Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead or Harry Potter franchise. This work was inspired by Does It Matter? by 917brat and Through The Shadow of Death, I Rise by Kyukitsune.

Prologue

Have you ever wondered what the end of the world would look like?

I know, I know, it's a morbid question and something we don't generally like to think about. Just bear with me. Have you, even for a moment, pondered the possibilities? One of the big what if's?

I have. More than once if we're being honest, here.

I had a few ideas on the subject some years back when things had seemed pretty dire. Old Moldy Shorts triumphant and sitting on a twisted, tarnished throne inside the former Ministry of Magic while the rest of the Wizarding World was put through a violent, bloody culling. His Death Eaters set loose on Muggle and magical alike while he created his ideal world. A broken, cruel world filled wholly with evil.

I was put through hell to prevent that from happening, tested and manipulated by a man that should have protected me. Protected us. I died to put a stop to that, but I wasn't the only one. My friends, the family that practically adopted me as their own, my school mates, teachers and strangers. . . so much blood and death. Not just that one battle, either, but both wars. The deaths in between that fell between the cracks because the Ministry-the world-didn't want to believe that Moldy Shorts was back.

I miraculously came back to life, discovered a few new things about myself in the process, and then kicked Snake Face's ass. So, that wasn't the end of everything.

Some Muggles also had ideas. Global warming, shortages of food, a meteor. Nope, not yet and definitely not yet.

No one pegged the dead rising and starting a fucking zombie apocalypse, though.

Fucking figures.

I always knew I had the worst luck imaginable. Seven years worth of hell at school tacked on to the previous ten taught me that. Yet, when the war was over and I set myself free from the whole of Wizarding Britain, I thought I would find at least some semblance of peace during my new life in America.

Given my history, I really should've known better.

My name is Victoria Harleen Potter. . .

Ugh, never mind. I hate being called by my full name. I prefer Harley.

Anyway, my quiet life in America lasted exactly a year and a half.

Like I said. Fucking. Figures.

I'm glad to say I have enough luck scraped together that I was already traveling in my customized RV when the world ended since I didn't have a job. I wasn't anywhere heavily populated, which is another point in my favor. It doesn't truly matter either way, whether I was or not.

After I died, I didn't meet with Dumbledore or my parents, like I expected. I met with Death and was enlightened on quite a bit.

I am the Mistress of Death. I cannot be infected with whatever virus caused the dead to rise in the first place, it will make me feel heart burn or indigestion, but I won't turn. I also subconsciously and continuously produce a scent different than anything else living, which effectively repels the walkers.

These two facts are why a search of my current destination Atlanta, while dangerous and stupid for some to try alone, is perfect.

Well, it should have been. I wasn't counting on the complications that would arise while I was in said city.