Code of Conduct: At World's End

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or the Walking Dead. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

Summary: In a world overrun by the undead, how far would you go to survive? Gwen Potter, 24 year old veteran of Voldemort's war, is about to find out. OOC. Spin off AU of 'Code of Conduct'.

Author: tlyxor1.

Author's Note: Let's just pretend the Walking Dead timeline starts in late 2009.

Chapter One

The world - as they know it - ends on a Tuesday, though if pressed, Gwen Potter would begrudgingly admit it started days, weeks - perhaps even months - before. It simply sounds more dramatic to say it was an abrupt, sudden thing, rather than acknowledge that it, in actuality, had not been a surprise at all.

Admittedly, Gwen is no stranger to the undead, though to her knowledge, the Inferius Curse has never been like this. They have never been able to pass the curse on to others, to act independently of their creator, and that fact terrifies her.

How can she fight the unknown?

That aside, curses leave behind a trace of their maker. The zombies - or whatever they are - show no indication of magic whatsoever, but Gwen can't fathom how else the plague of undead is possible.

The general theory, among the dregs of SHIELd, is that the virus is a bastardisation of the Inferius and Lycanthropy curses, created by a non-magical geneticist unaware of what he'd been experimenting , however, begs the question of how he'd obtained genetic samples of werewolves and inferie, but Gwen tries not to ponder the possibilities.

It's a moot point, in any case, and she has far more important things to concern herself with, like food, and shelter, and the undead that consistently derail her plans. She is, at present, in Atlanta, slowly but surely making her way out of the city, and it has been two of the longest months of her life.

She had been tasked with escorting a trio of geniuses to the CDC, and although she was successful, she is now faced with the monumental effort of returning to New York, and to the Avengers whom await her there.

Steve and Natasha are elsewhere, of course, on a top secret security detail that isn't particularly secret at all. They are, in fact, guarding the president, locations unknown, and unless the president is turned, Gwen doubts that will change.

Brought from her thoughts by the sound of gunfire, Gwen approaches the edge of the roof she rests on, and watches as a man is rapidly cornered by the undead. He seems to crawl under a broken down tank or something, but he appears from the top hatch a few minutes later, and makes a break for the alley beside the building she stands on top of.

The fire escape starts rattling a few short moments later, and two men appear on the edge of her roof, red-faced and winded.

"That was dumb," she told the gunman, "What were you doing?"

"No time," he gasps, "THey're climbing."

"Shit."

Bewildered, because she's never known the zombies to climb before, Gwen no less keeps pace with them as they jump rooftops, headed back the way she'd come. The other fellow, of oriental descent and absurdly quick on his feet besides, leads the way, and before she knows it, they are outside the back of a department store, stood on a fire escape overlooking a quartet of walkers.

There guide produces a walkie talkie, and speaks to someone on the other end, "I'm back. Got a couple of guests plus four geeks in the alley."

"I can take care of it," Gwen states, produces her throwing knives from her pack, and takes them each out with a flick of her wrist. She hasn't got the same flawless aim as Clint, but she does the job with the same ruthless efficiency, and then descends the last ladder to retrieve her knives.

"Never mind, the geeks are handled."

The two strangers follow her tracks as she cleans off her knives, and the oriental fellow - who introduces himself as Glenn, leads the way into the department store.

There, she and the other fellow, Rick, are surrounded by a motley group of wary, disgruntled strangers, and a gun is more or less shoved in Rick's face.

"You son of a bitch, We ought to kill you."

Gwen watches the proceeding tableau with a vague sense of exasperation, idly wondering if anyone else notices the fact that Andrea, the aggressive blonde with the gun, doesn't have the safety off.

Glenn stands close by, but most of his focus is on the view beyond the shop's glass doors, and Gwen can understand why the group has reacted as they have. There is a horde of zombies crushed up against the glass, frenzied and ravenous, and the two sets of sliding doors between the living and dead won't hold forever.

