UPDATE: 29TH MARCH, 2019: WARNING THIS STORY IS BEING REWRITTEN: STORY WILL BE PUBLISHED AS NEW STORY IN A FEW DAYS/WEEKS TIME!

This story will be updated regularly on Sundays for five weeks as I have five pre-writen chapters.

"A man must be big enough to admit his mistakes, smart enough to profit from them, and strong enough to correct them."

~John C. Maxwell

They stood in silence as icy as the ground beneath their feet. The gnome had finally managed to extricate his worm and was now sucking on it happily, leaning against the bottom-most branches of the rhododendron bush.

"What is Dumbledore up to?" said Scrimgeour brusquely. "Where does he go, when he is absent from Hogwarts?"

"No idea," said Harry. Technically, he didn't really know where he went.

"And you wouldn't tell me if you knew," said Scrimgeour, "would you?"

"No. I wouldn't," replied Harry, secretly liking the way Scrimgeour visibly deflated - like child who had just been denied a treat from his mother.

"Well, then, I shall have to see whether I can't find out by other means." The man said in a defeated tone. Harry eyed him shrewdly, obviously he was now attempting to guilt trip Harry, by appearing defeated.

"You can try," said Harry indifferently. "But you seem cleverer than Fudge, so I'd have thought you'd have learned from his mistakes. He tried interfering at Hogwarts. You might have noticed he isn't Minister anymore, but Dumbledore's still Headmaster. I'd leave Dumbledore alone, if I were you."

There was a long pause as a number of different emotions appeared and then disappeared on the Minister's face. Harry smirked inwardly, the man was ridiculously easy to read - it was a wonder he had become the Minister for Magic.

"Well, it is clear to me that he has done a very good job on you," said Scrimgeour, his eyes cold and hard behind his wire-rimed glasses. "Dumbledore's man through and through, aren't you, Potter?"

Harry didn't hesitate to reply, "Yeah, I am. Glad we straightened that out."

With that, he turned his back on the Minister for Magic, and strode back the way he had come. The snow crunched beneath his feet but he paid it no mind. Glancing upwards, and straightening out his glasses, he noticed most of the Weasley family was glued to the windows that looked onto the front yard, obviously trying to see what was happening. Harry pretended not to notice, and instead made his way to the Quidditch pitch. He needed to think and the Quidditch place was always the perfect spot for that.

.

His arms ached, showing him that he needed to exercise a little more. Then again, he had just pulled himself to the highest hoop of the northern side of the Weasley's Quidditch pitch. Harry placed his foot on the hoop and rested his back on the opposite side, and let his left leg swing back and forth.

His conversation with Scrimgeour had been an eye-opener - this war was becoming increasingly more political and that made Harry anxious. He had always detested politics.

Politicians were liars - professional liars - who loved to coerce, blackmail and suck up to people to achieve their personal goals. As far as he saw it, he was safer with Voldemort than with that pack of hyaenas.

Harry ruffled his hair and the snowflakes that still hadn't melted fell to the ground, joining the coat of diamonds which lay upon the ground. These last few months had been odd. There had been an increasingly strong feeling of foreboding growing in the pit of his stomach. Something was going to happen soon, something bad, something worse than Voldemort.

Harry shook his head, trying to clear his mind of those oppressive thoughts. He never managed to, as a gust of wind suddenly caught him and he was easily blown off the hoop - much like the snowflakes that he had shaken off moments ago. He hit his head on the icy, hard ground beneath the blanket of snow and he knew no more.

.

He was experiencing another vision.

Harry blinked as he looked around… this wasn't right. It was winter, not summer… yet as he stared around him, Harry noticed that he appeared to be in a small village with miserable, small huts made out of wood. Most houses had a small fence around the back with an assortment of farm animals. The air smelled of them too.

The sun shone brightly above his head, making his skin itch a little.

Harry blinked rapidly, this wasn't a normal vision. Usually whenever he had one, he experienced everything through Voldemort's or Nagini's eyes, he saw things clearly, but not as clearly as now, and he certainly didn't feel the sun on his face and skin. He didn't smell smells either.

Harry sighed, and was forced to conclude that this wasn't a Voldemort induced vision. After all, he was sure Voldemort hadn't lived during the medieval era - and this was most certainly that moment in time… judging by the state of the village.

