A voice in his head that sounded very much like Hermione's groaned that he was being a showoff, but Harry didn't care. Sirius hadn't returned with Daryl yet, and in lieu of worrying, he was having fun. He was beginning to understand what Sirius meant after they'd done their magic demonstration in front of everyone at the prison.

After all the Walkers beyond the fences were killed, which, thanks to Harry, took much less time than usual, he went around the rest of the prison to see who else looked like they could use a hand. It was easy, Harry realized, to take for granted how much he had come to rely on magic over the last few years, and how some of the simplest of spells could make various tasks so much simpler. Not to mention, anyone who had ever seen him do magic were other wizards and witches. Getting to see the reactions of Muggles was entertaining, and since he didn't have to worry about a Statute of Secrecy in this world, Harry was going to enjoy it while he could.

Ted was trying to wrap a boot that was falling apart with duct tape. Harry took the boot, cast Reparo, and handed it back, good as new. Ted couldn't stop sliding his fingers along the edges of the boot with his mouth hanging open, stuttering an astonished, "Th-thanks…?" Glenn and Maggie, donned in rubber gloves, were scrubbing the showers in positions that were sure to leave their backs sore and stiff. Harry's use of Scourgify to wash, followed by Aguamenti to rinse, had the showers fresh and shining in minutes versus what would likely have been another couple of hours. Maggie had put a hand on Harry's shoulder, given an exhausted sigh of relief, and said, "You're a lifesaver," while Glenn had gone so far as to let out a manic sort of laugh, grab the sides of Harry's head, and kiss the top of it before following his wife. Allison was hanging clothes to dry outside when Harry sat down with her, took each article of clothing, and cast a hot air charm on it before passing it back to her to fold, eliminating the hours the laundry would take to dry in the sun. She had started out muttering, "This is batshit bananas. Batshit bananas, girl. You have officially lost it," before eventually giggling to herself, shaking her head, and then easing into casual conversation with Harry.

He frequently caught Carol watching him from a distance, arms folded in front of her. When Harry would glance her way, she didn't look away or try to hide that she was watching him, and Harry would try to offer her a reassuring smile, but she'd simply keep her eyes on him a moment longer before moving on to do something else. At one point, Harry found himself getting fed up. He was used to getting stared at in the Wizarding world for all sorts of reasons. He didn't want to have to deal with it here as well.

Harry had just levitated some tools up to a group who were trying to patch a spot on the roof. Carol was washing dishes from lunch but kept looking over at him, her lips pursed in a thin line. Again, she reminded Harry of McGonagall. Trying to keep his irritation at bay, Harry wondered if he should talk to her the way he would his respected professor, who was stern and had no patience for nonsense, but was ultimately quite loyal and protective. McGonagall appreciated directness and candor, so Harry figured that was perhaps the best way to go with Carol.

"Hi," Harry said as he approached. "Is something wrong? You keep staring at me."

Carol didn't react one way or another, continuing to dry the plate she was holding. "Of course I'm staring at you. You're performing magic, which shouldn't be possible."

Annoyed, Harry tried to keep his tone even. "Well, obviously it is, or I wouldn't be doing it. It seems like you're the only one who's still bothered by it."

Carol held eye contact with him for a moment before looking down at the table she was sitting at, exhaling, and setting the plate down before returning her gaze to him. She stood and leaned toward Harry with her hands on the table, eyes narrowing slightly. "I used to daydream about magic existing, wishing I could just snap a finger and everything would be better, or that I would suddenly discover I had hidden powers that could protect myself and everyone I loved. But everything I've ever seen in this world has shown me otherwise. This world is cruel. It doesn't care how good you are, how innocent you are, how—" she cleared her throat "—how young you are. This world takes and destroys and rips people apart. Daring to hope that someone or something will magically save you is one of the most foolish things a person can do. This has been shown to me over, and over, and over again. So yes, Harry, I'm watching you…because I know the other shoe's going to drop at some point, and I'm sure as hell not going to be caught off guard when it does."

