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Chapter 20

"Whoa," said Harry, gripping the Elder Wand, which had seemed to leap from Dumbledore's hand into his own. "Forgive me, sir, but I didn't think Expelliarmus would work on you."

"Perhaps it's because I was willing to relinquish ownership. Though, legend has it the Elder Wand can be especially fickle," mused the Headmaster.

"How can I be sure it's really mine?" asked Harry.

Even as he voiced this concern, the electric feeling racing from his fingertips, up his arm, and across his heart was already providing the answer. "Try it on something," said Ron.

Harry gulped. He felt powerful, but equally hesitant. "Rather not," he said quietly, and handed the wand to Dumbledore.

Rory spoke up. "Okay, so even though you just gave it back, you should still have ownership because of the disarming charm. That wand should be unwilling to hurt you, its true master. Even when Malfoy disarms Jack masquerading as Dumbledore, you won't lose ownership."

"Are these like, magic laws?" asked Amy.

Rory nodded enthusiastically. "There isn't a lot, but I've studied all of the wandlore I could find."

"Wandlore. Of course."

Dumbledore seated himself at his desk and began to write a letter. "I'm going to accept Mr Malfoy's suggestion that we meet at the Black Loch at midday tomorrow."

"Outside the wards, cos the ferret wouldn't dare attack you here. He's too afraid of being caught," said Ron.

"Yes, he is terribly frightened, Mr Weasley. Please try to understand…he doesn't believe he can succeed, and if he fails, Voldemort will show him no mercy."

"How can you sympathize with a Death Eater, sir?"

"He is also a student. He is also a child. It is very likely that he was forced to take the Dark Mark."

The Doctor perked up at the word child. "This Draco is one of your schoolmates?"

"He's not our mate! He's an arrogant, sadistic little freak," said Ron.

"Ron," said Hermione. "Yes, Doctor, he's in our year. The Malfoys are one of the pureblood wizard families loyal to Voldemort."

"Does being pureblood matter?"

"Voldemort seems to think so."

"The Weasleys are pureblood, and we would never follow that lunatic, or buy into his twisted ideas," said Ron.

"I'm curious…what's the difference between you and the Malfoys?" asked the Doctor.

Ron's jaw dropped and his face turned scarlet. "Only everything in the world! If you knew…how they're…they're awful and we're not. They've got…too much damn money, for starters. They use dark magic. They think they're better than everyone. They're…"

"Affiliated with Slytherin house?"

"Well, yeah."

The Doctor mulled this over, while contemplating the shattered locket, the broken cup, and the twisted diadem. "I think this war has been brewing for centuries. Headmaster, when it's over, I wonder if you would consider disbanding the school houses."

It wasn't a question, and the Doctor didn't seem to expect an answer. Dumbledore regarded the Time Lord with an inscrutable expression, and then said without inflection, "I do respect and appreciate your opinion."

He affixed the letter to Draco's owl and sent it on its way. They went over the plan several times, considering contingencies, until everyone except the Doctor began to yawn with exhaustion. Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I just wish there was some way to warn Professor Snape, but a letter could be intercepted. Even if it was encoded, it would look bad for him."

"You think he won't be able to go through with it?" asked Jack.

"He'll do it, with a little coaxing," said Dumbledore. "I believe that's what's upsetting Mr Potter. Professor Snape will believe that he is murdering me."

"It is a terrible thing to make someone do, sir. And what if he leaves too quickly for us to explain everything? Why doesn't he just get back here?" Harry asked rhetorically.

"Don't worry," said Hermione. "We won't let him leave, even if we have to Stun him."

Ron smiled deviously. Harry laughed. "Okay. Sounds good. Well…I'm knackered."

Ron, Hermione and Harry went off to the Gryffindor dormitory. Dumbledore withdrew to his private chambers. Rory and Amy retired to their bunk beds in the TARDIS. Jack sheepishly followed the Doctor into the control room. "All right, you can stay here…just for the night," said the Time Lord.

Jack beamed, then his gaze was drawn past the Doctor. "Oh, hello!"

M was standing at the top of the short staircase, gripping the railing, expression startled. Jack stepped towards him. M half-stepped half-stumbled backwards.

