Reviews:

Greer123: Thanks. I can't say without giving away spoilers, but they will definitely be in the HP world at some point.

Guest: Thank you. Glad you enjoyed.

Ftxfusion24: Thank you, I will. Glad that you enjoy it so far.

Kabuto S. Inferno: Glad to see you're liking the story so far. I'm trying to write similar to Miura and how he structures his story.

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

From strength in numbers and a masterful counterattack formation, the Hawks were able to pick off any last stragglers of the bandits. From the back of the wagon Harry saw Guts cut down at least three more men as he met up with Griffith who gave the former a reassuring nod. Griffith might be fine, but Harry was experiencing quite a different feeling. His hands shook, still holding the crossbow and remained pointed at where the one bandit had once been. Barely even a minute ago, he had taken his first life.

The eyes of the man he had just killed were wide open, but stared lifelessly up towards the vast blue sky. A pool of thick red blood was seeping out of his neck and starting to stain the green grass below. It was a sickening sight and it took Harry every ounce of his willpower not to throw up at the sight, which despite its gruesome nature, seemed impossible to turn away from. But it was the knowing that he was the one to cause such a sight that truly caused a whirlwind of emotion to flood his head.

Killing was wrong. He and every other child had had that lesson embedded into their head at an early age. The cartoons that Dudley would watch would feature villains who tried to blow up the world, and the James Bond films that Uncle Vernon enjoyed always featured the bad guy as a murderer. And here he was, a boy of ten who just shot a man with a bolt. Did that make him as evil as a villain?

But he had done it to save somebody.

He had saved Griffith, hadn't he? Someone was alive because he acted.

But Griffith was also a stranger. And Harry saw Griffith cut down some of the men attacking as well. He was a killer too.

But, they were the one's under attack. Didn't that mean they had a right to defend themselves? And Griffith might be a stranger, but he was also nice to Harry, giving a choice of what he wanted to do when he easily couldn't have. He had killed to save.

How though?

How was it that he, a boy who never even held a crossbow before today, was able to hit a man on his first shot? The only thing Rickert had shown him had been to load the weapon and pass it to the soldiers. Could he have picked it up from watching them? He must've, it wasn't anything too complicated; just point and shoot. So why didn't he believe that? Maybe it had to do with Griffith. Harry had shot just before Griffith's would be killer would have; in some strange way it was like an unseen force had guided Harry's aim just right so Griffith wouldn't die.

"...some transcendental entity that governs all..." Harry vaguely recalled the vast void like voice from when the Skull Knight had taken him. Could it be that-?

A hand was placed on his shoulder, an act which partially snapped Harry out of his thoughtful trance. Looking back, Harry saw it belonged to a young blonde haired youth with some freckles decorating his nose and cheeks. A bandolier of throwing knives was strapped across his chest. Rickert seemed to recognize him right away.

"Judeau!" The fellow blonde greeted. The youth now known as Judeau nodded to the boy.

"Glad to see you okay, Rickert." His voice was smooth and kind. "And you too. You're Harry, right?'

Harry in turn just nodded back. Now that he was broken from his trance Harry realized how dry his throat really was. Judeau seemed to pick up on it and handed him a pouch of water. Harry eagerly accepted and took a long uninterrupted sip.

"Th-thank you," Harry said, his voice sounding more than a little hoarse.

"Don't mention it," Judeau told him. "I saw what happened. It's not easy, especially for someone as young as you." Judeau then patted him on the shoulder in a reassuring manner. "But you have our thanks because of it."

"Yeah!" Rickert chimed in as well. "The first time it happened with me I threw up on Corkus' boots."

"What happened?" Harry asked, intrigued. It sounded like Rickert knew exactly how he was feeling right now.

"Almost exactly like yours," Rickert confessed. "I had a crossbow, and an enemy was coming right at me. I don't even remember looking when I fired, it just happened."

