Chapter 1 : Her Doctor
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“There’s nothing wrong with liking pretty things.”
She is looking out the window of their moving car when she sees it.
It catches her eye because it’s pretty and she’s always liked pretty things and there it is. Tall. Blue. Standing on the corner of Mill and Church without so much as a stain or chip and so very pretty. She cranes her neck to get a better look. And they drive, drive, drive passed without even a hint of slowing down because no one appreciates pretty things like she does – no, certainly not her mother and father. So she scrambles to her knees so that she can watch her pretty thing through the back window, as it grows smaller, smaller, smaller in the distance.
“I thought they’d gotten rid of all the police boxes,” she says at dinner later that night when her pretty thing is out of sight but never out of mind.
The clanking of silverware against plates pauses and she looks up to see her mother and father eyeing her peculiarly.
“They did – there’s hardly a police box in all of England, you know that.”
“But I saw one earlier today – by the playground,” she insists to her father, nodding her head vigorously.
Her mother gives her a small smile filled with a pity of sorts that borders on condescending. “Your eyes must have been playing tricks on you; it’s been a busy, emotional day for us all. Now eat your brussel sprouts, Tuney dear.”
They return to their unusually quiet dinner, and the unfairness of it all begins to truly weight down on her. She stabs her brussel sprouts with surprising force because it’s just so typical of them, isn’t it? That they’re willing to believe in the existence of magic no problem but immediately wave off the possibility of a stray police box?
Magic, the very thought of the m-word reminds her of the seat to her left – the empty seat to her left that suddenly feels all the more empty. And it makes her feel like screaming.
“It’s Petunia, by the way,” she corrects them moments later when the silence has been simply begging to be shattered. “I told you when we left the train station – I don’t want you to call me that anymore. Tuney,” she scrunches up her nose and purses her lips in distaste when she says it, “is for silly little girls and fairies tales.”
Her parents share a look of surprise. “But surely you mustn’t mean that, dear. You always liked it when your sister called you Tuney.”
She turns up her nose and crosses her arms all in one motion, her blonde tresses bouncing against her shoulders. “Not anymore,” she huffs. “I don’t care.”
She doesn’t mention how she does in fact care because Lily is the only one who appreciates pretty things like she does. How they used to appreciate them together – before Lily could soar through the air and make flowers bloom in the palm of her hand, before she became a pretty thing herself.
Before she became friends with him and made dear ol’ Tuney appreciate all of the pretty from the sidelines.
She goes to the playground the next day because she needs to see it for herself, she needs to see her pretty thing, as she feels the electric need through her very fingertips. The pretty thing that belongs to her and her only because Lily isn’t here to steal it from her to claim it as her own, and Mummy and Daddy don’t appreciate the pretty things like they should.
Her skips turn into a bit of a run when the pretty blue box comes into view and soon it is standing right in front of her and my oh my it’s even prettier up close. She always liked how pretty police boxes were but this one is somehow the prettiest of them all, she thinks. Her hand runs along the smooth paint job appreciatively and she offers it a big smile, looking the box up and down like a Christmas gift that is all for her and her only.
She walks around the box a few times, inspecting it, deciding what she will do with it. Maybe she will make it into a fort – or perhaps even a walk-in lemonade stand! She could always bring her clothes from her bedroom and turn it into a closet…
Arriving at the door, she grabs onto the handle and pulls because the sign says pull and that’s what you’re supposed to do when the sign says pull.
And yet nothing happens.
She pulls again and again but it refuses to open. On a whim, she gives it a push but still no luck. It’s locked. But that’s odd, she thinks, eyeing the door curiously, because it’s supposed to be out of order. The only reason it should ever be locked is because someone is in there.
The idea should probably scare her because only bad men are supposed to be locked in police boxes because everyone is waiting for the police to come, but this is her pretty thing, thank you very much. No one should be allowed in there but Petunia Evans.
So she knocks loudly on the door.
And she waits.
