Premise: So, I was thinking about the infinite universe theory, when I happened upon a raptor meme that said: "If there are infinite universes aren't all books nonfiction?" This got my head turning. If there is a universe where every book/movie is nonfiction, there will also be a universe where certain movies are non-fiction and certain other shows with the same actor are also non-fiction/ARE fiction, but still present. This was the result. Sooooooooooooo, this fic is set in the movie Harry Potter-verse, with some book elements. Because otherwise David Tennant doesn't play Barty Crouch Jr.

Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, though I do own a pocket watch. I don't own Harry Potter, though I do own a time-turner. I don't own Rabb C. Nesbitt, I don't even actually watch it. Finally, and most importantly, I most CERTAINLY don't own David Tennant, however much Clubs wishes I did.

In Which the Timeline Becomes Confused

A fic by Jokers

Barty Crouch Sr. shut the door behind him, removing his overcoat and sighing in the general direction of where he knew his son would be sitting. Inattentively casting a hover charm, the elder Crouch directed his coat to a hanger, walking toward his son simultaneously and coming to stand directly in front of him.

"Well, it appears you are still where you're supposed to be. Today," The head of International Magical Cooperation whipped the invisibility cloak off of the younger man's form as he spoke. The thirty-four year old didn't flinch, just stared forward with milky-white eyes, and Barty Crouch Sr. felt a brief pang of guilt. Guilt which he promptly quashed beneath his shoe – this was the only way to keep his boy safe, the only way to spare him from Azkaban. Breathing out forcefully, the older Crouch forced his mind back on track.

"Today…but have you been so loyal on past days? Theoretically, you should have been, given," the former head of Magical Law Enforcement choked on the unforgivable he had so willingly cast, "your present condition."

"But have you been here this whole time? I'm not completely sure," he had been, until recently. Until just that morning, actually. Then Arthur Weasley had shaken his conviction.

The muggle-loving man hadn't actually done anything, to be completely honest. It was more that he never would have discovered the apparent activities of his son without the red-headed wizard.

For some reason or another, the Weasley patriarch had sought fit to contact Crouch Sr. that morning, a certain amount of mirth in his voice as he strode into the office of the Department of International Cooperation and greeted its head. Crouch had attempted to drive the man away with a scowl, but the other wizard seemed to grow even cheerier at the display of dislike.

"Hey, Crouch! How are you doing today?" Crouch sighed, observing the muggle device in the other wizard's hand. It was black and box-like, with two white circles on each of the larger faces. This was probably the only reason Weasley was being so cheery toward him, the two department heads never really saw eye to eye, and the older wizard wished fervently that Arthur would get to the point.

"Decently." Crouch replied, eyeing the stack of paperwork on his desk longingly. He had a regimented schedule to finish all of it by the end of the day, and this had effectively thrown a wrench in his routine.

"Oh! That's excellent! So…" Arthur Weasley trailed off, holding the black box up. Crouch sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose wearily.

"Mr. Weasley, if you could quickly proceed to your main point, I am very busy."

"Oh yeah! Well, I was in the muggle world," of course, Crouch thought, the man loved muggles, "when I happened upon this wonderful gadget. It's called a vid-ay-o tape. It allows you to record something called Teevee, which is kind of like our pictures, but not! Anyway, so I put it in one of these Teevees and pressed the record button, and when I came back imagine what I found!"

"How about you just tell me instead."

"There's a muggle actor who looks exactly like your son!" Crouch raised an eyebrow, thinking about this prospect silently. He would have thought the man would have more tact than to point this out to him (not mentioning this was an unspoken rule in the office), but apparently he was wrong.

"Give the tape to me."

"Oh…sure. I suppose I can get another one," Weasley looked absolutely crushed at having to part with the gadget, but Crouch didn't really care. He took the device from the other man, examining it. It would be several hours before he got off work, and it would take a bit of maneuvering to get to the muggle world. But he would do it. Then, he would find out precisely what the ginger was babbling about.

Crouch Sr. stared at his son for a few moment, then sighed, "Oh, what am I thinking about, you're Imperiused! It's not as though you could simply go gallivanting off to the muggle world and start an acting career."

Crouch shook his head, clearing the last remnants of the ridiculous idea from his mind. Then, he turned and left the room. Once he reached the door, he looked back at his son, examining the empty eyes, the tousled hair, the pale skin, "You know, it wasn't really the whole muggle-actor-doppleganger that got me. It was the dressing like a woman…though you were quite pretty. I think you confused Arthur Weasley's sexuality."

The Dark Lord was angry. Well, that didn't actually mean much, as the dark lord was pretty much in a state of constant anger. Perhaps it would be better to say that the Dark Lord was angrier than usual, and one Barty Crouch Jr. was conveniently there to absorb that rage. As his finger's twitched toward his wand, He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named considered the man. The creature formerly known as Tom Riddle had a reputation for…roughness…when it came to his followers, but there was a special circle of punishment reserved for those who committed Barty's crime around the dark lord. Well, for them and people who talk in theaters, but that was an entirely different story.

Luckily for the Death Eater, however, a rap on the door to the Dark Lord's chambers interrupted the dark wizard after only two or three Crucios. He sighed, flinging open the door with a wave of his hand and a snarl. By the time the door was completely open, Peter Pettigrew was already kneeling on the floor.