For what it was worth, it helped a little bit. From the short time he spent with Rickert in the back of the wagon Harry knew he wasn't a bad kid. Not once had he made fun of him like the kids Dudley was friends with like Piers. If anything he behaved the exact opposite; polite, well spoken, a bit shy but still easy to talk to.

"So, it was okay what I did?" Harry tentatively asked. Judeau had thanked him sure, but he didn't say it proudly.

"Killing? No," Judeau honestly told him. "But that doesn't mean that it wasn't wrong either."

"Huh?" Harry was confused.

"Hm, how can I put it?" Judeau asked himself. He pondered for a few seconds and snapped his fingers. "There are good people and bad people in the world right?" Harry nodded, understanding that much. "And sometimes good people do bad things, and vice versa right?" Another nod. "Well a good person can do a bad thing and still be good person, do you know why?"

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Because as long as they acknowledge what they've done is wrong, and it wasn't easy for them to do, they still might be a good person."

"It wasn't easy," Harry said, more to him than to the two others. "Does that mean you think I'm a good person?"

Judeau smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. "Shooting a man to save someone you only just met, I think that speaks miles of your character." And for the briefest of moments, Harry allowed himself to smile back.

Wheeeeeeee!

One of the soldiers whistled, gaining Judeau's attention.

"C'mon, Judeau!" one of them shouted. "We still have to scout ahead!"

"Right." He turned to Harry before he left. "Duty calls I'm afraid. I'll check back once I return."

As Judeau departed another approached. This one all too familiar, decorated in their pure looking armor. Griffith removed his helm and let his mane of flowing white hair loose to billow slightly with a passing breeze.

"Well," Griffith began, "it has been an eventful morning now, hasn't it?"

Harry could only nod whilst Rickert watched them. His eyes holding nothing short of admiration at seeing Griffith. This time Griffith looked directly at Harry while speaking. "It would seem that I'm in your debt. I was just talking with Guts, he says it was you who killed my would be assailant, was he wrong?"

"No," Harry said, his tone a bit flat as the memory replayed in his head. "He wasn't."

"I thought not. Guts' battlefield instincts are unparalleled by any one of us here." Griffith seemed to speak with admiration at the large warrior who Harry noticed to be watching them from a distance. "But I'm also curious," he fixed Harry with an inquisitive stare, "How was it you were able to learn to shoot so quickly?"

"I was- actually wondering the same thing myself," Harry honestly told him. "I just-just shot at where he was. I didn't even think it would hit, but it was like-," Griffith was looking at him to finish that thought. "Like something had just guided my hand."

It felt like an eternity of being under observation of Griffith's gaze, until the young man let out a mixture of a sigh and a laugh. "It sounds to me like luck." He said in a joking tone, but with some seriousness added in as well. "I guess my good luck charm really does work!" Griffith pinched a string around his neck and fished a piece of jewelry out from under his armor.

It was small and egg shaped, and was a blood red crimson color with various facial features scattered all over it. Griffith looked at it fondly. "It was a gift from an old fortune teller. She called it, The Egg of the King. I've considered it my good luck charm since its rumored to give you the power of God."

Harry stared, transfixed by the piece of jewelry that Griffith held. It was by no means attractive, but it stood out. As it rotated a little on the rope, for the briefest of seconds, Harry could have almost sworn he saw one of the eyes open to stare at him with a piercing blue iris. He nearly fumbled backwards and when he blinked, the eye was closed shut.

"It would seem that fate was on my side, wouldn't it?"

"Oh, yeah," Harry was glad when Griffith tucked the red jewel back under his armor.

"But talk of fate aside, I truly am grateful." Griffith gave him a close lipped smile. "Anything you would have of me, do not hesitate to ask."

It seemed such a jarring experience to Harry. For all the work he had given to the Dursley's by cooking their meals, tending the gardens, and cleaning the house, he never so much as received a "thank you" in return. Yet now he wore the clothes of someone who willingly shared, comforted by a complete stranger, and now told he held the favor of a knight. The change was so out of Harry's comfort zone that he seemed to respond on autopilot and said, "That's fine. You don't owe me anything."

