Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. The author of this story does not claim any such ownership of Harry Potter. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any similarities to persons, living or dead are purely coincidental.

Base/s:Harry Potter

Title:A Darker Sort of Mage

Summary:Hidden away in his tower, Harry Potter is a name unknown. The Dark One. The Illusionist. The Sorcerer. To the peasants in an age where magic was known and feared by all, that is who he is. To Merlin though, he is the Enemy. A Middle Ages fic. Dark!Harry but still human.

Musicusedforinspiration: Prometheus Rising, Empyrean Mercenaries– Immediate, Deep in the Woods, Fairy Tale, The Forgotten Path, Castle of Nightmares, Black Spires - Nox Arcana

Merlin was standing before his King, friend and mentee.

"Please my King, we cannot! He is a plague to everyone he touches, he will bring only pain to your kingdom!" he argued.

Arthur stubbornly refused to accept that Merlin was right in this matter.

"Merlin! It must be done! You know my reasons, why do you hate him so? Is it because he is a fellow sorcerer?" he asked, eyeing the elderly wizard.

Merlin shook his head.

"No, I will not begrudge him my acknowledgement that he is powerful, but he is..." he searched for the word. "Unnatural." He finished uncomfortably.

Arthur was tempted to raise an eyebrow, but refrained. His friend was the last person to call someone unnatural due to his own parentage after all. Born of a mortal woman and sired by an incubus, the origins of Merlin's supernatural powers were known to so very few, Arthur could count them on one hand.

They were situated in Arthurs study, a roaring fire in the hearth and furs on the floor, keeping the winters chill at bay. Merlin was standing, pacing the room, his robes brushing the floor with every turn. Arthur was seated, a hand cupped around a flagon of drink, of which he took a sip, relishing the warmth that ran down his throat and settled in his stomach.

The war with Morgan le Fay was not going as well as his heralds depicted. Contrary to popular belief, the war was one of magic and unearthly powers. The people as a whole, did not like magic. They barely tolerated knowledge of its existence, let alone those who practiced the art. Those were few and far between. And so, this brought them to their current situation. Arthur had gotten wind of a powerful magic user who resided in the far north. Gathering information about this sorcerer was difficult. Very little was known about him, and what was known was hardly good. Arthur passed it off as the people being close minded about magic and willing to believe the man was a demon of some sort. However, when he mentioned his plan to Merlin, his closest friend and counsellor, he had been surprised at the reaction.

Merlin apparently knew this man, not very well apparently, but enough to have an opinion. A loud one. And to call him unnatural... Arthur was beginning to feel as though this had not been a good idea. But they were so desperate! They needed help, whether he liked it or not. Mordred, the little fool, was no more than a pawn on his aunts board.

If Morgause had not been dead, Arthur was sure that she would have wept at what her sister and son were doing. He ignored the pang in his heart at the thought of his half-sister to whom he had given a single son. Having drunk rather too much ale at the time and not being in control of his mental faculties, he had bedded her, only to find out that she was none other than his half sister. Repulsed at himself he had fled from her sight and she from his. Despite this, he had wished to see her again, if only to mend the bond they should have had. Now she was dead, along with her sister Elaine. He had never met Elaine personally, she had married King Nentres and lived in his lands until her husband had killed her one night. The King, suddenly aware of what he'd done, took the knife used to kill his wife and ended his own life in his grief. Merlin had been confused by this, as he had said he had 'never met a two people more devoted to each other'. They had had a son named Galeshin who was a knight in Arthurs court. Arthur sighed, so many plots, so many intricate details. He tuned back into Merlin as he finished talking. His friend was looking at him expectantly. Arthur nodded resolutely, having no idea what he had just agreed to.

Merlin sighed.

"I'm glad you agree. I'll send the letter of surrender to Le Fay tomorrow." He said lightly.

Arthur chocked on his mead. Merlin gave him a look. The King looked faintly apologetic and motioned for him to go on.

