So, here's the thing. I actually had the first proper chapter of this story written and ready to post, and my momentum had me writing further chapters...until I realised, I had intended to do this as a combination of the 'Casca's Soul Mate' challenge with the 'Misery Loves Company' challenge. So I needed to go back, change it so that we had some foreshadowing of the soul bond a la my Game of Thrones crossover A Union of Dragons. I also decided to change the future scene at the beginning, which was mostly a conversation between Harry and Guts via enchanted mirror. It still takes up too much of the chapter, but I do intend to have flashforwards later on at key intervals.

I should take the time to emphasize that just because Harry and Casca have a soul bond doesn't necessarily mean they're in love already, or that they'll fall head over heels upon meeting in person. That's an even worse cliche than the concept of a soul bond. And their relationship will go through some rough patches, given that Casca is still very much enamoured with Griffith, and Harry's differing values, considering he comes from a modern era, as compared to the medieval fantasy world of Berserk. But they will come together.

Once more, I have to thank deathbearABC123 for their encouragement and support in discussing this story. Thanks to their suggestion, I have bought the original anime adaptation of Berserk to help shape the story. I will still endeavour to include elements from the manga that the original anime left out, though. Hopefully, this story will become a full one.

UBI AMOR, IBI DOLOR

CHAPTER 1:

AN AUSPICIOUS MEETING

It had been a couple of weeks since they started living at the Spirit Tree. Harry had written to Guts via the enchanted diaries he had set up for them, thanking Padfoot for leaving him that information. He knew that Guts needed something anchoring him to reality, in case his obsession with revenge on Griffith got him killed.

Not that Harry and Casca didn't share that desire for revenge. Harry had only witnessed the horror of the Eclipse first-hand at the last moment, when he rode in with the Skull Knight into that maelstrom…and into Hell. He remembered the sheer unadulterated fury he felt as he saw Femto bent over Casca's vacant body, Guts struggling to free himself from the Apostles in his own blinding rage. Casca's soul had fled her body as Femto, the demon formerly known as Griffith, violated her. Harry's mind had been a sanctuary. And her disgust and horror and trauma merged with his…and with it, their anger.

He remembered Femto looking at them coldly, his icy blue eyes now turned to fiery red. He remembered seeing the bizarre forms of Ubik and Conrad with their distorted faces, the grotesquely sensuous form of Slan, and the hideous face of Void, with its lack of skin, the bulging brain, and the sewn-up eyes. The bodies of their allies, lying in a hideous pool of blood and viscera. The Apostles capering around a landscape made of screaming faces.

Anger had boiled up within him, united with Casca, and even though his soul wasn't linked to Guts', the swordsman's own anger still fuelled Harry's own. And with that anger, came power. He remembered pointing his staff at them, watching the amusement on the faces of the Godhand, those who could or would smile, and the Apostles jeering at him. Until he uttered a single world.

"FIENDFYRE!"

His attack did little more than amuse the Godhand. He doubted he did more than singe their nostril hairs, not in this reality that was their hellish home. The Apostles, though…they were another story. A few the cursed flames consumed utterly. A few others ended up badly burned. Of course, others dodged it, or weathered the diabolical fire with contemptuous ease.

Harry poured everything he could into those flames. It wasn't just his wrath, but that of Casca and Guts. What had been a bloody hell became a burning hell, his comrades in the Band of the Hawk, Pippin, Judeau, Corkus and the others, gaining a funeral pyre.

He barely remembered what happened next, only that the Skull Knight had managed to pull them out of there. Seeing Rickert. Heading to the forge of Godo, Guts' old friend and blacksmith. Finding Charlotte there, transported by the Portkey he had left her with. The recriminations and arguments that followed. Casca struggling to deal with what had been done to her body. Charlotte's initial refusal to believe what Griffith had done. Eventually, a parting of ways. A long and arduous journey, chasing a rumour, chased by evil, leading to this place.

Only now were they beginning to settle down. Flora had accepted them quite readily, Schierke…well, it took her a while longer. Though she was also surprised that Harry and Casca were willing to learn from a little girl. But Harry told her why: Schierke reminded him of Hermione. Her studiousness, her bossiness, her intelligence.

Schierke was actually touched by the comparison. Not because she knew of Hermione, but also because she was actually being asked to teach Harry more magic. There was even a possibility that Casca could learn some herself. Apparently magic could be learned by virtually anyone here, as long as they had the right mindset. Casca was certainly eager for the distraction after Flora revealed what they had suspected…that Femto's actions had rendered Casca barren. Not that she would have definitely had kids one day…but maybe she may have. With Guts and Griffith as godfathers, Pippin and Judeau as uncles, Rickert as a big brother, and Corkus…well, being a disreputable sort, as usual.

Yet another thing Femto had stolen from them. Yet another reason, if any be needed, to avenge themselves on him.

