Reviews:
Notsae: I certainly have plans for that.
Greer123: I'm glad that you're enjoying. And college is about as well as senior year can be.
Gabriel Novak: I'm happy to see that you're invested so far. and yes, Berserk and Game of Thrones do share a lot of similarities. Definitely, read the manga if you get the chance.
Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.
Christmas Eve, 1991
The time to take the Sorcerer's Stone was now. With the coming of the winter holiday, students would be out of the castle and back home. Even some of the staff were taking time off, and among them was Dumbledore. The aged headmaster was busy attending a yule-time Wizengamont gathering brought about by the Minister of Magic.
Voldemort could not have been presented with a more golden opportunity.
For the previous two months, the Dark Lord had been gaining knowledge of what other protections lay before the stone. The first was Hagrid's beastly three-headed dog who guarded the trapdoor to the lower levels. After having Quirrell disguise himself as a trader in a pub Hagrid frequented, he got the information he needed at the price of a dragon's egg.
Below the trapdoor was a nest of Devilsnare, courtesy of Professor Sprout. A powerful lumos charm parted the deadly vines and allowed him further passage.
Next came a room of enchanted flying keys, provided by Flitwick. Voldemort did not have Quirrell bother catching the right key on the broom provided; instead, he used the summoning charm, accio.
McGonagall's giant chess set came next, but at Voldemort's instruction, Quirrell won the game in just a few moves. Becoming the darkest wizard in history required a strategic mind after all.
Quirrell dealt with his own troll easily enough. Despite being a mediocre wizard at best, Quirrell at least knew what spells trolls were vulnerable to.
Beyond that was Snape's own potion riddle required to pass beyond a wall of flame. Voldemort had to respect Severus for his choice of protection; it was the only one that required any use of logic. The others had been so easy a first-year could figure them out.
After drinking the correct potion, and passing harmlessly through the wall of flame, they came to a half-circular room with an arch mirror. No doubt, this was Dumbledore's own protection.
"Go to the mirror, Quirrell," Voldemort ordered. "Look into it and tell me what you see."
"I see… myself," Quirrell stared at the reflection. "And I'm holding the stone." An illusion no doubt. "I see you too, master. You're back to how you once were."
"And I soon will be," Voldemort said. "This mirror is all that stands in our way."
"Yes. Nevertheless, how do we get the stone? Should I break the mirror?"
"Not yet," Voldemort responded. "Let me examine it." Quirrell turned to face the opposite direction and lifted his turban so Voldemort could properly see.
Staring into the mirror, Voldemort saw himself as he was; a parasite so weak that he had to latch onto another to sustain himself. It was pathetic. He, the Dark Lord, attached to the head of a weakling such as Quirrell.
And then, it began to change.
He no longer saw a parasite, he saw himself as he once was. Young and handsome with a full head of dark wavy hair and sharp angular features. He looked as he had before splitting his soul before the horrendous magic of the Horcrux's had taken their effect on his being.
The background of the illusion began to change as well. Instead of seeing the firewall glowing, it became white, and a corridor covered in archways and stairs on all four walls. It almost resembled a painting of that one muggle artist, whose name escaped him at the moment.
Four shadowy figures began to materialize, each in a different archway. Two appeared more rounded, one was unmistakably female and the other… well, it was the tallest of the four, and it looked to have a very high collar for whatever outfit it wore.
Each of them pointed a shadowy finger towards his illusion self. The illusion was holding something in his hand. It was small and rounded; could it be… the stone?
Voldemort wanted nothing more than to reach out and grab whatever it was the illusion held. "Master!" Quirrell's sudden cry and accompanying movement forced Voldemort to lose his focus on the mirror.
As he cast a last glance back at the mirror, he saw no trace of the previous illusion, but he did see the reflection of Dumbledore.
"Hello again, Tom," Dumbledore addressed him by his previous disgrace of a name.
Voldemort sneered in return. "I wasn't expecting you, Dumbledore. But you seemed to know I would be here."
"As Hogwarts Headmaster, it is my duty to know the going on's in my school. And that includes knowing of a possessed professor. So I saw fit to provide an enchantment to alert me if anyone entered this room."
The revelation came as a humorous surprise. "You knew all along, and only now choose to act?! You've grown senile, Dumbledore. You're lost without your would-be-golden-boy!"
"And you are not as powerful as you claim to be," Dumbledore's calm demeanor slowly trickled away. "I can scarcely imagine the lows one must sink to magically cling to a host for survival."
The Dark Lord's red eyes narrowed in response. "I have dabbled deeper into the dark arts than any wizard before me. I am immortal."