Gazing about in confusion, he suddenly caught sight of a young boy - perhaps six or seven - clutching his knees to his chest as he hid in the shadows of a house. He was dressed in loose, worn, threadbare trousers and a tunic. A rope was tied around his waist to keep his trousers up.

Taking pity on the obviously sad boy, he approached him. Suddenly wondering whether this vision was a vision at all, he poked the boy, and found that his finger sailed right through the boy's shoulder. Frowning, Harry gazed at him more intently.

Now that he had come closer, Harry could see that the boy was staring at his hands, amazement, anguish, terror and bafflement swirling in his eyes.

"…I can do magic," the boy whispered to himself and Harry raised an eyebrow in surprise. Then slowly, the boy reached down next to him and plucked the bud from a flower. He cupped his hands around it and let out a breath. Then, suddenly something very unexpected happened. HIs eyes flashed gold and then almost magically - no… not almost - magically, the bud started to open, revealing a beautiful dandelion.

Harry stared at the exhibit of magical power. Accidental magic was common with children - hell, he'd experienced a lot of it - but a child who could control his accidental magic wilfully! Unheard of!

There was a sudden shout and both the boy and Harry raised their heads to the direction from which it was coming. Harry's eyes widened as he saw a gang of slightly older boys - about nine or ten - approaching. One of them had a large stick in his hand and was slapping his other hand with it as if to measure its sturdiness.

"Well, well, well… If it isn't the Freak."

The boy Harry had been observing for the last few minutes scrambled to his feet, holding the blooming flower to his chest. Harry almost snarled at the gang - he hated bullies. With passion. And he hated that name almost more than he hated the bullies themselves.

"Leave me alone Reynard!" The boy exclaimed, his voice trembling. Harry suddenly fiercely wanted to do to stop the bullies from doing whatever they wanted to do.

"Awww, the little Freak's frightened," The leader, now identified as Reynard said in a mocking tone. His minions around him sniggered as if Reynard had said something particularly witty. Harry was suddenly reminded very strongly of Dudley.

"John, Leonard." He suddenly commanded, his voice very cold. Two boys - the tallest and broadest of the group marched forwards, and grabbed hold of the boy's arms so as to immobilise him. One of them wrenched the flower from his hand.

"No! Give it back! It's mine!" The boy said, his voice laced with anger and fear. The thug grinned maliciously and chucked the flower to Reynard who threw it at the ground and then stepped on it rather forcefully.

"Harry?"

The punching started.

"Harry!"

His view of the scene was steadily becoming worse.

"He's waking up!"

Harry's eyes fluttered open and it took him a moment to orientate himself. He was lying on the longest sofa in the Weasley's living room, a cushion had been placed under his head, and his feet were being held up by someone. It was then, that he was suddenly aware of the spiking pain at the back of his head.

Groaning, he raised his hand to the back of his head. It was wet. Groaning again, Harry examined his fingers which were tainted with his blood.

"Oh, Harry! We were so worried!" Exclaimed Hermione - she was kneeling next to him and holding his left hand. Ron, being the tall and muscled guy he was, was holding his legs up. Mrs Weasley was fluttering about him, arranging the pillow and blanket draped over his body.

"Honestly, Harry? What were you thinking, sitting up there?" Mrs Weasley cried as she gently brushed his hair out of his face. "You are more of a danger to yourself than You-Know-Who!"

Two twin laughs were heard from the corner of the room and Harry shifted his gaze to examine the twins. George winked at Harry.

Harry smiled - their concern was heartwarming, if a little excessive. "I'm alright. Honestly."

He jerked his feet out of Ron's grip and let them fall on the couch.

"Mrs Weasley already healed your skull, but you still have a concussion." Hermione said quietly, letting go of his hand and standing up. Ron patted his shoulder.

"Yeah, we were all pretty worried. Mum even wanted to get you to St Mungo's."

"I'm sure it wasn't that bad."

"You cracked your skull." Ginny, who was leaning against an armchair with her arms crossed, said in a rather blunt tone. Harry winced.

"But I'm fine now. See, I can stand up." To prove his point, Harry stood up only to feel a wave of nausea hit him. He fell back down on the sofa and grimaced.

"Ok. Maybe not so fine."