The air is still during the moments where she is standing there, arms crossed and foot tapping incessantly against the pavement. She looks around and it suddenly feels odd – something is not right.
She looks to her right and she looks to her left and there is nothing. Just nothing. But that is precisely the problem. No one’s there. She’s standing at the edge of a playground on a nice, sunny day before school starts and no one is there.
Where are all the children?
She feels a prickle of fear in the area of her chest, right around her heart, and she wants to step away from the box that is somehow appearing less and less pretty the more she stares. But she finds herself unable to move.
Somewhere behind her a loud bang sounds and she whips around to see that there is heavy smoke in the air, looking as if it’s coming from a few block away from her neighborhood.
Her first instinct is to run towards it, to find her mother and father because surely they’d know what to do, but she crosses the street to a nearby house instead and her fist raps frantically against the front door. No one answers. So she tries the house next to it, but still no one answers.
Where is everyone?
Someone grabs her hand. She whirls around with a gasp and it’s a tall, willowy boy in a bow tie and braces that she’s never seen before and he’s tugging on her hand and he’s telling her to run.
She does as she’s told and he steers her in the direction of the playground towards the blue box, fumbling with a key in the hand that is not clasping hers, and rambling on about things she cannot even begin to understand. And before she can question what is even happening, she is being pushed inside the police box, with the strict instructions of not to leave until he comes back. And he is going to be back, he says, and that’s a promise.
She begins to protest and beg for an explanation, but then he’s closing the doors on her and the last thing she sees are the eyes that seem far too old for his young face.
And then she is alone. In the police box. Like a regular criminal.
She sighs, and turns around, hoping to find a place to sit, but then she sees it and it takes her breath away. It’s like the magic she’s seen come from her sister, but only much, much better and my god it’s bigger on the inside. And so very pretty.
She looks around in wonder, the awe clearly written on her child face, and she takes a tentative step forward, whatever happening on the outside hopelessly forgotten.
She reaches the center and what looks like a circular control panel, lightly running her fingers along its many keys and buttons and levers. She’s never seen anything quite like it and she doesn’t know what to say as she can barely believe it. She’s surrounded by staircases that lead god only knows where but she stays where she is, attempting to take it all in, feeling as if she can never look at it enough.
She doesn’t know how much time passes as the world outside seems to come to a stop as she sweeps the premise, eyeing every nook and cranny and simply staring in admiration at the prettiest thing she has ever seen.
“Pretty cool, huh?”
She spins around and there he is, back as promised, leaning against the door with a crooked smile on his face. She wonders how long he has been standing there, and how long she has been lost in her own thoughts.
With an enthusiastic nod, she smiles brightly. “It’s very pretty. But what is it exactly?”
He pushes himself off the door and propels forward in her direction until he sidesteps her and lands in front of the control panel, his arms held out in a presentational manner.
“It’s a TARDIS. Time and Relative Dimensions In Space. I can go wherever I want, whenever I want with just a snap of my fingers – well not exactly a with a snap of my fingers as it’s a bit more complicated than that but you get the general idea.” He flashes her a grin with a childlike glee and goes to lean against the control panel, accidentally missing its surface and nearly toppling over. She’s in too much shock to laugh.
“It’s bigger on the inside,” she says finally, unable to think of anything else to respond with as she’s nearly speechless.
His grin widens as if he’d hoped she’d say that and he strolls over towards her and gives her nose a light tap as a reward. “Yes.”
She pauses, swallowing hard. He’s so tall in comparison to her thirteen-year-old build that she has to crane her neck to see him properly. She notes that she finds him very pretty and slightly blushes. “Are you a wizard?” There’s a hint of anxiety in her voice because she’s encountered wizard things before and she’s not allowed to have them and all this is far too pretty for her to give up, for her to bested by baby sister. Again.
He opens his mouth for a quick reply but pauses, looking somewhat confused, his pointed finger raised in the air as he grapples for a response. “Wizard? Really? Never been called that one before but that has a nice ring to it. But, no, I’m the Doctor, Time Lord, actually.”
