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Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

A faint ghost of a smile moved across Griffith's pale face. "Very well. The first choice I offer you is this; since you are clearly away from your home I'd be able to spare you a horse so that you may travel back to where you are from."

"I... don't know how to ride," Harry confessed. The Dursley's had gone horseback riding one time over the summer, but they had left him with Ms. Figg and her litter of cats. He had seen the pictures later on and it looked like the pony Dudley had been riding could hardly support his weight. The same could even be said for his uncle.

Griffith looked as if he had been expecting that response. "Not everyone does. But, that does lead to your second choice. To have a few riders take you back to your village."

"My ho-," Harry paused and corrected himself, "-village, it-it isn't around anymore."

Casca blinked in recognition. "Your an orphan of war, aren't you?"

"My parents died in an accident when I was a baby," Harry told her, recalling the story Aunt Petunia had told him when he had once asked where his parents were. "I had to live with my aunt and uncle after. And after... some things happened, I ended up here." It wasn't a lie, not really. His parents had died in an accident, he had lived with his relatives, and he could not go back to where they were now.

"Hm. I see." Griffith contemplated Harry's words. "Then that leaves you with the third option, doesn't it?" Strangely enough, both Casca and Guts seemed a bit curious as to what Griffith was going to offer next."

"Griffith," Casca said. "You aren't actually going to offer him-,"

"A chance to travel with us back to the capital." Griffith settled on. Casca visibly relaxed and seemed satisfied with the option, and Guts remained stoic and impassive. "We ride out at first light tomorrow. And seeing as how you can't ride on your own, you'd have to either ride in a wagon or with one of our men."

It certainly seemed the best choice out of all of them, but there was the question of, "What would I do in the capital?" Harry asked. He doubted that it would be anything like London, not that he had ever been, but still.

"Since you've said you don't have a family, you'd probably end up in an orphanage," Guts bluntly stated. Harry inwardly cringed. Uncle Vernon's sister, Aunt Marge, would always say that if he had ended up on her doorstep she would have sent him to an orphanage. And if that was the worst thing Aunt Marge could think up then it couldn't be good news.

"That, or try and become an apprentice," Casca offered. "There are smith's there that could use an extra pair of hands."

"Couldn't have said it better," Griffith smiled to the both of them. "They may not be much, but those are your choices."

It didn't even really feel like a choice at the moment. The third one was his best bet seeing as he had nothing else, but then what? Become another face in an orphanage? Or maybe a child of the street seeking to survive by any means? Being an apprentice could be alright. At least that way there would be someone to look out for him.

"I... guess I have to pick the last one." Griffith nodded.

"I understand. I can't guarantee you that it will be ideal, but it will be better than surviving out here I wager." Griffith turned to Casca. "Would you be willing to offer our guest a spot in your tent? He'll need an extra bedroll of course."

Casca seemed hesitant."...Of course, Griffith. Follow me then." She turned him back to the way he had entered and led him back out. Guts watched her depart and turned to Griffith.

"Do you really buy that story he was putting out?" Guts asked. The boy had sounded scared when first addressing them, it was to be expected, but it was almost like he was holding back on some parts.

"I believe he was telling the truth," Griffith answered, "from a certain point of view."

"Kinda like he didn't believe it all himself." Guts further supplied.

"Exactly."

"And you're hoping Casca might be able to get more out of him?" Guts guessed.

"Her loyalty and judgment have never been called to question before," Griffith told him. "If she feels up to the task that is her call to make."

Guts shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. For all of her nagging, she knows how to do her job right." That caused Griffith to chuckle.

"You two still get along like a house on fire, I see."

Guts gave a small roll with his eyes, not that Griffith seemed to mind. "I think she was honestly worried there for a second." Griffith gave a tilt of his head, seemingly confused. "She probably thought you were going to offer him a spot in the Hawks."

"Oh. While the prospect of more soldiers is always a welcome one, I'm not quite sure we could trust him with a burden like that."

"Because he was stealing?" Guts asked.

"No," Griffith said. "Because of what we were just discussing, his story. There's not a doubt in my mind that he was indeed alone, looking at the state of his clothes was proof enough. He didn't have that look of a child who had seen war. You know firsthand how battles can get. If the time came, would he be willing to take a life to save his own? Would he be willing to die for a cause bigger than himself?"

"Hm." Guts mulled it over. That was Griffith for you. If you thought he was going to do something, he would surprise you and do what you wouldn't expect. Any other leader would have taken the boys hands for stealing, and Griffith smiles at him and offers him a choice. Other mercenaries would see value in child soldiers. Gambino, Guts thought before quickly pushing the memory away. Griffith saw how his men would play into his dream. The dream of having his own kingdom and the path he would take to get there. "Can't argue on that one."