"Jack, don't," said the Doctor.

"I'm just saying hello."

"You're doing that thing you always do. And this time it's really inappropriate."

"Is it my fault your companions are so cute? Well, really, this one is more like foxy."

M looked away and blushed furiously, though it had little to do with the compliment and much more to do with the fact that he was in the position of having to re-acquaint himself with a man who he had viciously tortured for over a year. He felt light-headed, dizzy, sick to his stomach. The Doctor approached him. "Had a good sleep?"

M flicked a sidelong glance at Jack, eyes wide with fear. "I'm sorry I didn't have a chance to warn you," said the Doctor. "You don't have to-"

"Yes, I do," M said, despite his pounding hearts.

He moved around the Doctor and towards Jack, until they were standing just a few feet apart. "I'm M," he began.

"M for magnetic, magnificent, mystery?"

"Jack, shut up, I mean it," said the Doctor.

"M…formerly the Master," said M, forcing himself, agonizing though it was, to meet the man's eyes.

Jack's smile fell. M was visibly shaking. His knees felt like they were about to give out, and his tongue felt like a lead weight, but he stood his ground and continued, "I don't expect you'll believe me…but I am extremely sorry for what I did to you."

Jack looked at the Doctor, dumbstruck. "He means it, Jack. He was suffering from a mental illness the whole time you knew him, and has just recently found relief."

Jack stared closely at M, inspecting him as if he were an insect. "Are you telling me this is the same person who killed me hundreds of times for fun, made Martha's family into slaves, abused his wife, tortured you, and took over-"

"I forgive him. I don't expect everyone will, but I do, because I recognize that he was ill when he did those things, and he isn't now."

"How convenient," said Jack, expression murderous.

M grabbed Jack's hand and pressed it to his own throat. "Do what you think is right," he said, softly.

The temptation to snap his neck was surprisingly strong, and Jack knew he could do it. It would only take a second to spin him around, hook an elbow under his chin, and apply enough torque to end his life. He was delicately built, and wasn't resisting in the slightest. On the contrary, his hands pressed Jack's grip tighter, encouragingly. He was clearly terrified, but also clearly prepared to die.

If Jack needed convincing that hurting M would also hurt the Doctor, one look would've told him all he needed to know. The Doctor was frozen in place, face drained of color. Jack was a little shocked by this reaction, because it was apparent that the Doctor didn't really trust him all that much. Did Jack deserve his trust? He wasn't sure. He had, after all, suggested dispatching the Master in precisely this way, after his plan to take over the universe had been defeated. But he remembered the Doctor's admonition of this idea, and would never forget how the Doctor had wept, how he had cradled the Master's body when he'd refused to regenerate after being shot. Jack had never seen him more agonized, and the last thing he wanted to do, despite his animosity towards the Master, was inflict such pain on the Doctor again. He moved his hands to M's shoulders, met his gaze and said, "It's okay."

"No! No, it's not. Everyone keeps saying that but it's not true! I understand why he won't…but why won't you kill me?"

Jack recognized genuine sorrow and regret in M's eyes. He had seen the same look in the mirror on more than one occasion. Sometimes he'd excused his actions as necessary for the greater good, but sometimes no explanation seemed to justify the terrible things he'd done. Still, despite his failings and flaws he kept trying to be a good man, because he'd been inspired by one. If not for meeting the Doctor, Jack might have remained a coward. The Doctor had shown him time and again that compassion was the greatest strength a person could hope to possess.

Jack stepped forward and gently hugged M, completely aware of how dramatically his own mind-set had shifted in a matter of moments. M didn't return the hug or pull away, he just let himself be handled, still anticipating violence. Jack said, "I forgive you. It's okay to forgive yourself."

A muffled sob. "How? How can I?"

"Trust that the Doctor is right about you. Can you do that?"

There was a long pause, then Jack felt him nod against his chest, and felt tentative hands on his back. Jack kissed the crown of his head protectively, as one would kiss a child. M took a few deep breaths and slowly pulled away. He rubbed his shirt cuff on Jack's coat lapel where the wool was glistening with tears, and whispered, "Is he angry at me?"

