Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Walking Dead don't belong to me.

Warnings: violence, zombies (so a poor attempt at goriness)

Note: Written for the "As Many As You Want" Comp: Pompeii by Bastille, never, desperation, content, grimace, not afraid, nail, bloody, "Run! Get out of here!", sobbing hysterically, grotesque; The If You Dare Chall: 94 - Chains, Build-A-Bear Challenge: lots of stuffing

Living Nightmare

Harry stared at the sign, hand reaching out to brush the faded white letters. A sanctuary, a safe house. Food, water, rest. He let out a shuddering breath as he retracted his hand. How long had it been since he had actually slept without fear and paranoia clouding his thoughts? Two years really changed a person with this lifestyle. Harry had always been a small, thin kid, blame it on his relatives and their less than stellar treatment, but now his bones became even more prominent under the constant running away from zombies and minimal food supplies, protruding awkwardly under his thin skin.

He readjusted the straps holding the shotgun and the small backpack over his shoulder, casting one last glance at the sign before walking along the road.

"Well, let's find our asylum."

Harry cautiously poked his head into the room, breathing shallowly, trying to minimize his presence as much as possible. Even though this was supposedly a sanctuary, that didn't mean the people there were welcoming. For all he knew, it could just be a trap.

It was a warehouse of some kind. He slowly walked to the center, sliding his hand along the edge of the trough curiously. He froze when a strangely recognizable shape appeared at the corner of his eye. Harry swallowed, a chill entering his spine, dread pooling in his stomach. He had a sneaking suspicion of what it was before he even fully looked at it, and when he did, the urge to gag became difficult to ignore. Horrified, he stared at the upper body of a human, head and limbs hacked off, hanging from the ceiling in the next room. The skin was tightly stretched across the muscles, each rib standing out grotesquely. He shuddered in disgust, face contorting in a grimace. Killing someone under the right situation, that Harry understood, but eating him? He didn't think he'd ever stoop that low. Surely there's some other solution.

Harry took a step back. This place was no longer safe. He had to get out of here. He didn't make it very far before a voice rang out loudly along with the cocking of a gun. Flinching, Harry shivered, wiping any trace of fear in his visage, but it was hard not to be afraid in the face of cannibals.

Five men appeared from the shadows, stepping out slowly. The corner of his mouth twitched at the stereotypical 'evil villain' cliche.

"Drop your weapons." Harry slid the strap of his shotgun off his shoulder, carrying it in his hand as one stepped up to pat his body for more. While this happened, he stared at the man with the gun, obviously the ringleader.

"Not much of a sanctuary, is it?" Harry said sarcastically, arms held up, tensing when his kitchen knife was yanked out of its awkward hold tied around his uncle's belt. He received a lifted eyebrow at his curious choice for a weapon but Harry just shrugged. There hadn't been much of an option with a walker about to devour him alive.

The man scoffed, aim not deterring in the slightest. "Is there any left in the world?"

"Don't worry. This is just standard protocol. We can't just trust strangers now, can we? Even if you're just a kid."

He scowled. He was fourteen, at least he was pretty sure he was. It was difficult to calculate time nowadays. "Well, I'm Harry and you're the creepy man with trust issues. See? Not strangers anymore."

He glared at Harry threateningly. "It's Gareth."

"Cool. Well then, Gareth, isn't that the whole point of a sanctuary? To accept people with no questions asked?" Harry didn't get a reply, only hearing a stern order for his frisker to check his bag.

"There's nothing much in there," Harry commented, switching his weight from the ball of his foot to his toes, repeating the action numerous times, "just the essentials: food, water. Gotta travel light these days, you know?"

The man by his side poured out the backpack's contents, showing the truth in Harry's words. There were a couple cans of food and two bottles of water. It wasn't much, and often his stomach grumbled protestingly at the small portions but he couldn't risk carrying more and slowing him down. It could mean the difference between life or death now. Harry never thought he'd miss the days where all he had to worry about was when another round of Harry Hunting would occur.

Gareth broke into a smile, one that stretched wide across his face, one that didn't bode well for Harry.

"Well, Harry, welcome to Terminus. Unfortunately for you, you walked into this warehouse instead of all the other ones. That means you found out sooner than you were supposed to," he leaned in close to Harry's face, exhaling out his foul breath with every word, the teen's lip curling in distaste. "You could have gone the next few days, living without a clue, enjoying the food we provided. But now you know," Gareth gestured to the hanging chest in the next room, most likely housing more chopped body parts.

"You only have two choices: join us or feed us."

It had all started a little before lunch. Harry had been preparing the food, chopping up the vegetables, as usual. It was just another normal day.

