Gellert was used to appearing in unfamiliar places in his dreams - that was to be expected for a seer, especially when the seer in question was actively looking for visions.

But he'd never seen anywhere like the place he stood in at that moment.

At first, he thought it might be Avalon, far far in the future. There was a grandeur, a scale, that he'd only ever seen in the Gorlois castle, but he quickly realised that it couldn't be. He remembered Avalon as a place of light - massive rooms with colossal windows and airy arches, glistening white stone that put the pale granite of Blau Berg to shame.

The castle that he stood in was dark - a long, narrow throne room with towering walls that soared up and over their heads to jagged, broken rafters which opened onto a stormy, ominous sky. But he got the impression that even at the height of summer, the narrow sliver of distant sky would still have failed to light the floor. At the far end of the room, knifing up like a blade through the stone, a long, narrow window. Once more, the light failed to penetrate far; illuminating a dais of crawling ivy and a shadowed throne of thick stone briars. Crumbling statues framed the window - goddesses, or perhaps angels, spears held aloft and faces stained with lichen tears.

Gellert turned on the spot, trying to decipher why he'd appeared in such a strange place, but was offered no further answers. Massive doors hung open into… nothing. Gnarled grey branches like the skeletal fingers of giants, thicker than Gellert's waist yet somehow still dwarfed by the hollow hall. Dead leaves like cocoon husks, black and brittle, blown up against the hollows and ridges of a rough stone road - massive slabs of rock, forming a course road wide enough to ride down ten abreast and in the distance, almost lost in the barren forest; a jagged portal.

Something moved between the trees - a deer, Gellert realised. But he'd never seen a species like it before, with a white coat so pure that it looked artificial and antlers that branched into a tangled mess of prongs. It grazed at the sparse, spidery lichen that draped like spiderwebs from the trees.

In the stark and monochromatic world, the flare of bright purple was startling. Gellert's eyes snapped over to the portal, and the oddly coloured doorway that filled the void. If he'd remained looking at the deer, he would have seen it fleeing away between the trees. But Gellert couldn't tear his eyes away from the figure that emerged from the portal, trailing strands of purple light like the umbra of a ghost.

The horse was a twisted thing, built of shadow and bone - not an undead horse, as he'd often seen among Hermione's guardians, but one compiled of the bones of others in anatomical impossibility to somehow create a moving sculpture, held together by shadows and a burning purple fire. The rider was equally as terrible, swathed in a ragged cloak that fluttered across the beast's rump and seemed to suck at the light around it and flowed seamlessly into an intricate breastplate. At first, Gellert thought that the proportions were off, then, as the rider drew closer, he realised that it had no head and what he'd thought was a package beneath it's arm was in-fact it's head. Skeletal, hung with a curtain of black hair and with purple flame for eyes.

The creature crossed the distance between the portal and the hall quicker than Gellert would have though possible, dismounting at the doors and crossing the last of the distance on clanking, armoured boots. Something trailed behind him, pale and serpentine, rattling against the uneven stones. Despite knowing that it was a vision, and that he wasn't physically present, Gellert found himself scrambling backwards to let the creature pass.

He half expected it to climb the dais and take the throne, but was instead horrified when it knelt, cloak falling about it in a pool of darkness. The disembodied head was placed reverently on the floor in front of it, facing towards the throne.

'What news?' A voice demanded, echoing from the throne that Gellert had thought empty. He took a step forwards, despite every instinct screaming at him to run at the primordial sound. It sounded beautiful, alluring, tugging at his shattered soul with a promise of greatness, of power and immortality. Yet it was terrible, powerful, primordial. The speaker remained shrouded by the shadow of his imperial seat.

'The Potter boy has joined the sect.' The headless horseman spoke, gravelly and low like stone grating against stone.

'Were they detected?' There was a flicker within the shadows, perhaps the movement of a pale hand or the reflection of light on metal. Then the figure in the throne stood, and Gellert's breath caught in his chest - a sudden tightness, like fear had solidified into steel bands around his lungs.

He'd never seen one of the Sidhe - nobody had, not since the time of Gorlois, but he knew that was what the figure was. Pale skin with an almost silvery sheen, black hair that hung in wild, wind blown locks down to inhumanly sculpted biceps, curling around distinctive tapered ears. A voluminous black cloak flowed from a sculpted bone chest plate, sweeping the floor with every step and a jagged bone circlet rested upon his brow.

'No. The High Priestess is adept at remaining below notice.' The headless horseman replied. Gellert almost imagined he could hear amusement in the tone, out of place and unexpected in the ominous setting and between the two eerie and terrible individuals.

The Sidhe's boots crunched loudly as he stepped down from the throne dais and the headless servant rose to meet him. Gellert's heart pounded hard enough in his chest to remind him of his not insignificant age. The knowledge that the Sidhe were paying attention to Hermione pounded around his head like a fly beneath a glass bowl, drowning out every other thought with panic - there were no tales where the Sidhe were benevolent. They were vengeful, ruthless in their ambitions and they played with humans and wixen like puppets before forgetting them.

'Does she still fear you?' The Fey King asked. Gellert's breath whooshed out in surprise, because that sounded like Hermione was already aware of the fey interest. And she hadn't told him; surely that was the kind of news that warranted sharing. Did she trust him so little?

'She fears herself, Sire.' The horseman answered, trailing behind the Sidhe as he made his way out of the hall. 'She summons me, and does not understand why I answer. Perhaps, if you explained it to her..?'

'No.' Came the sharp reply. 'It is not yet time.'

'I beg your forgiveness, Sire. I spoke out of turn.' The horseman grovelled apologetically beneath the stern glare of his superior.

'You did.' The Sidhe replied, barely glancing back at his servant. 'You grow attached to the girl?'

There was a long moment of silence as the headless horseman seemed to consider his words carefully.

'She is a unique soul.' He finally grated.

'And you wish to possess her?' The fey paused just outside the doors, running his hand over the flank of the gruesome horse.

'She is a golden threat upon the grey tapestry of the mortal world. I would see the pattern which she weaves.'

'So you are attached.' The Sidhe concluded.

'Yes.' The horseman admitted. 'She is so young, to bear so much responsibility. But she carries it well.'

'Ah, but she is mortal.' A cruel smile curled at the Sidhe's lips. 'Fifteen years is an age of responsibility among their kind. Fear not; I believe the time for her to understand is not so far away…'

'She calls for me again.' The horseman filled in the pause in the fey king's speech, answering the unspoken question.

'Then you must answer.'

The horseman tucked his head beneath his arm, bowed deeply to the fey, then mounted his horse. Gellert expected the pair to ride through the portal, but was surprised when they instead faded into silvery mist. The Sidhe was left alone in the bare forest, black cloak stirring in the gentle breeze. He stared at the spot where his servant had vanished for several long minutes, then turned and strode back into the hall, pausing suddenly when he was within feet of Gellert. It was impossible - he was in a vision, he did not truly exist in the time and place that he was currently see, but the Sidhe's eyes fixed unwaveringly on his. Dark, dark black, seeming to leech away any courage yet pinning him so that he couldn't flee. A ring of purple burned around the pupil, haunting and utterly inhuman.

'You have seen too much, mortal.' The fey growled. Then, he reached up with one pale hand and to Gellert's absolute horror, touched him. The skin was cold and electric, racing with magical power that burned against his own. 'Wake up.'

There was a surge of bright white light, a sharp pain, and Gellert awoke.