Back in the SUV, a few minutes passed in silence before Glenn spoke. Harry had kept glancing at Sirius, not entirely reassured when Sirius finally noticed his godson's concerned looks and returned them with a halfhearted smile.

"Okay…so…" Glenn eventually said. He sounded as if he was simply beginning a job interview. "We ask everyone a set of questions before bringing them back to our camp. The first thing we need to know is how many walkers you've killed?"

Harry raised a brow at Sirius, who looked back at him with equal bewilderment. "Er…walkers?"

"Yeah, you know…geeks, biters, infected…whatever term you prefer for them."

Harry could only assume Glenn meant the Inferius, if that was indeed what the living corpse had been. And if that was the case, then the Inferi had become prevalent enough that Muggles were used to encountering them, which made Harry wonder why the American magical government didn't seem more involved. These two men were undoubtedly Muggles, and if they were as practiced in dealing with Inferi as they seemed, then something must be askew if no one was modifying their memories. Was this something of Voldemort's doing, or had something else happened when Harry and Sirius went through the veil?

"Several," Sirius nodded, casting a subtle wink at Harry. "Not sure of the actual number, really."

"Yeah, who is?" Glenn replied. "The only person I'd imagine still keeping count at this point is Daryl, but that's just because killing walkers is almost like a sport for him…Okay…more importantly, how many people have you killed?"

Harry shook his head and said, "None," but he was surprised to see Sirius turn so…somber. His gray eyes had grown distant and were staring at the back of Glenn's seat without actually seeing it. He supposed Sirius could have killed a few Death Eaters during his first time in the Order, but that would have been in self-defense, and it wasn't something Harry thought Sirius would be ashamed of.

Then, with a sharp pang of sadness, Harry realized who Sirius was thinking of, recalling the first time he'd met his godfather, back to when he'd believed him to be a murderer. Harry had shouted that Sirius had killed his parents and Sirius had said that he didn't deny doing so, but that was because his idea to switch secret keepers from himself to Peter Pettigrew had resulted in Harry's parents' deaths, not because Sirius himself had actually killed them.

"A couple," Sirius muttered.

Harry reached a hand toward his godfather without touching him. "Sirius…"

He looked toward the front of the car and noticed Glenn's brow crease in the rearview mirror before responding, "Why?"

"Because…I…I was a fool," Sirius said. "I was a bloody fool…"

Glenn didn't say anything, but Harry felt a tension in the vehicle that he hadn't before. He frowned at Sirius, who was lost in his own thoughts, watching the fields pass them from the car window, his injured hand trembling, though not seeming to catch his attention. Harry scooted to the edge of the seat and leaned over the console so that he was almost next to Glenn.

Quietly, Harry explained, "He…he blames himself for deaths that weren't his fault. He tried to keep people like my parents alive, only for his plans to backfire. So, in his mind, he's as good as killed them."

Glenn's jaw visibly tightened and the rest of his face softened. Nodding, he said, "Yeah…I get that…"

And Harry could tell that they weren't just words, but that Glenn really did seem to get it. He mimicked Glenn's nod and slid back into his seat, wondering even more about what was going on here if Muggles had become so hardened by magical creatures.

Some fifteen minutes later, the vehicle passed through the gates of what Harry recognized to be a Muggle prison. He sat up, quite literally on the edge of his seat, as panic began to set in. Glenn had said they were taking them to a "camp," but Harry now wondered if the word meant entirely different things to each of them. By the looks of it, he and Sirius were about to be locked up, and even if it was a temporary situation set up as a precaution, Harry dreaded the idea of Sirius being put in another cell. He knew his godfather was strong, but after his time in Azkaban and then being stuck in his childhood home, another period of imprisonment could understandably send Sirius to the brink.

He looked over at his godfather for a reaction, only to be taken aback by a mirthless smirk on Sirius' face. "Well I'll be a hippogriff's uncle."

Harry leaned back over the console. "Glenn, listen…we really aren't in a state to be locked up. Can't you er…can't you just let us go?"