Oddly peaceful, but Harry wasn't going to read too much into it, taking it for what it's worth, keeping his mouth shut as he worked. Dudley was upstairs, playing his video games, not bothering to annoy Harry today, too enraptured in his new gaming device his mother gifted to him not too long ago. Even though Harry couldn't see him, he could hear the loud grumblings of his uncle Vernon, complaining about whatever was on the television. Aunt Petunia was outside, no doubt snooping on their neighbors again. Everything had been normal, but it soon took a turn for the worse, like always with Harry's life.

When it had neared Harry's eleventh birthday, strange letters had started appearing, all addressed to him. He didn't know what it all meant but his aunt and uncle paled to a chalk white, and the next day, ordered the closest flight tickets to America. A year, it had only been a year before everything turned to hell.

Harry was almost finished with the salad when a shrill scream was heard outside, chilling the blood in his veins. Some pieces of lettuce flew out of the mixing bowl as he startled. It wasn't the little screams she let out whenever she caught sight of a mouse, this was different. It was the kind of scream that rang from the very depths of the soul, when a character from a horror movie knew she would die. Aunt Petunia was not scared, no, she was terrified.

There was furious, frantic pounding at the door.

"Help! Help!" she screeched out. The knob was tried multiple times before she managed to open it in her panic. Uncle Vernon had jumped into action from her first scream, pulling the shotgun off the wall. Harry hadn't moved at all from his place in the kitchen, frozen in fear.

There were gunshots and more screaming from both Petunia and Vernon, and Harry still couldn't move. Why couldn't he just move? Run, help, do something. His legs wouldn't obey him.

A groan had his eyes snapping to its source, and Harry regretted it instantly. A rotting corpse was staring down at him, arms outstretched to him. Harry jerked back when it started walking toward him, colliding with the kitchen counter. Feeling around behind him for any weapon, never taking his eyes off the thing, his hand clenched the handle of the knife and hurriedly stabbed it in the head as cold fingers clawed at his face. Shuddering, Harry applied more force into the knife, shoving the body onto the floor. He pulled it out, checking to see if the thing was dead once more, heart pounding restlessly as adrenaline poured into him. Now having the opportunity to fully look at the body, Harry gagged at half-rotting corpse, the smell hitting him full on. Harry exhaled shallowly, finally working up the courage to step out of the kitchen, and the sight that greeted him wasn't pretty. A group of zombies were eating his relatives, devouring them like they were meager appetizers for a full course meal. There were torn pieces of skin, flesh hanging out of their mouths. His aunt was sobbing hysterically and Uncle Vernon was trying to fight back but the horde soon overpowered him.

Harry was horrified. This was all just a bad dream, and soon he'll wake up. His aunt would be there to yell at him to get his chores done, his uncle to smack him on the head for every interpreted mistake, Dudley to sneer at him for existing.

Harry let out a soft sob, his entrance alerted them and immediately one got up from Vernon, replaced quickly by another one hoping to taste the man. Harry quickly opened the door of his cupboard, slamming the door behind him. He fell on the small mattress, holding the knife in front of him in case it somehow followed him inside. There was frustrated scraping at the door and Harry sighed in relief. A familiar stomping had his ears perking up, the ceiling of his cupboard creaking characteristically, always making him worry that maybe one day Dudley would fall through the stairs and crush him.

No, don't come down, Harry wanted to yell, to warn his cousin. It wasn't safe here. But it was too late. The scratching stopped, the shadow seen under the door crack moved slowly away. Dudley's voice soon joined the other screaming.

Harry pushed aside one of the piles of Dudley's old clothes passed on to him, displaying a small hole that he made after a particularly long confinement. Angling himself just right, his back pressed up against the wall, he peered into the street, eyes widening when he saw it littered with zombies. He sank to the floor. What was going on? Tears collected at the corner of his eyes. Harry covered his ears in a futile attempt to block out the screams, curling into himself as he quietly sobbed.

He didn't emerge until the next morning, skipping lunch and dinner, too tired and afraid to step out of the cupboard. The groans and screaming had long since faded but he couldn't be too cautious. When he found his relatives, or rather, what remained of them, Harry ran straight to the bathroom and threw up the little food he had left in his stomach. It was horrible, disgusting. Not just blood but chunks. He whimpered, pushing himself away from the toilet to rest his head along the edge of the bathtub. Harry made to flush the toilet when he realized it didn't work. Confusion furrowed his brow before he remembered that no one was probably manning the water network and the like. Probably dead. Harry quickly wiped that thought from his mind. He tested the tap but wasn't too surprised to find that it wasn't working either. So, no plumbing, no electricity. That means the refrigerator won't work. Water and food was Harry's number one priority. He wasn't too worried about water. The Dursleys' always stocked up on bottles in the garage, believing it to be the better alternative than drinking from the tap and the fridge. He was more concerned about food because without the refrigerator, they would spoil sooner. Harry would have to rely solely on canned food, and who knew how long he'd last with that? There were only so many in the house. But he'd worry about that later. Right now, Harry had to ward the place.

