Summary: Eleven year old Arthur Evans knew something wasn't right. For the past few months he's been plagued by visions of ancient castles, of knights and bloody battles, but most importantly by a man who couldn't possible be real. A sorcerer by the name of Merlin; his manservant, an idiot, his closest companion. But surely... that's only a fairytale, right? There's no way Camelot or magic is real. But then Arthur receives a letter to a certain school named Hogwarts, and he's a bit overwhelmed to say the least. Now he's on a quest to figure out what's really going on, making friends and enemies at every turn as he battles old memories and new troubles to fulfill destiny and learn the truth. But this time, there doesn't seem to be a Merlin by his side to keep him out of trouble.

Notes: This was inspired by reading some amazing Merlin/Harry Potter stories and then thinking, wow, I've got to try that. So I went with it being Arthur centric. He remembers first, instead of the other way around- seeing how I've never read a version like that. This is my first attempt at a Merlin or Harry potter story so, yea, be fairly nice to me. Please. I'm mostly winging it. I won't try to take too many liberties, but fitting two worlds together is slightly difficult. So let's give it a go, shall we? If I crash and burn well, uh, I guess that's that.

Pairing: There aren't any yet, they're eleven. But this is a future Merlin/Arthur story, just be aware of that.

Warnings: Future violence, Pure-blood propaganda, racism, minor and major character death, child abuse, slash, original characters, canon divergence

Tags: Reincarnations, crossover, Merlin/Arthur, magical Arthur, canon change, chosen one

Disclaimer: I do not own either Harry Potter or Merlin. I don't have a Beta, so all the mistakes are mine. I'll try to fix them as soon as I find them, sorry.

Tell me what you think, because I'm not really sure if I'm doing this right. Should I continue?

To Old Memories, New Truths, and Destiny

Chapter 1- Merlin, My Merlin

Looming, old and frigid, the mist was descending along his closed eyes and he couldn't move. Swirling around tarnished metal, like bony needles dragging him further down in the water, he tried to move, tried to do something as a large weight sat above the once empty lake, a man screaming by the edge as he was dragged down and down. Another cold ripple clung, his eyes sealed shut and nothing moved, his hands didn't twitch, his mouth didn't open, his chest still, his face unmoving as he didn't breathe, and the man stayed hunched by the waters edge. Seared with red, bloody, crippled in grief as he sunk until there was nothing to see, nothing to feel but the cold. The balance tipped the wrong way, frozen in place and he couldn't stop it. He couldn't come back, not now.

Arthur burst back into consciousness, surging forward in bed as dread and the suffocating feeling of passing nightmares clung to his bones, holding his chest so tightly he might have bruised his skin. He took frantic breaths, coughing and jerking as he kicked off his blankets, his breathing fast and heavy as his eyes darted around the room. They reflected the last of the visions, the last glimpses of the horrifying moments fading away as he sat in bed.

He finally ran a shaky hand through his hair as he started to settle, his short blond locks a mess as he caught the time on the clock next to him, seeing that it was only ten minutes before his alarm went off. He sighed, swinging over the side of the bed and tripping over a shirt on the floor as he stumbled to the bathroom.

Arthur flinched as he clicked the lights on, shielding his eyes with a groan as he stared at his reflection in the mirror, glowering at his half awake state. He ran a hand over his face, dragging his fingers over the dark bags under his eyes. To anyone but himself, it looked like he hadn't slept in days.

If anybody found out about his nightmares…

He sighed and leaned over the sink, mulling over his most recent reoccurring scenes as he washed his face. The visions were becoming clearer, focused and back to being more like memories than a strange sort of movie he was forced to watch- the enchanted and terrifying sensations just as real as when he was awake.

Arthur's mouth twisted into a scowl as he ran a hand over his chest.

Destiny.

It's a strange notion and, really come on, it was usually completely laughable. Of course Arthur didn't believe in it, let alone dreamt about something so incredibly stupid. He wasn't a girl.

So he didn't tell anyone about it; not his friends with the order of the Knights and the round table, or his teachers with the witch hunts and execution, and especially not his Father. On anything at all. Uther Evans didn't do fairytales. So there was no way he was going to go around sprouting about wars, scheming courts, magical assassins and lands soaked with blood- and especially not about his own place in it all.

