he had set off to gather what he needed, both physical objects and valuable information, from London. So, here he now was, in the middle of Diagon Alley, the wolf among the sheep.

"Today," Harry muttered to himself, looking around the Alley from under the brim of his hat, unnoticed by wizards and witches surrounding him, "We chart a course for all our destinies. First, the Goblins... then supplies. Books, tools, loyal Hedwig... and a stick. How quaint. And I thought the obsession The Doctor had with sonic was annoying. Fortunately, it's only for appearance's sake, my own devices will do for my own purposes. But enough, to work."

As his footsteps led him towards Gringott's and destiny, Harry began humming a familiar four-beat tune...

"Do you have your key?"

"No, which is one of the reasons I need to speak to someone privately - I believe access to my vaults is in possession of someone it should not be and despite the understanding I have of Goblin honor, this room is filled with humans at the moment who might overhear something they shouldn't."

"Your name, young wizard?"

Harry held out his hand, getting a strange look from the Goblin teller, "Blood test to confirm I am who I claim."

"And that would be?" The teller asked, drawing a small knife used for blood identification purposes.

With his free hand, Harry raised the brim of his fedora so that the infamous scar could be seen, "Harry Potter."

"We've had such claims before," the goblin snarled, "Including faked scars."

Harry remained calm with his hand held out, "And how many of them were openly willing to prove it?"

Like a flash, the goblin lashed out with the knife, drawing blood and watching as it was absorbed by the metal and the blade began to glow. For his part, Harry stood there unaffected, feeling the energy flowing to his hand and healing the wound.

"Well, Mister Potter, this is interesting."

"Innit," Harry replied without batting an eye.

"You might be interested to know that Director Ragnarok has left instructions that you be brought to him the first time you enter our bank unaccompanied by other humans."

"I am unsurprised," Harry answered, slipping his hands into the pockets of his pants, "I expect we have a great deal to discuss and it would be an insult to keep the Warlord waiting any longer, would you escort me to him please?"

It was only after he had left Harry in the company of the guards outside Ragnarok's office that the teller realized that the young wizard had referred to their leader not as the human 'Director', but the proper Goblin title of 'Warlord'.

'Interesting', the teller thought.

Harry and Ragnarok faced each other across the Goblin Warlord's desk, neither chosing to be the first to sit down and put themselves in a disadvantagous position.

"Have a seat, young wizard," Ragnarok gestured towards one of the plush wing-backs across from him.

"After you, Warlord," Harry retorted, sweeping his hat from his head and tucking it under an arm, more familiar this time with the warlike customs of not just Goblins but a hundred other species across the galaxy.

"You do not trust me?"

"Respectfully," Harry answered, "I do not trust anyone until they have proven themselves to me. Goblin honor may be unimpeachable, but Brutus was an honorable man of Rome, if I recall."

Ragnarok's lips pulled back in a threatening expression that the reborn Master recognized as a Goblin smile, the baring of teeth symbolic of the baring of the truth if he recalled correctly, a gesture he returned as both of them sat at the same time.

"Despite your age, you've proven yourself far wiser than many humans."

"It's not the years," Harry commented, a certain year automatically coming to mind, "But how much you fit into them."

"Very true..." Ragnarok paused, deciding now was the time, "My lord."

Harry smiled coldly, "I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean by that, Warlord."

"Goblins are not fools. Your blood may be that of Harry Potter," Ragnarok leaned forwards, baring his teeth in a warning, "But it flows through two hearts, Time Lord."

Harry's hand slowly began to move towards the latest model of his Laser Screwdriver, "Where did you hear that? Keep it mind that your answer decides your fate, Goblin."

"Almost fifty years ago, from you ten years from now," Ragnarok answered, sitting back, "On the day I ascended to lordship over the Goblins, you came to me and told me that one day in the future you would come to the Goblins as an ally seeking to repay the actions of Wizards to both you and us and I would have until that day to decide where the Goblin Nation stood."

"Did I?" Harry asked with an inclination of his head as his hand drifted away from his Laser Screwdriver, "Then it would be safe to think you know more of the facts than most, wouldn't it?"

Ragnarok slowly nodded, no longer banker-to-client but now one conspirator-to-another, "The truth of Dumbledore's association with Grindlewald, his part in Riddle's rise, the plans for shaping the magical world to his ideal... his part in the deaths of your human parents and the imprisonments of yourself and your Godfather - which, I feel bound to add, Gringott's Bank and the Goblin Nation do not recognize."

Harry paused, deciding where he wanted to start, "Access to my vaults. Dumbledore has a key?"

"Stolen," Ragnarok informed him, "Taken from the personal effects of Sirius Black upon his unlawful imprisonment. Do you wish us to reclaim it?"

Harry thought for a moment, "No, no, let him keep it... but keep a record of all withdraws made by Dumbledore himself, any member of Hogwarts' staff, or the Pureblood family Weasley so that when the time is right reclamations can be made. And let it be understood that any arrangement made under his self-proclaimed 'authority' have no standing... and I will personally disembowel anyone who attempts to enforce them. Now, the guardianship of my aunt and uncle?"

"Illegal," came the response, unphased and in fact impressed by the Time Lord's Goblin-like attitude, "Even if your godfather's arrest had been lawful, your godmother Alice Longbottom had not been incapacitated at the time of your parents' deaths, guardianship would have fallen first to her and then to Lady Augusta Longbottom along with that of Neville Longbottom. The problem comes in that Albus Dumbledore's agenda recognizes no authority other than his own, which would place you illegally with the Muggle Dursley family..."

"I dislike that term," Harry interjected, "Could we use Mundane in its place?"

Ragnarok nodded, "...Illegally with the Mundane family Dursley. The guardianship of Augusta Longbottom in lieu of Frank and Alice Longbottom is being ignored by that same Dumbledore... if the Ministry moves against him as..."

"As I told you," Harry said, ignoring the confusing tenses, confusing only to those who experience time only in a linear fashion.

"Yes... it depends on where Lady Longbottom stands. If she sides with Dumbledore while you are still considered a minor by the humans' laws they might attempt to place you under the 'care' of a Ministry-aligned family... if not, without Dumbledore's control of the Wizengamot they will likely recognize her guardianship."

"And the Goblin Nation, whose guardianship does it recognize?"

Ragnarok spun his chair around and ran a finger along the blade of a sword displayed on his credenza, recognizing by feel every nick and gouge the blade had earned in battle, "By blood you are the only Heir of House Potter, by conquest the Heir of House Gaunt - and so the recognized Heir of Slytherin - and as the godson of the Heir of House Black you are the Heir Apparent of that House... In Goblin eyes, you need no guardian."

Harry nodded in recognition of that, despite the fact that Ragnarok couldn't see it, "And Riddle's survival?"

"Disgusting and evil things," Ragnarok turned back around to face the Time Lord, "I'll take great pleasure in seeing them destroyed, starting with the one they thought to hide on Goblin land."

"Dumbledore believes there is one in my scar," Harry remarked, raising a fist to his mouth.

"And is there?"

Harry smiled, "Not anymore. There is only enough room in my mind and soul for me and... well, me, actually. Let's see... Dumbledore is a Dark Lord in disguise, the Ministry would be crooks if they weren't changing the laws to suit themselves, Riddle is up himself and afraid to die... and the Goblin Nation will ally itself with me, is there anything else? No? Yes, actually, I do need to visit my vault, withdraw the funds for my first trip into the lion's den, don't I?"

Ragnarok stood up as Harry did, "Friend and Ally, allow me to accompany you myself."

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: I've got an old copy of 'Chamber of Secrets' and a home-made attempt at an imitation Sonic Screwdriver, they don't count. I don't own Harry Potter (J.K. Rowling), or Doctor Who (R.T.D., Moffat and whoever else does).

One might define it as irony, the unified rebirth of two manipulated beings into one independent force, one man-to-be intent on resisting the dictates of others and instead inspired to interfere with the plans of all three would-be Lords and Masters of the magical world and drive them into oblivion leaving him free to initiate his intrepid ideas of integration and indivisible rule under his own indefatigable guidance choosing to listen to the instrumental inspired by the indomitable defense of a country against interlopers intent on the imposition of their rule over an international state. And had he such inclinations, the entity known alternately as both Harry Potter and The Master might well have been that one, but as it were, he had more important matters teasing his intellect...

"A musical piece with percussion provided by artillery fired inside an occupied building," Harry clapped his hands in enjoyment, "And I once thought the silly little apes didn't have a sense of humor worth note."

It had been a week since his covert visit to Diagon Alley, since he had acquired certain specialty items he would need, ordered others and formed his alliance with the Goblin Nation. A week of unanswered owls from Hogwarts, each of them claiming that a representative of the school would be sent the next day upon response. Unanswered, after all, because one had to maintain appearances to lead the sheep of the magical world where they wanted them, he knew, even those sheep that fancied themselves wolves... The main difference between this time and last being that under hypnosis to act as if nothing were the matter, the Dursleys hadn't drug him across half the country in an attempt to outrun the letters, so he had spent the week sequestered in his subterranean study that was formerly the Dursleys' basement. A good time for him, actually, it had allowed him to make several adjustments to his Laser Screwdriver, including adding a variant of his old favored Tissue Compression Eliminator for those cases where disappearance would serve his goals better than a confirmed death; adjust his trusted, useful and target lists to take into account information gained at Gringott's; even find a bulk supplier of Jelly Babies and purchase a surplus to last him until the next summer.

Curse The Doctor for introducing him to those delectably addictive treats.

Harry reached over and took one from the bag sitting on his table and popped it into his mouth, thinking aloud as he chewed, "Thirty July... If previous experience holds true, Hagrid should arrive shortly after midnight turns to the thirty-first..."

He froze in mid-chew, "And Diagon doesn't open until later in the morning and we arrived after business had already begun for the day... hm, the lack of distance to travel could affect the timing. Not that it's a concern. Gringott's has been dealt with in the important matters, the necessary books and equipment for my... personal projects have been bought, tomorrow will bring the robes, actual school supplies, Hedwig... and the stick. Have to do something about the stick... More proof of Albus' plots; he knew about the brother wands, even that the feathers came from Fawkes, and never even bothered to mention the possibility of the Priori despite the shade... this year and the Horcrux next... I don't know if I should kill him slowly and make him suffer or quickly so that I no longer have to deal with him... maybe find a way to make him suffer greatly but die quickly?"

Finishing the one in his mouth, Harry bit into a second Jelly Baby, chewed as he thought, then swallowed, "Even if he lived in the end, I tortured my old friend The Doctor, didn't I? I don't want to suggest that Albus is anywhere near his level, deserves any of the respect he does... nope, quick death it is!"

With a satisfied smile on his face, Harry turned the volume up on the vintage phonograph he had acquired and, folding his hands together, leaned back and closed his eyes. Ignoring the sounds of the barely-humans that demanded he turn it down, he let the sounds of Tchaikovsky take him away, cannon fire mixing with the beating of drums in his head.

A Time Lord such as he was needed little to no sleep, but even the most powerful of beings - of which he would certainly count himself, and more importantly be right in doing so - took time to focus their thoughts before a grand venture, sometimes spending hours if not days in meditation. The soft snores emitting from the figure in the chair would belie that explanation, though. Harry Potter, known in other lives as Harry Magister and Harry Saxon, the self-proclaimed Master of the universe and prophesied 'Master of Death'... was fast asleep.

Just because he didn't need to sleep didn't mean he didn't enjoy a good nap at times.

If he had known anything about it, Rubus Hagrid would be glad that he was considered useful to The Master, because when the pounding of Hagrid's massive fist upon the side of Number Four woke him, the first thought that went through Harry's head involved testing the T.C.E. setting and feeding the shrunken half-giant to his own cerberus.

Popping his neck as he stood up, Harry smiled and commented to the empty room, "The stage is set, the orchestra in place, now it's time to see if the players can dance to a different tune..."

The response was only in his mind, but it caused him to roll his eyes, "To be honest, I really don't care that I mixed my metaphors. By the time I'm through, mixed metaphors will be the least of the things I've done... Among other things, I'll probably use prepositions to end sentences with."

The trip to Diagon Alley along with Hagrid had progressed within the limits of the previous timeline and Harry's own plans; Quirrel's handshake proving he had yet to actually be possessed by his 'master', the Goblins followed Ragnarok's orders to act as if he'd never been to Gringott's, and a simple change in schedule kept him from having to put up with Malfoy - useful because of his predictability, but a perfect example of the saying about those who think they're better than everyone being annoying to those who are in fact. Now, however, came the part that would prove or disprove at least one of his conclusions and serve to shape his future plans...

That damnable stick.

If he was right, he'd have the distinct pleasure of watching He-Who-Has-Too-Many-Names flounder like the fish out of water of human proverb while having to come up with a better plan than 'let the villain kill the hero so that he can die'.

Stupid git. Heroes and villains may die, but those such as The Master endure.

If he was wrong, then Harry himself would have to take an additional five minutes to adapt his plans - five minutes that would be better spent amusing himself with Top Gear - because even the Time Lord wondered the answer to the infamous question; Who Is The Stig? After all, Harry would admit that him with being The Master, his oldest friend-slash-rival being The Doctor, then there was The Rani - who he actually wondered if she might have used a Chameleon Arch to become Arabella Figg - it wouldn't be too surprising if The Stig also happened to be a Time Lord who avoided being locked in with the Time War.

And he was getting distracted. At least with the way that Ollivander was rambling on about 'wands choosing wizards' and Hagrid was hanging onto his every word and rubbing his umbrella, neither of them noticed. Not a point in the wizarding world's favor, he thought.

"Now then," Ollivander finally said, "Which is your wand hand?"

The Master rolled his eyes in annoyance before claiming, "I don't know, this is my first wand."

Ollivander picked up a wand and looked at the dark-haired youth, "You write with?"

"My right hand," Harry answered, holding it out.

"Very good," Ollivander replied, placing the wand in Harry's extended hand, "Oak with hair from the tail of a Unicorn, give it a try."

Harry sighed as he gave the wand a lazy flick and watched as nothing happened.

The wandmaker plucked that wand from Harry's hand and replaced it with another, "Ash and Phoenix Feather, go on."

A wave of the wand brought a faint shower of sparks.

"Hm, not quite there," Ollivander took the wand back, "Many years since it's taken this long to match a wand to a customer... many years, indeed. Wait here, if you would."

Ollivander went into the back of the shop and while he waited, Harry paced back and forth, running his hand along a display of wands in a mix of boredom and thought. Finally, Ollivander returned, another wand cradled carefully in his hands, a wand that Harry recognized even if he kept himself from showing it.