"As I was saying," he said sharply. He was the only person who could ever get away with speaking to the king in such a manner. "I saw him once, in my youth, and then again many years later. He hadn't aged a day."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. He didn't pretend to understand sorcerers or how they worked but he was sure that that wasn't normal. According to Merlin, it wasn't.

Only for creatures of magic, could the aging process be stopped or slowed. He was well aware of the dangers of those magical beasts that inhabited the regions of his lands. Vampires, the filthy undead, haunted the darkest parts of his kingdom. Werewolves, while few and far between, cause havoc within his people. The there were things like merfolk, sirens, fairies, demons, griffins, unicorns and a whole host of beasts that made his life difficult. But for a mere man to slow his age so drastically... he knew of Merlin's shapeshifting talents of course. His most impressive form being a large stag with a single white forefoot. But still, to hear of another who could be anyone you met was a disconcerting thought.

"He spoke barely a word to me, yet I felt respect for him. I was young then. I was new to my heritage and yet I felt it. A darkness within him. Tightly leashed but frothing with power." Merlin shook his head. "When I met him for the second time, I was older, more experienced in the ways of the world. I felt his darkness, his reluctance to have anything to do with humanity. He was... detached. Out of place." He mused, trailing off. He snapped back to himself and gave Arthur a piercing look, his bright eyes boring into Arthurs own.

"He was cold. And that scared me more than anything. The second time I saw him was after a battle. He felt nothing Arthur." He said emotion in his voice. "He killed with nary a thought. Not just killed, annihilated. The spells he used... I've never seen the like. And I never wish to." He said quietly.

Arthur understood his friends plight. They were both warriors, himself more than Merlin, who was more of a scholar, and they had both killed. Arthur detached himself from the killing when he fought, and with time it had dulled his sensitivity to it. He felt sorrow for those whose lives he took however, he said a silent prayer that they find peace after the battle was done, much as he did for his own men. Merlin, while a force that could turn the tide of a battle, rarely did. He preferred to augment those already fighting, enchant their blades and give them strength. He would debilitate their opponents and call the elements to hinder or cage them. But he abstained from killing as much as he could. It still had to be done. They could not lose this war. Morgan would do far worse than this man could. They could at least ask him.

He shook his head. Hearing Merlin speak of the man, it seemed his idea was not as full of merit as he had thought.

"Send for him." He said.

Merlin looked searchingly at him.

"My King-"

Arthur cut him off. "I know your objections my friend. If he is as merciless and powerful as you say, I would rather he be on our side, or at least neutral, than part of Le Fays army. Send for him." He explained.

Merlin sighed deeply.

"I understand your reasoning and it is sound. I merely wish we did not have to stoop so low." He said dejectedly.

Arthur stood and placed a hand on his friends shoulder.

"I know old friend. I know."

Many days later, a weary messenger rode into the small town of Bailey. The sky was an iron grey and there was a chill in the air. Clouds billowed across the sky, grey and imposing. The grass beneath his horses hooves was stringy and dotted with heather. Completely surrounded, it was choked by woods to the East and South, and a murky Tarn to the West. Borin Gonhold urged his tired horse the last few hundred meters to the town gates. The town seemed prosperous enough, the wall was in good repair and was tall and thick enough to indicate moderate wealth.

He looked up as a guard asked his business with the town. He replied, calling up to the man on the gate.

"I come with a letter from our Lord King for the Sorcerer of these parts!" he called.

The gate hand looked at him surprised.

"Very well. Open the gate!" he called. Another few men on the gate tugged it open for the tired rider.

Borin kicked the sides of his horse and it trotted into the bustling main street. Dismounting, he led the animal to the inn and stabled it. He entered the tavern and walked up to the bar. He felt eyes on him. This place was isolated, yet did good trade with those travelling far north. The people were naturally curious of a stranger in their midst. Gesturing for the serving maid to attend to him, he took a table and sipped his ale when it came. Finishing his drink, he got up and walked over to a man who was sitting on his own, nursing a large tankard.

"Excuse me my good sir. If I may trouble you to ask a question?" he asked, as politely as he could.

