Chapter 4 – The Wrong Professor.
A lanky ginger boy sat in an armchair facing the glowing fire. He turned when he heard the portrait open. Harry blushed when he saw him.
/Ron…/
The Doctor looked at Harry's face, at the way he was gazing at Ron and realized that Harry was using his mind to communicate with this boy. He didn't want to intrude, so he waited, watching the silent conversation, not even allowing himself to guess at what was being said. But sometimes, he couldn't help but catch snippets, just wisps of thoughts. He had an open, inquisitive mind, but he tried his best not to intrude.
/LEAVE ME BE!/ he heard, and realized the Master must have heard too, because he looked startled, and not much could startle Harold Saxon. Then, a few moments later:
/I honestly didn't do it, Ron. I didn't choose to be a part of this tournament/
"Um… excuse me," he said out loud. "But I think due to psychic connections and the like, I'm overhearing some of your conversation." Harry blushed. He looked rather cute when he blushed, the Doctor noted.
/Oi!/ burst the Master's voice into his head and the Doctor smirked.
/Don't worry, Master, he's really not my type. A bit young and delicate looking/
"I heard that," said the red head, Ron. "And believe me, my Harry's far from delicate." Harry's face broke into a bright grin, as did Ron's, and they embraced. The Master shoved his fingers down his own throat, miming throwing up, but the Doctor just wacked him playfully over the head.
Sitting around the fireplace late that evening, after waiting for all of the other Gryffindors to get bored of the novelty of having to aliens staying in their dorm, and head off to bed, the four of them decided to speak out loud to each other.
"No private conversations, and everybody will be happy," said the Doctor, ignoring the Master's attempts to penetrate his mind. He had sunk into the comfiest armchair in the room, and felt very smug as he watched the Master attempt to perch on the arm.
/Bastard/ The Master managed to force into his head, and he smirked. Harry and Ron were sat squashed together on the same armchair, having somehow made friends.
"So what was wrong before, if you don't mind me asking?" the Doctor asked.
"He entered the Triwizard Tournament."
"Did not!"
"Fine, I thought that he had. Seems that someone else must have entered him." Harry looked at Ron.
"Why would I want to enter? Don't you think that enough trouble finds me without me going looking for it?"
"Alright, I believe you! I'm sorry, ok. And the way you beat that dragon was amazing, it really was." Harry blushed.
"It was nothing, really. Moody helped me. He told me to use something I was already good at, so I used my broom." Harry and Ron began discussing the positives and negatives of using a wooden broomstick whilst battling a fire breathing dragon, and the Master sat biting at his fingernails.
/What's wrong, Master?/
/Who said there was anything wrong?/ he shot back, annoyed.
/You're biting your nails. You're normally obsessive about your appearance/
/Wow, you don't miss anything, do you?/ he replied dryly.
/So go on then, do tell/
/I thought you said no private conversations?/
/Oh, forget what I said! Unless you want to tell me out loud?/ The Master glared at him.
/Moody/ he said softly. /Alastor Moody shouldn't be here. That wasn't part of the plan/
/Should I be pleased that your plan is failing?/
/No. No. Moody being here. Someone who is pretending to be Moody. It's not good, for anyone/
/?/
/I'm sorry, Doctor, but you're going to have to come with me/ The Doctor was surprised to feel a jolt, a tug at the bond as the Master hopped off the arm of the chair. He had thought that it was him in charge, but now realized that the Master had just as much control over him as he did over the Master. The Master smirked at the Doctor's expression.
/Yes, Doctor, I knew I had control since the beginning. You were doing what I wanted though, so I didn't see why I needed to correct your misconceptions/
/Bastard/ The Doctor stood up, realizing that he either followed the Master or fought him. He wasn't confident whether he could beat him in a fist fight, and he was extremely curious to what was going on, so he decided to follow him.
"If you'll excuse us, boys, we're just going to visit Professor Moody," said the Doctor, and Harry and Ron nodded.
"We should probably be off to bed now anyway," said Ron, stifling a yawn, and he took Harry by the hand and led him upstairs to the dorm.
The Doctor and Master left the common room.
