Author's Note:

The Professor: Hello, and welcome to Ambrose the Book-Wolf and the Torchwood Professor's story, "Might I Introduce Mr Harry James Potter?", or just "Might I Introduce?", or if you're feeling really lazy, MIHJ? I quite like the sound of that, Mihj.

Ambrose: Quite catchy, but we have to make sure the otter Mij doesn't sue us. They can be vicious. Right, I'll be doing the disclaimer. Ahem . . . Harry Potter and all other people, places, concepts, species', etc that are affiliated with the Harry Potter universe are the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling, and of course all those guys at Warner Bros. who do the movies probably own a bit too. Doctor Who and all other people, places, concepts, species', etc that are affiliated with the Doctor Who universe are the intellectual property of the BBC and the various editors and writers, ect. Any and all other references to outside TV shows, movies, cartoons, books, etc, are not in any way inclined toward encroaching copyright. Right, now that's done - Professor?

The Professor: Yes, now that's done, we'll just warn you - the first part of the story takes place around February 2007, which is when "School Reunion" is set by my calculations, and so we're dealing with the Tenth Doctor and Rose in series two, or twenty eight depending on how you look at it. That date makes Harry about twenty six.

Ambrose: And as to pairings - we'll go with the series for "Doctor Who" and for Harry Potter - well, we'll just wing it. Kay? Good, now onwards ho!

(Chapter 1 - Start)

Very few humans, throughout the course of the first two millennia of humanity, are known to have traveled into space
Even fewer humans, throughout the course of the first five millennia of humanity, are known to have traveled in time.
The vast majority of these humans were only there for one reason alone.
They were there because the Doctor wanted them to be there.

They were never especially important in the grand scheme of things - at least until you factored in their involvement with the Doctor. Because when you were with the Doctor, every choice is especially important in the small, medium and the grand scheme of all things.
They were never especially individual, unless you counted a heightened sense of adventure, a honed ability to laugh at themselves and a tried and true way of brewing tea as individual. Because when you were with the Doctor, every situation can or will be resolved using tea in some shape or form, or at the least a towel.
They were, however, always in the wrong place at the right time. Most people traveled with the Doctor simply because he had saved your life, or was in the process of saving your life, and were simply swept along with him - not that many of them minded, of course.

Harry James Potter made a habit of being in the wrong place at the right time, even though (God forbid!) he wished he could simply be in the right place at the right time, or in the wrong place at the wrong time - for him it seemed it was impossible to get things in the right order.

Which is why he was at Deffry Vale High School in early 2007 - the wrong place at the right time.
Or so it seemed at fifteen past two on a Thursday afternoon to him and the class of malevolent teenagers he was supposed to teach.

(Harry's Point Of View - English Department Room Two)

As any one who has every attended school on a Thursday will testify, Thursday afternoon is the Bermuda Triangle of education: everything falls off the radar.

Harry was supposed to be the new English teacher at Deffry Vale, but he was confronted by a simple fact; he knew less about the subject than the pupils themselves, as he had not completed a Muggle education, and had left school at only ten years old. So he did what every teacher did; read word for word from a book and set them textbook questions.

" . . . and so can any one tell me why, ah - Beatrice wants to kill Claudio?" Harry asked of the class. Only one of the pupils raised a hand - the same one who had answered the last five questions - and Harry, not really surprised about the lack of response, asked him. "You got an answer?"

The boy was around fourteen, with long brown hair that reached his shoulders and the badges of adolescence peppered upon his chin and nose, and slightly overweight - the stalwart student who tried their best to learn no matter what. His murky green eyes peered out from behind smudged rectangular glasses, and he hesitantly answered. "Is it because, erm-uh, he shamed -" here he cut himself off and glared at the boy who'd thrown a ball of paper at him " - Hero, by ruining her wedding and her honor?"

Harry made a mental note to, a) give the boy who'd thrown the paper detention with Mr Parsons, and b) to send a letter of praise to the answering teen's parents - he certainly deserved it. "Yes, it is, Finn, very good answer." He sent the boy a glance composed, of equal measures, of thankfulness and praise, and the teen sent him back a tentative nod.

He may just be here on UNIT's behalf, but that didn't mean he couldn't be nice to the students while he was at it.

(Scene Break - Deffry Vale Main Entrance)

The marking was the worst part, Harry reflected, as he retreated back to the apartment that UNIT had set up for him. He had undone his tie, which lay in his suit pocket, and his courier bag was stuffed to the brim with Year Eight questions to mark by Friday last lesson; there were only thirty of them, so it wouldn't be too hard, but he'd probably end up marking ten. He knew he'd end up marking at least one students work, if only because it came under UNIT's guidelines as a lead to look up.

