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A/N: Read and Review! That's the only payment for our humble work…..:)

Many thanks to GallifreyanMaiden, who betad this story!

PART I

In the great hall of the Bruce Castle Museum, a group of young children stood with a tall woman with glasses who very eagerly talked to the children about the paintings.

She turned to them and said, "And this was, as I said before, the Beatrice Offor collection. Now let's go to the next hall."

The group went through a narrow corridor and arrived at a private, dark room wherein only the paintings were lit.

"This is the Room of Sorrow. It got its name from an old legend. As you all know, this castle belonged to Lady Coleraine. Now this lady was a very proud, snobbish woman. No one could ever get close to her, although many young men tried."

"Then one day, as she took a walk around her land, a hunter ran by her. The Lady felt immediately that he was something else, something more, than her previous suitors. She called out to him and asked him to escort her home. They walked and talked the Lady's infatuation grew and grew. The hunter didn't appear to show any deep interest in her, and she soon realized that her love was most likely unrequited. However, hard as she might try, the Lady could not get the hunter off of her mind. She asked about him in the village, where she found that strange things were whispered about him. It was said that he spoke to animals and some even claimed to have seen him riding the waves on nights lit only by a moon full of mystery and pregnant with promise of magical nights to come. But she didn't care one whit; she only considered it the usual village gossip. Her birthday came, and she hoped that - despite every sign to the contrary - her magical hunter would propose marriage to her. He did come on that day, but only to inform her politely that he would leave her land that day, and probably never to return. The Lady couldn't bear to lose her love and killed herself here in this very room," she ended in a whisper.

Many children had nightmares after hearing the story.

"But," she continued in a lighter tone of voice, "This is of course only a legend. The facts are that the lady died in her bedroom of pneumonia. Due to the legend we named this the Room of Sorrow, and this is where we collect our darker themed paintings," she said, continuing her introduction of paintings and painters.

After a while she walked over to a medium sized rectangular painting, "And this, ladies and gentlemen, one of the most interesting paintings in our collection. Its maker is unknown, as is the title, so we simply call it 'Wizard'."

In the middle of the picture a black-haired man in his early 40s sat, his face was an intense mixture of pain, regret and sorrow. His head was in his hands and he sat at a desk in a chair. His surroundings included all kind of cauldrons, jars and a bookcase full of heavy books, some of them looked very old, and even bloody.

On the desk were a wand, papers, and miscellaneous objects scattered about. The children shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably as they looked at the painting. The feeling that they were seeing something they shouldn't, some intensely private personal grief, caused many of them to shift their focus to shift around the room, to their feet, at other paintings, anywhere but at the sad man in the portrait.

The bespectacled woman continued, "The painting was made in the second half of the 20th century, though we don't know the exact date. The painting was found in the late 21th century at an attic in London. The owner of the house kindly gave it to us, but he couldn't give any information about it."

"We can see his face is very wrought. The painter must have had a great interest in wizards, since he or she painted in the picture every kind of stereotypical 'wizard equipment', like the wand, the cauldrons, the strange cloth, and even the crooked nose."

"Nevertheless, this is a very nice painting, one of my personal favourites. It just shows so much emotion, the kind that not many can draw."

The group moved, only one girl remained, admiring the magnificent sight.

"Dorothy, don't dawdle, come along," called a voice from down the hall

The girl shot a last glance to the painting and then ran after the others.