"Oh, Merlin's baggy y-fronts (Harry felt oddly affronted at Ginny's poor choice of words), you're so stubborn!" Said girl vanished up the stairs.

Mrs. Weasley, who had vanished a few moments ago, returned, carrying two vials clutched in her hand, in the other, she carried a cup of freshly made tea.

.

It was a few nights later - the night before they were supposed to go back to Hogwarts, when it happened again.

He had been lying in bed, when suddenly an odd squashing feeling, which sort of resembled apparition, had engulfed him.

This time, he was standing on a road leading up to a large, medieval castle. It was built in an early medieval age architectural style, leading Harry to believe that these visions were happening sometime during the 900's. Hogwarts, in comparison, was built in the Gothic era - almost 200 years later.

Harry instinctually tried to slide between people rushing to the castle, but found after a few moments that, just like a ghost, they seemed to simply walk through him. Gazing around himself, Harry was amazed at how much hygiene and style had changed over the years. It was at that moment - while he was boggling the peasants around him, that he caught sight of a boy his age.

He had stopped walking and was staring up at the castle, transfixed. A small smile played on his lips and as Harry caught sight of his emerald eyes, he realised with shock that it was the same boy he had seen in his first vision. The boy - young man now - was of medium height, but his lean, thin body made him look taller than he was.

A tunic - one similar to the one he had worn in his childhood - was hanging loosely over his body and on his right shoulder he carried a large leather bag, filled to the brim with things.

"Oi! Don' just stand there!" A nasty voice said, and suddenly the wizard was shoved to the ground. The large woman in question stumbled past him, carrying a large haystack on her shoulders. The young man's yes narrowed and suddenly his eyes flashed gold.

Harry watched, transfixed, as the laces of her thick, leather boots tied together and she toppled to the ground. Wandless magic! This wasn't just accidental magic - not anymore… this was consciously done wandless magic!

The young wizard smiled in delight and continued making his way up to the castle.

.

Late in the afternoon, the next day, Harry, Ron, Ginny and Hermione lined up beside the kitchen fire to return to Hogwarts. The Ministry had arranged this one-off connection to the Floo Network to return students quickly and safely to the school. Only Mrs Weasley was there to say goodbye, as Mr Weasley, Fred, George, Bill and Fleur were all at work.

Mrs Weasley dissolved into tears at the moment of parting. Admittedly, it took very little to set her off lately; she had been crying on and off ever since Percy had stormed from the house on Christmas Day with his glasses splattered with mashed parsnip (for which Fred, George and Ginny all claimed credit).

"Don't cry, mum," said Ginny, patter her on the back as Mrs Weasley sobbed into her shoulder. "It's ok…"

"Yeah, don't worry about us," said Ron, blushing as his mother placed a wet kiss upon his cheek. "Or Percy. He's such a prat, it's not really a loss, is it?"

Mrs. Weasley sobbed harder than ever as she enfolded Harry in her arms.

"Promise you'll look after yourself… stay out of trouble and don't sit on any Quidditch hoops…"

"I always do stay out of trouble, Mrs Weasley," said Harry with a grin, "I like a quiet life, you know me."

She gave a watery chuckle, hugged Hermione, whispered something into her ear and stepped back.

"Be good, then, all of you…"

Harry stepped into the emerald fire and shouted, "Hogwarts!" He had one last fleeting view of the Weasley's kitchen and Mrs Weasley's tearful face before the flames engulfed him; spinning very fast, he caught blurred glimpses of other wizarding rooms, which were whipped out of sight before he could get a proper look; then he was slowing down, finally stopping squarely in the fireplace in Professor MyGonagall's office. She barely glanced up from her work as he clambered out over the grate.

"Evening, Potter. Try not to get too much ash on the carpet."

"Of course not, professor."

Harry straightened his glasses and flattened his hair as Ron came spinning into view, quickly followed by Ginny and Hermione. When all of them had arrived, they trooped our of McGonagall's office and off towards Gryffindor Tower.

They were about to enter the Tower when Harry's biggest fan - Colin Creevey - rushed up the stairs towards them. "Harry!" He exclaimed as he reached the group. Hermione hid her amused smile behind a hand and murmuring the password to the Fat Lady (who looked a little hungover), entered the common room with Ginny.