The hairs on Harry's arms stood up, even though it was as hot as ever outside. He tried to process Carol's words, feeling like he had just been slapped in the face, not expecting anything she had just said, but he made sure not to show her just how unnerved he was. He clenched his teeth. "Fine then."

Carol sat back down and Harry stalked off, his good mood now gone. He wasn't sure what to do with himself, but didn't want to stay put while he figured that out, and allowed his feet to take him wherever they wanted, as long as it was away from Carol, while he digested everything she said.

She was going to keep watching him until something about him or something he did proved that his presence was anything but good.

What the hell was he supposed to do with that?

He was so tired…tired of worrying about what was going on in his world, tired of worrying about being accepted by the people in this world, tired of trying to do good things and help people only for it to backfire on him. He looked toward the road beyond the prison, wanting nothing more than to see Sirius return, a grin on his face as he told him the portal was there and it was time for them to go home.

Nothing was there, though, and before he knew it, Harry realized he was approaching the pig pen, where Carl was shoveling the animals' waste, a bandana around his mouth and nose. Harry hesitated somewhat as he got closer. He and Carl had ended their confrontation on a positive note last night, but after what Carol said, he couldn't help wondering if Carl would be back to singing a similar tune.

Carl caught sight of Harry, stopped working, and stuck the shovel handle up into the ground. He pulled his bandana down as he walked over to meet him, and Harry was glad to see he looked relaxed, even happy to see him.

"Good timing," Carl grinned. "I was trying to come up with an excuse to take a break."

Harry stood outside of the pig pen and waited as Carl removed his gloves and joined him in the grass. Harry wanted to offer to use magic to help make Carl's work easier, but he didn't want to come across as if he was flaunting his abilities after Carl's reaction yesterday. Even though Carl seemed to feel better about him, Harry could understand if it would take him more than a day to get past his insecurities.

"What have you been up to all day?" Carl asked as they meandered.

"Just…trying to be useful," Harry replied carefully.

Carl glanced at him a couple of times, his smile faltering. "Listen…I'm sorry for, you know, last night. I hope you don't think I'm some kind of trigger-happy psycho or something. I returned the gun to its proper place and owner. And I don't want you to feel like you have to hide your powers from me. I am jealous as hell." Carl smiled wryly. "But I don't, like…resent you for them. It was just a lot to take in."

Harry laughed inwardly at the word "powers," having never thought of his ability to do magic in those terms before. Carl made him sound like a superhero. He tried to smile through the heaviness that weighed on him. "I honestly wouldn't mind if you were the one with powers instead of me right now. And no, I don't think you're nuts."

"That's good, but why would you ever want to give up being able to do magic?"

"Only if it meant not having a target on my back." Or on my forehead. "You're right, though. I'm not even normal in a world with other people who can do magic."

Carl's eyes lit in sudden realization. "You said…a dark wizard tried to murder you…as a baby. Why? Are you, like…some kind of super wizard or something?"

"Or something." Harry muttered.

Before he knew it, Harry was telling Carl all about Voldemort, the war his parents fought in, and the new war that had begun brewing since his return to power. He told Carl how Voldemort had been plaguing him since he arrived at Hogwarts and almost killed him multiple times, and he explained what had been happening in the Department of Mysteries before he and Sirius arrived in Carl's world. He wasn't entirely sure what made him spill his whole story, and as he finished, he found himself wondering if Carl now thought he was some kind of self-absorbed prat.

"Sorry," he said, embarrassed. "That was a lot to dump on you. You're probably wishing you never asked."

"Are you kidding?" Carl shook his head and stopped walking, turning to face Harry. They had been making slow circles around the outside of the pig pen, flattening the grass with their footsteps after several laps. "That's gotta be the coolest story I've ever heard! Even cooler than any of the stuff in my comics. How are you so…sane after all that too? Are you secretly a serial killer or something?"