If a student was answering at an A Level standard in Year Eight, and on a Thursday no less, aliens were definitely involved. If not, then Harry would take his tie and strangle himself with it, for the world in which that happened was one in which he wanted no involvement.

(Scene Break - No. 94, St Alphonsus Road, Clapham)

There was nothing quite like it, Harry reflected, as he sank into the remarkably comfortable sofa of his apartment with a piping hot pizza and an ice cold pint glass of Coke, before turning on the TV. The screen of the barely twenty four inch television scattered white, then settled onto BBC News. He leaned back into the softness that was the back cushions of the sofa, and grabbed a slice of the Margherita pizza before tearing it off.

He started to idly munch upon the slice, reflecting upon the upcoming full moon with equal parts dread and anticipation. Dread, because he could hardly go wandering onto Clapham Common, even if it was at night, and so would have to stay in the house, and anticipation because there was nothing that made Harry quite as ecstatic as donning the body of a two meter tall sable werewolf, with the feelings of freedom and rightness flowing through him, and driving his neighbors up the wall with his howling.

Harry did so love a sing-along.

(Scene Break - the TARDIS)

The Doctor did so love a sing-along.

"It's good to be a lunatic . . ." he muttered jauntily under his breath in case Rose heard him - the last time she'd heard him singing it, she'd threatened to hijack the TARDIS and kill Ian Dury, if only to stop the Doctor from getting the song in her head. He doubted she could hear him - he was burrowed deep within one of the bundles of cable that needed (well, needed was such a strong word -) a touch of rewiring, and she was in the corridor that led out of the console room - well, somewhere along that route - after all, he couldn't be quite sure . . .

He needed no longer to be sure, as Rose soon walked back into the console room. The moment they'd entered the TARDIS and engaged flight, she'd hurried into the depths of the TARDIS to change her clothes - the Doctor could guess why (only a certain number of nineteenth century Scotsmen and English queens could comment on her nakedness without her taking it to heart at some point). She was now wearing a dull green zip-up hoodie and jeans - certainly no-one could accuse her of being naked in this apparel (well, the Doctor contended with himself, except on Twamutal Four - you were only 'dressed' there if you had seven layers of clothing on).

She also happened to be on her phone - to Mickey, it would seem. He strained his ears to hear the conversation over the clang-clang of her shoes on the wire grate. "Yeah - so where is it? London?" she was saying, and the Doctor could practically hear her face fall into that thinking expression - the one with the eyebrows - that actually made her quite fetching - but enough of that, Mickey was speaking. "Yeah - some school with a Welsh name - a lotta weird stuff's been goin' on, an' it all seems based around there, so -" the tinny voice emitting from the phone was silenced. Rose was talking again, this time sounding a bit skeptical.

"Mickey, this had better not be because it has a Welsh name." She had finished the circle of the console and was nudging the Doctor with her foot. Mickey replied quickly "No, it isn't. I've heard a loada rumors, and believe you me - if you'da heard half this stuff, you'd understand. Can't get anything specific, though - this blocking thing keeps coming up, but don' worry, I'm working on it". The Doctor had withdrawn from the cabling by now, and looked up at Rose with his eyebrow quirked, in a manner he hoped she didn't find too amusing.

She mouthed 'Some school called Deffry Vale, says the place is acting up' (well, it was more like, 'Some schoool called Deffry Vale, sahys the place the place is actin' up' but the Doctor could fill in the blanks) and the Doctor pulled himself up, using the ceramic edge of the console to haul himself up. She finished the conversation by saying "Righ', well we'll meet ya there - should be in 'bout a days time? See ya." and then finishing the call with a low 'bleep'. She placed her hands upon the console, and leaned forward.

"What do ya think?" she asked. Inwardly, the Doctor smiled - she always asked him that, and he liked her for it - but replied "Might as well give it a go - it'll probably turn out to be a chav haven, and we can flick in and out, pat Mickey on the cheek, then head to that Beatles concert in 1968." He nodded as he said this, Rose imitating his gesture, and started to plot the flight for South London, Earth, February 2007 - it didn't take him long, it was becoming quite a regular destination - and they were off.

(Chapter 1 - End)

Ambrose: I think that's a pretty solid first chapter, don't you think, Professor?

The Professor: Yes, I think we did quite a good job on that. By the way, readers, a cookie (or a name insert in the next chapter, if possible) for the first reviewer to figure out what Year Harry was teaching. Good luck!

Ambrose: See ya next chapter guys! Read and review! Feedback is appreciated!