Glenn threw a quick frown over his shoulder. "We won't lock you up, not unless you try to hurt anyone…" The car rolled to a stop inside a courtyard before Glenn put the vehicle in park and shut off the engine, grinning. "Home sweet home…"

Daryl was quick to hop off his bike and head toward the prison courtyard, his strides swift and gaze unblinking. He growled to himself when he saw Glenn smiling and talking animatedly as he led the strangers from the SUV to their home. He only diverted his watchful stare when Rick, Carl, and Hershel approached. He hurried toward them, cutting off the boy and the injured man he was supporting with a glare and a grunt.

Rick's eyes roamed behind Daryl to land on the strangers with a mild curiosity. He opened his mouth, but Daryl spoke before his friend could.

"We got a problem."

Rick looked back at Daryl and furrowed his brow, holding his gaze. He glanced at the newcomers once more before returning his focus to Daryl. Keeping his voice low, he said, "Are these hostages or recruits?"

Daryl scratched the back of his head. "I haven't decided yet."

Rick licked his lips and leaned slightly closer to Daryl, tilting his head. "Looks like Glenn thinks they're friends."

Daryl turned to see Glenn grinning and chatting, standing between the strange man and boy, gesturing to different parts of the prison.

"Did they try to hurt you guys?" Rick continued.

Daryl faced Rick again, folding his arms in front of his chest and hugging himself for a moment. Then, he pulled the sticks he'd confiscated from under his vest and held them out. "Look at these. The markings, the wood…"

Rick took the sticks and brought them closer to his eyes, turning them over a few times before looking at Daryl again, his eyebrows popping up. "What am I supposed to be seeing here, Daryl?"

"They had these sticks, man. They were…using them, like weapons. But they ain't just some sticks found in the forest. They're crafted. Look…this one's…" Daryl squinted. "Think this one's from a holly tree. There was work and decision put into these things. Each of those guys had one. The man—he...he shot fire out of his…at a walker. And when they saw me, they both pointed these at me. Like…like they were about to shoot something at me too."

Rick's mouth was gaping slightly. He didn't say anything, only staring at his friend.

"I know how it sounds!" Daryl snapped. "But I know what I saw. I ain't saying these guys are out to hurt us. But I am saying there's something screwy about them. We oughtta be careful."

Rick looked at the sticks for a bit, then back at Daryl, then at the sticks again, and then at the newcomers, who had just been approached by Carl and Hershel. He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed, meeting Daryl's gaze again. "Did you ask them the questions?"

"Glenn said he was gonna."

He nodded. "Just…keep on your toes for now, all right? We'll get this figured out." Rick handed the sticks back to Daryl, clapped a hand on his shoulder, and walked past him.

Daryl turned and watched as Rick strode up to the small cluster of people. The man with one of Daryl's arrows in his hand (Daryl smirked) was leaning his back against the fence, barely involved in the conversation. Glenn was nodding and speaking with the teenager as Carl and Hershel watched and listened to them both with interest.

"How you doing? I'm Rick Grimes." Rick held out his hand, which the teenager shook after a brief moment's hesitation. He then made to do the same for the boy's guardian, but stopped himself upon getting closer. "Jesus, did Daryl do that?"

"Daryl got a little…overenthusiastic," Glenn supplied.

"Why don't you follow me, son, and I'll patch that up for you?" said Hershel.

Rick held up a hand. "Just a moment. Glenn, did you ask them the questions?"

"Yeah. Yeah, they passed. Killed a lot of walkers, not a lot of people."

"All right. Sir, what's your name?" Rick asked, ducking his head slightly to catch the wounded man's attention.

"It's Sirius," the man replied, his voice hoarse.

"I realize it's serious, but Hershel's fixed worse. I just wanted to get your name before you head off with him."

A shadow of what Daryl could only read as amusement passed over the man's face, but it was gone before he could question it.

"No, I meant…that's my name…Sirius. S-I-R-I-U-S."