Griffith smiled. "Enough talk about such things. The night is still young, why don't you go celebrate with your men?"

Guts nodded. "Won't be much celebration as it is supervision. Gaston is probably already shit-faced and if he and Cassian get into it all the other raiders will want to get in on the action as well."

"Well if that's the case then they'll need their fearless leader to straighten them out, won't they?"

"That is if they're still sober enough to listen to reason."

"Yet another challenge to overcome," Griffith lightly joked as the two of them exited the command tent to walk among the celebrating Hawks.

Standing off to the side, Harry watched as Casca lay down an extra bedroll for him within her tent. It didn't look all that comfortable, in fact, it was more or less the same size as the mattress he had in his cupboard, but leaning a bit more toward the larger side of things. There was no pillow, just an additional fabric sewed onto the piece that stuck out of the folded sheet. Harry would say it looked like a very early version of a sleeping bag. Fitting seeing they were in a tent.

It was nowhere near as big as the command tent had been, but it was still of modest size. "You'll probably want to sleep," Casca told him, standing over her own bedroll. "We have an early start tomorrow so it's best to get some rest."

Giving a small nod, he knelt down and was prepared to throw the cover over himself when he caught sight of Casca staring at him. Had he done something wrong? "Are you really going to sleep in those?" She indicated the over sized clothes. That's what was bothering her, his clothes?

"Well- I've done it before. Lots of times." Harry told her. It was no big deal really. Casca, however, did not seem too satisfied.

"Stay here," she commanded before exiting her tent. after about a minute or two, Casca returned. She carried two pieces of clothing with her; a white tunic and a pair of tan breeches. She tossed them to Harry. "Here, try those on."

He held them up to examine them but made no move to get undressed. "Look, if you're uncomfortable just face away from me and change," Casca instructed. "There's nothing for you to be nervous about, you've made your choice of what you wanted to do."

Slowly, Harry faced away from her. He shrugged off Dudley's over sized button down, and the stained tee shirt underneath. He lifted the tunic onto himself and found to his surprise, it fit much better than his previous garments. Next came the trousers. after quickly dropping his own pants, he put on the new ones. They felt- nice. Comfortable even. Sure they had a few holes and were a little big on him, but it was still a better fit than before.

"Thank you," Harry said. He wanted to sound grateful, but not too enthusiastic, but it ended up sounding a bit flat. They were the first clothes that hadn't been worn by Dudley previously.

"Don't thank me," Casca told him. "Those belong to another boy here, Rickert. He's got a similar build to you and is only a few years older too. You're eleven, right?"

"Almost ten and a half," Harry admitted.

"Really?" She asked, and he nodded. "That's awfully young to be out on your own. You must have been wandering for some time given the state of your clothes."

"Not too long," said Harry. Again, it wasn't really a lie. "They belonged to my cousin, Dudley."

She held up the over sized tee shirt. "He seems... well rounded." Harry tried to suppress a laugh, but couldn't.

"I guess."

Casca nodded and put the shirt back into the pile of Harry's old clothes. "Sleep in Rickert's clothes. They fit you better, and it's cold out tonight." Casca undid the straps on her breastplate and armguards and set them down next to her own bedroll. She slid off her boots until she was dressed in just a dark pink tunic and brown breeches. She climbed into hastily set up sleep space.

"Try and get some sleep now," she told him. "Like I said, we have an early day tomorrow." Harry climbed inside his own bedroll.

"Alright." He removed his glasses and set them on the open grass to the left of his head. He shut his eyes. The cheering from outside the tent died down just enough for Harry to feel sleep's embrace coming for him, only to have the noise pick right back up again and snap him back to being awake. this cycle continued for what felt like hours when it was probably only a half.

How was Casca dealing with the noise? Harry turned his head to look over at the tents other occupant. Casca slept on her back, seemingly unfazed, or just used to the noise caused by her fellow soldiers. But it was a flicker of firelight from outside the tent that he saw. One of Casca's dark eyes was open just enough that she kept his form in her sights. It was almost as if she expected him to try to sneak out in the middle of the night.

Harry quickly rolled over in the small roll to face away from her gaze. Maybe that's why Griffith wanted him to be in her tent. Because he knew that she wouldn't fall asleep until he was. And it worked.

