Harry Potter and the Berserker

Epilogue

5 Years Later

It seemed a cruel thing to see it end. No good action should ever be left to dim out and die, especially when it was so innocent and young. Words were falling on deaf ears in the midst of an eternal paradise, and why should they not? For as frustrating as it could be, this was what a ceaseless struggle had borne. To be carefree and alive; to feel the softness of the sun's warm caress before it faded to the warm cold of the night, what a feeling it must seem. But, as is just the way of things, it would not last.

A simple call of a name. He did not seem to hear it, he was far away, already at the top of the hill. Legs clad in armor strained to catch up.

The name escaped once more, falling on deaf ears. Perhaps he was purposefully ignoring the calls. The small burden in those armored arms was well balanced even with the longer strides.

The horizon became tangible heaven at the green summit of the hill, a perfectly unobtainable slice that had been stubbornly carved from the whole to fit something new entirely. And existing within his own world in that slice was him.

Longer legs moving with stern patience approached from behind. An almost clawed hand reached out, to grab him with affection.

"Gaiseric."

"Mm?" the boy tilted his head back to see his mother looking down over him.

"You're getting too far ahead. Again." She could tell her brows were scrunching close together as they normally did, albeit with far less animosity.

His shining dark iris' had the decency to look the smallest bit ashamed. "Sorry. I just wanted to see it first."

"It isn't a race you know," she calmly reminded the son. "You don't exactly have much competition anyway." She adjusted the bundle she had balanced in her left arm. "We can leave and come back in a few years if that would teach you some patience."

"No! No, it's fine. I'm sorry for running ahead." Gaiseric was quick to apologize.

Seeing his distress, she put her hand on his head and lightly ruffled his dark locks. Gaiseric's hair was still long, but as he grew over the years, he had taken to wanting it cut at his shoulders as opposed to his waist. He lightly tried to push her hand away while trying to duck out of the touch.

"Apology accepted. Now how about I lead the rest of the way?"

Gaiseric fixed his hair back the way he liked it and nodded silently. "Can I at least carry Chich?" he asked.

"Oh, finally offering to help your struggling mother? How long did that take? I was beginning to think you were some other little boy."

"I help out plenty," Gaiseric said with a face tainted with red.

"Relax. I know," she assured as she handed him the bundle she had been carrying. "Careful of-,"

"-Of her head. I know."

With care, Gaiseric accepted the wrapped bundle containing a girl of two years of age. Her equally dark hair poked out and while her eyes were shut, they were the same dark as his own. Her skin was tanner than his own, taking to closely resemble her mother's complexion. For her name, Chich, it had been Guts who had picked the name. Apparently the name reminded him of a kind spring; compassion that he had never received except in the most unexpected of ways.

Needless to say, she hadn't been expecting him to come up with it - she wasn't even expecting to have a second. With how much of his life Guts had lost, neither of them thought it possible. Especially as the years went by, the strain showed more and more on Guts to where even the simplest of chores seemed a miniature war to accomplish. She felt a lonely cold run through her at those memories and as she handed Chich over to Gaiseric.