Chapter Three
Reluctant Request
Dumbledore seated himself in the tall chair behind his desk and motioned for the Doctor to sit across from him. "Doctor, someone or something has taken books and brought them to life. From what I can tell, only the Harry Potter series exist in the real world."
"When did this all start?" the Doctor inquired, quickly taking out his glasses and poking around the office instead of sitting as Dumbledore had offered.
"When do you think it started, Doctor?"
The Doctor paused in his study to tap his sonic screwdriver against his chin. "1981, then again in 1991, that's when Harry Potter came into being in the books."
"Yes."
"But, then, this has been going on for years! No one has noticed? No one has said anything?"
"The books weren't published until June 1997. That is the future of this world," Dumbledore explained calmly.
"Professor, why these books? What is so significant about them?" He picked up a book from one of my many shelves in Dumbledore's office. "Ah, The Beetle and the Bard. I love this book."
"You can read ancient runes?"
"Well, not exactly. You see, my, er-"
"Spaceship."
"Yes, spaceship translates all languages—what a minute! How do you know about that?" he demanded, snapping the book shut. He shoved it hastily back onto the shelf.
"Doctor, we are both clever men beyond our time." Dumbledore sighed deeply, looking older than ever. "I know what is to come. I do not know why, perhaps it is because I am considered the most powerful wizard by many. Doctor, I implore you; the world needs to be set right. I know you can help, Timelord of Gallifrey."
"You can't know that! You aren't real!" the Doctor exploded. He ran over to the desk and slammed his shaking hands down on it. "You are a character from a book!"
"Am I not real, Doctor? Somebody conceived me, somebody created me. I exist in the hearts and minds of children and adults all over the world." He steepled his long fingers together and perched them under his chin. "You are a man from another world, another time, the only other person in this entire world whom knows what is to come. I need your help, Doctor, to put everything right."
"I can't help you, Professor." The Doctor slumped tiredly into the chair, his long legs thrown over the arm. "What if I do something and it changes the course of the books? I don't want to go back to the future only to hear that Voldemort survives after all. No, I like happy endings, thanks."
"Like I said, Doctor, I know what is to come," the headmaster began. "I think you were always meant to come here. If I can offer you my personal guarantee that you will not change anything at all, will you help us, Doctor?"
"I don't see how I can! I've read all the books, Professor! Nowhere in the books does it say that the Doctor saved the day."
"Perhaps, Doctor, that is because you don't save the day as you." Dumbledore smiled at him, his eyes hinting at something the Doctor couldn't understand.
"What are you talking about?" He picked his head up from the side of the chair after having absentmindedly studying the ceiling.
"Think for a minute, please, Doctor. What happens during Harry's fourth year at Hogwarts?"
"There's the, er, Triwizard Tournament, Voldemort returns, and," he paused, "there's a spy at Hogwarts."
"Yes, there is a spy at Hogwarts," Dumbledore agreed, smiling that the Doctor was cottoning on. "I would like you to be that spy, Doctor. We both know who it is—a man no one has seen for years, nobody knows what he looks like except his father. His father dies."
"Yes, by the spy, by Bartemius Crouch, Jr.! Sorry, but I don't do the whole killing thing, Professor," he argued, leaping up from the chair.
"I don't either, Doctor. You know that." Dumbledore stood slowly from his desk and walked over to a bookshelf. He plucked a thick book out from between six others. "Do you know what this is, Doctor?"
"It's the fourth book," he gasped, snatching the book from the headmaster's hands. He flipped through it quickly, staring in horror at each blank page. "It's empty!"
"Turn to the end of the book."
"But it's empty!" he repeated, whipping out his sonic screwdriver to scan the pages.
"Not yet, Doctor," Dumbledore ordered, placing a calm hand on the Doctor's. "Please, turn to the end of the book."
Reluctantly, he did as requested. "There's nothing here!"
"Keep looking."
"What? This doesn't make sense! This is impossible!" He perused the pages about Lily and James Potter coming back from the dead as imprints to help Harry in his battle with Voldemort. "But this hasn't happened yet!"
"Correct, Doctor, but they are dead."
"They are not dead because they never existed!"
"Doctor, please!" Dumbledore interrupted, holding up a hand to silence him. "It is my belief that when we 'die', we are put back into the books where we should be. As you can see, Lily and James Potter are existing in the books. They are not dead."
"I'm not going to kill anyone, Professor. I don't care that you are just characters in a book, I refuse to let anyone cease to be."
"I am not asking you to kill anyone, Doctor." He smiled sadly at him, the twinkle in his eyes barely there. "You are such a wonderful doctor, always looking out for those whom need help and never asking for anything in return. You have spent years making up for what you had to do to end your war, and as a result you are all alone with no one to share the burden of what you've had to endure. I know that, to you, I am just a character in a book, Doctor, but I cannot think of anyone whom understands what you have had to go through more than I. We both know what I've endured; we both know how similar we are." Tentatively, he took the book from the Doctor's hands and placed it carefully back onto the shelf.
"I shouldn't exist, Doctor, none of us should. I am asking, rather reluctantly, for you to help us. Solve the mystery behind this spell and set this world right. Take Barty Crouch Jr.'s place, and become the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor as Alastor Moody."