Chapter 12

"I've found a note here, about using Imperius to instill a thought-command," said Hermione, pointing at a passage in a huge dusty book. She continued, quoting, "'the subject of this curse would experience a complete lack of anxiety, and follow the command as if it were the most rewarding activity imaginable.'"

"Sorry, but that doesn't sound like the Master. The drums have made him desperate…at his wit's end," said Amy.

Hermione sighed and kept looking. Harry asked, "If a talented Legilimens can plant a vision in someone's mind, why not something like a drumbeat? Could that be permanent?"

The Headmaster steepled his fingers and rested his chin on his thumbs. "It's absolutely possible, especially considering that the physics of their universe may be quite different. However, we need to see the man to assess his condition. I've contacted a specialist on psychic damage at St. Mungo's, who should be arriving by Floo momentarily."

As he finished his sentence, Snape strode into the library, ashen-faced, robes billowing behind him. "The Doctor and the Master are outside the gates," he said.

"Was it another false vision?" asked Harry.

Snape didn't look at him, but replied, "No, he was being tortured, or at least, that was the intent. Dark magic does not seem to harm them, rather, it affects them like an intoxicant. The Master gave his time machine to the Dark Lord. Through Legilimency I learned that he had no awareness of the significance of such an act. He was hungry for power, and —for lack of a better phrase— high as a kite. Then the Doctor appeared and took him. He must have an Apparating…contraption, other than the blue cabinet. Headmaster, there are facts of great importance I must relay to you in private."

"Did you hear the drums?" asked Dumbledore calmly.

"Yes, but surely it is more important that the Dark Lord has-"

"Please escort them to the dungeons and remain there, Professor. We may require your potions expertise in order to help the man."

"They delivered an indestructible, incredibly powerful device into Voldemort's hands. How can you agree to help them?"

"As you said yourself, he was unaware of his actions."

"The Doctor knew he was dangerous, yet still brought him here."

"Professor, please go attend to our guests."

Snape glared intensely at Dumbledore for a moment, then whirled and left the room.

"Stop it!" yelled the Doctor, grabbing the Master's arm to prevent him from throwing himself against the gate again.

The shorter man twisted easily out of his grip, and slammed into the wrought iron bars, laughing. The anti-intruder jinxes were weak compared to a curse like Cruciatus, but they provided a slight rush. "Ah, my hero approaches," said the Master, catching sight of Snape striding towards them.

The black-haired man wordlessly opened the gate and gestured for them to enter the grounds. The Master lunged towards him. "How about some more of that-"

He was cut off by the surprise of hitting an invisible barrier. Snape frowned. He had cast the Shield Charm instinctively, and was surprised that it had worked exactly as intended. Neutral magic doesn't have the same effect as the Dark Arts. That's useful, he thought. He took in the Master's confused expression, and said, "Not here. Inside."

Still feeling confident, the Master allowed himself to be led to the dungeons. "How about now?" he asked, growing impatient.

"There could be unknown side-effects," said Snape.

"I don't care. Where's Bellatrix?"

"Assisting the Dark Lord. I'll give you what you want, if it's safe. Let's wait a little while, and we'll find out."

"Wait for what?"

"A specialist is on the way, to help with the drums. It shouldn't be long."

"A specialist, right. Can't wait for this miracle cure," said the Master, voice devoid of affect.

He sunk down to the floor. He still felt half-dazed from Bellatrix's curse, but the good feeling was lifting by increments, and he hated the cold empty sensation that remained in its wake. The Doctor paced slowly up and down the room, glancing at the Master every so often. "You feel it waning, don't you?" asked the crouching man.

The Doctor nodded. The Master continued, "Where are we, Doctor?"

"In a universe of witches and wizards who are going to do their best to help you."

The Master burst out laughing, then abruptly stopped. He was feeling worse with every passing moment. He stood up. "C'mon, Severus. Let's have one more, for old time's sake. Please?"