Dumbledore drew his wand. "Death is inevitable for all of us, Tom. Unlike you, it does not discriminate. There is no avoiding it when the time comes."
Voldemort laughed dryly. "And you're going to kill me? You? The man who was always preaching for peace, I think not." Quirrell hesitantly drew his wand as he felt Voldemort's bloodlust flare.
The possessed professor shot a non-verbal bone breaking hew at Dumbledore, who cast a shield around himself. The headmaster then shot three stunning curses at Quirrell, who cast a shield charm of his own. The shield nearly broke after the first spell and completely broke after the third. It was pathetic and Voldemort knew it, Dumbledore wasn't even going all out.
"Stop with the mild spells, Quirrell!" Voldemort ordered his lackey. "Use the unforgivables!"
Quirrell raised his wand high to do his masters bidding. "Cruci-,"
Dumbledore moved much faster than a man of his age should have, and a slashing motion with his wand, a blinding white light arced its way to Quirrell effectively knocking him back. "Get up!" Voldemort yelled. Quirrell's fear of Voldemort proved stronger than his of Dumbledore and he got to his feet.
"Master…?"
"Use the spell I taught you," Voldemort's tone made it clear there was no room for argument.
A wave of jagged darkness shot from Quirrell's wand, straight at Dumbledore. It was a spell Voldemort had made himself and was a lesser version of the enchantment that protected his ring Horcrux. If one bit of the darkness so much as touched the flesh, the victim would fall to magical corruption before dying in agony as they bled to death from the inside out.
Instead of jumping to the side to avoid the attack or conjuring a shield, Dumbledore managed to bend the wall of fire to his will and sent a torrent of flame to burn away at the coming darkness. "I can't hold it!" Quirrell yelled as the flames started to overpower the stream of corruption spewing from his wand.
"Enough, Quirrell!" Voldemort snapped. "We must flee!"
"Master…!"
The flames won out and consumed Quirrell's curse to the point that his wand snapped from too much magical overload. "Ahhhh!" Yelled Quirrell as suddenly, the flames wrapped around his wrists and ankles like chains, holding him down. "They burn!"
A look into the mirror showed Dumbledore approaching the beaten Quirrell. It was over. The mission to steal the stone was a bust, a lost cause and nothing more than a trap to lure him into captivity. He had been so desperate for a body of his own that he had become too hasty to achieve his ambition. Of course, this was bound to happen.
"Master, please!" Quirrell begged as the chains of flame tightened. "Help me! Get us out of this!"
Quirrell… such an aspiring young man, filled with so much potential. Squandered potential. The man had played the part of the bumbling fool so well because that's what he was at his core: a fool. What chance did this young fool truly have against Albus Dumbledore? He performed like a fool under fear, he had been a fool when he thought Voldemort would share the stone with him, and he was just pathetic now, begging on his knees.
There was no saving Quirrell at this point. Dumbledore would see to it that the professor would be sentenced to Azkaban for this, and the Dementors might even perform the Kiss on him. There was no help for Quirrell, and he was the biggest fool to live if he truly believed Voldemort would waste his time trying to save him from this situation.
Using what strength was left to him, Voldemort began to undo the magic that bound him to the back of Quirrell's head, taking with him some of his host's own bit of magical energy. "Master?! What are you doing?!"
"You have served well, Quirrell. But you are not worth my capture. As my servant, I expect it will bring joy to your heart knowing that your master has escaped." A flash erupted as the magical bonding broke, and a specter-like figure of Voldemort fled the scene.
"Masterrrrrr!" Quirrell's pleading shout was unheard by Voldemort, who left him behind with no remorse in his blackened heart.
At last, snow had begun to fall on Midland. The cold was a stark contrast to the warm sense of relief experienced by Harry when he realized Griffith had not died from the poison. Those few hours spent thinking that his leader was dead was among the worst he could remember. But his depression was nothing compared to how Casca had been.
The second-in-command seemed to completely shut down, not speaking and just staring off into space in a trance. But when Griffith walked back to them fully alive, it was the first time Harry had ever seen her cry.
Guts, who Harry assumed left the party early, had tracked down the waiter who served Griffith his drink and cut him down before he could flee Windham. On top of that, the Queen of Midland had been killed in a fire within her own private manse.
The king seemed less concerned about the loss of his wife, and more about the safety of his daughter. Additional guards were placed outside her chambers in case a threat was made against her life.
Aside from the political intrigue, the king made good of his word and raised Griffith to the rank of White Phoenix General, and personally knighted all those a member of the Hawks, Harry included. After everything that had happened since first encountering the band of mercenaries, Harry never would have thought it would lead to being a knight. He was by no means complaining or anything, just surprised and- anxious.
