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.
The Doctor awoke blearily to the sound of chirping. Sitting up in a daze, it took him a moment to remember the events of the night before and why he found himself to be in the exact film set duplicate of Dumbledore's office, complete with a Fawkes the phoenix squawking replica.
He placed his hands over his chest, and groaned in frustration when he felt the lone heartbeat, confirming that he was, in fact, still human. The Doctor vaguely wondered how long he'd been sleeping, for it was pitch dark outside. 'Seven hours? Twelve hours?' He scowled when he realized his sense of time was long gone now that he was human.
'This body must have been more tired than I thought.' Running his hands down his face wearily, he wondered if this was how it normally felt to be human. He was so used to jumping about with little to no rest at all, always running, never stopping, filled to the brim with energy. Now he felt downright exhausted, and it just hit the Doctor how hungry he was as his empty stomach ached. It was a feeling he was not used to in the slightest.
The Doctor thought about using the Marauder's Map to find his way down to the Hogwarts kitchens to grab some food, when the smell of something delicious wafted around his nostrils. Next to his cot, he found a tray of filling food—some Yorkshire pudding, a helping of shepherd's pie, a piece of treacle tart, and a goblet of pumpkin juice to wash it all down—that seemed as though it had appeared out of nowhere.
Stomach rumbling, the Doctor didn't give the sudden appearance of the tray a second thought and wolfed down the food. And how delicious it was, he couldn't help but think as his mind began to clear up.
Who knew that simple rest and some proper food could help a human think clearly for once?
As he drained the last of his pumpkin juice, the Doctor wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and stood up, stretching. Just as he was beginning to plan out where to go in search of a potential crack connecting this universe with his own, he heard a high-pitched, piercing shriek. He looked around frantically, wondering if possibly Fawkes, who was now being reborn from ash, had made the noise, when something collided hard with his leg.
Looking down, the Doctor saw a tiny creature clutching onto his leg tightly, as though fighting to never let go of him. The tiny creature was wearing filthy clothes, as though it didn't care for them, and had long bat-like ears. The tiny creature looked up at him, trembling, and the Doctor saw that it had enormous brown eyes and a nose the shape of a large tomato.
It was unmistakably a house-elf.
"Master Barty! Master Barty! I thoughts you is gone," the house-elf squealed out in a high-pitched voice, its enormous brown eyes watering.
The Doctor racked his brain, trying to remember who this house-elf was, when it suddenly hit him. "Winky?" he gasped.
"Master Barty, you is a bad boy, doing what you is done this year," Winky berated him.
Unsure of how to go about this, the Doctor slowly sat back down on the cot, keeping his eyes curiously glued upon the house-elf. He read about them in the books, but seeing one up close was just so…well, miserable. Winky looked way worse than described, as though she took to neglecting herself despite gaining freedom from her Master.
"Oh, don't…don't call me 'Master'," said the Doctor uneasily, thinking of his old adversary. Those were a poor choice of words, for Winky began to cry out. "No! Please…don't cry! I didn't mean to offend you, Winky!"
"Offend Winky? Young Master could never offend Winky. You is my Master no matter what your father is saying!" she sobbed. "It is Winky's fault for telling Master to take you to Quidditch Cup….Winky did just as bad as you!"
"No. No, you didn't. I swear, you didn't," said the Doctor. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. When the house-elf's wailing grew louder, he could no longer stand it and demanded, "Winky, stop crying!"
In an instant, Winky quit her sobbing. The Doctor's heart sank when he realized that she automatically listened to his commands. 'This is definitely not the right way to treat these creatures,' he thought, taking pity.
"I mean….take a seat and calm down, please. Winky, I am not your Master, nor was I ever to begin with. You see, I am not Barty Crouch Junior."
Winky obeyed the command of taking a seat with a sniffle. She gazed up at the Doctor through watery eyes, shaking her head disappointedly.
"Oh, Master Barty….what did those dementors do to you? You is not thinking straight. You knows who you are, and Winky do, too. You is young Master Barty. I knows it."
