Disclaimer: If its not someone else's, its mine.

Chapter 1 – In the Land of Mordor

This was it. All his training had come to this. Harry Potter stood before the Dark Lord Voldemort and prepared for death. He had lost all he cared about to stop him and now all their sacrifice was about to pay off. Hermione had helped him find the spell. The spell his mother used. It was a forbidden spell, considered dark by many. He lifted his wand as Voldemort sneered down at him and tried not to shake.

"Vita Parumper Vita." He intoned as the green light of Avada Kedavra encompassed him. A life for a life.

He was dead. He knew he had to be. Voldemorts spell had struck him down and he felt his heart stop as everything went black.

And as he died, so too did the piece of soul that had clung to his own for so long. And, as Voldemort smiled, so sure of his victory, his spell rebound upon him in an all too familiar way. And that was the end of the most terrible Dark Lord known to wizard kind.

In the land of Middle Earth, a fiery Eye glared out over the massive black tower it rested on. But, before the gaze of its disbelieving servants, it began to flicker and waver like a candle in a breeze. And then suddenly it was gone, the Eye vanished from sight. But the power of Saurons presence was not gone, for his tower did not crumble, and the armies that had gathered in Mordor marched forward to seek out their master.

Elsewhere in Middle Earth, nine dark riders gathered to begin their hunt. They rode for the village of Bree, where the One Ring called to them. But, even as the Ring had cried out to them, another power, greater and more terrible, stopped them in their tracks.

"The Master." One of the riders hissed.

"The Master dwells in Mordor fool!" The dreaded Witch King, snapped.

"Do you not feel it my Lord?" Another questioned cautiously.

That caused a pause.

"Yes, I feel it." The Witch King admitted.

"Perhaps he has found a new way to return!" Suggested yet another, each completely indistinguishable from the other eight of his fellows.

"Perhaps…"

"If it his Him, He will surely be pleased that we have found the Ring so he may take it himself." The Witch King decided.

And so the Riders turned away from their quarry, to seek out the source of this dark and familiar magic, each in turn not even realizing as they began to remember things long forgotten. The Nine were once more becoming Murazor, Khamûl, Dwar, Ji Indur, Akhorahil, Hoarmurath, Adunaphel, Ren and Uvatha.

Harry grunted as he hit solid ground once again. This time everything around was in blurry shades of gray. He reached up to check if he still had his glasses, only to find them still on his face. He took them off and everything snapped back into focus. It was night, with a full moon and glittering stars above. And yet somehow he could see almost as if it was day, if a little less colorful and more shadowed. He was lying on top of a large hill, surrounded by crumbling ruins. Miraculously, he'd managed to avoid hitting any actual stones, though his back still ached from the impact.

As he sat up and turned his head to get a better idea of his surroundings, long black hair fell onto his face. He lifted up the strands to stare in confusion only to see an equally unfamiliar hand. It was not the hand of a young wizard barely legal in the eyes of the Ministry, but the hand of a full grownman.

Panicked gripped him as he reached for his wand where it had fallen beside him, only to find a staff instead. It reminded him of the Elder Wand in its design and the darkness of the wood. At its top a small black stone was encased in a cage of wood. Palantiri, something whispered in the back of his mind. Everything about it was both familiar and not at the same time. He reached for the staff and, like the first time he held his wand, warmth rushed through him from the tips of his fingers and down to his toes. He smiled softly as bittersweet memories fleeting surfaced and he shoved them aside. He could reminisce later.

His panic warred with curiosity and lost. He needed to see what he looked like. He tried to remember the spell to create temporary reflective surfaces but failed. Perhaps water would work? Clutching the staff tightly he tapped it gently on the ground. As he spoke the spell though, something darker and more guttural passed his lips instead.

"Jut." He cast, jumping at his deep and unfamiliar voice. He didn't understand what spell he had used, it wasn't any Latin he could remember. But a small amount of water poured across the ground. Stars from overhead sparked in the puddle beneath him and as he looked down his knees gave out from under him. His breath quickened in horror. He didn't recognize his face.

His hair was a soft black, falling past his shoulder to touch his shoulder blades while is skin was so pale it nearly glowed in the moonlight. And he was tall, at least six feet. He was dressed all in black, with black leather armor covering his chest and a warm cloak to cover his shoulders. He touched his cheek and watched his reflection trace the unfamiliar face. He was older, that much was certain. He wasn't a teenager anymore, he was a man. A rather exotic looking man. His cheekbones were delicate and his ears…his ears came to long fragile looking points. He looked like an elf from a fairy tail. Only his eyes remained the same, if perhaps even greener then before.

