Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, which should be pretty obvious. Nor do I own the rights to any zombie/horror film. Also, obvious.
Summary: An ordinary day takes a dark turn when a zombie apocalypse grips Britain and the world. Harry and the Order are thrust into a game of survival where even magic seems to do very little to the newly awakened dead. How will they survive and reverse this seemingly impossible task at the same time? Can they even?
Characters: I put this story as Sirius and Harry but the main characters are some members of the Order, the Weasley's, Dumbledore, and Hermione. This story will focus on the relationship between Sirius and Harry but also has a heavy emphasis on Harry's relationship with everyone else.
Pairings: Lupin/Tonks, Hermione/Ron, and Harry/Ginny. Don't bother shouting at me to change it, because I won't. Besides, the romance is scarce since this is a horror story not a love story.
A/N: So I know I should be working on Wasted Happiness, but I'm going to be frank here; I truly hate that story and what's worse is that I have severe writer's block for it. Sorry to all those who liked it. Hopefully I can get some ideas but for now, I want to start fresh with this story. I've had this idea floating in my head for awhile now. It's a mish mash of pretty much every zombie movie I've ever seen but is largely based on Dawn of the Dead (2000) and Shaun of the Dead. So read, review, and hopefully enjoy.
Rating: T for now because of consistent swearing, descriptive violence, and a sprinkle of romance. Might be updated to M later on.
Chapter One: Sinister Disturbances
A messy black haired boy was walking with his back slouched and his eyes slightly narrowed against the bright sun. This boy was named Harry Potter and though he looked sullen, the truth was he was quite glad.
Uncle Vernon had just sent him with a heavy list of groceries to pick up; a unique request if Harry ever saw one. The only chores that were assigned to him were strictly to the house, the farthest he had ever gone was the lawn near the sidewalk. To say Harry was surprised when his beefy uncle had thrust the long list into his hand was an understatement. Nevertheless, Harry was glad to get out of the house. The Dursley's didn't like his aimless wanderings (thought he was communicating with freaks like himself) and had confined him to his tiny room. Harry had paced it like a caged lion, eager to do something, anything, to keep his mind off the previous June.
Last June Harry had seen Lord Voldemort come back and Cedric Diggory die. It had been haunting his dreams for weeks now. And his friends had been little comfort. Harry had been writing to them but their responses seemed vague and distant.
I hope you're doing okay Harry. I'm fine, and so is Ron. We're doing a lot of things, boring things really though. Don't dwell on June Harry, there's nothing you can do about it. I hope you're alright. Maybe we'll see you soon?
Even Sirius, his godfather, who Harry thought for sure would shed some light on his inquires; brushed off his questions. But he at least acknowledged Harry's mounting frustrations.
I know you must be feeling pretty pissed off Harry but there's not much I can do now. I'm sworn to secrecy. Just keep your nose clean and stay out of trouble or Molly will skin me alive. I'll see you soon hopefully, and I promise to fill you in then. Oh and you can give me as many punches as you want if it makes you feel any better.
That had not made Harry feel any better, and just thinking of it now made a heavy crease form between his eyes. The fact was that it sounded like both his friends and his godfather were together which infuriated Harry. He couldn't understand why people who barely knew each other, people who were supposed to care about him were spending a nice happy little vacation together.
His brooding thoughts were interrupted as he reached his destination. He quickly grabbed a shopping cart and mechanically walked up and down the long aisles, grabbing the needed items off the shelves. He allowed himself to daydream of being back at his beloved Hogwarts. He was so caught up in his thoughts he didn't notice the woman in front of him.
"Oh sorry!" he said apologetically. The woman gave no sign that she had noticed Harry bumping into her. She had pale, almost grayish skin, and her pale blue eyes were staring blankly ahead. "Ma'am? Are you…okay?" Again, the woman didn't respond. Harry stood there at loss for what to do. This woman seemed to be in some sort of mental state. Should he call for help?