She stares at him blankly, confused, but excited all the same. “…Time…Lord?”
“Alien – well,” he adds, when her eyebrows shoot up. “Alien to you, you’re actually an alien to me if you really think about it. But, yes, I’m from a different planet, traveling throughout all of time and space. It’s cool, time travel is cool.”
He’s a fast talker, very energetic and peculiar, and she can’t help but like that. “And you’re called the ‘Doctor’?”
He grabs her hand and twirls her around. “Yes. What do they call you?”
“Tuney,” she replies automatically. “I, I mean Petunia. My name is Petunia Evans.”
“Petunia? Nice name – knew a flower once. Different flower, though, long time ago. Anyway – Petunia Evans, where do you want to start?” He’s racing around the control panel, pulling levers and pressing buttons, smiling and laughing like a madman and she suddenly remembers why she’s there.
“But what about my parents? What happened back there? What was that explosion?” Her mind is racing with more questions, but he waves her off and continues to run around. Everything is moving, getting ready for lift off, she presumes – all they need is a destination. But she can’t leave without knowing.
“They’re fine. A Cybermen invasion, is all. Took care of it for you before they could really do any damage. All the neighborhoods have been put back together and repopulated – you’re welcome, by the way – but all of time and space! Think of the possibilities!” He’s ceased all motion now, looking her square in the eye with a nervous, hopeful look to him. “You do want to come along, right?”
She’s speechless. She’s never been someone’s first choice before, having always felt second best to her sister; no one has ever wanted to take her anywhere. It’s almost too good to be true and she just has to ask, “This is real? We’re in a spaceship, time machine…thing?”
The Doctor’s lips twitch upwards. “Yes.”
She takes a step towards him. “We can go anywhere?”
He nods, smile continuing to grow. “Anywhere and everywhere.”
She’s grinning along with him now, growing more and more excited. “They won’t miss me?”
“Won’t even know you’re gone.”
“I want to see something extraordinary – something pretty! M-magical, even. You think you could take me someplace like that?”
He laughs. “Of course I can, I’m the Doctor! I can do anything – except whistle, I’m still working on that one.” He pulls a few more levers and smiles. “Hold onto your hat, Petunia Evans. Geronimo.”
And off they go.
She sees her pretty blue box for the first time in months while on her way home from school.
He takes her to 1920s America. He tells her about Amy. She tells him about Lily.
He’s back for her after a quick visit with his Ponds. She’d like them, he tells her.
Maybe she’ll get to meet them someday, she muses aloud.
Yes, maybe, he agrees.
She loves the way the Ood sing. It’s one of the prettiest things she’s ever heard.
He’s sorry that it’s been nearly a year for her since he’s seen her last, but it’s alright. She always misses him when he’s gone but she thinks it’s good for her to have some time away, to have some time to be normal and do normal things. Besides, it makes his visits all the more special.
He’s her Doctor – her pretty, little secret.
Lily’s secret has nothing on hers. Lily waves a wand around and performs silly, little magic tricks. Petunia travels throughout all of time and space.
And she would bet all of her money that Lily has never witnessed something as pretty as a Time Lord flying his TARDIS.
The Doctor tells her how grown up she looks the next time they’re together. She blushes and tells him he looks exactly the same. She likes that though because she fancies him and she’s catching up to him every time they meet. But a small voice in her head fears the day that she’ll looks older than him.
She tries not to think about it too much once they arrive at New Earth.
“You’re still not close to your sister,” he says one day while under the console. He’s repairing the TARDIS after a close call with the Cybermen. She’s sitting next to him holding the torch for him and handing over fish fingers covered in custard when he gets hungry. He doesn’t get to see his Ponds as often as he likes because they get busy with their boring, adult life, he had told her. Fish fingers and custard reminds him of them. She tries not too get too jealous because she’s special to him too – that’s why he always comes back for her, he even said so. She’ll always be there waiting for him, she had replied with a confident nod.