The Doctor also looked at Snape, half-wanting to be cursed, too. His instincts told him that it was unhealthy, but the desire to feel that bliss again was growing increasingly strong. When Snape said, "I don't think that's a good idea," the Doctor fought the urge to argue.

The Master was stalking towards Snape in a way that reminded the wizard, with a shudder, of Nagini. He lifted his wand, but this only caused the Time Lord to smile happily, expectantly. "Yes, there you go…you can do it," he said quietly.

"I'm not going to curse you again until the healer takes a look."

The Master sighed angrily and headed to the door. It was locked. In a flash, he turned and tackled the other Time Lord, searching his jacket pocket for either of their screwdrivers. "I left them in the TARDIS," said the Doctor.

The Master shoved him away and flexed the fingers of his right hand. "Don't even think about it," said the Doctor.

"You said you wouldn't lock me up again."

"I didn't even know the door was locked."

"I decided to take precautions," said Snape.

There soon came a knock at the door. Snape cast Alohomora, and Dumbledore stepped into the room, followed by a Mediwitch with short blonde hair. She was in her thirties, neatly but casually dressed. She smiled and said, "Hello, I'm Ashley Turnipseed. I'm a healer."

"Hi, I'm the Doctor. Please, help my friend," he said, gesturing to the Master.

The Time Lords locked eyes for an instant, both surprised by the word friend. The Master wrote it off as a slip of the tongue. The Doctor realized that he had finally found a label for what he wanted. Making it a reality, however, wouldn't be easy.

"I've got it," said the Mediwitch. "It's a false memory charm. The drumming didn't come from the…Untempered Schism. Someone put it in your mind. Oh, my. This is unusual."

"Is there a…counter-charm?" asked the Doctor.

"Yes, but it's going to take a lot of energy. I'll need everyone's help."

Dumbledore said, "And you shall have it, Doctor Turnipseed."

The Doctor couldn't help but think that Ashley would make a fine companion. He'd been worried that the Master wouldn't willingly submit to an examination, but Ashley had an aura about her that put everyone at ease. As if sensing his attention, she met his gaze. "The Headmaster told me you're from another universe. Do you keep a private practice, Doctor? Or are you affiliated with a hospital?"

"I make calls," he replied, smiling.

"Don't stop flirting on my account. I've only waited hundreds of years…what's another few minutes?" drawled the Master.

She turned back to her patient and said, "I can remove the drums, but I'm not sure how it will affect your memory. Because the drumming was constantly present, there is a small chance you may lose everything since it started."

The Master's face fell. "What's the more likely outcome?"

"The drumming will stop directly after the completion of the spell. You will remember having heard it, and remember all of the events of your life, but its influence on your thoughts, feelings and behavior will lift. I must warn you, this transition may be quite traumatic."

"So, I'll either end up a child, or I'll have a breakdown?"

"Maybe neither, maybe a little of both. But there would be no physical harm to your brain. With care, you'd recover completely."

"The kind of care that involves straight-jackets and padded cells?"

"I don't think so. You just need people you trust, to be there for you."

The Master looked appraisingly at the Doctor, and then sighed and shook his head. "Let's get on with it."

Ashley stared directly into his eyes and lowered her voice. "We are ready to go back now…back to when you were eight, the day you looked into the Untempered Schism. Before the drumming began. Okay?"

"Okay," said the Master, eyes going wide and strangely blank.

"Good. You are approaching the portal. How do you feel?"

The Master stiffened and gripped the arms of the chair he was sitting in. "Scared."

"That's fine. Acknowledge the fear…then let it flow away. It's flowing away now…it's gone. You are approaching the portal, slowly, slowly, slowly. You aren't looking in yet. The drumming hasn't hit you yet. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Good. Now, you are raising your eyes, slowly, slowly, slowly, to look. The moment the Schism comes into view, time stops completely. Has time stopped?"

The Master took a deep breath. "Yes."

"Now, you're just looking, looking into the Schism, and nothing is happening. Repeat after me: I am safe. The drums cannot reach me."

