Once again, link me to cool things in the comments and I will read them.
ETA: This story was remixed for remixredux09 by the lovely nopejr. The remix Ten Synonyms for Sensational (The Dragon/TARDIS Overdub) is hilarious, brilliant and illustrated. Run, don't walk.
Ten Synonyms for Sensational
The thing about being a wizard is that the appearance of a screeching blue police-box out of thin air was not really something that bothered you. Or that you even really noticed. The eye gets used to the impossible, the brain ceases to notice it. It’s harder to impress or startle a wizard, even in the dark, just because they are always expecting the rules of the universe to be broken. Or bent over and spanked, if you were into more florid terminology. By the same token it means that wizards are easier to sneak up on. Oddities fail to catch their attention, disappearances tend to be left uninvestigated for unfeasible periods of time, sometimes family members’ transfigurations into talking farmyard animals would not be remarked upon for weeks. Which all boiled down to this: the Doctor stepped out into Diagon Alley on a busy day out of a transdimensional policebox wearing a flapping overcoat and a big, ask-me-anything grin and nobody looked in his direction. Three hours later and not one person had commented on his strange clothing, odd ability to make square holes in walls, doors open without touching them or gain the trust of a herd of small five-horned chittering creatures that escaped from a local pet shop who now all followed him around like a gaggle of surly, spark-emitting ducklings. The Doctor paused to sit on some steps, thought for a little bit, and, with a dramatic sigh, pouted.
Various forces in the universe stopped, held their breath or quite simply, ran screaming, inasmuch as a force could do so. Some sneezed. The last time the Doctor had pouted it had ended with twelve suns going supernova, four galaxies nudged into collision courses with each other and the creation of no less than six parallel universes. The Face of Boe felt the ripples across time and space, shuddered and remembered a rumour he had heard when he was only a little Boe which implied that through some pretty nifty wrangling with the essence of temporal paradoxes and the complete and utter suckerpunching of the nature of casuality the Doctor pouting on a small eccentric moon of the planet Iosakis in the galactic median year 1422.3 had, in fact, been responsible for the Big Bang.
Completely unaware of such macrocosmic shiftings and shufflings, Draco Malfoy strode out of the shop that the Doctor happened to be sitting in front of and promptly tripped over the last Lord of Time.
“It’s bigger on the inside, eh?” The Doctor said, cheerfully, as the TARDIS crackled to light and life.
“Mmm,” Draco agreed, non-commitally. “Impressive. If you’re into tacky Extending Charms.”
“The TARDIS exists in multiple dimensions of space that overlap precariously to create the illusion of a fixed point in any given time-stream that we choose to physically manifest into.”
Draco listened politely and then raised an eyebrow. “Right. And you choose to-- ah-- physically manifest as a Victorian police-box?” The Doctor grinned again. “Yeah. Tacky.”
“You’re a very complicated boy, aren’t you, Draco? Fantastic name, by the way. Have to be interesting with a name like that, laws of causality, you know.” He wrinkled his nose and started pushing some levers. “Not an archvillain by any chance, are you? Probably should get that out there early, just in case.”
“Er- no.” An idea struck the wizard. “Are you?”
“Not a…Dark Lord, by any chance?”
“We-eeell, no. Time Lord, yes. Dark Lord comes over a bit pompous, I think.” The TARDIS began making a low thrum. “Not really a big brooder, me. Gothic castles and such, bit drafty. Bad plumbing. Nightmare.”
“Mmm, nightmare.” Draco would probably have managed to muster more enthusiasm for the subject-- after all, he was intimately acquainted with the bad plumbing and draughtiness of gothic manors and suchlike-- if he hadn’t suddenly been taken with the realisation that he was being abducted. And being a Malfoy, it caused him, at the exact moment the thought crossed his brain, to stamp his foot and squeal: “Are you-- abducting me?”
“For adventures!” The Doctor retorted, with a childlike glee that implied that his explanation made everything better. “Don’t you want to travel across space and time, see wonders not meant for the human eye, eat dessert dishes not intended for the human digestive system?”
“We can go to the end of the world, get coffee and come back in time to catch Heroes on telly!”
Draco’s mouth dropped open. “Are you a- Muggle?” He started backing towards the exit. Except that it was a closed wall of metal now. “My Great-Aunt was right, accepting vaguely suggestive offers of rides from strange, mysterious, be-cloaked men is a dangerous business.”
“I’m not be-cloaked. This is a coat.”
“It is a cloak, The Doctor,” Draco sniffed, having spent quite a long time considering the subject. “It billows, and that is the definitive criterion.”
“Come with me, Draco! It will be larks. Possibly even japes, if we are lucky and fill out the right forms. Don‘t you want to go to the other side of the galaxy?”
“I’m sure that the company is just as disappointing there as it is here.”
“You are coming with me-,”
“As your what?”
“Did you say minion? Because I’ve been a minion, quite recently. Less fun than promised,” his hand flicked nervously to his Dark Mark, and he pulled the sleeve of his robe over it. “Really, I do need a checklist. Branding, for instance. Is wearing an unflattering mask a requisite? Oh, ditto for sociopathy.”
The Doctor regarded him with grandiose bemusement. “Come on, Draco. Live a little. Where shall we go? Oh well, too late. Random it is!”
The TARDIS began to flash and Draco felt a vaguely familiar tugging sensation. “Also, I’m so not calling you Master, okay?”
“Master? Oh, so you’ve met him? Sorry about that, he can be a bit of a tosser. Not hugged enough as a child.”
The Doctor flipped the last lever, leaving Draco only just enough time to communicate a single horrified squeak before they blinked out of existence.
Five weeks, three days and four hours into their adventures across space and time, the Doctor finally managed to find a way to impress Draco Malfoy, and it did not in any way involve adventures that skimmed finely across the razor-wire that connected oh so delicately one universe to the next. It was instead, quite simple, as they lay on the floor of the TARDIS, blue lights reflecting weirdly in their eyes, sweaty and laughing and comfortable enough to fall asleep together. Yes, just then, so simple: Draco Malfoy rested his head against the Doctor’s chest and instead of falling into a contented sleep shot bolt upright.
“Oh Merlin, you have two hearts!” He exclaimed, with the perspicacity bordering on stating the obvious that the Doctor had come to enjoy. “That,” he said, smiling with his hands against the beating. “Is so cool.”
The universe let out its collective breath, and the stars swung back into place.
The Doctor kissed the top of Malfoy’s head and settled back. “The thing is, Draco-,” The Doctor replied, with the air of someone revealing a jealously-guarded secret. “I’m fantastic.”