Hi everyone! This is the sequel to Loss and Light. If you want to read this before that, you might be a little confused as to what is going on later.

Just a couple of things:

One: Remember that in Loss and Light, Voldemort's defeat happened in December instead of in the summer in the canon story.

Two: In this story, Merlin has been away from the modern Wizarding World for centuries. No time jumps for the warlock this time. I know it's kind of confusing but that's just how the story developed in my head. Hopefully this will make more sense as you read.

Three: The reincarnated Merlin characters have the first name of their original selves with the last name of the actors who played them. Arthur goes by Arthur James because he doesn't want people to know he's the son of Uther Head, a super rich oil company owner. James is his middle name. Other characters do this as well, like Guinevere taking the name of Coulby instead of the last name of the actor who played her father.

I hope you guys like what I come up with! I really wanted to do an 'Arthur Returns' fic so this is my take on it. The first part of the story is mostly going to concern the reincarnated folks but don't worry, our favorite witches and wizards definitely play key parts and will be seen quite a bit as the story unfolds. :)

Disclaimers: I don't own Merlin or Harry Potter or any of the places that I use for this story.

01 Fernandez & Wells

The sun was full in the sky, its rays desperately attempting to reach through dark curtains and penetrate the room they guarded. The flat was located in an area one would consider the higher end of society but the current owner had a reputation of leaving it in disarray; instead of the posh atmosphere associated with most in his class. Piles of clothing, leftover food, and forgotten textbooks littered every surface.

With a loud snort, the silence of the flat was disturbed as its owner lifted his face from the table he'd unintentionally been using as a pillow. Blurry blue eyes wandered around in confusion until the brain they belonged to finally came into full consciousness. With a groan Arthur stretched his muscles taut, ran a hand through his blonde hair, and rubbed his face.

Frowning, he surveyed the 'pillow' he'd used the night before. He'd fallen asleep while working on a paper for his English class. It was due tomorrow and he'd hardly made a dent in it. Scowling, Arthur pushed the paper aside. Though he wasn't particularly poor in the subject, he had no love for it either. Sighing, he decided he wasn't in the mood to sit down for the next three hours in an attempt to write something he had no particular passion for.

Shoving himself away from the table, he made his way into his kitchen and pulled out a gallon of milk. After hunting around for a while he managed to find a clean glass and filled it all the way to the brim, thinking to himself that he really needed to call in a maid. If there was one thing that was beneath him, it was cleaning up after himself.

All his life Arthur had been surrounded by maids and butlers, each catering to his every whim. When he moved away from home to go to school he never fully appreciated all the work those unknown faces did behind the scenes. Frowning a little, the young man set his glass in the sink and wandered into his room to shower and get cleaned up for the day. Rummaging around in his closet and drawers, he found a clean pair of undergarments and clothes, setting them out on his unmade bed before heading for the shower.

"I really should hire someone," he muttered grumpily as he studied the state of his bathroom.

He'd been living on his own for the last year, finally attending college to gain a degree in law – not that his father knew that was what he was actually studying. Uther Head was a famous owner of the biggest oil company in Britain now living across the pond. He believed his son was continuing to study business (like he had been doing for four years previous) when, in reality, Arthur was learning the justice system.

Ever since he was little Arthur held a love for the people around him. Every time he saw injustice, whether in cases on television or fights in the street, he felt the need to do something. That was why he was going behind his father's back and studying the subject he truly felt would make a difference. He knew his father wanted him to take over the family business but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Running an oil company was not what he had in mind for making his mark in the world.

There was a part of Arthur that felt guilty about lying to him but his father was not the kind of man to stand for insubordination. He was a strict man, unfailingly stubborn and unwilling to listen to anything that contradicted his ideals. The moment he learned that his son was studying law, he would be sure to not only stop funding him but also get on the next flight to London and haul Arthur's carcass back to the States. Arthur didn't mind America but he was born in Britain and his love for his home country was greater than his desire to attend a college in the US. Although, he grimaced, after the most recent attack involving the Lambeth Bridge collapsing, he wouldn't be surprised if his father did show up and try to drag him away.