Handing over another fish finger, she gives him a noncommittal shrug. “Not really, no.”
He sits up and removes his goggles, putting down his sonic screwdriver. She lowers the torch and turns it off. “Because of the magic?” She nods sadly. “You know, there’s nothing to be jealous of, Petunia,” he says with his mouth full. “Even without it, you’re just as extraordinary as she is, and –”
“Oh, I’m not jealous anymore,” she insists, the statement true for the most part – at least during the days like these when she’s with the Doctor. “How can I be when I have all this?” She stretches out her arms in reference to her surroundings. “I just don’t see the point in us being friends.”
He raises an eyebrow, swallowing down his food. “The point?”
“She’s only going to leave us – I can feel it!” she bursts out, voicing the feelings she’s always felt but never said aloud. “Mum and Dad think it’s so wonderful having a witch in the family, but she’s going to take off once she’s married to one of her lot. We lost her a long time ago and it’s ridiculous – pathetic, even – how happy they get every time she comes home, only for them to get sad when she leaves again.”
He doesn’t say anything for a while, just staring at her face. She lowers her eyes and feels her face heat up from the scrutiny; she finds her hands nervously playing with the fabric of her jumper. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, and his words chosen carefully. “Every time you see them happy you remember how sad they're going to be. And it breaks your heart. Because what's the point in them being happy now if they're going to be sad later?” He pauses and she looks up to meet his eye. “The answer is, of course, because they are going to be sad later.”
She jaw goes slack and she stares, realizing for the first time that she’s in love. In love with this mad, impossible man.
She kisses him for the first time later that day.
He pulls away and tells her that he’s much, much too old for her.
And sort of married.
Due to embarrassment, she spends the first half of their trip to 18th century Amsterdam in silence.
Until they run into the Daleks, that is.
He’s just lost the Ponds. She holds him while he cries into her shirt, letting out a few tears of her own. She never did get to meet Amy and Rory, but they’re important to her Doctor, so they’re important to her as well.
She comes with the Doctor when he goes to see young Amy, to tell the little girl of her and the Doctor’s adventures together like her older self had requested.
All Petunia can think about while sitting next to this little girl is of Lily. Pretty Lily Evans. Lily with the red hair, the wide eyes, the endless wonder – the same hair, eyes, and wonder she sees in little Amelia Pond.
Amy Pond is pretty. She died pretty, too. Lily Evans is pretty and will be when she goes someday as well.
Petunia can’t help but wonder about herself.
Her Doctor needs her. She comes running when he calls. Always.
He doesn’t smile like he used to. The grin is still there but it lacks its usual pretty spark. She doesn’t know how to fix him.
It’s a bright, sunny day in late June when he steps out of his TARDIS and onto the pavement. He’s always liked visiting Cokeworth to see his Petunia; she’s such a lovely girl, too troubled for her own good, he thinks, but extraordinary nonetheless. There are kids playing loudly in the playground, and worried parents chasing after them and he smiles in their direction. The human race – such an incredible species.
He’s able to whistle now because she taught him during his last visit so he does so as he strolls down the street towards the house he knows to be hers. He gives the door an enthusiastic knock and rolls back and forth on his heels as he waits, never ceasing his tune. He’s been practicing during their time apart, and he wants to show off how good he’s gotten since then. What many people don’t know is that the Doctor likes to impress his companions just as much as they like to impress him.
The door soon opens and it’s not his Petunia who is standing on the other side, but a pretty girl in her late teens with red hair. She doesn’t look much like Amy aside from the gingerness, but his hearts give a bit of a jerk nonetheless. He’s feeling much better than he did when he first lost his beloved Ponds, but the occasional reminder of them still hurts every now and then.
“Hello,” he greets her brightly, ignoring his ach and giving the girl a small wave. “Friend of Petunia’s. Is she home?”
The girl looks a little taken back at the question, but quickly composes herself. “Oh. Tuney doesn’t live here anymore.” She sounds sad when she says it.