The man eyed him and made an affirmative sound. Borin could see that he was a wild, windswept man with a large bushy beard.

"I'm looking for the Sorcerer." With his pronouncement, it seemed that the entire tavern quieted and snapped its attention to the messenger.

The wild man looked up from under bushy eyebrows in surprise.

"T' Sorcerer? Why, wha' d'yeh want wi' 'im?" it took a few seconds for Borin to understand the man's thick accent.

"I have a letter for him." He said.

The man chuckled, a deep gravely sound.

"Good luck to yeh lad! T' Sorcerer ha'nt been out from 'is tower in many a year. I wouldn' both'r m'self."

Borin frowned.

"I must deliver this letter. It is of vital importance. It is from our Lord King." He said.

"Really now? Well, I s'pose yeh could try. 'Is tower's in th' woods to th' south. Yeh can' miss it. Jus' follow the road." He said.

Borin smiled and thanked the man. As he was about to leave though, his voice rang out across the tavern.

"I must warn yeh tho' lad, don' stray off th' path! Whatev'r yeh do, stay on th' path." He said, seriousness in the voice mixed with something darker. Borin nodded placating him, dismissing the man's words as something to scare travellers.

He fetched his horse and walked through the main street. Coming to the southern gate, he saw that it was more heavily fortified than the one behind him. The men were more alert and the door was barred heavily with large planks of wood.

"You going into the woods?" a guard asked.

Borin nodded.

"You armed?" the guard asked.

Borin again gave his assent and showed them his sword strapped to his belt.

The guard nodded approvingly.

"You'll need it in there lad. Keep to the road, don't stray off the path." He warned. He gestured for the gate to be opened and it did, grudgingly.

As he went to ride through the guard once again called down to him.

"Be careful, that place... it's unnatural." He said shaking his head. "Remember, whatever you see, do not leave the path."

Borin nodded and urged his horse through the gate. The animal whinnied and pawed the ground, clearly agitated. It walked forward, tossing its head. As the gate slid shut with a bang behind him he turned to look at it. The town walls were gouged and scratched, the stone scarred and repaired. Deadly pointed logs were set into the ground pointing towards the forest. Pits lay behind the logs, ensuring that any trying to jump over them would get a nasty surprise. The door was riddled with scratches and gouges. It was reinforced with metal and had a large cross nailed to it. Borin was bewildered. What kind of place was this?

He thought about the warnings, both from the man in the tavern and the guard. Don't stray off the path? He looked down, there was the path, a trail of hard, beaten earth devoid of plant life. To him, it looked like any other wood at first. But as he ventured deeper the trees grew thicker and the sky was blotted out by boughs. The horse snorted and shied every few steps and Borin had to fight with it for control.

He felt as though he had been travelling for hours through this accursed place. It felt like the dead of night in the trees. Strange animal calls echoed around him and odd sounds broke the tense air. He whipped his head around as he saw something out of the corner of his eye. He was sure he had seen a light.

He kept going forward. He saw the light again, ahead of him now and he squinted to see it. A small blue ball of light darted around ahead and just off the path. Curious, he made for it. Another one came into his view and then another. He retrained himself for going off the path to look at them and kept riding. Soon, he was surrounded by them, all just out of his reach and yet so close. They were so beautiful he wanted to reach out and touch them. They bobbed and flitted from tree bough to fern to leaf and seemed to hide before reappearing. He was sure that he could hear music. It was soft, beautiful and free and made him want to capture the melody and listen to it for all eternity. (Listen to this when reading this bit... www . youtube . com / watch?v = 0OS92VAIIvs)Their glow illuminated the surrounding plants and cast shadows over the ground. He paused as he thought he heard a tiny whisper. He shook it off, thinking it was his imagination. He heard it again, this time accompanied by a tiny laugh. The whispers and giggles filled the air. Their voices were so pretty and light, he just wanted to follow them so he could listen to them forever.

"Come." The voices seemed to say. "Come."

He dismounted from his horse and left the animal loose. It stamped its feet but did not leave.