After all, what comes after this? What could possibly top being a knight? For him- there was one option.
He and Casca sat in her quarters in the barracks of their new setting within Windham going over a map of Midland. "Enoch village is to the northeast of here," Casca pointed to it. "It's out by a mountain pass and a large forest."
"You think that there might be magic users there then?" Harry asked as he took a scrap piece of paper to copy down its location.
"If you want to believe in children's stories," Casca said. "Pretty much every story about magic and witches are centered on the forest just outside of the village. An old woman is said to live somewhere within those woods, practicing spells on anyone wicked who strolls too far from the path."
"Are you being serious?"
Casca shrugged. "That's what I always heard from my village anyways. My older brother would tell us stories like that."
"Do you think we could ride out there one day to see?" Harry asked.
"We'd have to tell Griffith about it first. I doubt he'd say no. What future king wouldn't want to have a wizard in his court?"
He suddenly felt bashful. "You're getting ahead of yourself."
She smiled. "Maybe. But who knows? One day you…" something outside the window caught her attention. "Oh no!" She hurriedly grabbed her coat and ran for the door.
Taking a look himself, Harry saw an unmistakable figure waking away from the barracks with a bag of belongings thrown over his shoulder. Harry quickly followed after Casca in pursuit of the individual.
Along the way of sprinting outside, the two of them dashed past a very confused Judeau and Corkus, with Harry accidentally stepping on the latter's toes. Harry threw a quick, "Sorry," in their direction as he strived to keep pace with Casca.
The snow muffled the sound of their footsteps as they caught up to the departing man.
"Guts!" Casca shouted halting him in his tracks. He cast a glance over his shoulder to see the both of them. "Guts, are you- leaving us?"
"What?" Harry looked at Guts expectantly. He looked ready to head out all right, but it could be a task for Griffith. He could be going to visit Godo for a new set of armor. Wherever he was going, he was going to come back, right?
"Answer me!" Casca yelled when Guts remained silent. She spoke again but in a much softer tone this time. "I'm sorry. I know that the two of us haven't gotten along in the past. We've had more than our fair share of arguments, but we've fought together for so long. All the work we put in with the rest of the Hawks is bearing its fruit, and this is just the beginning. You don't have to-,"
"Thank you," Guts spoke at last. "But I've already made up my mind. I told you before; I wanted to see things through to the end. With the way they are now, his dream is all but accomplished. It's a dream I can't live under any longer."
Harry shook his head, not able to believe what he was hearing. "What are you talking about? 'Seeing things through to the end, living under a dream?' Where's that coming from? Aren't you happy here?"
"It's not that," Guts said. "I've felt happier with the Hawks than for longer than I could remember. But the war's over. My time fighting here is over; nothing stands between Griffith and his dream now except for Griffith. It's time I found my own."
So this was it? Guts was actually going to leave them for some unrecognized dream? Guts had always been a solitary figure, sure, but to go as far as to leave… Would he even come back once he found what he was looking for?
"Excuse us," Judeau and Corkus came walking their way. "But we seem to have overheard part of what's going on. Guts, why don't you come with us for a drink? For old times' sake. You have the time for that don't you?"
Guts' eyes looked between the two newcomers. "Sure. Why not?"
"Glad to hear it," Judeau smiled at him. "Corkus, why don't you lead the way?"
"Fine. I know a place that'll be open this early in the morning."
As the three of them set out for the tavern, Casca turned and ran back to the barracks. "Where are you going?" Harry called after her.
"To get Griffith," she said. "Just go with them, try and stall."
The four of them sat at one of the tavern's tables, a serving wench came by to take their orders, and Corkus was quick to start chatting her up. Guts had placed his order for some ale but otherwise remained stone-faced. That left Harry to fully explain the situation to Judeau.
"This seems a bit sudden, Guts," Judeau honestly said once Harry finished explaining.
"I think so too," Harry wholeheartedly agreed.
"No. It's not." Guts' tone wasn't angry, just somber. "I've been thinking about this since before the last campaign."
"Why? Are you discontent?"
"No, Judeau. These past three years have meant a lot to me. It feels like I've been at a festival full of excitement." Guts actually allowed a nostalgic smile.
Corkus planted his boots up on the table. "I don't understand you. We're higher than we've ever been. Women and children will swarm around us as we walk these streets, and why not? We're the heroes of the war, we've spilled blood to achieve we have now, and you're willing to give all this up?!" Corkus leaned back as far as he could. "Do whatever makes you happy. Which for most men would be dancing with ladies in court but for you its probably to just swing that sword of yours."
"That's a bit harsh, don't you think?" Harry asked, not liking the direction Corkus was taking this.
"No," Guts said. "He's right."