Harry laughed, amused by how genuinely awestruck Carl was. "I guess I can see how it seems cool from an outside perspective, especially as a Muggle, but…" Harry rubbed the back of his head in thought. "A lot of it…a lot of it really…wasn't cool, as it was taking place. You know?" He swallowed and averted his eyes. "Watching people die, seeing friends get hurt…"

"No, I know," Carl said, eyes earnest. "That stuff's…horrible. I've seen enough of that kind of thing to understand. I just meant…here, the horrible stuff is just commonplace now. There's not really a choice but to fight, unless you have people protecting you, and even then, no one can protect you forever. But you…you're a badass, dude." Carl gave a shaky laugh that lacked any real humor. "Maybe you didn't choose to be the sworn enemy of the most evil wizard alive, but from what you're telling me, you always fight back. And you still seem like a pretty solid person despite it all."

Harry found himself at a loss for words, simultaneously overwhelmed by the praise and uncomfortable with receiving it. "I've been a bit of a tosser this last year. I'm lucky my friends stuck by me with all the shouting at them I've done when they didn't deserve it."

"Man, I'd be pissed and shouting at people too if I went through everything you did. I wouldn't sweat it."

Harry frowned. "You've been through your right share of crap too. I'm not more of a 'badass' just because my experiences have involved magic."

"But you've had more choices." Carl rolled his eyes as if Harry was slow for not understanding. "You didn't have to protect that stone thing, or save your friend's sister from the giant snake, or duel the bad guy instead of running away, or tell the truth even though people hated you for it, or go rescue Sirius when you thought he was in danger." He tapped a finger on his left hand as he ticked off each example. "I…I would want to be the type of person to do those things, but honestly, I'd probably leave that stuff to the adults whenever possible if I were in your shoes…Your life is like something out of a movie. You're the hero who continues to put yourself in harm's way to keep the big bad villain away." He waved his hands up in the air in a mocking dramatic way. "Me…I'm just surviving. If I don't take action, I get killed. There's nothing heroic about it." Carl ended his little speech with a note of bitterness. He seemed to quickly realize this, though, because he smiled tightly and added, "The magic is just a bonus to make it all more interesting."

Harry stared at his new friend, stunned. He recalled trying to explain to other students in The Hog's Head that he hadn't done any of the heroic sounding things he'd done to be heroic. They hadn't been moments of glory, and he'd stressed that not being in those situations firsthand could offer the illusion that that they had, in fact, been glorious, and that none of those other kids knew what it was like.

But Carl did understand the horror in moments like that. Harry could see how, for Carl, there was at least some semblance of deeper purpose in Harry's experiences, some meaning, even some sense of accomplishment in certain cases. For Carl, he could heroically protect and save someone's life only for them to just as easily be eaten alive the next day. Every fight that Carl and his family had was only about buying them another day in a world that was constantly terrifying and gruesome. There was no realistic hope for a better world here the way there was in the Wizarding World if Voldemort was defeated. All Carl and his family could fight for was a better situation for them. Even the violence in Harry's 'adventures' was somewhat easier to stomach, most of it being enacted via magic and therefore not so visibly gruesome. All the violence in Carl's world was extremely physical and revulsive on a more sensory level. Watching Voldemort point his wand at someone and use the Cruciatus Curse on them was definitely no picnic, but Harry ventured it would probably be easier to witness than Voldemort ripping open someone's torso with his bare hands, pulling their organs out, and devouring them while they were still alive.

The more he thought about it, the more he understood where Carl was coming from. Carl wasn't dismissing Harry's experiences; if anything, he seemed to revere him for them. Coming from most people, that type of reverence wasn't something Harry would encourage, but coming from Carl, he had to admit that he was somewhat proud to elicit such a response from someone who knew true horror.

Feeling lighter than he had all day, Harry took a slow step forward to continue walking, Carl coming into step alongside him again. Harry looked at him, noticing he seemed lost in thought.

He cleared his throat. "You know, I'm sure you'd make choices like that too, if you were in my shoes. I think you're underestimating yourself."

"Nah, I don't know, man."

Harry snorted. "Come off it. You're protective of your people enough to take on a wizard by yourself with just a gun. I think if I plastered this scar to your forehead and sent you back to take on Voldemort in my place, you'd probably end up with way cooler stories to tell."