He took a few steps to the edge of the path and stopped. He was sure that there was something wrong here. He was doing something he wasn't supposed to be doing, but what?

"Come. Follow us. Follow our voices." He took another step.

He was here, in the wood. He had come from somewhere. Where? He had come from somewhere to do something. Give something to someone. What? Who? Did it really matter? All he wanted to do was stay in here forever with these beautiful voices and their music. He took another step. His foot was brushing the edge of the path now and he teetered on the brink.

Someone said he needed his sword. Why? Surely he didn't need anything that might hurt the voices.

Such beautiful voices.

Where did he come from again? Why did it matter? It couldn't be as lovely as this place because it had no voices. No music.

Such beautiful music.

He reached out a hand into the darkness, the lights flitted just out of reach.

Such beautiful lights.

He raised his foot to propel himself off the path and into the darkness when a terrible howl ripped through the air. At once the music stopped and the voices ceased their whispering. Their tiny voices shrieked in terror and the lights scattered. Borin was left all alone in the blackness. Still in a daze, he looked around groggily.

"Wait," he slurred. "Don't go... please don't leave..." he begged.

The horse whinnied and pawed the ground frantically. It's eyes were bulging and it tossed it's head in fear.

Borin shook the last of the thrall from his mind and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as another howl broke the thick air.

"By god, "he muttered frightfully, "what place is this?"

He noticed how close he was to the edge and reared back clutching to the reins of his horse. The animal calmed slightly at his touch but was still half mad with fear.

He heard another howl, but this time it was further away and seemingly growing fainter. He sighed in relief and his horse calmed again.

He mounted the animal and secured it's reins firmly in his hands. He bid it to trot forward and he continued his journey. There was an eerie stillness in the air, a heaviness that seemed to fill his ears and mouth and cover his eyes.

What seemed like hours later, he heard a slight trickling of water. A small stream intersected the path and his horse jumped nimbly over it. The brook hissed and spat as it flowed over stones and bits of wood. He turned his head to see where the steam led off to and saw a large pool a small way away. It was partially obscured by trees but the water, still as glass despite the stream flowing into it, glowed softly. He was mesmerised by the sight, yet remembering the voices and music that had ensnared him before he kicked his horse gently forward until he was only a few feet from the edge of the path and the start of the pool. He dismounted and knelt, studying the water and its unnatural stillness.

He touched a finger to the surface and watched as the ripples spread, perfectly circular, to the edges of the water. The temperature was cool and inviting in the heavy, muggy atmosphere of the forest. Seeing nothing had attacked him yet and he had already touched the water he dipped a hand in and cupped some of the water.

As he brought his hand out he cried out in alarm, as a thin but surprisingly strong hand burst from the water and gripped his wrist. He pulled back and the hand let go. He scrabbled backwards. The pool was still once again. He breathed, relieved and stood up. He cried out again as a large shape rose from the water with frightening speed. It uncurled itself and he saw it to be the figure of a woman. She was nude but her body was virtually featureless. Her mottled skin was pale, almost white, yet had a green tinge. It sparkled with water droplets. Her green hair was long and tangled like reeds. Her fingers and toes were webbed as were her pointed ears. She looked at him and he saw her face was one of great beauty. Her eyes were pure, milky white. She appeared to be blind, with no iris or pupil to give feature to her eyes, yet he could feel her focus on him.

"Who are you to disturb my pool?" she spoke yet her lips did not move. The hissing, sibilant voice sent shivers up his spine as her words echoed inside his head.

Gathering his courage, he answered.

"I-I am a messenger. I have b-business with the Sorcerer who lives in these w-woods." He said.

She cocked her head to one side.

"Business? Yes..." she drew out the last word. "I shall let you pass. This time. You have business with the Sorcerer. Leave." She said, her words echoing in his head.

He nodded quickly and backed away. She did not take her eyes off him as he got back on his horse and spurred the animal on. When he looked back, she was still staring at him and he made a frightened sound in the back of his throat. He tore through the forest until he was well past the cursed waters.

He slowed his horse and breathed deeply. His clothes were torn and muddied and his mount was tired.