Hogwarts, Headmaster's Office,

A half empty bottle of Fire Whiskey sat on Dumbledore's desk and an empty glass rested in the headmaster's hand. While Dumbledore was nowhere as young as he had once been, the recent disappearance of Harry Potter had him feeling fifty years plus what he actually was. It had been a while since he had a drink, and nothing Madam Rosmerta had was strong enough. He actually had his brother send him the bottle.

Perhaps he shouldn't have drunk as much as he did. Because if the alcohol wasn't giving him a headache, Minerva was doing a good job of seeing it done.

"And you say you have no idea how this could have happened?" Minerva kept her tone level, but Dumbledore could tell that she was going to snap sooner or later. And judging by the way her mouth was as thin as a line, it was going to be sooner.

Severus stood to the side, watching the deputy headmistress pace about the office keeping his face as unreadable as possible. Dumbledore was glad Severus had been much more level-headed than his second in command, but seeing as the matter pertained to James Potter's son might have had something to do with it. There was no love to be found between Severus and James, but Severus had done all that was instructed by him. Probably more for the memory of Lily than anything else.

"It has been two days, Albus," Minerva reminded him. "And you have not found any results?"

"Exactly," Severus spoke. "It has only been two days. Not even a wizard as powerful as the Headmaster would be able to come across all the results in that time. If you truly want to see Potter returned then you must have patience."

"I am not asking for all the results, Severus." Minerva lowered her voice when addressing the head of Slytherin. "I only ask for one. Just enough for us to go off so that we know what we're dealing with."

"You trust Dumbledore's abilities do you not?" Severus asked her. "And if you do, you will allow him to continue his search in private."

Minerva narrowed her eyes at the man. "You are in no rush are you, Professor Snape?" Her tone shifted once more, this time sounding closer to snapping. "Just because he is the son of James you would let your hatred for his father cloud your judgment of the boy?"

Dumbledore raised his wrinkled hands to stop an argument from breaking out. "That is enough. Arguing amongst ourselves will only set us back from finding young Harry, not progress it."

"Albus, we cannot find the boy if we are not all working to the same end," Minerva sent a small glare Severus' way.

"Please, Minerva." Dumbledore tried to calm her. "The only thing that I've been able to find in that short time frame has been a theory. One of my own design." Both professors looked at him expectantly. "Merlin."

"Merlin, Albus?" Minerva asked, confused. "What does Merlin have to do with any of this?"

Dumbledore cleared his throat before continuing. "In the height of his power, Merlin essentially gained an understanding of all layers of magic. So much so that he believed different worlds to-overlap in a lack of better words. On days of strong magical importance, such as Halloween, Merlin believed the veil between layers to be at its weakest. He was rumored to have traveled to one of those other words when visiting Stonehenge. It is considered a crackpot theory by the Ministry but, When has magic ever truly made sense?"

Light poured over the grassy green hills as The Band of the Hawk began to pack up camp and saddle up for their journey back to the capital, Windham. Any leftover campfires were stamped out before the men donned their armor and other equipment. Guts sheathed his great sword behind his back and clasped his cape to his armor.

He caught sight of Griffith, already fully armored and patrolling around the camp on horseback. Casca was just putting her armguards on while the boy, Harry, stood off to her side watching her do so. It looked like Casca had given him some of Rickert's clothes in place of those oversized rags he had worn before.

"Sleep well?" Guts asked her. She sent a small glare his way.

"No thanks to your men. They were up until midmorning cheering."

"I told them to keep it down," Guts told her.

"Maybe do a better job of it next time." Casca practically snapped at him. Guts was about to retaliate but remembered she had essentially got stuck babysitting all night. She was probably looking for somebody to argue with because of it.

"I'll keep that in mind." Guts said to her before walking away to saddle up his horse.

Once Guts mounted his steed he reined his horse over to his fellow raiders. They were to be near the front of the formation, just behind Griffith and Casca. Once all the men had saddled up and the gear all packed into the back of wagons, Griffith led the band Northwest, back to Windham. As he moved his horse up to the front of the formation he saw the Hawks youngest member, Rickert, sitting in the back of an open end carriage alongside Harry. The boy seemed more at ease around a kid his age.

"Thank you for lending me these clothes," Guts heard Harry say to Rickert.

"Of course!" Rickert excitedly told him. "It isn't often I get to see other kids. I'm only twelve, going on thirteen. What about you?"

"Ten. Going on eleven though."

"That's neat!"

Guts spurred his mount once more and managed to fall behind Griffith on the left while Casca took the right. One look at Casca told Guts she was still a bit peeved about the noise his men had made, but she would get over it soon enough. Griffith would thank her for keeping watch on the boy for the night and she would forget about it soon after.

