DW/HP Fic: Clarke's Third Law (4/20)
Summary: Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. So what happens when witch meets scientist, and each tries to teach the other about their brand of magic? Things become a tad confusing. And more than a bit fantastic. Doctor/Rose
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who or Harry Potter.
Note: A rewrite of Season 1 Ep. 1 (2005): Rose.
Chapter 3: The Turn of The Earth
Rose hadn’t really expected the Doctor to do as she said. She was surprised, then, when he began to weave her a story about living plastic beings. Rose shook her head in denial.
“Look, if you’re gonna go with that bit-and I’m not even sure I believe it, to tell ya the truth- how’dya kill it?”
“The thing contolin’ it projects life into the arm. I cut off the signal. Dead!” The Doctor looked immensely proud of himself. Rose, on the other hand, was still trying to make sense of it all.
“Professor Binns used to talk about stuff like that in Muggle studies,” Rose said slowly, trying to pull the information from the recesses of her mind. She really should have payed more attention. “‘s radio control, right?”
“Thought control,” the Doctor corrected. Rose’s eyes widened.
“What, like the Imperius Curse?”
“Not quite. Same basic idea, though.” Rose let out a deep breath and continued to follow the Doctor, not saying anything for a minute. They were nearing a park, at this point. It was empty at the moment, but Rose doubted it would stay that way for long. The sunshine and warm breeze promised that it would be a gorgeous day.
“Why, though?” Rose couldn’t help but wonder. “I mean, plastic dolls? Shop window dummies? A bit odd, if you ask me. Whats the point?” The Doctor didn’t say anything, so Rose decided to take a guess. “Is somebody trying to take over Britain shops?”
“No,” The Doctor said with a chuckle, as if the thought itself was ridiculous. Rose bit her lip.
“Well, I don’t know!” She quipped.
“Its not a price war,” he informed her, making her laugh harder. He laughed with her, for a minute, then said,
“They’re trying to overthrow the human race and destroy you.”
Rose once again found herself stopping short. She marveled at how quickly his mood shifted. From joking and laughing to dead-serious in a split second. Rose couldn’t help but wonder if he was bipolar. The Doctor realized that she stopped and looked over at her. She took a few brisk steps to catch up with him, but he didn’t start moving again. Instead, he studied her with that intense gaze of his.
Rose remembered how Uncle Harry had once told her that the eyes of his old headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, made you feel like he was seeing right through you. Rose hadn’t really understood that expression.
Until now. It did feel like the Doctor was looking right through her. She wondered if this was how her Uncle had felt. She forced herself to meet his eyes. The Doctor looked so old, all of a sudden. He might not have been more than forty, but his eyes made him seem older than time itself.
Who are you, Doctor?
“Do you believe me?” He asked her softly. Rose felt as though the world was holding its breath, waiting for her answer. She looked around for a moment and shoved her hands back in her pocket.
“I don’t know,” she told him truthfully. She didn’t know what to think anymore: not about the living plastic things, or thought control, or the strange Doctor-man with his too-old eyes. It was enough to make anybody’s head spin.
“Then why are you still listening?” He asked her in an all-knowing tone. He began to walk forward again.
“I’m a witch. I’ve heard weirder.” She retorted. The Doctor made no sign that he had heard her. She called his name. “Doctor!” He turned back towards her, expectant. She felt a bit like little kid asking, but she had to know.
“Who are you? Really?”
For a minute, Rose didn’t think he was going to listen. Then he smiled a bit as he changed his mind. “Do you know like we were saying? About the Earth revolving?”
Rose nodded shyly, not sure where he was going with this. He walked back towards her as he spoke, his words sending a chill up her spine. “Its like when you’re a kid. The first time they tell you the Earth is turning, but you can’t quite believe it ‘cause everything looks like it’s standing still.”
He paused for a minute, looking down at the ground, lost in his own thoughts. Suddenly, he met her eyes. “I can feel it.” Rose felt him grab her hand, and she took it instinctively.
It was colder than she had expected.
“The turn of the Earth. The ground beneath our feet is spinning at a thousand miles an hour, and the entire planet is hurtling ‘round the sun at sixty-seven thousand miles an hour. And I can feel it. We’re falling through space,” he said softly. “We’re clinging to the skin of this tiny, little, planet, and if we let go-” The Doctor dropped her hand and
Rose gasped.
