Octavia awoke sharply at the crack of dawn, jolting upright into the sitting position in the bed. Her eyes scanned the room she was in, her hand grasping for her weapons. A snore caught her attention. She turned and looked beside her. Hermione. Her sister.

Octavia rubbed her hands over her face as she sighed in relief. She had forgotten for a moment where she was. Forgotten that she had found her sister and joined a new group.

Octavia climbed out of the bed quietly, slipping on her white maxi dress before exiting the tent. The camp was quiet, only a few guards appeared to be awake. She stretched after shoving on her combat boots, deciding to take a walk in the woodlands to kill time. It was very early and breakfast wasn't for a few hours, so she assumed nobody would wake for a while. Strolling over to the inventory trucks, Octavia tried to calm herself somewhat. Waking in a strange place had definitely unnerved her, and she was struggling with being around people again. A walk in the woodlands would help her relax, allowing her to feel a sense of familiarity. The camp was a safe place, but she didn't feel ... right. She didn't feel comfortable within the boundaries. Hardly surprising though when you spent the better part of six years wandering from place to place, completely free but alone.

As she approached the moody guard leaning against the truck she forced an unfamiliar polite smile.

"I need a gun, please," she smiled. "Or a knife if you don't have any firearms."

"Why?" The man grumbled, eyeing her suspiciously.

"To go into the woods," she tilted her head toward the neighbouring trees.

"You got permission?" The man grumbled again, his eyes tired and uninterested.

"Permission?" She frowned at him. "To go into the woods? Or get a weapon?"

"Both," he rolled his eyes. "You need permission."

"From who?"

"General Malfoy," he groaned, bored of her presence already.

"Oh," she furrowed her brows. "Ok, well where is he?"

The man smirked inclining his head toward a nearby tent. The tent was black, flanked by five similar tents. But she knew which one the man meant. It was the one that a disheveled woman climbed out of in her underwear, clutching her clothes to her chest, scurrying out quickly. The woman glanced around, obviously hoping to go unnoticed. She blushed as she met Octavia's eyes before turning and fleeing to the smaller tents at the other end of camp.

Octavia frowned as she eyed the black tents, obviously grander than the others. Closest to the supplies and vehicles.

"Should I wait?" Octavia asked hesitantly, not sure if the crack of dawn was an appropriate time to barge in on the leader. But he was probably awake, she assumed. It appeared he kicked the woman out of his tent, so Octavia predicted that he wasn't asleep.

"There's a list in the recreation tent," the gruff man spoke. "You put your name on it and the reason you wish to meet with him. If he grants the meeting, the time will appear next to your name."

"When do I find out if he permits the meeting?" She frowned.

"Whenever he checks his copy of the paper," the man shrugged.

"Oh," Octavia scrunched her nose. "Thanks."

She sighed as she walked over to tent she believed to be the recreation room. Hermione had pointed it out last night, but in all honesty, Octavia had barely been paying attention. Her focus was on the intense and threatening eyes of 'General Malfoy'. Octavia scoffed. More like General Fuckwit. His regime was entirely elitist, magical folk definitely at the top. And having to go on a waiting list just to get a few minutes with the guy was ridiculous. That's if he even permitted the meeting after considering your reasons. Outrageous. It was ridiculous.

If Hermione wasn't here, Octavia would stay under she recovered fully, regaining her strength for a few days. Then leave. She would much rather be out there on her own again than stuck in some fascist group trying to rebuild the world in General Fuckwit's image. But Hermione was here. So she would play along … for now.

Entering the Recreation Room, Octavia scanned the walls swiftly, searching for the waiting list. And she groaned when she spotted it. Marching over to the waiting list, she furrowed her brows in annoyance. It was huge. So many people had written their names and their reasons on the list, some several times over! She pouted as she grabbed the nearby pencil, scribbling her name and reason ('weapons') on the paper. Her handwriting was always terrible but after so many years of not practicing it, her words were barely decipherable. But whatever, he would figure it out. She tossed the pencil back onto the table, her eyes scanning the entries on the waiting list. Not one of them had a time next to their name. Odd. Mind you, the Vipers only just returned from a mission apparently, and some of the listed reasons were laughable. 'Amount of marshmallows with hot chocolate needs to be increased', 'muggles keep hoarding the guitar around the campfire', 'cosmetics need to be added to the runner's lists.'