Carl rolled his eyes again, but he was smiling. "I'd for sure have a cooler scar. Mine would be shaped like…a flame or a dragon's head or something."

"Nah. I reckon you're more of a heart guy."

"Screw you." Carl laughed and shoved Harry, who grinned.

When Daryl was in fourth grade, a boy named Malcom had moved to town about halfway through the school year. Malcom's parents had informed his teacher that he had ADHD, but this pretty much fell on deaf ears. Their town was very far from progressive and many people there viewed ADHD as a made-up condition for kids who just lacked discipline, Daryl and Malcom's teacher included. Daryl remembered how Malcom would frequently get in trouble for doodling while their teacher was explaining things, even though Malcom always insisted that he was still paying attention, which he had backed up plenty of times by correctly answering questions about what their teacher had just gone over. After one particularly uncomfortable day where their teacher had been more infuriated by Malcom's doodling than usual, giving him a week's worth of detention for lack of respect and continued insubordination, Daryl had asked Malcom why he simply didn't stop doodling. Malcom had explained that he struggled with focus and retaining information by listening. If he simply sat there without moving and just tried to focus on the lesson, he would get overwhelmed and his attention would inevitably wander before he could even notice, but if he occupied his hands and part of his brain with something mindless like doodling, he actually focused more on what he was hearing. As Malcom described it, the act of doodling made him less stressed about trying to pay attention to the lesson, so the information was easier to take in and retain.

Daryl was pretty sure he himself didn't have ADHD, but he thought about Malcom now as he tracked the footprints he and Sirius had found. He was experiencing a strange cognitive dissonance in that he both wanted to find the owners of the footprints, but he was also nervous at the prospect of encountering people he stood no chance of fighting. He had originally told himself to focus on tracking. Now, he was wondering if Malcom's approach might be better for him. He started making conversation with Sirius and asking him questions while following the trail, more so as something to occupy part of his mind and reduce his stress than to actually learn anything about the Wizarding World.

"I gotta say…you're a pretty skilled liar for spinning that story about your wands before your big reveal," he said as he paused to take a better look at the ground before him. "I'm not sure if I should be worried or impressed."

" 'Impressed' is the only correct response to anything I do," Sirius replied.

"All right, let's say I'm impressed then." Daryl peered over his shoulder at Sirius and added an emphatic "hypothetically," before returning his eyes to the ground. "How'd you come up with that shit? That was a lot of detail."

"The best lies are based on a foundation of truth. James truly was enamored by Penn and Teller. The idea of Muggles doing fake magic for money…he got a right kick out of that."

"Uh huh." Daryl carefully moved some leaves with his hands, trying to see if they had been blown over part of the trail. "And how about the part about you doing time?"

Sirius didn't say anything. Daryl gave him a minute before looking over at him expectantly, noticing how stiff Sirius now was and that he was avoiding eye contact, which he seemed to be trying to play off as him scanning their surroundings. When Daryl kept looking at him, Sirius sighed and finally made eye contact.

"I…was in prison," he said breathlessly. "Azkaban, the UK's worst Wizarding prison you could imagine."

Daryl's idea to occupy part of his mind with conversation officially backfired, as he found himself forgetting about the trail for a moment so that he could stand all the way up and focus all of his attention on Sirius. "What'd you do?"

Sirius scrubbed one hand down his face and rubbed at the back of his neck with his other hand. "Harry's parents were betrayed by a friend we shared, leading to their murder. I tracked down the traitor and confronted him in a public space full of Muggles. This…person…turned the tables on me, blasting the whole street to bits and faking his own death. The blast killed twelve Muggles. I was too shocked to leave, and was immediately apprehended. I was convicted for the people he killed, as well as his perceived death. I spent twelve years in that hellhole before escaping a few years ago and finding Harry."

Daryl arched a brow. "So you were innocent?"

"Yes."

"You couldn't give them any proof? Give them any information about the guy who really did it?"

"I didn't get a trial. And the scum who really did it was also an Animagus. He transformed into the rat that he was and stayed hidden my entire imprisonment."