In another life, it had been his.

"Holly and Phoenix Feather... the Phoenix whose feather is in this wand only ever gave two feathers," the aged wandmaker observed, "The wizard that had the brother to this wand did great things. Terrible things, but great things..."

Harry reached out to take the wand and watched as it began to glow as when he took it in his hand, only for the light to suddenly go out.

"Curious. Try it again."

A quick flick of the wrist caused a single spark to shoot from the end of the Holly and Phoenix Feather wand, invoking a frown from Ollivander.

"How very curious," Ollivander muttered, "I was sure..."

He plucked the wand from Harry's hand and returned to the back, repeating again that he had been sure. With the wandmaker walking away and Hagrid talking to himself about how no one would believe this, neither saw the small satisfied smirk that ghosted its way across The Master's face. The wand he ended up with now was unimportant as the brother wands were now a variable removed from the equation. With another wand in hand, Ollivander returned.

"This wand was never a planned creation, but I dislike waste. On a trip to Cardiff some years back, I was attacked by a rather vicious creature, the likes of which I've never seen before or since. Regrettably, I was forced to kill it to protect myself, but I gathered what I could in the way of components from the remains to put to use. I suppose in that sense the trip was a success," Ollivander admitted, "It was more a whim than anything that led me to use heartstring from that with a piece of wood that I had acquired on the continent over fifty years ago. If you would, Mr. Potter?"

Harry took the wand and almost immediately the glow of light from it filled the room to a blinding degree before dying down, "I take it that's what we wanted?"

Ollivander nodded, "German oak and heartstring from an unknown predator. It appears, Mr. Potter, that you are destined for great things, unequaled great things, indeed..."

'Not literally true', The Master thought to himself, 'But the only being I might claim as an equal isn't here, so it is effectively true.'

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore folded his hands together with a grandfatherly smile on his face, "Tell me, Hagrid, how did young Harry take his first look at Diagon Alley?"

"Oh, 'e took ta it nice, 'eadmaster, dinnae 'ave a bitta trouble," Hagrid answered in the thick brogue that came from living most of his life in the Highlands, "Goblins' dinnae e'en make 'im flinch. Took the lib'ty meself'a gettin' 'im an owl."

"No troubles whatsoever? He adapted well?"

"'E said 'e'd seen.... what was the words 'e used? 'More outta this world before'," Hagrid admitted, "Took a while ta get 'is wand though."

"Really?" Dumbledore raised an eyebrow behind his half-moon glasses, "Do you happen to recall what wand he received in the end?"

"Yeh, oak and some kinda 'eartstring, Ollivander said," Hagrid answered before bowing his head in embarrassment, "Sorry, Professor, but I needs ta go make sure the boats are ready before the first an' start gettin' the threstals back used to the harnesses."

As Hogwarts' Groundskeeper left his office, the Headmaster's smile slipped into a frown.

"I don't understand it," Dumbledore commented to himself, "I was certain that whatever part of Tom's magic is in Harry in his scar should have been older and more than powerful enough to have controlled the wand selection... I was certain it would be the wand with Fawkes' other feather; 'and he shall mark him as his equal'. What could this mean?"

Chapter Text

Disclaimer; There should be a disclaimer here telling you that I own neither Harry Potter or Doctor Who and I'm making no money from this story... unfortunately, it blinked.

He stood there wearing his old favored style of dress in the form of dark trousers, white silk shirt and a simple dark waistcoat, frowning. He was counted among the last of the Time Lords, technically a former Prime Minister, easily one of the most intelligent beings in the universe...

He was the Chosen One, the Prophesied Child...

He was Harry Magister, Harry Saxon and Harry Potter all...

He was The Master.

And he was insulted.

Thinking about it now with the knowledge of The Master, Harry was amused by the similiarities Arthur had with The Doctor in some ways. The Weasley family's presence on the mundane side of King's Cross Station was understandable knowing Arthur's fascination with mundane creations. The only reason the patriarch of the Weasley family traveled by floo and portkey was because it was expected of him and faster for long distances, given the choice Arthur would prefer to drive his 'modified' Ford whenever possible, including to the station on the first of September. That didn't insult him, Arthur was among the half of the Weasleys that The Master considered amusing and even occasionally impressive. No, it was the leader of the other half that caused the drums to beat louder in his head, calling for her execution.

Harry didn't know whether it was Dumbledore's doing that Molly Weasley was about shouting her damn fool head off in the middle of the station and easily violating the Statute of Secrecy or if it was her own idea... and really, he didn't care. He intended to have as little as humanly or Gallifreyianly possible to do with her two mollycoddled youngest.

'Mollycoddled, or perhaps Molly-coddled,' The thought made him chuckle softly to himself as he placed his hand on the barrier and pushed through to the other side, leaving the loud witch behind with the subtle hope that she and her's would be so busy on the mundane side trying to get his attention that the Hogwarts Express would leave the station with him on board and them not so much.

After stowing his trunk, Harry placed Hedwig's cage in one seat and set down across from it, steepling his fingers as two sets of eyes met.

"You knew all this time. You still know, in fact. I can feel time curling around you..." Harry accused softly, invoking a soft 'hoo' from the owl.

"Silly stupid little apes and their tendencies to ignore half of things when they don't like what it means," he expanded to another hoot of agreement, "Not that human Harry Potter was much better... Was I, 'Battle War'?"

Two rapid hoots answered him.

"So focused on owls as symbols of wisdom from the Greco-Romans, they forget the rest of it... War, battle... death."

This caused Hedwig to give a very firm hoot.

"I failed last time because I had no knowledge of what I was supposed to do - time-locking that bastard Dumbledore in the moment his sister died would be too good for him... This time... this time, I'll bring to the magical world war like it's never seen since the days of Merlin and Morganna, battle of brother against brother and lover against lover, blood against blood... and Death. Death truly worthy of the hands of The Master," As he spoke, Harry could feel the drums beating louder, "I've tried fear and they overcame it, tried the truth and they denied it, tried force and they fought back, tried to do the right thing and they betrayed me, tried to reshape the world in my image and again I was betrayed... By the time I am done, Hedwig, this world will cry out for me to save it and no whiskered wanker, no imitation immortal, no storytelling physician, no backstabbing bride will stop me... And then? They will all bow and acknowledge The Master as their master."

Hedwig hooted again.

Harry smiled, "'Who', indeed, my dear bird? Every Master deserves a Mistress. I had such high hopes for Lucy, I could even forgive her treachery, but not her lack of ambition."

The owl ruffled its feathers, causing Harry to chuckle, "Don't worry, Hedwig, I don't intend to kill another seven-hundred-million people simply to prove a point... It would be a waste of resources. With the smaller size of magical Britain, just seventy or so should do, mostly from Dumbledore and Riddle's forces, especially those like Lucius and Molly who are prominent figures."

Hedwig hooted, paused and then hooted again.

"No, I'm afraid Ginerva simply has too much in common with Lucy to be an effective choice - unintelligent, over-emotional, her ambitions are limited solely to those of a social-climber. Any feelings I might have had for her before were simply those of a deprived child latching onto the first chance he had at something he had been denied and not letting go simply out of fear, not going after what he really wanted because he didn't want to lose something that really never existed in the first place."

A series of rapid hoots caused Harry to smile and applaud, "Exactly, an equal is what I need. One of my greatest failings before was my consistent underestimation of The Doctor's companions and their effects on my plans. This time, however, I intend to adopt and adapt his own methods to my benefit. Unlike Lucy, however, this one I'll have access to while they're still young and formative, malliable if you will... By being more... precise in the selection of my associates, I'll limit the outside interference while I take that obedience to authority and bend it and twist it until I'm the only authority she recognizes, until her loyalty to me is absolute..."

The Time Lord leaned back in his seat, "If all goes as expected, by Halloween I can start feeding her anger at the traditions and attitudes of the magical world, helping her to see that the entire culture will only change in blood and fire... feed the budding woman ready to declare war on the magical world herself to free the house elves and starve the girl-child afraid after being faced with her own mortality of the path she chose to follow and before long... intelligent, ambitious, even vengeful... perfection..."

Hedwig let out four hoots in rapid succession.

"I knew you'd agree," Harry remarked as he closed his eyes.

The door to the compartment burst open, revealing a redhead dragging a trunk behind him.

"All the other compartments are full, is it alright if I sit in here?"

Harry's eyes narrowed without opening, "No."

"Thanks, ma-" the redhead said, starting to enter the compartment, then froze as the dark-haired youth's words hit him, "Wait, what?"

Opening his eyes, Harry sat up, "I said 'no'."

"You're the only one in here and I need a place to sit, what do you mean 'no'?"

"It means 'no'," Harry answered again, wondering why this conversation seemed vaguely familiar as he stood up.

"Blimey," Ron Weasley exclaimed, "You're Harry Potter! Do you ha-"

"You're a liar," Harry said to cut him off, scoffing at the Weasley boy's faked surprise while taking a step forward, "I was one of the last people to board the train and there were plenty of empty compartments, which means you knew who I am and came hunting me..."

Harry grabbed Ron by the throat, cutting off his air supply along with any attempt at reply, "I take that as an insult and were we not in an enclosed environment, my honor would force me to demand satisfaction."

Neither boy heard Hedwig's amused hoot at the word 'honor', Harry because of his anger and Ron because he was more concerned with regaining the ability to breathe.

"As it is, however," Harry continued, releasing his grip and leaving the redheaded boy gasping for air, "I'll settle for you removing yourself from my sight..."

For a moment, Ron was about to argue, but Harry locked eyes with him and used his more hypnotic abilities to reinforce his command of, "Now."

"I will remove myself now," Ron muttered in a slurred voice as he tried to walk backward out of the compartment, tripping over his own trunk in the process before climbing to his feet and dragging the trunk behind him as he walked away.

'Weak-minded fool', Harry thought to himself.

From the opposite end of the train car from where Ron had exited, Harry heard approving clapping and stepped out of the compartment to have a look.

"I heard Harry Potter was on the train," Draco Malfoy started his spiel as he moved his hands to his hips imperiously, "I'm glad to see that you understand that some people aren't worth associating with, blood-traitors like him and their filthy mudbloods... I can help introduce you to those that are worth it, Draco Malfoy, by the way."

Harry's eyes narrowed again, ignored by the arrogant blonde. Proving that dumb animals could be more perceptive than supposedly intelligent humans, the two epitimous apes accompanying Draco took a step back as they felt the tension rise in the air around them. Like the sky opening up to release a deluge, the tension in the air exploded as Harry was suddenly inches away from Draco with his wand had under the pureblood's chin.

"You can have your prejudices, even I do, but take care to have them... quietly," The Master said softly but firmly, "Or I can see how 'pure' your blood really is when I paint the walls with it."

"My father-" Draco started.

"Is a coward," Harry interrupted, "Your father is a traitor, and the only question worth asking is whether he is more likely to die by getting in my way or when the Dark Lord comes seeking revenge for your father denouncing him, buying and lying his way out of punishment instead of staying true to his 'master'."

Involuntarily, Draco swallowed hard, "Crabbe, Goyle, come on, we're leaving. My godfather was right about Potter."

Draco took a step back and then another, waiting to turn away from Harry until Crabbe and Goyle were between them. As the two started to turn to follow, Harry stopped them with a word.

"You."

Crabbe turned around and Goyle turned his head.

"Don't be fools."

First one, then the other slowly nodded before joining Draco in leaving the carriage. With no more uninvited guests, Harry returned to his compartment and sat back down.

"Well, that was an interesting two minutes and forty-seven seconds," Harry observed, "Now to see who goes running to who."

Hedwig ruffled her feathers and hooted in response.

"Honestly, I don't care if it's supposed to be 'whom'," The Master retorted.

Hedwig hooted again.

"All that you know about my plans and the only thing you have a problem with is my grammar," Harry sighed, "I almost wish Harkness was here, I really want to kill something..."

Later, as the train passed through Leicestershire according to The Master's calculations, the door was opened again, this time by the bushy-haired brunette that he had actually been waiting on.

"Have you seen a toad? Neville's lost one."

Harry raised an eyebrow, "Hello to you as well, I'm fine, thank you for asking in your well-mannered way, Miss Yet-To-Be-Named."

The brunette blushed slightly, "Sorry, I'm Hermione, Hermione Granger... and you?"

"Harry... uh, LeRoy," Harry answered, calmly.

The brunette frowned, something about the name seemed familiar, then she remembered, "A Cornish name?"

"No, I am a Welshman," Harry replied, continuing.

"Knowest thou Fluellen?"

"Yes."

Then Hermione broke the pattern, "Art thou his friend?"

"And his kinsman, too," Harry answered, "Though that's not the next line."

The meaning behind the exchange confirmed it in Hermione's mind, "You're Harry Potter! I've read about you!"

"So have I," He shrugged, "Interesting considering that my Hogwarts letter was the first contact I've had with the magical world since my parents' deaths that I should be in so many books that claim to know the truth of that night when of the four people there, only I survived."

Hermione frowned, "But they claimed to be based on first-hand accounts from you, that you were living well at your family's home."

Harry laughed, then waved his hand, "I'm not laughing at you, just that idea. Until recently, I had no idea the magical world even existed... and as for living well? I lived on an estate in Surrey - Little Whinging - and had no idea I even had a family home."

"But... in the books, they... they said..." Hermione stuttered in confusion.

Harry interrupted, "Allow me to share two pieces of wisdom, Miss Granger... Hermione... The first is that no one is ever exactly what they appear, not the Headmaster, not me, not even you... second, everyone lies, the innocent because they don't want to be blamed, the guilty because they don't want to be caught."

Hermione frowned, "But if everybody lies, why should I believe what you said about people not being what they appear? You could've been lying about it."

Harry smiled at the brunette, "Yes, I could've, couldn't I? That begs the question of am I a liar who appears to be an honest person or an honest person who people think is a liar? If I'm a liar, am I lying because I'm guilty or because I'm innocent? That's why you can't always trust what you see or hear, you have to discover things for yourself, Hermione."

"What do you say you are?"

"See? Already you're learning! I say that I am a jack of all trades, but... unlike the saying goes, of some..." Harry stood up, "I am The Master. Now, the toad."

Reaching into his waistcoat pocket, Harry pulled out his Laser Screwdriver, "This should help find it."

"But electronics don't work around magic!" Hermione exclaimed, evoking a disappointed shake of the head from the dark-haired young man.

"Hermione, Hermione, Hermione," Harry clicked his tongue, "What did I just say about not believing everything you're told?"