For several months the news had reported nothing but disappearances, bridge collapses, fires, random explosions, bus and car crashes, and train derailments all over Britain without even a hint as to who might be behind the attacks; unknown terrorists were the most likely subjects. Arthur had lost count of how many times he'd had to placate his father into allowing him to stay in London. He was sure that due to the Lambeth Bridge collapse he was going to get a phone call at some point today.

Arthur rolled his eyes as he slipped under the warm shower water. His father was rather over protective for a man who seemed to only care about shaping his son into the next Head Oil company owner. Arthur was sure it mostly had to do with the fact that he was all his father had left of his mother who died while giving birth to him twenty five years ago.

Arthur sighed, lathering his hair in expensive shampoo, his mind going back to the moment the Lambeth Bridge had fallen. He'd been there; well, he'd actually been jogging across the Vauxhall Bridge when the attack occurred.

The sun had been shining spectacularly in the sky that day which was the main reason Arthur had gone out for a run. But once he was on the Vauxhall Bridge, mysterious dark clouds covered the sky and, all of a sudden, streaks of black zoomed down from the heavens. Strange red lights shot from the moving black haze and strategically hit spots of the bridge which caused it to collapse, killing hundreds of people in seconds. Right as the bridge began to sink into the river the black haze flew back into the clouds. Both dispersed immediately and the sun once again shone upon the city. It had happened in seconds but it was a moment that Arthur would never forget. He could still hear the panicked screams of those on the bridge in his dreams… before they changed into the ones that had begun to haunt him since that terrible day.

After Arthur had witnessed the mysterious black attackers, he'd been having dreams that were never the same but strangely familiar. He never saw faces belonging to the people in them but the scenarios all involved knights clad in silver armor under bright red capes, a majestic castle made of stone, and – dare he say it – magic cast by sorcerers.

Arthur was not a superstitious guy. Did he believe unexplainable things could happen sometimes, sure. But did he believe that magic was real and that it just might have been what caused the Lambeth Bridge to sink into the Thames? Well…

Arthur scoffed. What was wrong with him? Magic wasn't real! Neither was it the cause of the Lambeth Bridge incident. But even as he told this to himself, a part of him didn't believe it. Finishing his shower, Arthur dried off, got ready for the day, and left the apartment – with a mental note to hire a maid to come and clean; his father wouldn't mind paying for one, he was sure, since he already had twenty in his employ at the Head Estate in America.

The cold chill of the winter air whipped into Arthur's face the second he stepped outside. Christmas was right around the corner and though the rest of the world was actively celebrating by decorating their homes, shop windows, and streets, Arthur didn't see the point in partaking in the festivities himself. It was just going to be him in his apartment. Well, him, Gwaine, and whatever girl the insufferable man decided to bring with him.

Gwaine Macken was Arthur's next door neighbor and he was a complete idiot. The man was the owner of a highly successful corporation -Arthur hadn't cared to learn which- but he didn't have any interest in running the company so he left it for others to do it for him. His father had died a few years ago, leaving everything to Gwaine, but the young man didn't want to walk in the footsteps of his father. It was this one thing that he and Arthur had in common. Other than that, the fool was an infamous playboy with a high tolerance and love for alcohol, spending the majority of his time wandering the streets of London in pursuit of pretty girls and bars.

Gwaine had text him last week asking what he was doing for Christmas before unceremoniously inviting himself over since he was in the same predicament as Arthur: not wanting to go home for the holidays. Arthur had been highly annoyed but hadn't objected too much since he figured it would be better spending the holiday with someone he knew rather than by himself like a scrooge.

Dreading the coming holiday, Arthur shoved his hands deeper into his thick jacket and huddled into his scarf, wandering down the street towards one of his favorite cafes, Fernandez & Wells. The small shop was appealing and he loved the food even though it was different from the posh establishments the rest in his class sought out. Entering the café, he wandered up to the counter and ordered an Espresso and a slice of lemon tea cake. After getting his order, he sat down in the nearest available corner of the café and pulled out his phone. Sure enough, he had two text messages and a voicemail from his father all demanding that he call home as soon as he was able. Arthur rolled his eyes, pocketed his phone, and turned back to his coffee.