Daryl mulled all of this over, unsure of what to say. Things in the Wizarding World sounded absolutely insane to him.

"The only part of my original story about the wands that wasn't based in truth was the part about the wood carving," Sirius added with a wry smile. "The Dementors didn't let us have any recreational activities."

"The hell are Dementors?"

"They guard Azkaban. They're…awful creatures." Sirius visibly shuddered. "They drain happiness wherever they go. Lights go out, the air turns cold, birds stop singing. Their presence makes anyone within proximity experience misery and despair, forced to relive their worst memories over and over. Our Ministry will sometimes sentence individuals to what's called the Dementor's Kiss, when a Dementor actually sucks the soul from a person and leaves them physically alive, but lifeless. Your Walkers have more life in them than someone who has received the Kiss."

Daryl stood where he was, frozen. He had seen and experienced all sorts of horrible things in his lifetime. He didn't think there was anything that could possibly shock him anymore, yet here he was, trying to imagine how something so sinister could exist.

He looked more closely at Sirius' appearance, taking in the man's hollow cheeks and the deep shadows beneath his eyes that seemed permanently stained there. He had the figure of someone who had perhaps once been built of lean muscle, but was now bony and gaunt, the muscles having atrophied. If Daryl had come across a person with his haggard features in their own post-apocalyptic world, he wouldn't think much of it. It made sense for people who were without camps or communities…starving, dehydrated, probably lacking sleep from staying awake all night out of fear of Walkers or predatory people. Sirius, however, had looked that way since his arrival to this world.

"And you were trapped with these things for over a decade?" Daryl asked, astonished.

Sirius' eyes blazed. He emanated the agitated energy of a stray dog being cornered in an alley by the pound. "If you're feeling sorry for me, I swear I will hex you right here and now into next Tuesday."

Daryl made a "pft" noise and turned away, back to the trail, more so because he was uncomfortable than because he wanted to get back to business. He felt guilty, and he wasn't entirely sure why. The idea of enduring what Sirius did and still being as mentally sharp as he was seemed incomprehensible to Daryl. He himself had experienced quite a bit of misery throughout his life, but he could almost always find some semblance of salvation in his own mind. He could pretend he was somewhere else, someone else. He could almost always run off into the woods for a while, both as a kid and as an adult, and find something in nature to distract him. But to have his worst memories playing on repeat in his head on a daily basis while some supernatural entity drained him of any potential happy thought that could dare to take form…? Daryl couldn't help it; he did feel bad for Sirius.

Yet, with that sympathy came respect. He knew that if their roles were reversed, if he had experienced what Sirius had and eventually escaped, he wouldn't want people pitying him either. If anything, he would want people to realize that he was someone who couldn't be fucked with.

Sirius, he realized, was dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with magic.

"Only thing I feel sorry for you for is being born with half a brain," Daryl quipped. He chanced a quick glance over his shoulder as he continued walking to see that Sirius was smirking appreciatively as he followed. Good.

The wizard scoffed. "I'll have you know I could do more with half a brain than you could do with two whole ones."

They traded insults devoid of any heat back and forth for the next few minutes until they finally emerged through the treeline. Daryl stopped and looked around at the empty grass before the road, Sirius waiting behind him, still careful to stay out of the way to avoid sullying any tracks. It was without need at this point, though, as Daryl saw no other signs of discernable prints or disturbances to the environment.

He shook his head. "That's it. Trail's cold."

Sirius took a few steps forward so that he was alongside Daryl, looking left and right. "This looks like the same road we were on. Do you know where we are?"

"About two, maybe three miles down from where we parked. Good news is, if these are the bad people you're thinking of, they went the opposite direction of the prison."

Sirius nodded, not saying anything but visibly relieved. "I suppose we ought to head back then?"

"Yeah, we oughtta. We also oughtta discuss what we're gonna tell everyone."

Sirius turned to face Daryl head-on. "If you tell your people there are dark wizards who want to murder us roaming around, they will absolutely panic."