"Winky, I am not Junior. I am the Doctor and I'm from another universe. You don't need to listen to my commands or serve me," the Doctor told her reasonably.
At first the Doctor thought Winky was going to defend her point again, but she surprised him when she whispered, "Doctor…..You is the Doctor? The last of the Time Lords from Gallifrey?"
The Doctor did a double take at this. If he hadn't already drunk all of his pumpkin juice, then he surely would have spat it out right at that moment. His eyebrows shot up, completely baffled by her knowledge.
"You know who I am?"
Winky must have sensed she had made a mistake of some kind, for she quickly backtracked, "Y-yes…you is young Master Barty...I knows it…."
"Winky, how do you know who I am? How do you know I'm really the Doctor?" the Doctor pressed.
Winky looked right on the verge of tears upon this question. She covered her enormous brown eyes with her long fingers and shook her head, rocking back and forth.
"N-no. I promised…I promised…I keep my Master's secrets…I keep them…"
"Your Master? Are you saying that Barty Crouch knows who I am?" asked the Doctor.
The house-elf was still fighting against her instincts, shaking her head adamantly, when she suddenly reached out a hand for the tray. The Doctor saw this and quickly caught her arm, preventing her from hurting herself. He knocked over the empty goblet in the process, where it clanked and banged upon the stone floor.
"There's no need for that, Winky. Now, how does Barty Crouch know who I am? How does he know what Time Lords are? Do they exist in this universe, too?"
Winky, who's eyes were dripping tears onto her tomato-like nose, sniffled and squealed out, crying.
"I…c-cannot say…my Master…my Master's secrets are mine…I must hold them…."
The Doctor thought for a moment, then hating himself for doing this, told her, "But Winky, let's just say for a moment that I am young Master Barty, wouldn't you be able to tell me what's going on?"
"N-no! Young Master…h-he told m-me….must keep s-secret from young Master Barty…cannot know…."
The Doctor's eyes widened upon hearing this, for it told him exactly what he needed to know.
"Winky, is Mr. Crouch alive? Winky…you are a free house-elf, your Master's secrets died away the moment you were set free," the Doctor pointed out. When Winky continued to shake her head, the Doctor tried a different tactic. "Winky, I am the Doctor, not Junior. Now, may you tell me—"
"I is still serving Master Crouch! I is still serving him!" Winky shouted defiantly, thrashing about, wiping her tomato-like nose as it dripped with every tear that flowed out of her.
While the Doctor could've pressed further, he'd heard enough. He let go of Winky's arm gently and bent down to pick up the fallen goblet, placing it back on the tray.
"Thank you for the food, Winky. It helped me out alot," he told her quietly, watching her scuttle over to pick up the tray.
It seemed as though Winky was fighting with something else, for as she took her time unnecessarily rearranging the empty plates and utensils, she hiccoughed and turned back to face the Doctor with watery eyes.
"Young Master Barty…he is bad this year, but n-never before…never like this. P-please help my young M-master Barty…"
Winky's eyes widened upon realizing she said too much. In the blink of an eye, she vanished with a crack, leaving the Doctor alone on the cot.
"That house-elf is not right. It needs a good thrashing, if you ask me," echoed the reedy voice of Phineas Nigellus through his empty portrait frame.
"No one did," the Doctor snapped. He shot up and went over to Dumbledore's claw-footed desk. He snatched the spare wand and tapped the Marauder's Map, saying, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
The Map gradually revealed its secrets. While the Doctor did not spot the dot of another Bartemius Crouch outside Hagrid's hut on the Hogwarts grounds, the gears in his head were turning as he gazed down upon where he had seen the dot residing the night prior. He focused on that particular spot by the tree near Hagrid's hut.
"Ohhhh…That. Is. Clever."
Tapping the parchment with the wand again, the Doctor whispered, "Mischief Managed."
He wouldn't need the Marauder's Map any longer, not where he was heading anyways, and he was sure Dumbledore would return the parchment to Harry Potter where it rightfully belonged. Leaving behind the blank Map on the desk, the Doctor slipped on the Invisibility Cloak and headed out of Dumbledore's office.
