Disclaimer: Jareth belongs to the Jim Henson company, Drake belongs to Disney. That they should meet was inevitable.

A/N: I know for a fact I'm not the first person the Jareth-Drake connection has occurred to, although I may be the first to depict it in fanfiction. Labyrinth purists may not appreciate this much; I'm a fan of the film, but I haven't read much fanfic for it, and Jareth's canon character requires some distortion to fit into the Sorcerer's Apprentice universe.

It should also be noted that 'Danny Gladstone' here is, of course, a child version of Drake. My thoughts were that the name Drake Stone is obviously theatrical, though he may very well have legally changed it.

There are connections between this Drake and the version in my other SA fic, 'Malleus Maleficarum', but I'm not really going for continuity between them and they may be considered to have occurred in different universes.

London, 1986

A scrawny boy with dark eyes and a mop of sable curls scuttled across a busy street to the honking of horns. He ducked down an alley and hid behind a stack of garbage. Only a few seconds later three older boys barreled past the alley mouth.

"You're dead, Gladstone!" one yelled. "I'm gonna rip out your throat and beat your head in with the tonsil end!"

The hiding boy, Danny Gladstone, thought this was a bit overdramatic. He felt he had a far greater grievance, as they'd been bullying him regularly since the previous year. All he had done was cut the spokes on their bicycle wheels. Twice.

Luckily, the boys ran past without spying him. He sank into a sitting position and gave a sigh of relief. He'd have to skip school for a day or two, until this blew over. Of course, that would entail intercepting mail and phone calls for a few weeks, in order to prevent his mother from finding out he'd been playing truant. And all that would cut into the time he normally spent lurking in the corner store reading comic books.

Life was complicated.

As he caught his breath, he became aware of something moving in a large bag to his left. His first thought was that it was a rat, which might have been cool only he didn't want to get bitten. Cautiously, he picked up a stick and prodded the moving bulge. The sound it made wasn't close to ratlike; it was an eerie screech. Through a rip in the end of the bag, he could see a flash of white.

He thought it might be a kitten, which was in some ways cooler than a rat, because he might be allowed to keep it if he could get it free. He reached for the tear in the bag and managed to widen it by a few centimeters before something sharp swiped across his knuckles. He yelped and withdrew.

"Stop that!" he scolded the animal. "I'm trying to help you, stupid!"

There was another cry, but then the frantic rustling died down, and he took a chance at tearing open the bag again. What emerged, with a tumble of empty beer cans, was the last thing he expected.

It was an owl. A barn owl, big, with an intimidating wingspan and wicked talons, but a twist of clear plastic bound one wing and its throat and face, and the russet stain on the feathers suggested the material was cutting into skin. The boy gulped, hesitant, but the bird was quiet now, regarding him shrewdly.

"Right," he said after a minute. "I think I can get that off. Only no scratching?"

The owl blinked and made no sound. Taking this as assent, Danny pulled a set of wire cutters out of his pocket. It was sheer luck he still had them on him, but they sliced through the plastic easily, and in a matter of seconds, the bird was free.

It stood, bobbed its head at him, then took off in a flutter of white pinions. He cringed a little as the wind from its wake ruffled his hair. When he looked again, it was nowhere to be found.

He was disappointed. A pet owl would have been the best thing ever. Still, he had helped it, and only got cut up a little, and that was worthwhile.

He put the cutters back in his pocket, stood, and left the alley, headed for home. In the sky above him, flitting from rooftop to rooftop, the owl followed.

The next morning, Danny left in time for school, but as soon as his mother wasn't looking, he ran the opposite way. There was a public park nearby. He could hide there until evening, and with luck escape both bullies and truant officers.

The trees were shabby, and the brush and flowers were anemic, but he wasn't there to admire the scenery. He had brought a book and some paper and pens, and as soon as he found a secluded spot, he began to draw a picture of the owl he had seen the day before.

The first drawing came out lopsided and stiff, and he accidentally tore through the page on the second. He swore to himself, annoyed, and crumpled the page, hurling it over his shoulder.

A minute later, there was a soft fluttering, and the owl itself landed by his knee, carrying the crumpled drawing in its beak. He gaped.

The bird blinked, tilted its head, then dropped the ball of paper. It gave a low whistle and hopped a little closer. Danny didn't move. "Didn't think I'd ever see you again," he murmured softly.

The feathers fluffed up and somehow the bird looked irritated. It spread its wings, fluttered, and landed on his leg. The talons dug in unpleasantly, but he was too much in awe and too afraid to complain. After a long moment, he reached out and stroked the feathery back.

