So here is the start of another story, a Merlin HP crossover that I have had floating around for a while.

Nothing belongs to me.

Honestly, Harry blamed it all on the dementors. They really just screwed everything up. Not only had he constantly have to deal with being made fun of by his classmates, and listening to his parents die over and over again, no, there had to be another effect too.

In the beginning he hadn't noticed when his magic began to grow stronger, it was a gradual thing. Spells being done quicker and with better results, almost as if he had practiced them before. He had always excelled at spells anyway, so it just felt natural. But that was not the same when he repelled all of the dementors. The power just flowed through him, as if it was always meant to be there. Even afterwards he could feel the effects of the power gathering around him and covering him. However, he continued to ignore it in preparation for exams and getting ready to return to the Dursleys.

It was his first day back (after threatening the Dursley's with his fake mass-murdering Uncle) that things started to turn for the worst. First there were dreams. Intense cold and fear, so similar to the dementors, but he knew they were different. Screaming voices, people frozen solid, and always out of the corner of his eye, a man. Harry would wake up with fists clenched and a shout on the tip of his tongue, but he could never recall the name.

He wrote letters to Ron, Hermione, and Sirius to try to keep his mind off of things, but every moment he kept thinking about those dreams. He hadn't told them about the dreams, he remembered how they reacted in second year with the parseltongue, and for some reason it felt right to keep it a secret, like his life depended on it.

His dreams started to change, too. There seemed to be a lifetime of experiences bursting through his head. Lakes, and caverns, the wild, a beautiful woman, a castle standing tall and proud. And the man who was always there. He could never really see him, just a glimpse of blonde hair and a red cloak with some kind of symbol on it, but that was all. After those dreams Harry always felt sick, guilty, and hurt.

It had been over a month since Harry had been at the Dursley's, over a month of nightmares, and lies to friends, and being left alone out of fear. On the night of June 21st, Harry saw a battle, himself on a cliff looking down at the carnage, and finally the man who had haunted his dreams. He woke up with a gasp.

"Arthur."

I would like thank my friend who made me realize I probably should write this down. It used to be titled "Damn you Aurelia" in her honor, but we decided that wouldn't be the best title for an actual fic.

If you are interested she is fanfiction writer Rikkamaru, and is crazy good~

~not necessarily in between