10. A Decision.

The Doctor surveyed the room, noting that despite his attempt to avoid 'punishing' the students as the other Death Eater 'Professors' did, they remained terrified of him. A few faces refreshingly stared at him with simple, unsurpassable hatred, but in his heart he wished for a normal chance to teach.

Unfortunately, he had managed to land in the middle of the climax of the Harry Potter series, and he could not be anything other than the terrifying Death Eater he looked like if he wished to avoid getting himself, Donna and Snape killed by Voldemort. It was exasperating and disheartening and, like Donna, he couldn't wait to get home.

He just wished the TARDIS took a different type of energy and that he had time to research different ways to fuel it. As it was, he was left with no option but to spend every waking moment alternating between protecting the students and protecting Donna. He would happily have given his own life force to re-power the TARDIS, as he had done in the past, but with Voldemort's protective wards now around it, that was impossible, and he had had no opportunity before Snape's ill-timed interrogation.

All in all, his temper was gradually worsening day by day, and the situation was not aided any by the attitude of the other professors. Convinced that the Doctor was a Death Eater, they treated him with either contempt or outright silent treatment, doing everything in their power to attempt to undermine his authority. There had been one incident when some old members of the DA had created a blizzard in the corridor outside of his quarters, forbidding him entry and trapping Donna inside, and every professor except the Carrows and Snape had pretended to be busy. They had been left to struggle with cancelling the spells, rescuing Donna, and trying to catch the culprits.

The Doctor had seen to it that they escaped without being found, persuading Snape that the students had shown ingenuity and that this ability should be cultivated – it could after all save them in a battle. Snape had reluctantly agreed, but did not seem pleased with the slight to his authority over the school. He seemed just as reluctant as the Doctor to 'punish' as the Carrows seemed so fond of doing and the Doctor noted with amusement that, whenever he caught a student, he sent them to Hagrid or Filch. Lenient measures indeed in these circumstances – not that the majority of the students even realised, of course.

The Doctor sighed, wondering how many students the both of them had to save before someone got the idea.

"You, Longbottom," the Doctor sighed, finally, when no one answered his question. "What is the difference between an Inferi and a ghost?"

Neville Longbottom simply stared at him with a mixture of fear and hatred.

"I do not have all day, Longbottom," the Doctor forced himself to bark.

Carrow stepped forwards eagerly. "Detention-"

"I am the Professor in this room, if you do not mind," the Doctor snarled, heart beating furiously. "Longbottom, I will not ask you again. What is the difference?"

Glancing between the Doctor and Carrow, the boy finally answered. "One is a soul-"

"Which one?"

Neville actually rolled his eyes at him. "The ghost."

Carrow narrowed his eyes. "He's being insubordinate, Barty, we should-"

The Doctor mimicked Neville, rolling his eyes at his 'colleague'. "I make the rules in this classroom, thank you."

"You're turning soft."

The Doctor whipped his head around to glare at Carrow, who immediately looked as though he wished he had never spoken. "Soft?" he demanded in what he hoped was his most dangerous voice.

A shifting in the background told him that some students were considering running. Absently, the Doctor flicked his wand at the door, locking it. He would not let them run out of class – he would have no choice but to punish them, then. The shuffling grew, along with the oppressive atmosphere.

"Let me tell you one thing, Amycus – Bartemus Crouch Junior never has been and never will be, a soft person. I simply do not see the point," he emphasised, angrily, "in torturing students so much that they cannot attend class!"

"He was disrespecting you!"

"He rolled his eyes," the Doctor corrected. "It's disrespectful, yes, but not an outright act of rebellion and until it is," he added, talking over the interrupting man, "I shall not send him off to get whipped. There is some chance that we can salvage the boy, Amycus. Just think – his parents were two of the most powerful Aurors of all time-"

"And they were against us every step of the way!"

"Precisely. The boy could be trained – as could the rest of them, and torture over every little thing is only going to stop the process. Do you understand me?"

Carrow seemed to reflect on that for a moment, glancing at the students, most of whom still showed an acceptable amount of fear, and then nodded. "Fine," he snarled. "But I'll be the first to tell Snape if you let it get out of control."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "Who interrupted what was, until now, a very controlled class?" he asked pointedly. Carrow swallowed.

