Author's notes: Have I mentioned that this story is a slash? No? Oh well, now I have. Thankyou to all those who gave me their opinions on who they want the middle earthien [is that even a word?] to be and I announce that a grand total of two have voted for different characters. So now I am happy to announce that I shall be the one choosing who the mysterious character is due to a distinct lack of voters. Don't like my choice then you should have voted.

Chapter 2

Cold black,

Cold stone,

Cold grave,

Cold bone,

Nine times nine,

The cards were cast,

And nine times nine,

These very portents were read.

I want you to search the western border of Fangorn, I sense ill intent and a supernatural influence that defies my attempt to scry them. The only information I could gather were from the scattered fragments of fortune cards being cast in my dreams.

Beware my friend.

-Malbeth

What was their meaning? Indeed what was the meaning of such evil words? Could there even be a meaning? Or did Malbeth just like prophesising utter nonsense and sending people on quests that may or may not be in vain?

Of course he does not Lindir, the elf chided himself as he spurred his horse ahead of his companions. You should no better then to belittle Malbeth the seer, even when his words make no sense.

"Lindir daro" [halt or stop], called Beliond from behind but Lindir just spurred his horse onwards, casting his worries from his mind with typical wood elven practicality, what will be will be and none of my worrying will change it, and instead laughing at his companions cries for him to halt.

Therefore he did not see the blossoming form of the window opening, nor the slither of unlight that twined itself around the horse's forelock.

Lindir caught sight of his companion's horrified faces and twisted to look over his horses head, catching a glimpse of young humans standing in a semi circle. Immediately he reached out with his mind to that of his horses, twining his thoughts with that of the beasts.

Daro! The young greenelf commanded.

Immediately the horse dug his hooves into the turf, slowing down his breakneck speed. Catastrophe and an unholy mixing of time may have been averted had the darkness not chosen that moment to snap the horse's forelock, making the beast scream in terror and throw Lindir forward and through the window.

It was like plunging through a river of icy water, except crossing through to the other side was infinitely more painful. Lindir felt as though his very soul was tugged and yanked, if not apart then at least it was stretched. Indeed Lindir had no doubts with the knowledge that if he had been less strong, then his soul would have dissipated. But that was neither here nor there and of no consequence, what was of consequence was that it hurt. Lindir could hardly draw breath or even muster the will to move.

But after what seemed an eternity he was spat out of the pass, and into blissful oblivion.

XXX

Yes my dear readers, it is I, the narrator! Back in time for the continuation of the story, lucky you.

And now to Hogwarts we must go! Following our poor sylvan minstrel into the unknown back stabbing wizarding world as he is dragged into the healing ward, blessedly oblivious to the drama playing in the headmaster's office.

Oh woe unto Lindir! For the prophecy of Malbeth is about to come true…

XXX

Voldemort clapped his hands gleefully as the news of Dumbledore's sacking reached his ears. Oh that glorious, stupid Fudge! He would have cackled. How ignorant these wizards were, believing Dumbledore to be the source of their troubles when it was he, Tom Riddle, who wreaked the havoc.

And now Hogwarts was unprotected, no one stood between he and Harry Potter…

Lindir opened his eyes, awakened by the hint of mad cackling and the vague suspicion that he was being watched. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, blinking vaguely as his memories resurfaced from wherever memories went when one was rendered unconscious. Lindir felt vaguely worried at the fate of the humans but then mentally shrugged, it was not his fault they had stood in the middle of a well travelled road.

Lindir gasped in shock as a female human dressed in a ghastly shade of pink stormed into his line of sight. She to seemed shocked when she realised he was awake but swiftly recovered enough to stride over and take a seat beside him.

"Who are you?" she asked.

What? Lindir thought. What language is she speaking? Is she well?

"Ier lle eithel?" he asked bemusedly. [Are you well?]

"Can you speak English?" Doloris asked loudly and obnoxiously, drawing out her words as if she were speaking to an infant.

Lindir rolled his eyes; his head hurt talking, or trying to talk, with this human. "N'uma quel lammen ve' lle n'uma dol", he said seriously. [Your language is no good, like you, no head].

He then turned over and succumbed to the pull of dreams, he would attempt communication with the lack wit on the morrow.

Umbridge was shocked when the stranger rolled over and went back to sleep, feeling as is she had been snubbed for some obscure reason. She briefly debated awakening the…human but decided against it. She then gathered up her stiff cloak of pride and rose from her seat to march haughtily to the door.

TBC

Augh translating English into elvish is such a bother and I want to warn you that those are the loosest translations imaginable.