He took the stairs three at a time, dashing as fast as he could, adrenaline pumping in his veins. Making sure he leapt over the trick step this time around, the Doctor bolted down the Grand Staircase and out the great oak front doors. He was panting, sweating as his human body grew wearisome from this overexertion, but the Doctor didn't care. On he went, over the rolling grassy hills and down past Hagrid's hut, where he came upon the key to it all.
"Of course, why didn't I see it before?" he whispered, stopping a short distance around the base of the tree as he bent double, catching his breath.
He should have remembered it. Certainly a few locations from the books and films deviated from the actual thing, but right before him stood the Whomping Willow, as quiet and unassuming as ever. And if his hunch was correct, the Doctor needed to head through the secret entrance that led out to Hogsmeade's Shrieking Shack.
Taking another gulp of air, the Doctor straightened up and took a tentative step forward, slowly making his way towards the brutish tree. After around ten paces, the Whomping Willow began to sway about, and before the Doctor could wonder whether the tree could sense him underneath the Invisibility Cloak, something connected hard with his stomach out of nowhere.
Sent sprawling on the ground, the Doctor recovered his wits quickly and rolled over, avoiding a wicked branch that would have done some serious damage. He popped back up, and took two more steps. He ducked under one branch, but another struck his face, forcing the Invisibility Cloak off him and cutting a bloody gash on his right cheek as he lay spread-eagle on the grass.
As the Doctor backed away to avoid another thick branch that barely missed hitting between his legs, he thought hard. He had to get to the knot of the trunk, but couldn't get close enough to the base without getting walloped by the vicious branches. Even if he did have his sonic screwdriver on him, it wouldn't work on wood….'wait a minute'—wood…stick….Wasn't he technically a wizard now?
Pulling his wand out of his coat pocket, the Doctor aimed it at one of the sticks laying on the ground and said, "Wingardium Leviosa!"
The branch barely floated up before faltering down. He cursed inwardly at this, and outwardly as another branch whacked him on the head. He slammed hard against the ground.
Seeing stars, the Doctor managed to shift the wand and, once again, tried to use the levitation charm to make the stick float. When it didn't so much as quiver, the Doctor grunted in frustration when a reluctant idea came to mind. He really didn't want to access memories of a mind that was not his own, but it seemed as though he had no other choice if he were to get inside the trunk of the Whomping Willow without wasting any more time or getting severely injured.
Gritting his teeth and closing his eyes the Doctor grudgingly gave in and used the brain and muscle memory of Barty Jr. to guide him. Everything came naturally to him within seconds as he opened his eyes and waved his wand with a simple swish and flick. He finally managed to work the levitation charm correctly, and the stick pushed against the knot of the trunk, freezing up the Whomping Willow for the time being.
Not taking any chances, the Doctor snatched up the fallen Invisibility Cloak and pocketed it before diving inside the trunk. 'Looks like there is a lot more to magic than I thought,' he mused as he was forced to crawl through the dark passageway, bruised and battered.
On and on the tunnel went. It must've taken a good half an hour to crawl through it when it began to rise, and moments later, twisted. There was a patch of dim light through a small opening, and the Doctor pulled himself out of the hole and into the dusty, disordered room of the Shrieking Shack.
Breathing heavily, he stifled a hiss as he stood up and swayed about, leaning against a termite-ridden wall. 'Okay. Maybe I should start to learn my limits as a human.' He was completely out of breath, when he heard a bang coming from the rickety door under the stairs a little over to his left.
Just as he was about to gain a closer look at it, the wooden door burst open. The Doctor stumbled back just in time before the door fell with a muffled thud on the ground. Coughing on the dust, the Doctor's eyes widened and his heart skipped a beat when he saw a metallic humanoid marching its way towards him.
"What?" the Doctor said, his voice rising an octave higher, not out of fear, but shock.
He knew it shouldn't have been there. Couldn't have been there. It wasn't remotely possible. The Cybermen couldn't have existed in the wizarding world.
