A/N: I'm really not sure how this story came into being, but I guess that the Hunger Games and Harry Potter do well in the middle of a zombie apocalypse... This also sort of has some elements of Zombieland, but you needn't have seen it to read this. Anyway, enjoy! Harry's definitely a little OC, but he was just too much fun to handle.
Rules of the Road- Chapter One:
My name is Harry Potter, and this is my story.
A few weeks ago, I had it stuck in my deluded, naïve head that Hogwarts was the safest place in the entire world. With Dumbledore in charge, I thought nothing could ever go wrong. I was living an almost entirely sunny life of Hogwarts magic, thinking I was completely invincible. Boy, was I wrong about a lot of things.
So, I think it was three weeks ago exactly when my life took an odd turn. We were having a normal Hogsmeade weekend. Ron, Hermione, and I were walking down the bright path to the village without so much as a care in the world. It was warm, the sun was shining, and there was nothing in my way. We were almost to the first shop when things started to get a little weird. It went down a little something like this:
Three weeks ago…
"So, where should we start?" Hermione asked. "I know I need a new quill, but we have all day so it doesn't really matter to me."
"Uh… I guess we could start at Honeyduke's," Ron suggested, ever distracted by his need for food.
"Alright sure," Hermione replied.
So we walked towards the candy shop. We were only about twenty feet from the entrance when we heard a strange shuffling from inside the alleyway. Upon looking, we discovered it was a deranged-looking, blood-covered Muggle making strange noises. We all gave the crazy person a wide berth and continued on our merry way towards the shop.
"What do you reckon was going on there?" I asked.
Ron shrugged, entirely unbothered. "Probably one of those nutters who loses it when they abuse their magic. My mum is always going on about them."
"Or he could just be homeless," Hermione suggested.
"A homeless man covered in blood and mumbling to himself?" Ron challenged. "That's far-fetched."
Hermione gave Ron a glare, but that only lasted for a second because the nutter sprinted out of the alleyway and dove right at Ron. Before anything could be done, the crazy guy bit down on Ron's calf. Then Ron was like, "AHHHHHHHHHH!" And Hermione and I were like, "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
And then Ron kicked the guy's nose in, and Hermione stunned him. For the next ten seconds, we were all silent, but then I saw that Ron's leg was gushing blood, and I hoisted him to his feet, and we started running back to the castle.
We got him to the hospital wing and told him we'd visit him later. Hermione and I went back to Hogsmeade for the rest of the day (still feeling carefree), and we did go back to visit him, but Madame Pompfrey said that he wasn't doing too well, so we'd have to come back later. So we went back to the dormitories and went to sleep.
Long story short, the homeless man was a zombie, and Ron was running about the castle turning a bunch of students into zombies too. The next morning was complete pandemonium as everyone was running away from flesh-eating friends. I was sprinting around looking for a nice, safe closet to wait this out in, when Lavender Brown came flying out of an empty classroom and started chasing me.
The next thing I knew, I was sprinting down the hall towards Dumbledore's office. I was about to turn a sharp corner to confuse Lavender when Dumbledore came out of his office and yelled something like, "SAVE THE CHOSEN ONE!" and threw a Portkey at me. The old can struck my temple, and suddenly everything went back.
So that's that. When I next opened my eyes, I was lying in a ditch by a highway in an unknown place. And that's where I've been ever since.
During my few weeks out here on my own, I've learned a few things.
First being, there are a lot of zombies— even here in this strange place Dumbledore banished me to. Man, are there a lot of zombies. I'll just be walking along, minding my own business, wondering where I can get some food, when one of them will spring out of a ditch and start chasing me…
Which leads me to my next point. Never don't kill a zombie.
You must always kill a zombie— especially if it's chasing you. Seriously. Don't play the noble, no-kill hero. You can't outrun a feral, killing machine, no matter how fast you think you are. The next zombie is always going to be faster and more rabid that the previous one, so kill this one while you can.
I've also discovered that Avada Kedavra works very well on zombies. 'Nuff said.
And finally, don't pass up an opportunity for food. If a nice-looking old lady gets out of her old car and comes over to offer you her cooler because her grandson just bit her, don't hesitate to put a spell through her brain and take more than just her cooler because, seriously, no one else is on the road so even unlicensed drivers can get behind the wheel. It's also a nice bonus when it turns out that she has a Glock 9 in her trunk and a baseball bat in the passenger seat. Oh, and make sure you take care of the grandson before you drive off. Words of the wise…
Come to think of it, that old lady might have been the last live person I saw that wasn't running and screaming from a zombie, in the process of dying, or crying over their unfortunate ankle bite.
It's a little bit sad, if I think about it, but this whole experience of getting thrown into zombie territory has made me a little bit numb to sensible emotion.
So, long story short, the next three weeks passed as long, stretched out hours of me alternating between killing zombies on a mad spree and driving like a half-drunk maniac. I crashed Granny's car about a week into my adventure, so I've been on foot for quite a while now. The rest has just been the same: walk, kill zombies, run, eat, repeat.
Also, adding to my list of things I've learned: Glock 9s are surprising heavy when one is tired of walking. It's like carrying around a cement block in a cooler full of old lady food after you've run a marathon. Needless to say, I take breaks frequently.
All around me, there are forests for miles. I keep expecting a zombie to come sprinting out of the trees, and for me to finally get a chance to try out my shiny new Glock 9, but so far that hasn't happened. It's probably a good thing, considering I've never shot a gun, but there's always a first time for everything.
