"Quite right," said Dumbledore as he pulled out his own wand, tapped the bars to the cell and stepped back as they swung open to allow the Doctor out. "Perhaps we should better continue this conversation inside my office, Doctor."
As they walked swiftly inside the castle and back down to the third floor, Dumbledore gave the password, "Cockroach Cluster," and the stone gargoyle sprang to life, hopping aside as the wall behind him split in two.
They went up the spiral staircase that moved smoothly upward like an escalator. Higher and higher they went until stepping off in front of a great oak door.
Dumbledore pushed the door open and allowed the Doctor to enter inside first. The Time Lord was impressed how accurately the films portrayed the headmaster's office, for it was down to a tee.
It was a large circular room with many portraits of the previous headmasters lining the walls, each one snoozing their frame. A number of silver instruments stood on spindle-legged tables. Behind an ancient claw-footed desk was a shelf which sat the shabby wizard's Sorting Hat. In a glass case stood the ruby-hilted Sword of Gryffindor. And sitting on a golden perch beside the door was a brilliant scarlet-and-gold plumed bird the size of a swan who was sound asleep—Fawkes the phoenix.
The Doctor stood with his hands behind his back, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet as Dumbledore sat behind the desk; Snape remained beside the door, black eyes gazing imperiously at the Doctor through his curtain of greasy hair.
"Severus, may you bring forth the items you have confiscated from the Doctor?"
Snape, who looked like he would rather be doing anything else than potentially give a fellow Death Eater back some means of escape, reluctantly obliged and swept forward, placing the spare wand and Invisibility Cloak upon the claw-footed desk.
"You forgot the parchment," said the Doctor.
"I doubt you will be needing to ink a letter at this time," Snape snapped.
"All the same, perhaps something comes to mind. Maybe a recipe for a good banana milkshake? One with just the right hint of cinnamon and vanilla? I had one back on Barcelona—the planet Barcelona, not the city in Spain, mind you—and it was absolutely delicious. Just….molto bene. Oh, I could really go for one of those right about now," the Doctor rambled on, absentmindedly rubbing his stomach which he just noticed ached with hunger.
"Severus, place the parchment here please," Dumbledore intervened, somewhat amused by the Doctor's nonsensical ramblings.
A vein in Snape's temple looked ready to burst as he held back his anger at having to hand over the very item that had helped Harry Potter sneak around the school dozens of times.
"Thank you for your assistance tonight. I do say, it is quite late. Perhaps some rest will do you well for tomorrow's meeting, Severus."
Though Snape scowled, he bowed to the Headmaster. He didn't hide the baleful glance in the Doctor's direction, however, as he swept away, his black cloak billowing behind him as the oak doors swung closed.
"Keen to return this to Harry Potter?" Dumbledore commented lightly after Snape's exit.
"There are some things about time that shouldn't be changed," replied the Doctor.
"And judging by what you have told me earlier, you control time, do you?"
"Oh no. Not control. That's far too much power for a person, even like me, to have," said the Doctor as he sat down in the chair in front of Dumbledore's desk. He propped his legs up on the desk and laced his fingers together over his stomach while casually leaning back. "Well, I do have some power over time, but…No. I see myself as simply making sure certain timelines play out the way they are meant to. Sort of like a…well, human doctor patching things up."
"And things haven't gone right, have they?"
"As far as I can tell, no. Not at all," said the Doctor, absentmindedly running a hand through his thick, brown hair. He popped up and began to pace. "Unless this universe deviates from what I know of it, then Barty Crouch Jr. was supposed to have received the Dementor's Kiss. But for some odd reason, things have gone wonky and I'm currently in his place and he may be in mine as we speak. Now unless it was possible for him to have figured out a way to have survived the Kiss, which isn't remotely likely considering he, along with Snape and McGonagall didn't see it coming, then that only leaves a greater force at large to be playing tricks on us."
"Are you suggesting that this may be a sinister plan of Lord Voldemort's we are dealing with here?" Dumbledore frowned.