"Huh?" Corkus wasn't expecting that.
"It's true. I'd rather fight for my life than live it. I was only a child when I took my first life, and since then I've learned how to refine the art of slaughter so that to live I take life. And I was content, I was my own master. But then I met the man who made me challenge what I hold true and made me need his respect. He possessed nothing, yet he attended to obtain everything. And even with all his ceaseless ambition, there's no one else I respect more than him. But to be beneath him, I can't-do that. I want to stand as an equal by his side."
Corkus sneered at that declaration. "You think yourself Griffith's equal?" Corkus threw his legs off the table and stood up. "Goddamn, you and your childish bitching! Griffith is exceptional, and you are beneath him! You should be grateful for the position he stowed upon you. A position an ass like you doesn't deserve!"
"I don't want what another man can give me," Guts evenly responded.
"Well if wanting was enough to get what we'd want, we'd all be kings," Corkus shot back. "Listen, it's a man's duty to face reality and his own limitations. But you're just too damn weak to admit you've already exceeded your station and you look to the horizon for something that will never come because you're just a coward!"
"That's taking it too far," Harry said, but only Judeau heard him.
"What about you?" Guts asked Corkus, his tone showing less patience. "Are you the only man to never dream?"
Corkus recoiled like he had been struck. "Wha- Tch! I've had enough! If you say another word, I think I'll kill myself." Corkus tossed a few coins to the bartender and left.
"Well that could have gone better," Judeau remarked as he picked up a butter knife from the table. "I've always been good with knives, but nowhere near the best, never the best at anything really. So I resolved to find someone who was." Judeau balanced the knife on one finger and flipped it to another. "Everyone dreams of greatness at one point." He stood up. "I'll see you off. I hope you find it, that thing that makes you whole."
Guts smiled. "Thanks."
Harry had the opposite reaction, however. "Wait! You're not going to talk him out of it?"
"What would be the point of that?" Judeau asked. "I doubt there's anything left for me to say to convince him otherwise, and I sure wouldn't want to physically stop him. This is just something he has to do."
"Well…" Harry racked his brain trying to think of something. "Try and Stall." Casca had asked of him. Casca… "What about Casca?"
"What about her?" Guts put a few coins on the table for his drink as he made ready to leave.
"Have you thought about how she'd react to all this?" Harry asked.
"She'll be fine, she has Griffith," Guts got up and left with Harry and Judeau following.
"I wouldn't be so sure about that. I think Harry has a point," Judeau backed him up. "Griffith's dream is within reach, and the only one who can take him farther now is Charlotte. And besides, you two would work well together."
Guts rolled his eyes and let out a small chuckle. "Now you sound like a love-struck teen."
The three of them exited the city, taking the main roadways away to a snowy hill. "This is far enough," Guts told them. "Thanks for walking me out."
C'mon Casca! Harry fretted. If she didn't show up soon with Griffith, then…
A little ways up the hill a small group of people stood. Corkus leaned against a tree with Casca, Pippin, and Rickert present as well. From behind Pippin, Griffith walked out. Any trace of a warm smile on his face was absent.
"You're leaving?" The first thing Griffith asked.
"Yeah," Guts said.
"You're turning your back on the Hawks," Griffith reasoned.
"I'm sorry," was all Guts had to say.
"Guts!" Rickert ran over to him. "Please, explain it to me so I can understand. The Band of the Hawk has been like a family to you, and now that we're doing so well you're just going to leave us?"
"Rickert," Judeau stepped forth to pull him back form Guts. "Leave it be. It's a man's decision. Don't make it any harder on him."
"You could be a little less supportive," Harry grumbled but still had a bit of hope Griffith could talk sense into Guts.
"But Guts is an important captain!" Rickert further argued.
Corkus spat in the snow. "So what? We were undefeated before he joined us. We don't need him."
Harry shook his head. "You're wrong. Guts is-"
"Shut up!" Corkus snapped at him. Both Harry and Rickert flinched a bit at the loud tone.
Corkus now stormed up to Guts to glare at him. "Hey, I don't like you." Guts' face betrayed no emotion; he hardly seemed bothered by it. "I never liked you. I see what you are; you're not special and you'll never be like Griffith! I'll tell you one more thing; if we ever meet on the battlefield then you better watch your back. A stray arrow might just fly your way." Corkus ended his rant and went back to slouch against the tree.
Guts took a last look at each of the assembled Hawks, a small smile etched onto his face. "Thanks for everything." He walked past Pippin and Casca, ready to head out on his own.
This can't be happening, Harry wanted to believe it wasn't true. Guts had always been a solitary person, sure; but he still taught Harry some useful swordplay advice, still fought beside all of them when in battle; was Griffith not going to say anything else?
