A/N: This is a three-way crossover between The Walking Dead/Harry Potter/Rainbow 6 Siege. You don't need to have played the game to understand whats going on here, as this is set within TWD universe, and merging aspects making this a crossover with the characters and their past will be elaborated upon to blend the narratives.

Also, if you're looking for a story where Harry jumps in and he's kicking ass without any pre-knowledge, this isn't the one for you friends. Harry will be a scared guy, someone who's barely crossed into the age of adulthood, who's thrust into an entirely foreign situation and a life he could never have imagined, reacting humanly to everything happening. He'll grow into his strength as he continues to garner experience and realises he has to be better.

Not beta'd.

Happy reading!

Harry woke up to the smell of piss and shit and the chill of the hard, stone floor below him.

Once, he would've gagged at the smell, covering his face with the blue-jumpsuit in an attempt to steer clear of the smell. Now, it had lost its effect on him. Waking up to the putrid smell was normal now, as was the pain over the shoulder in which he usually turned onto when he slept. That only made sense - he had been for nine months and had gotten used to the discomfort that came with being here.

'Almost Ten months, now,' He mentally recalled, remembering the day as he stood up with a groan and the cracking of his bones.

The cafeteria was cold that morning and in their usual fashion, all but Axel was asleep.

The older man sat on the benches of one of the round tables, the one closest to the storage door - a can of tuna open on the table, and a bent spoon in his hands.

"Mornin'," Axel greeted Harry as he took a seat, taking a moment to smile at him.

"Morning," he returned, wiping the sleep away from his eyes.

"We're almost outta gas, y'know."

"What am I supposed to do about that?"

Axel raised his hands, "Nothing, just letting ya know."

Except, Harry knew it wasn't just that. They had the food to last many more months, maybe even some years if they rationed their food on time, but half of it would be dangerous to eat if they had no means to cook it, and they would still be here thereafter, starving and breaking. They would have no means to survive then, and it seemed as if they were only enduring for the sake of it now, not to actually survive.

Harry had proposed for them to try and leave their safe harbour once, and Tomas had been quick enough to shut that idea down, citing the monsters that always came grunt and groaning when they messed with the door and its lock. Naturally, to Harrys' trepidation, Andrew had backed Tomas' decision, and both had insisted for them to wait on a rescue that they believed was still coming.

The idea of a rescue had pulled Big Tinys' and Oscars' support, and just like that, Harry had lost the vote, and Axel's support of it had lost meaning.

Harry had been willing to leave alone if they didn't want to leave with him and he had told them as much, but Tomas had pulled the pistol the guard had given them, pointed it at Harry, and said:

"Without that lock, those things will be walking in here. You ain't going anywhere,"

And once more, that had been that.

"Tell Tomas about it, see what our dear leader says."

Axel looked at him strangely but said nothing because there was nothing to say. No doubt they were waking too now from their corners in the room, and no doubt they had all heard what Axel had said, and what Harry had thereafter.

'Though they'll bloody act like they didn't,' They were all very good at ignoring their problems. They had yet to even question the idea of a rescue coming at all, because of the implications that would bring with it.

Harry knew well enough that if a rescue was coming, it would have already come the first week, or at the absolute most, the second week of whatever was happening out there - the police wouldn't have waited too long to save people, even if they were inmates and criminals. Even if they had believed everyone dead, they would have at least cleared the prison of all those monsters.

If they could.

There was a resounding gunshot outside, one that startled them up, and woke those who had been sleeping - or pretending to, at least.

Despite it sounding like it came from the outside, Harry still found his gaze snapping to Tomas, who had already risen from the floor entirely and regarded him back equally.

He shook his head.

They grabbed what they could, pipes, a broken broom and a crowbar. Tomas holstered the gun over the front of his folded jumpsuit, and they all stood - facing the door expectantly. A glimmer of hope and fear resonated within Harry, maybe this was the rescue the others had hoped for, but it all seemed a bit timed, far too late for it to be entirely true. Yet, he still hoped, despite his disbelieving thoughts.

"We shouldn't just stand here," Andrew hushed to them.

Harry didn't know why the man spoke quietly, though he supposed it seemed appropriate.

"You have somewhere else to go?" Tomas inquired as if the idea of going somewhere else was stupid.

"He has a point, Tomas" Harry put in, and it felt strange to him to find himself agreeing with anything Andrew said, "We should go into the kitchens. See how this goes for us. If the door opens, it could be those monsters coming in here."

It'll be easier to deal with them over the smaller door of the kitchen rather than the large doors into the cafeteria.

There was incongruent shouting outside, of men, a woman and the groans of the creatures. That seemed to make the decision for them, and they all ran into the kitchen. Tomas was the first in, and he hid behind the wall, and they all followed his suit, pinning themselves underneath the barred glass panel just as the metallic sound of their lock rustling, cracking, and the door suddenly opened.

There were many of them, their baited breaths filling the cafeteria and the cries of one of them making his injury clear.

"Shut the door!"

Harrys' heart seemed to be in his ears. These were actually people, the first people he's heard that weren't Axel and the others in almost a year. He hadn't seen them, he didn't know if they were rescuers or just survivors of the prison somehow. Yet he was still fearful, scarred of the sort of people they could be.

Harry had spent many nights wondering if what was happening in the prison was happening everywhere else, if they were some of the survivors of the end of the world - despite the idea of their little group of convicts surviving anything seeming entirely wrong. People would be trying to survive out there, scavenging and seeking some sort of refugee.

What would those sorts of people do when they found them and most importantly, their food?

The door closed again, and the monsters outside audibly struggled against it.

"There's only one way to keep him alive," One of them said, his voice carrying an odd authority to it, and suddenly there was a crunching sound,the sound of skin being cut and pierced, so loud and wet that made Harry entirely too uncomfortable, and the image of what likely was happening filled his mind. It was disturbing, and entirely so, and he felt bile climbing up his throat, yet he didn't vomit.

Taking a quick breath, he steeled himself to see, to show himself to these people. He didn't want a confrontation, but he doubted one could be avoided if they were found hiding. They needed to establish a position of equality to better their odds of getting out of this in one piece. Giving these strangers an even more powerful sense of superiority by being found hiding would worsen that.

Still, despite the logic of it all being sound in his mind, he hesitated. Something in mind screamed at him to be careful. And when he raised his hand, he realised it was shaking.

A glass broke somewhere in the kitchen.

Harry stood.

The blood was the first thing that caught his attention, and the cut leg it gushed from - red and spewing, it seemed to be flowing freely from the downed mans' amputated limb, until it was suddenly being enclosed. Harry had seen a lot of the red substance during the ensuing chaos during the riots when he witnessed men being shot in the chest and walking on as if nothing had happened.

It had disgusted him then, and it disgusted him now.

This was the end of the world, he realised.

This time the vomit got past his throat, and he turned away from the bars and his group just as he gagged, spewing out the contents of his stomach, barely hearing Axel say:

"Holy Shit."