Stick With Me, Kid, and We'll Go Places
HP x TWD
Characters: TWD cast + Harry
Summary: Harry Potter knew very little about America, so of course his 'family' had to take a vacation there right when the zombie apocalypse hit. He's only ten and he's already fighting for his life. Joy.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead or Harry Potter.
Chapter 4 Word Count: ~4600
Glenn did not like hastily-made plans. He did not like not knowing an area like the back of his hand. In Atlanta, he had probably traveled every main street and back street road at least several times each, a strong cognitive map forming in his head due to his job as a pizza delivery guy.
The Harrison Memorial Hospital, however? Besides once when his aunt was having a baby, he really hadn't had any chance to explore the building, not to mention the small, rural area surrounding it. Heck, King County had sheriffs still, for Christ's sake! The rolling hills and spread out clusters of neighborhoods might as well have been a different world in relation to Atlanta, Georgia, even if they both existed less than twenty miles from each other.
Unfortunately, the Wellstar Atlanta Medical Center, Grady Memorial Hospital, and the Piedmont Atlanta Hospital had all been either bombed or raided beyond recognition, forcing The Vatos to look further out for the supplies they needed.
Glenn nervously tapped his foot on the rough, carpeted floor of the Ford Diesel truck as he stared at the rolling scenery outside of the passenger side window. Guillermo gave him sidelong looks as he navigated the long winding roads of King County, but said nothing to disrupt the tense silence. Even Felipe and Jorge refused to speak a word, their taut muscles and strained faces saying everything words couldn't.
No one really believed this trip would be a success, but before they left, Guillermo had informed Glenn about the exact stakes; without the oxygen tanks, at least, about three of their numbers wouldn't make it past the following month. Before everyone went to bed, Glenn had the chance to meet the people he would be helping to survive.
The first, a survivor of lung cancer named Arwin, who had gone through two lung transplants in his life and had also survived a complete lung collapse three years ago, was now forced to be on near constant oxygen when moving around. For several years of his life, he had run a small gardening shop extremely popular in the suburbs and had even begun to create a small but budding greenhouse next to the nursery home. He had slowly been teaching several of The Vatos how to properly manage and take care of the plants, guiding them on what signs to look for at every possible stage. Thanks to the fifty-two-year-old man, they already had a fair amount of healthy sprouts that would hopefully grow into even healthier tomato plants, and just a couple days ago they had even managed to scavenge some green bean and cucumber seeds.
Guinevere, a sweet twenty-three-year-old diagnosed with Hypoxemia and prescribed an hour or two of oxygen every other day. She loved animals (especially parrots) and she had a beautiful voice she would occasionally fill their Warehouse with whenever she was especially bored, lonely, or sad. Before the apocalypse, she had been well on her way through a veterinarian degree and given enough chance, they hoped to gather some farm animals for her to try her hand at taking care of. As it was, she constantly checked up on the few animals they did have and made sure they were just as healthy as they could be.
The last one was the tough ex-navy man, Mr. Gilbert, who suffered from mild Asperger's and extreme asthma. He was partially paralyzed from the hips down, but some would visit him just for the myriad of tales he could pop off at a moment's notice if given the chance. A lot of them were pure tall tales, but very few minded. Most considered him The Vatos' Abuelo. While Abuela either didn't remember her actual name or refused to divulge it, Mr. Gilbert had earned the title of endearment. Whenever his asthma got really bad, however, he had to rely on oxygen to help him breath; According to written records, he had been declining for several months, so he had to keep a tank with him at all times, just in case.
The Vatos cared for their own no matter how they came to be a part of their mismatched group. While they were not completely safe, they had found a niche inside the war-zone of Atlanta and did a little bit more than just survive. In certain ways, Glenn both envied the group and was glad he wasn't in their situation-yes, they were cooped up in the forest with little more than camping equipment and an RV, but they did not have any members who would require the care that Abuela or Mr. Gilbert needed. The Vatos were thirty plus strong and barricaded inside a dead-infested city, and the Valley Group at most included eighteen or twenty, but were several miles outside the city limits.
Really, there was nothing similar about the two situations, but if he hadn't been stupid and gotten him and Harry into that mess yesterday, he might not have ever met Guillermo or Sam or Abuela and seen the kindness people could still keep in their hearts despite the shit around them.
He owed these people, and even when this was all said and done, he still would owe these people. They gave him hope that even now… humanity wasn't lost.
These thoughts ran through his head over and over as the city skyline morphed into suburban areas and further into grasslands. The usual beauty was completely overcast by the patches of dried blood and rotting corpses littering the asphalt.
