A/N: I have no clue what this story is, I think I just wanted to write a Harry Potter and Merlin crossover. It's also rather different to my normal writing style so I'm still a bit iffy about whether it's any good or not. Let me know what you think! :

The day was young but the man old. He didn't mind, soon he would be young again or at least have the visage of youngness. Nothing could truly make him shed the years that lay behind him. But perhaps one thing could, a shedding of some sort. Perhaps, this time, he should share his years.

Sighing, the man stood up from where he had been sitting on the grassy ground looking over his small village from the hill that would always be his. It was time, he thought, as his bones creaked in protest of his movements. He slowly made his way back to the little cottage that was waiting for him at the base of the hill. Wishing as he did so, that he didn't live around muggles.

Upon arriving at what had been his home for nigh on twenty years he sighed again. It still looked welcoming, it still had the small touches that had he hadn't been able to remove. Sentiment was an annoying little bugger that didn't want anything to change. He slid the key into the lock and entered, his chilled skin welcoming the warmth the house offered him. Like so many other times, he was glad he had been swayed to allow an automatic heating charm placed in the building.

Silently, he shrugged his coat off, made himself a cup of tea and sat at his desk. Opening his laptop, he braced himself for what he was about to do. It was time to tell the world the real story of how the Boy Who Lived died.

Eighty-one years ago is when he died and came back. Everyone knew that story, it had spread like wildfire. This one was different. This one was personal. Wizards often tend to forget that Harry Potter was a boy who had lived unloved for the first eleven years of his life. Wizards forgot that their saviour hadn't grown up in the Wizarding world. Many also forgot, or more likely, never put together, the fact that he was the reason his parents had been killed by Voldemort.

One of the reasons anyway, there was also the fact that Voldemort tended to act rashly and without thought for consequences. There was the fact that Voldemort had pulled apart his own soul by killing people in order to make himself immortal. But Voldemort didn't matter anymore, he was long gone. So was Harry Potter, but perhaps he would return.

The Golden Boy had become an auror after the war, just like he'd wanted to. After having the constant stimulation of Voldemort trying to kill him, he could never settle into an apple pie life. He would have died from boredom. Unfortunately, being an auror meant purposefully seeking out dangerous situations and throwing yourself into them, at least, that's what Harry's friends thought. Except for Ron, but then, Ron was also an auror and he also thrived off of the excitement of not knowing what would happen next.

Hermione disapproved, she thought it was high time the three had a break. She herself had retired to the muggle world in a bookstore. Ron occasionally helped but as he said many times, Books are my wife's department, not mine. I'll let Hermione deal with all the knowledge stuff while I nod my head and pretend I understand.

It had been a regular auror mission. Well, perhaps not regular but nothing to be suspicious about in particular. Someone had reported a robbery of unstable magical artefacts. That someone, Blaise Zabini, had offered his full cooperation. Harry and Ron, with the help of their Dark Arts expert had tracked down the location of these artefacts...

"What are we looking at again?"

Harry turned to his partner, "Seriously Ron, don't you ever pay attention to briefings?"

The youngest male Weasley shook his head, "Nah, too much like class and I always copied 'Mione's notes for class."

"This isn't Hogwarts Ron."

"What? I totally thought we were in Hogwarts. Hogwarts has auror's and walking everywhere and memos flying around and looks really ostentatious, right? Oh wait, no, we're in the Ministry of Magic, aren't we. Yeah, I think I remember getting a job as an auror there."

"Concentrate you git," Harry said, rolling his eyes and cuffing Ron on the back of his head. "We're looking at what every artefact does to you if you touch it without protection. And how to reverse the effects if it's particularly nasty."

"Oh right. So, can you just memorise all this while I get breakfast?"

"Breakfast? You've already had breakfast."

"But I haven't had second breakfast."

"Second breakfast," the black-haired auror stared disbelievingly at his friend.

"Yeah, second breakfast. Hermione showed this really cool muggle trilogy about a ring and hobbits and they have six meals a day. Breakfast, second breakfast, elevenses, luncheon, afternoon tea and dinner. I thought that sounded marvellous so I adopted it. Anyway, I'm hungry so I'm going to get second breakfast. You work on that," Ron waved a hand in the general direction of the parchment they were supposed to be studying as he walked away to find his meal.

While he was away Harry committed the parchment to memory before rolling it up and going to see the Dark Arts expert. Otherwise known as Draco Malfoy, otherwise known as Harry's husband. Yes the great Harry Potter was gay and married, deal with it world.

Draco looked up from his desk and smiled when he saw his visitor. Placing one of the many old Dark Art magic books he studied down, he marked his place and turned his full attention to Harry.

"What can I do for you?"

"Can't I just come and say hello to my gorgeous husband?"