"This place is truly a hell." He whispered.

On he trekked. Seeing all manner of strange creatures that attempted to lure him of the path or waited just off it. Huge snakes hung from branches and hissed down at him. Dark birds with intelligent eyes perched and watched him beadily as he passed. Growls and moans were heard emanating from the gloom and the cracking of twigs had him whipping round to meet only branches and oily blackness. The path was still as strong as ever, something he was thankful for. Passing a strange golden mist that winked and twinkled enticingly at him, yet it's beauty was marred by the countless bones underneath it, he noticed that the trees were thinning out slightly.

As he rode further, he suddenly found himself in a large clearing. It seemed to have snuck up on him while he was looking at it. In the middle of the clearing stood a huge tower. There were steps going up to a courtyard and from there, a large pair of solid doors. Small pools of clear water and gently waving reeds were dotted around. Bushes that burst with flowers and fruit stood in clumps and trees sowing falling blossoms hung over stone sculptures of magnificent mythical creatures. A griffin, a phoenix and a dragon were only a few of what he saw. There were also other's, not as pleasant, men crouched over and hunched, clutching their heads. Some were writhing on the floor as though in great pain. Their expressions chilled him. The air was sweet and the grass was springy under his feet. A stone path led to the steps. Dismounting, he led his horse to the steps and tethered it to a tree. Walking up he looked around in wonder. This place held so much beauty! He took his time crossing the stone courtyard, admiring the attractiveness of what he presumed to be the Sorcerers abode.

Reaching the doors, he raised a hand and took a breath. He knocked heavily upon the oak.

He waited a few seconds before the door opened. A woman stood in the doorway. She was dressed in a long blue dress and wore her golden hair in an elaborate braid. She was beautiful, yet there was something unearthly about her. Her eyes were bottomless and inhuman.

She cocked her head to the side in askance.

He cleared his throat.

"I have a letter from our Lord King." He said, relieved that his voice didn't shake.

She studied him and he felt naked under her gaze. She nodded once and gestured for him to follow her.

Borin did so. The doors closed behind him softly but he saw no one to close them. The woman swept in front of him, her dress brushing the floor. He hurried to keep up with her long strides and he studied the interior of the tower. They were in a single, large circular room that held large kegs of something. Borin guessed it was wine, but in a sorcerer's home, who knew? He saw another set of steps, made of stone, leading downwards into what he presumed to be a dungeon or underground room.

They reached a sturdy wooden spiral staircase and she led him up it. The staircase wound its way up through many floors. He saw a glimpse of a library and a kitchen. Another room was entirely blank except for a strange design on the floor. It looked like a strange five pointed star only with designs he knew not wrought into it. He thought he imagined it but he thought he saw the woman's hand tighten on the rail as they passed that room.

He could see, from the windows that were placed in the walls that they were already above the highest trees.

When at last they came to a stop, Borin's legs were aching and his breath was painful in his chest. The woman guiding him seemed to be none the worse for wear.

She gestured for him to precede her through the doorway that led into a finely furnished room.

He turned back to her to ask where the Sorcerer was but she had disappeared. Swallowing, he ventured further into the room. It looked like a study, a bookshelf stood against one side of the circular room, dominating it. A large desk that was covered in papers stood near to it. Strange instruments Borin did not know the names of, let alone their use, stood on the floor and on small tables. What caught his attention though, was the sheer strangeness of the room. He had seen many strange things on his many travels as the King messenger, most of them crossing the woods to get to this tower but never had he seen such magic.A quill was writing on a scroll of parchment and dipping into a pot of ink with no hand to guide it. A portrait on the wall was moving around in its frame. It was of two people. A red headed man wearing a nobles clothing and a bushy haired young woman who wore an exquisite dress. They looked curiously at him before disappearing from their frame. A large hourglass as big as his head, was filled with bronze smoke that was trickling up into the higher bulb from the bottom.

A throat cleared behind him and he whirled around. There, standing not three meters from him, could only be the Sorcerer.