He was just finishing up the remains of his cake when someone sat down two chairs away from him, someone who caused the very breath in his lungs to still and his heart to race. Her mocha colored skin was mostly hidden beneath a red pea coat, a gold paisley-patterned scarf barely visible under mounds of short ebony curls. Her square shaped face was beautiful, her cheekbones rosy, her brown eyes round like a doe, and her full lips currently pulled in a contented smile as she sipped from a mug.

And then she turned her gaze on him and Arthur didn't know what to do with himself. Floundering, he jumped a little under the scrutiny and the fork in his hand slipped through his fingers and tumbled to the floor while he, like the idiot he was, fumbled to catch it. There was a quiet giggle and Arthur's face felt like it was on fire. Trying to maintain his dignity, he cleared his throat, picked up the blasted utensil, and set it down on the table. Arthur unconsciously swallowed, his brain unable to properly think of anything to do or say even though the girl was no longer staring at him –her eyes had gone to a book she'd just pulled out of her bag.

Unable to look away, Arthur watched her every move while trying to come up with a way to talk to her. But his tongue felt like it had swollen in his mouth and his brain, usually filled with intelligence, was now full of cobwebs. That is, until someone else sat down next to her and she leaned over, happily kissing him on the cheek in greeting. Arthur's heart felt like it had been stabbed as he watched and eavesdropped on their conversation.

"Lancelot, what are you doing here?" the young woman asked, her eyes bright at the sight of the dark-skinned, brown-eyed man possessing a five o'clock shadow over his strong jaw line.

"I was in the neighborhood when I saw you in the window," Lancelot answered. "I thought I'd stop in to see what you were up to. How are you Gwen?"

Gwen… was that short for something else? Gwenneth? Guinevere? For some reason the latter seemed to resonate with him. Guinevere…

"I'm fairing pretty well, all things considered," Gwen answered. "I only have one final left to take and then I'll be free to celebrate the holiday."

"Are you doing anything special for Christmas?"

"Not really. I'm spending it here."

"Alone?" Lancelot prompted.

Arthur started and before he knew what he was doing, he interrupted. "She was actually going to spend it with me."

Both Gwen and Lancelot turned to look at him. Arthur tried to keep his chin raised and his expression friendly. Lancelot appraised him up and down, noting without difficulty his designer clothes and well kept appearance – a stark different to what he was wearing: second hand jeans and a thick jacket from a thrift store. Arthur raised his brow a little as he noticed Lancelot put a protective hand on Gwen's shoulder.

"I have a hard time believing that," he said, his tone hard. "Who are you?"

"I'm Arthur." He held out his hand. "Arthur James." He'd gotten into the habit of introducing himself with his first and middle name only; he didn't want to be defined as the spoiled rich son of a major oil company.

Surprisingly, Lancelot shook his hand. "Lancelot," he introduced. "This is Guinevere but everyone calls her Gwen."

"Nice to meet you," Arthur smiled. "I'm sorry for earlier; I couldn't help overhearing. It just so happens I'm also unable to spend the holiday with relatives so I figured two lonely souls could spend it together."

Before either of them could say anything more, Arthur whipped out a card with his name and phone number on it, handing it to Guinevere who deftly accepted while keeping her eyes trained on his face.

"You can call and text anytime," Arthur smiled at her. "Let me know if you want to spend the holiday together."

And then to everyone's shock, including his own, he took her hand and kissed it. His heart leapt from the contact and to his pleasure, Guinevere didn't pull away in disgust. Actually, she looked flattered, her cheeks darkening even further than they had before. Feeling Lancelot's narrowed eyes, Arthur let go and straightened while clearing his throat.

"Well, I'd best be off. It was nice to meet you, Lancelot, Guinevere," his smile grew wider when he looked on the latter. "I'll be hoping for that phone call."