He didn't have to. Instead of words, Griffith unsheathed his blade and stood in Guts' path. "When we first met, I told you that you belonged to me. I won your loyalty that day. If you wish to be free of me, the rules have not changed; draw your sword and take your freedom from me." Griffith readied his own stance.
"Griffith, please!" Casca pleaded.
"Would you settle for a smile and a fond farewell?" Guts asked. Harry looked at Griffith for his answer, and it was the first time Griffith's blue eyes had ever scared him. They were unblinking, unmoving, fixated on Guts with an obsession. "So be it." Guts dropped his bag into the snow and pulled out his sword. The rising sun casts a blinding gleam from both of their blades.
"Stop this!" Casca ran between the both of them. "Are you two serious about this?! Are you really prepared to kill each other?" Griffith slashed his sword through the air as he shifted into an offensive stance.
"Step aside, Casca," Guts told her. "Don't interfere."
"If you two go at it then someone is going to die!" She argued, but Pippin threw her over his shoulder and pulled her to the side. Harry would have tried to help her, but Judeau put a hand on his shoulder, holding him back as well.
The two of them had yet to make a move. They stood in their own respective stances, sizing the other up. There was Guts, arguably the best at fighting with a very brute force style of swordplay. His sword was made by Godo, the same smith who crafted Harry's elven ore sword, and it was far larger than Griffith's own blade. Guts stood ready to fight to find his own dream, the same purpose that Griffith had done with each and every battle.
And then there was Griffith. He was not as physically strong as Guts with his more lithe frame, but he was faster. His blade was not meant for crushing the skulls of his enemies, instead for quick slashes and jabs, perfect for weeding its way into weak points in armor. Instead of his dream, Griffith was fighting for his own personal feelings, his dream momentarily forgotten. And that made all the difference.
Snow from the tree's branch fell, and Griffith lunged towards Guts, his sword ready to hold nothing back. Guts raised his own sword and brought it down full force towards Griffith's.
Everyone was left speechless as Guts' blade passed completely through Griffith's, breaking it in half. Guts managed to stop the momentum of his swing, just before his sword cut hit Griffith's shoulder. The look of absolute shock on Griffith's face told the whole story: he had lost.
Griffith dropped the hilt of his now destroyed sword and fell to his knees in the snow. "Griffith!" Casca yelled as they all raced over to him. Guts sheathed his own sword and picked up his dropped bag. Griffith didn't even seem to acknowledge this.
"Farewell," Guts said as he continued on his own journey.
Casca looked between the defeated Griffith and the departing Guts. She clenched her fist and yelled after him, "Guts!" He made no indication he heard her and kept walking.
"That's it?" Rickert asked, "He didn't even look back."
"It was a fluke!" Corkus said in denial. "I won't believe it."
"Let's help him up, Harry," Judeau offered, but Griffith raised a hand to stop them. He rose to his own feet, clutching his shoulder where Guts' blade had nearly cut him. He said nothing as he walked back to the city of Windham.
Corkus followed suit, then Pippin, the Judeau and Rickert, and lastly Casca who cast one last look at the departing Guts before leaving as well. As for Harry, he stood where he was, not wanting to believe what had just happened. He cast a look at the retreating Hawks and then to Guts.
All this, just for a dream. Harry followed after Guts, intent on bringing him back.
Night had fallen, and Guts repeated for what must have been the hundredth time, "Go back, Harry." He said it without any malice or anger, he just said it.
And every time Guts would say that to him, Harry would respond with, "Not unless you come too." This back-and-forth had continued from the point of Guts' departure at sunrise to sunset.
Since that time, Guts had set up camp in the woods around Windham, leaving Harry to wonder if Guts had any real plan of how he exactly intended to find his dream. "I just don't understand it," Harry began to elaborate. "You were happy with the Hawks, and you just want to leave? What about Griffith?"
Guts began to light a fire. "It was just a bump in the road for Griffith. He has a stronger will than anyone I've met. He'll get over this; he won't let this stop him."
"It's not going to be the same without you, please just come back and talk to Griffith, please."
Guts fanned the fire to get it to grow before taking a seat on a fallen tree. "What is there to talk about?"
Harry could hardly believe that. "How about apologizing for the fight?"
"He wouldn't have let me leave if I hadn't faced him," Guts debated. "I wouldn't expect you to understand my reason for leaving, just accept it. Accept it and go back."
"It's because of your dream," Harry stated. "That's what this is all about, a stupid dream."
Folding his arms behind his head, Guts focused his attention on the growing fire. "Like I said, I wouldn't expect you to understand."