"No, I'm sure he's not…why do you think he'd be?"

"Because I kinda want to d-die. If you n-noticed."

M laughed crazily, his sobbing renewed. Jack squeezed his shoulder. "I know how that feels," he said casually. "And since I don't have the option of, y'know, dying…I can promise you it gets better with time."

M nodded, and struggled to regain control of his breathing. "I'll try and remember t-that, thanks."

"You can count me as a friend, all right?"

"All right."

The Doctor watched this entire exchange in awe, not only at Jack's immeasurable kindness, but also at his own unfamiliar pang of jealousy. "M," he said, perhaps a bit too loudly.

M turned towards the Doctor, hastily wiping his eyes, and said the Doctor's name. Jack's eyes widened. M looked anxious, like he might've messed up, but he was reassured by the Doctor's smile, which could be described as overjoyed, though it bordered on smug. "Was that your real name? Say it again, I didn't quite catch it," urged Jack.

"Sorry, you won't be able to catch it. Gallifreyan is impossible for humans to comprehend," said the Doctor.

And that was something, wasn't it? thought the Doctor. Something between he and M, that nobody else could touch. M wasn't a human companion, dazzled and seduced by the romance of adventuring through time and space with a charismatic alien. He was a Time Lord, just as complicated, intelligent, and powerful. A true equal, and hard won at that, thought the Doctor, though it caused him a twinge of guilt when he compared M to his human friends, and a thread of possessiveness still tugged oddly at his heart, though he understood it now. There was something irresistibly rough and new about the promise of traveling with another Time Lord, and the Doctor could not deny any longer that this is what he truly desired and would fight for fiercely, even if it proved far from easy. He wanted M to be happy, of course, but happy with him. Seeing him make progress so quickly (quicker than the Doctor knew he could've managed if the situation were reversed, if he was being totally honest with himself) sparked the anxious feeling that M might someday surpass him and look for company elsewhere, and this day might occur uncomfortably sooner rather than later. M was fragile for the time being, recovering from what was essentially a lifetime of trauma, while settling into his new regeneration, not to mention working through the effects of the counter-curse, but he was undeniably on a swift path to recovery and once he didn't need the Doctor anymore —for comfort, friendship, help, anything— what would compel him to stay?

The Doctor was sweating slightly. It was uncommon. "But…but, I'm not really human anymore," Jack was saying.

"Let it go. M, we need to get a message to Snape. How's your remote telepathy?"

"I'm sure you're better at it."

"No, not really. I'm okay at touch-telepathy, but remote has always been difficult for me. It took me an entire year to hack the psychic network you'd set up."

"Oh. Right," said M, smile fading and gaze drifting to the floor.

Every time you try to encourage him, you say the wrong thing, thought the Doctor. Do better. "I'm sorry. What I meant is, you're brilliant and we need your help. Plus, you and Snape have already made a psychic connection."

M was a bit dumbfounded, but he shook it off and said, "What's the message?"

Severus tried not to stare at Voldemort's long skeletal hands, resting like spiders on the black lacquer table, though if he didn't keep his gaze away from his cadaverous face it might get stuck there. It wasn't exactly ugly, Snape thought. He'd always been drawn to morbid things, and skeletons were Death pared down to its most quintessential form. Snape found Voldemort's new look disturbing simply because it was difficult to believe that any human body could withstand such mutilation and manage to carry on. Yet the crimson eyes still burned, the veins in his throat still pulsed, and the sinister voice still stirred to speak. "Well, Severus?"

"Still no sign of the…aliens, my Lord, despite a thorough search of the grounds. It appeared to me and Bellatrix as if the Doctor captured the Master."

"Yes…he was afraid of that. No matter. Protect the time machine with the strongest wards, accessible only to me, you, and Bellatrix. Shield it from view, then return here directly."

As Snape bowed deeply and moved to the door, Voldemort added, "Bella, dear…help him."

"Yes, my Lord," she said, rising from her chair and following Snape outside.