Glenn clutched the seat under him as the truck jerked to the side to avoid a small pile-up of undead. The walkers glanced up with vacant eyes, groaning in the cloud of dust and gas left in their wake. About four of them actually took a few steps in the direction of their retreating car, but they ultimately gave up to return to their meal.
"Déjame solo! Go bug someone else!"
"But you and Miguel are the only ones anywhere near my age, and Miguel is booooring!"
Which was partially true. Miguel seemed sort of insecure, and because of that, he walked around and tried to imitate the bigger, buffer guys by puffing out his chest and spewing out foul talk whenever given the chance. Sam didn't try and imitate anyone so Harry found him much more interesting to be around.
Sam slammed the hood of his Mustang, cursing under his breath. "Just 'cause that Chinese kid ain't here doesn't mean ya get to bug me, so get lost!"
Harry pouted. "Glenn's out on a mission for you guys, so you could at least be grateful! Besides, he's Korean!"
"I don't gotta be grateful to nobody, ya hear? Especially not to some snot-nosed brat and a skinny Korean who I ain't ever gonna see again!"
Harry pondered his next words for a moment before adjusting his seat so he rested more of his bum on the Mustang's hood. A hint of a smile stretched his lips. "You say that, but I bet you're lonely. You don't have anyone but Miguel who's anywhere near your age, and you don't like him either. I don't blame you."
When Sam just stared at him with incredulity, Harry giggled. "I'm right, aren't I?"
"Fuck you, man!"
Harry full out laughed, swinging his legs from where he sat on the hood of the car. "I'll keep it a secret, I promise!"
Sam just grumbled angrily in response, moving away so that he was instead reclining on a plastic lawn chair a few feet away from his Mustang. Harry followed. "You are annoyin', ya know that?"
"Nope!" He grinned cheekily. Of course, he did know that he was getting on the teen's nerves, but it was fun! It also helped keep his mind off of Glenn, who had left with Guillermo almost two hours ago. All Harry knew about the operation was that it was to get supplies from the hospital, and being out of the loop made him slightly edgy.
"Well, ya are." The teen grumbled out something under his breath.
"Huh?"
"... Nothin'," Sam growled, face scrunched in irritation.
Harry sighed heavily and returned to the Mustang, inspecting its exterior. He didn't know cars, but from what Glenn had told him last night, it was really new. It didn't look old, certainly, but it did look well used. It was plain to see that Sam took great care of it because even though a few dents gave it the impression of scratched up, the dark emerald finish gleamed in the garage's low light. Harry was also sure that the purring sound the car made when Sam checked its engine this morning meant that it worked well, too.
"You sure like this car, don't you, Sam?"
The teen huffed from his reclined position. "Hell yeah! That car's my baby. I got it from my uncle last year - I don't know how he got it, maybe a used car store or somethin', but I been takin' care of it ever since. Ya scratch it and I'll be hella pissed, ya got it?"
Harry slowly nodded, lightly brushing a hand against the glossy paint, feeling how his skin slid off the slick, almost water-like surface. "How did you get it so smooth and shiny?"
"It's called waxing - did it just before this damn apocalypse started."
"Oh."
He moved onto the back, where a large piece of metal created a lip. When he asked about it, Sam grunted out, calling them wings - one of the many unique parts of a Mustang that separated it from other cars, apparently. Harry hummed, circling the car a few times and asking about several parts before the teen finally got fed up and left.
Harry followed, of course.
After a few steps, Sam whirled around and snapped, his lean frame nearly towering over the ten-year-old boy.
"Damn, kid! Do I have to say it again?! Leave. Me. Alone! I don't like little snot-nosed kids who ask too many questions, and I certainly don't like you! Now go bug someone else!"
When Sam continued on his way, Harry didn't move. His emerald eyes were wide open, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't help the small shakes overcoming his muscles. He felt like a bucket of ice had just been dumped over his head and he desperately tried to hold in the tears.
Did he ask too many questions? Did he not like talking to him? With his severe lack of social knowledge, Harry felt completely out of depth and so upset and confused.
Harry had only been trying to be friendly! Sam seemed really lonely… And Harry was lonely as well… What was wrong with trying to be friends?! For a brief moment, anger overtook his emotions. He was only trying to help! Sam didn't need to be so… so mean!
All these thoughts raced through his head, and before he could properly get a reign on them, he felt something powerful rush through his veins. An orange-ish red object flashed by his face with a whoosh of displaced air and hurled itself at the teen's back.