Rick was silent for a moment before offering an uncomfortable, "Oh…"

But Hershel smiled. "You were named after a star. The dog star…"

The man, Sirius, nodded, his eyes fluttering slightly as if becoming too difficult to keep open.

"Right, well follow me, dog star, and I'll see what I can do for your hand."

Nodding with relief, Sirius slowly pushed himself away from the fence. He held his maimed hand against his ribs, but reached for his companion with the other hand, gently urging him ahead of him. Daryl watched as Rick and Carl followed Hershel and the newcomers inside.

"They seem cool," said Glenn. Daryl only grunted. "Really. I know we don't fully understand their story yet, but they honestly just seemed like two guys trying to keep each other safe. Harry, the kid, mentioned his parents are dead. Sounds like Sirius knew them and is protecting him on their behalf. Actually, so far, Sirius kind of reminds me of you."

Daryl's eyes snapped to Glenn, who shrugged unapologetically. Then Daryl huffed and stalked away.

Sometime later, Sirius sat on a bed inside one of the cells, tired and lightheaded, but refusing to remove his gaze from the cell door, which was open and unattended. His hand was now thickly wrapped in gauze and bandages, to the point of being nearly useless, as he could scarcely move his fingers. The arrow had been carefully removed, though it had been a somewhat arduous process. Sirius had passed out a couple of times, only to awaken and resent not having his wand to ease the entire situation. A bottle of water, a granola bar, and some Muggle painkillers were on the floor beside him. The older man, Hershel, who Sirius noted was missing a leg, had advised Sirius to eat, drink, and take two of the pills—he hadn't touched any of it. What Sirius wanted most right now was to lie back and sleep, but he had put the pillow against the wall by the head of the bed and leaned his back against it, sitting upright instead.

Hershel and Rick had explained that they'd made this prison their home, using the cells as bedrooms for people to occupy and leave at their leisure. They had stressed to Sirius that he wasn't being detained, trying to prove so by telling Harry he was free to explore the building. The other boy, Carl, had offered to show Harry around, and Harry had looked interested to do so, but declined until Sirius insisted he take up the offer, asserting that he was fine and didn't need his godson to babysit him. Harry had finally left, and so had Hershel and Rick, who told Sirius to get some rest.

They hadn't shut or locked the door. There was a steady flow of mundane noise echoing beyond the cell…casual chatter and movement. No one peered their head in to check on him. No one stood guard outside.

But Sirius did not want to risk closing his eyes only to open them and find that door shut and locked. Even without Dementors, the very thought of being locked in a cell again rattled Sirius to his very core. He didn't feel strong enough to apparate, and really wasn't sure if he could after falling through the veil. Even if he did have his wand on him, it wasn't something he wanted to try yet with so many of the Muggles around, as he worried about Harry getting attacked for it. So if apparating wasn't an option, then getting locked up certainly wasn't either.

His eyes, though…they were beginning to slip shut for seconds at a time. Sirius was stubborn, but he wasn't foolish enough to think he could overcome the urge to sleep, not while injured like this. He stood, unsteady, and dragged the pillow and blanket out of the cell, black spots dotting his vision. Looking around the balcony pathway that held the second level of cells in the block, with nearby access to the stairs down to the main floor, Sirius found himself satisfied. He practically collapsed onto the blanket and was asleep within two minutes.

Carl and Harry were walking to the pig pen. It was the last place Carl could think of to show Harry, even though the likelihood of Harry ever having to handle the pigs was slim. The pigs were a project for which Carl was largely responsible, though Rick and Hershel still supervised and handled the actual butchering. It was Carl's job to raise and care for them until they were ready to be eaten. Sometimes, he hated it, but he understood why his father wanted him to do it, and he did his job with minimal complaint. Right now, he was only taking Harry over to see the pigs for something else to do as they neared the end of the "tour."

So far, Carl was liking Harry, even if the latter hadn't actually said much of anything revealing. Harry was a little older, reserved but polite, and something about the way he carried himself told Carl he had had his fair share of experience with matters of darkness, unlike Patrick and some of the other kids Carl had met. Carl watched the way Harry scanned their surroundings and saw someone who understood how dangerous the world was. It was something he appreciated.