The Doctor waved a dismissive hand. "No. I doubt ol' Moldy Voldy would be concerned about things not directly involving him or Harry Potter at the moment."
He stopped his pacing and kneaded his temples with his knuckles. He was beginning to have a blasting headache. He slumped back down in the chair, suppressing a wince as fuzzy patches of memories that were not his own began to creep up on him. Tiredly, the Doctor closed his eyes, about to push them away again, when he froze, a very curious-looking memory becoming privy to him.
He was making his way down to the Forbidden Forest, stumping along in his disguise as Mad-Eye Moody, Invisibility Cloak in tow. He had to find where his father was. He'd just spotted him on that map of Potter's, just a little ways inside the Forest. He stumped past Hagrid's hut and when he made it to the outskirts of the trees, he spotted him. Right there with that Krum boy, who appeared frightened by his nonsensical ramblings.
He had to make quick work of this, and so he pointed his wand at Krum, knocking out the boy with a simple stunning jinx. With the boy out of the way, he went over to the rambling madman. He had aimed his wand right at him, when his father seized his ramblings. His father gazed upon him, all too coherently despite the Invisibility Cloak he was donning.
"Surprised to see me here, boy?" his father inquired.
Some sort of fog began to overtake him. He couldn't make sense of the fuzzy patches in front of his vision. Beyond the fog was an indistinct jet of red light that was streaking towards him—
The Doctor's eyes snapped open. He gasped for breath as he pulled away from the memory that was not his own. He had gotten a little too curious there. How long had he been lost in that vision, for Dumbledore was gazing upon him sagely with those bright blue twinkling eyes of his.
The Doctor straightened up in the chair, trying to regain a sense of dignity. He decided not to beat around the bush.
"I saw Barty's name on the Map earlier. Senior's, I mean."
Dumbledore seemed intrigued by this as he leaned forward. "Bartemius Crouch Senior? Are you sure about this?"
The Doctor nodded. "Unless that Map shows dead bodies wandering about, he is very much alive."
"Pardon me if you may, Doctor, but under the effects of Veritaserum, young Barty Jr. confessed—"
"—that he transfigured the body into a bone," the Doctor finished impatiently. "Yes, but think about it. Have you or anyone else within this castle or the Ministry searched for that piece of evidence yet?"
Dumbledore frowned, regarding the Doctor in consideration. "No, I dare say we've hadn't much time considering what transpired last night. Though, if what you say is true, then it certainly is alarming. Why wouldn't Barty Crouch come here or even to the Ministry if he did end up surviving whatever his son had done to him? I certainly know he didn't waste any time missing work. He wouldn't dream of it."
"I've gathered as much," sighed the Doctor, rubbing his forehead as he tried to block out Junior's wavering memories of this from his mind. The remainder of the scene in the Forbidden Forest was still nothing more than a mess of blurry blobs to him, though. He lowered his hand from his forehead as he asked thoughtfully, "Dumbledore, is it possible Junior could have been Obliviated or Confunded into thinking he did what he did? That night in the Forbidden Forest?"
"The Veritaserum potion reveals the truth as the drinker perceives it," supplied Dumbledore, the tips of his long fingers lacing together, tapping his chin in deep thought. "Certainly if what you are implying is true and Barty Jr.'s memories were altered, then you may be on to something, Doctor. However, I would like to check for evidence that his father still remains in the Forest. Perhaps I shall have Hagrid search around the Forbidden Forest for any plots of dirt that may contain the potential transfigured body. Until then, why don't we focus on how you shall get back to your universe, Doctor."
"Yes, quite right," said the Doctor, filing his thoughts about the curious case of Mr. Crouch away for now. "There are ways to get back into my universe, but the most likely cause of this phenomenon may have been a crack."
"A crack?"
"A crack in the universe. Two pieces of time and space that should have never, ever touched one another. I believe that there is a very crack connecting both of our universes together which led to this…er, unsavory set of circumstances," explained the Doctor. "But let me start by asking you this: are there any spells or curses or even potions that would cause a body swap to occur?" He leaned forward, his hands clasped together over his lap as he eagerly awaited an answer.