"It could be worse." He mussed aloud, but the shaking in his hands and the tremors in his breath betrayed his seemingly calm demeanor. His voice when not casting a spell was different, smooth and deep.

He took a few deep breaths. Something had happened, that much was certain. He needed to figure out where he was first, perhaps locate a town.

And then it hit him, he had no idea where he was. In fact, as far as he could tell he was in the middle of nowhere. Little to no vegetation grew on the hill, though he could see mostly flat planes of lush looking grass in every direction. And farther off still was what looked like a forest.

He felt his heart quickening its pace with his rising dread. But he didn't have time to break down. He needed to take care of his basic needs first. He frowned as he struggled to remember what he knew about camping from when he was preparing to hunt the horcruxes.

Fire was most important now that he knew he had water when he needed it; it would ward off any curious creatures. Look for signs of something he could burn, he saw only piles of rock and crumbling pillars. Perhaps if he had more light, it would be easier. He lifted his new staff to cast Lumos, but another dark work came from his mouth in place of the spell he'd meant.

"Draut!" He cried, still startled by his voice, more like a rasping growl then any real voice. But the light erupted from the top of the onyx black Palantiri. There was a squeaking sound as a few unseen rats fled the bright light. From the corner of his eye something flashed. He turned his head to spot it, lifting his new light higher to see if he could find it.

In a small hole, only visible when the light hid it just right, was a metal box. He bent down to pick it up, curious as to what was inside it. The crumbing remains of an iron lock, worn by time, was all that held the box together. A simple touch and the lock became metallic dust. He lifted the lid and gasped. Inside the box, surrounded by torn and deteriorating velvet, lay four rings. They looked so familiar, like he'd seen them before, perhaps in a dream. It was a white gold, with a huge glittering sapphire set in the middle. He placed each ring on a finger, and it felt right, as if he'd found something he'd been missing.

But as he placed the last ring on, he fell to the ground with a scream. He felt like he was on fire, his every breath searing him from within and flesh around the rings burned as the bands glowed ominously. Memories of another life came flooding back to him. He was Sauron! Loyal devotee of the great god Morgoth! He even remembered his supposed 'death'. But anything past his battle with Isildur was indistinct and too hard to grasp, like holding water in his fist.

But that was not all he remembered. He remembered his existence before he fell to the corruption of Morgoth. A time when he'd believed in all things 'good'. They'd called him Mairon, once. Before the elves began calling him 'The Abhorred', as they had when he'd begun spying of the Valor, the creators of the world. But Morgoth, he had been more powerful in manipulation then any other. For it was he that created Discord itself. Now for the first time, he saw what Morgoth had done to him with clear eyes. He had caused him to betray all that he had once stood for. He had corrupted the teachings of the only one who he might truly have counted as a Master to him. The Valar Aulë, the Smith.

Guilt gripped him, for he knew he had caused pain and suffering beneath Morgoths influence. As Sauron he would never make up for all that had been done. The rings had been meant to make him even more powerful, but he'd been blind to the suffering it had caused him.

Beneath all this, he was also Harry Potter. Hero for the Light. He didn't need the Ring anymore! He was alive and powerful and…he didn't need to conquer all of Middle Earth. He had vast lands he could rule if he really felt like it, conquered by his servants. And he knew now, of magic more powerful then any other. Sauron had never learned of the magic of love, but Harry knew it well.

But there was no time to ponder it all as a dizzying exhaustion pulled at him. Perhaps if he slept he would understand why he suddenly remembered being two different people. He looked around a bit more, careful not to stumble, and finally found a dying bush that looked as if it would burn nicely.

Once more, as he tried to cast Incendio, something entirely different sprung from his mouth. He remembered it now, it was the Black Speech.

"Bal!" He snapped as flames leapt from the Palantiri, and the bush caught ablaze instantly. He stretched out on a flat rock near his new fire and closed his eyes, wrapping his cloak around him tightly for all the comfort it could give him. As he drifted off to sleep, he shed a single tear. For the tale of Mairon was a sad one he'd rather have not known at all.

His sleep was plagued with nightmares as his subconscious mind tried to make sense of who he was. The balance between Harry and Sauron was thin and it threatened to drive him to complete insanity. As he slept his subconscious worked to repair the damage it was doing to his mind, and make the two separate personalities into some strange hybrid of the two.

The Nazgul hissed as dark magic flared. They were getting close now, they could feel it. They finally came to a halt as small fire held them just barely at bay. Lying upon a rock, lay Sauron as he had been when he gave the Nine Rings to them. His very presence bolstered their own strength. They dismounted their dark horses and fell to their knees as one.

