Taking the Hard Line

Running, he reflected, had been an important part of his life, for a variety of reasons.

The regulation of breathing, setting a pace and the stamina to survive a long jaunt had saved his skin far too many times to count. Ironic that when he was younger, he had been steadfastly running away from danger, only to then willingly run at it. Even more so that despite a literal apocalypse, this had not changed in the least.

Zombies invade - strategic retreat. Gather the nerve, gather supplies, defend against an attack - run straight at it again!

Given how successful the supply run had been, he was probably about due another bout of running his ass of again, come to think about it.

Though, he thought as he nearly tripped over a particularly stubborn tree root and then just barely avoided landing in a patch of thick mud, perhaps concentrating would be better than moaning about it. Killed a hoard of twenty and finally brought down by getting stuck in the mud...

What an ignoble way to go.

There were only four, but it was much easier setting an ambush than fighting on the fly in woodland. He was no bonafide forest ranger, completely at home fighting in the densely packed trees like a miniature Rambo - would never even dream of claiming it. Steep banks, unpredictable roots, branches out to whip you and he had been missing the sure grip of anything not mud for a while now. As much as he could and would fight in it, Atlanta had been a breath of decaying scented, Shambler ridden, metaphorically fresh air.

God's bless pavements.

He took a moment to nock and draw, steadying his breath behind the broad expanse of a tree. Instinct had him firing almost as soon as he had a sure target. By the time the arrow thudded home, he was already moving again.

That clearing had to be somewhere nearby. It wasn't like the bloody trees were going to uproot themselves.

Well, as much as he liked running, this was starting to grate now.

Still, there was a good point, despite having to vault over logs with a great deal of pointy ends sticking up at just the wrong angle for a landing. The sheer amount of climbable cover, even if there was a lack of reasonable clearings in which to fight. The thought was echoed by something he thought might be a red oak, with branches just high enough to be safe but reachable. He had just succeeded in that endeavour - apparently the log of Pain should you Fuck up had confused them a little, a bonus given his strong desire not to find out firsthand how a dead body's digestive functions still worked - when a black blur landed on the foremost petite Runner, and used it as a springboard.

The approach was fast enough he instinctively ducked, the shot on the second runner forgotten, and when he looked over Harry's mood plummeted.

Because sat opposite was a lunatic with a glasglow grin, the demented lovechild of the cheshire cat and a sallow-skinned, very hungry cannibal. If Golem had an older brother built like a brick shit-house and claws the size of steak knives, John could have been it to a T when he let his true form loose a little.

"Well, you're in fine form tonight." He noted drily, not even vaguely disturbed as the grin impossibly widened.

"Corrpsess to maim, and no one to say I killed unlike a mann." Did he mention the dark hiss? Whitenoise had nothing on that. "May I, anatha?"

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, before shrugging and reaching for his dagger.

"May as well."

Because if he didn't, Harry wasn't going to hear the end of it for a week.

-Line break -

"What the fuck was that?!"

Shane apparently needed to remember manners, his inside voice and the fact that Rick looked like he wanted a piece of the action as well.

"That-" He started a little acerbically."Was me distracting unwanted guests. What, did you think I attracted them?" He glared at Shane, and by extension Rick in his shadow. Both had discussed and voted to not move on, something about up here being safer. Laughable.

Shane looked like he was trying to swallow a lemon, no doubt his and the Dixon's warnings for the last few weeks replaying like a bad record. their apparently reinstated leader duckling just looked shocked. Though that could have been because both he and John looked like they'd taken a bath, eau de Shambler.

"Now hang on, ya'll." Rick interjected, clearly going to sooth the argument. "We ain't here to accuse, believe me."

A condescending eyebrow rose of it's own accord, and with it the ducklings spine seemed to shrink.

"I'll be leaving in two days." He announced to the camp. "That there? That's this camp being too open, too noisy and too bloody obvious. What Camp Caper does is up to you."

It took a second to spin on his heel, less than a minute to get back to his own little section. The aghast resident idiots were thoroughly ignored.

"Freedom, brother?" John teased as they packed up the tent, an anticipatory edge so strong that it prompted a dark look from Harry.

"Don't you dare expect me to celebrate this." He growled - only half startled when it emerged an actual growl. "There is no joy in leaving younglings to die by their parents stupidity."

John was a creature: didn't think like a man, didn't relate to humans. He'd actually been surprised humans had been off the menu: he'd known, and hunted, werewolves with less respect for their former species... Wolfsbane or no. But every species procreated - even if the process being understandable to others was more pot luck - and there was a generally universal instinct to protect young. From the fading grin and serious glare, he'd succeeded in bringing home the price of their little jaunt to freedom of movement and safety.

"Take them from the Authrin then, if they refuse to learn. Safeguard the young, teach them to survive without the adults teaching them wrong."