Though caught off guard by this sudden question, Dumbledore had a thoughtful look about his face as he supplied, "There is Polyjuice Potion."
"Yes, but anything else?" the Doctor waved off, standing up and beginning to pace once again. "Some sort of ancient archaic spell lost to time itself? Perhaps experimentation with a curse?"
Dumbledore pondered this over, tapping his chin with his fingers again. "Few witches and wizards dare to dabble in the complex art of spell-making as it can so easily backfire."
"Even then, is it possible for this swap to have been caused by a spell?" prompted the Doctor.
Dumbledore paused a moment before saying, "I don't see why not. Magic is quite a complex art. While I would like to believe myself to be well-read, I understand there are many theories and spells out there that I would not have heard of. As you surmised, there are plenty that have been lost over the centuries."
The Doctor nodded his head, soaking in the potential of this. So it was possible. Even if some sort of modified psychgraft device didn't perform the deed, then the open crack could have been just sizable enough for a magical spell to have caused his and Barty Jr.'s bodies to be swapped.
"And do you, Doctor, believe that this crack you mentioned earlier may be located somewhere within Hogwarts?" asked Dumbledore.
"Or around the near vicinity. Yeah," the Doctor shrugged.
"Then I give you permission to search around for it. Use the Map if you must and the Invisibility Cloak will certainly keep you out of harm's way considering you were supposed to have been Kissed," said Dumbledore with a wry smile. "And Doctor, do whatever you can to bring Barty Jr. back here. Even if Fudge and the Ministry are not keen to hear his testimony, he will be placed under the constant watch of the Order of the Phoenix so that he may no longer be of any use to Lord Voldemort. Severus has already agreed to assist in that matter, going to inform him tomorrow of witnessing the Dementor's Kiss himself."
The Doctor frowned but nodded his head, nonetheless. He looked out the window, where the moonlight was slowly fading, giving way to the orangish glow of the sunrise that began to beam over the horizon.
"Speaking of which, you may rest up here for a few hours if you'd like. No offense, but you look quite terrible, and sleep may do you some good before your journey," Dumbledore suggested lightly.
With a flick of his wand, a cot appeared on the other end of the office by the bookcase.
"Oh, and this may sting a little—Episky," he pointed his wand at the Doctor's nose. The Doctor felt it snap back into place, though his eyes suddenly became very watery.
"I am afraid that I am no Madam Pomfrey, but the worst of it is gone at the very least. Now, if you may pardon me, I will be off to the kitchens. I suddenly have a curious craving for a banana milkshake. Goodnight, Doctor, and good luck."
With that, Dumbledore crossed over to the oak doors and exited his office, shutting them behind him as he left.
Though he wasn't too keen on resting himself, the Doctor's entire body was aching and protesting every further movement. He wondered if drinking an excess of Polyjuice Potion had any side effects of which he was feeling at the moment. As he staggered over to the cot, the Doctor froze when he caught his reflection in one of the mirrors hanging beside a couple of the portraits.
He did, in fact, look exactly the same as his tenth form, more or less—messy brown hair, slight freckles, brown eyes—the only difference was the missing sideburns which he'd come to adore. Not to mention that Dumbledore was right, he—or at least Barty Jr.—did look worse for the wear, with a haggard appearance, slightly pinched skin, and darkness under his eyelids to compliment his pale complexion just fine.
"Take a picture. It will last longer," said a reedy voice.
The Doctor nearly jumped out of his….well, he wasn't currently wearing shoes, but he would have jumped out of them if he was. The voice came out of nowhere. He curiously whirled around to face Fawkes the phoenix, wondering if, somehow, the bird had spoken. But Fawkes was snoozing peacefully, his head nestled against the scarlet and gold plumage of his neck.
"It seems as though the dementor has addled your brains after all. Alas, another member of my family whose once brilliant mind has sadly withered away," sighed the voice.
Twisting around, the Doctor discovered the source of the voice. Among all the portraits who were sound asleep, he found the one that was awake. It was of a clever-looking wizard with black hair and a pointed beard, who was painted wearing the green and silver colors of Slytherin.
