Harry Potter X Walking Dead

The day the world ended Harry had been in Georgia. He'd been there on ministry business and was supposed to attend a conference on the recent outbreak of magical illness. Some were calling it a plague. The magical creatures that caught it died within days. But for whatever reason no human deaths had been reported. Instead the witches and wizards infected were losing their magic. Some of the more radical politicians said the muggles and their chemical weapons were to blame. The more logical ones argued that muggles had no knowledge of magic, nor the capabilities to create a weapon that targeted magical beings. A conference was called in the city of Atlanta, Georgia, where the best and brightest witches and wizards would try to find a cure.

Harry never made it to the conference, because on that day magic died.

And the dead walked.

There had been twelve of them in the beginning including him. They made it through the first few days with little incident, aside from the panic and confusion over the dead walking and the loss of their magic. None of them handled losing their magic well. Harry suffered the occasional panic attack when he tried but couldn't feel his magic. It was like realizing he'd lost a limb.

The group quickly learned the dead people were not inferi. Unlike inferi, these creatures were drawn to fire, they attacked and ate the living, and a single bite was all it took to kill a person, and turn them. On the tenth day they lost the first of their group. Supplies had run out. There was no other choice but to try to find more. Harry, an American witch named Cynthia, a mediwizard from Germany, and a rookie Auror he'd brought along with him called Seb, made up their team. Cynthia knew the area best so she took the lead. Harry kept a wary eye out for the Dead. He knew the moment they stepped out into the street that he shouldn't have taken Seb. The kid was a nervous wreck and bloody useless without magic. When the kid tripped, knocking over a shelf of cheap soda, all hell broke loose. The German was lost in the confusion and Seb was bitten. Harry and Cynthia dragged him back to the hotel where the fever burned him out. The group left Atlanta after that, but their luck did not improve.

By the second month Harry was alone.

He woke with the sun filtering through dusty curtains. It was the first time in a while he'd had a real bed and for once his back didn't ache. Cleared the house of what few supplies were left — a few cans, a good size knife, and clean socks. He hesitated at the door, staring out into the Georgian wilderness. Had long had he been doing this? Walking without purpose? In hopes that somehow there was a place untouched by all of this? It occurred to him, not for the first time, that he didn't have to do this. He could stop at any point. Just stop. It would be easy.

So easy...

And yet… that wasn't his way. It never had been his way to give in. Not even when all logic said it was hopeless. Maybe he was just a masochist that way.

Harry slung his bag over his shoulder. Still not knowing why he bothered, he stepped out the door... and was greeted with a crossbow leveled at the side of his head. He blinked, taking a moment to register that the person holding said crossbow was not moaning, covered in blood, and trying to eat him.

"Uhh, hello," Harry said, his voice raspy from disuse. When was the last time he'd actually talked to someone? When Jose died? How long ago had that been?

The man holding the crossbow eyed him. His dark eyes gauging his threat level.

"Drop 'em," he ordered, and Harry slowly lowered his bag and placed his machete and gun on the ground. Crossbow man kicked the gun out of reach. There was a moment of heavy silence as the man stared him down, the crossbow never wavering.

"Soo," Harry said trying to sound off-beat and maybe get the guy to lower his own weapon. "Come here often?"

It seemed to work. Crossbow man let out a gruff almost laugh and pointed the bow up and resting it on his hip. Still, Harry was certain the man would be able to unload an arrow into him if he made a wrong move. "I'm lookin' for someone. A girl. Twelve years old. You seen her?"

Harry was instantly filled with sympathy and dread. He knew what happened to kids left on their own in this nightmare of a world. He'd put a few down himself. "Sorry, haven't seen any kids in a long time. Haven't seen anyone in a long time to be honest."

The man looked him up and down, reevaluating him. Harry did the same. Crossbow man was taller than he was, but not by much. His sweat-stained shirt had no sleeves and showed off his muscled biceps. His dark hair was a mess, but Harry wasn't exactly one to talk. The man looked as rough and travel worn as Harry himself. His choice of weapon was smart. Less noise than a gun but still kept the Dead a safe distance. He was dangerous, certainly, he'd have to be to survive so long, but Harry didn't feel threatened by him.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Do you - uh, do you wanna come with me? There's a whole bunch of us."

The way the man said it made Harry think he wasn't sure he should be bringing in new people. "Will that be alright?"

Crossbow man shrugged. "Yeah, I mean so long as you ain't a psycho murderer or nothin'."

"Er, no, nothing like that. I was actually in law enforcement. I came here on official business when everything happened…" he trailed off awkwardly. Talking about before just didn't feel right.

Crossbow man nodded. "Cop, huh? Rick'll like that. He and Shane were cops too." He held his hand out. "I'm Daryl."

"Harry," he said taking Daryl's hand. "That girl you were looking for?"

"Sophia. She got lost over by the highway a few days ago. Some walkers scared her off."

"Walkers?" Sounded better than The Dead, and they did walk. "Well, this house is empty, but I passed a few down that way. We could check there."

Daryl looked over in the direction Harry pointed. "Alright then."

Harry gathered up his bag and weapons and started walking, this time with purpose.

End.

This is old. Figured I'd share it.