Octavia scoffed as she read the reasons, some were just downright ridiculous. Perhaps General Fuckwit had the system in place for a reason. So he wouldn't spend his time entertaining silly requests and complaints, rather utilising it to keep the group safe and venture onto dangerous missions every other day. Maybe she had been a little too judgemental. But that was hardly her fault, she thought. Considering she hadn't been around people in so long, she found it difficult to read them. She struggled to understand them, their body language. It was almost like joining a camp of aliens, she mused. She felt very out of place.

Oh. Octavia tilted her head as she watched ink appear on the paper. A time, next to her name! 5:15 AM. Octavia frowned at the ink, before glancing at her watch. It was now.

She grunted before turning and sprinting out of the recreation room, headed straight for the black tents. She wasn't sure how much time he would give her, so she had to hurry. As much as his system might benefit and serve him, Octavia still wasn't a fan. Her previous groups had not been like this. They were open and everyone was equal. There was no real leader as such, but there were a few outspoken people. She missed those groups. Especially the first one. That one was her favourite. The one where she met him. Nyle.


Octavia held her head high as she entered the tent, drawing on the scraps of courage she had around this man. Not much, that was for sure. Octavia would never consider herself to be a brave person, like her sister, but she was strong now. The end of the world did that to you. Was it strength though? Or a semblance of it? Something false that she manifested within herself to cope? Who knows!

"You don't knock," came a cold drawl from the far end of the tent.

The tent was like Hermione's only larger. A magical tent, huge and grand on the inside, small and compact on the outside. This particular tent featured a large four-poster bed, a desk, a bookshelf full of ancient literature and a sitting area. Pretty extravagant for the end of the world, she mused bitterly.

"Sorry," she mumbled, approaching the desk he sat at, reclining in his chair. "I find knocking on fabric a little difficult."

She was sure she muttered the last part too quietly for him to hear, but his eyes darkened. His molten grey eyes on her. Cold and calculating. Observing her. She felt like his prey. She had annoyed him, she knew it instantly.

"My time is precious," he drawled, eyeing her coolly.

She got the hint.

"Well," Octavia sighed, standing before the desk awkwardly. "I just want to get my weapons back. Or maybe just a knife or something."

"Why?" General Fuckwit asked tersely, his cold voice unnerving her more.

"So I can … have a weapon," she shrugged lamely. "I want to go out into the woods sometimes. I need a weapon in case … walkers."

"No." He clipped, his cold eyes boring into hers.

"No?" She frowned at him, her eyes alight with anger and apprehension.

"That is my answer," he drawled. "You are not to journey outside of the camp boundaries."

"I came here with weapons," she asserted, trying to keep her voice steady and confident. "I want them back."

"You did not come here with weapons," he drawled, looking rather bored. Or he would look bored if it weren't for his intense stare. "You surrendered your weapons to us prior to your entrance to the camp."

"Well, I want them back now." She frowned at him. This was just so ridiculous. "I can return them when I come back from the woods."

She tried to compromise, but it appeared to be futile. His eyes only darkened further, his jaw clenched somewhat.

"My word is final." He snapped. "You are not granted permission to carry weapons, nor are you permitted to exit the borders of the camp."

"You can't be serious," she hissed at him, her eyes aflame.

"I am quite serious," he responded coolly as he rose from his chair.

She glared at him as he grabbed her bag from beneath his desk, tossing it at her. She caught it barely, fumbling with it. Scowling, she zipped open her back, checking the contents. Her locket and her photograph with Nyle.

Nyle …

Her jaw clenched as she zipped it closed again, her hazel eyes meeting his grey orbs.

"Where's the rest?" She asked rudely. "There was a tarp, rope and flashlight."

