Author's note: Soo…it's been a minute. I promise this story wasn't abandoned. My husband and I decided to split up in March after spending fourteen years together. This was my first time being single since high school, so kind of a lot for me to adjust to. Then I took a boxing fight and that took up a lot of my focus. Now that I'm doing better personally and I'm no longer in fight camp, I will be back to giving this story at least somewhat regular attention. Thank you to everyone who has read/followed/favorited it while I was on hiatus. It meant a lot to me and I've been eager to get back to working on it.

Sirius pulled a t-shirt over his head, unable to help sighing at the feeling of fresh fabric against his freshly washed skin. Forgoing hygienic practices wasn't exactly new to him after spending over a decade in Azkaban and then being on the run, but one of the few positive aspects of being at Grimmauld Place the last year was that he'd been able to return to regular bathing and clean clothes. There was an unexpected comfort in cleanliness that Sirius had come to appreciate, and while it had only been a couple of days since he'd last bathed, he couldn't deny that it had added to his anxiety.

The shirt was plain gray and a little too big for him, but the jeans fit nicely. He spent the next few minutes leisurely pacing his and Harry's cell and stretching his limbs. It was six in the morning and he had just returned from the showers forty minutes ago, hoping that Daryl was the type to shower before everyone else was up, but Sirius hadn't seen him anywhere on his way there or back. Ten minutes ago, Daryl had returned to the cell block after being somewhere outside, stopped at his cell, and then headed for the prison hallways, and Harry had hurried to the bathrooms in hopes of catching Daryl there. He wasn't terribly optimistic, but he found it difficult to be as worried now that he was clean. He was more concerned with alleviating Harry's worries, something he wasn't sure he'd done a very good job of so far.

He recalled the conversation he'd had with Hershel the night before. He had been watching Harry and Carl play cards, experiencing a surge of gratitude that his godson had found a friend when his own were out of reach. Hershel had clearly noticed him watching.

"These kids have been through a lot for their age," the old man had said. "I often find myself impressed with their resilience. They're able to move forward with their lives in a way that many full-grown adults still struggle to do."

"They have to be resilient because we fail to protect them," Sirius had said bitterly.

"Quite the opposite, I think. There are ways we can't protect them, of course, no matter how much we may try, but I believe they're able to be resilient because of the ways we are able to protect them."

Sirius shook his head. "I deserve no credit for Harry's ability to persevere. His parents died to save him. My job was to protect him by protecting them, and I failed."

"You're thinking of protection only in terms of the physical. But I've seen the way you interact with that boy, the trust in his eyes when he looks at you, the way you're able to make him laugh when he's troubled…you protect his heart. Keeping him alive means little if you can't preserve his soul as well."

This made Sirius feel worse rather than better. Harry probably did more to protect Sirius' soul than the other way around. Hell, Harry had literally saved Sirius' soul from being stolen forever by the Dementors. Harry was the only reason that Sirius had broken out of Azkaban, had stayed (mostly) out of trouble while still wanted by the Ministry…letters from Harry, visits from Harry, knowing Harry was safe at school with his friends…these were all things that had kept a fire going under Sirius for the last couple of years. Even when he thought he might implode from frustration at being stuck at Grimmauld Place, wanting to do nothing more than drink himself to death, the thought of Harry kept him grounded.

He wasn't so sure he could say he had that same effect on his godson, who had already suffered so much before meeting him and still suffered despite Sirius' presence in his life.

Hershel, seeming to sense Sirius' doubts, had continued. "Take Carl over there…just a few months ago, we were at war with another community. Their leader was power-hungry, but he had charisma. He manipulated his people into thinking we wanted to take their sanctuary by force, when in reality, he wanted to usurp our home. A lot of his people were just ordinary folks trying to make it, like most of us. They were well-intended and didn't know the full scope of the situation." Hershel had sighed, his eyes shining in a way that truly showed his age for the first time since Sirius had met him. "While Rick and the others defended the prison from an ambush, Beth, Carl, and I hid in the woods to stay safe. A boy from the other community—hardly older than Carl and Harry—was fleeing the attack, clearly realizing he was caught up in something he didn't want to be a part of. He ran into us. Carl and I had him at gunpoint, and I instructed him to put his weapon down." Hershel looked away, eyes distant. "He did. He was cooperating, lowering his weapon in obvious surrender." His eyes locked onto Sirius', hard and grim. "Carl shot and killed him."