For a moment, as Rose let herself be caught up in the Doctor’s words, when the Doctor dropped her hand, Rose could feel the Earth moving, too. She could feel herself falling.
And then everything stopped. Everything was still and she was planted firmly on the ground, the sun and the air warming her now empty hand.
“Thats who I am,” he said, as though he knew what she had felt. He took the mannequin arm-Why was she still holding that thing?- and looked at her sternly. “Now forget me.”
This time, as he walked away from her, she didn’t follow him. And, in all honesty, Rose wasn’t sure if she wanted to. Taking a deep breath, she turned and began to walk away. She hadn’t gotten far, though, when an odd sound, a beautiful sound, cut through the air.
Rose didn’t think twice as she turned around and ran back to the spot where the Doctor had left her. She expected to see him, still walking away, but, in that short period of time, he had disappeared. Rose frowned. Something else was missing, too. She frowned and tried to remember what was missing. The truth was, the corner looked as though it always did. She could have sworn-
There was a blue, telephone box there, earlier. Rose had never seen it before, but she had seen it a few minutes ago. And now, it was gone.
Along with the Doctor.
Rose decided it was time for some advice. However, when she apparated back home, it became clear that her cousin wasn’t in the best mood.
“What did you do to the coffee table?” He demanded, standing over the shattered remains in the living room.
Rose couldn’t understand why he was so worked up.
“I told you, Al. It was an accident! And honestly, its not like it matters. It’s easy enough to fix.” Rose cast a quick Repairo, mending everything in a heartbeat. Al didn’t look much happier about it. He crossed his arms and
mumbled something about the principle of the thing.
“If you’re done pouting,” she teased, “I need you’re help finding something.”
“A job,” Albus agreed. Rose shook her head. Al raise an eyebrow, evidentially confused. “No?”
“No,” Rose affirmed. She dashed into her room to put on a more suitable outfit than the sweatshirt and tattered jeans she was currently wearing. As she pulled on her trousers, she stuck her head out the door to talk to her cousin. “I need to go the Ministry Archives so I can see Mr. Donahue knows anything.”
“Anything about what?” Albus asked, exasperated, as Rose walked back into the living room. She stopped to check her reflection in the mirror, carefully inserting her earrings. Meeting Al’s impatient reflection, she turned around so she could face him better.
“I’m looking for a man called “The Doctor.”” Rose elaborated.
“Doctor who?” Albus asked. Rose tossed him his sweater and grinned as she headed for the door.
“Thats the question, ain’t it?” She called out as she left, swinging her purse around. Al laughed and followed her out the door. He locked it tightly and then sidled up to her. He looped his arm around hers, and together they apparated into the Ministry.
They stumbled, almost crashing into each other. Rose brushed herself down, straightening her clothes. She really hated apparating. Judging by Albus’s expression, he wasn’t such a big fan either.
“Alright,” he nodded, to show her he was fine. “Let’s get to the archives.”
The Ministry Archives were one of the largest collections of documents-magical, or otherwise- in Great Britain, if not the world. They contained thousands and thousands of books, scrolls, papers, photos, newspapers, and magazines, all overseen and cared for by a man called Mr. Donahue. He was the only one and staff, thanks to the Ministry’s refusal to spend any money on the Archives.
The Archives were not strictly speaking open to the public, but Rose was lucky. One day, when she was little, her mother was forced to take her to work with her. Her poor mother had been so worried about where to leave her when Mr. Donahue, taking pity on her, had offered to take Rose off of her hands. Rose had spent the day with Mr. Donahue, exploring the towering stacks of books.
Ever since, she and Mr. Donahue had struck an agreement: she would volunteer there over the holidays and he would, in turn, let her use the Archives whenever she needed. If there was going to be information on the Doctor anywhere, it would be here.
And Mr. Donahue would know about it.
Sadly, to get to the Ministry Archives, one had to get past Ministry security. Rose gave the guard a polite smile as she handed him her wand. Even though she would get it back only a few moments later, Rose hated the feeling of giving a complete stranger her wand. To her, her wand was a part of her, an extension of who she was. For her to let somebody else handle her wand meant that she had to trust them implicitly. Only a few people had gained that trust. Even most of her immediate family -save her parents, of course- had yet to hold her wand.
Rose hadn’t always felt that strong connection to her wand. It was only after Jimmy Stone that she had begun to carry it with her everywhere. Albus thought that it might have something to do with the fact that she felt more secure with her wand nearby, safe in the knowledge that she had a way to defend herself against wizards like Jimmy.