Harry was carefully carving his new magic staff when Schierke sat down next to him. Casca was getting the seal on her brand re-done today by Flora, and Harry saw fit to give them privacy. The staff he had used before was mostly out of convenience, based on what little runework he had learned from Hermione and the notes left behind by Sirius. Flora, however, had encouraged Harry to make a better one, with the ancient witch (she hinted at being at least centuries old if not more) giving him some pointers. And whittling the piece of wood was therapeutic.

"Hey," he said to the young witch. "Nothing gone wrong?"

Schierke shook her head. "No. But, while speaking to Mistress Flora, Casca mentioned something. She said…she had been having dreams about you since a young age. And you of her. She said something about a soul bond. That…it was how she survived what happened during the Eclipse, mentally. But soul bonds, especially of that type, they're rare. And to have them between two people from two different worlds…it's unheard of. If you never travelled to this world…the bond would never have strengthened."

"…Maybe that's how I came to this world in the first place. I had an accident…well, of sorts. I'd angered the wrong people, well, Goblins. They were annoyed because, well, I broke into their bank to destroy one of those Horcruxes I told you and Flora about. They hired some thugs to attack me and mine. I'd already sent my friends to safety…but they hit my Portkey with a spell. I remember being thrown through a void…and then, I ended up nearly drowning in a lake. I was lucky I had supplies with me, ready to escape abroad. But…I wasn't happy. Still…maybe the soul bond saved me, by bringing me to this world. If the Godhand are the tools of a greater power, then that power would be evil, or at least destructive and sadistic. But maybe the soul bond, and bringing me here to Casca…maybe there's a power opposing that behind the Godhand. Because without that soul bond…I don't know what would have happened to Casca."

Harry thought back to how they first met. If he had known what their eventual fate would be, what Griffith would do to them, he wouldn't have agreed. But he couldn't have known, and speculating about what he could have done did little. Besides, he had been in a bad way, and latching onto the Band of the Hawk as a means to belong…well, few could blame him, right?

Not for the first time, Harry cursed the Goblins' hired goons for attacking his Portkey just as it activated. The nearly nineteen year old wizard shouted expletive after expletive into the uncaring heavens until he was on the verge of hoarseness. Then again, being stranded with few supplies in what seemed to be a medieval fantasy world he knew little about, even after several weeks' wandering, was rather trying. He was used to hardship, true, and compared to being on the run from Voldemort, or living with the Dursleys, this was a relative doddle…physically, anyway.

But he had been torn away from his friends. He'd sent them on ahead, sending them to other countries who refused to recognise Gringotts' jurisdiction. Those ungrateful little shits didn't care that he had broken in to destroy a Horcrux, not steal any treasure. No, it was out of wounded pride from the fact that he had broken in. And there were plenty of former Death Eaters the Goblins could hire to do their dirty work.

However, it was when he learned the name of this country, Midland, that he became surprised. Because it was a name he had heard from an imaginary friend he had seen only in his dreams. A strong girl, a feisty girl, one who had seen more than her fair share of suffering. He thought her an imaginary friend thrown up by his mind, to give him someone to talk to when he still slept in the cupboard under the stairs…but now, he wasn't so sure. Not unless this was a dying delusion.

Anyway, Midland was currently at war with another called Chuder. A bit of petty dick-waving with lethal consequences that had been going on for a century now, taking with it a heavy toll in human life and sanity. He'd skirted the edge of many a battlefield, intervening only when he thought it necessary. More than once, he had killed soldiers who had decided to rape some civilians near him. He killed them, left half of any money he found on them with their living victims, and took the rest for himself.

He just hoped he wasn't going to get a reputation as a folk hero. He'd had enough of that. He didn't mind playing the hero, it was something ingrained into his soul. But he didn't want the reputation that came with it. And in any case, he'd had enough playing nice. Playing nice got him a gratitude with a half-life was on a par with the transuranic elements (Hermione's words, not his), and his enemies mostly alive to stab him in the back, despite everything he had done.

Plus, apparently the local religion had issues against magic. Because why not? So he still had to be careful, if not more so, just in case the Holy See invited him to a barbeque.

He wasn't really sticking to main roads, instead crossing verdant fields strewn with boulders. Bandits, after all, had a bad habit of ambushing people there, and he was getting bored of stripping them of their memories, clothes and monies whenever they tried to rob him. He'd only just finished carving a staff, as a very crude magic focus (his last wand having snapped when he came here), as well as a walking stick. And a bludgeon, if need be.

He heard the whinnying of horses in the distance, and grimaced. Bandits…or soldiers, mercenary or not. Maybe if he was lucky, they would be friendly enough to let him by.

As he mounted one rise, he saw a group of horse riders (bandits?) surrounding a single swordsman. The aftermath of an earlier battle was apparent, with at least two riders down, one rolling around, clutching the stump of an arm. The swordsman was about to attack one of the horse riders whose steed was rearing up in fear, until another horse rider fired a crossbow into the swordsman's arm.

Harry very nearly veered away, until he realised something. A little way away, he could see a small group of soldiers, no, mercenaries, and a flag that seemed familiar. The Band of the Hawk, he realised.