Hermione blushed again and mentally cursed the boy for causing her to do it more in five minutes than she had in the last year, "Find out for myself."

"Exactly," Harry pressed a button on the metal tube in his hand, causing an LED at one end to light up and the device to begin emitting a beeping noise, "Where were we? Right, as a former... friend... of mine was once fond of saying... Allons-y!"

By the time the train had reached Nottinghamshire, Harry was standing in front of Hermione and a slightly-pudgy youth near tears holding the formerly lost toad in one hand and his Laser Screwdriver in his other.

With a slightly twisted smile, Harry held up the toad, "Now that we've found him, I'm afraid you'll only get the toad back on one condition."

Hermione's jaw dropped as she took a step backward while Neville felt a tear start to slide down his cheek.

"Give me back Trevor!" Neville demanded.

Harry glowered, he wasn't exactly fond of people making demands of him.

"The only way you're getting him back is..." Harry suddenly brightened up and handed Trevor to his owner, "If the two of you would join me in my compartment for the rest of the trip; unlike the last two examples of wizarding society I've met, you two don't strike me as complete and utter moronic assholes."

"S-sure," Neville stuttered, checking Trevor to make sure he was unharmed.

"Harry! Language!" Hermione stomped her foot and added, "How could you do that to poor Neville?"

With an imperial air, Harry adjusted his collar and cuffs, "My dear girl, you have yet to see me be offensive... and to be perfectly truthful, what I did was in the way of helping; there are those in this universe that will do that and so much worse to have their way and if one is unprepared to deal with them properly, it will leave you at their mercy and many fewer than you think know the meaning of the word. To make it, one must be prepared to risk everything they hold dear and threaten everything their opponent does, to pay back blood for blood, death for death and pain for pain."

Calmly, the Time Lord returned his Laser Screwdriver to his waistcoat pocket, "For better or worse, all some people understand is violence and regrettable and disgusting as it is, sometimes you need to be able to converse on their level to make your point clear. Vicious brutes, wild animals in human form to be put down, people you can't give second chances because they've already made it clear that they won't change their course... the only thing you can do with them is make sure no one else suffers because of them."

Hermione looked green, causing The Master to raise an eyebrow, "Do my words bother you, Hermione? Of course they do, the idea would bother any civilized person... but only 'civilization' is foolish enough to allow those who prey on it freedom to repeat their predations. There are times in life that the only way for 'civilization' to survive is by the actions of the uncivilized in its defense whether it agrees with them or not. Keep the toad, if you want to join me for the remainder of the trip you know where I shall be."

As The Master left the compartment, he could hear Neville softly whisper behind him, "'Pain for pain'?"

Chapter Text

Disclaimer; Don't own Doctor Who or Harry Potter, not making money from them. Sorry, can't think of a humorous remark for this disclaimer.

The Master was pleased. He usually was when things went according to plan. With his parents' fate always on the boy's mind, it hadn't been hard for the Time Lord to turn Longbottom's thoughts to avenging his parents and revenging himself on the LeStrange family. After returning to his own compartment of the train, Harry hadn't been surprised when Neville had soon joined him, followed not long after by Hermione - brilliant Hermione, but naive. Unlike he and Neville who knew the darkness that lurked around them, she had no idea how the world really worked. The girl actually believed that authority figures were there to help, rules were there to be obeyed and a person's abilities and knowledge would actually be recognized. Harry felt a very wise man, a person even he would acknowledge as such, had said it best before his passing; 'The universe is made up of a mixture of three things; Matter, energy and enlightened self-interest.'

Over the thousand-plus years of his lives, the renegade Time Lord had become very familiar with the concept of enlightened self-interest.

After his speech to the two wizarding youth about civilization and the uncivilized, he had seen fit to keep further conversation lighter in tone and subject, something that had made Neville more comfortable around him - laying the groundwork for future progress with the boy who had been such a thorn in Riddle's side and even had dealt with the final soul fragment in the previous timeline - and frustrated the bushy-haired brunette to no end, denying her information. Something he had learned long ago, nothing kept the curious close to one's side better than making them aware of knowledge you weren't sharing, they would follow you to the end of the universe while trying to gain access to it.

He'd been to the end of the universe before, he hadn't been that impressed... Of course, he admitted quietly to himself, at the time he'd been more concerned about recovering himself from the Chameleon Arch, regenerating and stealing the Doctor's TARDIS than seeing the sights and Yana's memories were biased. Maybe one day when all was finished and he reigned supreme he'd have to take the opportunity to go back and have a walk around the lightless Earth, just to see how things turned out. The merger of Potter and Master understood one thing that his components either hadn't learned or never took the time to practice, there was no point in trying to save the world, or rule it, if you never took the time to enjoy it.

Like the view of Hogwarts Castle across the Black Lake, very enjoyable. He had seen such architectual creations as the Citadel of The Time Lords on Gallifrey, Parliment House in London, San Francisco's Golden Gate Bridge, The Tomb of Rassilion where he wished the bastard had stayed... But even after all the relative time that had passed, the castle still held a special place in at least one of his hearts. Crossing his arms over the archaic robes that wizarding culture insisted upon, he recited a line of Gallifreyian under his breath.

"What was that, Harry?"

The Master flinched as he reminded himself that the speaker was not the - relatively - late-Mrs. Saxon, knowing he would have to get used to being addressed as Harry again, "Something I heard once, Hermione, 'Home is not from whence you came, but where you choose to be'."

Hermione frowned, "Isn't that supposed to be 'home is where the heart is'?"

"I believe I know what I meant to say," Harry remarked.

"Co-could you not argue?" Neville asked, stuttering.

"We're not arguing, merely having a lively discussion," Harry informed him, "Remind me at a later date to help you do something about that speech problem you seem to have, Nev'. Maybe toss you in a girls' lavatory so you'll have a reason to stutter."

"Harry!"

The Time Lord smirked, neither of them knew that certain events involving girls' restrooms had to happen for his plans to work out, though unlike the two non-starters he was up against he had bothered to take the time to plan for the protection of his assets, "Or we could just work on getting rid of it, if you really just wanted to settle."

Neville was too busy blushing to reply, his mind having a hard time moving past thoughts of what could be seen in a girls' restroom. Noticing the cherry red color of the other boy's face, Harry chuckled.

"Ah, hormones, our personal ticket to Hell for the next decade. Worry not, my wizarding friend, if we can survive puberty," 'For the third time at least,' was added in Harry's head, "nothing the magical world can throw at us is capable of altering our course... Well, except for those 'Every-Flavour Beans', some of those flavors are to be avoided. Glad I brought a supply of Jelly Babies with me, much safer."

Hermione stared at him for a moment, trying to catch up with the sudden change in topic, "Are you insane?"

Harry smiled and raised an eyebrow as he admitted, "Only mostly."

When Hagrid had called for the first years to follow him and instructed them to get into the boats in groups of four for the trip across the lake, Ron had wisely kept his distance, preferring to maintain his close relationship with oxygen and from the corner of his eye Harry saw Draco, the Bookends and Pansy Parkinson get in a boat ahead of them while a different redhead joined him, Hermione and Neville in their boat. The previous time, Harry had taken little notice of Susan Bones, too concerned about his association with the Weasley family and the constant attempts on his life to have noticed that he had been kept away from even light families that didn't agree with Dumbledore, families like the Longbottoms, Bones and Patils, in favor of constantly being placed in the company of the Burrow-dwellers, something he had no intention of tolerating this time around. It had been literal lifetimes since he had attended the Academy, but he still remembered how to make the lives of students and staff miserable when crossed. Harry dipped his fingers in the water and tapped out a drumbeat on the side of the boat as he thought back, some of the methods involved help, but with a little work Neville would do for that... and depending on where they stood in the end, there was a duo that could either be helpful or be obliterated.

"Could you please stop that?" Susan asked after a few minutes of Harry drumming on the side of the boat.

Behind his glasses, the Time Lord blinked, "Stop what?"

Neville looked across the boat at the redheaded girl, stuttering as he spoke, "He... kinda... doesn't always... know he's doing it..."

Harry looked around, "Doing what?"

Hermione sighed, in the last few hours they had become familiar with the dark-haired youth's most noticeable and attrocious habit, "You're drumming again, Harry."

Pulling his hand out of the water and looking at it as though he had never seen it before, Harry frowned, "Why so I was."

The time between McGonagall's rather droll speech about house and family and the opening of the door to the Great Hall was distinctly different than Harry's previous experience and he had an idea of the reason. After the incident on the train, Crabbe and Goyle seemed to have taken the Time Lord's 'advice' to heart and parted ways with Malfoy, moving away from him as soon as the boats had docked. Without the quality of quantity supporting him, Draco had no desire to make attempts to throw his name around, which meant no confrontation with him in the school foyer. He reminded Harry of an Earth sea creature...

"Hermione, question," Harry said, apparently out of nowhere, "There's a fish that lives off another fish; the predators it attracts are the other fish's prey and it lives off the left-overs, do you know what it's called?"

"A clownfish is immune to jellyfish stings and lives in their tentacles," Hermione remarked, confused by the non-sequitar.

Harry shook his head, "No, not it... Dimera... demora... something like that... Maybe relena?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow, she was quickly reaching the conclusion that Harry Potter was either an utter genius or a complete twit and she still wasn't sure which it was, "Remora?"

"Maybe. Sounds about right, remora... yes, that's it."

Susan, standing nearby, cocked her head to the side, "Do I want to know?"

"No," Neville said with a firmness that surprised himself, "We rode the train with him... We learned the hard way that Harry doesn't always think the same way we do. He'll take something simple and then turn it upside down and backwards just to see what happens."

Harry threw an arm around Neville's shoulder, "And here I thought you were planning on the second option, Nev'... Now I see you're creating your own option three. Good for you, don't let yourself be limited by the rules and beliefs of others, forge your own path, so much the better!"

Susan frowned, "Options?"

"No!" Hermione and Neville half-shouted in unison, the boy shrugging out from under Harry's arm.

Hermione stomped her foot, "We're too young to be thinking about things like that, Harry."

Harry raised both of his eyebrows, a look that openly said 'really' with a question mark at the end, and clasped his hands together behind his back, "Age is simply a physical reflection of the passage of time and time, my dear Hermione, is relative. So age, then, is relative... or, as a rather cheeky American Air Force Captain I once met phrased it, 'It's not the years, it's the mileage'."

The brunette bookworm was kept from asking about the American that Harry had mentioned by McGonagall opening the door and beckoning the new students into the Great Hall, but she didn't forget, merely filed it away in the ever-expanding mental folder of facts and confusions that was Harry Potter in her mind.

"A hat! I'm gonna kill Fred and George! They said we had to wrestle a troll!"

Harry rolled his eyes at the shout from Ronald Weasley before turning to the other three members of his quartet, "Obviously trying to get attention... Do you think he doesn't realise that none care?"

Susan glanced around, "Both my aunt and his father work at the Ministry, so I've had to meet Ron a few times at Ministry functions... He's a... I can't say it in polite company."

The Master chuckled, "Many things I've been called over the years, but I don't recall 'polite company' ever being one of them..."

"He's a twat!" Susan's hands covered her mouth as soon as she realized what she said, her face turning a shade of red between the train they had traveled on and her own hair.

"See, my dear girl," Harry patted her on the shoulder, "That wasn't so hard."

Hermione frowned, trying to ignore the little voice inside that insisted she should be the one he was calling his 'dear girl', "Would you both shut up and listen to the hat?"

Indeed, the hat had begun singing its yearly song while the conversation had been ongoing, something that didn't really interest Harry as it was simply a means to make students think about the houses so that the Hat could sort them easier. Instead, his thoughts were divided between calculating the possible effects of previous regenerations' activities on his current plans, wondering if the Sorting Hat would ruin the surprises he had planned for the magical world, and the important one to him at the moment... deciding if he wanted the roast beef or the chicken when it came time for the feast.

Finally, McGonagall began reading from the list of names, "Abbot, Hannah."

As one of the girls in the crowd walked forward, Harry gave her a mental appraisal, 'Hannah Abbot, no distinguishing characteristics, usually found around Miss Bones and the moth-eaten one says...'

"Hufflepuff!" The Sorting Hat announced as the girl went to the table for that house.

The next name to attract Harry's attention was, "Bones, Susan."

Harry nodded as his boatmate walked forward, 'Hufflepuff, if I recall. Her aunt is head of Magical Law Enforcement, a connection that could be useful... She died last time, but that's easily fixable... Susan's was injured during the war, wasn't she? Yes, she was... keep the aunt alive and the niece intact and the family could be strong allies...'

Seconds after the redhead placed the hat on her head, it began talking, "Loyal, yes, very loyal... but what's this? Hm, interesting... very much so... Yes... You're discovering something new in yourself... Like attracts like and helps it grow and it looks like the best place for you to grow would be... Gryffindor!"

'Well,' the Time Lord thought as Susan walked towards the red and gold draped table, 'This is a change.'

Harry again roused from his thoughts when McGonagall called for, "Crabbe, Vincent."

'Slytherin, one of Malfoy's bookends... was it him or Goyle that used the Fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement... Blast and bugger-all, if it was one of my Master-memories it wouldn't be a problem, but the memories I have as Harry Potter aren't always clear.'

"Difficult," The Sorting Hat remarked, "This is an interesting year's worth of students, isn't it? Nobody seems to be what you'd think... But you, I think... Hufflepuff!"

The Master didn't miss the glance Crabbe gave Malfoy and the sudden look of relief that crossed his face, 'Like the hat said, interesting.'

It barely drew his attention when the other bookend was also sorted into Hufflepuff with his own look of relief, but The Master gave it his full regard when McGonagall announced the name of, "Granger, Hermione."

With a smile, he reached forward and gave her shoulder a quick squeeze with his hand before she started towards the stool where the Sorting Hat waited. Reaching it and sitting down, Hermione's eyes met his before she put on the hat, a look of nervousness in them.

'That won't do,' The Master thought, giving her a reassuring smile and touching the first and middle fingers of his right hand to his brow in a salute before swinging his hand away at the wrist and bowing his head.

Strangely comforted and amused by the gesture, Hermione relaxed as she lowered the hat onto her head.

"Brilliant, very brilliant... Ambitious, ready to change the world... But that takes a certain kind of courage, and the home of the brave is..."

'Mine,' The Master thought.

"Gryffindor!" The hat announced.

'All mine,' The Master smiled as Hermione went to join Susan and the next student was called.

It took the hat seconds to place Greengrass, Daphne in Slytherin.