The Doctor gave a very real smirk of triumph and then turned back to the students. "Now, where were we? Longbottom, your definition."

Neville stared at him, pale as a ghost, his hands shaking slightly where they held his quill on his desk. Catching the Doctor glancing at them, the boy moved them under the table with what could only be classed as defiance.

"You'll never make me into one of you."

In the pregnant pause that followed, you could have heard a pin drop. The Doctor almost sighed. He had been so close to saving him from punishment, and now all his hard work was being undone.

"I'm sorry?" he asked, leaving the boy a chance to apologise and avoid the consequences.

Neville stood up, shaking with rage, his eyes fixed upon the Doctor in a very Gryffindor act of spontaneous courage. "I'm not going to let you turn me into one of you. I'd rather die, screaming, just like my parents did, than sell my soul like that."

The Doctor blinked. "Die screaming?"

The boy's expression just became harder. "The Mediwizards arrived too late," he spat. "They were found dead, tortured by you scum. I never knew them, but I do know they'd kill themselves all over again if they saw me turn into the people who killed them!"

The Doctor sighed then, angry at himself for forgetting in the heat of the moment the difference between the book universe and this one. "Detention, Longbottom. I will not tolerate such behaviour in my class. You will report to Headmaster Snape. Now."

The class drew a collective breath, several murmurs of 'murderer' and 'traitor' rippling through the student body. In their eyes, this was the worst possible punishment. To face Dumbledore's murderer and simply accept whatever he dictated was humiliating for any who had been loyal to Dumbledore.

The Doctor smirked, knowing that Neville would simply end up cleaning toilets or rounding up ingredients in the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid. Neville glared, jutted his chin out, and stalked out of the room, leaving Amycus Carrow cackling behind him.

"Now," the Doctor continued, "who knows the answer?"

oOo

The Doctor walked slowly through the darkened corridors, attempting to keep his steps as silent as possible in order to prevent anyone hearing him coming. It was better to catch the troublemakers before they caused trouble and send them back to their dormitories with a serious lack of points and a warning than to catch them afterwards and be forced to do something worse. He often found, at this time of night, that a few of the more rebellious students were up and about – he tried to catch them earlier rather than later, to minimise their punishment.

Of course, sometimes the students were simply a law unto themselves and refused to back down easily. Sometimes, he really hated Gryffindor heroics. Perhaps, he mused, he should teach more of them to see the Slytherin approach as more beneficial during a war.

Then again, he interrupted himself in mid mental-plan, it wasn't as though many students would actually listen to him in the first place, was it? Most of them would probably just see his attempts to help them as an attempt to get them on his side.

He vowed that, for the rest of his lives, he would not let himself be dragged into such a messed up situation again. He refused to act and be on constant watch every single hour of every single day, the guilt of who was dying to help him get home pressing on his mind. His only consolation was that he was able to help Snape save lives during Death Eater raids.

Voldemort often teamed them together, convinced that they could be unbeatable, the successful spy and the ingenious inventor of an undetectable time machine. He also assumed that they could keep blundering idiots like the Carrows under control for long enough to actually get through a raid without one of them accidentally killing the rest of the Death Eaters instead of the Muggles. He did not realise, however, that Snape and the Doctor often used the incompetence of those placed on their team to their advantage, often devising a plan of attack of impeccable cunning, only to have it foiled by their own team members, whose limited intelligence often meant blunders.

This freed them from guilt in the eyes of Voldemort, as well as helping to save the lives of many Muggles and Muggle supporters. It was what the Doctor lived for – seeing his actions actually do some tangible good was the only escape that he had these days from the disaster that his life had become.

He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair in an expression of stress. He hated subterfuge. He hated life on the run. Most of all, though, he hated being almost helpless and behind the scenes. He wanted to go into battle with his TARDIS proudly flying above Voldemort's lair and blow it into the ground. He wanted to rid this world of the psychopath just as it had been in the books.