He began running towards the battle, swiftly healing one of the fallen riders, who was on the verge of bleeding out from a bad gash to his side. Admittedly, Harry's knowledge of healing magic was shaky, and he wasn't sure whether the man would survive. Healing the man's stump was easier: he couldn't reattach the arm, but he could ensure the guy survived.

"Hey, who the fuck are you?!" demanded a rather ratty-looking man on a horse, before he looked over, and yelped, "Casca!" Harry whirled to see the crossbow wielder fall off their horse, the swordsman having severed the rear legs of the animal. The rider got up shakily, the helmet falling off their head, revealing a face Harry had only known from his dreams.

Dark hair, cut boyishly short. Her skin light brown. She was only a few years his junior, but she looked older. Her frame slender but athletic.

Casca.

He stood there, staring, as she attacked the swordsman, who seemed initially startled by the attack, or perhaps that his assailant was a woman. But he eventually began fighting back, brutally and viciously, apparently lacking any qualms about fighting a girl. Casca was on the defensive, and then, she tripped and fell onto her back, the swordsman bringing his sword up into an overhead swing to administer the coup de grace.

For all his desire to conceal his magic, he still had his saving people thing. He knew he was going to regret this, but still…

With that in mind, he flung out a hand. "ACCIO, CASCA!"

With a yelp of surprise, Casca zoomed towards him, dragged along the grass, just as a spear dug into the ground between her enemy's feet. Everyone, even the swordsman who had been about to kill her, stared as she sped along the ground towards Harry, skidding to a halt in front of him. He knelt down next to her, checking her.

"…You know you just upstaged me?"

This voice was a soft, gentle, but masculine one that carried, from a figure wearing elaborate armour, astride a white horse. He wore a strange helmet that vaguely looked like a predatory bird. A name came to Harry from a discussion in a dream he had with the girl he had just saved. Griffith.

"You're welcome for saving one of your best soldiers," Harry called back.

"Arsehole," Casca muttered from where she sat on the ground, shooting him a venomous look with her dark eyes. But then, she did a double take, dark eyes meeting emerald ones. "…Impossible," she whispered.

"That's not a very nice thing to say, Cas," Harry said. "I mean being an arsehole. I know I'm impossible. And improbable." Harry looked up, just in time to see the swordsman they had been attacking lash out at Griffith, only for Griffith to, improbably, block the massive sword with a sabre. The swordsman was clearly surprised, and was unprepared for Griffith's swift counterattack, the sabre jabbing into his chest. With a startled gasp, the man toppled over like a felled tree. Griffith looked down at him dispassionately, taking off his helmet.

Harry had to admit, Griffith was…unusual. If he hadn't heard his voice earlier, he would have believed Griffith to be a woman, with those delicate facial features, the full lips, the long tresses of bluish-white hair, and the pale blue eyes. Griffith then looked at Harry, and then at the men Harry had healed, noting the lack of blood coming from the stump of the man who lost his arm. "…Heal this one too, please." He indicated the swordsman. "Keep him under if you can."

"…He was trying to kill you and your men."

"And he was doing rather well, considering. My men are very good. I'm hoping he'd be amenable to an offer once tempers have cooled."

"…Your funeral," Harry said, healing the swordsman and placing a sleeping charm on him as insurance. Harry realised, despite the man's brutish features and the scar across his nose, he was actually about the same age as himself, or maybe as young as Griffith and Casca. It was hard to tell.

He had no way of knowing it, but this was an auspicious occasion. One that would grant him new friends and comrades…and even someone he would one day come to love. Days of tragedy, horror, laughter and life lay ahead, all in the Band of the Hawk…

CHAPTER 1 ANNOTATIONS:

So, after more story from the future, we finally see how Harry almost literally stumbled his way into the Band of the Hawk.

I've actually got a nice little soundtrack built up in my head for this fic. Aside from the opening in the prologue, here's some ideas. I did this before for my first fanfic, my Final Fantasy VII crossover Harry Potter and the Cetra Heritage (plug, plug), and so I'm doing it again. The image song is basically a song with lyrics, while the theme itself is a general leitmotif.

Harry's Image Song: The Best is Yet to Come from Metal Gear Solid, Donna Burke version.

Weary Wizard (Harry's Theme): Journey of the Sorcerer by the Eagles.

Casca's Image Song: Slingshot by Trocadero.

Never Feel Helpless Again (Casca's Theme): Theme of Laura from Silent Hill 2.

Guts' Image Song: Short Change Hero by the Heavy.

My Blade is My Bond (Guts' Theme): EMIYA from Fate/Stay Night: Unlimited Blade Works.

Griffith's Image Song: The World is Not Enough by Garbage (the lyrics are surprisingly fitting).

Ambition (Griffith's Theme): Rei I from Neon Genesis Evangelion.

If you guys want some justification for said themes, I'll do them in another chapter.

No numbered annotations this time.