"Longbottom, Neville."

"Good luck," Harry told him with a pat on the back.

"Tha-thanks," Neville gulped as he walked forward, the Sorting Hat seeming as imposing as if it were the troll of Ron Weasley's loud remarks.

'After all, if The Doctor can have his Captain Jack Harkness, why can't I have my Neville Longbottom?' The Master asked himself with a mental laugh when the Sorting Hat quickly placed Neville in Gryffindor where he joined the girls at the table.

Ernie MacMillan's placement in Hufflepuff had the Time Lord scowling as he remembered how Hufflepuff had led the schoolwide persecution of Harry Potter not once, but twice, then it was time for the placement of, "Malfoy, Draco."

As the Malfoy heir strutted towards the Sorting Hat, The Master decided to let his more mischievous side out to play. Adjusting the pitch and throwing his voice, he shouted out, "Get on with it!"

Draco jerked to a halt and spun around, head snapping from side to side trying to find the culprit, "Who said that!"

The reply came from the direction of the Slytherin table, "I did, ya poncy git! Stop playing to the kiddies and get on with it!"

Draco spun again to glare at the culprit, but since he didn't know who said it, he settled for glaring at the whole of Slytherin table, "When my father hears about this..."

"Mr. Malfoy!" McGonagall said forcefully, pointing at the Sorting Hat, "Kindly get sorted and leave the discipline to the staff."

Giving the table a general sneer, Malfoy marched up to the Sorting Hat and without sitting down placed it on his head as though he were putting on a crown.

"Slytherin!"

Draco had placed the hat back on the stool and taken two steps toward the green and silver table before he realised that he was about to be surrounded by the students that he had just threatened.

The Master chuckled softly to himself as he thought, 'Round one to me.'

Finally, McGonagall's list reached the P's with "Parkinson, Pansy."

'Slytherin, notable for being betrothed to Malfoy, a perfect representation of why the Looms were created on Gallifrey,' was Harry's appraisal.

"Slytherin!"

After Pansy sat down next to Draco, McGonagall moved on to, "Perks, Sally-Anne."

'Perks... Perks....' Harry frowned as he thought for a moment, 'Oh, yes, Perks... After the incident on Halloween she wrote home and was withdrawn. Albus managed to keep it openly quiet, but word got around the school anyway.'

"Hufflepuff!"

'Which means that next is...'

"Potter, Harry," McGonagall announced, causing a ripple of comments to start.

"That's Harry Potter?"

"That's the Boy-Who-Lived?"

"He looks so... so..."

"I know."

As he walked forward, his eyes drifted towards the Gryffindor table where they met first Neville's, then Susan's and finally locked on Hermione's, causing a smile to slowly come across his face. It didn't matter what some raggedy piece of cloth said, he would make this work. Sitting down on the stool, he took a deep breath before he put on the Sorting Hat. As the brim passed his eyes, everything went dark and when he could see again he was no longer sitting in the Great Hall.

"Interesting," The Master muttered to himself as he ran his hands across the console of his own TARDIS, lost to him so many relative years ago. Truth be told, much like the Doctor, he had a special affection for the TARDIS he had liberated from the Time Lords when he went renegade and even though he had acquired others over the years, the Doctor's own Type-40 even at one point, he still missed it on occasion.

"I happen to agree," a voice remarked from behind him. Calmly, the renegade turned around and looked the figure over.

"Since I haven't held that form in many years, the Sorting Hat, I presume?"

The imitation-Master nodded, "Indeed. You on the other hand... The Master, Harry Potter, Death's Champion, the Chosen One, a more pertinent question might be 'who are you'?"

Harry smiled, "Who is but a function of what, and what I am is the person intending to turn this world inside out and upside down until the old ways that have stagnated it and come close to destroying it have been themselves destroyed... and yes, I'll admit, I intend to take control myself. After previous experience, I know that the sheep of the magical world will follow anyone who bleats loud enough, so I obviously can't trust them to do the job properly, can I?"

The Hat-Master raised an eyebrow and stroked his beard, "Good intentions, but they say the road to Hell is paved with them, don't they?"

A chuckle came from the Time Lord, "I've been to Hell, it's quite nice, thank you. They also say that Hell is other people, so if the road to other people is paved with good intentions, well..."

"Interesting logic," the Sorting Hat answered, "You have the intelligence of a Ravenclaw."

"Narrowminded bigots who humiliate and bully people they don't understand..." The Master paused for a moment, "Much like the Gallifrey Senate and the Council of Time Lords, that."

"A level of ambition not seen since Slytherin himself."

"Arrogance and ambition are poor bedfellows. For the supposed 'House of the Cunning', they have none."

"You could be great, I see it, and Slytherin could help you on your way to greatness. Not Slytherin, eh? Hufflepuff?"

"Again, too much like the Time Lords. Insular and arrogant... that arrogance is a virus, killing this world... Where was I? Insular. For being known for loyalty, they only show it when they know there's no risk."

"Well, I suppose that just leaves one..."

"Fools. Hot-headed, incautious fools charging headlong into situations without looking. Whoever defines that as 'courage' should be disemboweled," The Master crossed his arms, "But... maybe they've a glimmer of potential if allied to my vision and brain."

The Time Lord suddenly frowned, "Why does that sound familiar..."

"Well, if you're sure," The Hat replied, "Better be..."

The Master felt disoriented as the interior of a TARDIS turned into worn felt lining and he was suddenly sitting on the stool in the Great Hall as the Sorting Hat finished.

"...Gryffindor!"

Lifting the hat from his head, Harry shook it and blinked as he stood up. As he stood there to regain his bearings, McGonagall reached out and plucked the Sorting Hat from his hands.

"Go sit with your housemates, young man."

As Harry walked towards where his three associates were sitting, he rolled his eyes at the two redheads that he recognized as Fred and George Weasley doing their 'We Got Potter' dance. Sliding in between Hermione and Neville, the latter sitting across from Susan, Harry shifted his features into a grin.

"Must be fate, destiny, kismet, written in the stars that we be together all," the Time Lord rattled off before thinking, 'One last piece to see placed...'

That last piece was "Weasley, Ronald."

'Jealous, backstabbing wastrel,' The Master thought to himself, 'I'm going to enjoy what I have planned for his disposal.'

"Hm," The Sorting Hat said, "No care for intelligence, obviously not Ravenclaw material... Loyal only when it benefits you, that leaves Hufflepuff out..."

Several students, all with red hair, felt a feeling of dread descend as the Sorting Hat continued, "More of one to stay back until it's time to reap the rewards, so definitely not a Gryffindor, which leaves.... Slytherin!"

"What!" Five voices that Harry picked out as Perfect Prefect Percy, Gred and Forge, the Great Maw himself and 'Daddy's Darling' Draco echoed in the Great Hall.

"Slytherin," The Sorting Hat repeated, "You lack intellect, loyalty and a work-ethic, courage... only your ambitions, despite no plans to actually work towards them, save you from being the first student in a thousand-years that I've been unable to find a place for in Hogwarts."

Ron tore the hat from his head and, ignoring the green and silver trim that had appeared on his robes, started for the Gryffindor table, "Sod this, Weasleys are always Gryffs, everyone knows that."

Halfway to the Gryffindor table, Ron was thrown backwards towards that of Slytherin as a barrier sprung up. Energy visibly flowing around it, the Sorting Hat floating into the air from where it had been thrown to the floor.

"Listen here, Boy, I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat, as much a part of this school as the walls and wards. I was chosen by the Founders themselves to place students in their houses after they passed on and so I speak with their authority, which in this castle still reigns supreme! I said 'Slytherin', Ronald Weasley, and you will either go sit with Slytherin or go home because you will not be in Gryffindor, and there is nothing your family, your parents or even the Headmaster can do to alter that fact," The hovering hat stormed, the ceiling of the Great Hall displaying wind, rain and lightning in reflection of that.

As two of the suit of armor surrounding the Great Hall came to life and started marching towards Ron, Dumbledore broke from the state of shock that pervaded the room and stood.

"Stop this!"

Whirling in midair, the Sorting Hat faced Dumbledore, "Be silent, Albus! The placement of students is my responsibility, not yours. They do not become yours until they are in their Houses and since he refuses to join his House, he remains mine. Remember, Headmaster, I sorted you as well, do not cross me."

Dumbledore's face went as white as his beard at the Sorting Hat's reminder that it knew what had been in his mind even all those years ago and the consequences if that knowledge became public. As he sat down to keep from collapsing, the two suits of armor reached Ron and bent over to take him by the arms and legs.

"This is your last chance, Ronald Weasley," the Sorting Hat moved again to face the terrified redhead, "Will you accept Slytherin?"

"I'll take it! I'll take it!" Ron cried, causing the armors to drop him to the ground.

"And you prove you lack the courage of Gryffindor," the Hat announced as the stormy ceiling faded back to a simple starry night.

As Ron scooted backwards along the stone floor, Harry looked among his companions, "A show and dinner to follow, I'm impressed."

The other three turned their heads to give him a collection of disbelieving looks.

Floating back toward the stool as the armors returned to their places, the Sorting Hat calmly spoke, "Next student, please."

"I... um..." McGonagall stuttered, never having seen the like of what had just happened before.

"Next, Professor," the hat prompted again as it drifted down to rest on the stool.

"Z-zabini, Blaise," McGonagall read off.

Cautiously after that show of power, the last student walked forward and placed the Sorting Hat on his head.

"Slytherin."

"R-right," Blaise stuttered, removing the hat and walking towards the Slytherin table, stepping over Ron on his way.

As soon as Blaise took his seat, Dumbledore stood back up, still shook from the Sorting Hat's threat, "There are a... are a few beginning of term announcements, but those can wait until after the feast..."

When Dumbledore raised a hand, food appeared on the house tables, "For now, let us eat."

Glancing up and down the table, Harry made his decision, "Could someone pass me the roast beef and also the fried chicken?"

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: The disclaimer telling you that I own neither Doctor Who nor Harry Potter and am making money off neither has been swallowed by the Void... I wonder if the Veil of Death leads to the Void... might be an interesting idea for later...

For the fifth night in a row, The Master sat in a Room of Requirement made to look like his own basement 'sitting room' and waved his hands, conducting the music as Wagner's 'Ritt der Walkuren' played on the phonograph. While he didn't share the Doctor's overwhelming need for the planet, he would admit on occasion that Earth-born humans had a better understanding of the importance of what they dubbed 'the finer things in life' than many other races he had encountered. If cornered, he would even include the Time Lords themselves in that number. It had taken him a few regenerations to learn, but he had come to the conclusion that when you didn't have as much time, you made more of the time you had.

Harry's hands stilled.

"But it's all relative, isn't it?" He asked the empty room, "All in how one perceives it and what one perceives and what is aren't always the same."

The same events that had brought Harry Potter and The Master together into one being had given the result a different outlook on many things; the original plans of the Master to eliminate free will and the wrongs it caused had been discarded after dealing with the fact that neither part of him was intended by their manipulators to have true free will; with that knowledge, he couldn't and wouldn't use that method. He would find another way to achieve his goals.

"Ailla's betrayal killed Koschei and The Master was born, Lucy's killed The Master and after a time I was born... Perhaps I need to be betrayed by a woman I love more often," Harry remarked, standing up and pacing for a moment, "It seems that whenever that happens it leads to an epiphany; I was making progress until I involved the Troclofane and made such a spectacle. That's the kind of subtlety I believe I'll limit myself to from now on, far more effective, and start small... just the magical world, don't worry about the mundane. And for..."

Harry chuckled, "For my own sake, I had best make sure of Hermione's loyalty to me. I don't particularly care for a third betrayal... I rather like this me... and, with the right touch, so will she..."

The Master smiled as he thought back over the week, his hands beginning to wave with the music again...

Monday morning, the first class of the school year was History of Magic under Professor Binns. Before, he had usually treated the class as his classmates did, as an opportunity to get two extra hours sleep after the weekend. This time, however, he felt it the perfect opportunity for a test of his classmates. As the second hour of the lecture began, still on the first day of the Goblin 'rebellion' that Binns was teaching, Harry sighed and tapped his fingers on his desk in a four-beat pattern.

"Stop that," Hermione leaned over and instructed.

"I fail to concede to your request, my dear," Harry responded with a lazy shrug, "Means 'no'."

"This is an important lesson on wizarding history," she insisted.

"No, this is the sort of thing you learn by having a cassette tape playing it while you sleep," he countered, gesturing at where Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil had their heads down on their desks, "Which is what I think they're trying for."

When Hermione started to move from her seat, Harry quickly took hold of her wrist to keep her there.

"They shouldn't be sleeping in class!" She hissed.

"Everyone learns differently," Harry replied calmly, "You learn by reading, I learn by doing, perhaps they learn best in their sleep."

The brunette blushed, mentally insisting it was because of the thought not having occurred to her and not the fact that Harry's hand was still around her wrist. While his leanings had always been more towards projective telepathy than his old friend's receptive, the physical contact was enough to let the Master know the thoughts going through her head.

'Getting a start on secondary school lessons before learning you were a witch backfiring is it, Miss Granger? Biology and Life Science studies putting thoughts in your head along with those awakening teenage hormones?' The Master resisted the urge to laugh out loud, doing so mentally, 'My brilliant bookworm, you weren't expecting a boy to show interest in you and it's throwing your world askew, those lessons on the reproductive system and a touch of body heat are making you all too aware of what can happen in a few years time... good, very good... just keep thinking that way, my dear, it makes things so much easier for me.'

Harry tried not to smile at the soft whimper of protest that slipped from the bushy-haired witch when he released her wrist, but instead raised his voice enough for it to carry to his classmates, "Though I do think we should telephone someone about having a ghost for a teacher."

Unaware that she was playing directly into his hands, Hermione shook her head, "I know that you're having trouble paying attention, Harry, but Professor Binns must have been appointed by the Headmaster and he obviously had a good reason for it. Besides, ignoring the fact that wizards don't have phones, who would you call?"

Harry grinned devilishly, forcing Hermione to close her eyes as she fought a sudden surge of butterflies in her stomach, "I don't know, my dear... if there's something strange in the neighborhood, who ya gonna call?"

"Ghostbusters!" a tall boy that Harry recognized as Dean Thomas shouted out.

"If there's something weird and it don't look good, who ya gonna call?" Harry asked again, suddenly deciding to stand up on his chair.

"Ghostbusters!" Seamus Finnegan joined Dean in shouting this time, drawing confused looks from the Purebloods and waking the sleepers.

Hermione shook her head and groaned when Harry pointed towards the front of the room as he actually sung the next line, "I ain't afraid of no ghost!"

