A/N: Maugoth/Black Hand= Harry Potter for those who may be confused. A longer note is at the bottom, I encourage you to read it.

I own nothing.

After Maugoth's meeting with the elderly wizard, he was informed by two of the Easterling soldiers that they had set up a small camp by the edge of the lake. He swiftly moved through the halls, the two soldiers less than a step behind him and their hands on the hilts of their scimitars, ready to draw and fight to the death at any moment.

The moon was heavy in the sky and in the cloudless night, the large still waters reflected the stars and the bright white moon, creating a very beautiful night.

On the shores of the lake sat a small group of tents nestled together, the largest one near the encampments center, rows of sharpened sticks protruded from the freshly turned dirt and torches were lit around the perimeter. At the entrance to the camp two soldiers stood stiffly at attention as the Black Hand passed by, only to be relieved by the two soldiers that had been accompanying him.

In the center of the camp the rest of his personal envoy were seated around a roaring campfire, cooking some form of meat, what it was didn't matter to Maugoth. He unsheathed a dagger and cut off a slice of meat with it, hungrily gobbling it down. The soldier in charge, Major Khan, was telling the rest of the men about the ways that he would dismember and kill the children up in the castle up above, in a very detailed manner.

Maugoth almost choked on the piece of meat when he heard Khan describe a particularly gruesome scenario, the rest of the men let out loud guffaws of laughter and even Maugoth gave the smallest hint of a grin. Standing up he gave Khan a small nod, which was curtly returned, and departed for the largest tent.

Inside the tent it was rather Spartan in fashion, with a cot and several blankets, an armor rack and a large chest at the foot of that. He unclipped his black cloak and tossed that onto the cot, next he took off his armor and attached the multiple pieces to the stand, finally leaving him in a pair of slacks. Made of a lightweight yet rather durable material from Harad. His muscled chest and its numerous scars could tell a story of its own, the smallest an inch long that lay under his collarbone. To the largest, a jagged ugly thing that ran from his right pectoral to the center of his abs, a reminder of what happened when one disobeyed orders.

He slumped onto the cot and ran his hands through his short black hair, before he laid back and drifted off into unconsciousness. But it didn't stay that way for long. His pleasant dream of slaughtering innocents whilst riding on the back of a Warg, was interrupted by a massive flaming eye, dominating his vision.

He fell to his knees and lowered his head. A deep voice rang out in Black Speech, "You will enter the Department of Mysteries, and retrieve what is mine."

"What is it that I am looking for my Lord?" he asked curiously.

"You will know it when you see it. Do not fail me." Sauron said simply, the flaming eye disappeared and Maugoth jolted awake. He blinked several times, as bright golden light began to stream in through the partially closed flaps of the tent. He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the cot, he rolled his shoulders and then stood to his full height.

Pulling apart the flaps of the tent he stepped out into the brisk morning air, nipping at his shirtless chest as he set off into a jog. The soldiers stood at attention as he passed by them, and continued toward the castle. Whenever could, and for as long as he could remember Maugoth had been set on a strict morning exercise ritual that he rarely if ever deviated from. He started with a 10 kilometer run, then followed by several sets of pushups and sit ups, and to finish he would usually spar for a few hours.

This had all started back when he was trained by Azog, the orc had made him run until he felt that he was finished, which usually lasted until he collapsed in exhaustion. Even then he was not safe from the orc's berating, "Get up, weakling!" usually followed with a savage blow to the ribs. He'd vowed to himself that he would never be weak again. From the moment that he'd been able to lift a sword, he was taught how to use to the fullest extent of its potential and his.

As he passed by what he estimated was the halfway mark, near the groundskeeper's hovel, he sped up into a dead sprint, which he continued as he ran into the Forbidden Forest. Mantling over rocks, and fallen trees covered in moss, he bobbed and weaved through the trees like a wraith. Eventually Maugoth emerged again on the shore of the lake, his small camp in the distance, slowing down to a jog, he followed the shoreline back.

-Line Break-

"You wished to see me," Lucius Malfoy said, kneeled before his master; Lord Voldemort. The Dark Wizard's eyes were close, as if in deep thought, his pale bony fingers to his temples, and the slits that passed for his nose was up in the air. Finally his crimson red eyes opened and he gazed down upon one of his most faithful servants.

Meanwhile, Lucius was growing extremely uncomfortable under the much more powerful wizard's gaze, in all his years of serving the Dark Lord he had never quite felt the comfort of being in his presence like some, Bellatrix Lestrange for example.

"I have sensed it Lucius…" Voldemort trailed off.

Malfoy was concerned, "What have you seen, my lord?"

Voldemort beckoned him to rise, "A darkness is rising, one that threatens my very reign in Britain, it's eye gazes upon the island with such intensity; analyzing. The ones you sent to the fortress, have they returned yet?"

Lucius shook his head.

Voldemort bore a frown upon his face, "You will gather an army, it will be needed."

