I'm glad a lot of people are enjoying these Resident Evil crossovers, but I've hit snags with both of them. This one, at least, might not become a full fic. But as mentioned before, I do have alternative storylines in mind for a crossover with the seventh game, even if it's only as a oneshot. Still, I can't leave you hanging without at least a second taste. I hope you enjoy it.

Mycoreincarnation's snag was, while substantial, far from disastrous, and should be alright with some rewrites. The pairing hasn't changed, just some of the character dynamics, but it's enough to need a rewrite of everything from partway through the second chapter onwards. I still hope to have it ready in time for being posted some time later in October.

Anyway, hope you enjoy...


ZONE OF MADNESS, MOULD AND MAGIC

CHAPTER 2:

STAYIN' ALIVE

As I emerged from the crawlspace, I was disappointed to find that it didn't lead to freedom, like I thought, but a laundry room. It was too much to ask for, of course. Still, the door was locked from the inside, I noted, so I decided to take the time to take stock of my situation.

If my memories were true, then it seemed things went badly wrong just before what would have been my fifth year at Hogwarts. It was bad enough that my friends kept me in the dark, but Dementors attacking? My wand would be snapped? And before I knew it, I was put in front of a hearing with most of the Wizengamot. I was found guilty, and some bitch who looked like her mother fucked a toad and wearing some eye-searing pink cardigan had me sent off to one of her contacts in the US, to keep my 'subversive influence' out of the way. From there, my memories were more than a little hazy.

That was back in 2005. It was now 2017, twelve years later. Given that Voldemort hadn't conquered the world, I suppose he was defeated. Hell, the worst thing that happened was that bizarre bioterrorism attack that turned into a pandemic some years back, the one led by that Ada Wong woman who claimed to head 'Neo-Umbrella', and I doubt that wizards were involved in that fiasco.

My thoughts were interrupted by a phone trilling on a nearby bench. Now, earlier, I had been phoned up by a woman claiming to be someone called Zoe. Given her accent, I was sure she was a local. I picked it up, and waited.

"You did good, Ethan." Yep, definitely Zoe's voice.

"Did good? Getting my hand chopped off by a chainsaw wielded by my crazy wife and having to deal with those cannibals is good?"

"You did good 'cause you survived, Ethan, that's more than a lot of…hey, what happened to your voice? Why d'you sound British?"

"…Because I am British. I just forgot it. Zoe, right? Look, what the fuck is going on?"

"Shut up and listen if you wanna live," Zoe said.

I felt my anger flare up. Thankfully, I managed to keep my voice to a low, but angry hiss, trying to stop Jack Baker from overhearing me. "Excuse me? I want answers, and I don't like being fed bullshit and kept in the dark. I have had a very bad day, I'm in a contrary mood, and your keeping schtum isn't helping matters."

"…Look, honestly, if I was in your shoes, I'd feel the same way. But I've been dealin' with this shit for the past three years, ever since…your wife, she's the one called Mia, right? She washed up near the house, along with…her. Stayin' alive and sane is a full-time job here, and I was the one who healed you up."

"By stapling my hand back onto my wrist? How the hell did that work?"

"Believe me, one of the few good things about this was that I learned to make improvised medicine that makes the Arklay herbs look weak by comparison," Zoe said. "I've got questions too, questions I want answers to. You've gotta get outta the house, and if I know my father, he's got the place locked up tight."

"Father? You mean that Jack guy…is your father?"

"Was."

"Then how can I trust you?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure you have a reason to, except I'm the only ally you have in that place, and you're my only hope of getting the fuck outta here with my hide intact. Look, I'll be waiting for you in the trailer just out the front door. Oh, and that thing on your wrist, that smartwatch thing? It's called a Gene Codex. It's a useful little thing, displays health, and has a few other functions that might come in handy later. I'll be in touch…"


Of course, things were never so simple. As I unlocked and exited the laundry, I found myself hearing someone at a window down the corridor, peering in with a flashlight. I approached warily to find an African-American in what looked like a police uniform peering suspiciously at me.

Now, given my situation, I was probably well within my rights to rush to the window and scream for him to help me out. I very nearly did. But given how many times I had dealt with idiot authority figures as Harry, I decided a slightly less strong approach was needed.

As quietly as I could, I hissed at him, "Officer, I need help. These people, they…"

"Hold on, back up," the man said. "The name's Deputy Sheriff Anderson. Now, sir, do you live here? Is this your property?"