"Yeah, so, this is them," Carl said with a lazy wave at the pigs. "Violet, Rose, Aqua, Emerald, Silver, and Ruby. Dad tells me not to name them, but…" he shrugged. "I just like to. I still remember not to get attached."

Harry nodded, wiping sweat from his brow and making his bangs stick up at different angles, like the rest of his hair. He didn't seem to be used to the warm weather, having arrived in jeans and a sweater, the sleeves of which he had rolled up early on. Carl guessed that he and Sirius had traveled from the North, but didn't want to bombard him with questions from the get-go.

Watching the pigs, Harry quietly chuckled.

"What?" Carl asked.

"Nothing, just…that one reminds me a bit of my cousin."

Carl laughed. "I'm guessing your cousin didn't make it then?"

"Er…not sure," Harry replied, turning away from the pen. "He's a git anyway, so…"

With Harry's bangs pushed away from his forehead, Carl caught sight of what appeared to be a scar there. Scars weren't exactly intriguing to Carl by now, having seen plenty and even acquired a few of his own since the walkers came around, but this scar was unusual. It was shaped precisely like a bolt of lightning.

Harry turned away and casually smoothed his hair down. Carl averted his gaze, slightly ashamed that he'd been caught staring. He knew better. The uniqueness of Harry's scar had thrown him off guard, though.

"So," Carl said as they started walking back toward the prison, "Sirius is your…?"

"Godfather," said Harry. "He was best mates with my dad, and knew him and my mum since school."

Carl nodded. He wasn't sure if he'd had an official godfather or not, but he thought of Shane. Shane had been his dad's best friend for years and had then taken responsibility for Carl when it seemed his dad was dead. Carl both missed and resented Shane, and often pushed thoughts of him down, as he did now.

"You get along with him then?"

"Yeah, he's brilliant. So Rick is your dad, right? And then Glenn, Daryl, and Hershel are…?"

"Friends…" Carl shrugged. "Family, really. Not by blood, but…we've been through a lot together. Survived together."

"Right. I have people I feel that way about too."

"What happened to them? If you don't mind me asking…"

Harry remained quiet for a moment, thoughtful, eyes ahead as they reached the prison courtyard again. He didn't look at Carl when he finally replied, "We got separated."

Carl nodded once more, feeling grim. He didn't need Harry to elaborate.

Rick had urged Daryl to leave Sirius alone for now. Daryl had compromised by leaning against the wall in the main part of the cell block, below the balcony where the newcomer's cell was. He gnawed at his thumbnail, chastising himself for being idle when there were things he could be getting done, but uneasy at the prospect of straying too far. He glanced down at the strange sticks in his hand every few minutes, still trying to make sense of what they were and what he'd seen earlier. It did give him some bit of comfort and satisfaction that the sticks were in his possession. Unless Sirius wanted to fistfight Daryl one-handed, Daryl wasn't too worried.

Not that he was willing to take any chances.

He looked up when Carl and Harry entered the cell block, noting that the two seemed to be getting along well, both grinning easily at something. Daryl had to admit that it was nice to see Carl so relaxed with someone else his age. The kids here that were closer to Carl's age didn't seem to have much in common with him, and the kids he did relate to more, like Beth and Zach, were too old to want to hang out with him.

"Here, I'll take you to get some lighter clothes," Carl said, Harry thanking him and following him to a different part of the cell block.

Daryl watched them go, the tension in his shoulders and back receding somewhat. Harry truly didn't strike him as malignant, not that he had seen enough to make an accurate assessment. He knew that Carl wasn't exactly naïve, though…not anymore. Just months ago, Hershel had confessed deep concern over Carl killing a boy a few years older than him unnecessarily, insisting it had been a snap decision made out of fear. If Carl was so comfortable with Harry already, then either the new boy was a very good actor, or he was truly trustworthy.