The fire hissed as smoke escaped from it. "But the thing is, I do," Harry confessed. Guts actually looked in his direction. "After you and Casca got separated during that one battle, Griffith asked me to lead the party to find you both. I didn't understand why I'm just a boy and he could have asked anyone else. Apart from my… magic, I'm nothing special. I don't have a dream to guide me either. Later, when we found you both and celebrated after, I asked him about it. I asked if we were friends and he told me that he holds everyone in the Hawks with high regards. He said they all have something they can stand by, even us; we just couldn't see it."
It looked like he had Guts' full attention. "Look, I don't know what exactly Griffith meant when he said that to me. I don't know what that hidden dream is that we can't see, but I know for a fact you aren't going to find it out… wherever it s you plan on going." He could tell Guts was thinking it over. "So please, please just come back and talk to him. Straighten this out, please."
"…Look, Harry, this is-," Guts stopped talking and suddenly drew his sword. "Get your sword out," Guts ordered, and Harry obliged, the bluish gleam of his own sword seemed almost purple by the light of the fire.
"What is it?" Harry asked, standing next to Guts.
"I heard something. It sounded like a horse." The two of them scanned the surrounding snow-covered forest, looking for any sign of a horse or rider. They were both caught off guard when they felt the warm breath from a neighing horse hit the back of their necks. They hadn't even heard it approach from behind.
Turning around they faced a horse decorated in bone-like armor and a rider who sat tall upon his mount wearing a similar design. His skull helm held those same glowing reddish-purple eyes as when Harry first met him. The Skull Knight.
"It has been some time, wizard," Skull Knight addressed Harry.
"You know this guy?" Guts asked of Harry, he actually sounded a bit nervous.
"I met him that night when I first came into your camp," Harry explained. "I didn't think anyone would believe me."
Guts shifted his stance, ready for a fight if it should come. "So why's he here?"
Skull Knight turned his glowing gaze to Guts now. "So the gears have indeed begun to turn. Take heed, Struggler. In one's year's time, it will mark two-hundred-sixteen years since the last eclipse. A torrent of madness will be unleashed and hell will be experienced. But you, Struggler, you were born from death, so you are best at escaping it." Skull Knight focused back on Harry.
"And you, Wizard, are not of this plain. You're being is different." He looked back to Guts. "Struggle and resist, that is what it means to be free of control and to live by the path of your own choosing. Never forget this." Skull Knight turned to ride off.
"Hold up!" Guts shouted. "How the hell do you know about me?! Who are you?!"
Skull Knight began to ride away. "In the abyss of despair, he who stands with a broken sword… perhaps…" He rode between a few trees and disappeared from sight. His cryptic warning resonating with the both of them.
The walk back to Windham was a depressing one. Instead of snow, there was rain, freezing rain. That coupled with the darkness of night, hadn't helped at all. Harry's boots were completely soaked y the time he arrived back at the barracks for the Hawks.
The members who had witnessed the fight were all gathered at one table within the mess hall, two candles cast their light at the figures sitting in silence. Rickert was the first to notice his arrival. "Harry! There you are. We've been wondering where you- Guts?"
The swordsman walked in after Harry, earning a surprised look from everyone. "Guts!" Rickert shouted running up to him. "You're back!"
"…Yeah," Guts forced a smile. "I wanted to see things through to the end after all."
Harry knew that wasn't the reason. It probably had less to do with Harry's speech to him and more about the sudden arrival of Skull night. It had a clear impact on Guts with the cryptic warning that had been left behind before his departure.
Judeau smiled warmly. "Glad to see you back, but what of your dream?"
"I haven't forgotten about that," Guts said. "I still intend to go my own way, but for now, the least I can do is see this through to the end. I want to see him achieve his dream before I worry about mine."
Pippin gave a nod of approval, but Corkus looked unconvinced. "This doesn't change anything, you know that? You still walked out on us. I've never seen Griffith in a more depressed state. He said he'd see the rest of us in the morning, whatever that means."
Harry would expect that from Corkus, but it was Casca who had him worried. She walked up to Guts with her arms folded in front of her. "Look Casca-," Guts began, but she grabbed him by the hem of his cloak and pulled him down to her eye level.
"I don't care what you say, or what you do, but you make right by him." She pushed him back and walked out of the hall.
An uncomfortable silence fell around them to be broken by Judeau. "She took that better than expected." That she had, but now the only person left was Griffith. Where was he?
The rain ran down the large window to Princess Charlotte's balcony. She had just dismissed her handmaiden for the night and was prepared to slip out of her day dress and into her nightgown. Lightning flashed as he knocked on the window, alerting her to his presence.
She gasped at first thinking him an intruder, but once she saw his face through the rain stained glass, she visibly brightened and opened the window for him to enter.