He grumbled at his own reflection before jumping into the shower, his back going stiff as the water hit him. He jumped, suddenly remembering the waters of the lake and he shivered violently.

There was no such thing as destiny, and there was no such thing as magic.

What there was though, was football practice before school that he needed to get ready for.

Usually the first question that most Muggle parents asked when a teacher finally got to their house- after the newly discovered witch or wizard stopped sputtering about like buffoons- was whether or not they were certain.

That, maybe, there was a mistake and their little Johnny or Jane had somehow been misplaced onto the 'magical list' of students. After all, how did they know for certain that their sweet little child was a magical user? It wasn't like they had taken a test. And sometimes it didn't help that a Muggleborn could have so little to them that they resembled closer to a squib than anything.

There were some cases where the denial was so great that the muggle parents blamed the sudden disappearing furniture or the randomly floating objects, even spontaneous changes in hair color on something as ridiculously preposterous as electrical storms. Even contaminated drinking water. In fact, seeing how no one outside the wizardry community were even aware of their existence- of an entire ancient culture dictated by magical rules and separate religious, they could barely comprehend it.

Until a representative showed up at their doorstep to tell them their child was going to be whisked away into a thousand year old secret society, the denial came on rather strong almost every time.

Severus Snape kept his face professional blank, his eyes boring into the room with absolute disinterest as the Headmaster read out the list of Muggleborns for the upcoming year. He handed the four folders out to the house heads and the teachers, and the potion master realized long ago this wasn't the easiest of tasks. For anyone. They couldn't just send out letters and be done with it, unfortunately. That was often regarded as a farce and they were thrown out without another glance. That left children floundering about in limbo until the school year started, and then they would be- while completely unprepared- dragged away from their homes by irrate school board members once they didn't show up for their first day of school

So, yes, their questions were usually perfectly legitimate one. A pity he didn't care enough to indulge such empty headed parents with their appropriate answers.

Usually, which meant every time, Snape simply averted their gobsmacked attentions with a simple spell to leave them silent and make it clear that, no, they really didn't have a choice in this. Their child was going to school, to learn magic, they had magic and they'd better shut their gobs and except that.

It was a lot better than the saying, "It's a beautiful thing." that Minerva McGonagall had decided to pick up in the last few years.

Snape repressed a sigh as he brought a hand up to rub the bridge of his nose, taking a long sip of his tea from his cup from the table beside him, already feeling a headache start to form.

Leaning back in his chair, he opened his own folder and rubbed exhaustion from his eyes as he saw the half dozen names written down. He had never liked this part, and for Merlin's sakes he had no idea how Albus still managed to go around Britain and Scoltand and repeat this every year in his obscene age. He remembered every horror story- how one parent a few years back had demanded to know the exact biological specifics of Magic in the human body, nearly driving him mad. When they had started poking and prodding him like a specimen he'd finally been forced to actually go to the St. Muguos and ask. The Muggles hadn't been pleased when he sent his findimgs by owl and never came back.

On time a single father even threw up on his shoes when all of his children, all seven received their letters when they reached eleven.

He went to snap the folder closed as the meeting came to an end when a name in the middle caught his attention. And when he saw the address next to it he raised a brow, quickly making his way out as the other teachers discussed among themselves.

Arthur Evans.

Strange, that a boy with her last name would be living so close to Potter.

"Hey Evans!" The Coach's voice rang out through the locker room, "The office wants you. Your dads here to pick you up."

Arthur looked up from where he was sitting on the bench, in the middle of pulling off his grass stained jersey, and the confusion was clearly written on his face. Why would his father need to pick him up from school? He didn't know of any doctor appointments or family meetings. He glanced over at his best mates, who just shrugged as they grabbed their bags, the first bell ringing as they starting for the door. His friendship with his group had been rather strained lately, none of them really talking to him once his nightmares started a few months ago, and it wasn't a well kept secret from his classmates on just how exhausted he was now a days. The other boys most likely just thought he was getting tired of hanging out with them.

