[FIC] Embracing Fate
Title: Embracing Fate
Fandom: Harry Potter and Doctor Who
Warnings: Crossover.
Was supposed to be written for Snape's birthday (January 9) but I had finals so this is late. Apologies!
His future, in his mind, is a lot like a labyrinth, a dark one, one which he enters knowing that none of the paths lead to the illuminated centre. Struggling is futile, for where would he run? Escaping fate is impossible, so he doesn't try. Dreaming of what could have been is too painful, so he doesn't do that either. He remains seated on the dusty floor in this place so familiar to him as a child, and tries not to think at all.
He hears a sound, loud but brief, like the sound of the wind and yet not, and leaves rustling. The creaking of wood, and then footsteps, not too loud but coming closer. He considers finding a place to hide; if someone is looking for him, the reason can't be good, and he doesn't want to face the world just yet. But there's nowhere to hide and no time, so he stays where he is and tries to blend in with the shadows.
A piercing blue light, accompanied by a strange sound, briefly circles the room before coming to rest on him. He doesn't flinch, doesn't move a muscle; the light is tiny, and maybe whoever is looking hasn't seen him yet. But the footsteps approach and before long he can see the silhouette of whoever belongs with them. The figure is tall and lean and holding something that looks like a wand casting lumos, and he can't understand why the sight strikes fear in him. The wand moves off him to a pile of wood to his right, and suddenly there is light and warmth and he realizes how long he's been shivering.
The man moves to sit next to him and for a while no one speaks, and he imagines how long they could sit like this and stave off the inevitable. But you can't escape fate, he has always believed this, and it is the reason that makes him break the quiet. He asks, "Who sent you?" and thinks it would have sounded better if his teeth hadn't been chattering. He sounds afraid, and showing fear to people such as his associates is the worst thing he could ever do.
"No one sent me, I promise." The stranger promises, like so many people. I promise not to hurt you, I promise to give you glory, I promise to forever be your friend, all of them broken, so that when he hears the word 'promise' he instantly mistrusts the speaker. And yet he finds himself believing the words, believing without understanding when the stranger adds, "She felt drawn to you, and I'm starting to see why. I'm the Doctor, by the way." The man, the Doctor, stands up then and offers his hand, but he doesn't take it. He relies on himself in everything, always does, because asking for help is showing weakness and relying on others is just as bad. The Doctor waits patiently while he brushes the dust off his robe and then gestures towards the doorway where a blue box stands. It is labeled 'police' and for a moment he wants to laugh hysterically at the thought that both worlds are now after him. But the Doctor only unlocks the door and ushers him inside.
He is so absorbed in staring that he doesn't notice when the Doctor follows him inside and closes the door. The man's coat is tossed on what looks like one of the pillars the area is built around, and his eyes follow the Doctor as he walks to the centre of the room, if it can be called that. "Right then, off we go," he says cheerfully, and when he begins to turn knobs and pull levers he hears the sound of the wind again. When it stops the Doctor runs to the door, tells him to follow and steps outside.
The first thing he notices is the noise, overwhelming, hundreds of people crowded together and celebrating. It's fake, and he tells the Doctor as much - "There's no place on earth where people could be celebrating when a war is upon us. Where have you taken me?" The Doctor smiles at him, a bit bemused. "It's not so much where as when. She's a time machine, and this is the year 2005." He doesn't know why, but he believes it. "What happened to the war? Did he- the Dark Lord, did he change the world for the better?"
The Doctor shakes his head, but before the next question is clear in his mind he's told, "This way," and follows the mysterious man away from the crowd. He is lead through the winding streets of what he recognizes as Diagon Alley until they reach a calmer side street. The Doctor stops in front of a small shop, one he is certain isn't there in his time, and picks a copy of the Daily Prophet off a stack. "May 24, 2005. The day Voldemort dies permanently. And look who made the front page!"
The picture is one of him, with the same greasy hair, the same ugly nose and black eyes, but old and worn, unhappy. He stares at it, forgetting about the article, not sure he wants to know what he's done to land on the front page but equally sure it can't be anything pleasant. So instead he looks at himself and tries to believe that come 2005, he will still be alive.
"This can't be real. I'm not likely to last the year, let alone another twenty-six. You must've taken me into a fabricated vision of some sort. What did you think to accomplish?" He shoves the paper back at the Doctor, unwilling to look at the haunted eyes again. "Is this a test? Is the Dark Lord trying to see if I'll stay loyal?"
"Well, I haven't met him, but he's pretty confident about your loyalty. I'm not here to test you, I'm here to help."
His back stiffens. "I don't need help."
"Don't you? The fact that the TARDIS decided to go to you instead of the meteor shower over Perlung says otherwise." The Doctor looks at him then, as if he knows everything there is to know, everything that would and wouldn't happen to him. How it had started, how it would end, and what fate had in store for him. And instead of the condemnation he imagines he should receive, there is a feeling of respect coming from this man he has only just met, that leads him to believe that, while the paths in the labyrinth are still dark, perhaps one of them leads to the light.
"Do I survive?" he asks, and the Doctor smiles at him.