So maybe Harry was safe, but that didn't mean his guardian was. Daryl had noticed and recognized the menacing gleam in Sirius' eye and knew he was capable of being dangerous. The rational part of Daryl's brain reasoned that the gleam hadn't appeared until he had skewered Sirius' hand. Nonetheless, it was there, and it caught his attention.

A short but loud yell cut the air and Daryl immediately pushed away from the wall, rushing up the steps to the next level. He had stuffed the sticks back in his pocket and had his crossbow ready. He looked and listened for walkers, but there wasn't even a faint whiff of them as he hurried along the balcony.

His steps slowed when he finally discovered the source of the commotion: Sirius was curled into a tight fetal position on his blanket, which he had apparently brought out to the floor in front of the cell. Daryl jogged over to him and saw Sirius gripping the blanket in his sleep, the knuckles of his uninjured hand impossibly white and the knuckles of his maimed hand breaking through the bandages. His hair was wet with sweat and his teeth were clenched.

Sasha, Ryan, and David came running up behind Daryl and he held out a hand motioning for them to stay back. They stopped and stood there, looking from Sirius to him with curiosity but not saying anything.

"No…please…" Sirius moaned, his voice muffled in the pillow and his own arm. "I'm sorry…nooo…no!"

"Hey!" Daryl growled, reaching out hesitantly. He tapped his crossbow with two quick clacks on the floor by Sirius' face and raised his voice. "Hey!"

Sirius sat up with a gasp of breath, eyes wide and unseeing, and reached clumsily under the blanket as if trying to grab a weapon.

"Where's my wand?" he asked, his voice hoarse, only audible enough for Daryl to hear.

Daryl stared at him. "Your what?"

"My—" Sirius whirled around, his breathing still heavy but slowing down, his eyes becoming less wild as he took in his surroundings. He looked up at Daryl as if just registering him. "Where's Harry?"

"With Carl, getting clothes. You were dreaming."

Sirius ran his hands through his hair and muttered, "Sorry about that."

Daryl watched with narrow eyes as the man collected himself, not forgetting the first thing he'd said upon awaking. "Next time you scream like that, you best be getting attacked."

He turned and walked away, Sasha and the others following him, still perplexed.

Sirius sat there on the floor, trying to steady his breathing and collect himself. Nightmares were frequent for him, involving an intermingled array of events from childhood and adolescence, the first war against Voldemort, and his time in Azkaban. The first time he'd slept with another person in the vicinity after Azkaban had been when he'd been hiding at Remus' flat after Voldemort's return. Remus had come bursting into his room at three in the morning, wand drawn, to find Sirius thrashing and yelling in his sleep. After that, Sirius had taken up the habit of casting silencing charms on his room, a habit he had maintained at Grimmauld Place as well. Without his wand on him here, he had been unable to do so, and in his drained state, he honestly hadn't even thought about it, being more concerned with being able to sleep without being locked up.

He ran his hands through his hair a few times. Sirius was pretty sure he'd asked aloud about his wand and that Daryl had heard him. He groaned to himself. As if he needed to give the Muggle any additional reason to suspect him.

He heard concerned voices below and hurried to get up. He straightened himself and tossed his head upward in an air of superiority as he strode along the balcony, doing his best to appear at ease before heading down the stairs, at the bottom of which he saw Harry and Carl talking to Daryl.

"Thought you might want to check on him," Daryl was saying, sounding annoyed.

Harry, who was now wearing a t-shirt and cargo shorts, nodded before catching sight of Sirius. He opened his mouth to speak but Sirius cut him off.

"Ah, someone's found you some summer clothes. Excellent. Guess we underestimated how much warmer it is in the southern half of this country." Sirius clapped Harry on the shoulder with his good hand and gave Carl a nod of greeting and thanks.

"Yeah…" said Harry, who looked like he wanted to ask questions, but didn't. Sirius inwardly thanked him. "So Carl was saying dinner should be ready soon."