"Got it coach," Arthur said with a smile. "I'll head right there."

"See that you do."

Arthur nodded, grunting as he got to his feet quickly, dodging nimbly out of the way and through the packed hallways of the middle school, towards the front reception room. He'd already been in there once before this week, to talk to some school councilor after he fell asleep in class for the fourth time in one day. They had warned him about calling up his father and to write up some kind of document, records that would effect his grades if he kept doing it. He knew he was walking a tight rope here, and any day his little problem might come to light if he wasn't careful. Arthur bit his lip as he shifted his backpack, shoving his hands into his pockets. As nice as it would be to get a good night rest, he didn't want anyone to know what was happening either. When he opened the door to the office he missed a step, almost biting his tongue in surprise.

Standing there was his father, who looked like he had just swallowed a lemon by the sheer look of constipation across his face. He was giving off his signature displeased stance, his face detached and cold as he stood stiffly, his expensive suite wrinkled and slightly ripped on the top, like it had been yanked partial open, his tie crooked and loose. But what really stood out was his busted lip.

Arthur stared wordlessly, until Uther finally broke the silence.

"Arthur, we're heading to the house." His voice was frigid as he slowly turned his gaze to the door, giving it the same leveled glare he gave relatively before he completely lost it. "There are things that need to be explained. In detail." He growled out the last words through pressed lips.

"Yes sir." Arthur kept his voice level as he ventured off, shifting nervously on his feet.

"Come." Uther's voice was completely dry as he turned on a heel, stalking out of the room without another word or a glance back. Arthur obediently fallowed as he glanced nervously at the back of his fathers head, the man clearly incredibly angry.

The ten minute drive back to the house was likely the most painful thing ever done in his young life, and Arthur heaved his body out of the car and ambled over to the front door like a man walking to his execution, Uther's gaze never wavering from staring ahead of himself, never giving his son a glance. He stopped to stand outside of the front door, nervous as his father yanked it out, his earlier scowl returning to his lips as he stepping in, and Arthur could see immediately what had gotten his contempt. Within second Arthur was staring at a group of people he hadn't seen possibly in centuries, or at least since a few nights rests ago.

He wasn't an expert in this, but there seemed to be a bunch of druids sitting on his father's couch.

Oh, bloody hell.

The two men both stood after Uther slammed the door shut behind them, yanking off his tie completely and throwing it on the banister. They were both wearing the weirdest set of medieval carnival robes he'd ever seen. One extremely old, an elderly man with ancient eyes, white hair and a long white beard, he reminded Arthur vividly of someone straight out of a fantasy book cover, his look ridiculous, and his eyes were twinkling in amusement. Literally twinkling. The other man struck him immediately as the type of guy to laugh at a funeral, his eyes narrowed and his chin pointed upwards with a sneer, he had a envelope under his arm and was sporting a rather painful looking black eye as he glared holes into his fathers head. He had rather long oily black hair, a hooked nose and the look of someone being held against his will as he looked around the room like it was covered in vomit.

He gave the two men a pointed stare, looking between his fathers bruised knuckles and lip, and the black eye on the other man until the elderly man coughed, waving it all off kindheartedly.

"Hello," Arthur ventured after another moment, allowing a forced smile to take his features as he turned to the men politely. "I'm Arthur Evans." The twinkling man- Arthur repressed a shudder- seemed to know that already as he smiled warmly, light blue eyes analyzing him from behind half-moon spectacles. But, the other man, well, Arthur didn't quite know how to receive a reaction like that. The man's cold black eyes that was quickly schooled, and he immediately turned to the elder man, wearing such an frigid expression on his face that Arthur wondered for a moment if he just hated life.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, glancing at his father as he stood up straighter, and his back went rigid as Uther's face became completely blank, not a single inclination of what he was thinking given away.

That, that wasn't good.

"Oh, nothing at all, Arthur," the elder man said cheerily. "Please, Mr. Evans, young Arthur, could we perhaps all sit down?"