Daryl grunted. "No shit. I don't like leaving 'em in the dark, though. What if we go on a run and our paths cross?"

A wave of utter grimness washed over Sirius' visage. His reply was quiet. "What if they do? Unless you get the drop on them, your people won't be able to take on three wizards who will find joy in killing them."

At first, Daryl was incredulous, ready to argue that a slim chance was better than none at all, but he thought more about it. Daryl knew that, begrudgingly, he had only been able to shoot Sirius' hand when they first met because Sirius had tried to take the time to diffuse the situation. From the sounds of it, these other wizards wouldn't wait and would aim to kill. Daryl was also an exceptionally quick shot with precise aim. He couldn't say the same for everyone else at the prison. What was the point of giving them something to fear when they already had Walkers to watch out for? Walkers could be killed by guns or blades. Any non-magical people they ran into could be killed by guns or blades.

Daryl imagined it now. Hey, y'all, so there may or may not be a few bad wizards wandering around. We don't know for sure either way, but if you do see them, there won't be much you can do to avoid being murdered by them anyway. Least now you know!

"Are you sure those tracks were from wizards, dark or otherwise?" Daryl asked.

"I'm not certain, no. I could have been reading too much into what we found."

"But you don't think you were." It wasn't a question. The evidence was plain on Sirius' face. "That tree damage could have been from lightning. Any travelers could have gone through that clearing."

But the woman's boot… The one set of prints very much resembled a higher heeled boot, which would be unusual for someone to be wearing through the woods in this world.

"Look, mate," Sirius sighed, "if you want us to leave the prison, we will. I don't want to endanger anyone because of a mess that followed us here from our world, and I know Harry wouldn't either. But if the dark wizards I'm thinking of are here and they find the prison, they will attack your people whether we're there or not, as long as they don't feel they're putting themselves in harm's way to do so. At least if Harry and I are there, we can fight magic with magic. Two against three aren't bad odds, especially if we have some of you lot providing cover fire. They definitely won't have guns."

Daryl considered this, the same question coming to mind the more he thought over the pros and cons of the situation. "Why would these dark wizards still attack us even if they knew you two weren't there? And why are they after Harry in the first place?"

Sirius laughed humorlessly. "Those are a couple of loaded questions. We've got a two or three mile walk back to the bike. That should be enough time for me to cover everything."

Carl was heading back toward the prison from the fields, his father approaching from the opposite direction, looking sweaty and tired. Carl smirked and made a show of sliding his palms across from each other as if dusting his hands off. His father arched a brow as he got closer.

"You taking a break?"

"Not a break. I'm done," Carl replied, unable to help feeling a little smug. Rick stopped in front of him, hands on his hips. He looked past Carl in the direction of the pig pen before looking back at his son.

"How are you done? I expected that to take you another couple hours."

"Harry helped me."

"With magic?"

Carl rolled his eyes. "Duh."

Rick nodded. "So…you're okay with us having wizards at the prison as long as they can help you with your chores?"

"No, I talked to Harry about the magic stuff last night. I felt better about it all after hearing him out."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that. He's not a genie in a bottle, though. You can't have him doing all your work for you."

"I'm not," Carl laughed. "He came over and offered. He's been going around trying to help people all day."

"As long as you know he's not here to do your bidding. It's still important for you to learn how to do things on your own."

"I know. We had fun, though. Besides, he might be leaving soon." Carl looked down at his shoes. He'd really enjoyed hanging out with Harry today, and while he knew it was important for Harry to return to his own world, he selfishly hoped that he wouldn't be able to, at least not yet.

"Hey." Rick ducked his head in an effort to catch Carl's eye. Carl looked up at him reluctantly. "I'm glad you found a friend in him. I know you haven't had a lot of options as far as friends go. If he does end up having to leave—"

Before Rick could even finish his sentence, the unmistakable sound of a motorcycle engine roared nearby. Rick looked beyond Carl's shoulder and Carl turned around. Seconds later, Daryl and Sirius could be seen riding up to the prison gate.

