Picture a broken man stepping out of his blue box. Picture a dark alley, and an air of not caring where he had landed. In fact, he welcomed a fight, just to take his mind off the numbing pain of losing his Rose. Picture a rowdy bar run by a pretty redhead named Hannah Abbot, laughing and flashing a ring on her finger. Picture the man stumbling in and ordering the heaviest alcohol content drink they have.

Picture a broken woman, who still felt like a little girl. Picture her apparating on the same street as the blue box. One hand on the wand in her coat pocket, the other tugging at the sleeves. Picture her walking into the same bar, except worrying looks are cast her way from the bar's owner. Picture that she orders the same as the strange man.

But there's something different about tonight. Instead of drinking until she forgets, she senses the stranger. She sees the same broken look in his eyes, wonders who he's lost. And suddenly, he pulls her in. She carries her drink to his table. Waits for him to notice her. He doesn't.

"Hey," she says softly. The woman winces at the rough quality of her voice from non-use.

The man moves his head to look at her. It seems like such a chore. Oh, how she understands that feeling. She gets that way anytime someone mentions the war, her parents, Fred, Harry.

"Look, if you're here for some type of one-night stand, or whatever it is you humans call it, I'll spare your feelings now. Not happening."

The woman's eyes widened. "No. I just...wait. Humans?" She was confused now more than ever before. She wasn't even quite sure why she was here, really.

The man looked at her, really looked at her. His gaze turned softer. "You just didn't want to be alone anymore," he murmured.

She realized he was right. "I suppose, but...it's better if I am."

"It's better if I'm not." The man shrugged.

"I'm Hermione," she introduced, holding a hand out to shake his.

"I'm the Doctor," he replied, looking down.

She was going to ask "Doctor who?" but then she followed his line of vision to her coat. It had ridden up an inch, exposing an M. She quickly tugged it down, yanking her arm across the table.

His eyes snapped up to hers once more. "Did you do that to yourself?" He frowned.

Hermione sighed. "No."

"Then who?" the Doctor asked angrily, gripping his glass so tightly, Hermione was afraid it might shatter in a million pieces.

"A vile woman," she said calmly. "She's dead now."

"What's it say?" he asked.

Hermione fidgeted with the end of her sleeve. "A bad word here."

"Can I see?" he asked gently.

She chewed on her bottom lip. "Why would you want to?"

"I want to understand," the Doctor said honestly.

"Who was she?" Hermione asked. "The person you lost."

The Doctor looked at her thoughtfully. "Can you tell me where I am first?"

"How much did you have to drink?" she asked, amusement dancing in her eyes.

"Not that much," he scoffed.

She remembered what he said earlier. "Are you alien?" she asked him point blank.

"Yes."

She laughed bitterly. Of course the only person that would understand her nowadays would be an alien. She was really going around the bend. Then she realized she hadn't given him an answer. "You're in the Wizarding World, London. 2002."

"Wizarding World?" he asked curiously. "I'm surrounded by wizards and witches?"

Hermione slipped her wand out of her pocket.

"Brilliant!" he exclaimed.

"Nice try on trying to evade my question, Doctor," Hermione said. "What was her name?"

"Rose," he said somberly, looking down at the table.

"And you loved her?" Hermione asked.

"Ah. Well. Me and her, we were...together. I suppose." He looked at some far off point in the distance, before he snapped out of it. "Now, about this scar. Since I answered you, it's only fair if you let me see it."

She sighed, before placing her arm on the table, scar facing down. The Doctor took her arm in his hand gently, tugged her coat arm up, and flipped it over. A large, pink MUDBLOOD was etched into her skin.

"Why are you ashamed of this?" he asked. "What does it mean?"

She tried to take her arm back, but he held fast. "It means dirty blood."

"You should wear this with pride," he told her. "It means you fought, and you won."

Hermione looked down, cheeks flushing red. "No, it means I failed to save others."

He frowned at her. "If the scar bothers you that much, though, I can take you to my ship. I have a cream that will fix that right up."

"I've tried everything," she told him. "I've been to St. Mungo's thirty times, and tried every spell there is to think of, nothing will get rid of it. It's been cursed by magic."

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "I'm pretty sure advanced medical science can take care of it. Look at this place, it's 2002, and you're still using gas lamps as lights."

She sighed. "What happens if it doesn't work?"

"Then I owe you, Hermione, a trip in my TARDIS. Free of charge. All of time and space."

"Oh, so, you weren't kidding? You really are an alien? Not just a drunk nutter?" she asked.

"Most definitely an alien. Spaceship, time travel, yeah." He jumped up and beamed. "Would you like to see it?"

Hermione nodded and grabbed his hand for him to pull her up. He took her by the arm and they walked out of the bar.