"There you are Marianne! I've been looking for you everywhere!" An older woman came bustling up the aisle but stopped short when she caught site of her friend. "Marianne? Are you feeling okay?" Her and Harry locked eyes and Harry gave a shrug. She nodded and continued to gaze at her friend worriedly. Deciding this was his cue to leave, Harry steered his way out of the aisle. That was creepy.
A bit disconcerted, Harry finished up his shopping duty as quickly as he could. There was something about how those eyes had stared blankly ahead that made him shudder. She looked as though she was dead on her feet.
"That'll be 56.97," the pretty cashier said. Harry started to rummage around in his pockets when he stopped dead in his tracks. A man was standing with his face pressed against the window. He had scraggly brown hair and a wild beard that looked like it hadn't seen a comb in years. His clothes were dirtied and ripped but it wasn't his haggard appearance that had startled Harry. It was his pale skin and glazed over eyes. He looked like Marianne; dead on his feet.
The cashier, Victoria, noticed who he was looking at. She sighed heavily. "Chris!" she called over to the man walking by. "That hobo is here again." Chris rolled his eyes as he caught site of who was by the window.
"Alright Vicky I'll get rid of him," he muttered disdainfully. "Maybe I'll throw some change and he'll go fetch it…" Chris walked out the door, shaking his head.
"Do you have the money or what?" Victoria asked impatiently. Harry snapped back to reality. "Uh yeah I do," he murmered and fished out the needed amount. "Keep the change," he said and grabbed his bags in a hurry. He didn't want to be in this store any longer than necessary. He just hoped to God that Chris had gotten rid of that man.
No such luck. He had walked a mere five feet from the store when the man stepped in front of him. Harry jumped sending one of his bags flying to the ground. The man had his hand extended and was making raspy breathing noises with his mouth.
"I'm sorry sir, but I don't have any change for you." The man made no sign that he had understood him. He continued to extend his hand forward and inch towards Harry. "Look I don't have anything!" Harry said and made to pick up his fallen bag when then man leapt onto him. Luckily, Quidditch had made his reflexes sharp and Harry threw the man off in mere seconds. He grabbed his bag and broke into a run. He threw a glance back. The hobo was following him and boy could he run. Harry sped up, trying to ignore the fact that he couldn't run all the way to the Dursley's which was a half an hour away on foot. Suddenly he spotted a bus pulling its way out of a bus stop. He jumped in front of it, waving his bags frantically. "Stop!" he yelled. "Please!"
The bus halted and the doors flung open. Harry jumped in and just in time too. The man's hand was inches away from grabbing onto Harry's oversized shirt. Panting heavily, Harry breathed a sigh of relief as the bus put more distance between him and the crazed hobo.
"Was that guy chasing you?" the burly driver asked him in a soft voice that didn't at all match his physique. Harry nodded.
"I'm sorry," he muttered after he had rummaged through his pockets. "I don't have any money. If you could just…" the driver held up a hand to silence him.
"It's alright son. That mental case was chasing you. I'm happy to be of service." Harry flashed him a smile before wearily taking a seat at the back. Something weird was definitely going on. Maybe there was a virus or something going around. It seemed like too much of a coincidence that both Marianne and the hobo had that same pale skin and glazed over pale eyes. Harry shuddered when an image of Uncle Vernon infected popped into his mind. Harry wouldn't be able to throw off his overweight uncle that was for sure.
Maybe it wasn't a virus at all. Maybe this was the work of Voldemort. Harry's face darkened. This was exactly Voldemort's sick idea of fun. Cursing Muggles and making them go loopy. Though it wasn't like any curse Harry had ever seen. Harry nervously glanced out the window half expecting Voldemort's red eyes to be gazing back at him. It made him worried that it was him who had run into both of those people. What if Voldemort was around him at this very moment, waiting for him to get off the bus and ambush him with all those sick people? Harry gripped the cold wand stashed in his right pocket.