He feels his hearts sink; he’s in a bit of a shock, one that he hasn’t felt in a long time. “Doesn’t live here anymore? Why not?”
“She got married a few weeks ago, moved to Surrey with her husband.”
“Married?!” he splutters, utterly aghast. “She-she’s not old enough to be married!”
The girl leans against the doorframe, crosses her arms and laughs; she has a nice smile. And the greenest eyes he’s ever seen. “Sure she is.”
He doesn’t understand because Petunia never mentioned having interest in a particular boy, never mind the desire to married one, but then he pauses as a terrible thought suddenly occurs to him. “Excuse me, but what year is this?”
The girl raises an amused eyebrow and laughs again, shaking her head in disbelief over this odd and unexpected encounter. “Er, it’s 1978.” When his face becomes crestfallen, she takes a step towards him, her expression suddenly filled with concern. “Are you alright?”
Two and a half years.
He isn’t alright and he can’t believe it. Sure, he had been away for a long time before – had done much worse with Amy, but it was never quite like this, not for Petunia. And she hadn’t waited for him; she would have left him a sign, a trail of crumbs to follow like she did that one time he visited while she was at her Grandparents’ house for the week. No, there definitely isn’t a sign this time and he knows he’s that she doesn't want to see him, that he's lost her, lost her like he lost the Ponds and all of the others. And it hurts like nothing else.
“Everything alright?” a new, much deeper voice calls from inside. A moment later, a tall, lanky boy of eighteen with messy black hair and glasses is standing in the doorway next to the girl. He grabs her hand and motions towards the Doctor, a little worried by their expressions. “Who’s this?”
When she speaks, her voice is filled with soft compassion. “He’s one of Tuney’s friends – didn’t know she was getting married, apparently.”
The boy laughs. “Friend of Petunia’s?” He turns to the Doctor, shaking his head solemnly. “I’m so sorry about that, mate.”
The girl scoffs and gives the boy a light shove. “Stop that, you. She’s my sister.”
“Rotten one, at that,” he mutters in reply, giving her cheek a quick peck.
But the Doctor isn’t listening to their banter anymore and looking at the girl in a whole new way, his eyes lighting up in excitement. “You’re Petunia’s sister? Well, of course you are!” he continues without allowing the girl herself to reply. “How did I miss it before? The red hair! The spunk! The magical school! You’re Lily, then, aren’t you? I’ve heard so much about you!”
Both teenagers are staring at him in bewilderment, but he can’t find it within him to care. He found Lily – the closest thing he has to his Petunia. And despite all of the bad, that is just fantastic.
It takes Lily a moment to find her voice, but she’s eyeing him with newfound interest, having not previously imagined that her estranged sister would ever speak of those things to a friend of hers. “I-I am. And, um, this is James – my boyfriend. How you know all those things…you know, I don’t think my sister has ever mentioned you. Who are you exactly?”
He stands up tall, pulling on his braces and rolling back and forth on his heels with a huge smile. “I’m the Doctor.”
Lily tilts her head curiously. “Doctor? Doctor who?”
A/N: I hoped you enjoyed! This is my first attempt at a crossover fic. Please leave me a review to let me know what you thought :D
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Doctor Who. All rights belong to J.K. Rowling and Sydney Newman, C. E. Webber, Donald Wilson (Classic Who original creators), Russel T. Davis, and Steven Moffat (Doctor Who revival) respectively. This story was written for The Vivid Imagination's Doctor Who Quote Challenge and for it, I received the quote "Every time you see them happy you remember how sad they're going to be. And it breaks your heart. Because what's the point in them being happy now if they're going to be sad later? The answer is, of course, because they are going to be sad later." I do not own this as it was written by Steven Moffat. Within this story, I also used several catchphrases of the Doctor and monsters/creatures/planets from the show that I also do not own. I only own the storyline. Also, the quote from the summary and the beginning of the story, "There's nothing wrong with liking pretty things," is from Murder, She Wrote: The Fine Art of Murder by Jessica Fletcher and Donald Bain.
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