Sirius had stared at Hershel. Not much surprised him after everything he'd experienced at this point, but he couldn't help being taken aback. When he glanced at Carl, it was to see him listening intently to Harry in a way that reminded Sirius of how Remus and James used to listen to him when he was speaking of something earnest. He looked back at Hershel and made sure to keep his voice low. "You're telling me that Carl in the sheriff hat—that Carl—is a killer?"

Hershel held up a hand. "I wouldn't throw around the term 'killer' so cavalierly. However…he did kill that boy, yes."

Sirius swallowed. Harry had fought Death Eaters—hell, he had fought Voldemort himself—but it had only ever been when he was attacked first, and he'd never killed anyone. When Harry had been closer to Carl's age and had first met Sirius, believing him to be his parents' murderer, Harry had pointed his wand at him in rage, declaring his intention to kill him. He hadn't, though. His heart hadn't been in it. "Did…the other boy…did he make any sudden moves? Perhaps—"

"No. There was no reason other than that Carl had learned to let his heart be driven by fear. He didn't want to give that kid the chance to turn on him or any of us."

Sirius rotated and looked over his freshly bandaged hand before popping the Muggle painkillers into his mouth. "I can't say I blame him."

Hershel shook his head. "It's a bad path. If the only way for Harry to survive this world is to grow into a coldblooded killer, is it really worth him staying alive?"

Sirius opened his mouth, ready to reply a defiant yes without hesitation, but he found the word more difficult to say than he expected. He thought about when he and Remus had been about to kill Peter in the Shrieking Shack, how Harry had intervened, insisting that his father wouldn't have wanted them to become killers. While Sirius couldn't say for certain, Harry had probably been right in that situation. What Sirius could say with certainty, however, is that James and Lily both would abhor the idea of Harry turning into a murderer. They would much prefer their son to die honorably. Sirius cleared his throat. "Well…it was only one instance, right? And Carl's still only a boy…it doesn't mean he'll make a habit out of it."

To Sirius' surprise, Hershel smiled. "As long as his father and those who care for him protect his heart. I advised Rick to focus on farming, and to turn Carl's focus to farming. To work in the fields and leave their guns behind. Focus on growing and nurturing life instead of going to war. So far…" Hershel looked back over at Carl, his eyes now twinkling in a way that reminded Sirius of Dumbledore. "So far, I think it's been working well for Carl. He's experienced more heartache than a boy his age should ever know, especially after losing his mother. I could see him beginning to lose himself, but with help from his father, I've been seeing him come back." Hershel had then gazed at Sirius. "And as long as Harry continues to have help from you, he'll be okay as well."

Sirius reflected on this now, not believing in his ability to guide Harry as much as Hershel seemed to, but he thought about how well-adjusted Carl seemed to be and felt hopeful. Sure, Carl wasn't burdened with the responsibility of saving his world. Yet, he had killed a person at such a young age as well as witnessed his mother's and several other gruesome deaths, and he still seemed to have a calm, kind disposition. If Rick could do right by Carl, surely Sirius could do right by Harry too?

The boy in question entered the cell, wearing a new t-shirt and jeans and dark hair spiky from dampness. He shook his head as soon as making eye contact with Sirius, who was determined to project confidence regardless.

"That's all right. We'll try again tomorrow if Glenn hasn't gotten him to give them back yet."

"I think Daryl and some of the others are going on a trip tomorrow," said Harry.

"A trip?"

"For supplies."

"That's right…Hershel said to let someone know if we wanted anything in particular."

Harry shrugged. "More clothes, I guess."

"Or…" Sirius walked closer to Harry so that he could speak more quietly. "We could go with them."

"What? And get killed? We don't know how to fight those things like they do. We've only killed them through the fence."

"So we'll get in a bit of practicing today," Sirius said bracingly. "Either way, it's a large group. We can probably get away with letting them do the heavy lifting."

"But why? How will us going help anything?"

"Daryl will be focused on his mission. We'll be away from the prison. Perhaps this will create the opportune moment for us to snag the wands. Or to check in with Glenn about getting them back."

Harry shook his head. "It's too much of a long shot."

"If we get in a bind, I'll transform. I should be able to fight those things off pretty well as Padfoot. Otherwise, we might be stuck waiting here at least another couple of days before they get back. Would you rather sit around twiddling our thumbs, still wandless and without a way home?"

Harry stared at Sirius in a way that made it clear he was resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "Fine."

"Nah. Ain't happening. No way."