He was slim and graceful and looked like he could do little damage with a sword. He was dressed all in black save for the lining on his long cloak which was a tan colour. His cloak was pulled around him, so Borin could not see anything of his torso. He wore gloves, although Borin could see that the palms of his gloves were missing, exposing pale skin. His hood was pulled up and it cast his face into shadow save for his mouth and chin and the hint of a nose. His flesh was pale, almost white showing that he rarely ventured outside. His lips were set into a minute smile.

"You have a message for me?" he asked, his voice even and smooth.

"Yes." Borin said, fighting down his nerves. The man before him was unnatural, as he was beginning to see, much of what lay in these parts seemed to be.

He opened his pouch and took out the letter written by the King and bearing his seal. He extended the letter and couldn't repress a slight flinch when the Sorcerer took it from him.

The man in black strode to the desk and opened the letter. He briefly scanned it before setting it down, his hand hovering over a sheaf of papers. He stayed still for many minutes and Borin was wondering if he was alright.

"My Lord?" he asked cautiously.

The Sorcerer's head snapped to him and he jerked back slightly.

"I have not left my tower for many years. Now, it seems, I must do so again." He said.

Borin nodded, unsure of what to say.

"Borin." The messenger tensed at his name. He knew he had not given it. "Your journey, did you make it here unhindered?" the mage asked.

"No My Lord. The road was... perilous." He answered carefully.

The figures head bowed.

"I see. Whom did you meet on your way?" he asked.

"I don't know My Lord." He answered truthfully. "There were some lights that whispered to me and played beautiful music."

"Fairies." The Sorcerer said. "Had you strayed off the path you would have been trapped for all eternity, years passing in but a second. Or until you were released when another fell under their spell and all you knew had changed."

Borin was shocked. He had been so close to that fate. Only whatever had howled had saved him.

"I almost stepped of the path," he admitted. "They were frightened off when something howled. I thought it would come for me, but it disappeared."

"Werewolves. The forest is in eternal night." The dark figure said. Seemingly a well of knowledge.

Borin shuddered. He had heard stories of werewolf attacks. How people were found alive but bitten and then on the next full moon they slaughtered everyone in range and went mad when they turned back.

"There was this woman in a pool. She grabbed me when I touched the water." He said.

The Sorcerer looked up sharply.

"She let you go?" he asked.

"Yes, I told her I had business with you and she let me leave." He said.

"You are lucky. She was a Rusalka. A water spirit. You are a fortunate man. Had you failed to provide her with an adequate reason for being in the forest she would have dragged you beneath the water and drowned you before consuming your flesh."

Borin looked disgusted. What other terrible creatures lurked in such a place?

"There was nothing more that troubled me, I saw many a strange thing, but nothing hindered me. If I may ask though, I saw a golden mist floating above a pile of bones. What manner of demon is it?" he asked.

The mouth beneath the hood twisted into a small smile.

"Not a demon. Merely an experiment." He said.

Borin shuddered. What kind of person would create such a perversion of nature? Apparently the one in front of him.

"And the lady who escorted me here?"

There was a tiny smile set in his lips as he bowed his head.

"A dark divine creature did roam the land with a shadow shroud veil. Her very aura laid waste to the land with the presence of hell. And any who saw her had no story to tell, for they would perish upon the sight of her under her deadly spell." he murmered, his voice so low that Borin had to strain to catch it.

Then a chuckle that set Borin's teeth on edge.

"You have a good eye. She is a djinn, bound to me in service. She tried to kill me, but I bested her and rather than face death, she swore her allegiance to me for all of my life. She did not think I would live so long." He said, slight amusement in his tone.

"But she looks human!" he protested for a moment before realised he had exclaimed aloud and made a gesture of apology.

The Sorcerer accepted it and answered him.

"Many believe that my specialties lie in battle magic. They are mistaken. My specialty is illusions. I can make your mind believe whatever I wish it to or bend your will to mine with a few... enchantments. Your senses can be at my command to tell you anything I wish them to." He said softly, speaking about his brand of magic as though it was someone dear to him.