"Not when I know you have a case you're currently working on. Do you need me to explain anything else?" He started searching for the journal that held the written form of most of his knowledge before Harry stopped him by placing strong arms around him, trapping his movements in a hug from behind.

"Nah, we're good. But we're about to head out so I came by to tell you, just like you ordered me to since my first case."

Draco smiled ruefully at the memory of his telling Harry sternly to never go into any dangerous situation without telling him first. He turned his to look at his husband, "You better not die."

"Draco, I'm the Boy Who Lived, not the Boy Who Died."

"Yes, but you're a man now, not a boy."

Harry kissed the top of Draco's head, "Don't worry, I'll be back and you can yell at me for forgetting I'm a wizard again and drying my clothes before I drip water all over the floor."

How do you know it'll rain?"

"It's England, love. It always rains."

There was a sigh of agreement from the blond man, "You'd better get going then. I expect you to be home before the sun rises tomorrow."

"I'll do what I can," the hug tightened briefly and then Harry let go and made his way to the door.

"Harry," Draco called and the auror looked back. Pointing at his lips, Draco said; "aren't you forgetting something?"

Harry grinned, "How could I ever forget?"

Leaning over the desk, Harry gave Draco a kiss before leaving to find Ron. Draco watched him go, a smile on his face, before getting back to work.

Skipping over the boring and cold stakeout, rain tends to make you cold and wet, and the rather boring raid where the suspect there just handed everything over to them, Harry's fame for killing Voldemort, the most recent Dark Lord, still making perps surrender as soon as they sighted him. Also skipping over the debriefing and the cataloguing of each artefact before handing it back to Blaise Zabini. And of course the obligatory arrival of a soaking wet from the rain Harry at his home and Draco waving his wand with a long-suffering sigh, why must you rain all the time England? We arrive at the point where life gets interesting.

Interesting as in Mr Boy Who Lived suddenly degenerating rapidly. He was rushed to St Mungo's Hospital where the Healers fussed over him, casting numerous diagnostic charms. None of which seemed to tell them anything.

Eventually it was Draco who figured it out. How, he didn't know, but he did. He had been staring into space at his desk. Wishing he was with Harry but knowing he could do nothing for him, when he had felt as if he was being called to something. He followed the call to the small bookstore Hermione owned, there he found himself making his way to a shelf.

Reaching out he had pressed a hand on what looked to be some sort of old carving. The shelf had slid open to reveal a small cavity with a single book inside. Draco had taken it to Hermione, asking if he might borrow it. She had looked at him and said it wasn't hers, if it was she would have read it and she didn't remember reading the one he held. She had then told him to take it, it had clearly wanted to be found by him, some books did that. They would choose a person and stick with them until no longer useful.

To Draco the book felt both familiar and strange. As if it belonged to him but not quite. Upon arriving home, he had read the book cover to cover. Finding it to be one on the Old Religion, the magic of Warlocks, High Priests and Priestesses. It told of a cup that could swap one life for another. The Cup of Life, it was called.

A drawing showed it to be a similar style of one of the objects that had been stolen from Zabini. Perhaps this was what had made Harry sick. Perhaps, with the style of magic drastically different than what it was in olden times, the Cup was less powerful and took longer to transfer life. Or perhaps the person who used the Cup hadn't quite understood how it worked.

The ex-Death Eater leapt into action, throwing on a coat and apparating to Blaise Zabini's place of residence. He had brushed past Zabini when he opened the door and started searching for the goblet. Once he found it, he carefully picked it up and left again throwing a; Going to have to borrow this, over his shoulder at Zabini's puzzled expression.

Harry was sitting up in the bed he had been given in a private ward. When Draco entered he smiled, a smile that disappeared when he saw what Draco was holding. His voice curiosly flat he asked, "What's that?"

"I think it's the Cup of Life. It could be what's doing this to you."

How could a cup be doing this to me?"

"It's magical. A relic from before the divide between muggles and wizards."

"And why do you think it's the thing causing this?"

Draco blinked, "I... I don't know. It just seems right."

"Hand it over then, might as well examine it and I don't want you to get sick."

He held out his arms for the Cup expectantly. As Draco hesitated he gestured for him to give it to the auror which he reluctantly did. As soon as Harry held it, it exploded in a burst of light. Draco covered his eyes and when he dared look again, Harry was out cold, Cup lying beside him.

A groan raised Draco from his autonomous behaviour, Harry was waking up. He rushed to his husband's side, wanting to know if everything was fine. His hopes were crushed by Harry's first words.

"Who are you?"

"Harry, it's me. Draco."

"Who's Harry?" Harry looked around as if expecting to see someone else the room. "Who are you talking to?"