Daryl shook his head and stepped away from the wall he'd been leaning against. He was in the main area of the cell block with Rick, Carol, Michonne, Glenn, and Sasha, and Sirius and Harry had just approached him about going on the supply run tomorrow. The mere fact that Sirius was even making the request irked Daryl beyond belief. It wasn't even eight in the morning yet and the man was already ramping up Daryl's blood pressure.

"You really think that's a good idea?" Rick asked. "Your hand's still injured. And no offense, but you're probably out of practice as far as fighting walkers goes. When's the last time you had to kill any before doing fence duty here?"

"We wouldn't have made it long enough for Daryl to find us if we didn't know how to handle ourselves," Sirius said gruffly. "And like I told you at the fences, I have two hands."

Rick pursed his lips, while Sasha countered, "What about carrying stuff? We're looking to bring home as much as we can. Even if you can fight off walkers well enough with one hand, you won't be much use if you can't collect and carry a lot of supplies."

Sirius made a growling sound in his throat and looked up at the ceiling. "You lot act as if it's my whole arm that's busted. I can carry bags over my shoulders. I've certainly accomplished more in worse shape."

"He has," Harry conceded.

"Why you even want to go?" said Daryl. "We can find ya whatever you need."

Sirius' eyes locked onto Daryl's once again, and though they mirrored Daryl's impatience, they lacked their usual hostility. "Mate…I'm honestly going a bit stir crazy here. Even if I'm not locked up, I'm still back in a prison, and it's grating at me. Getting out for a spell would calm my nerves, and I'd probably find it easier to cooperate with a jumped-up git like you."

Daryl held his gaze, scrutinizing Sirius for any signs of deceit, finding none. His gut told him the words were genuine, though he found himself trying to come up with a solid argument anyway.

"This isn't some trip for you to blow off steam," Carol eventually said. "You can't endanger anyone. If you go, you and Harry have to be responsible for yourselves. And…" she caught Daryl's eye. "And if you jeopardize their mission in any way, the group will leave you behind, unwelcome to return." She glanced around from person to person. "Does that seem fair to everyone?"

There were general nods and murmurs of assent among Rick, Michonne, Glenn, and Sasha. Sirius looked at Harry, who nodded, before giving a firm, "Absolutely."

Everyone else then turned to Daryl. He was the final say, and he still didn't want to say "yes," but Carol's terms were agreeable and he still couldn't think of an argument that wasn't petty. He strode right up to Sirius, wanting to make himself clear. The man was slightly taller than him but Daryl didn't care.

"You get anyone hurt, you get anyone killed, and I will make sure being left behind is the least of your worries."

Sirius maintained an icy stare, but Daryl didn't give him a chance to say anything before walking away.

"When is she gonna talk?"

Carl loaded another spoonful of baby food and zigzagged it through the air until it reached his giggly sister's mouth. Without turning away from Judith, he said, "Not for a while. She's only a few months old."

"She'd be more interesting if she could talk," Lizzie went on, standing somewhere behind Carl, who was hoping she would go away.

"You talk a lot and you're not very interesting."

"That's mean," said Mika.

"It's true." Carl stirred the baby food.

"You think you're so much cooler than us and you're not," continued Lizzie. "Harry's cooler than you. He's nicer too."

"You just met him." He fed Judith another bite and she gobbled it up with an enthusiastic "mmm!" that made Carl grin.

"So? He gets to go on the trip tomorrow. You don't get to go."

Carl lowered the spoon and finally turned around. "Harry's going on the supply run?"

"That's what Carol said." Lizzie straightened her back and folded her arms in a smug manner. "You always like to act like you're more grownup than the rest of us, but looks like the adults think Harry's more grownup than you."

Gritting his teeth, Carl turned back to Judith, dipping the spoon back into the food with more vigor. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Lizzie, you're being mean too," Mika interjected. "Leave Carl alone."

"Fine," Lizzie huffed. "He's boring anyway. Come on."

Carl waited until the sound of footsteps faded behind him before setting down the spoon and leaning back with a sigh.

Was that true? Was Harry really going on the supply run? Sure, he was in need of new clothes and possessions, but there was no reason the group couldn't retrieve those things for him. The youngest person that usually went on runs was Zach, and he was eighteen. Harry was only fifteen. Carl was younger, but not much. He was about to turn fourteen.

He took a deep breath in and out, telling himself he was being silly. He wasn't sure why the idea of Harry getting to go was spurring such a defensiveness in him. After all, Harry had been out among the walkers and without shelter much more recently than Carl had. It made sense.