Lucius nodded, "Yes my lord,"

With a dismissive gesture, Lucius bowed and hurried out to complete his master's task. Voldemort was worried, he would never admit it aloud, but he feared that the being, whose identity had yet to be discovered, was slowly begging strengthen its grip on Britain. His allies to the south, The Hessian who was a powerful German dark lord, was no longer contacting Voldemort with updates on the status of his land. A storm was coming, and he did not know if he was prepared.

-Line Break-

"Quiet," The orc leader called out to the large group of orcs gathered behind him. They were all the same except for one, their leader whose skin was deathly pale. A rare feature among orcs. His hand carried his favored weapon, a heavy mace, as his force encircled the small wizarding fort.

His master had informed him that a German dark lord resided here, and that he would need to be dealt with before they could move farther north, and Azog the Defiler aimed to serve his master. Among his forces was his own kin Bolg, whom was quite skilled himself, and would be leading a group of around thirty orcs and a troll around the fort's left flank. While he and his much larger force of over a hundred would keep their attention, they would infiltrate and cause havoc among the wizard's forces, a young orc whom had proven himself against much older orcs came to stand behind him.

"Sir, the troops wait for your order," the orc known as Gothmog reported.

Azog nodded, "We move now," he stood and raised his mace forward into the air.

"Kill them all!" He yelled out in Black Speech, his orc forces released savage and primal war cries as they ran forward as fast as their legs were carrying them.

Archers moved up as the foot soldiers rushed in, arrows notched in their bow strings, an alarm ward sounded when the Orcs got to a certain point, not that the wizards on the parapets hadn't already noticed them.

The German wizards on the walls let loose an array of spells, downing many, yet that did not deter the attackers. Some managed to scale the wooden walls and leapt over the sharp wooden fence posts that had been driven into the earth. Bloodlust engulfed them, allowing the Orcs to take several curses before falling; pain irrelevant. Realizing that their enemies were not normal men they switched to using the killing curse along.

The wizard's felt that they were winning, until one of them found herself in the jaws of a massive wolf like creature, she screamed in pain as the Warg shook her like a chew toy. As the life drained from her, the Warg threw the body away, the Warg rider urging it to attack others.

Then when things began to look even bleaker, a massive armored troll with a serrated scimitar in its hand barreled through their wall down several wizards with its charge, and began to go on a rampage through others.

Azog himself strolled through the fort casually, occasionally caving a human's head in with his mace, his white Warg had its fill of meat to say the least as it moved through the fort to the largest tent. Sliding off the side of his mount he entered the tent, eyes scanning for the wizard who knelt at the feet of a statue with a winged helmet. He proceeded to rise, with him came a large battle axe and spoke in slightly accented English, "My forefathers once wielded this weapon with pride, and I shall continue its legacy of death. Thor smiles upon me!"

With that the German wizard of Nordic descent came at Azog with a wild overhead strike, slamming into the animal rugs that adorned the bottom of the tent. The Hessian was surprised that his enemy had moved with such speed, and threw his arm at the Orc. Which connected and caused the Pale Orc to let out an annoyed growl, the Orc picked him up with his one good arm. Mace forgotten, and strangled him. Gasping for breath the wizard kicked Azog in the stomach, and sent him stumbling back.

They both proceeded to grab their weapons, and swung at each other, weapons connecting with a thunderous CLANG! Which echoed throughout the night. They dueled for some time, the Orc gaining the upper hand drove the human through the other side of his tent and into a semicircle. Formed of his soldier's dead bodies, and standing atop and behind them were the Orc's forces watching as their leader dueled the other. Then he saw his son in the hands of an Orc with a heavy body modifications, steel plates that guarded the abdomen from harm, and others. When the Orc ran the blade through his only child's stomach; all hope left him.

Wearily he through another strike at the Pale Orc who dodged it and disarmed the bearded man, who stood with his hands in surrender. Azog snorted at the man's attempt at peace, and thusly slammed his mace into his chest sending him slamming into the muddy ground.

His breathing heavy from the probably fractured ribs and punctured lungs, the man stared into the dark sky in defeat, accepting his fate. Azog the Defiler threw down his mace and hefted his opponent's weapon in one hand. Lifting it into the sky, he brought it down on the man's head, splitting it open like a melon. With one heft he tore the man's head from his shoulders and lifted the axe with the head attached to it into the air, shouting out in victory.

The other Orcs cried out in exhilaration at the show their leader had put on.

A/N: So I had originally planned to upload this ten days after the last chapter, but life got in the way and when I went to upload it over the winter holiday's, my internet went down due to a snow storm. Anyway, from now on the updates to this story will be larger and farther between.

With this chapter I wanted to focus on what was occurring in other parts of the world, and next time Maugoth the Black Hand of Sauron will have a run in with his former parents and Ron starts a beef.

I thank you all for your patience and your continued support of this story and will see you next time!