"I see." Devilry was going on here, Borin thought, horrified at the very idea of being so dominated.

"Not devilry I assure you, merely magic." The Sorcerer said as he perused the letter once again.

Borin reeled back.

"You can read my mind!" he accused, panicked.

"The mind is not an open book to be perused at leisure." The dark figure chided, not taking his eyes off the letter. "Come. I must depart. Stay in the town as long as you wish and rest yourself, I shall see to it that nothing disturbs you on your way back."

Borin nodded faintly.

Borin was taken down and outside by the woman- no, djinn and waited by his horse. The horse, having been tired and hungry, now seemed to be at the peak of vitality. Magic. He thought darkly.

When the Sorcerer joined him, Borin could see that his cloak had fallen open and this clothing was revealed. He wore a strange dark metal armour, form fitting and manoeuvrable. He wore loose fitting black trousers tucked into tall boots overlaid with greaves in the same dark metal and overwrought in gold with strange designs. His gloved hands were encased in slim gauntlets of the same design with the hole showing bare skin in the centre of his palm. Spiked pauldrons adorned his shoulders, making his cloak flare. A long curved sword was strapped to his back. Given his build, Borin didn't believe that the Sorcerer would be very much use in a sword battle but didn't dismiss the man. He had been mistaken before.

The Sorcerer nodded to him and Borin watched in confusion as he walked up to one of the many statues that lay around the clearing. I was of a horse, but the likes of which Borin had never seen before. It was armoured in the same style as the Sorcerer himself. With spiked plates trimmed in gold protecting it's legs and neck it made for a formidable sight. A forehead plate was adorned with a single jutting golden spike, a mockery of a unicorns horn. The Sorcerer laid a hand on the statue and muttered some words that Borin could not understand. He watched for a moment before his eyes went wide. Stone was slowly receding, giving way to hair and skin and bone. The horses eyes flickered to life, a pale poisonous yellow in colour and it flicked its tail and nuzzled its masters hand.

"There boy." The Sorcerer soothed, before mounting the beast and gripping the reins tightly.

Borin looked on in horror. This was too much! He cursed the day he had been given that thrice damned letter. So many horrors, so much unnaturalness. If that statue had been given life, could the others? Would the griffin and the dragon come alive under the mages touch? What about, he felt sick at the thought, the men?

The Sorcerer smoothly mounted the animal and bid it to walk forwards to where Borin and his mount stood. Borin's horse seemed to be nervous in the presence of such a beast, it pawed the ground and tossed its head.

The hoof falls of the Sorcerers mount were metallic and they clinked as they struck the stone of the pathway.

A slight breeze rippled his cloak and blew the horses manes and tails. A ghost of a smile could be seen from under the hood.

The horse and its black clad rider took off at an impressive speed, leaving Borin to make the slower, more calming journey to the town. Sure enough, he was unbothered as he rode slowly through the dark wood.

As Borin was only a quarter into his journey through the wood, the Sorcerer was almost about to exit it. His unnatural steed's hooves pounded the compact earth and the wind whipped his cloak out behind him and tugged at his hood. It was spelled however, to remain in place. His horse was far superior to any steed ridden by men. It was a perversion of nature, an experiment of his. So many long years had gone by since he had found himself here, in this time, he had made something of himself. He had taken the opportunity to learn about magic. Long ago, many years past, people had thought he was only good for fighting, a better than avarage dueller but someone who would never really be more. How very wrong they all were. Men's minds were putty in his capable hands. He wove webs of illusion and lies. He could make men's senses lie to them, their eyes see what he wanted them to, their fingers touch something that was but air and make it seem real and bind their will to his magic. He did not age, and he used this time to refine his skills, and when that tired him, he experimented. Some may have said that his experiments were perverse and unnatural. He would have agreed with them. He was not of this time and was frozen as he had been when he had entered it. He would not resume the aging process until he reached the exact time at which he disappeared. He had many, many years behind and ahead of him yet.

It was the early sixth century, and, as he recalled from having History books poured into his ears, Hogwarts wasn't built until around the ninth century. He had a long way to go yet.