"Just get on with it." Uther snapped, walking quickly to the chair near the couch and sat down, somehow still looking dignified as he scowled deeply. Arthur stood, hesitating, just inside the doorway for a moment before crossing over to other brown armchair and took a seat. He tried to not look as confused as he felt, ended up settling his expression on mild curiosity as he threaded his fingers together on his lap, looking between the men as they slowly sat back down.

"I am Albus Dumbledore," the older man introduced himself, smiling again as the room settled into an almost pleasant atmosphere. He turned towards the man still in the middle of a heated stare off with his father. "This is Professor Snape."

"Professor?" Arthur nodded as he repeated, now turning his attention to the sallow faced, hawk like man.

Dumbledore's eyes crinkled, causing his father to scoff loudly. "That's why we're here, my boy. I am headmaster of the school where Professor Snape works. It's a school for a rather few select children in the world, like yourself." He reached into his pocket and withdrew a roll of parchment, the wax seal already broken open as he adjusted his spectacles. "Dear Mr. Evans," he read carefully. "We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

He looked back up from the paper, still smiling gently before he placed it down on the table between them, sliding it towards the eleven year old boy.

It was like someone had sucked all the air out of his lungs, dumping him back into that lake, the ice-cold water settling over Arthur's head. He blinked, wondering if he had somehow misheard, or perhaps simply imagined it from the lack of sleep. So he brought a hand up to his ear, quickly snapping his fingers to make sure he was hearing correctly.

What?

"Excuse me?" he squeaked, knowing his voice had cracked oddly at the end. Hogwarts? As in, a school for witchcraft and wizardry? These people were actually sorcerers? They were real? Thank the gods that Dumbledore assumed his shock was due to an entirely different reason as his dreams came back with a vengeance.

"You're a wizard Arthur."

No I'm not. Merlin is, not me.

"What?" Arthur asked slowly, before quickly shaking his head. "No, wait. How?" He did his best to keep his voice steady, his eyes flickering to look at his stone faced father as his throat quivered – and failed, he knew that – to hide his terror as images of children around his age screamed, being lit on fire or hanged, flashed behind in eyelids. He swallowed heavily. How in the world did they come up with that, how could they know something like that? The professor, Snape, pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

"Why don't you tell us?" he snapped a little more harshly than he should, and Dumbledore fixed him with a rather penetrating stare before turning back to Arthur, who finally picked up the parchment like it had teeth, glaring right back just as hotly towards the professor before scanning the paper. The headmaster chuckled as Arthur hesitantly read, making sure to keep his emotions in check as his father sat silently right next to him. His eyes rushed over the words, carefully over each word.

Dear Mr Evans,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find a list enclosed of all necessary books and equipment. Due to your unusual circumstances and situation, you will be required to be sorted with the first years upon arrival at Hogwarts, and you shall begin in both first and seventh year. If you have any issue with this, please take it up with myself or our Deputy Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall.
Term starts on September 1, if you require any assistance in acquiring any school items, please ask a Hogwarts representative located at Flourish & Blotts in Diagon Alley.

Yours Sincerely,
Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
Headmaster of Hogwarts, Order of Merlin First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards

Arthurs's throat constricted a little when he read his name within Dumbledore's array of titles, before realizing that it was most likely some sort of common sorcerer saying now a days. Which was bizarre on it's own. It would take some time to separate the two of them, from the man of legends and whoever the hell he was dreaming about. He was going to have to get used to that, or someone would get suspicious every time he jumped or looked around for a large eared idiot when his name was said, or god forbid cursed. The second piece of parchment had a list of his required schoolbooks, which all seemed extremely interesting and terrifying. Scanning the list once more, Arthur decided to put it away for now, unsure how to handle the idea of a what looked like an entire country of just Magical people.

That... this was going to take a while to get used to. If he ever did.

"Have you ever made something happen that couldn't be explained?"

Arthur jumped, suddenly remembering he wasn't alone in his own little world before scowling. "No. I mean, how do you know I'm a- well, a wizard?" They were called wizard now, it would be odd to say sorcerer out of the blue, right? He hoped no one noticed his slip as he pushed the list back to the headmaster.