A second groan came from the girl when she realized Binns either didn't percieve or didn't care about the three boys' performance as they continued the song.

Morning class on Tuesday had been Charms, one of what Harry thought of as the 'Big Three' along with Transfiguration and Potions. During roll call the reach of his alliance with Ragnarok was proven when instead of the surprised reaction of last time, Professor Flitwick inclined his head to bare his throat as he read Harry's name - a goblin sign for being amongst allies you could trust with such a weak point. To the Time Lord turned wizard, it was a sign that he had the benefit of an extra ally among the staff than just the two he had planned for. As Flitwick finished the roll, Harry considered that the placement of the weasel with the snakes, though enjoyable, had necessitated alterations to his plans for Hermione and Halloween since it was Ron being in the same Charms class that day that had started the events, but the Master wasn't one of the most intelligent-if-unconventional Time Lords to have come from the Academy for no reason, he was already adapting to the changes.

As for the weasel himself, with Ron's table manners moved to another house, lunch was a much more enjoyable affair. As Harry understood it from overhearing the twins and Lee Jordan discussing the matter, the only thing that kept Mother Molly from going on the warpath was that if Dumbledore was idolized by magicals then the Four Founders and Merlin were fully deified and Gryffindor himself had enchanted the Sorting Hat, so going against it would almost be blasphemous to the magical world. As well as the fact that it would attract too much attention to the question of why she was so insistent of her son being in the same house as the Boy-Who-Lived, had been his thought, and even if it didn't at first he could always make it happen.

The afternoon class for Tuesday was the first Herbology lesson of the week, held in the greenhouses outside the castle. While, unlike Neville, Herbology wasn't his favorite subject, he enjoyed the more hands-on method that Professor Sprout practiced over the endless lectures of others and with the class in the afternoon it provided a respite from more annoying morning classes. Wednesday proved this strongly when the morning class was Defense Against the Dark Arts with the Dark Lord himself possessing Professor Quirrell who spent the entire class stuttering and smelling of garlic. Not that Harry disliked garlic, he just preferred it on his Italian food instead of the smell filling a room. Even with lunch between the two classes, it was much better to go outside and to the greenhouse with different smells instead of ending up in another stuffy classroom with nothing to distract his olfactory senses.

Despite officially being the last class on Wednesday, with Professor Sinistra's Astronomy lesson at midnight, it could be argued that it was actually the first class of Thursday. While waiting for the lesson to begin, Harry leaned on the battlement of the tower, remembering the part the tower had played last time.

'Not this time, Albus,' The Master thought, 'This time you'll be lucky to live that long, much less your pet traitor and his godson. Maybe I'll have your corpses hung from this very tower as a warning...'

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Hermione giving him what last time he had dubbed the 'Harry, pay attention' look as Sinistra began to read off names from the class roll.

Harry smiled, 'Or maybe I'll simply use it for a more.... traditional use...'

Thursday's Transfiguration class began with a stringent lecture from McGonagall about the dangerous and complex nature of Transfiguration and what kind of behavior she expected from students in her class, along with the consequences if they failed to meet that standard. As before, the first lesson was turning a matchstick into a sewing needle. Wood to metal, not something that a mind used to fifth-dimensional physics would find difficult, he could turn a Type-40's time rotor into a paradox engine, subvert the relative dimensions of two TARDIS at once and even overrode worldwide communication networks on a regular basis. The only reason the Master allowed himself to finish second after Hermione was to help events move in the direction he desired, to develop the gap between the girl and the rest of their classmates that would eventually push her firmly into his camp and if he had his way into his arms. With the assignment complete, Harry found himself with free time and a rapidly developing sense of boredom, something that when working with his old friend the Academy back on Gallifrey had learned was a dangerous combination for the two Time Lords-in-training to have, it had made them the Time Lord equivilent of the Marauders. It was amusing to think that his old friend had actually been the calmer of the two back then, knowing how he had turned out since. The difference was that while the one who would become the Doctor was less prone to violence and chaos than Koschei had been, when crossed he became far more unpredictable in his anger, more prone to lethal force. The Master had always considered himself more open to using force, which allowed him more control over knowing how much to exert when angered. The death of a thousand cuts rather than a single crashing blow to his enemies.

'But the cuts can go both ways,' Harry thought to himself as he drummed his fingers on his desk in sets of four, 'Not one plan for victory, but hundreds. Not one defining moment, but a thousand little pushes in the proper direction...'

Before long, it was the end of class and as the students were leaving, the Master made a sudden decision to have a touch of fun, making an unseen hand gesture as he cast a silent Transfiguration spell. In the doorway on her way out of the classroom, Hermione stopped with a gasp as her face turned pink, then took off down the hallway as fast as she could walk towards the nearest girls' bathroom.

"What was it an American once said? Something about negotiations, fortresses and a certain... virgineum caput, I believe," The Master commented softly with a self-satisfied smirk as he folded his arms behind his back and began to stroll out of the classroom.

'All I'm doing is a simple pre-emptive strengthening of my negotiating position.'

"So," Harry commented off-handedly in Herbology that afternoon, "Are you ready for our first Double Potions lesson tomorrow?"

"I think so," Hermione answered, "I've gone over the book twice and reviewed the first few chapters several times, though some of the ingredients are still a little confusing."

The amused - and she would almost say affectionate, but especially after that morning she wasn't sure if she could trust her own mind, something that made her nervous - look that Harry gave her caused the other two in their group to chuckle, "Not exactly my meaning, my dear. I overheard some of our older housemates talking, it seems that Professor Snape is... shall we say overly harsh towards Gryffindor... and Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff for that matter."

Hermione couldn't believe it, "What? You can't mean that he favors Slytherin because he's their Head of House! That's... That's.... unprofessional!"

Susan shook her head as she joined in, "I know, but unfortunately it seems like it. I've heard my aunt complaining that the few Auror recruits that she can get with the budget the DMLE has aren't up to the quality they were before... well..."

"The quality of ten years ago?" Harry prompted.

"Yeah," Susan quickly nodded agreement, "She said something a few months ago about how Snape was no Slughorn, whoever he is, and that she was having problems finding potential recruits with their NEWTs in Potions."

"But... but..." the brunette stuttered, "How can anyone let him do that?"

Neville nervously took a deep breath, "Um... well..."

"Spit it out, Nev," Harry tapped his fingers in an impatient four-beat, "My idea from the trip to the castle is still valid, you know."

Neville flushed red, leaving Susan wondering not for the first time what had happened on the Hogwarts Express before she had met the trio on the boats that got that reaction out of the boy.

"My grandmother is on the Hogwarts Board of Governors," Neville answered softly, "The Headmaster's the one who appointed Professor Snape... Susan's aunt isn't the only one who's upset with him, but both Dumbledore and Draco's father support him, so no one's able to do anything about him."

At Hermione's mixed look of horror and disgust, Harry had to suppress a smile. Last time, it had taken until Fourth Year and the house elf campaign for her to begin developing that feeling towards the way the wizarding world worked. Maybe he wouldn't need to worry about Halloween after all, and all he had wanted to do this period was set up his plans for the next day.

'I love it when a plan comes together,' The Master thought, then paused as he wondered why he felt he needed a cigar, especially considering that he didn't smoke.

Sitting next to Hermione and behind the table Neville and Susan shared, Harry rolled his eyes as Snape billowed his way into the classroom and launched into his overdone speech.

'As if anyone could stopper death,' the thought made the Champion thereof mentally scoff, 'This fool has never met death, never bargained with her, never offered himself in exchange for another... what does the self-proclaimed Half-Blood Prince know of death? Nothing.'

"Ah, Harry Potter, our new - celebrity," Snape sneered.

"I think my mother deserves it more than I do," Harry announced loudly and clear, enjoying the slight wince the remark caused the Professor.

"Hmph," Snape tried to cover up his reaction with a scoff, "Mister Potter, what would I get if I added powered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Remembering her actions in the last timeline, Harry quickly put a hand on Hermione's wrist to keep her from raising her hand, he knew that these questions would all be directed at him. Unfortunately for Severus Tobias Snape and his superior attitude, he thought, one should never try to beat the Master at his own game. Ignoring the feelings coming from the girl next to him through the touch-psychic connection, he answered calmly...

"You mean you don't know?"

Harry's response brought the reactions he expected, glares from the majority of the Slytherin students in the class, amusement from the Gryffindor students and a minority of Slytherin and undisguised hostility from Draco and Snape.

"It creates a sleeping potion so powerful that it is known as the 'Draught of Living Death'! One point from Gryffindor for your cheek, Potter!"

"Thank you, sir!" Harry answered with a mocking cheerfulness.

"Make that two points! Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

With one hand still holding Hermione's wrist, making the girl blush profusely, Harry leaned forward to rest his chin on the other hand, "Considering that a bezoar is a cure for most poisons and I'm not likely to find a goat in the castle, I'd probably start with the Infirmary."

"Another point off! What's the difference between Aconite and Wolfsbane?"

"Hm," Harry pretended to think while in reality he was enjoying the cognitive dissonance that he was feeling from Hermione as she struggled over the belief that she was too young to be feeling what she was feeling from his touch, "Aconite, Wolfsbane, Monkshood... I can't think of anything besides the name. They're all the same plant."

"That's another two points off, Potter, one more bit of cheek from you and it'll be detention for a week!"

Harry mentally shrugged, it cost him nothing to give Snape that, he'd already gotten what he wanted out of the class.

As Wagner continued to play, the Master smiled. Hermione had cornered him in the hall after class and claimed that she was tired of him constantly taking hold of her wrist like that. He had countered by saying that she wasn't and never would be and had enjoyed the combination of embarrassed blush and frustrated pout she developed. At lunch, for the first time since arriving, she didn't sit next to Harry, instead across from him, next to Susan. Not that the Master minded, it made it easier for him to watch her watch him while trying not to show that she was doing so. He had actually had to remind himself that the reason she was acting like a love-struck young girl was because she in fact was a young girl coming to the realisation that she was emotionally and physically interested in a famous figure who also happened to be her friend. Harry suspected that she would probably write home before long asking for advice or a book on psychology, if not before than certainly after what he had planned for her birthday in two weeks.

With a free afternoon and no Ron to deal with, Harry chose to go alone to meet Hagrid's. Knowing the truth-in-between about the Gringotts break-in and Dumbledore's package, he had no reason to bring it up during afternoon tea, something Harry had enjoyed as despite his uncouth exterior and lack of over-all culinary skill, the Scots half-giant was surprisingly adapt in the way of tea. When he finished his visit, he decided to retire here to the room that he hadn't known of until fifth year last time that was serving as his 'office' away from Surrey, much as he had every afternoon that week to complete the out-of-class work and adjust his plans for the changes, large and small, that were being enacted.

As Ride of the Valkyries faded off, Harry spoke to the empty room, "Next week will bring the Rememball and with it a further opportunity to cement Neville to my alliance. Not just that, but with the Quidditch team behind me if I so choose, Gryffindor House's own pride will force them to support me for now. Without the weasel's pressure, I have no reason to accept Malfoy's challenge if he still issues it. The more fool him if he tries to push the matter, all I have to do is bring up the matter of waiting until midnight and make the accusation of cowardice to make him dance to my tune..."

Leaning back in his wingback chair, Harry laughed.

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, Doctor Who, any concepts or characters thereof... if I did, this would be canon, not fanfic, wouldn't it? And it's not, so I don't own them, aren't making any money off of them, I can't even find anywhere that sells Jelly Babies for pity's sake...

Almost two countries away from Hogwarts, a woman looked up from her conversation with the man across from her as a large owl flew through her open window and dropped an envelope in front of her before perching itself on the back of one of her table chairs.

Katarina Granger picked it up and looked at her guest, a man easily in his fifties, black beard and hair beginning to grey, "Would you..."

The man shook his head, "Not at all, I'm well aware of the vagarities of the magical world. Please, take your time."

Nodding her thanks, she opened the envelope and frowned hard...

Kate Granger,
Crawley, West Sussex

Mum, whatever you do, don't show this letter to Dad. I'm having boy problems, a specific boy...

Harry James 'nothing like you expect' Potter.

I don't even know where to start; One of the first things he did after introducing himself was to tell me that all the books about him were lies because he had never talked to anyone about that night. They have to be lies, because the books describe a friendly, open-minded boy willing to forgive anyone that does him wrong while he works for the greater good... Like I said, he's nothing like you expect from reading that if you meet him. He helps people, but he does it almost cruelly, he helped another student and I search for their toad that had gotten lost, then held it hostage unless we sat with him for the rest of the trip... He gave the toad back to the other student, a boy named Neville, but he also gave us something of a speech about civilization and suffering. Another example, Neville stutters at times and Harry offered to help him with it - by trapping him in a girls' restroom.

Our first night at the school, while we were being sorted into the four houses, one of the other students refused to accept the decision and had to be threatened with being physically placed at the proper table when he tried to sit somewhere else claiming that was the house his family was always in. What did Harry Potter do? He made jokes about it. Even in the first class of the school year, instead of paying attention to the lecture he got some of our classmates to join him in acting out, acting like it was no problem because the teacher wasn't paying attention.

Which is still better than how he acted in our first potions lesson, really. The professor for that class apparently shows favoritism to students from his own house, so Harry decided to actively antagonise me... I mean, him. By the time the lesson was over, he had lost five house points and was on the verge of detention...

That's not all, he drums his fingers, all the time, four beats every time... Never even realises he does it until someone points it out to him. And topics, he changes topics without any rhyme, reason or warning! He's almost a year younger than me, what does he mean by saying 'it's not the years, it's the mileage'? And I don't know which is worse, the way he addresses me as his 'dear girl' or 'dear Hermione' or the way it annoys me on the occasions he addresses someone else as his 'dear girl'.

And did I mention he touches me? He's always holding my wrist or putting his hand on my shoulder when he's trying to make a point about a subject. I tried to tell him to stop and he had the nerve to tell me that I didn't mean it.

That's the problem, Mum, I'm really not sure that I did mean it. Every time he touches me, I feel warm, the kind of warmth you just want to sink into and lose yourself and I have to keep reminding myself that I'm only twelve, that despite how he might act older and even more mature at times that Harry's only eleven... If I want him to stop touching me, it's because I'm afraid that eventually I won't want him to. I'm not supposed to be feeling like this, I'm too young!

I'm supposed to be too young... aren't I?

I'm not sure what to think anymore, Mum, and it scares me. I've relied on knowing things for so long that I don't know what to do when I don't know enough about what's going on. I don't know what to think... about him, about me... about the whole magic world...

