Slytherin House

The Doctor smiled, sitting next to Draco. The blond haired boy was quite fascinating. Only eleven, and he already had lackies! Lackies! How much more future supervillainy could you get?

Of course, he would make certain to avoid that future. Draco would be on the side of the good guys, of that he would make sure.

"No," mused the Doctor silently, his face not betraying his thoughts. "Not just on the side of the good guys. When I leave Hogwarts, he and Harry Potter will be friends." This boy was far too young for this sort of life. He needs a good influence. And fortunately, he could pretend to be one quite well.

"So, why are you here?" asked Draco, halfway through the meal.

"The Hat decided to put me here," said the Doctor. "Apparently, I'm both ambitious, and cunning."

"I meant what are you doing at Hogwarts?" seethed Draco.

"Oh," drawled the Doctor, smiling, pretending to be surprised. "Well, technically speaking, I am eleven years old. So, I received the invitation."

"What rubbish! You can't be eleven!" spat the young wizard. "That's impossible!"

"Is it?" asked the Doctor. "Unlike, of course, turning a rat into a goblet. Or conjuring something from nothing? In any case, did you never hear that one legend of Merlin? That he aged backwards?"

Draco floundered. "I—"

"Of course, that never did happen," said the Doctor. "And my case is far stranger, by your count, anyway."

Draco dropped the conversation then, and the Doctor took the opportunity to talk to the other nearby members of the table. Ten minutes later, and he amazed and shocked them to their core with tales of muggle deeds. Very few believed him at first.

"There's no way that muggles got to the moon," cried one Slytherin, a young girl named Pansy Parkinson. "They can't even use magic!"

"Ah, you see," said the Doctor, smiling, "That's exactly why they got to the moon. Their inability to use magic means that they must force themselves to greater lengths. They must rely on their cunning and intelligence alone. Though mind you, not all of them have either."

"You got that right," sniffed Draco.

"But then of course, neither do most magical folk," said the Doctor. Draco looked at him, insulted. "You see, it's quite simple. You lot get a limited amount of control over reality in an instant, but in return, very few of you ever put your abilities to good use. You hardly ever think outside the box, so to speak. Take away your magical abilities, and you'd be hopeless in any sort of situation. Even the more intelligent once, like Dumbledore, are very reliant on magic.

"But with muggles, it's the other way round. They can't rely on magic, so they must force themselves to work harder and longer, and they fail much more. But because of all of this, they go to much greater lengths. They achieve far more. They are, in short, able to think outside the box, if they put their mind to it. In fact, I daresay that many muggles would be put into Slytherin."

Draco was silent for a moment, before speaking up. "My dad always said that muggles were inferior."

"Then why on earth are you hiding?" asked the Doctor. "If witches and wizards were really superior, surely they would've been out in the open."

"We- I-" Draco struggled to get any words out of his mouth. Then he came to an idea. "We nearly would've been out in the open eleven years ago, if the Dark Lord had won." There came a hush at the table, and the nearby first years looked at Draco as if he was a fool.

The Doctor sniffed, but kept his voice level. "I don't mean like that. If the magical community really was superior, they never would've gone into hiding. They never would've needed some jumped up, practically soulless half-wit, whose only redeeming intellectual trait was that he was good at magical archaeology."

"He was the most powerful wizard to ever have lived," said Draco, for whatever reason insulted.

A good portion of the table had gone quite quiet, and just as the Doctor was about to retort, Dumbledore stood up and got the attention of the school. With everybody's attention, the headmaster rambled off a list of important notices, with a few especially for the first years.

"Now, some of you may have noticed a rather old looking man be placed in Slytherin," said Dumbledore at the end. "This man has a rare condition. I have done a thorough examination, and have concluded that he is a young as he says he is, and he is permitted to study at Hogwarts. If you wish to have further information, you shall have to ask him. His name is simply The Doctor. I have arranged that his own room be made available to him. Now, off to your common rooms with all of you."

He clapped his hands, and the food vanished. The students stood up and followed the prefects down a number of hallways. The Slytherin students found themselves by the dungeons.

"Of course," muttered the Doctor coming next to the prefect at the door. "What a despicable password. We'll have to change that." The prefect next to him looked annoyed, but said the password regardless, after informing the students to go to their beds when the bell rings.

The door slid open, and the students filed into the common room. It was a dark and dreary place, the Doctor thought, though it had a wonderful ambience. He looked up at the ceiling, which was admirably high. There were some windows, that showed the black lake above them. There swam a school of fish, which were, all but one, quickly chased away by a mermaid. The mermaid caught the Doctors eye, and he tipped his hat to her. It swam off, its prize in hand.

The Doctor looked about at the milling students. Most of them had gone to their rooms to see what they were like. The young Draco had wondered off, his lackeys trailing behind him. The Doctor wandered over to a nice couch, and relaxed. He reached deep into his pockets, and pulled out a nice book, titled the Silmarillion. He read and thought, wondering what he might do about the situation between Harry and Draco, until the bell rang,

Standing up, the Doctor was approached by a taller man, with greasy hair, and an ill look about him. The school's potion professor, Severus Snape. The Doctor smiled.

"Ah, Professor Snape," said the Doctor. "I'm glad to meet you." He stuck out a hand. The man just stared at him like he was an idiot, and crossed his arms.

"Come with me, Doctor," he said, his voice seeming to drip with acid, and reluctance. He walked past the Doctor, who followed him, coming up next to him.

The Doctor walking next to Snape was as different as night and day. He had a charming smile plastered over his face, and walked with a bounce in his step. Snape, of course, had a glare that could freeze the sun, and seemed almost to glide.

They came at last to a room. There was a spell around it, the Doctor could see. It seemed psychic in nature.

"This will be your room," said Snape, with a hint of suspicion in his voice. "It will open only for you, those you permit, and the staff."

"Ah, wonderful," said the Doctor, inspecting it closely. "Yes, an adjustable psychic link. I've not seen one in a few regenerations. Thank you." He practically bounced up, and beamed at Snape. "I look forward to learning here."

Snape glared at him, and the Doctor noticed a slight pressing at the edges of his consciousness. He nearly laughed. He continued to smile at Snape, but now his smile changed, and the light from his eyes darkened. The pushing continued for some time, with Snape pushing harder and harder, but ever unable to gain access.

At last, he gave up. The Doctor blinked, and said, "If you wanted to know why I'm here, you only need to ask."

Snape glowered, and spun suddenly, like a bat in the wind, and with that was off. The Doctor grinned. He spun himself, cheerily, and went into his new room.

Thanking you all for your patience. I hope you enjoy this. I hope the interaction between the Doctor and Draco seemed natural. And sorry for deleting and reuploading to this story. I kept managing to put the wrong chapter in.