Whatever the reason, she breathed a sigh of relief as the guard handed it back to her. Rose ignored his wide-eyed look as he registered the names of her and her cousin. Instead, she grabbed Al’s hand and tugged him forcefully to the lift, where they descended into the main room of the archives.
It wasn’t a particularly clean room- the stacks of documents and wall-to-wall bookshelves prevented that. Everything was covered in a layer of dust. A special charm kept each document in its own climate controlled “bubble,” with the air around it the perfect temperature and humidity for the preservation of that particular document.
When Rose was little, she had loved just walking around the room, feeling the temperature shift with each step she took.
“Mr. Donahue?” she called softly as she walked into the Archives. Her voice echoed around the cavernous room. For a minute she worried that he wouldn’t be there, but, then, after a second, she heard the shuffling of papers and his face appeared over a large stack of books. A smile grew on his weathered face.
Mr. Donahue was an older man, maybe in his late sixties. His hair was white and thinning now, but Rose had seen photographs of him in his younger years that showed him with a full head of black hair. His green-eyes spoke of intelligence and a youthful spirit, despite the old age that he now wore.
“Rose!” He practically skipped towards her in his excitement and embraced her firmly. Rose hugged him back just as fiercely and then let him go. She gestured to her cousin.
“You know Al,” she offered. They shook hands and greeted each other warmly. Rose bit her lip uncertainly. “We aren’t bothering you, are we?”
“Of course not,” he denied. “I always have time for you. So what is it that you need?”
“I need some information,” Rose began. Mr. Donahue laughed, loud and booming, green eyes twinkling merrily.
“Then you came to the right place.” He informed her, leading her deeper into the bowels of the room. “What do you need to know?”
There was no real filing system at the Archives. Mr. Donahue knew where everything was. He saw something once and then he never forgot it. Every word on every page. Every photograph in every newspaper.
“I’m looking for a man called the Doctor,” she said worriedly. Rose honestly didn’t know what to expect. Mr. Donahue knew every document in the archives, inside and out, but she couldn’t help but worry that he wouldn’t know anything about the Doctor.
“The Doctor?” Mr. Donahue stopped short. “You know about the Doctor?”
Rose nodded and Mr. Donahue gestured for her to follow him. She and Al exchanged glances as they fell into step behind the older man. Mr. Donahue lead them to a small table in the corner and gestured for them to wait. Albus took a seat, but Rose was too anxious about what Mr. Donahue was going to show her. She almost jumped when he returned carrying a small, dirty, cardboard box.
He placed it onto the table and opened it. Rose had to turn her head to avoid the plume of dust that arose. Albus wasn’t so luck and, when she turned back around, Rose had to laugh at the picture he made, covered in a layer of dust. Mr. Donahue pulled out a picture.
“Is that,” he asked her, “your ‘Doctor?’”
Rose leant forward to look at it. “Blimey! Thats him!” She peered a bit closer and joked, “I even think it’s the same jumper.”
Mr. Donahue nodded and pulled out the same picture, this time zoomed out. Then another, zoomed out even further. The final photo he pulled out made Rose gasp. The Doctor was standing in the crowd during the Kennedy assassination.
“Oh my god,” muttered Al, “that photograph must be at least sixty years old.” He turned apprehensively to Rose. “He’s ‘the Doctor?’” Albus demanded. “Thats the man from the inquiry, isn’t it?”
“Yea, it is,” Rose admitted.
“Going further back,” Mr. Donahue interrupted. Rose and Al put down the photo of the Doctor and leant to look over Mr. Donahue’s shoulder at the new photo he was holding. It was a black and white photo of the Doctor and a family.
“April, 1912,” Mr. Donahue informed them. “This is a photo of the Daniels family. And friend.” Mr. Donahue pointed to the Doctor, who was standing off to the side of the photo, next to one of the daughters. “This was taken the day before they were due to set sail for the New World.”
“April, 1912,” Al mused. His jaw almost dropped and he looked horror-struck. “They didn’t cross on the Titanic, did they?”
“They were set to,” Mr. Donahue said, putting the photograph onto the table. “For some unknown reason, they cancelled the trip-”
“-and survived,” Albus finished. He looked almost as mystified as Rose felt. Mr. Donahue’s face brightened as he remembered something else. He dug around in the box for another minute and pulled out a piece of very old paper.