What kind of place lets teachers get away with verbally abusing their students?

What kind of place lets books be published as 'true stories' without even checking the validity?

What kind of person tries to help people by hurting them?

What kind of person goes from singing songs from movies to acting like nobility like the change is nothing?

What kind of person has no sense of anyone else's personal space?

What kind of person uses magic on a girl's underwear? I don't have any proof, but somehow I just know it was him that transfigured my cotton knickers into silk and lace, Mum...

But most importantly, what kind of girl am I that I like it? That I like the idea that because the core of transfiguration is visualisation he had to be imagining me in my underwear? That whenever he grabs my wrist to keep me from looking too eager in class that I like the warm feeling I get and I sometimes wish he'd use that hand on my wrist to pull me closer? That when he starts going on and on about a subject there are times when I get the urge to make him stop talking with my tongue in his mouth? That I think about what I read in your old Biology texts and end up wondering if we'd end up doing 'hands-on' revision with each other in a few years time?

What does that make me, Mum? I can't even trust my own thoughts, Mum, I need your help. Any advice you can send would be wonderful...

Your daughter,
Hermione.

"Well," Kate folded the letter and replaced it in its envelope, "I can't say I didn't expect this, not anymore."

Her guest leaned forward and steepled his fingers, "Your daughter, I presume?"

Kate laughed delicately, aware of the capricious nature of her guest at times, "You would know that better than me, sir."

"True," he chuckled in amusement, "Very true. Please, feel free to reply presently if you wish... Time isn't a concern for me."

"No," Kate replied, as she went to look for pen and paper, "I suppose not."

As she exited the room, her guest gave the owl that was staring at him a hard glare, "I suggest you turn your eyes away, bird, lest I find them offensive to me."

Hermione Granger,
Hogwarts School

My Little Queen,

I always expected to have a few more years before this happened and that you'd be at home when it did. If you paid as much attention to my old school texts as you think you did, you'd have figured it out already, daughter...

You're quite right, you are almost a year older than many of your classmates, so it shouldn't surprise you that you'd enter puberty before they do. Oh, how I wish I could wait until holidays to discuss this with you, Hermione, but for your own safety perhaps I had best give you the basics now, something you should recognise from the texts you mentioned. Your body's beginning to mature, changing to be able to have children in the future, and the changes aren't just the physical ones that you'll begin to experience, but hormonal and emotional as well. Those, it seems, have already begun.

Your father and I always taught you to value intelligence and despite his flaws, Harry seems to be quite intelligent from your letter, so it's no surprise that you're finding yourself attracted to him and it sounds like he might return the interest. I'm not there, Hermione, so all I can do is trust you to do the right thing - both of you - in regards to expressing any interest for now. We've raised you to be an intelligent and self-sufficient young lady and you're old enough to be trusted to make the right decisions about your young man...

I, on the other hand, am too young to be a grandmother for another four or five years, my little queen, remember that.

If Harry's habits bother you, talk to him about them. Communication is important in any relationship, as a couple, as friends, or whatever kind you have with him in the end. If you don't like what that world's like, change it. If you can't make a difference by yourself, that's what friends are for... With as famous as Harry is supposed to be, if he is interested in you, I'm sure he'd be willing to help and people would listen.

I'm sorry, Hermione, we raised you to be an intelligent young woman, but now looking back I'm afraid we forgot to teach you something very important. It doesn't matter how intelligent you are if you don't know how to use that intelligence. You can't think everything through otherwise you'll never get anything done... You just have to do what feels right and then use that intelligence to make sure it works out.

Be careful my little queen, be smart... and follow your heart.

Your mother,
Kate.

Before placing it in an envelope, Kate slid her reply across the table, "Does it meet with your approval, sir?"

Her guest waved his hand dismissively, "It does not concern me, dear lady. Unlike others, Katarina, you've never failed me; then, now or to come."

Kate bowed her head as the letter was slid back to her, "Thank you, sir."

The guest chuckled good-naturedly, "Amusing, is it not? Plotting my own rise and fall so that like the phoenix I may rise from the ashes born anew, ascending to spread my wings over the world in dominion like a god of old."

As she folded the letter, Kate nodded, "Of course, sir, but with so much of your plans set in the future, what if something happens before then to complicate things?"

"You forget," he shook his head disapprovingly, "Time itself is but a plaything in the hands of a master."

"Forgive me, sir."

"Bah," another dismissive wave punctuated the statement as he stood and began to pace, "The only one of my enemies who concerns me knows nothing about the arena in which events will take place. The rest of the fools are easily predictable and manipulable, blinded by their arrogance. It is those of cunning and daring that have the potential to be troublesome, there's only one sure way to deal with such people."

"By ensuring their loyalty to you, sir?" Kate asked despite already knowing the answer.

Her guest gave a sharp clap and rubbed his hands together, "Could it be more perfect? With the only people who could possibly stand in my way standing with me, the odds will be placed overwhelmingly in favor of my victory."

"As it was, will be and should be," Kate agreed as she slid her letter into its envelope, signed the destination to the front and sealed it.

Her guest looked sideways at Kate, "And what of you, Katarina? No regret, no motherly shame at sacrificing your own daughter, your only child, to her part in my plans?"

"We must all make sacrifices, sir," Kate answered, raising an eyebrow, "The future she might have had may be sacrificed, but in its place she will become a queen. What more could I want for my daughter?"

"And you a queen's mother," he noted.

"By your will, my Master," Kate deferred, referring to him by title for the first time in the conversation.

"Yes," he commented, "My will be done, won't it? Send the letter, Katarina, ensure your daughter's place at my younger self's side."

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, Doctor Who, any concepts or characters thereof... if I did, this would be canon, not fanfic, wouldn't it? And it's not, so I don't own them, aren't making any money off of them. On a side note, whilst my quest for the sacred jelly baby goes on unfulfilled, I have managed to find a place that sells Wine Gums, produced by the same company... it's not the same, but they are quite good...

Harry gave a sigh of mixed annoyance and frustration, there was one problematic drawback to the 'thousand cuts' method of planning; some days one just never could decide which plan to use for that day. At the moment, one particular day was giving him pause, that day, the day of the first years' first flying lesson. He was undecided as to whether he wanted to change events entirely, let them pass as they would, save Neville from his fall and thus deepen the other youth's loyalty... or even set up one of the more annoying little apes - though he had almost fond memories of one of those being a ferret once - for their own accident.

'Unfortunately, it's two years away from the time-turner, if she even gets it this time, and without a TARDIS or similar device, I won't be able to enjoy all of the options,' The Master thought to himself, 'More is the pity, I suppose.'

"You're doing it again, Harry," Neville commented from across the table in the Great Hall as the Time Lord-slash-wizard began drumming his fingers.

'Truly, an educational facility is obviously lacking if one of the instructors' idea of instruction is merely how to mount a form of transportation and then begin using it with no classroom preparation, merely immediate practicals. It's a wonder there was only the one injury last time. Especially considering the number of students with mundane origins to whom riding a broomstick is merely something from a story. Then it was compounded by leaving the class completely unsupervised simply to take one member to the infirmary despite a non-life threatening injury.'

From next to Neville, Susan spoke up, "Harry, you're drumming again."

The strawberry-blonde's words also failed to penetrate the cloud of The Master's thoughts, 'Of course, I shouldn't be surprised - the teaching staff here consists of blind sheep punctuated solely by misguided revenge-seekers, repetitious unexorcised entities, complete charlatans and of course the yearly attempted murderers; all under the lead of an obsessive powermonger... I must correct myself, to describe him as such would be to insult all true powermongers... glory-seeker, perhaps... If in the original course of events Lockhart hadn't lost his memories, I wonder if he would have become all that dissimilar from 'All People Will Bow Down' himself as his age progressed... It's almost a pity that I already have plans in place not only to deal with him but with that ridiculous reputation the imposter has built around himself, otherwise it might be an experiment worthy of that annoying cat fanatic... I must send her a kneezle, just for amusement purposes... See how she deals with a feline that's as smart as she claims to be...'

"Harry," Hermione said firmly from her seat next to him and across from Susan as she reached out and covered his hand with her own, pressing it down flat against the table, "Stop."

That managed to attain his attention and after blinking to reset himself, Harry looked first at Hermione's hand covering his, then to the girl herself before raising an eyebrow. With him looking at her like that, she began to blush and quickly moved her hand.

Susan put her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand, "Would you like for us to leave the two of you alone for a few minutes?"

"Actually..." Harry began with a satisfied smirk before being interrupted.

"No," Hermione interjected with surprising force behind her words, "No, you don't need to leave the two of us alone - for any length of time."

If anything, Harry's smirk only grew at the adamant tone that the girl used. Hermione felt a shiver of anticipation mixed with a chill of dread at the sight of that smirk, a mixture that grew more noticeable as he opened his mouth to speak.

"Mail owls."

That wasn't what she was expecting to hear.

The majority of the birds made their way to other students, but one in particular - a regal-looking eagle owl - glided towards the four Gryffindors and landed gracefully in front of Neville, releasing a package before it took off into the air again.

Harry matched Susan's pose and batted his eyes at Neville, "Secret admirer?"

"Um, ah, aba, uh," Neville stammered, thrown off his guard by the comment about a secret admirer.

Susan lifted her head up and used her now-freed hand to adjust the positioning of Neville's package, "Return address, Longbottom Manor. Sorry, Harry, no secret admirer there, just family."

Harry smirked, "Does one always exclude the other?"

Neville went pale and green at the same time, Susan's jaw dropped as the meaning of that statement hit and Hermione turned red in embarrassment and anger.

The Time Lord sighed and shook his head without moving it from his hand, "To quote an old friend's friend, 'You people and your quaint little categories'."

Neville found time to compose himself by looking at the package, "It's from my grandmother..."

"Don't say a word!" Hermione cut Harry off before he could say anything.

"I think she's onto you," Susan informed him while Neville was opening the package.

"One could only hope," Harry answered cryptically as a small red-colored ball finally came free of its packaging and ended up in Neville's hand.

"It's a Rememball," the other boy exclaimed.

"A what?" Hermione asked in confusion.

"A Rememball, they're supposed to be really rare and valuable. It's meant to help you remember things. It changes colors when you've forgotten something," Neville explained, then looked down to see that the red ball had turned a sickly yellow, "Uh-oh..."

"Insulting little sphere," Harry observed, lifting his head off his hand.

"Wh-what?" Neville stuttered, pulling his attention away from the Rememball to look at Harry.

"Neville, I've told you what I'll do if you keep stuttering," Harry shook his head, "This 'Rememball' is insulting. It doesn't matter how rare or valuable something is, if all it does is tell you that you forgot something without giving you any means to help recall what that might be, you won't remember immediately and instead you'll spend hours or days fretting about what it could be. It doesn't provide any real aid, merely another source of stress. It's like those silly little strings people tie around their fingers; useless unless you can remember exactly what it means."

Susan sighed and added, "He has a point. According to my aunt, Rememballs were never actually meant to be used the way they are, for general memories and forgetfulness. Actually, they were created to help noble families and Aurors detect memory charms, which is why they don't really work as well as people think for everyday things."

Neville looked at the Rememball with new eyes and frowned, while Susan and Hermione began to discuss the history of the device. Inwardly, Harry smirked with self-satisfaction at the proof that the only power Draco possessed was that given him by others; either his father coming like a beckoned dog whenever the son called or the weight of numbers and physical presence in his support - with the primary two sources of the last's sense of self-preservation overriding any ties between their families and his and the subsequent sorting into Hufflepuff, Draco severely lacked in the 'weight of numbers and physical presence' department and without that he apparently did not see fit to abuse the small group with his presence this morning.

'Considering the myriad of possibilites this day gives me,' The Master mused, 'and few of them good for Daddy's Darling, I do believe the intelligent option would've been to remain aslumber... what am I talking about? This is a Malfoy, taking the intelligent option isn't exactly what they're known for.'

It was then that he noticed that breakfast had reached its end. With a half-smile on his face, Harry stood up from the table, "Come along, children, we have morning Transfiguration and Herbology this afternoon before our first experience with contemporary magical transportation, we certainly don't want to miss that, do we?"

Neville looked over at Hermione, "Um... do we?"

"Flying lessons," translated Hermione.

Neville suppressed a grimace, "If we tried to miss it, he'd find some way to make us go anyway, wouldn't he?"

"I'd like to think he wouldn't," Hermione sighed, "But I'd likely be wrong... we may as well just go. I don't like the idea of trying to ride a household cleaning tool anymore than you do."

That afternoon, the first year students from Slytherin and Gryffindor were gathered outside the castle, awaiting the arrival of their instructor. With the two houses arrayed in lines facing each other, an observer would be put in mind of a showdown, of two armies facing each other across a no man's land and, in fact, would perhaps not be far off, the primary difference being that at Hogwarts that day only one young Gryffindor knew the battle had already been joined.

He was the 'Boy-Who-Lived'.

He was a one wizard army.

He was, quite simply, The Master.

And in complete truth, he was currently ignoring the instructor's lecture and providing more attention to his own thoughts regarding certain symbolisms not fit for 'polite company' - not something that The Master could ever remember himself being called, but that being beside the point - regarding riding a broomstick. It amused him and an already-amused Master was less likely to randomly kill someone to amuse himself - he'd admit to himself that he always was mercurial about things like that, sometimes he just maimed them instead.

With a fraction of his divided attention, he noticed as Hermione looked around with a frown before whispering just loud enough for those closest to her - Harry himself, Susan and Neville - to hear, "Isn't there anything better than brooms?"

Susan leaned in close enough so that Hermione could hear her whisper, "Not officially, but I've heard my aunt talk about watching one of the other department heads because of rumors that they've charmed a car to fly... even if it's not breaking the law, it would certainly be bending it a lot."

"I'd ask for seatbelts," Hermione muttered, "But we'd need seats first... Why couldn't it be magic carpets like with Ali Baba?"

"Ask the broom companies and check their pockets," Harry advised off-handedly, "Isn't it always the way?"

Neville looked at him curiously, "What do you mean, Harry?"

Harry sighed, "Oh, the naive little pureblood."

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Madam Hooch's voice cut through, "Put your hand over a broom and say 'up'."

All three of his compatriots had given the 'up' command to their respective brooms, nervously in the cases of Hermione and Neville, and turned to look at Harry who had not yet done so. Grinning as though he knew something they didn't - which he did - and he were about to get the better of someone - which he was - instead of holding his hand palm down out to his side as the others had, he fully extended his arm before him and held it palm out.