"I am safe. The drums cannot reach me."

"Good. You feel relaxed, calm, and open. Nothing less than light and love can touch you."

Without breaking eye-contact, Ashley pulled out her wand and began to recite a Latin incantation, directing the counter-spell at the pupil of each of the Master's eyes in turn, forming a figure-eight. When she was finished, she said, "We are warding off the drumming, for once and for all. Others are helping, too. You allow them to help, remaining relaxed, calm, and open."

Ashley gestured for the others to join her in reciting the Latin words again. Dumbledore and Snape followed her lead, but the Doctor was unsure. "I said I need everyone's help," said the Healer.

"I don't know if I'm a proper wizard. Plus, I don't even have my…wand," said the Doctor.

"Either way, it can't hurt."

The Doctor joined the others in their chant. After the seventh repetition, Ashley sighed with relief and said, "The drums have gone, and they can't come back. You have a shield now, in your mind, made of light and love…and the drums can never get through it. You are protected. In just a moment, time is going to start again, and you'll calmly drift through the years, all the years of your life, as easily as breathing, back to the present. Time is about to start again, gently, gently, gently. Starting…now."

The Master blinked. He looked pleasantly sleepy and dewy-eyed, like a child just waking from a nap. "Thank you," he said, smiling.

"You're welcome," said the Mediwitch.

The Master looked at the Doctor. His smile collapsed, he scrambled out of the chair and backed away, eyes locked on the other Time Lord. The Doctor took a step towards him. This action seemed to push the Master into an all-out panic. He retreated all the way into the corner, where he sank to the floor and hugged his knees to his chest. He screwed his eyes shut and bit his lip so hard, blood flowed down his chin. Snape quickly retrieved two small bottles. "Calming potion," he said, opening one phial and handing it to the Mediwitch, who slowly approached the man in the corner.

She pressed it into the Master's shaking hand, and helped him raise it to his mouth. He didn't resist her. He drank the potion, and his posture relaxed somewhat. "May I come closer?" asked the Doctor, after a moment.

The Master's face turned scarlet. Eyes still closed, he nodded once, barely perceptibly. Snape offered the other bottle to the Doctor. "Healing elixir. Apply with the dropper."

The Doctor knelt down next to the Master, who was sitting very still against the wall, and treated the bite marks on his bottom lip. The wounds closed up within seconds. The Doctor carefully wiped the blood away with his shirt cuff. "Can you tell me how you feel?"

He dared a glance at the Doctor, then covered his face, incapable of holding back his tears. "I'm…"

"It's okay," the Doctor said encouragingly.

"No, it's not. I'm…sorry isn't good enough…but that's all that I am."

"You don't have to be sorry. Everything is forgiven."

"It can't be."

"It is."

"How can you say that? How can you even look at me?"

"When I look at you I see the innocent boy I knew, and the brilliant man you are, who has only just moments ago been freed from the overpowering influence of a monster. The monster was not you."

"It is."

"No. You were not born a psychopath. The drumming made you mad. It would've made anyone mad...it was designed that way, as a tool for mind control. Your mind was not your own, and your actions are not your fault."

"I've done so many terrible things. I tortured you and your companions. You can't forget that. I don't expect you to. I don't want you to."

"What do you expect?"

"To get what I deserve."

The Doctor sighed and nervously ran a hand through his hair. "The way you feel now…have you ever feel this way before?"

The Master thought for a moment, then shook his head. The Doctor smiled just slightly, sadly. "That's because the drums made you remorseless."

"This is remorse?"

"Yes."

The Master gripped his chest. "It feels like dying. A pain that won't stop. The drums…they haven't gone, they've just moved here."

"That's only your hearts. I have the same drums, the same pain. The weight of all we've seen and done…we learn to live with it. It does get easier. Especially when you're helping others."

"Nobody needs my help. You should want me dead…or locked away in some cold, dark place, suffering the worst kind of torture-"

Like a self-fulfilling prophecy, his senses were suddenly flooded with excruciating pain.