“Here we are,” he said, handing the paper over to Rose. She brought it up to her face to get a better look at it. It wasn’t a photograph, this time, but, instead, a drawing.
“1883,” Mr. Donahue informed them. “There he is again! He’s identical! This particular piece of paper washed up on the coast of Sumatra. On the very night the Krakatoa exploded.”
“It’s the same man” she muttered, more to herself than to Albus. “Over and over and over. At least, it looks like him. Could the Doctor just be a title, you think? Passed down from father to son?”
“Maybe,” Al agreed, grabbing onto that more plausible explanation as fast as he could. Albus wasn’t a big fan of things he couldn’t understand. “Or maybe its some sort of magic.”
“No,” Rose denied. “The Doctor made it very clear that he doesn’t have magic. Whatever this is-whatever he is- its non-magical.”
Mr. Donahue fixed Rose with a sharp look, through his glasses. “You’ve met the Doctor?”
Rose was surprised at Mr. Donahue’s fearful gaze. She shrugged. “Yea, why?” Mr Donahue took off his glasses and gave a doleful sigh. “Mr. Donahue, what’s wrong?”
Mr. Donahue straightened. “The Doctor is a legend woven throughout history. When disaster comes, he’s there. He brings the storm in his wake and he has one constant companion.”
Rose was afraid of the answer, but she knew she had to ask. “Who’s that?”
“Death,” Mr. Donahue said softly. “If the Doctor is back, if you’ve seen him, Rose, then one thing can be certain: we’re all in danger.” Mr. Donahue began to put the photos away, but Rose sensed that he had more to say. He stopped and placed both palms on the table, head down. His shoulders shook and Rose hurried over to him rubbing his back and trying to calm him down.
“I’m so sorry, Rose,” he whispered. He looked up at her, his gaze apologetic and his eyes red. “I wish I could do something for you, but if he’s singled you out, love- if the Doctor is making house calls, then-” he shook his head and heaved another sob. “God help you.”
“Rose,” Albus muttered, as Rose continued to rub Mr. Donahue’s back, numbly. “What have you gotten yourself into?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered. Rose looked down at the photo of the Doctor that was left on the table. It was the one of him at the Kennedy assassination. He looked just like any other person in the crowd. But Rose knew better now. He was so much more than that.
Whoever he was.
(Chapter 4 here)
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who or Harry Potter.
Note: A rewrite of Season 1 Ep. 1 (2005): Rose.
Chapter 3: The Turn of The Earth
Rose hadn’t really expected the Doctor to do as she said. She was surprised, then, when he began to weave her a story about living plastic beings. Rose shook her head in denial.
“Look, if you’re gonna go with that bit-and I’m not even sure I believe it, to tell ya the truth- how’dya kill it?”
“The thing contolin’ it projects life into the arm. I cut off the signal. Dead!” The Doctor looked immensely proud of himself. Rose, on the other hand, was still trying to make sense of it all.
“Professor Binns used to talk about stuff like that in Muggle studies,” Rose said slowly, trying to pull the information from the recesses of her mind. She really should have payed more attention. “‘s radio control, right?”
“Thought control,” the Doctor corrected. Rose’s eyes widened.
“What, like the Imperius Curse?”
“Not quite. Same basic idea, though.” Rose let out a deep breath and continued to follow the Doctor, not saying anything for a minute. They were nearing a park, at this point. It was empty at the moment, but Rose doubted it would stay that way for long. The sunshine and warm breeze promised that it would be a gorgeous day.
“Why, though?” Rose couldn’t help but wonder. “I mean, plastic dolls? Shop window dummies? A bit odd, if you ask me. Whats the point?” The Doctor didn’t say anything, so Rose decided to take a guess. “Is somebody trying to take over Britain shops?”
“No,” The Doctor said with a chuckle, as if the thought itself was ridiculous. Rose bit her lip.
“Well, I don’t know!” She quipped.
“Its not a price war,” he informed her, making her laugh harder. He laughed with her, for a minute, then said,
“They’re trying to overthrow the human race and destroy you.”
Rose once again found herself stopping short. She marveled at how quickly his mood shifted. From joking and laughing to dead-serious in a split second. Rose couldn’t help but wonder if he was bipolar. The Doctor realized that she stopped and looked over at her. She took a few brisk steps to catch up with him, but he didn’t start moving again. Instead, he studied her with that intense gaze of his.