"Master!" Murazor, the Witch King, called out.

Harry jerked awake with a startled cry. Dark cloaked figures similar to Demontors in appearance knelt before him. He narrowed his eyes slightly. He knew them. The Nazgul.

"Murazor." He greeted slowly, not even realizing as he slipped into the Black Speech.

"Long has it been since we have gazed upon you so whole."

"I…Ugh. Stop. Just stop. Okay? I can't….everything is so confusing. I died, didn't I?" Harry gripped his hair to ward of a threatening headache. "Tell me Murazor, who am I to you when you look upon me?"

"You are our Lord Sauron!" Murazor half shouted, "Has your restoration caused you to forget us?! Your most loyal servants?!"

"Perhaps he does not remember us as we have become." Khamûl suggested gently. "Truly my Lord Sauron, we have changed in your absence from the soil of Middle Earth. This is what became of us without your presence. As a spirit, you could no longer give us back our true forms."

They were certainly much more outspoken then he remembered. More like what they had been when they were truly human. Murazor had been rather hot-headed, unlike his brothers, Adunaphel and Akhorahil. While Khamûl had always been his voice of reason. It was why he'd allowed him to become second in command of the Nazgul. Such balance had long since been unnecessary however, as they'd held little independent thought under the sway of their rings. It was actually reliving to see them this way, they were less like dementors now and more like the men they'd once been.

"But now that you have returned, already I can feel my strength increasing!" Akhorahil said. And that was true. Without him, the rings made them weaker as he'd designed them to. Their existence depended on his.

"Indeed." Agreed Adunaphel. "I can feel the air around me now, and the soil beneath me."

"I remember you all well enough. You have already given everything to me, do not sacrifice your shreds of dignity as Kings by kneeling before me." Harry smiled. "Besides, you seem more like friends then servants to me, and friends have no need to kneel."

They rose slowly, hesitantly. He felt completely comfortable around these strange beings.

Perhaps they really had been friends in another life. Regardless of what they had been to each other, they were all he had now in terms of people he could trust.

"Master, we have found the Ring!" Murazor exclaimed, interrupting his thoughts.

Harry sighed. They believed him to be Sauron, and as far as he knew he was…or had been at least. But no longer was he the same. Now he was also Harry. And Harry could care less about some insane Ring with a mind of its own.

"Enough. Forget the Ring. Let it consume them. I care not. It is time for me to fulfill my promise to you, my most loyal. Time for your Kingdoms to flourish once more. And great shall be your domains! Greater then any other Kingdoms in all of Middle Earth!"

A cheer erupted from around him and their hope was palpable.

"Truly Master?" Khamûl asked hesitantly.

"Truly." Harry reassured him with a smile. "Come, sit by the fire and remind me what I have likely forgotten since my…resurrection. Tell me what you remember since your awakening."

"But Master...the flames will-"

"Do nothing." Harry interrupted. "I am here now, aren't I? I know magic that will protect you from even the power of the sun." And that much was true. He knew a spell or two that kept vampires from burning in the daylight. Hopeful the principle was the same for Nazgul.

"Thank you Master."

"But first, you must give me your rings."

And here the Nazgul hesitated. Discontented murmuring broke out among them.

"Master, you know we live to obey you. But…it is hard to part with your gift." Murazor explained. They had long since become addicted to the power of the rings.

Harry reached out and placed a hand his shoulder.

"Calm yourselves. I know well what they mean to you, but their power is not need, for you already possess all it can give you. You took them once in hopes of becoming greater kings. You never saw what they would do to you before it was too late. I can feel your sorrow, the feeling of being trapped. Enslaved by me, through the curse I put upon them. But no more. Shed your rings and prepare yourselves, for you will become what you once were and what you were meant to be."

As one the nine knelt once more and removed the rings from their armored hands.

"For you Master." Murazor intoned, holding out his ring first.

Harry sighed.

"I remember what the world sees when they look upon you. But with me here, and the rings in my possession, there will come a day when all will see you as you truly are. For you were once seen as men, and now you will be seen as Kings. True Kings, wise Kings. But first, I will have to teach you what you have forgotten."

"Like what, Master?"

"The most powerful magic of all, of course." Harry said with a wide smile, trying not to let it falter at the fear his smile sparked in them, "The magic of love."

So, do you like it? I hope so! This is going to be SO much fun to write. Sorry if it's not all completely correct, but some things will be movie based and some will be based off the books and some I just make up! Please review! No flames! My fragile ego couldn't take it.