Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling. No money is being made.

Written for Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition – Round Twelve

Prompt – Blurring the Lines – Now for the stories that are our guilty pleasures: crossovers! This is the one time in the competition we're bending the rules for you, so I hope you enjoy it! There are 9 different categories on FFN and we're going to try and cross into all of them.

Seeker: Cross your story with a sub category within Cartoons, Books or TV. Choose carefully because your captain and keeper will choose from the other two.

Picked: TV - Doctor Who

Seeker for the amazing Wimbourne Wasps

Mastering Death and Lording over Time

"A bit late to be out, isn't it?"

Harry glanced at the man that had just taken a seat on the bench beside him. Only the tight self-control he had on his emotions kept him from jumping away in shock.

The man that had taken a seat next to him could have been a carbon copy of Barty Crouch Jr.

There were only two things that made Harry realize they were two different people.

First: the man beside him lacked the completely insane look in his eyes that Crouch had.

Second: Harry couldn't feel a drop of magic in the man.

If it hadn't been for those two things, he would have thought that Crouch had somehow been able to recover from a Dementor's Kiss, which would have been even more impressive than surviving a killing curse, twice.

"I need a bit of fresh air," Harry replied. He kept his voice level, but something in his expression must have given away his shock because the man was looking at him with much more interest.

"At three in the morning?"

Harry glanced away. He had no desire to share his nightmares with the man, a complete stranger. Besides, he would rather not be treated as a lunatic, which was what he assumed the man would do if he told him tales about magical wars and the consequences of mastering Death.

Speaking about Death... the entity that had shadowed his footsteps since he had woken up from his little chat with Dumbledore was abnormally quiet. Not that Death was a chatty fellow, but he usually would make some disparaging remark about the life expectancy about any mortals he interacted with.

Not that Harry was complaining; he was quite glad for the break.

Death and his comments were part of the reason for the nightmares.

The stranger just continued to sit beside him, looking up at the stars. Harry found himself glancing at the man every so often, curious about him but not truly willing to break the comfortable silence that stretched between them.

Finally he sighed, catching the man's attention, and got up.

"Good night." Harry threw the man a small smile, actually thankful for the company – even if it had been rather silent.

He left, Death following after him.

"In need of fresh air again?"

Harry glanced up, somehow not really surprised to see the man there.

"You should be careful; I may think you're stalking me." Harry's lips twitched into a grin when the man laughed.

"Maybe I am." The man practically threw himself onto the bench.

"I'm sorry to disappoint, then. You won't find stalking me all that interesting. I'm sure you'll get bored in no time." It was an argument Harry had used with Death time and time again. Of course, the entity just looked at him – looking disturbingly like a curious puppy – and continued its stalking.

The man's eyes were sparkling, the shadows in his eyes that spoke of untold pains momentarily giving way to a carefree gleam.

"Oh, I really doubt that. Everyone is interesting."

"So you stalk everyone? A professional stalker?" Death stirred and Harry glanced at it, surprised that it had moved at all.

The stranger laughed, true happiness painting his expression, and only then did Harry notice just how sad the man had looked.

"Professional stalker? That's the first time I have been called that."

"There's always a first time for everything."

The grin that had spread across the man's features turned somewhat nostalgic.

"You truly think so? What if you have lived for hundreds of years? What surprises does the Universe hold for you then?"

Harry stilled when those words left the man's lips, not even noticing the trace of bitterness that had tainted them. Death moved closer, hovering over Harry like an ominous shroud.

He truly thought so. He had to think so. Otherwise, he was sure that he would be crushed under the weight of the consequences of the Wizarding War.

Death followed him.

Death would never take him.

He had never thought he would be afraid of anything as he was of the truth the moment he killed Voldemort and saw Death hovering over the Dark Lord's body.

Death had looked right at him, and Harry had known.

Death was one of the very few entities that had a personification. It was every time, everywhere. Death was older than Time, older than Space, older than Life. Death hadn't been searching for a Master. Death had wanted a companion.

Not because it needed one. It simply wanted one, and who was there to stop it from getting what it wanted?

It had looked through Time, through Space, and picked Harry before he had even been born, before his parents had even been an idea.

And now Harry was tied to Death.

And he had eternity in front of him.

He didn't answer the man, both slipping into silence, losing themselves in their own thoughts.

Another night at the same bench, and Harry's lips twitched when the man took a seat beside him.

"Truly, you're an awful stalker. Isn't it the point of stalking not to let the other person know you are doing it?"

"True, true." The man was nodding solemnly. "However, if I did it like that I would not have the pleasure of your brilliant company."

Harry snorted, shaking his head.

"Brilliant company?" He rolled his eyes. "My friends have been calling me a moody bastard, but sure... let's go with brilliant company."

"The friends you need to get away from?"

"Who said anything about getting away from them?" Harry turned towards the man, finding those expressive eyes locked on him.

"I've been running for long enough to recognize it."

Harry's heart actually constricted at that.

"I'm sorry." What else could he say? What else could he do? He didn't think he knew the words to portray just how such an admission pained him. He knew all about running, the loneliness of it. The thought of someone going through it broke his heart. Well, maybe it wasn't the thought of someone, but this particular someone. Harry recognized the shadow of loss in the older male's eyes. He saw a very similar look every time he looked into a mirror. It wasn't something he thought he would see on another human.

"There's nothing to be sorry for." The grin didn't quite reach the man's eyes, but at least it was genuine. "You find the most interesting things when running. It's how I found you."

"What are you running from?" Harry almost winced when the words left his mouth. He usually wasn't as tactless as Ron.

"This time?" The grin was self-deprecating. "I lost someone. Oh, she's not dead. But it's as if she were. I cannot follow her to where she went. She's with her family, at least, so I suppose that's something." Harry knew there was more to it, but he wouldn't pry, at least not more than he already had.

"I have nightmares," he said. It was only fair after all. "I dream of eternity and how lonely it is."

"Eternity?" the man hummed. "That's not a particular normal nightmare, is it?"

"It is when Death shadows you." Death stirred again, gliding between them. Harry could feel that it was almost eager for something. His eyes followed Death as it circled the man, a pleased hum leaving it.

Harry sighed and got up, never noticing the sharp look the man threw him.

"You're not looking all that well."

Harry gave a humorless chuckle, slipping down on his bench, only Death's grip on his shoulder stopping him from sliding down the bench completely.

"Do you think immortality's a curse?"

Harry noticed the stranger's eyes sharpening.

"I do."

"Speaking from experience?" Harry tried to smile, but all he was able to manage was a half grimace.

The man turned to him fully. His gaze was timeless, and Harry wanted to smack himself. How hadn't he seen it before? How hadn't he felt it? He could feel everyone else, could see just how much they had lived or had left to live. Why hadn't he noticed anything strange with this man?

"It must be why Death likes you so much. Though it's hard to tell with him."

"Death?"

"He calls you a child of Time."

The man's eyes widened, searching Harry features for something. Harry didn't really know what.

"I haven't heard that name in a long – very long – time." Harry could hear the slight waver in the man's tone, a trace of bitter longing coating every word. "We go by Time Lords. I'm the last one."

Harry's smile was shadowed by pain.

"I go by Master of Death. I'm the only one."

"I'm the Doctor."

"I'm Harry."

"Harry..." His name felt like a caress, and the smile that graced the Doctor's lips was infectious in its delight. "Harry, do you want to run with me?" The man held out his hand, his eyes sparkling with promises, and for the first time in a long while, Harry laughed.

He took the hand.

When Death's raspy chuckle filled the air, Harry knew that his life would never be the same again.