"…No. But I have been kidnapped, and so has my wife," I explained, trying to keep my tone calmer than I felt. "The people here…they are killers, I think. I know it sounds like something out of a bad horror movie, but it's true. You can probably smell the bits of dead person one of them chucked at me not fifteen minutes ago." He looked a bit uncertain, so I showed him the staples connecting my left hand to the corresponding arm. "See this? They did this to me. They're going to do a lot worse to me. Please, help. I'll tell you what I know, but it's not much. I just need help."

"…Alright. Calm down, please. I know that might be hard, but I'm here to help. I'm just trying to get to the bottom of this. We got some calls about some missing persons in the area, that's why I'm here, and you certainly don't sound like you're from around here. I can't rule out that you're involved with this, but a British tourist doesn't seem to be prime suspect material. There's a garage, you should be close to the door. Try and find a way to get in, and we'll talk then."

I could tell that, despite his scepticism, he was trying to help. "…Fine. But…" I nearly asked for his gun, but I realised that might be a step too far. I was still suspicious-looking, I knew, and besides, maybe I had my magic. I wasn't sure. "…Never mind."

He must've realised something of what I wanted. Frowning, he fished around, before handing me a pocket knife through the window. "Look, if there really are dangerous people in there, then that's all I can spare. I hope it's good enough."

"…I hope so too, Deputy…"


The entrance to the garage was easy enough to find, but it was just as well Anderson gave me his knife. The entrance was closed, and the opener was in a box sealed shut with duct tape. Cutting it open was easy enough with the knife, though, and I opened the garage to find Anderson walking in, his police car outside. I decided to put the knife away, just in case. And my car was there too. When had it been moved in?

As Anderson saw me approach, I hissed, "Deputy, we need to leave as soon as possible. Both of us are in danger."

"Well, first, you need to tell me what the hell you were doing here in the middle of the night," he said, looking a little tense, his hand by his holster. "I know you said you were kidnapped, but I'm sensing there's more to the story than a British tourist and his wife out here."

"There is a lot, believe me, but we're not going to live long enough to discuss it unless we get out of here now."

"Try me," Anderson said, before the doors began to close. He noticed, and demanded, "What the hell did you just do? Put that door back up!"

"Me? I did nothing! Deputy, we've gotta get out of here now!" But then, I noticed something over his shoulder. "GET DOWN!" I screamed.

And, miracle of miracles, he listened to me, and ducked, just in time to avoid getting scalped by a shovel wielded by Jack Baker. Anderson, to his credit, whipped out his pistol, scrambled away, and aimed it at Jack. "Put the weapon down, now!"

"Fuck you, pig!" Jack sneered, raising the shovel to do it again…only for a rapid series of shots from Anderson to hit him in his chest. He swayed on his feet, before sagging to his knees, and then onto the ground.

Anderson stared at him, before looking to me. "What the hell…? Is this Jack Baker? But he…"

Suddenly, Jack's hand lashed out like a snake, gripping Anderson's ankle, and pulling him to the floor. The balding man was on the deputy in a flash, punching him, until I tackled Jack off him with a scream. As he fell to the floor, I tried to use magic, anything to stop him…but nothing came.

What?! Why the hell had it gone away now?!

Jack got to his feet again. "Not a bad tackle for a wimpy Limey," he said, walking over, before deliberately stomping in the thankfully unconscious (at least) Anderson's face. Once, twice, three times, and then Anderson's head burst like a rotten fruit, gore and bone going everywhere. "But y'all gonna hafta do better than that."

Okay, so, scratch using my magic. For some reason, possibly related to my amnesia of my formative years, it was unreliable. And Jack had just shrugged off a few gunshots, to the chest.

So, what to do? As my eyes roved around the garage, I spotted my car keys on the bench. I dashed over, grabbed them, and then dove for the car door, opening it, putting the keys in the ignition, and I managed to get it going. "Right!" I shouted at Jack, who was stalking around, shovel back in hand. "Time to turn the tables, you redneck wanker!"

"Now, that there's just plain…FUCK!" That last exclamation came about because Jack met the bonnet of my car, and bounced off. I was probably going to ruin my car, but between that and staying alive, it was no contest. Unfortunately, Jack didn't seem to take well to being run over, and jumped onto the roof after a couple of repetitions. And then, he peeled it off like the lid from a tin can, and jumped in.