"I appreciate your modesty, but there must be something I can offer in return? I prefer to live my life debt free."

"Why don't you let him join with us?" Rickert asked, with all the naivety of a boy his age.

What?! Harry internally bemused. What was Rickert saying?! Him, Harry, a scrawny boy in an army of fierce warriors. Griffith was sure to shoot down the suggestion any second. What was Rickert even saying?!

"Well, I wouldn't entirely be opposed to it," Griffith casually stated, causing Harry to do a brief double take. He couldn't have possibly heard that right. "It wouldn't be as safe as an orphanage or apprentice back in Windham, but you would be given a share of gold for your service." No, he had heard right, it was the believing it part that was throwing him for a loop.

"I don't- why?" Harry questioned. "Why would you want me? I was caught trying to steal from you before."

Griffith looked past Harry and pointed with a gloved hand toward a dark haired man who was probably in his twenties, but his haggard face made him look older than that. "See that man over there?" Harry nodded. "That's Corkus. He used to be part of a thieves guild before he joined up with us." Corkus briefly looked to where Griffith was; allowing Harry to see that the man had a very shifty look in his eyes. "But now Corkus stands as one of my most vocal of supporters. Any guess as to why?"

"No." Harry shook his head.

"Because he knows there's more to his own life than petty theft. Him, and everyone else here, they're all dedicated to a cause much larger than themselves; a dream, my dream. To one day have my own kingdom, and they are willing to fight to see it through to fruition." Griffith paused to allow him to absorb the information.

"I will admit I had my doubts about you," he continued. "I didn't see you as a boy who could handle the battle field; perhaps I was wrong. You may not be a warrior as fierce as Guts, but that doesn't mean you would be without purpose. With time, you could prove to work with Rickert in supply and reserves, but that does not guarantee your safety." Griffith looked at him now with all seriousness. "But above all, I need to know that you would be willing to help me achieve that dream as every other man here has done." He extended his hand to Harry. "The choice is yours."

Guts eyed the outside wall of the capital, Windham, as the Band of the Hawk made their approach. The flag of Midland hung proudly over the side; consisting of a waning moon, a sun, a lightning bolt, and three stars all centered around a tower in the center. He spied the sentries atop the battlements, who blew a horn to signal their return. The drawbridge was lowered and the portcullis raised allowing them entry to the bustling city that was Midland's capital.

The lower district mainly consisted of the slums. Filled with dark alleys that smelled of piss and shit and was the center for many a mugging. The Hawks rode past on the main street upwards to the next gate to the second district of the capital.

This district was a hub of activity for merchants and smiths alike, and also served as the barracks for housing many of Midlands armed forces, The Band of Hawk included. And beyond that, sitting on the top of a small hill was Windham castle. Guts was by no means an architect, but he castle did look picturesque in a way. His attention was diverted from the view by the citizens of the capital crowing the side of the street to welcome them back on their return. Some men cheered, and the women threw flowers in their wake and trading hushes whispers with one another at the looks of some of the men. There might have been some admirable looks thrown his way, but he paid them no attention.

Some of the men like Corkus took the opportunity to revel in the praise granted by the people, and then there were those like Judeau and Rickert who gave polite waves. But the Hawks newest addition looked to be overwhelmed by all the stimulation. The boy, Harry, Guts recalled looked indecisive; like he wasn't sure if he wanted to wave to the people, or just get away from all the attention. In Guts' view, it was looking more toward the latter. Guts hadn't heard the conversation between the boy and Griffith, but he saw that the boy eventually shook hands with the enigmatic leader. As of that moment, he became one with the Hawks. But that didn't mean he wasn't still green.

He had gotten a lucky shot in, sure, but he was far from a warrior. He lacked armor and a weapon he could properly handle. Guts knew that Casca would likely be put in charge of getting the kid supplied; one of the downsides of her position as Griffith's right hand.