And apparently... that had been the wrong button to push to breed empathy. More depressing, he couldn't really find a fault in it, except morally: from a purely practical point of view, the creature made sense. The parents wouldn't learn, refused to shift to a safe location and rejected any helping hand to boot. Lori? Think about anything other than getting frisky with Shane and keeping Carl on lock down? Not something he'd seen in all the months with them. The woman refused to learn combat of any kind, had the tactical thinking of a brain damaged snail and would happily skip off into the woods rather than safeguard her child. Carol was too much under her abusive husband's thumb to go against anything he said, and the less said of Ed the better.

Every parent - Rick included - had vetoed teaching the kids how to fight someone bigger than they were, human or walker, under the impression that they would be safe at camp at all times. They wouldn't even let him teach what few survival tricks he knew; such as direction finding, trail marking, tracking, traps, what constituted safe eating and didn't, safe resting spots... Let the kids have a childhood, was what Rick had ended the discussion with.

Shane had, shockingly, been the only voice of reason out of eight survivors.

If one of those kids ever got lost, and an adult couldn't get to them in time... They were thoroughly fucked.

Still, practical or no, the suggestion wasn't right for this situation. Well, maybe Sophia's was different, he thought darkly.

More frightening, he knew this was no throwaway comment. If he indicated any kind of agreement or permission, the Dark Sprite would do it...

"That's... Not how it works with us, John." He started carefully. He had no idea what John was, and Mione had drawn a blank in the research of it so far. As far as culturally, he knew precisely nothing about the other, other than a need for a pack structure. He started talking after a breath. "We keep separate Dens with young, only meeting other adults rather than being raised by all the pack's caregiver." No sudden murderous look, nothing except a serious contemplation. Hopefully, this was the right tack. "The kids aren't raised communally, not instinctively at least, and the parents have a right to teach them how they see fit without anyone else having the right to interfere."

"Even if they hurt their own Blood?" Even by just being ignorant, unsaid but loud and clear.

"Sometimes they are taken, if it's done wilfully and with the intention to harm. It's... wrong, unnatural for us to take young from their birth-parents. It's... Breaking the pack up, and we tend to have very close, small packs that we value highly. But it can sometimes happen." He struggled to find the right words. How to explain cultural morals? "Ignorance is not seen as a good enough reason to do it unless it's seen to cause harm."

And he would never part a child from their parents, if he could help it. Far, far too many years without his own.

The little girl, though, was a different matter. Ed needed to be out of the picture or have an attitude adjustment, as soon as.

There was a long moment of silence, during which dark eyes drilled a hole into his head.

"...Your people are stupid."

Bleakly, he couldn't help but agree.

Sometimes being right in a situation, and a good person were mutually exclusive goals. He could only hope that he wasn't pushed so far that he needed to do the right thing over the morally sound one.

With this group, though...

Fuck, he was going to be a silverfox before his time.

-Line break -

A thud announced a new arrival.

He didn't look up from his fletching, didn't really need to: even in the apocalypse the man seemed to be able to find cologne that smelled strongly of deer musk. Ironically fitting, if perhaps not the best plan.

Clearly uncomfortably seated on a rocky part of the bank, a brick wall emoted more than Shane did at that moment.

"Where you goin'?"

"New York. Few stops along the way." May as well start looking for communities as he went, the intention hadn't exactly been forgotten... More put aside for now. But if he had to cut ties, if they weren't going to listen and try to indirectly kill him in the process...

On the bright side, away from a group of Muggles he couldn't use magic around for fear of attracting a hoard on their heads, and then attracting a bigger one killing them off if he used magic again - one the group would move too slow to avoid - travel would go much, much smoother.

"Long way to go. You sure your up to it?"

He looked up in surprise, wrapping up the last fletching and setting the new arrows down to dry.

"What? No pressure to be your little clockwork soldier, defender of the weak and innocent?" Perhaps goading wasn't the most mature response, but he was getting sick of it.

"Nah, man. That's more Rick's thing." Shane dismissed. "I get where you're coming from. They ain't shaping up and they're bein' stupid... Everything I've been doin' for em is being unravelled as we speak." And that wasn't a little bitter, at all. "If it weren't for Lori and Carl..."

"Kid's always are hard to leave behind." He noted, then had to clear his throat a little, even as he prodded the fire.

"You're doin' it though." Shane noted, and surprisingly without a shade of judgement or disapproval. Harry watched the dancing flames, contemplating. He was ready to, at least. He'd tried, Merlin he had, but this group were intent on shooting themselves in the foot and making themselves Shambler food in the process. If they wouldn't even shift on educating children how to survive, what luck would they have learning how to kill for survival? To believe that people could be more ruthless than any undead? That sometimes, for the sake of those children, they'd have to be just as ruthless back.