Colin rummaged in his pocket for a moment, hand going in much deeper than it was supposed to, and pulled out a scroll of parchment with Dumbledore's handwriting on it.

"Here!" He said, an excited expression on his face. "Dumbledore asked me to give this to you."

Harry thanked him and the boy entered the common room before the portrait closed.

"Great," said Harry, unrolling the scroll at once to discover that his next lesson with Dumbledore was scheduled for the following Friday. "I'm meeting him Friday night."

Before Ron could answer, the portrait opened again (the Fat Lady rolled her eyes and harrumphed, but opened nevertheless) and Lavender hurtled herself at Ron, snogging him quite soundly. "Won-Won!" She exclaimed then continued snogging him. Harry sniggered and entered the common room, leaving them outside.

.

History of Magic was as boring as ever, but as this was the new term and Harry had promised Hermione that he would do better after the New Year, he forced his eyes to stay open and his quill to stay in his hand.

He tried note taking, but instead started drawing doodles. After a while, he realised they were all Medieval-era themed. Hermione kept giving him looks, she had already given up hope on Ron who was snoring away, which meant that Harry was now her main focus.

Grinding his teeth, Harry forced his sleep-deprived mind to stay awake. The visions were now happening every night and were seriously disturbing his sleep. He'd been seeing visions of that young man. Well.. not so young anymore. In each vision he seemed a little - about a year - older. He had by now, found out that his name was Emrys… well that was what the Druids called him.

Emrys had once shouted at a retreating Druid that his name wasn't Emrys and that they had confused him with another person. That had been the vision when a Druid had told Emrys that he was destined for great things. That had made Harry shudder. Some of the similarities between Emrys and himself were frightening… some of the things people said to Emrys had been once upon a time said to Harry.

He briefly considered going to Dumbledore or Madam Pomfrey about his visions, but then decided against it. He had started seeing them after he'd hit his head. If he ever mentioned what had happened, he would instantly be sent to St Mungo's ward for insanity.

He felt a hard pencil hit his head, and glancing around, he noted that everyone seemed to be asleep so he turned to Hermione and found her staring at him with steely eyes. In her had she held a yellow pencil.

Harry held up his hands in surrender, then picked up his quill and tried to concentrate on Professor Binns.

"…Camelot had a very formidable wall…" Harry straightened in his seat as he heard that name. He leaned forwards and stared at the teacher in surprise. He had heard that name countless of times in his visions. Emrys now resided in Camelot. The first vision Harry had had at Hogwarts was when Emrys had arrived at Camelot.

"…and nothing could get through them. The few creatures and armies that did, found themselves confronted with the Knights of Camelot and their inner circle - the Knights of the Round Table."

Harry stared at the ghost, he hadn't known of the Knights of the Camelot! They hadn't come up in his visions yet!

"…And of course, their leader King Arthur." Harry frowned. As far as he knew, Camelot was currently ruled (in his visions) by the ruthless King Uther - and he didn't have a son… not even a wife. Harry sighed in disappointment. Whatever historical event Binns was talking about had probably happened later on in Camelot's history.

"…and at their side, stood the Warlock Merlin."

Harry blinked. Of course! Hadn't he once heard his first grade teacher reciting this story? As a child he hadn't been read to much - well, only if one counted the few times he had managed to sneak under Dudley's bed before Petunia told him his bedtime story. He didn't know that many and always found himself lost whenever Hermione named a 'famous' character from some story or other.

Glancing at Hermione, he saw that she had already written eleven inches worth of notes. Looking down at his own parchment, Harry winced. He only had two or three lines of text and about ten inches of doodles.

"…Merlin, also known as Emrys…"

His voice seemed to disappear. Suddenly, the only thing Harry could hear, was the name he has just uttered. It wasn't possible, was it? How? Why? Harry gulped and grit his teeth, trying to refrain from shouting out his shock. How had this happened. Was Emrys a common name? Was it just a coincidence that he was having visions from Emrys' life? Was his Emrys a different Emrys?

He was brought back to the classroom when he felt Hermione tap his forearm. His gaze fell upon her parchment whereupon he saw the names Camelot, Merlin/Emrys and Arthur.

No, his Emrys and Merlin were the same person.

And no, it was certainly not a coincidence.

To be continued...