He tore through the undergrowth, the many creatures inhabiting the wood shrinking back from the Sorcerer and his mount. Soon, the sky became visible once again and the trees thinned. He approached the heavily fortified south gate.

He brought his horse up to a canter, then a trot and then finally a walk. He pulled the beast to a stop at the gate. An old guard looked lazily down and almost fell off his perch.

"M-My Lord! I-I-" the poor man couldn't get past his stammering. "Y-you wish to go through?" he asked nervously.

The Sorcerer nodded silently.

"Open the gate!" the old guard called, unwilling to take his eyes of the stranger he had seen only once. So many years ago, when he was just a boy.

The other guards, younger men, looked confused but opened the gate all the same. As the rider spurred his horse on, they asked him.

"Who was that?" One asked, a burly red-headed man.

The old guard sighed as he watched the dark figure disappear into the town.

"You know of the stories about magic?" he asked. They nodded, some with scowls on their faces, magic was not well liked. "Well, that was one of the most powerful sorcerers in the land. No one knows his name, he lives in that forest, beyond the gate."

"He lives inthere?" One exclaimed incredulously, the forest was well known for its danger. Very few who went in, came out alive. Or sane.

"Aye. Last time I saw him I was only a boy, from what I can see, he hasn't aged a day." He said in wonder. "He's a dangerous one alright. Couple of townspeople got together and saw fit to run him out. Can't see why, he never bothers us none and he's been here for as long as anyone can remember. Long before the town is what it is now. Anyway, only one came back, said they lost three men to the damn forest before they reached his tower. When they made it, they tried to take a torch to the place but it wouldn't burn. They tried to ruin the gardens but they couldn't damage a thing. Eventually they shouted a challenge to him." He shivered, the tale of the lone survivor was chilling, not because of blood or gore, most stomachs were cast iron among the townsfolk, but because of the thought of such a power and being subjected to it.

"He said that he came out, dressed in black and armoured like a demon. They tried rushing him but they found themselves in a different place. He said it was hell. Full of fire and demons. Each one saw their comrades dragged away and devoured before their eyes and felt a thousand tortures. They saw their families, dragged away into fog and heard terrible screams and howls. They thought they had truly descended into hell and the devil himself was watching over their torment. Then, it all stopped, none of it had been real. They heard him speaking into their minds. Then," he took a deep breath, noticing that all the other guards attention was on him. "He turned all but one into stone. The last man stumbled back into town half mad with fear and missing an arm, probably torn off by some beast in the forest. No, you do not want to cross him." He fell into silent thought as the others shivered. Power like that was the thing of nightmares.

The horse and its eerie rider thundered across the open road. His cloak whipped and billowed behind him and the steady drumbeat of his horse's hooves pounded the earth.

Travellers leapt out of the way as he flew past, looking for all the world like something from a nightmare.

He rode for days, barely stopping for food and rest. His horse required little, strange creature that it was. At last, he reached his destination.

The lookout on the tower at the border spotted a dark smudge on the horizon. With his exceptional eyesight, he soon identified it as a horse and rider. It drew closer with unnatural speed and the lookout suddenly matched its appearance to one he had been told to look out for. He hurriedly passed the message on.

The horse thundered past and he stood, transfixed as he studied the beast and its rider. Both were strange and gave him the shivers just looking at them. His job was done. He scanned the horizon once again and tried to put them from his mind.

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A/N: This was supposed to be a one-shot, but it got a little out of hand. I don't know when i'll be continuing, but I certainly hope to, seeing as how people seem to like it and how much I enjoyed writing it. It won't be any more than a few (long) chapters, and it is unlikely to have any sequels or prequels. Maybe. I haven't really decided yet... Anyway, i'm bogged down with university work and much of my precious writing time is taken up with researching and writing about court cases and blunt impact traumas. That and looked at pictures of post-mortems in all their corpsy, high definition glory. That's whay I get for choosing to study criminology with a side of forensic investigation I guess.

Catch you on the flip side,

Fan O' Fanfic