It was impossible. And he really, really didn't want Voldemort to survive because the Horcruxes weren't discovered before the body was attacked. He closed his eyes momentarily. He also really, really hoped that said Horcruxes were the same in this universe. It would make the process a whole lot easier to simply pick them off one by one –

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted as he saw a figure pacing up and down in front of him in the dark corridor, wand foolishly lit and footsteps painfully loud in the dead silence of the castle. His resolve snapped – no matter what he did, everyone continued to undo his actions. He might as well just join the students and protect them from the inside, if he could.

The Doctor resisted the urge to growl with frustration as he strode up to the silhouette, wand ready in case the student (or professor, he thought with dread) decided to kick up a fuss when they saw him.

Cancelling his Disillusionment charm, the Doctor stepped forwards and lit his wand.

The silhouette spun around and lifted its wand higher up, in a duelling stance, casting light upon the face. The Doctor blinked in slight surprise as he saw the grim face of Neville Longbottom staring back at him, right before a door suddenly appeared in the wall.

The Doctor raised his eyebrows. So, Neville had decided to search out the Room of Requirement. "Explain yourself."

Neville lifted his chin defiantly, refusing to lower his wand or acknowledge the presence of the door. "I was hungry. I wanted something to eat."

The Doctor snorted. "And decided to conjure up some food in that room?" he demanded, amused by the excuse, despite himself. "Wouldn't it have been easier to just go to the kitchens?"

Neville stared at him. "I didn't want to," he insisted stubbornly. "And I needed more of a walk, some time to think."

"At an hour past curfew?"

Neville's wand twitched, as though he was contemplating trying to knock out the Doctor, but he seemed to decide against it. "I didn't realise the time."

The Doctor sighed, gesturing at the room. "In."

Neville actively stared at him, now. "What?"

"I said in, boy. Don't make me repeat myself. I'm not a very patient man at this time of night."

"I'm not going in."

"Oh? I thought you wanted some food?"

"Seeing you made me lose my appetite."

The Doctor snorted again, making Neville jump. "So Gryffindor courage really does know no bounds," he sneered, in a passable imitation of Snape, before he lunged forwards.

Neville reacted instinctively, jumping to the side, before he was sent crashing through the door to the Room of Requirement by the Doctor's wordless spell. Glancing around the corridor, the Doctor noted with relief that there were no witnesses. Gathering his resolve, he stepped into the room, keeping his wand trained on the boy lying sprawled and dazed on the floor.

What he saw was without a doubt a combination of wizard and muggle training equipment. Old fashioned treadmills stood in the corner, unpowered by electricity, and punch bags in another. Dummies in the shape of human beings stood like grotesque puppets, watching the exchange with disinterest as the Doctor advanced on Neville, who was now glaring at him. Bookshelves occupied the walls, and a clear space of floor with mats covering it seemed devoted to duelling.

The Doctor gestured around him, openly curious. "This has nothing to do with food."

"The room must have conjured the wrong thing."

The Doctor flicked his wand at the door, placing spells that would ensure that no one could get in and that their conversation could not be overheard. "Neville, you know as well as I do that the room senses a need within the person and caters to it."

Neville stared at him, completely thrown off track. "Did you just – you have no right to call me that!"

"You're right," the Doctor agreed amiably, finally able to drop his act, "but I did. What are you doing in here? Are you training yourself to fight – more than just you, perhaps? An army?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

The Doctor ran a hand through his hair in a moment of contemplation before throwing caution to the wind and throwing the stunned boy his wand and sitting on the floor. "There. I'm defenceless now, Neville, I can't do anything. Now, tell me what you're up to."

"No!"

The Doctor sighed again, unsurprised. He had hoped that a direct approach would work on the Gryffindor, since a Slytherin approach was getting nowhere. He had hoped that he could help this boy without anyone finding out, but clearly it was going to be harder than he thought.

"Neville, I can't do this anymore. I can't just sit back and watch this school go down in flames – and I don't care what I'm meant to do!" Ignoring the look of intense shock on the young man's face, he ploughed on, venting the frustration that had been mounting for the past few months. "Others might be able to act in the background, but I can't. I need you – or at least you – to trust me. I can let you train here, I can help you get here without being detected, you don't even have to tell your friends, but I need you to trust me first!"

"What are you talking about?" Neville demanded, staring at the Doctor like he had lost his mind.

"Bloody hell," the Doctor muttered, "it's much harder to live in the books than it is to read them."