Judith made a brusque screeching sound to indicate her impatience and Carl returned to feeding her lunch. Once he was finished, he cleaned his sister up and took her to find Beth, who would be watching her for the rest of the afternoon while Carl went back to work on the crops. He was on his way outside when he heard none other than Harry calling his name.

Jealousy bubbled back to the surface and Carl pushed it down, stopping in his tracks to wait for Harry to catch up to him.

"What's going on?" Carl asked, trying to sound casual.

"Not much," said Harry. "Was wondering if you have a weapon I could borrow. Guess I'm going on this trip to get supplies tomorrow."

Carl drummed his fingers against his leg. "You are?"

"Yeah, Sirius wants to go and he doesn't want me staying here without him. He gets paranoid about being separated from me."

A wave of relief washed over Carl. So Harry got to go on the run because Sirius was requiring it. "He'd rather risk your safety out there than stay here with you?"

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "No, he just…he feels like he can protect me better if I'm with him."

Carl stopped walking before they actually reached the door to leave the building. "What kind of weapon do you want? My dad has my gun. I just have a knife I keep under my mattress. Don't tell him about that."

Harry frowned. "Why can't he know about your knife? Surely he knows you're just protecting yourself?"

"He…doesn't trust me like he used to. He wants me to stay away from weapons for a while." An undoubtable shadow of concern flickered in Harry's eyes before disappearing, and Carl found himself annoyed again. "It's nothing to worry about. He's staying away from weapons too. We just did so much fighting for a while that he wants us to…avoid violence, I guess."

"Right…" said Harry, nodding slowly.

Carl waved a dismissive hand and turned to leave. "Daryl or Sasha will make sure you have something."

Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd been so nervous. Quidditch matches thrilled him, and even defending himself against Death Eaters was something he was quite confident about. The most recent situation he could recall experiencing such performance anxiety had to be when he was trying to win over Cho Chang, which seemed laughable now. Nonetheless, he held the gun up with shaky hands, somewhat surprised by how heavy it was, and pointed it at the wooden board Sasha had designated as his target. He listened intently to her every instruction and breathed as she directed him to, hoping that he would at least be able to shoot well enough to eliminate any doubt from her about him coming on the supply run.

On Sasha's command, he pulled the trigger, also surprised by how loud the gun was. He had never fired a gun before, let alone held or handled one, as the Dursleys would never have let him anywhere near one. It was vastly different from a wand. His first shot hit the dirt, his second veered too far right of the board. Harry felt hot and sweaty and wiped his hands on his shirt before repositioning himself.

"Remember," Sasha called from behind him. "Think of the gun as an extension of yourself."

Harry swallowed and looked over to his left at Sirius, who had already practiced firing and who had, to Harry's immense frustration, been a natural. His godfather gave him a reassuring nod and mouthed like a wand.

Taking a deep breath, Harry returned his gaze to the target and imagined he was holding his wand instead of a gun, picturing how effortlessly he could send spells from it as if it was just a part of his arm. He pulled the trigger and this time he hit the board. Relieved, he looked over at Sirius, who winked at him.

"Good," Sasha said dully. "Now do it again."

They continued practicing shooting for another half hour, with Sirius still shooting accurately most of the time and Harry hitting and missing, but hitting more than missing. The new mental approach had helped him gain a grasp of the concept, even if his skill was still mediocre. He walked away from the designated practice area feeling more at ease about the trip, understanding that a moving target would be much more difficult to hit, but no longer having a sense of hopelessness in his ability to defend himself if needed. Not to mention, Sasha seemed to have more confidence in Harry and Sirius as well, which she was sure to report to Daryl and the others.

"That wasn't my first time, to be fair," Sirius said later, as they approached their cell by themselves. "Shooting, I mean."

"What?" Harry supposed he shouldn't be so taken aback, as Sirius had always demonstrated an interest in Muggle life. "Why didn't you say so?"

"It's been over a decade, since before Azkaban. I wasn't sure if I would still be any good at it. Figured I'd leave it a surprise for both of us."

"But why did you ever shoot a gun?"

Sirius shrugged. "I learned everything I could in terms of defense after leaving Hogwarts, when the first war was in full effect, and I thought it seemed foolish to ignore Muggle options too. I thought it could be helpful if I ever got caught without my wand. Plus, it seemed fun." Sirius grinned. "Arthur's not the only one who enjoys Muggle gadgets."

The two of them changed clothes and laid down for bed. Harry's mind was racing in a way that was…almost excited? They would be leaving for the supply run in the morning, and though he still wasn't sure what they could realistically achieve by going, Harry felt eager to do something.