She had been shadowing him ever since he'd been summoned back from Hogwarts. Snape had hoped he'd be able to slip away again after having a private word with Draco, but Lestrange was waiting right outside the door to the study. Whether she'd been ordered to do so, or whether she was taking the initiative, Snape knew that he was under scrutiny. As they applied wards around the red TARDIS, she asked, "Where'd you go, right after they vanished?"

"I searched the grounds."

"For five hours?"

"As I told the Dark Lord, I searched thoroughly."

She sneered. He rounded the TARDIS, casting a protection spell, and was luckily out of her line of sight when he had the sudden sensation of his brain being squeezed. It was a crawling electric feeling, and Severus wondered briefly if he were having a stroke, but it passed after a moment and a familiar voice said, Severus, it's M.

Sensing his confusion, M continued, Time Lords are telepathic, too. I'm still at the school.

Impressive Legilimency, thought Snape automatically. He could only hear M's voice. His emotions were hazy, distant.

Draco sent us a letter. You and he will meet Dumbledore at the lake here, tomorrow at noon. The man who appears will look like Dumbledore, but it isn't him. You can kill this man without hesitation, and know that he will not be harmed. It sounds crazy, but he cannot die.

Sensing Snape's incredulity, M sent him a memory of one of the many times he had killed Jack and watched him come back to life. Snape was nearly bent double by the intense wave of guilt and shame that accompanied the vision, feelings so fresh that Snape could tell that they weren't part of the memory, but something M was currently experiencing. The Time Lord showed him enough that he accepted the truth of Jack's condition, then closed off his memories and emotions again. Sorry about that. After you do it, don't leave.

M's voice sounded much weaker than before, as if he were rapidly losing energy. Understood, thought Snape.

Good luck, came the very quiet reply. Then there was another electric feeling, and Snape returned to normal, or as close to normal as one could feel in this situation; weird even by Wizarding World standards. He glanced at Bellatrix as she side-stepped around the time machine. She was concentrating on the ward she was putting up. Though she was suspicious of Snape, she loved her Dark Lord too much not to focus single-mindedly on the task of protecting him, and Snape was grateful for this.

Voldemort sat stroking Nagini's flat scaly head, and contemplated the feeling of tension that was coursing through him. He had never experienced a rush of power quite like what he'd felt after fusing a piece of his soul to the core of the time machine. Unlike other objects he'd chosen for horcruxes, this one had an energy that fed back into him, and the magnitude of the power was startling, even to a wizard as accomplished as Lord Voldemort. He was also surprised that the energy felt decidedly sentient. Nagini and Harry were also sentient horcruxes, but Voldemort controlled their connection. He could possess Harry, but Harry could not possess him. The TARDIS was different. Though he would never admit it, even to his closest allies, Voldemort wasn't certain he could control the seemingly inexhaustible wellspring of energy that was emanating from the alien spacecraft. Not that he regretted his decision. He felt incredible, almost god-like. It was just that he also felt as though his thought process was accelerating exponentially, and he seemed to be running a slight fever.

The desire to complete his plans was growing increasingly strong, and at the forefront of his thoughts was Harry. He was puzzled as to how the boy had managed to Occlude his mind so well today, when he'd never been able to do it before. Voldemort had gathered from Harry's feeling of safety that he was at Hogwarts, but was otherwise blocked from penetrating his thoughts. This caused him a momentary feeling of panic, which in and of itself was unusual. Sure, he had his neurotic phobias, but he'd taken great pains to protect himself from those. This fear was different. All at once, he was little Tom Riddle again, cast adrift with absolutely nobody to help him, surrounded by hateful Muggle children and their cruel ignorant grins. He knew that he'd never been loved, and that this had damaged him. This was an intellectual observation, not something he felt keenly. Yet, being shut out so completely and decisively by Harry's shield of love had elicited an emotional reaction. He was terrified for an irrational moment that Harry might love him.

He was now perversely thrilled, because Harry's confirmed hatred meant all was well and good…it just served to perfect their upcoming confrontation. He was also immensely relieved, because Voldemort could not tolerate the idea that Harry could feel the slightest positive emotion towards him. It seemed weak, pathetic, pitiable. No, he preferred Harry to be just the same as him. After all, he had marked the boy as his equal.