/They're gay/ The Master kept glancing down at a piece of parchment in his hands, looking worried, and he was striding so quickly through the corridors that the Doctor could feel himself being tugged along by the bond.
/Does that mean anything?/ he shot back at the Master.
/No, simply that they are using a bond, a connection, similar to ours, and are in a relationship together/
/And your point is?/
/I was just hoping that it wasn't compulsory, that was all/
/Oh…/ The Doctor felt his stomach drop, as if he'd been rejected, but he didn't want to be with the Master. At least, he kept telling himself that he didn't want to be with the Master. /Are you not jealous of how close they are?/ he tried.
/Jealous? Don't make me laugh!/ The Doctor remembered the Master's laugh, forced into his head, and knew that he didn't want to make him laugh. /I don't need anyone, Doctor, except maybe a few spectators to watch as I destroy this universe. And I definitely don't need you!/ The Doctor felt the Master's presence leave his mind, and felt so empty and incomplete in the silence that he felt compelled to keep talking.
/What's that you're holding?/
/This? Something I stole from Potter/
/And when did you manage that?/
/When he took us up to his common room. I was amazed you didn't notice, Doctor, but I guess you are as blind and incompetent as I thought you were/ That stung, but the Doctor ignored it. Sticks and stones, sticks and stones.
/You didn't tell me what it is/
/The Marauder's Map. Created by Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs. It's magical/ The Doctor peered over the Master's shoulder and saw that on the parchment was, indeed, a map of the castle. He wasn't as surprised as he should have been at the tiny moving images with names printed over them. He was already used to the moving paintings which lined the walls. In the Gryffindor dorms he spotted the names 'Harry Potter' and 'Ronald Weasely' almost overlapping. He smirked. On the corridor they were standing on were two names: 'Koschei' and 'Theta Sigma'.
/It's interesting, out of every name we've ever gone by, the map chose those two/ mused the Doctor.
/I hate those names/ The Doctor carried on gazing at the map. He let his eyes wander down the corridor they were on, wondering where the Master was going, where he was taking him. The Master had conveniently covered the end of the corridor with his hand.
/If it's magical, how did you get it working?/ The Doctor was suddenly suspicious, and he was right to be.
/Are you missing anything, Doctor?/
/You thieving bastard! You've got my sonic!/
/An eye for an eye, Doctor, or at least a screwdriver for a screwdriver. I do believe you have my laser?/
/Ngh!/ Pure frustration emanated from the Doctor's mind. The Master stopped, after checking the map carefully, at a door. /Who's in that room?/ The Master ignored him. /Which room is it?/ Again, he ignored him. The Doctor wrenched the parchment from the Master's hand and furiously searched for the corridor they were in. He spotted the names. 'Theta Sigma', 'Koschei', and then, inside the defense against the dark arts teacher's study, 'Davros'.
/This is what you've been hiding?/
/No. This is all wrong. No, no, no!/
/You're in league with Davros? That's low, even for you!/
/I'm not. He's not supposed to be here. I should never have trusted Karkaroff with such an important job/
/And what would that have been?/ But the Master ignored him. Damn, this is happening much too often, thought the Doctor. He's my prisoner, I should be in charge.
The Master folded the map into his pocket and slowly pushed the office door open, not bothering to knock. The Doctor waited with bated breath as more and more of the room came into view. He was expecting at any moment to see the twisted old man in his wheelchair, life support humming, his ugly, blind face and blue eye staring at his enemy. Because Davros was the Doctor's greatest enemy, aside from the Master. He had created the Daleks, who had fought against the time lords in the time war, and because of this, indirectly, he had been the reason for the Doctor destroying his own people. Davros was the reason the Doctor felt such a strong attachment to the Master, in a weird, twisted way.
/Unless you're just in love with me…/ whispered the Master into the Doctor's mind, but his thought was swatted away like a buzzing fly.
The door finished opening, but the only soul in the room was an upright figure in a black cloak gazing out of the window, facing away from the door. His cloak was an inch too short, and a wooden leg was visible beneath it.
"Things just got a hell of a lot more confusing," muttered the Master.