While this excitement still lingered the next day, it faded somewhat as he and Sirius climbed into the back of an SUV. The nerves Harry had felt before getting better with the gun were starting to return. As he listened to everyone go over plans and checking weapons, it truly started to hit Harry that this wasn't just a trip to the store, that it was a mission where people sometimes did not return.

Like an Order mission…

All year, he had longed to be more useful, to join the Order and take part on such missions, but after how disastrously his mission to rescue Sirius had turned out and seeing how the consequences of his actions—as well intended as they were—affected those closest to him, Harry was beginning to feel more like a liability than an asset. What if his presence endangered these people? What if someone like Glenn or Maggie were hurt or killed because Harry wasn't competent enough with a gun and needed to be saved? He quickly wondered if he should get out of the car before it could leave and ensure that Sirius followed suit.

Sasha soon opened the driver's side door while Tyreese took the passenger's seat. Daryl, Michonne, Karen, and David were taking one vehicle while Glenn, Maggie, Zach, and Ryan were taking another. There were siblings, spouses/significant others, and parents among the entire group. Anyone getting killed on this trip would be devastating to someone else.

"Everyone good?" Sasha asked. Everyone replied with general murmurs of assent and Harry found himself nodding. He looked over at Sirius, whose eyes had a wild glint to them. His godfather saw this as an adventure, Harry realized, and he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

The drive lasted a little over half an hour, with Harry trying to focus on the surroundings they passed in case there was anything he could learn. The road was clear of other vehicles other than the occasional abandoned one here or there. They saw no other living people, but not too many walkers either, which Harry figured was probably a good sign. There was a small cluster of the dead feeding on what appeared to be a deer carcass offroad along the treeline. The sight didn't seem to even earn so much as a glance from Sasha and Tyreese, but Harry couldn't help finding himself unnerved by it. At the prison, it had been easy to forget that the rest of the world was so desolate and that death was so gruesome and ubiquitous. It made Harry wonder what the world back home would look like if Voldemort won the war. Surely nothing like this, right? Yes, things would be grim beyond belief. Society would be stripped of all of the things that made it worthwhile, but society would still exist.

Harry mentally shook himself, deciding now wasn't the time to be thinking about that. He had to focus on what was within his control here and now, and that was this mission.

They deviated from the country roads after a while and rolled through the suburbs, where a few eerily vacant shopping strips came into view. More vehicles were scattered across the parking lots, which were also littered with other random debris. Garbage blew across the blacktop like manmade tumbleweeds. A blue tarp fluttered along the pavement with the pathetic halfheartedness of a wounded animal. Harry could see dead hands mindlessly clawing at the windows from inside one of the nearest cars. He wondered if it was a walker someone had trapped in the car or if someone had died trapped in the car and then turned. The latter idea made him feel sick.

They pulled into a parking lot that was dominated by a superstore with a red and white target on it. From what Harry understood, it was a common and popular Muggle American store that carried everything from food and clothes to household goods and sports equipment, a place where one could buy virtually anything. Each of the vehicles parked along the front entrance of the store, which was covered almost entirely with wooden boards and some pieces of metal here and there.

Sasha turned the car off and rotated in her seat. She handed a gun to Sirius, who nodded and took it without hesitation, and she held out another for Harry, the same one he'd practiced with. He looked at it momentarily before taking it from her, once again surprised by its weight despite having just used it less than twenty-four hours ago.

They all exited their respective vehicles and merged as a group in front of the building, everyone readying their weapons. Those with guns turned off the safety, something that Harry scrambled to remember how to do. He watched Sirius, who made a point to hold up his gun in plain view for Harry to see. Harry nodded and copied him, Sirius nodding back to show he'd done it correctly.

Daryl approached the building with his crossbow, moving over to a spot where the boards were broken and covered in scratches. He held a fist up near his head, indicating for everyone to stay back and stay silent. He peered carefully through a gap, then held his ear near it for a moment. When he moved away, he lowered his arm and nodded.

"Okay, remember," said Sasha, "Daryl and I will scout the main entrance, make sure the place isn't overrun. Then on our signal, the rest of you come in. Have your bags, but stay alert and prepared to fight. We'll sweep the whole building before collecting supplies. Clear?"

Everyone murmured in assent. Harry watched as Daryl and Sasha then moved a little farther down the building to a section where the boards had been ripped off entirely, leaving enough room for at least two people to pass through at once. The two of them disappeared inside, and the rest of them waited.