Rose remembered how Uncle Harry had once told her that the eyes of his old headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, made you feel like he was seeing right through you. Rose hadn’t really understood that expression.
Until now. It did feel like the Doctor was looking right through her. She wondered if this was how her Uncle had felt. She forced herself to meet his eyes. The Doctor looked so old, all of a sudden. He might not have been more than forty, but his eyes made him seem older than time itself.
Who are you, Doctor?
“Do you believe me?” He asked her softly. Rose felt as though the world was holding its breath, waiting for her answer. She looked around for a moment and shoved her hands back in her pocket.
“I don’t know,” she told him truthfully. She didn’t know what to think anymore: not about the living plastic things, or thought control, or the strange Doctor-man with his too-old eyes. It was enough to make anybody’s head spin.
“Then why are you still listening?” He asked her in an all-knowing tone. He began to walk forward again.
“I’m a witch. I’ve heard weirder.” She retorted. The Doctor made no sign that he had heard her. She called his name. “Doctor!” He turned back towards her, expectant. She felt a bit like little kid asking, but she had to know.
“Who are you? Really?”
For a minute, Rose didn’t think he was going to listen. Then he smiled a bit as he changed his mind. “Do you know like we were saying? About the Earth revolving?”
Rose nodded shyly, not sure where he was going with this. He walked back towards her as he spoke, his words sending a chill up her spine. “Its like when you’re a kid. The first time they tell you the Earth is turning, but you can’t quite believe it ‘cause everything looks like it’s standing still.”
He paused for a minute, looking down at the ground, lost in his own thoughts. Suddenly, he met her eyes. “I can feel it.” Rose felt him grab her hand, and she took it instinctively.
It was colder than she had expected.
“The turn of the Earth. The ground beneath our feet is spinning at a thousand miles an hour, and the entire planet is hurtling ‘round the sun at sixty-seven thousand miles an hour. And I can feel it. We’re falling through space,” he said softly. “We’re clinging to the skin of this tiny, little, planet, and if we let go-” The Doctor dropped her hand and
Rose gasped.
For a moment, as Rose let herself be caught up in the Doctor’s words, when the Doctor dropped her hand, Rose could feel the Earth moving, too. She could feel herself falling.
And then everything stopped. Everything was still and she was planted firmly on the ground, the sun and the air warming her now empty hand.
“Thats who I am,” he said, as though he knew what she had felt. He took the mannequin arm-Why was she still holding that thing?- and looked at her sternly. “Now forget me.”
This time, as he walked away from her, she didn’t follow him. And, in all honesty, Rose wasn’t sure if she wanted to. Taking a deep breath, she turned and began to walk away. She hadn’t gotten far, though, when an odd sound, a beautiful sound, cut through the air.
Rose didn’t think twice as she turned around and ran back to the spot where the Doctor had left her. She expected to see him, still walking away, but, in that short period of time, he had disappeared. Rose frowned. Something else was missing, too. She frowned and tried to remember what was missing. The truth was, the corner looked as though it always did. She could have sworn-
There was a blue, telephone box there, earlier. Rose had never seen it before, but she had seen it a few minutes ago. And now, it was gone.
Along with the Doctor.
Rose decided it was time for some advice. However, when she apparated back home, it became clear that her cousin wasn’t in the best mood.
“What did you do to the coffee table?” He demanded, standing over the shattered remains in the living room.
Rose couldn’t understand why he was so worked up.
“I told you, Al. It was an accident! And honestly, its not like it matters. It’s easy enough to fix.” Rose cast a quick Repairo, mending everything in a heartbeat. Al didn’t look much happier about it. He crossed his arms and
mumbled something about the principle of the thing.
“If you’re done pouting,” she teased, “I need you’re help finding something.”
“A job,” Albus agreed. Rose shook her head. Al raise an eyebrow, evidentially confused. “No?”
“No,” Rose affirmed. She dashed into her room to put on a more suitable outfit than the sweatshirt and tattered jeans she was currently wearing. As she pulled on her trousers, she stuck her head out the door to talk to her cousin. “I need to go the Ministry Archives so I can see Mr. Donahue knows anything.”
“Anything about what?” Albus asked, exasperated, as Rose walked back into the living room. She stopped to check her reflection in the mirror, carefully inserting her earrings. Meeting Al’s impatient reflection, she turned around so she could face him better.
“I’m looking for a man called “The Doctor.”” Rose elaborated.