Carl and Rick started walking over to meet them. Harry was closer, though, and was jogging up to them as they came through the gate and dismounted the bike. Even from this distance, Carl could see that Sirius was solemn. There was no way he was about to tell Harry they were going home.

Carl hung back with his father, watching with mingled relief, empathy, and guilt. When Daryl and Sirius dismounted the bike, Daryl quickly walked away to leave Sirius and Harry alone. Sirius put his hands on Harry's shoulders as he spoke to him, reminding Carl of when his mom had told him his grandma died a few years ago, before the Walkers came around. Harry was nodding, expression blank, but Carl knew his friend was disappointed.

Daryl approached Carl and Rick, shaking his head before they could even ask. "Nothing."

Rick sighed. "Well…maybe they'll figure out another way home later on. In the meantime, it'll be nice to have them around."

Daryl grunted in acquiescence. The three of them stood there for another moment until Sirius and Harry walked away together, Sirius' hand resting on Harry's back.

"All right…I gotta get back to the crops." Rick nudged Carl's shoulder with the back of his hand. "You want to join me since you're done with your stuff?" Carl cast his father a stony glare, making him chuckle. "Okay, okay, enjoy the rest of your day." He pointed a finger at Carl. "You gotta get more work in tomorrow, though."

"Yeah, yeah," Carl groaned. His father tipped the front of Carl's sheriff hat down in a teasing way before going back out to the fields.

Carl turned his attention to Daryl. "You guys really didn't find anything?"

"Nope." Daryl's gaze was distant, staring off in the direction that Sirius and Harry had gone, even though the pair was no longer in sight.

The happiness Carl had felt at learning Harry would be here longer was now being replaced by frustration for his friend. Screw what he wanted. Harry had important things to do back in his world and people he was desperately worried for. All Carl truly wanted was for his friend to be able to get home so that all the heartache he'd experienced over the years hadn't been for nothing.

"Maybe you didn't look hard enough," Carl scoffed.

Daryl shot him an incredulous look, brows raised and eyes wide with warning. Carl immediately regretted his words, thinking of how Daryl had risked life and limb to find Sophia when she'd been missing, and knowing Daryl only ever gave an important mission one hundred percent of his effort. Carl was also very aware that the only reason Daryl wasn't chewing him out right now was because he wasn't an adult. He felt his face get warm and averted his eyes.

"Sorry," Carl mumbled. He looked back up at Daryl, whose features softened with a sharp exhale through his nose. "I just…there's gotta be more we can do to help them. Do you know how important Harry is back in their world?"

"Yeah, Sirius filled me in," Daryl replied.

"So what else can we do?" Carl pressed, not understanding why Daryl didn't seem to share the same sense of urgency that Carl was finding himself engulfed by.

Daryl sighed impatiently. "I don't know, man. This shit…it's out of my depth."

Carl was taken aback. To hear Daryl admit to being totally clueless about a problem and having no ideas for a solution was unusual and disheartening. He was used to seeing Daryl come up with a plan of action no matter what odds were against them, even if the plan was a long shot. Carl huffed and looked away, trying to work through the anger that was bubbling from the unfairness of the situation and how helpless he was. His friend had a million different ways to help Carl, but Carl didn't have a single thing to offer in return.

"Listen," said Daryl, "I can't do magic. You can't do magic. Unless Sirius and Harry give us any direction, there ain't nothing you or I can do to help them get home." Carl opened his mouth to argue, but Daryl cut him off. "But…that don't mean we still can't help them deal with it."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean just focus on being Harry's friend. I'm sure he could use one."

Carl considered this, his first reaction being that that sounded stupid, that the only way he could be helpful was by "being there." Yet, when he thought about how alone Harry must feel right now, he supposed there was some weight to Daryl's suggestion. Harry had been ripped from his friends in the midst of a dangerous situation without knowing if they were alive or dead. The only other wizard around was Sirius, who, while they were clearly close, was also a parental figure to Harry and not someone his own age. Recalling their earlier conversation about the Wizarding World, Harry had seemed significantly more at ease after talking to Carl, whereas he had definitely seemed stressed and on edge when Carl first spotted him approaching the pig pen. So maybe, in the grand scheme of things, being a sounding board for Harry didn't seem like a big deal, but Carl could see how it could at least improve Harry's experience here.