"What is it, rat? For your sake, I hope it's," Voldemort tapped his wand against his hand threateningly, "good." Peter cowered, emitting a pathetic noise from his throat as he shook. Voldemort narrowed his eyes, silently wondering why he dealt with the amount of incompetence that he did. Then he remembered: all his good Death Eaters were either captured or killed the first time around.

"Yes, my lord. Of course my lord. The p-preparations for the p-polyjuice potions are ready, m-master." Voldemort was both pleased and irritated by the stuttering mess Pettigrew was reduced to, but he let neither show.

"Very well. We will continue to the next phase of our plan as soon as I'm finished here." Voldemort waved his hand, "Leave us."

Without waiting to see Pettigrew make his no doubt hasty exit, Voldemort turned back to Crouch.

"So, Bartemius Crouch Jr., would you care to explain," Voldemort pointed his wand, casting a Cruciatus curse and taking in the sweet sound of Barty's screams, "why I found you," crucio, "acting in a muggle program," crucio, "on that ridiculous muggle box, hmm? It ruined my evening. I was so enjoying that mud-blood's screams. ..And why in Salazar's name were you stealing a bagpipe?"

"Sir, I don't know what you're talking about! I would never take part in a….stealing a bagpipe? Why would I steal a bagpipe?"

"It was never explained." Voldemort narrowed his eyes, almost as angry about the plot hole as the fact that it was made by muggles. The black haired death eater did, however, seem to be telling the truth, a fact which reduced his ire somewhat.

"I have no memory of this."

"Yes, it would seem you don't. Very well, then. What time is it?"

"Milord? You took my wand, how should I?" Voldemort tilted his head slightly, looking at Crouch in a manner that would have disintegrated most people.

"What do you mean, how? Use that watch that you're always carrying." Barty blinked twice, looking down at his vest where there was, indeed, a pocket watch.

"Oh." Voldemort shook his head, disgusted, and turned, sweeping out of the room. Before he left, however, he turned, casting an absent glance at the death eater, who was still on the ground in pain.

"When you are recovered, join me in the sitting room. You have an auror to imitate."

Barty Crouch Jr. barely heard his master's last words, too focused on the watch in his hand to pay much attention. He couldn't remember ever seeing the thing before in his life, but now that he thought of it, it was always there, even while he resided in Azkaban. It was a simple watch, silver and adorned only with etchings of several (seemingly random) circles and lines.

"Where did this come from?" Barty ran a thumb along the ridge, feeling the cool metal against his skin, until the appendage was resting against the button at the top. Barty took a deep breath, swallowing the inexplicable dread that suddenly bubbled up in his stomach, and pressed it, causing the watch to flip open.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, Barty felt a cool rush of something flowing into his head, pouring into his body and changing everything that it was. He sat there for several minutes, staring at the watch with wide eyes, remembering. Finally, he stood up, slightly dizzy and incredibly irked with his current situation.

The Doctor was not at all amused by this, the Master's latest ploy to "get even" with him for the whole Yana incident. Though, how that was The Doctor's fault in any way, shape or form was beyond the Time Lord's comprehension. And he wasn't exactly shabby at the whole comprehension business.

The Master had captured The Doctor, completely by luck, and put him in a Chameleon Arch. It was just as painful as The Doctor remembered – possibly even more so, given the fact that this time around more than just biology was being rewritten. The madman had gleefully altered the Doctor's mind and body, twisting every little bit of him into something it wasn't. Well, except for his intelligence, the rogue Time Lord had left that almost completely intact. After he had converted The Doctor into a human, sociopathic child, he had dumped him off in Wizarding London to be picked up by the first unfortunate couple with a good soul who passed by.

Instead, Barty Crouch Sr. had come along. Apparently, the real Barty Jr. hadn't survived more than a few hours after birth, and The Doctor served as a perfect replacement. The older wizard picked him up and placed him in the hands of his loving wife, who was none the wiser. The Doctor twitched slightly as he remembered Mrs. Crouch, realizing precisely how much she loved him for the first time. And how much his father must have loved him to keep his existence secret all these years.

For the moment, though, that was irrelevant. The Doctor had bigger problems than the broken relations of the Crouch family. The fact that a very angry dark wizard was only a few rooms over, for example. Thankful for the fact that his conversion back to Time Lord physiology had cancelled out the spell work performed on him, The Doctor kicked out the nearest window, jumping down to the grounds below. Then, he took off towards the place where he last parked his TARDIS, under a particularly gnarled tree in the Forbidden Forest. Perhaps, after he was settled, he would head to Hogwarts Castle, tell Dumbledore about the Dark Lord's plans. Or perhaps he would go free his father from the Imperius Curse.

One thing for sure, though. He had an awful lot of running to do.

A/N: So, that got a little bit AU at the end. This was supposed to be a comedy, but then everything went and got serious on me. Well, seriouser than intended, anyhow. Thanks to Clubs for the Beta.

On a side note: Getting back his memories helped The Doctor understand a lot of things – why he was dressed as a woman, why he was on muggle television, why his father was negligent. It did not, however, help him understand why he stole the bagpipes. That is, and forever will be, a mystery.

On another side note: For anyone who REALLYREALLYREALLY is bothered by the fact that there WAS a reason for David Tennant to steal those bagpipes, just go with it. I didn't find out until I finished, and "because he had to stop his wife from getting married" wasn't as funny as "because they felt like it."