“Doctor who?” Albus asked. Rose tossed him his sweater and grinned as she headed for the door.
“Thats the question, ain’t it?” She called out as she left, swinging her purse around. Al laughed and followed her out the door. He locked it tightly and then sidled up to her. He looped his arm around hers, and together they apparated into the Ministry.
They stumbled, almost crashing into each other. Rose brushed herself down, straightening her clothes. She really hated apparating. Judging by Albus’s expression, he wasn’t such a big fan either.
“Alright,” he nodded, to show her he was fine. “Let’s get to the archives.”
The Ministry Archives were one of the largest collections of documents-magical, or otherwise- in Great Britain, if not the world. They contained thousands and thousands of books, scrolls, papers, photos, newspapers, and magazines, all overseen and cared for by a man called Mr. Donahue. He was the only one and staff, thanks to the Ministry’s refusal to spend any money on the Archives.
The Archives were not strictly speaking open to the public, but Rose was lucky. One day, when she was little, her mother was forced to take her to work with her. Her poor mother had been so worried about where to leave her when Mr. Donahue, taking pity on her, had offered to take Rose off of her hands. Rose had spent the day with Mr. Donahue, exploring the towering stacks of books.
Ever since, she and Mr. Donahue had struck an agreement: she would volunteer there over the holidays and he would, in turn, let her use the Archives whenever she needed. If there was going to be information on the Doctor anywhere, it would be here.
And Mr. Donahue would know about it.
Sadly, to get to the Ministry Archives, one had to get past Ministry security. Rose gave the guard a polite smile as she handed him her wand. Even though she would get it back only a few moments later, Rose hated the feeling of giving a complete stranger her wand. To her, her wand was a part of her, an extension of who she was. For her to let somebody else handle her wand meant that she had to trust them implicitly. Only a few people had gained that trust. Even most of her immediate family -save her parents, of course- had yet to hold her wand.
Rose hadn’t always felt that strong connection to her wand. It was only after Jimmy Stone that she had begun to carry it with her everywhere. Albus thought that it might have something to do with the fact that she felt more secure with her wand nearby, safe in the knowledge that she had a way to defend herself against wizards like Jimmy.
Whatever the reason, she breathed a sigh of relief as the guard handed it back to her. Rose ignored his wide-eyed look as he registered the names of her and her cousin. Instead, she grabbed Al’s hand and tugged him forcefully to the lift, where they descended into the main room of the archives.
It wasn’t a particularly clean room- the stacks of documents and wall-to-wall bookshelves prevented that. Everything was covered in a layer of dust. A special charm kept each document in its own climate controlled “bubble,” with the air around it the perfect temperature and humidity for the preservation of that particular document.
When Rose was little, she had loved just walking around the room, feeling the temperature shift with each step she took.
“Mr. Donahue?” she called softly as she walked into the Archives. Her voice echoed around the cavernous room. For a minute she worried that he wouldn’t be there, but, then, after a second, she heard the shuffling of papers and his face appeared over a large stack of books. A smile grew on his weathered face.
Mr. Donahue was an older man, maybe in his late sixties. His hair was white and thinning now, but Rose had seen photographs of him in his younger years that showed him with a full head of black hair. His green-eyes spoke of intelligence and a youthful spirit, despite the old age that he now wore.
“Rose!” He practically skipped towards her in his excitement and embraced her firmly. Rose hugged him back just as fiercely and then let him go. She gestured to her cousin.
“You know Al,” she offered. They shook hands and greeted each other warmly. Rose bit her lip uncertainly. “We aren’t bothering you, are we?”
“Of course not,” he denied. “I always have time for you. So what is it that you need?”
“I need some information,” Rose began. Mr. Donahue laughed, loud and booming, green eyes twinkling merrily.
“Then you came to the right place.” He informed her, leading her deeper into the bowels of the room. “What do you need to know?”
There was no real filing system at the Archives. Mr. Donahue knew where everything was. He saw something once and then he never forgot it. Every word on every page. Every photograph in every newspaper.
“I’m looking for a man called the Doctor,” she said worriedly. Rose honestly didn’t know what to expect. Mr. Donahue knew every document in the archives, inside and out, but she couldn’t help but worry that he wouldn’t know anything about the Doctor.
“The Doctor?” Mr. Donahue stopped short. “You know about the Doctor?”