Unfortunately, an unbreakable charm won't help. It was established early on that the zombies possess a strange ability to nullify magic, active and passive alike, and as such, the glass is a lost cause.

"We're dead - all of us - because of you."

"I don't understand," Rick answers, and Gwen is perplexed by his honesty.

"What, have you been living under a rock for the last two months?" she asks.

"No," he answers, "I was in a coma, I think. Last thing I remember is getting shot, and then I wake up, and everything's gone to hell."

"Are you serious?" Glenn asks, incredulous. "How the hell are you alive?"

"It's not something we should be concerned about right now," Morales, the level-headed hispanic man who'd talked down Andrea, reasons.

As if on queue, their attention is diverted to the sound of gunfire from overhead. Gwen's heard it often enough to recognise the sound of a rifle - mostly courtesy of Clint, who occasionally concedes to using one - and the sound is outrageously unwelcome in their current circumstances.

"Is that Dixon?" Andrea asks.

"What is that maniac doing?"

"Let's go find out."

Glenn leads the sprint to the roof, where another man has begun to shoot at the zombies on the street. He's not a great shot, but he's hit a few through his sniper scope, and seems entirely too eager to continue.

As he does, thunder rumbles over head, and Gwen starts to frantically consider an escape. They're sitting ducks in a department store that may well become their tomb (so to speak), and despite the spectacularly awful state of things, the 'Witch Who Won' isn't prepared to die yet.

Occupied by prospective getaway plans, Gwen doesn't pay much attention to the group until the word 'nigger' is used, but before she can get involved, T-Dog, who is actually African American, lunges for Dixon, and it devolves from there.

"Are you serious right now?" Gwen exclaims, irritated as she wades between the two men, "The world's population has been fucking decimated, and you're concerned about the colour of someone's skin? I don't know who the hell you are, Dixon, or who the hell you were before the dead started walking, but you need to get your priorities sorted out, man. I don't know if you realise it, but there is a horde of zombies surrounding this building, and I can't speak for anyone else here, but I don't feel like dying today, so calm the fuck down and start brain storming ideas, or shut the hell up and stop drawing in more of them!"

"Who the hell are you, toots?" Dixon demands. His gaze roves her form, and Rick takes the opportunity of his distraction to disarm him of his pistol.

"If we all get out of this shit-show alive, maybe I'll tell you."

Gwen walks away then, to the edge of the rooftop, and considers the teeming masses below. In her circuit of the perimeter, she's joined by Andrea and Morales, and their expressions are grim.

"It's like Times Square down there," Andrea observes.

"Quite," Gwen agrees, palms away the sweat that beads on her forehead, and sips at her water bottle. Georgia is hot and humid, as expected, and the encroaching storm makes the air intolerable. "I haven't seen so many like this in a while."

"Any ideas?" Morales asks.

"Most of them are converged at the front doors," Gwen observes, "There's about a dozen in the alley. We can take them out quietly, and then take to the roofs again. It's not much, but it's the best I've got."

"How do you propose we take them out?" Andrea asks.

"I've got six throwing knives, which would handle half of them, but we'd have to get up close and personal with the others."

As expected, that's not taken well, but neither is Rick's idea of covering himself and Glenn up with zombie guts to sneak passed the horde at their door. Unfortunately - or perhaps not - the sewers below the city aren't an option, and with the storm approaching, they're running out of time to make their move.

As if to further emphasise that point, the sound of shattering glass herald's the zombies' entry through the first set of glass doors, and nearby, Jacqui begins to pray.

Gwen, personally, thinks they're long passed the point of salvation, though she's never been particularly religious. She doesn't comment, in any case, because Jacqui's faith - or anyone else's - is none of her business, and there are more important things to concern herself with besides.

"Oh God," Andrea mutters, "We're dead."

"Not yet," Gwen replies, "But we will be if we don't get a move on."

They vote on it, and Gwen can't decide if she ought to be glad or not when they settle on her idea over Rick's, but she doesn't really have time to consider it.

"All right," Rick says grimly, "Let's go."