"Glad you could join us," Griffith smiled from behind his rounded hawk-like helm. The band followed behind them. Guts nodded in acknowledgment. Casca gave a small, but a begrudging nod to Guts as well. "We'll be passing through a short valley of small hills. Chuder forces are cleared from this area after our last victory, but it's also an ideal place for bandits to strike."

"Do you need me to scout ahead?" Casca volunteered.

"No," Griffith told her. "Let Judeau."

"Of course, Griffith." Casca nodded obediently and directed her horse to move back to relay the order to their fellow soldier. Not long after, Guts saw the blonde haired man lead a group of seven mounted men ahead of the formation and into the shallow valley path. Griffith gave the signal for the formation to slow their march. They would await Judeau's signal before they advanced.

"He won't find anything," Guts heard the voice of Corkus say to Rickert and by extent, Harry as well. Their wagon had caught up close to the front of the formation. "After our victory in this area, no one would be stupid enough to try and raid us. From here on its smooth riding back to Windham, and to all those brothel girls too."

Corkus always had been a bit too arrogant when it came to the might of the Band of the Hawk. Like when Guts had been a lone mercenary. He and a few others had tried to rob him and most wound up dead or mutilated. If Griffith hadn't intervened, Corkus would probably be dead.

As if to just spike Corkus' good mood, a horn was blown.

Whaaaaaa! Whaaaaaa! Whaaaaaaaa!

Three blasts. Danger ahead.

Guts put his helm on and drew his sword. Griffith and Casca drew theirs as well. Judeau and his team were spotted riding over one of the hills, armed with crossbows they fired off their bolts at a band of enemy riders dressed in gray armor and tattered brown capes. Some of the bolts found their mark and the enemy riders fell dead from their mounts. One of the one bandits pulled out a horn of their own and gave forth a long bellow.

Soon enough, the hills were alive with the shouts and jeering of other bandits as they rushed down to ambush the Hawks.

"Raiders, with me!" Guts yelled as he spurred his horse to cover the left flank. One of the bandits rushed Guts, and before he could raise his sword, Guts had already brought his down. Bone, blood, and brains stained the green grass below as Guts pulled his sword free and cut another bandit across the chest. Guts' sword cut through the man's armor like butter.

"On the captain!" Gaston cheered the other Raiders forward as well.

Trying to get the advantage over him, two bandits charged Guts from the sides. As they both swung their sword in horizontal arcs, Guts acted fast and ducked underneath their swings and ending up behind them. And with a single swing from his sword, Guts took the head of one and the upper torso of the other.

More bandits came to him, but with the addition of Guts' Raiders, they were able to trap a portion of them in a circular formation and begin to pick them off. Blood splattered across Guts' helm as his sword disemboweled yet another bandit. Sparing a glance toward the center of the Hawks formation, Guts saw that Casca and her men were taking care of the right flank.

She moved similarly to Griffith on her horse. She would wait until the enemy swung at her before moving inside the strike to cut the throat. A decent number of bandits lay before her horses' hooves.

Judeau and his scouts had met up with Pippin, the largest member of the Hawks, and were forming a defense along the wagons. Rickert still sat in the back of one of the wagons, but he was working on loading crossbows and handing them out to Corkus' troops. It looked like he was telling Harry how to do so as well.

Griffith had taken a handful of men and was now pushing forward. His strikes precise and deadly, his sword cut not only the neck but also at the chinks in the armor. Blood would spurt from the wounds and the riders would fall from their horses not long after. The only blood that stained Griffith's white and silver armor was that of the enemy.

And that's when Gut's saw it, a lone crossbowman sat mounted on a small hill with Griffith in his sights. Without a second to lose, Guts charged forth, cutting down two, three, four more bandits; paying no attention to the cuts he had just received on his already scared forearms. All that mattered now was killing that Bowman before he shot Griffith.

Thunk!

A crossbow bolt now protruded from the bandit's neck. Guts turned to where it had been fired and saw a very green faced looking Harry sitting in the back of the wagon, holding a crossbow Rickert had handed to him.

Griffith looked to the dead bandit as well and then to Harry. He must have connected the dots. For when Guts rode down to meet with his leader he saw from behind the helm, a look upon Griffith's flawless face. And Guts knew that Griffith's opinion of Harry had changed in that moment.

A/N: So that's the third chapter, Thank you to everyone who has favorited, followed, and reviewed so far. Chapter 4 will be out as soon as possible.