"Sounds great." Sirius forced a smile at Daryl, who continued to stare at him, arms crossed. "Who do we have to thank for the food?"

Daryl brushed his thumb against his stubble. "I killed the deer. But you can thank Carol for cooking it and giving it some flavor."

"Carol…" Sirius nodded. "Right. Well, Harry, why don't we go find this Carol and see if we can do anything to help her?"

"Sure," said Harry.

"She'll be this way," Carl said, leading them away. Sirius could feel Daryl's sharp gaze on the back of his head until they were outside.

Carl brought them over to a small pavilion, where the smell of smoky meat and spices wafted from. Sirius had never eaten deer himself, but he recognized the scent, even cooked, from being around James in his Animagus form. The idea of eating the same creature that his dead best friend had frequently transformed into made him somewhat nauseated. He knew he couldn't refuse a plate, though, and pushed the thought away as Carl gestured toward the woman tending to everything. She was rather petite with short graying hair and a somewhat weathered face. Sirius sensed a certain hardness behind her features, but she wore a content smile as she stirred a giant pot of stew. The smile grew at their approach, though it didn't quite reach her sharp blue eyes.

"Ah, are these our newcomers?" she asked.

"Yeah," replied Carl. "This is Harry and Sirius."

"Sirius?" The woman arched her brow.

"Er, yes, ma'am. Like the star," Sirius explained.

"Oh, we have ourselves a star, huh? Well, Sirius, I hope you and Harry are hungry. Dinner will be ready in just a few minutes."

"Carol, is it? We were wondering if we could help at all."

Carol smiled a bit more brightly at him. "That's sweet. I've got it under control, though, thanks. Besides…I heard you had a bit of a rough day." She nodded at Sirius' hand. "You'll have to forgive Daryl. Can't be too careful anymore, right?"

Sirius clenched his teeth but hid them behind a charming smile of his own. "Of course."

"Constant vigilance," Harry muttered. Sirius suppressed a snort.

They sat down at a table by themselves to wait for dinner, Carl saying he would join them later before going off to find his dad. They both stayed quiet for a moment, each of them casually observing their surroundings, before Harry finally spoke in a hushed voice.

"What about home? We need to get back."

"I have a feeling it's not going to be so easy," Sirius muttered. "That veil is some kind of ancient magic. It didn't merely take us to a different country, but a country in unusual crisis."

Harry shifted on the bench next to him and looked down at the tabletop, nodding and picking at a splinter. Sirius winced and put his good hand on his godson's shoulder.

"I know you're worried about the others. I am too, but we'll get this figured out. All right? I promise."

Harry nodded again, smiling wanly before sighing and massaging his temples. "This is so weird."

Sirius laughed. "Yeah, it is. That Carl kid seems all right."

"I think so. He, uh…he saw my scar. You think that'll be a problem?"

"How'd he react?"

Harry shrugged. "He didn't say anything. I just caught him looking at it."

"I wouldn't worry. They definitely don't know anything about Voldemort. If anything, he probably just thinks it's cool."

"It's at least nice not being famous here."

"Cheers to that, kid."

The venison was delicious. Harry didn't realize how hungry he actually was until Carol set the plate before him and the savory aroma greeted him like an old friend. Come to think of it, he hadn't eaten since breakfast in the Great Hall, which, despite it only being a couple hours before sunset in this world, had been a solid sixteen hours ago for Harry. After some starved summers with the Dursleys, Harry was used to being hungry, but he had also done a lot of running around and been fraught with stress since his last meal. He was aware after two bites in that he was on the verge of inhaling his food in a way that Ron often did, and with the image of a disgusted Hermione in mind, Harry slowed down.

He tried not to dwell on his friends and their fates for the moment. He had done his best to squash down the anxiety that had twisted his insides when Carl asked about his makeshift family. Imagining Hermione's fallen figure—barely breathing after Dolohov's spell—and Ron's addled state from being nearly strangled by those odd tentacle-clad brains made Harry want to yell and run to their rescue. His head ached from feeling helpless, knowing that his friends and the Order members were still in possible danger of Death Eaters while he was here. If he hadn't already spent the last several hours in such a frazzled state of worry, he was certain he'd be storming around with the same agitation he had much earlier, when he'd thought Sirius was being tortured and that his friends were lacking the urgency to help him.