Sam turned his head back around at the sound and barely had enough time to duck the wrench-turned-projectile. The tool flew over the crouched teen's head and clanged against a piece of equipment. Both boys were left staring at where the wrench had hit - once, the equipment had been whole and functional, but now a large dent carved itself into the thick metal plating, almost causing the machine to fold in two. A massive dent that was caused by a seven inch long, half-inch thick wrench.
To do that much damage… there was no way he could have thrown it and achieved the same result. If that had actually hit Sam... Harry felt almost sick as Sam looked at him.
Bright, baby blue eyes met shiny emerald, both reflected with fear and confusion.
Heart racing, Harry bolted.
"Hey!" Sam called out, picking himself up and rushing to follow him.
Glenn felt his stomach squeeze with unease as the four of them pulled into the relatively deserted hospital parking lot. A peek past a crumbled wall revealed dozens, maybe more than a hundred, bodies lying in the courtyard and covered with white cloths - each and every one of them stained with blood around the bodies' heads. It didn't take a genius to figure out what happened. For once, Glenn was nervous.
The bullet-sprayed asphalt and concrete walls did not speak well for the condition of the hospital on the inside. And considering what that could possibly mean for him? Yeah...
Guillermo cautiously steered the large pickup into a good position in case the need for a speedy get-away arose. Placing a hand on Jorge's seat, the Hispanic man caught Glenn's eye, his own face set in a grim line.
"You still up to it, boy-o?"
Glenn took a moment to observe the surrounding area through the truck's windows, letting himself take long, deep breaths. When he no longer felt like bolting or throwing up, he stared Guillermo straight in the eyes and nodded.
The Vatos' leader held up a bulky walkie-talkie. Harry's walkie-talkie. Glenn smirked at the thought of the petulant expression on the kid's face when he had asked for it last night.
"Make sure to let us know if you need help. Jorge and Bruno are more than willing to go breakin' down doors and shit if it means killin' some cadávers, alrigh'?"
Clenching his jaw, Glenn held up his own walkie-talkie and gave the man a grim nod. "I'll let you guys know when the party is ready." And damn did he know that joke fell flatter than a pancake, but he was just so fucking nervous right now.
Heart thumping in his throat, he pushed the door open and dashed into the hot, Atlanta landscape. Even with several pieces of artillery strapped on his person, he felt no safer going into the unknown than he did delivering into the really seedy parts of town.
Glenn's feet quickly carried him over to the gaping hole carved into the concrete wall around the corner, right next to the hospital proper. The one he had glanced a peek into when they had entered. The gap provided a much clearer and more inconspicuous exit from the possible death trap; by following the concrete walls of the hospital, he led himself straight to a pair of metal stairs that carried him up to a gaping doorway.
Taking a deep breath from his mouth, he squinted his eyes so that he could see farther into the flickering darkness. With tense muscles, he carefully pulled out one of his two semi-automatic pistols and held it slightly above his hip. Not giving himself a second longer to ponder the danger he could be getting himself into, he stepped through the doorway.
"Hey!"
Harry slammed against a larger man, scrambling to move away and run even further into the chaotic mess that was The Vatos' garage. His mind raced and his heart slammed against his sternum with each beat. Through his unbridled fear, he couldn't hear anything past the roaring blood in his ears.
"You have never been and never will be anything but a Freak, you hear me? I took you through the goodness of my heart, and this is how you repay me." The harsh, weedy voice of Aunt Petunia whispered in his mind, words just as biting as the day she delivered them, on Dudley's ninth birthday.
That wrench hadn't been thrown by anyone. He... he must have done something freakish. He didn't quite understand what, but every time something freakish happened, he had been punished. Freaks deserved punishment.
Hot tears flowed down Harry's cheeks as he darted underneath an old Cadillac supported by four thick bricks underneath its tireless spokes. There he twisted and squeezed until he had himself securely tucked underneath the old and rusty car. Tight spaces felt constricting, but the familiar feeling slowly shook him from the panic seizing his heart.
After a few moments, he finally settled down enough to hear the anxious and pleading voice of... Sam?
"-Ry! Man, you gotta come out now... please? I ain't mad at'cha, I swear! It was an accident, ya gots to know that, right? Harry?"
Guilt clawed at his chest but he refused to reveal himself. It hadn't been an accident... not entirely. The moment before the wrench had gone flying... he had wished for Sam to understand the pain he was feeling at the teen's harsh words. He had been angry, and... and through his freakishness, he had almost hurt him. Maybe Sam had forgiven him, but Harry couldn't quite forgive himself.
Blinking away tears, Harry curled into a tight ball underneath the Cadillac, clenching his eyes shut and trying to tune out the boy's pleading calls.
"Harry, c'mon! Please stop hiding!"
Harry just curled tighter, guilt gnawing its way through his stomach with a vengeance.