The band headed down one of the side roads to the barracks, luckily none of citizens were allowed on the private property, all the ladies would just be scrambling over each other to meet Griffith in person. But as Guts and the rest of the others dismounted, the door to the barracks opened and a small bald man wearing a set of expensive robes and flanked by two armored guards with axes approached Griffith. Guts narrowed his eyes; he knew who this man was.

"Ah, Minister Foss," Griffith politely greeted, with a bow as well. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit?"

"Royal business," Foss said in a formal tone, but underlined with oil. "You will excuse my presence I hope. His Majesty wishes to meet with you, no doubt to congratulate you on your victory to the East. I would not be surprised in a rise in rank came your way." One of Foss' eyes twitched ever so subtly at the mention of it.

Griffith probably noticed it too, but smiled along all the same. "His Majesty is too kind. But I can't ignore a royal summons, can I?"

"That would be most unwise indeed," Foss confirmed as if it were the easiest thing to understand.

Griffith nodded. "Very well, shall we depart, Minister?"

"Naturally," Foss answered. "It is rude to keep a king waiting."

With the minister escorting Griffith to Castle Windham, Guts took his own leave to head to the barracks courtyard. It was spacious enough for him to further train with his sword, and that was all he really needed. He removed his armor chest piece and set it aside, the blood from the bandit ambush would have to wash off of it later. Guts retrieved some chopped wood and a rope and began to tie the wood close to the hilt of his great sword. The added weight would serve to increase his arm strength.

Guts gripped the sword with one hand and held it level at chest height. Feels heavier alright, he thought as he raised it above his head and brought it down. He stopped his swing right before the blade could touch the stone covered ground. He lifted the sword again and repeated the process. Each time he would stop the blade lower and lower, just to test his arm, to see if he could handle a sword even larger than the one he had now.

He repeated the process over and over, eventually leading him to build up a sweat after a time. As he swung down once again Guts caught sight of a reflection in his massive blade. When he brought it back up he did so much slower to see who or what it was. What is he doing? Guts wondered, still not breaking from his training exercise.

"If you have something to tell me, just say it," Guts told his observer, still without breaking from his session. "It's creepy if you just keep watching like you are."

The boy stepped out from under the archway. "Sorry. I didn't mean to be a bother." Guts briefly eyed the newest member with a side glance before turning back to his sword.

"Is there something you wanted?" Guts asked with his usual tone.

"Er- no, I was just looking around."

Guts gave a small, "Hm," but otherwise didn't continue the conversation further.

"Um…" He heard Harry trailing.

"Stop being so hesitant," Guts told the boy. "You agreed to this, right? Well come time for a battle that will only get you killed." What was it with this kid? It was starting to get on his nerves.

"Sorry! I just wanted to ask- why do you tie wood to your sword?"

That's it? Guts internally deadpanned. "Extra weight. Helps train my arm. Is that all?"

Harry made a small, "Oh." Guts hoped that would be enough of an answer for him so he could continue uninterrupted, but he heard the sound of more feet heading his way.

"There you are," Casca said, to Harry Guts assumed. "I've been looking for you."

"You have?" Harry asked.

"I'm in charge of all new recruits, I have to make sure that they have what they need, and I know that you don't. And before he left, Griffith wanted me to supply you with what you needed. I was going to take you into the commercial district."

"What kind of things?" questioned Harry.

"New clothes for one, you can't go around wearing some of Rickert's," Casca listed. "Not to mention a proper weapon and some armor your size."

"You're taking him shopping?" Guts asked, still swinging his sword.

"Do you have a problem with that?" Casca asked him.

"No," came his immediate response. "Try not to spend too much gold." He could practically feel Casca glaring daggers in the back of his head.

"You're coming too."

At her statement, Guts stopped his sword mid-swing, his arm barely even trembling. "Huh?"

"You heard me," Casca told him. "I'm taking you along as an escort."

"Ask Corkus or Judeau," Guts declined.