It was as if something in his head exploded. Light danced at the corners of his vision, and every muscle in his body tensed painfully. It was over before he could cry out, and heavy warmth descended upon him. Limp, he slid to the ground and plunged into unconsciousness.

When he awoke again, the sun was almost overhead, and he felt weak and shaky. There was something soft under his head. He sat up and found it was a coat, old-fashioned in cut and style, but a bit glittery. He stared at it stupidly a moment, then jumped as a bored voice spoke off to his right. "Oh, you're finally awake? You look ill. Do refrain from vomiting on my jacket, if you don't mind."

He turned, and stared. There was a man seated against a nearby tree trunk, but he was like no man Danny had ever seen before. His hair was blond, layered and spiky around a fine-boned, attractive face. His eyes were mismatched, and his eyebrows arched expressively. The outfit he wore was an eclectic fusion of boots, tight trousers, and a half-open shirt, and a pendant hung around his neck, an inverted crescent moon.

"…Are you a rock star?" he asked breathlessly.

The corners of the man's mouth twitched. "I'm a king," he replied.

Danny gulped, but his awe was short-lived. "The owl. What happened to it?" He looked around. "Is it gone?"

The stranger rolled his eyes and gave a soft, chilling hoot.

The boy frowned. "You…what?"

"I was the owl, idiot." Despite the epithet, he smiled. "Don't you believe in magic?"

"I dunno. A little." He shrugged uneasily. "Not that fairy godmother rubbish, but maybe monsters and dragons and things."

"That'll do for a start. You have a name, I presume?"

"Danny. Who are you? Erm. Your Majesty." The boy was ever so slightly skeptical, but he had found that humoring adults when they were being weird was wise.

"My name is Jareth. You may call me 'Master'." The tone was deceptively casual, and Danny felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"What are you talking about?" He glanced down, realized he still held the jacket, and balled it up hurriedly, tossing it at the stranger's feet. "I should really be getting on to school…"

Jareth picked up the coat and dusted it off unhurriedly. "No, you won't be going anywhere, I'm afraid."

The boy scrambled for his things and tried to stand, but he found his legs unwilling to obey him. Twice he half-rose and fell again, knees too weak to support him. "What did you do?" He panicked. "You let me go right now, or I'll scream!"

"I give the orders, Danny." Jareth pulled the jacket on, then came over and crouched to be closer to his eye level. "But there's no need for the hysterics. I'm doing you a favor. You have no idea."

"I don't want any favors." He stopped struggling, but his heart was pounding.

"Don't you? I could be the best friend you've ever had." He smiled. "Is there a toy you want, perhaps? One you can't afford? It's yours. School bullies won't leave you alone? Say the word and they're out of your life for good. All you have to do is exactly what I say."

Danny didn't know the word 'charisma'. Nor was he aware of the concept of mesmerism. The aura Jareth exuded was somewhere between the two, and he felt helpless against it. It was this, the sheer force of the strange man's personality, more than the tempting offers, that caused the sudden collapse of his will to resist.

"…what do you want me to do?" he asked in a small voice. "Master?"

Jareth sat back, looking pleased, and Danny felt relieved by the increase of personal space. "Excellent. For the moment, I think lunch is in order, for us both. And a minimum of explanations. We'll begin the real work tomorrow."

"That's it?" He had somehow been expecting a demand for his soul in a jar.

"For now." Jareth stood and cracked his knuckles cheerfully. "What shall we eat? I haven't had a decent meal in weeks. I hate being stuck as a bird." He beckoned absently, and, recognizing the cue, Danny got up.

He was relieved to find his knees felt normal now. "There's a sandwich shop a block over. Only you don't want to eat the sausages, ever. Timothy said he found a tooth in one once."

The older man's nose wrinkled. "I said a decent meal. Have you ever been to Paris?"

"What, you mean like in France? 'Course not, that's for rich people." He thought a moment, then conceded, "And French people, I suppose."

Jareth snorted. "High time you went, then. Take my hand, shut your eyes, and count to ten."

Tentatively, Danny obeyed. For a moment, he felt as if he were standing on very wobbly ground, and he clung tighter, with both hands, ears ringing.

"Ouch," said Jareth, after a moment. "For heaven's sake, you'll rip off my fingers. Open your eyes."

When he looked, the world had rearranged itself around them. The streets were wider, and the scent of the air was different. Off in the distance, he could see the looming shape of the Eiffel tower.