At some point, with the sun high above my head, I stop in the grass on the side of the road to eat my meager lunch of a packet of teddy grahams. I'm attempting to rip open the package when I hear a rumbling in the distance. I start to panic, thinking that it's, like, a hoard of zombies coming to kill me or something, but that's not what I see in the distance. It's that kind of hot and sunny when you look down a road and everything looks all wavy and blurry, but still, a recklessly driving black car doesn't look much like a hoard of zombies.
I throw my teddy grahams back into the rolling cooler and pull out my wand and Glock 9. Somehow, facing real, living humans is momentarily more terrifying than facing a zombie, simply because they might have the actual intention of killing me.
I scramble to my feet, pulling my cooler with me, and take my position in the center of the deserted road, ready to fire with either weapon at any moment. The black vehicle comes tearing towards me with increasing speed, but I force myself to stay put. They'll know I'm not a zombie because I'm acting like a human, right? Or maybe I should move around to seem more living-like…?
The massive car comes into clear view and whips to a stop about twenty feet down the road from me. I tremble in my shoes, but I still hold my ground. Come on, Harry, this is it… Are you the powerful zombie-hunter you've become or are you the weak boy that you were at the start?
It's a giant, black Hummer, all shiny and glint-y in the afternoon sun. It's really a distractingly macho and amazing car when you think about it. How is it still all shiny and pretty after surviving zombies for a long extent of time? When I crashed Granny's car into that lake, it was pretty muddy, bloody, and dinged up…
My train of thought is cut off when the driver's door flies open. I grip the Glock with increasing strength and prepare to fire if fired upon.
A tall guy who appears to be around eighteen slams the door shut behind him and starts off towards me with a crossbow in hand. I see a significantly more powerful gun than my pitiful Glock 9 shoved in his pocket. He has dark hair, olive skin, and a strong build. I instantly feel intimidated by his strength. And that's even before he talks.
He gets about ten feet from me, and I think I'm visibly shaking. He scrutinizes me for a second and then whips the crossbow out in front of him, aiming at my head with cold-blooded composure. I make a fairly silent shrieking noise and bring my wand up to meet his arrow.
He raises an eyebrow at my wand, so he's obviously a Muggle. "You from the Capitol?" the guy asks across the short distance, gesturing at me with his crossbow. As he gets closer, I determine he's probably around 6' 4" or something ridiculous like that.
I answer in complete honesty, considering I have no idea where or what the Capitol is. "No," I say. My voice audibly shakes like the rest of my body.
He seems somewhat satisfied with my answer, but he doesn't lower the crossbow. "Then where are you from, kid? Six?"
I'm puzzled by the places he's talking about. "No… I'm from London," I reply.
"London?" he asks. "Where's that?"
"England," I supply.
"The hell it is," he mutters mostly to himself. His stormy grey eyes flash with anger and frustration. "I swear, if you're from the Capitol, I'm going to blow you sky high…"
"I'm not, I promise!" I say, throwing my hands up in terror. "I swear to you I'm not from the Capitol!"
He narrows his eyes and stares at me for a solid twenty seconds before sighing darkly to himself and lowering the crossbow to his side. "Where are you headed, London?" he asks.
"I was hoping to find my way back home," I reply without thinking.
"Aren't we all," he replies ominously. "Well, good luck with that."
He turns to head back to the car, and I suddenly feel very, very panicked.
"Wait!" I call out.
He turns back around. "What?"
"Uh… Where are you headed?" I ask.
"The Capitol," he says. "They say it's zombie free, and if it's not I plan on finding some certain people- alive or undead- and killing them slowly and painfully."
Shockingly, I still want to get in the car with him. "The Capitol actually sounds like a really good place to head," I say.
He sighs, understanding what I'm implying. He fingers his crossbow menacingly as if pondering killing me now rather than dealing with me. After what seems like a thousand years, he sighs again. "Come on, London. We'll see how long you last."
I try not to seem too eager as I follow him to the car.
The mysterious guy yanks open the driver's side door and points for me to get in the back. I climb in, shoving my Glock and mini cooler in before me. When I get in, I'm surprised to see that there's a girl in the passenger's seat.
She appears to be only a bit younger than the guy- maybe about my age. She's really quite small, probably shorter than me by a lot, and she's wearing her hair in a long braid down her back. She has the same dark hair, olive skin, and gray eyes as her companion. In fact, they look so similar that they could probably be related.
"Who's this?" the girl asks the guy bluntly.
"London," he replies evenly to her. "Claims he's from England, where ever the hell that is."
She turns around in her seat and stares at me. "I meant why is he in the car, Gale?"
Gale— apparently that's his rather feminine name— answers by sticking the keys in the ignition. "When's the last time you saw a living person, Catnip?"
She sighs and sits back hard in her seat, arm's crossed. "Fine. He can stay."
Gale starts off driving at an incredibly fast speed. I quickly buckle my seat belt, but neither of them seems to be too bothered to do so. We drive in tense silence for a really long time, until I decide that I need to break the ice.
"So, I'm Har—"
"I don't care what your name is," the girl- what did he call her?- bites out. "I'm calling you London whether you like it or not. If I learn your name, I might get attached."
Her bluntness throws me off a little, but I still feel like we need to make some conversation. "Then what should I call you?" I ask. "I already know both of your names, but—"
"You'll refer to her as Twelve, and you'll refer to me as Hawthorne, got it?" Gale says evenly. "That good enough for you?"
"Sure thing… Hawthorne," I respond.
"Good," he says. And the conversation is finished.