"Please excuse my visit at this hour, Princess."
"Of course," Charlotte said in a fluster. "But, Count Griffith, this is unexpected. At this hour, it hardly seems appropriate though. You're all wet and-," He silences her by wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close, capturing her lips with his own.
She pulled back after a few seconds, her pale features turned red. "Griffith… this is… this…"
He leaned down to put his mouth next to her ear. "Do you wish for me to stop?" His other hand rubbed circles in the small of her back. He heard her give a small moan of unexpected pleasure.
She wrapped an arm around his neck to whisper in his own ear. "No…"
They embraced again. Griffith's hand roamed to her shoulder to slide the gown off of Charlotte. Before the garment could even touch the floor, Griffith's hand had cupped one of her breasts. She gasped, allowing Griffith to slide his tongue into her mouth.
She was ready to give herself to him. Griffith led her over to her bed and laid her down beneath him as he too began to undress. He tossed his clothes to the side and Charlotte slowly began to spread her legs for him.
"Aah!" Charlotte yelped as he entered her, the pain of her maidenhead breaking was felt throughout her lower body. He allowed her some time to adjust before he began to move his own hips. Her once cry of pain quickly turned to pleasure as Griffith moved in and out of her.
She was obedient to him, whenever he felt the need to change position, she would oblige. Every touch, every bite he left on her pushed her further and further. His hand snaked down to where they were joined and massaged her folds. Her walls tightened and she collapsed on her bed, completely worn out.
Griffith sat on the edge of the bed, sweat coated his body and he rubbed his shoulder where Guts' sword would have cut him. Guts… you… He cast a look at the sleeping Charlotte and pulled a blanket over her.
You made me forget.
Him and the princess. The princess and him. Would he- under normal circumstances- ever do that? It was such a rash move on his end, but Charlotte had given herself willingly. She had not refused; he was not at fault for this. She was of marrying age and now that they had coupled, marriage was sure to follow. Marriage and then the kingdom he had dreamt of for so long.
It was all within his grasp. He could not afford to lose sight of it again. Guts had… made him forget. And that was dangerous. Dangerous for the Hawks, dangerous for himself, and dangerous for the kingdom.
Sunlight began to creep into Charlotte's room. He had been awake all night thinking. Griffith dressed in his discarded clothes and made an exit of the same way he had entered. Charlotte was still asleep, she would know that he had shown himself out.
Griffith jumped from her balcony to a tree and worked his way down to the ground. He barely took two full steps when a dozen guards and their captain surrounded him at spear point. The captain pulled up his visor. "And by what business does the White Phoenix General have for leaving the princess' chambers at an hour as early as this?"
The spears poked closer, preventing any chance of escape as iron chains were clamped around his wrists. "Take him to the dungeon to await the king."
Fire from the torches provided the only light in the dank dungeon as the king strode towards the cell with Minister Foss close on his heels. "Please, your highness, I beg you to wait. A situation such as this-,"
"Is none of your concern, Foss," the king cut him off. "This is a matter of my own daughter and I will see it dealt with." He opened the cell door and his two personal guards followed him inside.
Griffith had been stripped of his shirt, save for the strange red bauble that hung from his neck. His hands were tied above him to a rafter in the ceiling. It was such a degrading position for one who rose to his rank in the Midland army. Griffith didn't say anything as the king approached his suspended body.
"As king, I always viewed knighthood as lees to do with birth and more to do with actions. You have done much for Midland and for that I thank you. But when it comes to my daughter that is another story. She often forgets her lesions of what it means to be of her status and duties, and instead, acts like a town's girl when it comes to you. After her mother passed and before I remarried, Charlotte was everything to me, she still is." The king took a whip from the torturer's rack. "And you undermined that."
He gave the whip a few cracks to test it. "For seventeen years I have made it my duty to keep Charlotte safe from those who would take advantage of her position. I have shot down countless suitors who could have greatly benefitted Midland because I did not believe them fit for my Charlotte. I thought better of you, Griffith."
Much to his displeasure, Griffith finally lets out a chuckle. "I've always found it funny how for a girl of seventeen years to never have found a suitor," Griffith went on. "And now, I think I know the reason. You want her, don't you?" The king froze at Griffith's words. "The King of Midland is nothing but an old man who lusts after his daughter because of the memory of his first wife."
The king had had enough. "Silence!" He cracked the whip against Griffith's chest hard enough to draw blood from his porcelain white skin. He brandished the whip and again and struck Griffith once more. "You know nothing of being king!" Another lashing. "Do you know of the responsibilities that come with the title?! The burden you must bear for the land, the people?!" More and more lashes. "What do you know of it?!"