Once inside the hospital, Glenn pushed his back to a wall and studied the area with careful eyes. The exit he had just entered seemed to have landed him on the second landing of a narrow staircase likely only used in case of emergencies or elevator malfunction. The lower set of stairs likely led to some sort of basement area. Several meters and multiple sets of staircases above him, a light flickered dimly, causing shadows to fade in and out and the whole place felt like a cheap horror film.
He snorted. A cheap horror film. That about summed up their lives now. Glenn almost wanted to glance around to see if he could spot a camera or microphone, but he restrained. He needed to focus.
After checking his surroundings for any animated corpses, he began to climb the stairs. He took each step as silently as he could, but occasionally his foot would snag on the lip of a stair with an echoing thump. Each time this happened, he froze and held his breath.
It took him maybe five minutes to climb about two flights. At each exit, he had halted to glance through and look for walkers. The hospital was empty. Eerily so.
Glenn shivered as he carefully poked his head around the door frame, letting his eyes roam along the blood-stained and messy hallways. This one seemed to have far fewer bullet holes and torn light fixtures, and so he decided to exit the stairway.
At first, his steps were hesitant and his breath shallow, each meter taking an eternity, but after passing innumerable doors and having a distinct lack of zombies trying to eat his flesh, he allowed himself to relax marginally. With purposeful footsteps, he examined the entire floor.
Much like many other hospitals during the break-out, the Harrison Memorial Hospital had been woefully unprepared when their patients had begun waking from their forever sleep. From what Glenn could see, almost no area of the hospital floor, wall, or ceiling had survived the onslaught. Multiple bullet holes lined the plaster walls, numerous tiles were cracked or covered with rubble, the ceiling looked like it had survived a bombshell above with countless wires hanging from every hole and light fixtures hanging on by only a few threads. Heck, he could even see small tufts of insulation here or there.
Glenn couldn't imagine the hell this place went through on Z-day.
He quickly pulled out of another room where a woman lay dead (shot through the head, so no zombification) and gnawed on, feeling his stomach roil at the scene.
Thankfully, the next set of doors revealed a messy storage room, and he quickly found several smaller, less breakable items and stuffed them in a large trash bag. He saw a few oxygen tanks still left on a cart and decided to leave those mostly alone for when Guillermo's men accompanied him. As it was, though, he slowly maneuvered the car further into the hallway so it could be accessed easier before he hauled the trash bag to the staircase where he carried it down one flight to access the first floor.
Rinse, wash, and repeat. The ground floor, aka the floor he had entered the staircase on, held a few surprises, however.
The first was that level's supply closet. Or should he say Walker closet? Having observed the previous two floors' layout, he had easily deduced the ground floor's supply closet location, and so it had been his first stop. Imagine his surprise when he found the padlocked doors barely restraining a horde of undead. DON'T OPEN, DEAD INSIDE sprawled across the two green-ish grey doors in thick, black spray paint. Glenn blinked a few times and scratched his head, observing the carnage right around the door. Multiple sprays of bullets and an absolutely ruined hallway surrounded the undead's prison.
Well, he now knew the reason why the hospital was so eerily silent and free of walkers.
The second came when he inspected the eighth or ninth hospital room he came across on that floor. Unlike the rest, this one had been deliberately blocked by a gurney and had a firmly closed door. This singular fact made him think that there was something in their worth getting to - otherwise, someone wouldn't have even thought to take precautions to close a door or make a hasty blockade. Not during the apocalypse.
After wheeling the gurney away, he had to push his shoulder against the door rather hard. Without air-conditioning, the door had stuck with the heat, and it was a right pain to open, but when he finally did he was met with an absolutely pristine hospital room.
In the middle of the white room laid an average sized man with broad shoulders, an empty IV standing by his bed and a needle in his arm. On his other side, a colorful arrangement of lightly wilted flowers stood proudly in the otherwise bland room, a get-well card resting on the vase's surface. By the man's unconscious (or dead, his mind whispered) state, Glenn assumed this man had been someone suffering from a coma.
Taking another glance into the hallway to make sure the coast was clear, he slipped fully into the room to check the man over. Rough patches of grizzle had developed over the man's lower jaw, but this barely distracted from the obviously handsome features of the mid-thirty-year-old man. While the man's muscles had probably become less defined over time, he obviously had not shirked his workout, especially taking into account the well-worn uniform folded on top of a dresser.
Rick Grimes, King County Sheriff, the gleaming badge displayed proudly.
A man of law and a man deserving of respect. The cause of his coma could have been something police related. Maybe this man has saved lives. Letting a small smile turn up his lips, he examined the room one more time before returning to the man's bedside, hand outstretched to feel the pale skin. Maybe...