He cringed as he passed the remains but knew that he had to clean them later. Harry walked out, Vernon's shotgun, something he had previously only thought of as a decoration simply there to satisfy his uncle's greed, at the ready as he looked around for any sign of danger, and finding none, continued to the shed housing the building supplies Vernon kept in the backyard. Not that his uncle ever touched them or anything but Bill from next door had them, so Vernon of course needed them, too. And for that, Harry was thankful for Vernon's inflated pride because it just about saved him. He carried in planks of wood, returning to carry a saw, a hammer, and a bucket of nails. Harry spent the rest of the day boarding up the windows, nailing them shut. It wasn't a walk in the park though. Some walkers appeared, attracted by the noise he inevitably caused but a stab to the head generally sufficed. He was beginning to notice a pattern here.

Harry was perfectly content to stay in the boarded up house. The walkers weren't a problem as long as he stayed quiet, bypassing the house completely. It was strange without the constant noise of his daily life but he'd rather much stay alive. It was easy, just pretending that everything was going to be fine as he stayed disconnected from the rest of the world. However even he noticed when the food and water began to dwindle down. He tried to ration off the rest but it wasn't enough. Harry would have to start moving soon. And that meant leaving the one place he was familiar with. Filled with hesitancy, Harry prolonged the need to leave but he knew it was time to go. He packed all the necessities into Dudley's old backpack and slung the shotgun over his shoulder, knife strapped to his side. What happened next was a bunch of house hopping. He went from one to the other, raiding it of food, water, anything Harry needed. Not all of them were successes though. Some houses had already been scoured through, emptied of everything important, and those days were rough, but hopefully, one day, it'd be all worth it in the end, all this would finally end.

Harry scoffed, ignoring the gun pointed at his head. "Are you kidding me? I'm a survivor. I didn't live through my relatives' abuse, the freaking apocalypse, to just die here. Like it or not guys, you're stuck with me from now on."

Gareth smirked at him, signaling someone to take his belongings. Harry immediately started protesting.

"Hey, I said I would agree to staying here, but you can't just take my stuff. Besides, I'm not ready to…adapt to your diet just yet. So stay away from my canned peaches," Harry said firmly, snatching back the pack. "And you are not taking my gun. I need that, and you lot would just kill me if I so much as cocked it in your direction anyway."

Fortunately, Gareth didn't have the chance to argue when the voice on his walkie talkie rang out, talking about some new visitors, and with a stern, "I'll deal with you later" left Harry in the warehouse instructing one person to stay behind to keep watch on him. Not that he could do that since as soon as the group filed out the door, Harry stunned the man. It was one of the many things he discovered he could do just by wishing it hard enough. His relatives had called him a freak for as long as Harry could remember, but it was only recently that he realized why. It was like he was magical or something. Harry couldn't confront them about his abilities anymore though. It had helped with run-ins with walkers. They didn't notice him if he wished to blend in with them, but he can't hold it up for too long, too draining of a task to.

Harry tried to think of a plan. He could just make a run for it now when no one was here to stop him, but the person the other end of the walkie talkie was talking about 'new visitors'. Surely Harry had to warn them about this place before he left. He was torn about his decisions when he heard the sound of voices getting louder, one recognizable as Gareth. Harry cursed, quickly dragging the fallen body to the next room, the one containing the…other bodies, the ones meant for different purposes, a purpose that had him shivering as soon as he stepped in. It was eerie being in the same room as human bodies that were once alive but were now reduced down to be consumed as a daily caloric intake.

Gareth strolled in with the rest of his gang, this time carrying in bound and gagged bodies of five men, and Harry instantly knew that this wasn't going to end well. He waited with bated breath as the unconscious men slowly started to come to. And he was right. Two of them ended up dead, struck with a baseball bat and their throats slit open with so much precision that could only be gained through experience. Harry aimed his gun, waiting for an opportunity to shoot. If it didn't come soon, he didn't know how many more would die. He would have to create one for himself. And suddenly, loud gunshots ricocheted, making the people present, and alive, startle. When Gareth scurried off to find out what was happening when he received no reply on the walkie talkie, Harry wasted no time in shooting the remainder of the gang, running out of the room to help untie the captives. He couldn't make his escape just yet though. It would seem that more captives were being held here, and there was no way Harry would leave them at the mercy of Gareth and the rest. Harry guessed that he'll play hero one more time before he left.

I just discovered that the Walking Dead was much better than I thought it'd be. My friend was always raving about it, but I always assumed she was exaggerating. A few days ago though my older cousin was watching it on tv, and I sat with her. It was this episode right here. Episode 1, Season 5. This was my first Walking Dead episode, followed by three more consecutively, and I really want to back to season one and watch from the beginning. I'm not surprised though, I always start series out of order. - Aldira~