Thinking about how temperamental and irritated he'd been with all of them, the same friends who may have given their lives for his fool's errand, churned Harry's stomach. However, he knew Sirius was right: getting back to the Department of Mysteries, let alone to Wizarding Britain, was not going to be simple. Even if he bolted right now and made it back to the clearing without any obstacles, there hadn't been evidence of any type of portal. Despite having never left his own country before, Harry had an innate certainty that the version of Georgia they were in now was not the same Georgia that existed in their reality, and the way Sirius spoke of the matter solidified his certainty.

Instead, he tried to focus on the present and followed his godfather's lead as well as he could. He and Sirius had been joined at their table by Carl, Rick, Glenn, and Glenn's wife, Maggie, who was also Hershel's daughter.

"My sister, Beth, is over there," she said, pointing to a blonde girl a few years older than Harry sitting a couple of tables away. Beth was laughing at something the boy sitting closely next to her had said. Upon noticing her sister's gesture, she smiled and waved, her blue eyes shining in a way that made Harry feel welcome. "Beth, Daddy, and I lived on a farm at the beginning. Then Otis, a friend of the family, accidentally shot poor Carl here while hunting, and, well, here we all are."

"You were shot?" Harry asked, looking at Carl.

Carl grinned. "Yeah, right in the chest." He clutched at the front of his shirt. "If it wasn't for the fact that I had to stay put and get better, Hershel would've kicked us all out and we probably wouldn't have made it as far."

"We'd have been screwed," Rick said, Glenn and Maggie chuckling appreciatively.

"And we wouldn't have gotten together," said Glenn, kissing Maggie on the cheek.

"You mean you wouldn't have annoyed me into finally sleeping with you," Maggie replied.

Carl snorted and Rick raised his eyebrows at him in a halfhearted reproach.

"Pfft, you were totally into me from the beginning and you know it."

"Whatever." Maggie rolled her eyes but then smirked fondly at Glenn.

"Well…cheers to you two for finding each other in all this mess," Sirius said, raising his water bottle before taking a sip. He grinned at Harry as he set the bottle down. "Kind of reminds me of James and Lily, actually."

Harry suddenly recalled the images he'd seen in the Pensieve, depicting Snape's teenage memories of Sirius and Harry's parents. He knew that Sirius meant the remark warmly, but it still brought a bit of unease to Harry, even though both Sirius and Lupin had assured him that James and Lily had truly come to love each other.

"Harry's parents?" Rick asked.

"Oh, yeah." Sirius leaned back on the bench of the picnic table and folded his hands behind his head. "Those two used to drive us all mad as kids. James had no shame when it came to his feelings about Lily, but Lily was adamantly uninterested…and then adamantly uninterested in admitting she was finally interested…"

Everyone laughed, and Harry forced a smile.

"Lori ran me through my paces a bit herself," said Rick. "We met in our early twenties. She was with her friends in a bar. I'd just gotten off duty. It was the end of my first year as a cop, so I was still very much a rookie." Rick held his face in his hand and chuckled. "I was having a beer with my partner when a guy started harassing her and her friends. Long story short, I ended up interfering, and got tossed over the counter like a rag doll. My partner cuffed the guy and got him out of there. Lori helped me up, told me I was stupid, and gave me her number. It took three dates for her to kiss me, and eight to let me call her my girlfriend. She'd end each one saying something ambiguous, like she didn't really plan on seeing me again, and if I called, she wouldn't get back to me for a while. I started to think maybe I should move on, but then one night, she invited me over and prepared all my favorites…made a ribeye and sweet potatoes for dinner, blueberry pie for dessert, and we watched Die Hard with a couple glasses of good chardonnay. It was the first night she really dropped the hard-to-get act and seemed serious about us. One of the best nights of my life…"