He felt the flicker of hope die in his chest.
No warmth greeted his fingers. Only death. Considering the lack of rot and smell, this man might have only died at most a day ago, as soon as hours ago. The thought that if he had been sooner... his uneasy stomach flopped again.
Swallowing heavily, he carefully removed the IV from the man's - Rick Grimes' - skin and pulled the thin cloth blanket up to cover his face. He wondered if his family were the ones to barricade his door, or if it had been a friend. It probably wasn't a stranger, all things considered. The family... Did they know? Or had they escaped to somewhere else and had already given up, assuming this man had already died or been turned?
He found that he didn't really like the answer either way. Either way... a good man was dead, and he had been too late to save him.
Once he had given the man a few moments of silence to acknowledge his death and respect the man he might have been had he survived, he padded out of the room with a slightly heavier heart.
He spent another thirty minutes inside the hospital before pulling out the walkie talkie and moving into the staircase. With concise wording, he told the men how to get inside. Within minutes they were walking up beside him, tense and edgy.
Despite the Atlanta heat, he felt cold as he helped the men retrieve the supplies.
Ever since Z-day, death and carnage had been the norm. But Rick Grimes... he hadn't been killed by a zombie or disease. He had expired because of a lack of fluids and care to keep him alive. No matter what, a human being could only survive without water for three days, and considering the hospital's lack of cool air... he probably only lasted two once those fluids ran out.
Unseen by the men walking in front of him, Glenn's face screwed up into an ugly scowl.
Today only reaffirmed one fact:
This new world was undeniably cruel.
What Glenn didn't know was that only moments after leaving the hospital, a once blue-eyed, brown-haired man opened watery, yellow-stained eyes. Rick Grimes wasn't quite as dead as he thought.
"You ready to talk?"
Harry peered up at the exhausted blue eyes staring back at him. Gnawing at his lower lip, he nodded. Sam's tense expression relaxed and the teen offered a hand to the ten-year-old.
Glenn shuffled into The Vatos' garage with heavy feet. Yes, they had been successful - twelve full and eight half tanks of oxygen, over a dozen packages of gauze and hospital-issued anti-septic and disinfectant, and three bags of miscellaneous supplies they might be able to use (and that haul didn't even require them to clean out the five-story building) - but by the time they had gotten back it had been near dusk. As a result, they had to take even more time and precaution to avoid the more active walkers. Just to get to the garage from the highway had taken over two hours.
To be blunt, he was dead on his feet. He really didn't mean for that to come out as a joke. Not after what he had seen.
However, halfway to his and Harry's temporary bunks, something caught his attention.
Next to Sam's Mustang, two lounge chairs had been pushed together and layered with spare blankets and pillows. Inside the make-shift nest, one teenager and kid were curled up and fast asleep. Both looked puffy-eyed but content, Harry nuzzled next to Sam's thin chest. Sam had one arm supporting his head, the other tossed over Harry's small form. He could barely hear their soft breathing in the quiet garage.
Glenn smiled.
LONG A/N: Soooo... been over a month... since the last chapter...
Heheh... To be honest, I had so much to do this summer I forgot about doing it for a long while, that and I had to put my writing to actual use - my summer reading project. And can I say that Syvain Neuvel is an AMAZING writer? Like, damn. Both Sleeping Giants and Waking Gods just would not let me go until I finished. But yeah, along with being sidetracked and having to put it to the side, this chapter had its moments when it came to being written, as you can tell by the much longer length. :P
And... uh... yes. Rick is D.E.A.D. I'm sorry if this upsets you, but his miraculous survival was horribly unrealistic. This is just something I have been planning since the beginning, so if it deters you, I am sorry but I am not going to change it.
Anywho, I must say that... You, my readers? ... YOU GUYS ROCK! I'm still blown away by how much attention my little plot bunny received. 52 reviews, 216 favorites, 351 follows, and 8000+ views? Thank you, thank you, thank you! This story is by far my most popular fanfiction, and just the thought that so many of you want to see this continue and grow... it makes me so happy I want to cry. So, again, thank you. I appreciate every one of you, and I get so, so, so excited over every kind comment and every piece of constructive criticism, so don't be afraid to leave a review if you have something to say. I won't bite. :D
P.S. I have a poll up on my profile, asking you guys which kind of story you'd like to see coming January. I have four options on the board along with their summaries and how long they will be estimated to be when completed. Three are crossovers. I enjoy your guys input, so please hop over and put in a vote! :3
Happy Writing~!
_-*Doodling Shadows
EDITED 2/17/2019