"That's right. I forgot the portraits could talk in this universe. Brilliant," the Doctor couldn't help but marvel in awe. He held up a hand. "No, no, no, no. Don't tell me—" Racking his brain, the Doctor thought he recalled reading about this particular portrait. He pondered it for a moment before guessing, "You're Phineas Nigellus Black."
"Took you long enough," said the portrait, who looked down upon him disdainfully. "How glad I am that you were never part of my House. We Slytherins are just as prideful and clever, yet would never stoop so low to prove ourselves as you Ravenclaws do. How abhorrent it is that Albus Dumbledore would trust you after tonight."
"If you managed to overhear everything, then you know I am not Barty Crouch Jr.," the Doctor told Phineas. Of course he didn't expect the portrait to believe him, and that remained true as Phineas scoffed.
"Unlike Dumbledore, Severus Snape (a Slytherin mind you), is smart enough to recognize thinly-veiled lies when he sees them. Alien from another universe? That is quite the stretch. You have befouled the name of Crouch, a once proud and noble pure-blood family," Phineas said ruefully.
"You seem to put a lot of stock into blood purity, don't you?" said the Doctor, frowning.
"Why, it's no secret that the best magic comes from only the purest of bloods. Take my own family for instance—the Black name has spanned over the centuries, achieving greatness which Mudbloods could only dream of," Phineas replied.
"There's no reason to use that word," the Doctor said coolly, and Phineas chuckled.
"Why, after tonight's events, I thought you would believe the same thing, boy."
"You thought wrong," the Doctor said through gritted teeth, beginning to despise Phineas Nigellus more and more. If his portrait was this bad, the Doctor wondered what the man was like when alive.
"That's right. You only joined to spite your father. Ah, for young people to be so lost in rebellion, turning a blind eye to authority," Phineas sighed in contempt.
"Wait…Junior doesn't believe in this blood purity nonsense? But I thought he was Voldy's most faithful servant?" the Doctor questioned, furrowing his eyebrows.
Phineas rolled his eyes. "Clearly you don't. Of course, the Crouches were always tolerant of Mudbloods and Muggles, though not as openly as brash in declaring themselves blood traitors as the Weasleys are. Your father was a smart man, not letting his bias blind him in his rise through the Ministry of Magic. And as you know, he showed exceptional prowess in my House," he finished pompously, puffing out his chest. "You would've done well in learning from him, boy. You could have joined him in adding onto the accolades of us noble pure-bloods."
"It's not our blood that defines us, but our actions," the Doctor said ruefully.
"And your actions tonight are telling enough," Phineas countered.
"Will you two be quiet down there? Some of us are trying to sleep!" a witch inside another portrait roared. She held a thick stick of wood that looked undoubtedly like a birch rod. When she spotted Phineas Nigellus, she rolled her eyes. "Ah, Phineas. Arguing about the pride of nobility and blood status once again?"
Phineas sniffed haughtily, jutting his chin out. "No. In fact, I was just about to visit my other portrait. I have no need for petty arguments with an ill-mannered reprobate."
"Well, I never!" exclaimed the witch, quite affronted.
"Not you, woman! I was talking about my great-great grandson."
Phineas Nigellus dipped away into the frame of his portrait and disappeared. The Doctor stared at the empty frame, scowling. He tried to push away the unfriendly reminder that all pure-bloods were somehow related to one another upon hearing Phineas' parting words.
"He's right, you know," said the witch, brandishing the birch rod threateningly at the Doctor. "Dumbledore may know best, but that doesn't mean you aren't quite lucky to not be thrown into Azkaban, young man."
Tired of trying to convince others that he was not Barty Crouch Jr., the Doctor sighed and didn't argue any further. He couldn't have tried even if he wanted to, for even his bickering with Phineas Nigellus seemed to have sucked out his last remaining morsel of energy.
Settling wearily down on the cot, the Doctor thought about how much he despised this situation of mistaken identity and how easily tired humans became, when the drowsiness of sleep overcame him.