Rose nodded and Mr. Donahue gestured for her to follow him. She and Al exchanged glances as they fell into step behind the older man. Mr. Donahue lead them to a small table in the corner and gestured for them to wait. Albus took a seat, but Rose was too anxious about what Mr. Donahue was going to show her. She almost jumped when he returned carrying a small, dirty, cardboard box.
He placed it onto the table and opened it. Rose had to turn her head to avoid the plume of dust that arose. Albus wasn’t so luck and, when she turned back around, Rose had to laugh at the picture he made, covered in a layer of dust. Mr. Donahue pulled out a picture.
“Is that,” he asked her, “your ‘Doctor?’”
Rose leant forward to look at it. “Blimey! Thats him!” She peered a bit closer and joked, “I even think it’s the same jumper.”
Mr. Donahue nodded and pulled out the same picture, this time zoomed out. Then another, zoomed out even further. The final photo he pulled out made Rose gasp. The Doctor was standing in the crowd during the Kennedy assassination.
“Oh my god,” muttered Al, “that photograph must be at least sixty years old.” He turned apprehensively to Rose. “He’s ‘the Doctor?’” Albus demanded. “Thats the man from the inquiry, isn’t it?”
“Yea, it is,” Rose admitted.
“Going further back,” Mr. Donahue interrupted. Rose and Al put down the photo of the Doctor and leant to look over Mr. Donahue’s shoulder at the new photo he was holding. It was a black and white photo of the Doctor and a family.
“April, 1912,” Mr. Donahue informed them. “This is a photo of the Daniels family. And friend.” Mr. Donahue pointed to the Doctor, who was standing off to the side of the photo, next to one of the daughters. “This was taken the day before they were due to set sail for the New World.”
“April, 1912,” Al mused. His jaw almost dropped and he looked horror-struck. “They didn’t cross on the Titanic, did they?”
“They were set to,” Mr. Donahue said, putting the photograph onto the table. “For some unknown reason, they cancelled the trip-”
“-and survived,” Albus finished. He looked almost as mystified as Rose felt. Mr. Donahue’s face brightened as he remembered something else. He dug around in the box for another minute and pulled out a piece of very old paper.
“Here we are,” he said, handing the paper over to Rose. She brought it up to her face to get a better look at it. It wasn’t a photograph, this time, but, instead, a drawing.
“1883,” Mr. Donahue informed them. “There he is again! He’s identical! This particular piece of paper washed up on the coast of Sumatra. On the very night the Krakatoa exploded.”
“It’s the same man” she muttered, more to herself than to Albus. “Over and over and over. At least, it looks like him. Could the Doctor just be a title, you think? Passed down from father to son?”
“Maybe,” Al agreed, grabbing onto that more plausible explanation as fast as he could. Albus wasn’t a big fan of things he couldn’t understand. “Or maybe its some sort of magic.”
“No,” Rose denied. “The Doctor made it very clear that he doesn’t have magic. Whatever this is-whatever he is- its non-magical.”
Mr. Donahue fixed Rose with a sharp look, through his glasses. “You’ve met the Doctor?”
Rose was surprised at Mr. Donahue’s fearful gaze. She shrugged. “Yea, why?” Mr Donahue took off his glasses and gave a doleful sigh. “Mr. Donahue, what’s wrong?”
Mr. Donahue straightened. “The Doctor is a legend woven throughout history. When disaster comes, he’s there. He brings the storm in his wake and he has one constant companion.”
Rose was afraid of the answer, but she knew she had to ask. “Who’s that?”
“Death,” Mr. Donahue said softly. “If the Doctor is back, if you’ve seen him, Rose, then one thing can be certain: we’re all in danger.” Mr. Donahue began to put the photos away, but Rose sensed that he had more to say. He stopped and placed both palms on the table, head down. His shoulders shook and Rose hurried over to him rubbing his back and trying to calm him down.
“I’m so sorry, Rose,” he whispered. He looked up at her, his gaze apologetic and his eyes red. “I wish I could do something for you, but if he’s singled you out, love- if the Doctor is making house calls, then-” he shook his head and heaved another sob. “God help you.”
“Rose,” Albus muttered, as Rose continued to rub Mr. Donahue’s back, numbly. “What have you gotten yourself into?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered. Rose looked down at the photo of the Doctor that was left on the table. It was the one of him at the Kennedy assassination. He looked just like any other person in the crowd. But Rose knew better now. He was so much more than that.
Whoever he was.
(Chapter 4 here)