"Arise," The Master intoned, and the broom responded, it responded by rising to shoulder height beside Harry before flipping end over end three times to stand on its bristles out even with his hand before rapidly spinning in a circle until he snapped his hand closed over it.

"Ho-how did you do that?" Susan asked in awe.

Harry looked at her and blinked, "Do what?"

"Bloody showoff," the Slytherin across from Harry, which was unfortunately Ron Weasley, muttered, "Boy-Who-Lived's too good to just have a broom jump into his hand like the rest of us."

"It's called style, Weasley," The Master retorted imperiously, "And if anything is worth doing, it is worth doing with style. Not that you would know anything about that."

Any retort that the red-haired one would have made was cut off by the instructor's next order, "Okay, mount up and kick off!"

"Now you'll see; baton-twirling don't mean nothing when it comes to real flying," Ron scoffed at them before he mounted and kicked off, rapidly flying away.

"Hm," Harry made the sound before chuckling until he began to cough.

Neville patted him hard on the back, "Are you alright?"

Harry cleared his throat and waved the other youth off, "Quite well. I merely reached the mental conclusion that if the smallest dog barks the loudest, then I believe I just suffered a verbal assault from a teacup chihuahua."

Hermione looked at him strangely, "A teacup chihuahua?"

"There's an old saying regarding bulldog mouths that relates," Harry grinned and added without really explaining anything before he too took to the air, leaving the statement hanging.

Harry sat there as his broom slowly, almost regally floated through the air, as though he were a victorious prince in a triumphal procession. In a way, he was triumphant; he had emerged victorious from the mental battle he had been waging all that day as to what he wanted out of this lesson. His final decision? He would let Neville fall so that he could use quidditch as a way to get close to the Twins' rather-impressive-for-monkeys brains and of course the Marauders' Map - not, of course, for some ephemeral and undefined 'Greater Good'; no, The Master was a being that was honest with himself, this was simply and purely for his own personal benefit; whenever something happened, no matter how tragic or joyous, someone always benefited and in this case, The Master fully intended to be the one to do so.

Therefore, if one knew all of this, they wouldn't have been surprised to know that Harry was, in fact, waiting for it to happen when Neville's anxiety took over and he leant back, unknowingly commanding the broomstick he was on to rise, higher and ever higher into the air. Neville had easily reached three stories off the ground when he made the further mistake of looking down, causing his anxiety and panic to increase to the point where he passed out, falling sideways off of the broom and tumbling to the ground to land face down on the grass, a loud thump and accompanying crack signifying injures had been sustained.

Within moments, Hooch had ordered all the students to land and cast an ennvenerate spell to bring Neville back to consciousness - a foolish move in Harry's opinion considering that she had no idea what, if any, or how much trauma he might have sustained from the fall. Then again, even before his ascension he sometimes wondered about citizens of the Magical World, now, with the knowledge of The Master as his own, he knew for certain...

Witches and Wizards, by and large, were the most inbred, brainless, uncreative, loudest-bleating following sheep-like group of self-replicating creatures that should never have been permitted to crawl from the primordial ooze that it had ever been his displeasure to encounter - next to the Time Lords of Gallifrey, that is. Actually, it occurred to Harry now that he thought about it that Rassilon and Dumbledore were a great deal alike, that being, in fact, how he had gotten into his present situation in the first place. The Master had no intention of freeing Gallifrey and Rassilon from time-lock, but he would take great pleasure in strangling Albus with his own beard, perhaps he'd even send the man's severed head to his former lover to keep Grindlewald company.

Harry expected the next mistake to be made; he had, after all, been pondering it only that morning, so he was ready when Hooch told them all to stay put while she took Neville to the hospital wing. Considering that it was his wrist and not an ankle, it eluded the Time Lord why she did not simply send him on his own or have one of the ghosts or other teachers escort him so that she could remain with the class, but, as he had already concluded, magic-users were collectively idiots.

As soon as Hooch and Neville were out of sight, Malfoy chose the moment to make his play for supremacy amongst the students, snatching up an object from the grass "Oh, look, somebody sent the squib a Rememball. Let's see how well it works for him when it's up a tree."

The Master paid no attention to the exchange between the girls of Gryffindor and Slytherin, simply because he didn't care. The only female he currently cared about was the one that he was working around to his own way of thinking and the approaching next major step in that process; all this was, in the end, was a distraction that would happen to have useful rewards at the finale. The finale of the scene anyway, not the finale of the act and most certainly not of the play, oh, no, the show would most definitely continue...

But when Malfoy kicked off into the air on a broom with Neville's Rememball in hand, that was when the time came for the Master to make his move on the chessboard of Hogwarts. He picked up his own broom and kicked off into the air after Malfoy.

"No!" Hermione shouted, "Madam Hooch told us not to move, Harry!"

She shouted to remind him, but didn't bother adding that they'd get in trouble if they got caught as she had begun to understand that, for whatever his reason was, Harry didn't fear getting into trouble in the same ways as the rest of them did.

"Perhaps your father's inclination to grant you anything you desire that his money can buy has tainted your reasoning centers, Malfoy," Harry addressed the other boy as he turned his broom to face him in mid-air, "But that doesn't belong to you."

"What are you going to do about it, Potter?" Malfoy sneered.

Before Malfoy even realised what had happened, he was looking into Harry's eyes at close range, those Killing Curse Green eyes were so hard and cold that the Malfoy heir could swear he was seeing his death in them, he was so absorbed in that state of silent terror that he never even heard the gasps and sounds of awe from the ground at how the owner of those eyes had flown. Green eyes so hypnotising, Malfoy was beginning to lose himself in them, beginning to drift away...

The Master smiled to himself, simple-minded fools were so easy to take control of when he needed a pawn. To the uninformed observers on the ground, what was happening in the air would appear to be a face-off, a battle of wills; in reality, however, it was much simpler. With his pawn in place, The Master was now waiting for the opposing king's pawn to move into position so that he could capture en passant. Speaking of which, there she came now.

'Throw the ball and return to the ground,' The Master mentally ordered his pawn, who quickly complied with the instructions. Malfoy threw the Rememball as hard as he could into the air and dived back down to the ground as though he had seen the approach of the flying instructor and did not want to be the one caught. Almost absent-mindedly, Harry waited until the ball had reached its apex, started back down and passed him before he dived after it, the knuckles of his hand being brushed by the grass as he reached out and caught it, rolling off the broom and onto the grass as he did so.

"Mr. Potter!" Madam Hooch's voice cut across the open air, as she ran towards the group, "Why, I never... In all my years at Hogwarts... Class is dismissed and we will be speaking to your head of house!"

Harry climbed to his feet and answered with a plain, "One moment..."

Walking over to where his minions-to-be were standing, Harry stood in front of Hermione and extended his hand, waiting until she had put hers out to drop the Rememball into it.

"Harry, I..." Hermione's voice almost broke as she looked down at the Rememball in her hand. Despite his oddities, this was one of her first real friends and he was likely to be expelled within the next few minutes.

"Chin up, dear girl," Harry put a finger under Hermione's chin and physically raised it, "They can't keep a good man down..."

'Or me either, for that matter,' The Master added tauntingly in the privacy of his own mind.

That said, Harry easily followed Hooch away, looking for all the world as though he were the one escorting her to the castle rather than the other way around, leaving the remaining students to disperse and make their ways to back to their dormitories. All the remaining students except, that was, for two that stood watching after their fourth.

"Weird," Hermione shook her head, causing both Susan to look at her.

"What's wrong?" Susan asked, curiously.

"You may not believe this," Hermione told him, "But I get the strangest feeling he wanted that to happen..."

"Come on, Hermione," Susan rolled her eyes, "You're right, I don't believe that. Why would anyone want to get in that bad a trouble"

In addition to their classrooms as Professors, four staff members also had offices as Heads of House; Snape for the Slytherins, Flitwick of Ravenclaw, the Hufflepuffs had Sprout and, of course, there was McGonagall as Head of Gryffindor House. In his more critical moments - of which he had many when dealing with such lesser beings - The Master would gladly make the observation that Dumbledore's chief acolyte was well on her way to following in his footsteps; taking on Transfiguration Professor, Head of Gryffindor and Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts in much the same way that Dumbledore had gathered the positions of Hogwarts Headmaster, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards to him. It was easy to wonder when McGonagall would begin to develop his mindset that only she could know how matters should be handled.

She too was on his list, Minerva McGonagall's actions and lack of actions had been among those that led Harry Potter on the path Dumbledore had chosen, right and wrong be damned... and so, the time would come when she would learn first-hand what it meant to be damned... But that was the future. For now, The Master had a use for her. After all, sometimes to promote a pawn, one had to let one of their opponent's bishops move first.

All of this went through The Master's mind as he stood in McGonagall's office and Hooch informed her of the events of the flying lesson.

"Yes, I see... thank you, Rolanda. On your way to your next class, could you stop by Professor Flitwick's classroom and have him send Wood to my office, please," McGonagall requested, proving she had slightly more intelligence than Hooch, enough not to leave a first year student unsupervised for any length of time.

As the flying instructor exited the room, McGonagall turned to Harry with a glare that she thought was intimidating yet in fact reminded him quite nicely of someone suffering a severe case of constipation, "Well, Mister Potter, what do you have to say for yourself?"

"Nothing," The Master answered flatly, "The facts speak for themselves, to try and speak for them would be presumptious and rude."

McGonagall stared at him for a moment in disbelief, but The Master countered by sitting there, staring directly ahead with a blank and unnerving expression on his face, no emotion, no blinking, as though he were a statue. Seeing a first year student acting like this was beginning to make the Scotswoman more than a little uncomfortable when the tension of the situation was broken by the sound of knocking on the wooden office door.

"Come in!" McGonagall instructed, grateful for the interruption.

The door opened and a burly fifth year with Gryffindor trim on his robes entered, shutting it behind him before looking around confused, "You wanted to see me, Professor?"

"Yes, Wood," McGonagall managed to refix her stern look before speaking, "I've found you a Seeker."

The discussion between McGonagall and Wood - with Harry's occasional imput - went much as it had before, including the decision of a Nimbus Two-Thousand to be the broom he would be issued. It wasn't hard for The Master to sense Dumbledore's wizened old hand would quickly become involved in this; the Headmaster would have final say on allowing a first year onto a house Quiddich team, as well as on waiving the 'first years are not permitted their own brooms' rule, which left it a rather obvious carrot with which he could lead his pet 'Boy-Who-Lived' exactly where he wanted him to go, while the threat of taking it away would serve as the stick.

And despite McGonagall's closing remark, Harry really couldn't care if the Dumbledore-following sheep that had been James Potter would've been proud of him or not. The man was dead and contrary to the shared opinions of the deluded fools of the wizarding world, what James and Lily Potter would think or do had no bearing on the thoughts and deeds of the man that was Harry Potter and The Master as he had never known them.

Despite an injured wrist, Neville had been healed in enough time to join the others for dinner in the Great Hall and hear of the aftermath of the flying lesson.

"I can't believe it!" Susan exclaimed.

"Neither can I," Hermione agreed, "According to 'Hogwarts; A History', this would make you the youngest Seeker in-"

"A century," The Master sighed, "Yes, McGonagall and Wood informed me of that. Really, I don't find Quidditch that interesting - random, yes; arbitrary, yes; interesting... no. Honestly, how can you consider something a sport that's played sitting down? That's not an athletic pursuit, that's simply being there while everything else does the work... If it involves brooms, at least Curling requires some level of active participation from the players."

"What's 'Curling'?"

Hermione wrinkled up her nose, "Housework on ice."

"Be nice, Hermione," Harry chided, "It's a sport played on ice; the team captain sends a stone sliding along the ice while the rest of the team uses brooms to clear and smooth the ice ahead of its travels. Whichever team's stone travels furtherest wins. A large divide exists between those who accept it as a sport and, like our dear Hermione here..."

Harry smiled at her, his green-gold eyes warm and doing things to her insides, and continued, "Those who don't believe it should be considered a competitive sport."

"That's silly," Susan shook her head, "Hermione's right, that's not a sport."

"And the wizarding world's idea of a sport involves fourteen people sitting on brooms for indeterminate lengths of time while two of them look around for a hiding ping-pong ball, six toss a ball back and forth, two sit in goals and if their team has possession of said ball do nothing - the closest any of them come to actual physical exertion is the four players who play 'Beater' and might actually have a career in Baseball or Cricket if they want to play real sports," The Master rattled off, "What else is there? Gobstones, chess where the pieces move for you? Yes, the wizarding world has a great deal of experience when it comes to sports, doesn't it."

"You know," Neville joined in carefully, not wanting to get caught in the crossfires of three opinionated people, "He's got a point... wizards and witches don't really do much if it can't be done with magic, do we?"

As if timed perfectly, The Master's goals for his entire involvement with Quidditch came bustling into the Great Hall and over to where the quartet sat.

"We're on the team too, Gryffindor's Beaters," one twin started off.

"Wood told us about what happened," The other picked up, "With how he was acting, you must be good. We're sure to win the Quidditch Cup this year."

"Anyway, we've got to go," the first twin took over, "Lee Jordon thinks he's found a new secret passageway that leads outside the school."

"Bet it's the one behind Gregory The Smarmy we discovered first week," the second twin editorialised, then added, "See you later, Harry."

Almost as soon as the Weasley Twins had disappeared out of sight, Malfoy, emboldened by what he thought was the assurity of Harry's expulsion decided to make an appearance.

"So, Potter, last meal before leaving the castle for good, huh?"

"Hardly," Harry answered, "I still have another six years, nine months and two weeks before I'm finished here. I'll spare you the exact count of days, hours, minutes and seconds - not out of any kindness to you, merely that I suspect it would be at a level of intelligence above your grasp."

His big chance for Potter to be expelled backfired, that left Malfoy with only one choice and the Gryffindor had just given him the perfect opening, "I demand satisfaction for that insult! Wizard's Duel, tonight at midnight in the school trophy room!"

Harry turned his head to look the Slytherin up and down before replying drolly, "Congratulations, you've managed to alter my opinion of you... You actually have proven that you're stupider than I thought you were. Go away."

Strangely enough, while originally the staff had committed the unpardonable sin for supposed teachers of letting students with known shared issues have a second confrontation on the same day and done absolutely nothing, the cascade of altered events brought with it a change that even The Master had not expected when McGonagall came quickly down from the Staff Table.

"Mister Malfoy," The Head of Gryffindor demanded, "Is there any reason why you are not at your house table?"