"When did they put that up?" Jareth's brow wrinkled as he scanned the skyline. "Honestly, you stop visiting for a couple centuries and everything changes."

"Are we really in France?" Danny whispered, still clinging. "How did you do that?"

"I believe modern vernacular uses the word 'teleport'. Instant magical transportation. You'll learn it, but not for a couple years." He set off down the street, dragging the boy after him. "I hope the bloody restaurant's still here."

"I'll learn it? You mean magic? Real magic?" Danny stumbled a little and struggled to keep up with the long-legged strides.

"Of course. What did you think I wanted you for, a shoe-shine boy?" He glanced at his boots absently. "All right, perhaps a little of that, too, but that's not the main thing. You're my apprentice. The first I've had in over a hundred years, and that's no small thing."

Danny was silent, almost bursting with bewildered excitement. At length, he said, "You could've just said that in the first place. I'd have said yes quicker."

"Would you?" Jareth glanced at him, one eyebrow raised. The other eyebrow joined it when he saw the boy's expression. "Hmm. Well, wipe that sappy look off your face; we're in public. Congratulations, you're a sorcerer."

Lunch was spectacular, if a little foreign. Jareth spared no expense, although Danny was not entirely sure where the money he paid with came from. He listed the names of each dish in French, and made the boy repeat them to his satisfaction before allowing him to eat. There appeared to be no limit on helpings, and he was quick to offer dessert. He even let Danny have a few sips of wine, which made him hiccup and feel overheated. By the time the meal was over, the boy felt like he might fall asleep sitting up.

"That's my fault. I used some of your energy. Quite a lot, in fact." Jareth watched him, amused.

He yawned. "Wha' do you mean?"

He frowned a little, but answered quietly, "I was powerbound, in that form. I needed a boost to break out of it. You gave me that."

"I did that?" He beamed, pleased to hear he'd been helpful without even trying.

"…yes. Some rare individuals radiate more energy than their nervous system can contain. It's all a bit technical; you'll understand better later." He waved dismissively. "In any case, you were useful to me, and may still be, which is why I intend to keep you around."

Had he been older, Danny might have recognized this statement as a slightly ominous one. But he was only eight, and all he knew was that he had just found someone who wanted him.

The next afternoon, Jareth appeared at the door to the flat where Danny and his mother lived. His mother answered, and seemed a little overwhelmed by the dazzling stranger, but a few choice words got the older sorcerer in the door. When she went into the kitchen to make tea, Jareth watched her retreat with casual interest.

"Not bad," he commented, more to himself than Danny. "Nice legs."

Danny made a face, a little disturbed. "That's my mum!" Not that he wasn't used to her dating; she usually had a steady boyfriend, but still…yuck.

Jareth shrugged. "Get used to it. I'm here to see you at the moment, though." He reached into his coat pocket and removed a box and a small book.

"A present?" the boy stared.

"Tools, not toys," he said sternly, then softened it with a smirk. "Go on, open the box."

Danny accepted both items and set the book in his lap. His eyes grew big when he opened the box. Inside was a ring, sized to fit him. The metal had a dark patina, and the overall shape was distinctly skull-like. Behind the eyes was a reddish-orange stone, giving them a subtle glow.

"That…it's…" he stammered, favorably impressed by the creepiness.

"Look at the teeth," he advised. "You did say you liked monsters, didn't you?"

Danny peered close. The skull had a mouthful of sharpened fangs. He laughed, delighted. "It's really mine?"

"You'll need it to learn what I intend to teach you." Jareth watched lazily. "Go ahead, put it on. It won't bite you."

The boy slipped the ring on a trembling finger, and gasped. Tingling heat sizzled through the nerves all up his arm. The eyes blazed for a split second, then went dim again.

"Looks like a good fit." Jareth leaned forward. "Do not. Ever. Take it off."

"Never ever? Not even in the bath?"

"No. When a sorcerer is without his talisman, he is powerless, and when he is powerless, he is easy pickings for his enemies. Remember that. If I ever see you without that ring, I will break the finger you should be wearing it on, as a reminder."

Danny gulped and pulled his hand nervously against his chest. "You wouldn't really…"

Jareth gave him a long look, but said only, "Have a look at the book."

He nodded and picked up the item. It looked antique, and there was a pentacle embossed on the leather cover. "Is it…dark magic? Like, evil magic?" He found himself uncertain whether that was a bad thing or just kind of cool.

"Magic is neutral. Neither good nor bad. It is the task of the individual sorcerer to make whatever use of it he so chooses, for good or for evil, to his own taste and benefit."