After a few minutes, Daryl leaned out of the opening in the boards and beckoned the others inside. Harry swallowed. This is it.

Daryl led the way through the entrance, past a barricade of shelves, and into the main store. Blood was smeared on parts of the floor, but no bodies were in sight. Random items were also strewn about, as if they'd been dropped mid-run. Harry listened closely for the sound he'd become used to recognizing as the growls and groans of walkers, not hearing anything so far. It struck him as strange. If a group had been living here and walkers had gotten to them, shouldn't the place be crawling with walkers?

The group followed Daryl throughout the store, only coming across three wandering walkers. He gave them the all-clear to separate and collect the supplies they'd been assigned. For Harry and Sirius, who were sharing a list, that meant going to the children's section and gathering toys and clothes for the kids at the prison. Once they gathered the items on their list, they were encouraged to look for items they personally needed.

Sirius leaned toward Harry as they walked over to the children's clothing. "What are overalls?"

Harry tried not to laugh. "The American version of dungarees." When Sirius only furrowed his brow in further confusion, Harry looked around at a nearby clothing rack and pointed. "Those."

Sirius approached the rack and held up a set of overalls. "You're telling me Muggle children take these things on and off without magic? Blimey…"

Harry checked off the overalls once Sirius found them in the proper size and added them to their bag. They had more clothes for the kids to find and continued perusing, Sirius finding apparent amusement in some of the designs, seeming more entertained by the difference in British versus American styles rather than Wizarding versus Muggle.

Daryl passed not too far away, stalking through the tool section near the back end of the store before Harry couldn't see him anymore. He had seemed too focused to spare them so much as a glance, but Harry was certain he was still keeping a subtle eye on them. It might have previously elicited an irritated reaction from Harry. However, he currently found himself appreciating Daryl's sense of awareness, as Harry knew it stemmed from a place of protecting his loved ones. If strangers who'd appeared under mysterious circumstances had decided to join the DA, Harry probably would have watched just as closely. He found himself respecting Daryl's caution.

Not that he'd say as much to Sirius.

"The bloody hell is Pokemon, Harry?" Sirius asked, holding up a shirt with some kind of yellow mouselike creature on it.

Harry shrugged. "No idea."

What sounded like a shotgun blast rang out.

"NO!"

Both Harry's and Sirius's heads snapped up. There was no mistaking Daryl's voice crying out, though it was in a panicked tone Harry had never heard from him, something he found unnerving. His yell was immediately followed by a loud crashing sound and the unmistakable cacophony of several walker growls. Harry made to run toward the commotion, but Sirius grabbed his arm.

"Stay here."

And without another word, Sirius held up his gun and took off. Harry looked down at his own gun and, for the first time in a long time, felt truly out of his league.

When Sirius heard Daryl yell, two things immediately registered for him: they were all about to be in great danger, and Harry would run head-on into that danger even if he had no idea how to handle it. Ready for it right away, Sirius grabbed Harry's arm and pleaded with his godson to stay put. Had they been in the Wizarding world, Sirius would have trusted enough in Harry's abilities to let him fight alongside him, but they had no wands and Harry had only just tried firing a gun less than twenty-four hours ago. Not to mention, joining the supply run had been Sirius's idea in the first place. He knew everyone back home saw him as an irresponsible godfather, but there was no way Sirius was going to allow Harry to endanger himself unnecessarily.

He ran in the direction of the noise and hoped Harry was sensible enough not to follow. He skidded to a halt at the end of an aisle and tried to take in everything he saw as quickly as he could.

At the opposite end of the aisle, Daryl squirmed on the floor, his leg trapped beneath a shelf and his crossbow discarded next to him as he tried to wiggle his way free. Behind Daryl, there was the entrance to an area that contain the restrooms and stockroom, which Sirius knew from their original sweep of the store had been barricaded by now knocked-over shelves, and from which several walkers were rapidly stumbling.

Sirius started firing his gun at the walkers as they dispersed in different directions. Most of his shots accurately hit the walkers, but not in their heads, so they kept coming. Sirius held them off until he ran out of bullets, which happened so much sooner than he expected. Daryl, meanwhile, had managed to reach his crossbow and, from what looked like an uncomfortable position that involved twisting his entire torso, was firing bolts from the floor.

There was the bang of another gun being fired back in the direction Sirius had come from. He turned to see Harry being approached by walkers and trying to shoot them, not doing very well. Sirius charged back toward his godson and knew he only had one option left.

Fuck it.