"I'm talking to you, Harry."

"Ohhhh," Harry said, "I get it. Sorry mate, Harry's gone. I'm not all that good at piercing the veil. Not really something a person should do but I'm allowed to occasionally. Did you have a nice chat?"

Draco stared at him, confused and horrified. "What do you mean, gone? You're right here! Why would you pierce a veil?"

"Dude, I'm not Harry anymore. How long was I out? It must have been an awful long time if you've forgotten that I'm not really him. It is a him right? Harry's not short for Harriet or something?"

"You were unconscious for two days."

"Two days?" Harry rose an eyebrow, "You forgot in two days?"

"Forgot what?"

"That I'm not really him, that I just let him in for awhile so you could say goodbye or whatever it is you wanted to say. I had one bloke come to me so he could ask his Ma how to tell if the milk was off. That was a strange one."

"Harry what are you talking about?" Draco was scared now.

"For the last time, I'm not Harry! Look, I'm sure you're a very nice guy when you're not desperately trying to talk to a spirit that's already talked to you and is now gone but right now, you are seriously pissing me off."

"Spirit?"

"Yeah, spirit. As in, gone, poof, never to be seen again, dead."

"But, you're the Boy Who Lived not the Boy Who Died. You told me that, just before the last case."

"Wait, case? Who was this Harry of yours?"

"You are my Harry and you're an auror. As well as the guy that killed Voldemort and brought about the end of the war."

"Sounds like something I'd do, sorta. Wouldn't tell anyone about it though, except maybe Arthur." He frowned as if trying to remember something. "But I can't tell Arthur... He died. How did he die? Someone killed him! I didn't get there in time and someone killed him! Who was it? C'mon," he rubbed his temples in an effort to concentrate, "think!"

"Harry! Arthur's fine, you got Dumbledore to find him before Nagini finished him off."

Harry looked at him confused, "Nagini?" Then his eyes fell on the cup and he breathed a sigh of realisation. "Oh."

Gingerly he picked it up, examining it carefully. Then he held it up in front of him and said something in a foreign tongue that Draco didn't understand. Harry's eyes flashed gold and Draco jumped back, uncertain about what was happening.

The gold faded and Harry sighed again before looking reproachfully at the Cup, "You could have at least done a full transfer the first time. You know how I hate to not have all my memories." He turned to face Draco, "Sorry Ar- Draco, the Cup can be a bit whiny sometimes when I don't get to it fast enough. Here."

Draco stared at Harry as he held out the Cup to him, "You know who I am now?"

"Course I do, you're Draco Malfoy the great clot pole who won't take the stupid Cup that I'm holding for him to take."

Cautiously, Draco took the Cup from Harry. "Why didn't-" a flash of light seared through him as Harry's eyes glowed gold again. As he held the Cup he saw flashes of scenery, spinning around his mind. Too many to see clearly. He knew he saw a castle, at least one dragon and a whole lot of forest.

He gasped, memories swirling through his mind. "Arthur?" A voice asked.

He saw Harry, no, Merlin, looking at him anxiously and smiled, "It's me."

Merlin grinned in return before jumping off of his bed and crushing Arthur in a hug. One that Arthur gladly returned.

The old man sighed; it was never easy to remember a past life. Especially when you had so many of them. He envied Arthur that way; the King of Camelot never had to remember anything else apart from his first life and his second. Merlin had to remember his entire life. But then, Arthur wasn't made of magic.

Merlin had never died, not yet. Whenever Arthur died, the Cup of Life took his memories, his old life, away and gave him the opportunity to start a new one. Every time he had found that he was needed in some sort of battle, whether it be magically or otherwise.

And every time, once he had completed the task set to him and had found Arthur again, the Cup would call to him or Arthur and give them their memories back. After many hundreds of years of this cycle, the Cup had become cheeky and started playing games. Sometimes only giving part of their memories, sometimes giving some of the memories to the wrong person.

The man that had once been Harry Potter and was now Merlin once again, closed the word document without saving. Perhaps the world wasn't quite ready for his story just yet. Arthur Pendragon, who had once been Draco Malfoy walked up to him.

"Still don't think it's time?"

"I always think it's time until I write it. Then I think that it most definitely is not time. After all, nowadays, they're walking around saying things like 'Merlin's beard'; I only had a beard when I was Dragoon!"

"And when you find me and decide it's time to grow old again."

Merlin hummed as Arthur hugged him from behind, leaning into the embrace. "The only people who know that I'm Merlin those times is you. Who would have thought that I'd end up as famous as you."

"Famous you may be but you're still a useless servant."

"And you're still a dollop head; I'm not your servant anymore."

Arthur laughed and pressed a kiss to Merlin's temple, "Indeed you are not."