"Does it matter?" And he knows it doesn't.
Fandom: Harry Potter and Doctor Who
Warnings: Crossover.
Was supposed to be written for Snape's birthday (January 9) but I had finals so this is late. Apologies!
His future, in his mind, is a lot like a labyrinth, a dark one, one which he enters knowing that none of the paths lead to the illuminated centre. Struggling is futile, for where would he run? Escaping fate is impossible, so he doesn't try. Dreaming of what could have been is too painful, so he doesn't do that either. He remains seated on the dusty floor in this place so familiar to him as a child, and tries not to think at all.
He hears a sound, loud but brief, like the sound of the wind and yet not, and leaves rustling. The creaking of wood, and then footsteps, not too loud but coming closer. He considers finding a place to hide; if someone is looking for him, the reason can't be good, and he doesn't want to face the world just yet. But there's nowhere to hide and no time, so he stays where he is and tries to blend in with the shadows.
A piercing blue light, accompanied by a strange sound, briefly circles the room before coming to rest on him. He doesn't flinch, doesn't move a muscle; the light is tiny, and maybe whoever is looking hasn't seen him yet. But the footsteps approach and before long he can see the silhouette of whoever belongs with them. The figure is tall and lean and holding something that looks like a wand casting lumos, and he can't understand why the sight strikes fear in him. The wand moves off him to a pile of wood to his right, and suddenly there is light and warmth and he realizes how long he's been shivering.
The man moves to sit next to him and for a while no one speaks, and he imagines how long they could sit like this and stave off the inevitable. But you can't escape fate, he has always believed this, and it is the reason that makes him break the quiet. He asks, "Who sent you?" and thinks it would have sounded better if his teeth hadn't been chattering. He sounds afraid, and showing fear to people such as his associates is the worst thing he could ever do.
"No one sent me, I promise." The stranger promises, like so many people. I promise not to hurt you, I promise to give you glory, I promise to forever be your friend, all of them broken, so that when he hears the word 'promise' he instantly mistrusts the speaker. And yet he finds himself believing the words, believing without understanding when the stranger adds, "She felt drawn to you, and I'm starting to see why. I'm the Doctor, by the way." The man, the Doctor, stands up then and offers his hand, but he doesn't take it. He relies on himself in everything, always does, because asking for help is showing weakness and relying on others is just as bad. The Doctor waits patiently while he brushes the dust off his robe and then gestures towards the doorway where a blue box stands. It is labeled 'police' and for a moment he wants to laugh hysterically at the thought that both worlds are now after him. But the Doctor only unlocks the door and ushers him inside.
He is so absorbed in staring that he doesn't notice when the Doctor follows him inside and closes the door. The man's coat is tossed on what looks like one of the pillars the area is built around, and his eyes follow the Doctor as he walks to the centre of the room, if it can be called that. "Right then, off we go," he says cheerfully, and when he begins to turn knobs and pull levers he hears the sound of the wind again. When it stops the Doctor runs to the door, tells him to follow and steps outside.
The first thing he notices is the noise, overwhelming, hundreds of people crowded together and celebrating. It's fake, and he tells the Doctor as much - "There's no place on earth where people could be celebrating when a war is upon us. Where have you taken me?" The Doctor smiles at him, a bit bemused. "It's not so much where as when. She's a time machine, and this is the year 2005." He doesn't know why, but he believes it. "What happened to the war? Did he- the Dark Lord, did he change the world for the better?"
The Doctor shakes his head, but before the next question is clear in his mind he's told, "This way," and follows the mysterious man away from the crowd. He is lead through the winding streets of what he recognizes as Diagon Alley until they reach a calmer side street. The Doctor stops in front of a small shop, one he is certain isn't there in his time, and picks a copy of the Daily Prophet off a stack. "May 24, 2005. The day Voldemort dies permanently. And look who made the front page!"
The picture is one of him, with the same greasy hair, the same ugly nose and black eyes, but old and worn, unhappy. He stares at it, forgetting about the article, not sure he wants to know what he's done to land on the front page but equally sure it can't be anything pleasant. So instead he looks at himself and tries to believe that come 2005, he will still be alive.
"This can't be real. I'm not likely to last the year, let alone another twenty-six. You must've taken me into a fabricated vision of some sort. What did you think to accomplish?" He shoves the paper back at the Doctor, unwilling to look at the haunted eyes again. "Is this a test? Is the Dark Lord trying to see if I'll stay loyal?"
"Well, I haven't met him, but he's pretty confident about your loyalty. I'm not here to test you, I'm here to help."
His back stiffens. "I don't need help."
"Don't you? The fact that the TARDIS decided to go to you instead of the meteor shower over Perlung says otherwise." The Doctor looks at him then, as if he knows everything there is to know, everything that would and wouldn't happen to him. How it had started, how it would end, and what fate had in store for him. And instead of the condemnation he imagines he should receive, there is a feeling of respect coming from this man he has only just met, that leads him to believe that, while the paths in the labyrinth are still dark, perhaps one of them leads to the light.
"Do I survive?" he asks, and the Doctor smiles at him.
"Does it matter?" And he knows it doesn't.