He transformed into Padfoot mid-run and leapt at the walker nearest to Harry, tackling it to the ground before sinking his teeth into its throat and tearing it apart. He could taste hot blood and rotten flesh but ignored the unpleasant assault on his senses, his primal instincts taking over. He continued to take down the next few walkers until none were approaching Harry.

"Sirius, Daryl!" Harry exclaimed.

Sirius turned on his heel and hurled himself back toward the aisle that Daryl was trapped in. Just before he arrived at the end of the aisle, a scraggly, unkempt man, who bore an unflattering resemblance to Sirius when he'd first escaped Azkaban, beat him there from the opposite direction, pointing a shotgun at Daryl with shaking hands and a manic look in his eyes. He definitely hadn't been in their group.

Sirius growled and the stranger turned just in time to see Sirius hurtling toward him. Sirius tackled him to the ground before the man could fire a shot and, much like with the walkers, Sirius sank his massive jaws into the man's throat, feeling bone break beneath his teeth as he twisted his neck like a ragdoll. He let the man's limp body fall before returning his attention to Daryl, who was staring at him with awe and confusion while more walkers poured out from the previously barricaded area behind him.

Sirius felt his hackles lift in triumph. He could see his and Harry's wands spilling out of Daryl's pocket on the floor. He bounded forward and snatched the wands with his mouth, ignoring Daryl's angry, "Hey!" He ran back to the safe end of the aisle where he saw Harry approaching with wide eyes, tossed his wand to his godson, and tossed his own wand up in the air.

Sirius transformed back into a man and caught his wand in his hand with utmost grace. Daryl, still on the floor, gaped at him.

"Wingardium leviosa!" Sirius yelled, swishing and flicking his wand at the shelf trapping Daryl, which began to float upright. Daryl didn't hesitate to army crawl away and drag his leg out of reach before Sirius let the shelf fall back to the floor.

"Protego!" Sirius sent a shield charm Daryl's way as he scrambled to his feet, wincing and hopping as he tried to put weight on the leg that had been trapped. "Reducto! Reducto!" Sirius sent curses at the walkers that still approached, finding himself both sickened and oddly satisfied as the walkers' heads exploded upon impact. "Come on!" he held out an arm that Daryl clumsily grabbed as he tried to steady himself. They hurried back toward the rest of the store to find Harry firing curses at walkers while most of the rest of the group gathered and watched, dumbstruck.

"Bombarda! Reducto! Bombarda!" Harry spun around just as a walker charged after Karen, who hadn't seen the walker approaching from behind her. "Impedimenta!" The walker slowed down and Harry pointed his wand at it again. "Reducto!" The head exploded and Karen ran past Harry with a cry of relief.

Michonne, Glenn, and Sasha were the first to come to their senses and help fend off the walkers, while the rest gradually followed suit. Sirius stood back-to-back with Harry and continued firing spells. A clump of walkers ran toward the group and Sirius yelled, "Depulso!" sending the walkers flying backward with a flash of light.

After another few minutes, no more walkers approached. Everyone stood there, breathing heavily, before Daryl took a shaky step backward, away from Sirius and Harry, and pointed his crossbow at them. The rest of the group followed his lead, surrounding the wizards with their weapons raised. Sirius and Harry both kept their wands up, but Sirius also raised his free hand—the injured one—to indicate he meant no harm.

"Well…" Sirius said, trying to keep his tone light, "I suppose you lot have some questions…"

Daryl never expected things to go totally according to plan. Doing so was stupid and how people got killed. However, he was frustrated that, for as much as they'd prepared for this trip, things were still going so incredibly wrong.

The area in the back of the store that had still been barricaded hadn't escaped Daryl's notice. The unmistakable sound of growls had been evident when they'd walked past the shelves that had been moved to that spot, but the noise had been low enough to suggest that not too many walkers were trapped back there. As long as they remained fairly quiet when passing the barricade, no problems should arise.

Yet, when Daryl had walked by the barricade on his own, searching for the items on his list, he'd experienced a shiver that he'd come to associate with, well, something not being right. He'd approached the barricade, listening carefully. The walkers were definitely louder than they had been, and it sounded like there were more than he'd originally surmised. He looked for a crack in the barrier to peer through, even though he'd already tried to find one before, and didn't spot any openings. Then another sound seized his attention, his stomach doing a somersault as he realized what it was and what it meant. Someone behind the barricade cocked a shotgun.