He should write to his friends and ask him if they had ever heard of such a curse. Ron's dad worked at the Ministry and Hermione could probably look it up in a book in no time. But there was the problem of his friend's secrecy. He could almost hear Hermione's voice in his head, "Sorry Harry, I can't tell you if such a curse exists. I'm not supposed to. You can figure it out for yourself though! Maybe you can ask that hobo what happened to him…"
Alright so Hermione wouldn't say something as absurd as that but Harry was feeling pretty grouchy towards his friends at the moment. No, there was no sense in telling any of them, not when he was positive the response he would get would be less than enlightening. No, Harry decided firmly, he wasn't going to let his friends know what was going on with him when they were being so secretive. Two could play at that game.
11
"You're late boy," greeted a rough voice when Harry walked in the door. "I expected you back ages ago." Harry checked his watch. He was late by 6 minutes. Yes, that was certainly ages.
"Sorry Uncle Vernon," he muttered as he put the groceries on the counter. "I ran into some people." His fat uncle waddled into the kitchen, his face contorted with anger.
"People?" he hissed. "You mean freaks like yourself?!" Harry looked up from putting the food away.
"No," he stated steadily. He gazed unflinchingly at his uncle's red face. Vernon used to scare him but he was no longer a child. "There were these people out there, looked like they were sick. One of them attacked me." And to his enormous surprise, his uncle stood up straight and his voice returned to normal.
"So you've seen them too eh boy?" Harry stared at him in disbelief and nodded. "Yeah those punks are all over the news. Nutters, running around jumping people. Expect they're part of some sort of cult." Harry was still dumbfounded. Vernon was talking to him as though he wasn't dirt beneath his feet. Maybe the virus had gotten him too. He discreetly checked his eyes. Nope, still small and punchy, not pale in the slightest.
"He looked homeless; the guy who er, jumped me." Vernon let out a derisive snort.
"Letting just about anyone into their little cult then. Just like your school of freaks let you in." He waddled out of the kitchen into the living room and Harry rolled his eyes. Civil conversation over apparently.
"Did they steal any food boy?" Vernon called over. There was a dangerous edge to his voice.
"No they didn't," Harry answered impatiently. Wasn't 12 bags enough proof?
"Looks like you aren't so useless after all then," his uncle said laughing to himself at his joke. Harry peered his head around the wall to where his uncle was sitting watching the news. He decided to take it as a compliment.
11
A few hours later found Harry sitting in his room, cleaning up his beloved Firebolt, a birthday present from Sirius. He desperately wished he could fly again. He hadn't gotten to play Quidditch all last year because of the Triwizard Tournament. Harry shook his head and frowned. He hated thinking about it now. Too many problems had arisen from that friggin' thing.
Suddenly he heard a light tapping at his window. To his astonishment Pig, Ron's owl, was hovering there excitedly. Harry felt delighted. The package Pig was carrying looked big. Maybe his friends had finally come to their senses and had sent him nice long letters of apologies and some explanations. He thrust open the window and Pig landed in a heap on his bed. The tiny owl hooted happily at making a successful delivery. Harry fumbled eagerly with the string around his leg and opened the package in a hurry. What he saw made his stomach clench in disappointment.
It was a package of Mrs. Weasley's famous cooking. Cakes, pies, chicken sandwiches; they were all here. And for once in his life, Harry didn't want it. It just made him angrier with his friends. They thought they could win him over with a couple of treats?
"Boy! Supper!" his uncle's voice shouted at him. Harry looked down at the food in the package, so lovingly prepared, and thought to the looks of disgust and the small portions waiting for him downstairs. And surprising even himself, Harry stood up and threw the food roughly in the trash and went downstairs to a dinner of stale roast beef with people who hated his guts.
If Harry had looked out the window once more he would have met the shock of his life. For the homeless man was now staring up at his house with the same glazed over look, his hand still extended for the change he never received. He had followed Harry home. Except now he was covered in fresh blood.