Yet there was one standing before him, continuing its march as it declared in a grated voice, "You will be deleted."
The Doctor quickly ducked away from the Cyberman's grasp and backed away, trying to find anything to stave it off. By the foot of the crumbling staircase, there was a turned over umbrella stand. He snatched up one of the moth-eaten umbrellas, thrusting it before him in defense.
"Stand back! I was very good at wielding these three lifetimes ago," the Doctor stated as he brandished the umbrella at the Cybermen.
"Resistance is futile. You will be deleted," the Cyberman declared.
"I'm giving you one last warning! Stand back or—Okay, I give up," the Doctor relented when he saw that the Cyberman wasn't going to halt any time soon.
The Doctor leapt up on the crumbling stairs, backing away upwards as the Cyberman followed him.
"You will be deleted."
"You can't do that. I'm the Doctor. You need me alive," he tried to reason with it.
"You will be deleted."
"Don't you remember? I'm the Doctor!" he shouted as he clumsily opened the umbrella and fumbled around with it before dropping it and continuing his backwards ascent. "The Doctor! You and I both know you are not supposed to be here! I can help you figure out why you're here! I can help you!"
"Sensors recognize a common vascular system. You are a human," the Cyberman countered, stomping through the umbrella, unyielding. "You are expendable. You will be deleted."
"I may be human now, but I am the Doctor! You have to trust me!" the Doctor pleaded, running out of room as he tripped and fell on the upper landing. "You can't delete me! I'm the Doctor! I'm the only one who can help you! I'm the Doctor! Just listen to me!"
BANG!
Just as the Doctor raised his hands up to shield himself in defense, the Cyberman in front of him suddenly stiffened as some sort of electrical shock of red light coursed through its system. The next moment, the Doctor backed away as the Cyberman fell forward, completely immobilized.
Pushing himself back on his feet, the Doctor looked down at the fallen Cyberman in shock, wondering, 'What just happened?' It had been inches away from nabbing him, when it suddenly shut down, as though by magic.
The Doctor's eyes widened as he looked over his hands, turning them over. In his state of panic, he had forgotten of his newly-found magical abilities courtesy of the body he now resided in. Had he actually done that to the Cyberman without meaning to?
"Brilliant!" he couldn't help but admire in awe. "I mean, bad that it was completely accidental, but brilliant! Though what are you doing here? This isn't your universe." He addressed the fallen Cyberman as he crouched down to inspect it.
He reached for his glasses, only to mentally berate himself when he remembered he wouldn't have them on him. Instead, the Doctor grazed his fingers along the chestplate of the Cyberman. It was completely singed from the bout of accidental magic he performed, the metal frayed. The Doctor pulled open the central plating and examined the inner workings of the Cyberman. He found a scorched emotional inhibitor and proceeded to dig deeper inside the wiring.
"Looks like whatever spell that was managed to send off an electromagnetic disturbance powerful enough to fry you from the inside out," he muttered, retracting his hand from the Cyberman. "Where did you come from?"
The Doctor looked around the landing and saw one door that was cracked ajar, an odd white light shining under it. Popping to his feet, the Doctor crept towards the doorway, and as he did so, the gears in his head started to turn—the crack was in that room.
Taking his chances, the Doctor kicked the door wide open.
Inside appeared to be a parlor filled with grimy chairs and a sofa. Beside a broken-down piano that was coated in a thick layer of dust were tattered curtains that danced in the breeze of the broken window. Inside the fireplace was soot and a strange glow of white smolders among the brick surface. As he stepped towards the fireplace, the Doctor saw that white smolders were shaped in the form of an eerie, footlong smiley face that was stretched out, as though the bricks had been smashed in.
A mad grin made its way onto the Doctor's face once he spotted it.
"Yes! I'm very good!"
Continuing to ignore the searing pain of the gashes and bruises he had just acquired courtesy of the Whomping Willow, he cried out a hearty, "Allons-y!" as he touched a hand to the glowing crack, and threw himself into the unknown.