Daryl pushed himself away from the barricade just as the shotgun was fired. He was vaguely aware of himself yelling as one of the shelves blocking the back of the store wobbled and then fell toward him. He tried to fling himself forward in a dive, but didn't make it quite far enough, yelling again as the shelf fell on his leg.

It wasn't overly painful, and he didn't believe his leg to be broken, but the weight was enough to keep him pinned as he writhed and squirmed, trying to free himself. He could hear walkers climbing free behind him and inwardly scolded himself for putting his group in such danger and rendering himself useless to help them.

Then Sirius emerged at the other end of the aisle, his appearance making Daryl more uneasy than relieved. He wasn't exactly sure what he'd expected Sirius to do, but had to admit he was surprised when Sirius began firing his gun in an effort to protect Daryl. It was difficult to tell from the floor whether Sirius' shots were successful or not. Few walkers actually fell, though, so he assumed most of the shots were wasted. He rolled his eyes, irritated that he'd agreed to let the man come on the mission when he hadn't demonstrated much aptitude for fighting, and reached for his crossbow. Daryl painfully turned his torso from the floor, ignoring the searing pain the position shot up his spine, and began shooting bolts.

More gunfire went off not far from them, and Daryl was grateful when Sirius took off toward the sound. If the man could at least help someone else, he would feel better. Daryl continued trying to shoot at the walkers that were stumbling over the shelf to head down his aisle, but he was running out of bolts and couldn't reload from where he was.

But apparently, walkers wouldn't be the worst of his problems. A man Daryl didn't recognize appeared at the other end of the aisle where Sirius had been, pointing a shotgun at Daryl. He realized the man must have been barricaded in the back with the walkers and had shot down the shelves. What his agenda had been was unclear, but considering his feral features, he seemed beyond any point of sanity or rationality. Daryl scrambled to aim the crossbow at him, only to remember he didn't have another bolt loaded, and silently prayed that the rest of the group would be able to make it home safely without him.

Then, as if the last few minutes hadn't been bizarre enough, a large black dog came flying into view at the end of the aisle and attacked the man, who screamed in unsettling agony as the dog ripped him apart.

Daryl's heartrate, already impossibly high, picked up even faster as the dog turned its attention to him. He'd much rather have been shot than mauled to death, but then an odd wave of recognition washed over him as the dog looked his way.

It looked like the dog Harry had had briefly at the prison, the same dog that had startled Daryl awake in the middle of the night and disappeared the next morning.

Before Daryl could connect any dots, the dog's jaw gave a strange twitch and it leapt toward him. Instead of landing on Daryl, though, the dog stopped next to him, reached its snout down by Daryl's waist, and deftly grabbed Harry and Sirius's wands that were loosely hanging out of his pocket.

Daryl instinctively yelled, "Hey!" as the dog bounded away with the wands in its mouth, not entirely sure what he expected to happen.

Then, Daryl lost his mind entirely.

Just a few feet away from him, the dog appeared to toss one of the wands out of Daryl's sight. It tossed the other one up in the air, and then, in a swirl of confusion and color, the dog was no longer there. Sirius stood in its place, reaching a hand up just in time to catch the wand as it fell back toward the ground.

Daryl was vaguely aware of his mouth hanging open, the numbness in his leg and the emerging walkers behind him suddenly forgotten.

Son of a bitch, he'd been right.

Sirius said something unintelligible and moved the wand through the air. Daryl registered the weight being lifted from his leg, which now began to hurt again, and wasted no time in moving himself out of reach of the shelf. He heard it fall back to the floor with a thud behind him and hurried to get himself to his feet, the pain in his leg gaining a more obnoxious presence as he tried putting weight on it. He even surprised himself by accepting the arm that Sirius offered in an attempt to help steady him.

Daryl hobbled alongside Sirius, who continued pointing his wand at walkers and shouting strange words, as they left the aisle and hastened to meet up with everyone else. They found Harry pointing his wand and yelling things similarly to Sirius, blasting walker heads left and right with a force and precision that was foreign to Daryl. He couldn't help but stare, even though there was still plenty of danger around them. Everyone else was gawking too, which was an immense relief to Daryl as he realized for certain that he wasn't imagining any of this. He wasn't crazy. He never had been.

Once he saw Michonne, Glenn, and Sasha start fighting the remaining walkers, Daryl joined suit. Finally, no walkers remained. Everything was silent beyond the sound of them all catching their breath.

He wasn't crazy. He never had been.

Now with a firmer resolve on his own perception, Daryl stepped back and pointed his crossbow at Sirius and Harry, the rest of his group following his lead as they had the two surrounded.