"Oh." He stroked the spine. "I was thinking about it all last night. You're not…the Devil, are you? I mean.…we don't go to church or anything, but…"

Jareth threw back his head and laughed. "No one has asked me that in quite some time."

He blushed. "It's just…the magic, and you offered me all kinds of things."

Recovering, the sorcerer wiped one eye. "Let me put it this way: I have no use whatsoever for your soul. But as far as you are concerned, I can and will be the Devil if you disobey me."

"But if I don't?" He peered at him sideways. "If I'm good?"

"Then I'll show you how to be a god." His eyes glinted.

Danny glanced toward the kitchen, where his mother was still fiddling with things. She wasn't a religious woman, but she wouldn't care for talk like that, if she overheard. Jareth waited for the boy's brief flutter of nerves to recede, then tapped the cover of the book. "Look inside. Toward the back. Page 597, I think."

He obeyed, a little uncertain, but when he saw the neatly drawn image at the top of the page, he understood. "It's you!" He glanced up, comparing the face watching him to the picture in the book. The likeness was flawless.

"The Encantus contains spells," Jareth said, "and also the history of human sorcery, from about the year 400 AD to the present. Read."

Danny was a bit above his grade level in reading, but the writing was intricate and some of the words were long. Slowly, he read aloud, "Jareth, AKA Jack Shane, AKA Lord John Birmingham, AKA David Fowler…Morganian, 693rd Degree. Born 1721, London. Apprenticed to Maxim Horvath 1732. Adept 1744." He looked up. "I don't understand…how can you be that old? That's hundreds of years old."

"What part of 'sorcerer' do you not understand, boy?"

Danny worried his lip. "What's 'Morganian', then?"

"Now that's the question I was waiting for," he nodded in approval, but fell silent as Danny's mother brought tea and snacks into the room. The boy fidgeted anxiously as the two grown-ups made small talk, and let out a breath of relief as his mother retreated again to work on dinner.

"I'm sorry, where were we?" Jareth glanced at him, teasing subtly. "You had a question, yes?"

The boy scowled, but already he knew better than to be cheeky with his new master. "Morganian. What's that mean?"

Jareth steepled his fingers. "You've heard of the sorcerer Merlin? King Arthur? Knights of the Round Table?"

"Yeah, of course." Danny had always been more interested in the knights, but the basics of Arthurian legend had been covered in his classes already.

"What about Morgan le Fay?"

He had to search his memory. "…Mordred's mum."

"Good enough. She is also a very powerful sorceress, and was Merlin's rival. Up until she killed him."

Danny stared. "I thought he got shut in a cave or something? She really killed him?"

"Yes. And with the help of one of his own apprentices." Jareth smiled, clearly relishing the story. "He had three of them, but they had a disagreement amongst themselves, and the oldest, Horvath, switched sides and betrayed the old man. Unfortunately, the other two threw together some last-minute heroics and trapped Lady Morgan in a wooden nesting doll, called the Grimhold. Before he died, Merlin prophesied that there would be a successor to his power. The Prime Merlinian. The last of Merlin's apprentices is still wandering the world looking for him, and guarding the Grimhold. It's all in the book, in more detail. You'll want to read it all later."

"So…is Morgan still trapped?" Danny struggled to process the tale.

"Yes. Some of us still go looking for the doll on the off-chance we can free her, but it doesn't seem to end well for most."

"Did you ever try?" He studied the sorcerer on his couch.

"Once or twice, with a group. When I was young. It was my master's main purpose, and he pushed me. Ultimately, it wasn't my bag." He shrugged. "You see, there's a philosophical difference between Merlin's followers and Morgan's. Merlinians believe they're here to save the world. Morganians have a little more freedom of purpose. It's always good policy to scratch a colleague's back, if he asks for a favor. But I try to look out for number one first and foremost."

"I guess that makes sense." Danny looked back at the page, then blinked as his eye was drawn to a footnote.

It read, Daniel Gladstone, fourth student, Apprenticed 1986-current.

"My name's in here," he said with wonder.

"It updates itself," Jareth took a biscuit and turned it in his fingers. "I'd explain the mechanism, but it's complicated. You'll have to start with much simpler theory."

"Like what?" He clutched the book to his chest, excited.

"Setting things on fire is usually a good practice spell. Possibly not in your flat. We'll go out, after tea."

Hurriedly, Danny drained his cup. Setting things on fire with magic sounded like the best way ever to spend an afternoon.