And before he could lose his nerve, he left the café, his heart pounding against his ribcage. As he headed back to his flat in a daze, he couldn't believe what he'd just done. Had he really been so arrogant as to pretend to know Gwen and insist she spend Christmas with him?! True, the thought was elating, but had he seriously just allowed a jealous rage to spur him to act like a self confident jerk?

Arthur rubbed his hand over his face. If Gwaine ever learned of this, he'd never live it down. Frustrated, embarrassed, and deep down praying that Gwen would accept his offer, Arthur went home to distract his mind with his essay.

[][][]

Merlin stood in the Weasleys kitchen, a canvas bag slung over his shoulder. The Christmas holidays had started two days ago, everyone going home so the school could be rebuilt from the battle that had taken place a few weeks previous. Harry, Ron, and Hermione would be returning to Hogwarts after the break to participate in the latter half of their seventh year; even though the three had been rather reluctant, finishing their education and graduating was something both Mrs. Weasley and Professor McGonagall had been adamant about.

Merlin had spent most of his time with the Trio but now he was ready to go off and find his friend. He'd been told that Arthur had returned and was somewhere in Britain. He needed to find the prat before he could hurt himself. Hefting his bag over his shoulder he smiled at the gathered members of the Order of the Phoenix and his three dear friends.

"Are you certain that this is what you should be doing?" Kingsley Shacklebolt, recently elected Minister of Magic, asked. "We could really use your help rounding up the Death Eaters and restoring peace to the magical community."

Merlin smiled at him, his eyes a little sad. "You know that I would love to stay and help in any way I can but I need to find my king. After I have, I'll see what I can do to help rebuild what Voldemort tore down."

Kingsley's shoulders drooped a fraction but he kept his disappointment from coloring his tone as he stepped forward and shook Merlin's hand. "Then we'll look forward to that day. Good luck finding him, Merlin."

Merlin's grin was wide. "Oh, I'll find him. I've waited fifteen hundred years for his return. Finally, after all these years…"

So great was his elation he could no longer speak. Tears pricked his eyes and he sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve. Gathering his emotions, he gazed upon the faces of friends he hadn't seen in many centuries. It was odd seeing them again but being with them, among so many with magic who held kind hearts, was a revival to his old soul in and of itself. He turned to Harry and looked on him with pride.

"Take care of yourselves," he advised.

Harry stepped forward and took his hand. "You too, Merlin," his smiled.

It was the first time Merlin had ever seen Harry so relaxed. The boy's green eyes were alight with life and the tension in his shoulders was gone. His burdens had been lifted and he was now free to live his life. Merlin was happy for him and kind of understood how he felt. His burden of loneliness was now gone, replaced with the knowledge that somewhere out there was Arthur, his dearest friend, his soul brother, the other half of his coin. Finally the two would soon be reunited.

Inclining his head to Harry, Merlin waved at the gathered group of witches and wizards before stepping back and transporting away to the heart of London, feeling it was there that he should begin his search. Appearing in an alley he knew would be devoid of prying eyes, Merlin's smile grew as he joined the throngs of city-goers in the busy streets of London. Each face he passed did not escape his notice but none turned out to be the one he was looking for.

Though he didn't have anything else to go on, and the Old Religion had been silent on where exactly he should go besides London, Merlin wasn't too worried. He was actually rather content, wandering the streets of the bustling city, enjoying the revelation that had been fueling his happiness since he'd woken back in that hovel in Ireland. Somewhere in this vast city, Arthur roamed, and that knowledge was enough for the ancient warlock. Even if it took him several days, he was confident that he would run into Arthur sooner than later. It was this notion that kept the spring in his step even when the sun had set and the time for searching was put on hold so he could find a hotel for the night.

