The Wizard's Guide to Timelords and Other Demons Book 1: The Forgotten War

Ode to The Doctor

As grateful as he was to Fawkes for saving his life, the Doctor vowed that he would never travel by Phoenix again. As far as transmats went, he had never experienced worse. He resolved that should he ever be required to devise a matter-energy transportation device of his own, he would consider this a standard for how not to do it.

After a moment or two, the Doctor returned to his senses and recognized that they had materialized at the far end of Professor Dumbledore's office—and they were alone. Fawkes glided effortlessly across the room and alighted on a perch not far from the headmaster's desk. Then he closed his eyes and appeared to fall asleep.

"Rest now my friend," the Doctor said, smiling thankfully. "You've certainly earned it."

The memory of his vision was still fresh in his mind, and the Doctor keenly felt the weight of the burden it placed upon him. It is your right, Rose's voice had said to him. It is my punishment, would be a better way to put it, he thought.

So many things working together in the last two days had finally succeeded in convincing the Doctor that to defeat the Beast they would have to work as a team. But now, after having learned that everything which had transpired were the consequences of his mistake...

How could I possibly ask others to risk their lives now because of my own failure?

The dream had certainly revealed enough to give him a good start on a plan to defeat the Beast, and the Doctor was well on his way to concocting one. However, this new plan was not going to include Elise, Dumbledore, or anyone else at Hogwarts. There had already been too much suffering because of him, and he alone would assume the responsibility of making things right. But how?

The vision had shown him that any plan without Elise would fail? The Doctor's thoughts were clouded and confused as he continued to stumble over the bottomless pits of his own remorse. He needed to clear his mind somehow. He needed a diversion. Fortunately, the room about him held in abundance all the diversions he could ever desire.

The Doctor's earlier sojourns into Dumbledore's office had been mired in crises, drama, and intense discussions—not to mention the distraction of having been a penguin during his first visit. Now, for the first time, he was able to more fully appreciate this amazing menagerie of intricate gadgets and gizmos, filled with things that whirred, clicked, clanked, chimed and even puffed out little balls of smoke.

He approached and carefully examined a seemingly pointless little mechanism with hundreds of tiny, intricate gears and rods that danced about harmoniously doing who-knows-what. Outstanding! he thought.

Numerous paintings along the walls bore the images of stodgy old wizards that seemed to glare at the Doctor, warily, following him with their eyes as he moved across the room from trinket to trinket, almost giddy with delight. Behind the Headmaster's large, claw-footed desk was the portrait he had earlier seen communicating with Dumbledore—Armando, was it? —though it now appeared to be only a painting of an empty chair.

Then all at once the Doctor's attention was drawn by something else—something really intriguing.

Atop the uppermost shelf of a bookcase next to Armando's portrait rested a shabby, brown wizard's hat. It was tattered and worn and looked to be centuries old. Prompted by his fascination with odd, eclectic apparel, the Doctor reach for the ancient hat and placed it on top of his head. It fit perfectly and felt very comfortable.

The Doctor glanced into a mirror hanging on a nearby wall and admired how the hat made him look so...wizardly. He had just started to seriously consider asking Dumbledore if he could borrow it for a little while when a wide slit opened suddenly at the brim of the hat, and it started to speak.