As much as Shane was an arsehole, unequivocally so, the man often had the right idea. Even if his execution needed a little less in your face aggression and more moderation, in most cases.

"Don't want to. Kid's shouldn't be left for... How did you say it?" He recalled. "Walker bait, because their parents are too set on denying the danger to train them to fight it. But you forget, Officer Eastwood-" He smiled as a small grin quirked at the man's mouth. "I've got more riding on me than this group. Now my folks are fine, will be for a while, but that doesn't mean I should dally around playing kindergarden teacher for people who should know better."

"Rick'll-"

"Procrastinate some more, for a little while, if he doesn't get a push." He interrupted. "Has he even mentioned retrieving the weapons bag he dropped yet?"

A shake of the head.

He rose, throwing the woods a sharp glance before looking at the blank spot that used to be his camp but resembled a leaf shelter, bedroll and fire. Temporary.

"If you'll excuse me though, I've got provisions to gather."

And a heart to numb. Because if he was going to leave, he was going to have to cut that care off before he did.

REVIEW REPLIES -

That was a great deal many more reviews than I was expecting in a day... Thanks to all.

Harry and magic - Magical residue has already proven to attract magically effected Zombies. If he uses magic, attracts a hoard, and then uses magic again - which would be incredibly effective, granted, as you rightly point out he uses mainly battlemagic and offensive/defensive capabilities - he'll only attract bigger, and bigger hoards or herds. The only way to keep using magic with a high output, or to wear inherently magical items with similar, is to keep moving, and fast. Apparation? That would definitely be High Output, both at the starting location and destination. The group are not capable of hoofing it that fast, that constantly, and have yet to even grow survival skills, let alone common sense. So why would he risk it?

He isn't using low-key magic that much because at this moment it's not necessary, the group are a close minded bunch and Americans are usually stereotyped as religious Zealots (Sorry, but an awful lot of the news in the UK regarding Americans is politics related or covering some of the more...Unsavoury aspects of ecclesiastical religions, or shootings. Media is definitely biased too. I imagine more so for Magicals. Witch hunts, anyone?) and he doesn't know just how sensitive magically inclined Shamblers are. He doesn't judge a book by it's cover, but he has been mostly active in an insular, bigoted community who have a high cultural bias in almost every aspect against muggles... While he tries not to, some of this would have inevitably seeped in. Add to that he's fought in Skirmishes in the first blood War, and then an actual War (albeit small scale) in this one as events repeat, and you understand that he's a Soldier. Not a general, not a leader: he is not OP as fuck and all-knowing because he became a weapon, willingly, and a weapon doesn't need to know the logistics if they trust their team and commanding officer to get them there. He was part of a unit, as such his knowledge and instincts are biased towards those actions. As an Unspeakable, most of his time has been subsumed by magical phenomena and the Veil - even Mione can only do so much on her own.

Why would he need a portkey? As a soldier, he had that provided. As an unspeakable, transport was again provided... Or of an unusual nature that a portkey would not have saved him from.

But weapon or no, he has still retained the strong morals and will... He follows or champions a cause when he feels it is worth following. Acts on what he feels is right. Irrespective of how dark or gritty he's become as a result of his past and Unspeakable job, he is still Harry, and given free agency will usually choose "Right over easy". As you can see above though, even he has a breaking point.

The magical world - This is not his dimension. Not his home, not his people. He cares, he fought, but a great deal of his emotional connections remain to be in his home dimension, if seen through Rose tinted glasses. He lives to find a way home, and at the moment, the apocalypse has thrown one hell of a wrench in achieving that, even if he was back home. If he seems listless and careless... He is. What is he fighting for, here? To be ripped from this world again? Harry may or may not be still grieving the loss of his home and his family, and yes, he is a cold bastard at points because of it.

Harry is not perfect, flawless. He is human and hurting, and just as prone to procrastination as anyone else. Especially if he won't like the result.

Half the fun is the unknown - Why paint the whole picture clearly, when something that makes people think about the characters, story and plot - question motivations and capture imagination - manages to actually start a debate? It also seems to make no sense to present the reader with knowledge harry himself doesn't have, or refuses to let himself see, when this is from his POV?

The best thing about books is that it leaves the reader to interpret the situation, characters and context - to imagine a world as presented to them, through the character's perspective. It's up to you guys to decide how you view it, and thats the beauty of it. Three people could read the same sentence and facial cues, and come to a different conclusion than harry. And to my thinking that's not a bad thing.

Finally, thanks - I know it's slow updates and I know that some people are probably champing a bit for the next chapter as soon as, and for that you guys definitely have my appreciation. Also, thank you for questions! It's pleasant to see people actually thinking about what makes the story tick, critiquing rather than trolling. Hope for the literary future restored!