Dumbledore was giving him the penetrating stare now, his eyes rather disturbing and Arthur's legs itched, ready to jump up on a moments notice. The Headmaster looked at him as though he was trying to see right through him, studying him. "So you have noticed it, then?" he said simply and Arthur resisted the urge to sneer like his father beside him.

"Well, yes." he fidgeted in his seat before crossing his arms, copying his fathers stiff posture. "Maybe? I mean, it was hard not to notice some weird things that keep happening to me." He hoped that was the right answer. Snape had stopped pinching his nose and was giving him a look that appeared to be a cross between a glare and reluctant interest.

"Very curious. Have you spoken to anyone about this?"

"I'm not an idiot!" Arthur snapped, glaring at them so suddenly with such heat that both men were starting to stare at him again. He back tracked quickly, cursing violently in his head as he sat up straight. "What if," He stopped short and swallowed, having to clench every muscle in his face not to look over at his father, his heart pounding in his chest. "What if they locked me up?"

He hadn't meant for his voice to get so hysterical. Even after these past few months he still hadn't gotten used to the idea of ever telling anyone about his visions, let alone some strangely dressed wizards. His sentence hung there in the air for a moment. It didn't really need answering, anyway.

"Mr. Evans," Snape said as he brought a hand up to rub at the bruise around his eye, "For the answer to your question, The Ministry of Magic has measures in place that detect magic in underage wizards," He explained slowly, like he was talking to a simpleton who barely understood the basics of English.

"Ministry?" Arthur repeated, his eyes growing wide. "You have a government? A Ministry like Parliament?"

"Ah, yes." The Headmaster smiled warily as he looked over at his still silent father, before turning back to him. "I'm sure you have many more questions, my boy. And I'll do my best to answer them all, but you must forgive the two of us, we don't have much time to spare."

Arthur nodded before jumping right in, momentarily forgetting his father's ire as he tried to gather as much Intel as possible. The thirty minutes went by far too quickly for him, his father still completely mute during the entirety of the meeting as Arthur asked what questions he dared. He'd asked about the creation of the Ministry, about the minister itself and their courts, and about how it all worked. He had asked about the different departments and how the wizardly world co-existed with non-magical people. He'd asked about various groups of people, on their religion- or more specifically about Merlin- and on their certain laws. And, he'd asked about the school. At the same time, he tried not to appear too curious in some areas.

Asking if it was legal to run someone through with a sword if they provoked you, would probably raise too many alarms.

"That." Arthur deadpanned at the ending of the meeting as both men stood up, raising a brow from where he was sitting. ""Is that a stick?"

The professor's lip curled as the Headmaster chuckled.

"Yes. Quite right my boy. "Arthur's face twisted incredulously at his answer, looking between them in disbelief. They used wands? Sticks, they actually used sticks like they did in the movies. Do they also all have black cats and cackle at the moon as well?

"I look forward to seeing you at Hogwarts," Dumbledore's eyes were alight and, with another wave of magic and a small crack, he disappeared from the middle of the room.

Uther finally reacted, all but chocking on his tongue as he gaped at the spot the elder man was just standing and Arthur turned to Snape, trying and failing to keep his face passive. The professor didn't seem to like him very much, from what he could tell, the man barely saying more than a few sparse comments during the entirety of the meeting. Maybe he just didn't like kids all that much. Whatever the reason, Arthur was growing a tad annoyed by the perpetual sneer the man was giving him and his father.

"Do you still need something?" he asked hotly, mimicking the standoffish posture that the Wizard was giving in return, narrowing his eyes as his lips drew tighter. It did nothing to faze him as he looked down at him like a bug, nowhere as demeaning as his own father, however it did remind him of someone. Who, he couldn't tell.

"Were we in class and you had showed such simple minded levels of disrespect, Mr. Evans," the Professor said in a voice of deadly calm, "you would find yourself scrubbing the cauldrons of my potions classroom for the remaining of the week. I do not tolerate insolent behavior, let alone to a superior. Is that understood?"

"Of course, Professor." Arthur's voice was just as steady, giving him his best politically apologetic smile he could muster, that didn't reach his eyes, "I would never think of doing such."

Great. This was going to be wonderful.