"Ah, that, Professor... he was about to publicly apologize for what he did with Neville's Rememball," Harry jumped in and informed her catching Malfoy between Scylla and Charybdis, as he could either apologise or be punished for his earlier actions.

"Is this true?"

"I... uh..." Malfoy gave Harry a quick and hard glare for putting him in this position, "Yes, Professor... My apologies, Mister Longbottom; your Rememball is personal property and it was not my place to handle it in any way, shape, form or fashion."

With attention turned to him, Neville developed a deer-in-headlights look until a sharp kick to the shin from Harry brought him back to focus, "Accepted, Mister Malfoy."

Thoroughly humiliated by what he had been forced to do, Malfoy turned and stormed off back to the Slytherin table in a dark mood.

"I'm proud of you, Harry," Hermione commented as McGonagall turned and walked back to the staff table.

Harry smiled at her, "Thank you, my dear girl."

Being once again called his 'dear girl' by Harry caused Hermione's cheeks to flush as a simple thought went through her mind...

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, Doctor Who, any concepts or characters thereof... if I did, this would be canon, not fanfic, wouldn't it? And it's not, so I don't own them, aren't making any money off of them. Certainly not getting fan's hopes up with an interview then crashing them with that 'sequel'...

The Master smiled to himself, not - of course - because of any broomstick or in-roads to potentially-useful little apes, but because it was only minutes left until midnight and he had such plans for the coming day; such delightful, corrupting plans...

Oh, he so enjoyed the thought of those plans...

After all, as he had told the owl, every Master needs a Mistress, and with the proper influence she had come such a long way in such a short time, now he merely needed to... open her mind to what the future could hold for them. While one could argue that his manipulations were no better than Dumbledore's, he would freely counter that whereas Dumbledore's manipulations involved denying information and forcing people to believe he was more powerful and 'all-knowing' than he really was to induce them to do what he wanted them to do, those of The Master were designed to give people information they would otherwise be lacking and make them think for themselves, making their own decisions about their lives and futures... the fact that they would owe that freedom to him and would be more willing to listen to him in the future were merely a bonus to him. After all, this wasn't for the 'Greater Good' or for some form of 'ascension to a higher plane of existence', all this was merely, simply, just for revenge and his own personal satisfaction and pleasure. Although, he did hope that in at least one instance that the pleasure would be mutual in the end. That was one of the goals of his plans for today, after all. It was today, for the clocks had chimed the mid-night hour, and that meant it was time for him to set today's plans in motion.

It would be such an enjoyable day, yes.

An impenetrable security system did not exist, no matter how advanced the technology or arcane the magics used to create it, all security systems had a flaw. For a security system designed to prevent boys from going up the stairs to the girls' dormitory, the flaw was rather obvious; it could only be set off by a boy using the stairs, it did not keep them out of the girls' dorm itself.

Foolish wizards, they had no grasp of the potential of some of the simplest spells at their fingertips, they were so focused on learning 'more powerful' ones, never realising that they already had the power if they would only stop listening to those telling them how to use spells in the same old ways that they had always been used long enough to discover new ways to use them. Even their so-called 'Unforgivable Curses' could have their effects duplicated by simpler, less restricted spells if one knew how to use them properly; Compulsion Charms for the Imperio, the Cutting Curse and Blasting Hex could kill as easily as the Killing Curse itself, even repeated application of a simple Stinging Hex could eventually drive one to madness as easily as the Cruciatus, literally the 'Punishment' Curse.

But they were taught how to use spells in specific ways and never had the freedom of the mind necessary to break out of that box and use them however they wanted to instead. Like using the 'Levitation Charm', Wingardium Leviosa, to simply float above the stairs and up the stairway, never setting off the wards; wards put up by masters of the art, defeated by simply using a spell taught in a Hogwarts student's first year more inventively than just floating feathers around a classroom to bypass the triggers in the steps of the staircase. It was the same kind of narrow-mindedness and repetition that had driven both The Master himself and his old friend from the ranks of the Time Lords and onto their separate, yet always meeting, paths. Sometimes, he wondered what had happened to his old friend after the final confrontation with Rassilon when The Master had sacrificed himself to spite the old Time Lord. After all, the universe would be a much less interesting place with him around to be a challenge. It was something to think about once he was finished bringing Magical Britain to its knees at his feet; he'd even forgo making them kiss his toes, that had always been somewhat disconcerting to him, that concept. At the top of the stairway, a silent Finite spell ended the Wingardium Leviosa and allowed The Master to land on his feet with a supreme smirk, having one again proven that there was no obstacle a lesser being could place in his path that his superior mind could not overcome. He actually had to stop himself from triumphantly humming as he carefully began to make his way down the corridor, looking at each plate that indicated the year-group whose door it was on until he found the door for the current First Years.

"Considering the age of the castle and the rampant number of cliches which abound herein," The Master muttered to himself softly, "I suppose it would not be beyond the realm of even lesser imaginations that this door would creak if I were to simply open it... therefore, Muffilato."

A flick of his wrist and the spell shot from his wand, creating a field around the door from which sound within would be unable to heard outside, allowing him to casually open the door and walk into the girls' dorm room as easily as he would walk into his own. It only took him a matter of seconds to reach the bed occupied by his bushy-haired objective, laying asleep on her side as though she hadn't a care in existence. The Master smiled indulgently, thinking that she had no idea just how much of an effect she had on existence by way of having an effect on him; she would certainly have a care if she only knew. Carefully, so as not to awaken her, Harry sat down on the edge of her bed and put his hand on her shoulder, focusing his open eyes on her closed ones, focusing his mind on the mind behind her closed eyes...

Hermione awoke at the sensation of a hand on her shoulder, jerking away from it as she sat up and whipped her head around to look at the source of the contact in a mixture of surprise and confusion.

"Harry? How did you get into the girls' dorm?"

Harry snickered in amusement, drawing a look from the brunette that was decidedly unamused before he answered, "Look around, my dear girl, does this look like your dorm room?"

Hermione started to look around and stopped, somehow her bed had ended up in the middle of a grand ballroom floor, "What? But..."

"Magic, my dear girl, simply magic... and imagination."

Hermione crossed her arms and glared at him, "I'm getting really tired of 'magic' as an answer when I want an explanation, it seems like everyone in Hogwarts is just fine with knowing something's 'magic' and never actually knowing what kind of magic or how it works - well, I'm not! I want details!"

Harry smiled, it reminded him so much of a much younger Master and Doctor who didn't accept the Academy's 'it is because it is' teachings when Hermione began her demands for knowledge. Of course, just because she demanded the knowledge did not mean he was simply going to give it unto her, that would be simply too easy.

"I have a better idea," he informed her, seconds before a gesture with his Laser Screwdriver caused her to be covered with a glowing light for a moment. No Laser Screwdriver or magic was involved in the fact that Hermione was stunned speechless as she looked at her now-eighteen year old body, the surprise providing enough of a distraction for the Laser Screwdriver to disappear and be replaced with Harry's wand which he used to change her now-straining nightclothes into a flowing gown of cobalt blue with a waterfall cape of the same color, thin straps across her otherwise bare shoulders held the gown up while both gown and cape were trimmed with strings of pearls that held the edges of the cape pinned to the middle and trimmed the top of the gown with strings reaching out around her arms to accentuate the tone of her skin; a ribbon of cobalt blue trimmed with pearls to match finished the ensemble and bound her hair back away from her face in a small bun before allowing it to flow down her back over the cape.

"And now for El Maestro," Harry swapped wand for Laser Screwdriver again, this time using it to advance himself to the same age as Hermione now was, before another swap and wave of a wand dressed him in a three-piece suit with cravat like The Master had favored in some previous incarnations.

"Strange dream, this is all a strange dream, it has to be," Hermione muttered to herself.

"Well, then, if it's all a dream, there's only one thing to do," Harry stood up and held out his hand, "Shall we, dear girl?"

"Shall we... what?" Hermione asked in confusion, looking at the outreached hand.

"Dance, of course," Harry looked at her as though surprised she hadn't realised it.

"Oh," Hermione wasn't sure if she was sounding noncommittal or simply disappointed as she glanced down at the bed on which she was sitting, "I thought..."

"Not tonight, my dear girl... you're not ready yet, it seems."

"Then why do you keep changing my underwear? Especially to such..." Hermione blushed instead of finishing the sentence.

"Because, my dear girl, I look at you and see not a plain cotton-'plain Jane', but rather a beauty-in-waiting who deserves the finest silks and laces; after all, isn't it said that the better you dress, the better you feel about yourself, besides?" He intended this to start her thinking. After all, this time, The Master did not intend for Hermione to have the self-image and self-confidence problems that Dumbledore and the Weasleys had taken advantage of to manipulate and control her as they had done in Harry's previous life.

"We're not old enough for those kind of thoughts!" Hermione retorted sharply, trying to ignore the fact that, as far as she was aware, this was all a strange dream and arguing with a figment of her imagination, even if it was in the form of one of her best friends, would be a poor sign on her sanity.

"Aren't we?"

"That was... this is a dream, we're not really that old."

"If this is a dream, then what does it say for you having it?"

"That I need to read some books on interpreting dreams," Hermione answered, "I knew I should have gotten those Third Year books to begin researching the different elective choices, but my father wouldn't let me... Oh, I wish I had that Divination textbook now."

Harry couldn't suppress a chuckle, knowing how she would come to feel about Divination in coming years, as he used his outstretched hand to take hold of Hermione's wrist and gently pull her to her feet. As he shifted his hand into her own and laid his other hand on her hip, the bed behind her vanished and music began to play.

It took her a moment, but Hermione recognised the music as she instinctively raised her free hand to rest it on Harry's shoulder, "Wagner?"

"I like Wagner," The Master informed her as they began to move, Hermione following his lead in the steps.

"I was expecting Strauss or Tachovsky; the usual waltzes."

"With me, my dear girl, it's better to expect the unusual."

"I'm learning that."

"Be careful, my dear girl, knowledge is dangerous. Once you have it, you often wish you did not," The Master cautioned, "Whoever said 'ignorance is bliss' was very wise indeed."

"That's stupid!" Hermione snapped, displaying some early traces of the same attitude that had led to such things as 'S.P.E.W.' in the previous timeline, an attitude that unfortunately made her easy to manipulate and not just by The Master himself, "Ignorance is one of the worst things wrong with the world."

"Spoken like a true Ravenclaw, however were you sorted into Gryffindor, my dear girl?" The Master asked, though they both knew the answer; her desire for learning wasn't as great as her desire to right wrongs of which she learned. Throughout all of this exchange, The Master never missed a step or the rhythm of the music. "I never said knowledge was wrong to have, merely that possessing it could be dangerous. After all; knowledge is power and power corrupts, therefore knowledge can be corruptive, some would argue."

"I think that knowledge doesn't matter, it's all about the person that has it," Hermione countered, wondering in the back of her mind how they could be discussing this matter and dancing so gracefully at the same time and not liking that the only answer which she could reach was 'magic'.

"That attitude is part of what makes you special, my dear Hermione, never change," The Master told her as he added an elaborate twirl to their motions, causing his partner's dress, cape and hair to flair out for a moment before he caught and dipped her.

For a moment, time seemed to freeze as Hermione starred up into Harry's green-and-gold eyes, wondering if he was going to actually kiss her like this, if this was going to be - even in a dream, which she was even more certain this had to be - her first kiss.

"I could kiss you right now," Harry observed.

'Oh, yes,' a part of Hermione's mind that was embracing puberty and all it was bringing with everything it had commentated, 'You certainly could...'

It was probably the first time that Hermione could remember in which she hated her own mind, she just wasn't sure if she hated it for thinking that in the first place, or because she didn't want to think about how Harry was making her feel.

Harry sighed and slowly raised Hermione back into a standing position, leaving her looking at him in distracted confusion, "Unfortunately, it seems you think that we're too young for such things, don't you?"

He subtlely ignored the sound of displeasure she made as she realised what was happening and her burgeoning hormones engaged in another round of frustrated debate with her senses of morality and propriety, senses that The Master knew meant he had his own work ahead of him in adjusting so that she could take her proper place by his side. Morality and propriety were excellent things to have until one realised that not everyone considered the same things to be 'moral' and-or 'proper' leaving a limited series of choices; conform to others' ideas of moral and proper, agree to disagree - so rare as to be laughable, reach a compromise - and he was well familiar with the definition of the word as 'everyone loses', or convince others to come around to one's own ideas on the subjects, whether by oration or force - which commonly involved the latter over the former. As much as he intended to alter them somewhat, the strength of Hermione's beliefs was one of the things which made him care for her, so he didn't want to simply shatter and rebuild them, merely slowly bend them to the point where she would understand the reasoning of his actions and intentions. It would take time, but for a Time Lord, time was merely a suggestion and suggestions were made to be noted and ignored, but he would take his time and work slowly; he didn't intend for anything serious to happen between them until at least Third Year, once he had ensured that certain factors would no longer be involved. For now, however, there was dancing to be done.

Hermione didn't know how long they danced after he had dipped her, for the first time in her life her mind was racing too fast to form a coherent thought in her head as the dream form of her friend - was he her best friend? She wasn't sure, but she thought he was - led her around the dance floor. Every so often, it seemed as if he intended to kiss her before he stopped himself, making her wonder if - if this was all the dream she was sure it was and thus a creation of her own mind, that meant for her claim that they weren't old enough for such thoughts. It was all rather frustrating, really.

An innate part of being a Time Lord was an acute sense of time and its movements, so The Master, if anyone had cared to ask, knew exactly how long they had been dancing to 'Ritt der Walkuren', long enough that the hour was getting late and Cinderella's coach would have long since turned into a pumpkin. While he had no intentions to muse on the concept of transfigured gourds as conveyances that only lasted a limited time and so were limited in efficiency, The Master was forced to concede that if he did not allow his own proverbial princess some time to truly sleep she would be disadvantaged on the morrow that would bring one of the more interesting incidents of First Year, so it was time to bring the night's events to a close.

Harry twirled Hermione away, releasing her hand as he did, and as she was spinning, The Master drew out both Laser Screwdriver and wand, one in each hand, and returned her to her former age and apparel. The sudden changes in size and balance caused Hermione to stumble and she was surprised to land on the bed that had just as suddenly reappeared.

Before she could react, he had raised his wand again, "Somnus."

She couldn't fight it as the spell-induced sleep took her and The Master crossed the floor to once more sit on the edge of the bed, "Sleep, my dear girl, just remember when you wake up..."

With that, he exited Hermione's dream world and her mind itself without fanfare, merely vanishing.