Rick laughed quietly to himself, his gaze becoming distant as he lost himself in memories. Carl watched his plate as he chewed his food and Glenn and Maggie exchanged solemn smiles. Harry knew that Carl's mother was dead, but it only just occurred to him how recently she must have died. On his tour of the prison, Carl had mentioned having a baby sister who was napping. In what he attributed to his tired state, Harry hadn't considered that if Carl's sister was a baby, his mother could only have passed in the last year or so, maybe even only a few months ago. It was, he realized, probably still a fresh source of pain for Carl and Rick, and Harry felt a pang of guilt for assuming Lori's passing was a thing of the distant past that they'd gotten used to carrying.

"Speaking of Lori," Maggie finally spoke up, "who has Judith right now?"

"Carol's feeding her a bottle for me," said Rick. He shook his head. "Woman's a saint. I tried to tell her to eat first and I'd feed Judith, but she wouldn't have it. Got real stern with me."

"Who's Judith?" Sirius asked.

"My daughter. Seven months old. Lori died giving birth to her."

Shaking his head and sipping his drink, Sirius replied, "I'm sorry."

Rick shrugged. "That's the world."

That evening, after the sun had set, Carl walked leisurely through the cell block with Judith in his arms. He bounced her a little and made silly noises that sometimes made her giggle. It was strange, he thought, that such a thing both made him smile and made his eyes well up with unshed tears. He figured some kids his age would probably resent Judith, as Lori had had to die in order for her to live, but Carl saw his sister as a sort of blessing. He blamed the circumstances of their world and was grateful to be given someone else to love and care for if his mom had to be taken away, someone his mom was glad to give her life for.

Still…he missed her. He often thought back to the Woodbury boy he'd killed, wondering if he did the right thing. And, if he had done the wrong thing, he wondered if it was forgivable, if it made him a bad person incapable of redemption. His dad had tried to talk to him about it shortly after it had happened, but after Carl's initial insistence that he'd done what he'd needed to do, his dad had dropped the subject, sometimes treading awkwardly around his son as if worried the wrong movement might set him off. It was, Carl knew, why his dad had started steering him away from guns and pushing his focus on farm work. He was afraid of what Carl may be becoming, and Carl sensed that both he and his dad wondered if he would still have killed that boy if his mother had been around. Even if he would have, his mom would have known how to talk to him about it, would have given him guidance that was simultaneously more direct and gentle.

Carl knew his dad was doing his best, though. They both were, and they were figuring it out together, not just for themselves and their community, but for the vulnerable child that couldn't yet control her fate.

Judith's eyes started to get droopy and Carl knew it was only a matter of minutes before she slept again. He figured he'd bring her to his dad to put down for the night and wandered into the hallway to search for him. He soon heard his dad's voice but slowed when he realized it was arguing with Daryl, something that rarely ever happened anymore now that Merle was dead.

"I got to know them a bit at dinner and they've been through a lot, just like we have. You know how things are. The more you lose, the more protective you get. It's the way you are, way I am, and that's obviously what's going on with Sirius too. He's not the Governor."

"I ain't saying he's like the Governor. I'm saying he's hiding something and it's setting my damn teeth on edge."

Rick sighed. "According to Glenn, it sounds like the only people he took responsibility for killing are Harry's parents, not for actually killing them, but for not being able to prevent it."

"Or maybe he killed Harry's parents himself, on purpose, and the guilt thing's an act. Maybe Harry doesn't even know it."

A pause. "Why would Sirius kill Harry's parents? He said he knew them since school. They were close friends."

A somehow heavier pause. Daryl was quieter than ever when he finally did reply. Carl almost didn't hear him. "You and Shane were close friends."

Carl swallowed, his heart beating faster all of a sudden. He waited for his dad to say something or for Daryl to say more, but instead heard hard footsteps. He hastened back to the cell block as quickly as he could without disturbing Judith. Seconds later, his dad came through the door, eyes grim and jaw clenched.