"You will no longer require those items," he drawled, waving his hand to indicate the meeting was over as she slung her bag over her shoulder.

"What if something happens?" She raised her eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest.

"The camp is safe, I assure you."

"They always say that," she spat, narrowing her eyes at him bravely. Or foolishly. It could be either one, really. "Until the dead come and destroy everything."

"In the unlikely event of an attack, you will be escorted to safety with the rest of the survivors," he drawled, his tone bored. "This meeting is adjourned."

She glowered at him but his intense, dangerous gaze did not falter. Clenching her jaw, she turned and stormed out of the tent, making a show of her annoyance with huffs and heavy steps. His eyes watching her go.


Octavia sat on the desk in the research room, watching her sister pour over a pile of large books filled with odd symbols.

"And then he said," Octavia seethed, her face flushed with anger, "his word is 'final' like he's my fucking dad or something. Wanker."

Hermione scoffed in response, her eyes still fixed on the odd symbols.

"He's a bit like that," Hermione shrugged. "Best not to get on his bad side, O."

Octavia frowned. She hated when people called her 'O'. It wasn't her name.

"Whatever," Octavia narrowed her eyes. "I just want a knife or something. It's not a ridiculous request."

Octavia's eyes flickered to the blonde girl in the corner as she sighed. Astoria, she thought. She was sure that was her name. Astoria Blueberry or something equally as stupid.

"To provide a newcomer with weapons is," Astoria paused, searching for the right word, smiling at Octavia before finishing her sentence. "Ridiculous, as you put it."

Octavia glared at the girl, knowing instantly she didn't like her. Bitch. But she bit her tongue, noticing the man with the hooked nose glowering at her as he tried to read. Snape, was it? Whatever. He was annoyed with her. Obviously she was distracting them from their work. But she didn't have anything else to do. She wasn't assigned any job yet, given it was only her second day in the camp.

But it was obvious she was not welcome by two of the occupants, and her sister seemed to be interested in her work.

Sighing, she jumped off the desk before strolling to the exit.

"Where are you going?" Hermione called after her.

"Exploring the camp," Octavia shrugged, continuing to walk away. "I'll come back later."

Octavia chewed her bottom lip as she exited the tent, the camp bustling with energy and people. All going about their day's work. All with stuff to do. Everyone but her. She strolled around for a while, visiting the recreation room a few times. But it was only filled with children. About five or so. Boring. She didn't like kids too much. A huge liability in times like these.

She decided to venture down to the quarry, knowing it was within the borders of the camp and guarded at all times.

Climbing down the slope, Octavia grunted as she jumped the last metre, landing on the boulders like a cat. Perfectly. Her agility was incredible. That combined with her stealth is what allowed to her survive for so long. Especially in the times she was alone. She hid and sneaked around, avoiding the dead like a plague. For they were a plague. A walking plague that ruined everything.

Octavia sat on one of the boulders, watching people splash in the water merrily. Idiots. They felt too safe. The walkers would come and kill them. It was always the happy ones that died first. They weren't careful.

But it didn't matter, really. Everyone died eventually. They all would. Even she would. In time. Perhaps soon, you never know. Perhaps she should make more of an effort with the people around camp, she mused. She could die any day now.

Did she really want to spend her remaining days on this earth being an outcast? No. But she tried to interact before. In the research tent. Only to end up annoying two members of the camp. High ranking members, unfortunately. But it was difficult for her. It had been so long since she interacted with anyone and she just didn't know what to say. So she said what came to her mind, if she spoke at all. She didn't feel comfortable here. She felt out of place. Like a human walking among aliens. Foreign.

The others would watch her warily, residents of the camp clearly curious and cautious. It was to be expected, really. She was new. A stranger. Walking among them. But it didn't do her any favours. It made her feel worse. It made it harder to make an effort. More difficult to talk to people. Knowing they were uneasy around her. Eyeing her suspiciously. As though she presented some threat to their tranquil lives. The delusional bubbles they resided in.

But she wasn't the real threat. No. The dead were. Not her. But they didn't see that. They only saw a stranger. And she was that stranger.

The outcast.