"I…what?"

"It's a long story, Neville, and honestly, I don't think you'd believe me, but do you trust me?"

"No! Why would I? You sent me off to Snape just this morning-"

"Alright, yes, fair point, but not true. I was trying to protect you from Carrow. Don't you see? If I'd left you to him, you'd be almost flayed alive right now."

"But Snape-"

"Has a reputation for being mean, bad tempered, temperamental and Dumbledore's killer. That's punishment enough, on the face of it, isn't it? I sent you to him to appease Carrow, not to punish you, and I can help you – but you can't let him or anyone else find out."

Neville scoffed, but his expression was wavering. "Next you'll be telling me you're not Crouch! Do you really think I believe a single word of this?" He stood up, twirling both wands in his hands. "You know I could kill you right now, save everyone else from your useless classes, your detentions." His mouth set into a grim line. "I could stop you killing over and over."

"And I agree," the Doctor nodded. This wasn't the boy he had read about, exploding cauldrons and hiding behind his classmates in front of Snape. No – this was a soldier in the making. And no child – yes, he thought, taking in the boy's gangly and youthful appearance, still a child – should have to endure all of this alone. "But," he added, "I could help you instead, if you just keep me alive."

Neville stared at him for what seemed to be an eternity before he sank back to the floor, wands trained on the Doctor. "How?"

"Firstly, I'm the Professor for the Defence Against the Dark Arts post. I can teach you new spells and techniques. I can let you get into this room by giving you signals – telling you when no one is in sight. And I can do all of this without telling the Headmaster or any other teacher."

"And what do you want in return?"

Ah, he was getting somewhere, he thought, grinning. "I want only your promise that you will keep this conversation to yourself and pretend that you are receiving no help whatsoever. Most of all, I need you to act normal, like none of this ever happened, and don't try to confront the Headmaster, no matter what he does."

"Why?"

"Because you'll get into more trouble and then," he replied grimly, "the punishment won't just be picking ingredients with Hagrid."

Neville assessed him for a long moment, grip on the two wands firm and unwavering, before he surprised the Doctor by returning his wand.

The Doctor grinned and jumped to his feet, ignoring Neville's slight flinch. "Brilliant! Now, let's get started. We need a way for you to communicate with whoever has agreed to train in here-"

"Actually, no one's agreed, not yet," Neville admitted. "I just wanted to check that the Room of Requirement hadn't been blocked or something, just in case we needed it."

"Who would you ask?"

"Whoever wanted to help," came the vague reply.

"Right. Good. Do you still have that DA coin?"

"How do you know about that?" Neville asked as he fished around in his robe pockets and handed it over.

"Well, bit hard to explain and you're not likely to believe me, but the simple explanation is that I like my books." The Doctor replicated the coin and handed both to Neville. "When you know how many are going to join your illegal army," he said with a grin, "tap this replicated coin while saying the number of new ones you need. It'll provide them for you. But do it somewhere secret – I don't want to see a sudden mountain of gold appear during lunchtime."

Neville laughed, but he was inspecting the coin suspiciously.

"I haven't cursed it. If I had, you'd know it. Look, I'll demonstrate-" he reached out to grab the coin again, but Neville held onto it. "-or…not. Ok, you replicate another coin, for me to use this time, so that I can let you know when the coast is clear for you to sneak in here."

Neville tapped the coin. "One."

Another coin appeared. "See? No jinxes, threats, burns, or insults. Satisfied?"

Neville looked slightly sheepish. "Trust has to have a base, Professor."

Despite the sentence, the Doctor took the formal use of title as a good sign, since he had not demonstrated such respect in the classroom. "I know," he replied solemnly. "Let me know when you intend to act. Contact me through the coin – but I'll tell you this right now. I don't approve of letting children fight, but I do recognise when it's impossible to avoid. In the circumstances I think it's better you at least do it as safely as possible. That doesn't mean that I'll help you get into hair-brained schemes or risk your lives unnecessarily."

Neville nodded. "Alright."

The Doctor grimaced. "And now I have to go and patrol the corridors. Wait for my signal to exit the room. I'll Disillusion you so that you're not seen on the way back to your dormitory. Learn the spell. You'll need it."