"Hoo boy, now it gets fun," he said. I personally disagreed. Especially as he proceeded to make my car even more of a wreck than it already was by driving it into the walls…before sending us on a suicidal crash course into some I-beams. I managed to avoid getting my head turned into puree. Jack, however, wasn't, his neck broken, though given the movement of his mouth and his shit-eating grin, he was still alive.

I fled my car, even as it burst into flames…and then Jack, lit up like a bloody Guy Fawkes effigy, climbed out of the car. "Oh boy, now look what you've done, motherfucker!"

"Hey, I ain't the hillbilly who probably fucked his mother!" I snapped back, grabbing Anderson's pistol as I did so, and uttering a silent apology to the deceased policeman.

"Now that's just rude," he said, advancing on me. "Fucking Chav, isn't that what they call rude Brits?"

I offered him no reply but a bullet. I was hoping that the damage done to him would have a limit, that he'd keel over and, if not die, spend time regenerating. I had no idea what the hell he was, only that it was not good.

An explosion from the car sent us both staggering, but he recovered first, his burnt flesh oozing blood and pus as he grabbed my gun hand…and brought it to his face. "Do I have your attention, boy? You're about to see something wonderful." Then, he brought the gun's barrel to his mouth, and used a finger to push down on my trigger finger.

The gun triggered, the shot deafening from close range, and almost half of Jack's head exploded in a gory spray all over the garage. He collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut…or, more accurately, like a cannibalistic serial killer whose brains were currently painting the garage floor.

I had to wonder…why? Why did he commit suicide after doing all this? After all, he shrugged off other bullet wounds, burns, and what had to be a broken neck like they were nothing.

I had a bad feeling that Jack wasn't dead…or at least his death was purely temporary. Unlike poor Anderson, who was left on the floor of the garage, his head even worse off than Jack's. He deserved better than this…


With Jack Baker out of commission, and any hope of the cavalry coming in dashed for now, after managing to leave the garage by ladder, I headed down the hall, hoping to find the way out. There was a weird ornate lock on one of the doors, but it was ajar, thankfully, presumably opened by Jack or someone else earlier, and I hurried through into the main hall. I hurried over to what had to be the front door, only to find a weird lock, with a plaque of a Cerberus on it, with the heads of the relief missing.

"Fuck this," I hissed. "Alohamora."

Nothing happened. I repeated it, getting frustrated each and every time, before I subsided. Whatever sliver of magic allowed me to escape earlier hadn't come back. I wept silent tears of frustration. How the hell was I going to get out of here and save Mia?

I heard the trill of a nearby phone, and I went to answer it. "Hello?"

"It's me again. Did my daddy give you a hard time?" Zoe asked.

"Somewhat. He killed a Deputy Sheriff who'd come to investigate. He made me shoot him in the head. I'd say I'm sorry he's dead, but…one, he was trying to kill me, and two…I've got a sneaking suspicion that he's going to be able to shrug off giving a gun a blowjob."

A sardonic chuckle up the line. "Unfortunately, you're right. But the way you're going, you might be able to pull this off. I'm sorry I can't help you more than I am, but you need to find a way out of the house. You see the Cerberus relief on the door? My grandfather retained the services of George Trevor to build some weird locks and stuff in the house. There's three heads that act as keys. I dunno where Daddy put them. So I'm sorry, Ethan, you're on your own."

"Story of my fucking life. Oh, and by the way, it's a long story, for reasons related to my accent, but my name isn't Ethan. It's Harry. Harry Potter."

"Harry, huh? Good to speak to you, Harry. I should go…"

CHAPTER 2 ANNOTATIONS:

So, things are on the rails of the game somewhat, so far, as Harry's magic is unreliable. Of course, things will change after a certain point. Though Harry's more genre savvy than Ethan. Plus, we have a little insight into how Harry became Ethan, admittedly how little he knows.

Now, I did change Anderson's fate a little. Ethan, for all his panic, didn't help matters, so I thought Harry, trying to remain calm, would try to elucidate things a bit better. And because he managed to warn Anderson in time, Anderson didn't go down without a fight. I thought his sudden death was a slight disservice in the game, so while he still dies pretty quickly, he at least died knowing who the real enemy was…well, to a degree. Nobody outside the Baker Farm knows of Eveline yet, save for the Connections…

Also, you'll note that Ethan, and thus Harry, is aware, albeit distantly, of the events of Resident Evil 6.

Anyway, next chapter will be interludes from the POV of other characters. Unlike the Ethan chapters, these will be in the third person.

No numbered annotations this time.