Since money still wasn't a problem, Merlin decided to treat himself to a rather luxurious hotel with one of the best rooms it had to offer. Locating his room five minutes later, the warlock eyed his surroundings, approving of the soft taste in décor. The room's colors were mostly beige and teal with dark cherry wood furniture. The king sized bed was decorated with a solid teal comforter, beige sheets, and several duck-feather pillows. A soft rug covered the carpeted floor near a lounging sofa facing a giant flat screen television. A fireplace was guarded overhead by a large ornate mirror and on the far side of the room was a private balcony – which sported a porch swing overlooking the vast River Thames.

Setting his travel bag on the dresser near the walk-in closet, Merlin peeked into the bathroom. He was pleased to find not only did it contain a shower but a huge bathtub built into the floor. A nice large mirror over a long counter with two sinks allowed him to stare at his reflection. Merlin decided that he really needed to shave; he'd allowed his stubble to grow the last couple of days. Pleased with the bathroom, Merlin left it to get ready for bed. What nobody would ever figure out was his seemingly small shoulder bag had an undetectable extension charm which allowed him to store all his necessities from his clothes to his knick knacks. It also possessed a weightless charm, making it so the bag felt like he was merely carrying a cloud instead of hundreds of pounds of materials. Using a summoning spell, Merlin found his pajamas and toiletry bag before heading into the bathroom to take a shower.

He found himself lightly humming as he prepared for bed, stopping only to brush his teeth. He hadn't been this happy since Camelot's golden days. Sighing, he entertained himself with countless memories of when he wandered around with the knights, dealt with magical threats, and helped the magical community grow together in unity and peace. Those days had been the best he'd ever had.

Slipping into bed, his thoughts strayed to Arthur, his heart pounding in anticipation for the morn. With a smile still on his face, Merlin turned on his side and burrowed into the soft pillows, his last thoughts dwelling on how Arthur would probably approve of such a bed; surely he'd joke that it was too nice for a former servant. Grinning, the warlock fell asleep.

[][][]

Arthur hadn't been expecting a phone call so late in the evening. Well, it wasn't really that late; eleven o'clock. Still, he hadn't anticipated one. Frowning when he didn't recognize the number, he almost surprised himself when he answered.

"Hello?"

"Um, hello? Is this Arthur James?" a timid female voice asked.

"It is. May I ask who is calling?"

"Oh, um, this is Guinevere Coulby. We met –"

"Guinevere!"

Arthur's heart took off. He couldn't believe it. She'd actually called him?! After beating himself up for being such an arrogant prat at the café he concluded that there was no way he'd ever hear from the beautiful young woman again. And yet here she was, calling him!

Arthur cleared his throat. "I'm glad you called."

"I'm surprised I did, honestly," she hesitantly chuckled.

"So am I," Arthur admitted which drew a real laugh from her. His heart melted a little.

"Well, you were a little conceited earlier," she said, her tone indicating that she was smiling.

"Conceited? I would call it confidence," Arthur countered, also smiling as he paced back and forth, running his hand through his hair. He couldn't sit still, his nerves completely on edge.

Guinevere paused. "Listen, Arthur, I know it's late and I apologize for that but I really was wondering if I could talk to you sometime tomorrow? In person?"

"Sure!" Arthur replied, ecstatic. He tried to contain his elation over the suggestion as he continued in a more controlled manner, "Where did you want to meet?"

"The same café around one o'clock? I would suggest earlier but I have a class in the morning."

"No, that works. I also have one."

"Oh, okay then… one o'clock then… see you…?"

"Yes," Arthur awkwardly answered in haste. "I'll be there."

"Right… bye."

"Good night, Guinevere."

The call ended and Arthur stared at his phone before letting out a whoop of joy. Had that really just happened? Had Guinevere – the girl who had filled his thoughts all day – seriously just asked to meet him tomorrow? Arthur felt like he could conquer the world. Never in a million years had he expected such good fortune! Grinning like a madman, he went about his apartment in a daze, wandering through the mess on his floor to his bedroom where he proceeded to get to bed. The last thing that went through his mind was his desire for sleep to come so the morning would soon follow. Tomorrow was going to be a memorable one, he was sure of it!

Reviews are always appreciated! The next chapter will probably be up next week. :)