"Corkus is at the brothel, and Judeau is helping unload our equipment."

"Ask one of you men."

"They're tending to the horses."

"Pippin-?"

"Busy as well. The only person not doing anything is you." Casca pointed out.

"I'm training," Guts shot back. "I think that counts as "busy.""

Casca wasn't having it. "You can train later. Besides, you owe it to me for your men keeping me up last night; remember?" Harry's eyes darted back and forth between the two of them as they argued. "And we could use you as muscle. It wouldn't be right if we to get mugged or swindled out of gold by a greedy shopkeeper."

The two of them locked eyes with one another and moments later Guts found himself walking behind the both of them down one of Windham's side roads. Just because they were in an upper district didn't mean that it was without crime. More than once Guts had to shoot a threatening look at a few figures lurking in nearby alleys as they walked.

Casca had labeled a tailor as their first destination and the trio was greeted by an elderly man and a young woman, most likely his daughter. "Welcome!" the woman greeted. "How may we help you?"

"Just getting clothes for the boy," Casca told the woman.

"Of course," the old man spoke. "Take some time to look around. If the boy sees anything, I'll take his measurements for a fitting."

As Casca led Harry around the store, Guts leaned back against the wall, watching them from the corner of his eye. The only real reason he was here was because Casca had dragged him along for his men's behavior. He could probably just walk out of the shop and head back now. But Casca would just nag him out for it later; was it worth it then?

Harry walked up to him holding a green tunic, which almost matched the shade of the boy's eyes. "Um, Guts." He looked down at the boy. "Are these what guys usually wear?"

"Why are you asking me?" Guts asked. "Ask Casca. She dresses like a man to know fashion." He saw that his comment got the only female Hawk to glower at him.

"She said I should ask you," Harry told him. To which Guts just shrugged.

"If you want it get it. It's not my gold."

Guts was at least grateful Harry wasn't a slow shopper. He saw what he needed and picked it out. He had settled with the green tunic and a pair of black breeches and brown boots. Nothing fancy, just the essential.

"This next one is right up your alley," Casca told him as the sound of metal hitting metal filled the air. "If anyone is the weapons expert it's you." That actually sounded like a complement. "So long as the weapon is an oversized sword."

Hssssssss! The blacksmith put a hot iron piece in a trough of water as they set foot in the shop. "Just a minute," the smith called as he let the metal cool. He took off his gloves and wiped the seat on his smock. "What can I do for yeh?"

"We're placing an order for a weapon and some armor," Casca answered.

"For the big fella over there?"

"For him," Casca gestured to Harry, who was sweating from the sudden heat that came with being inside the shop.

"Hm. Small one," the smith observed. "I'm no Godo, but if the pay is good enough, I'll give ya a weapon that won't fail. What did yeh have in mind?"

This time Guts answered. "Start him off with a basic short sword. Nothing fancy."

"Did you start with one like that?" Harry asked.

"We don't have swords for babies," the voice of Gambino played across his mind.

"…Something like that," Guts vaguely answered.

Casca once again paid for the order and the smith promised that it would completed sometime within the week. Guts, frankly was just grateful that he wouldn't be dragged along for the rest of the day once they returned to the barracks. Harry having gone with Rickert now to a room they would be sharing.

"So what do you think?" Casca asked him.

"About what?" Guts asked for clarity.

"The kid," Casca said as if it were obvious. "You think he has what it takes?"

Guts shrugged. "Griffith wouldn't have taken him if he didn't, right? Who am I to say? Besides, he'll be in the supply division with Rickert. Hardly any fighting happens with them."

"Not always."

"Then he better put that hesitant side behind him," Guts told her. "You know what I mean, the way he looks so unsure of everything around him. Swords and armor will only get him so far. If he really wants to be a part of us, he has to be ready to do what it takes to live."

A/N: So this was more of a slower chapter, but I can promise the next one will be more action oriented and will see how the people in Hogwarts side of things are doing. Thank you for reading.