His two personal guards stood speechless and the stone floor was splattered with Griffith's blood; his torso ripe with cuts. "If one of you so much as speaks of this, you and your families will be put to the sword." They nodded in fear and understanding. "Torturer!"
The torturer came when summoned. He was a dwarf of a man with a balding head and speech impediment of some kind. "Yesh, shire?"
"You are free to use whatever methods you want on this man," the king instructed. "But do not kill him. Keep him alive for another year, he has sinned against my house and will suffer for it."
The torturer bowed. "Of corse, shire." The torturer took the red bauble from around Griffith's neck and dropped it down a drain grate. "His flesh is fine."
The king took his leave, stopping at the door to cast one last look back. "So sad how the mighty fall. You were a hawk who flew too close to the sun, Griffith. And now, your wings are clipped, never to fly again."
The king's next stop was the bedroom of his daughter, Princess Charlotte. Her favorite handmaiden stood outside her room. "Please, your majesty. Princess Charlotte is sleeping, she needs her-," one of the king's guards pulled the handmaiden away to allow him entry.
So precious, he thought as he looked at the sleeping form of his daughter. Her chocolate brown hair lightly clung to her forehead, her mouth open just a tad but letting no sound escape. If her eyes were to open he would be met with the sight of ocean blue orbs to stare back at him. The king approached her and sat at the side of her bed.
Brushing some hair from out of her face, he noticed bite marks around her neck. This is where he bit her. These lips are the ones he kissed. He lightly felt at the bruises on her neck and ran a thumb across her lips. He pulled the sheet covering her away.
She slept naked allowing him a sight of her perky breasts. They're not as big as her mother's had been, but she can still grow. He lightly traced the outline of her breasts as his eyes traveled down.
There- between her legs was a small smear of blood.
Oh, Charlotte! What has he done to you? His sweet princess had been defiled by Griffith! A year of torture would not be enough for the White Hawk! He would see to it Griffith would be moved on the morrow to a place where he could never hope to escape. He would pay for what he had done to his Charlotte.
His Charlotte.
The king planed a kiss on his daughter's forehead before licking the nipple of her breast. She, at last, began to stir. "Griffith?" She asked as her eyes opened. She was met with the sight of her father licking at her breast.
"Aaaaahhhhh!" She shrieked as she pushed him away. "Father! What are you doing?!" She recoiled away from him in fear.
"It is alright, Charlotte," he tried to calm her. "Let me fix this. Let me help you."
Charlotte backed away. "Father, you're scaring me!"
"Do not be afraid, Charlotte," he reached for her legs. "I won't allow your honor to be sullied." He made a move to pry her legs open.
"No! Stop! Father! Stop!" Charlotte began to cry as his face neared her womanhood. In a surprise bit of strength, she pulled one of her legs back and kicked the king in his nose hard enough to break it.
"Ouuggh!" The king recoiled from the blow. "Charlotte you-,"
His daughter was curled up in the corner of her room, her bed sheet wrapped around her protectively. Tears streamed from her beautiful blue eyes. She was afraid of him. She hated him.
The king stood up and left Charlotte's room closing the door behind him and then slamming his fist against it. "Damn you, Griffith! You've tainted her!" He turned to one of his guards. "I want you to send an invitation to the Band of the Hawk under Griffith's name. They are to gather outside in the country of Midland. They will pay for his sins as well."
Albanian forest,
After the failed duel with Dumbledore, Voldemort had no choice but to flee. The bond he had used to attach to Quirrell had allowed him to steal enough of his magic to apparate once he had reached Hogsmeade village in his spectral form.
He had chosen Albania for its connection to one of the Hogwarts founders, Ravenclaw. Or to put a finer point on it, her daughter. This forest is the one she fled to way back when. And now, it was the haven for a badly weakened Voldemort.
The body- if he could call it that- was so frail a breeze could knock it over and break almost every bone he possessed. It was about the size of a baby with stick-thin limbs that he could barely move, let alone hold a wand. But he was alive.
The stone was a loss, no doubt about that, but there were other ways for him to be reborn. There was a blood ritual that could be performed, but he would need a followed to oversee the proceedings.
He used what strength his arms possess to turn himself over, the effort nearly left him drained. And his finger touched something that at first felt like a rock. But brushing over it again it felt fleshier. His fingers strained themselves to grab what he found and bring it close to see.
It was a small bauble, emerald green in color like his favorite unforgivable curse. But it was decorated with various facial features all scattered around. How curious.
A/N: So the rating has at last changed to M for the obvious reason this chapter. And the behelit from a few chapters previous makes a return, but don't expect to see the Hp side of things for awhile.