"Yeah…okay…" Carl nodded. Then his eyes darted to Daryl's as an amusing thought crossed his mind. He realized he might be pushing it as far as playing his "kid card" with Daryl went, but couldn't resist asking, "So does that mean you're going to be Sirius' friend?"

Daryl rolled his eyes and said, "I'd rather let a Walker eat my face," before leaving.

Sirius was sitting at a table inside the cell block with his head in his hands, tired in a way that he felt in his soul. He was tired of talking, tired of thinking, his brain feeling like scrambled eggs. He was also still on edge, wired in a way that wouldn't allow for sleep. He wished he could just turn his mind off.

He had broken the news to Harry about an hour ago that he hadn't found anything in the clearing that would link them back to their world. He told Harry that they wouldn't stop brainstorming and exploring. The most reassuring idea he had been able to think of on the ride back to the prison was that Dumbledore, for all his faults, was in no way going to just sit back and leave Harry trapped in another world, and that if anyone could come up with a way to get Harry home, it was Dumbledore. Sirius had tried his hardest to sell this encouraging thought to Harry, despite the fact that Sirius himself currently held a lot of ill feelings toward his former headmaster, talking up Dumbledore's brilliance and ability to make his will a reality no matter the obstacles. Harry had nodded, but said little more than "I understand" and a halfhearted "yeah, you're right" before telling Sirius he wanted some time to lie down alone for a bit before dinner, citing having had a busy day. Sirius knew, though, that his godson, for all his stoicism, was feeling dejected and needed space to process what their future was going to be. Sirius more than understood, but hated how helpless he was to make his godson feel better.

He had told Daryl all about blood supremacy, Voldemort, and how Harry was believed to be the only one capable of defeating Voldemort, how the latter had been going after Harry since he was a baby, how Harry had never known real peace his entire life. He told Daryl how they had ended up in the Department of Mysteries and about falling through the Veil that had brought both Sirius and Harry where they currently were. He had explained how Voldemort's followers would be happy to kill someone just for being a Muggle, and that they truly believed Muggles to be inferior and unworthy of human decency.

Ultimately, Sirius and Daryl had agreed that it was best not to share that they found potential evidence of other wizards coming into the world. The clearing was roughly a thirty minute drive from the prison, and the trail they'd followed had led in the opposite direction. Since, as Sirius pointed out, no dark wizards would know how to operate Muggle vehicles, it would take a long time for the owners of the footprints to reach the prison, if they ever even changed their trajectory. They agreed there was no need to cause a panic if they, firstly, didn't know for sure that there were dark wizards in Georgia and if, secondly, said dark wizards may not even reach their vicinity to begin with. Daryl expressed certainty that at least half of their community would petition to exile Sirius and Harry if they thought they would attract dark wizards, and he agreed they were better off having Sirius and Harry there to defend them. Additionally, Sirius didn't want Harry to stress over the possibility of Death Eaters being around when the kid already had so much weight on his shoulders. He knew his godson well enough to know that Harry would assume responsibility and maybe even go solo to find their enemies in order to spare everyone else the Death Eaters' wrath. As reckless as Sirius could be, he knew, especially after what happened at the Department of Mysteries, that Harry was capable of being equally reckless. So while Sirius felt a little guilty for not disclosing their full findings to Harry, knowing he hated being kept in the dark and normally being of the mind that it was better for Harry to be informed, he did feel justified in his decision.

Sirius was only vaguely aware of hearing approaching footsteps. If they were Harry's, they would be coming from down the stairs instead of across the cell block, and since they weren't Harry's, Sirius couldn't really bring himself to care enough to look up and see who was walking up to him.

"Heard you had a rough day," Rick's voice said somewhere above him.

Sirius slid his fingers slowly down his face, pressing them into his temples and then his cheeks before leaning back and gripping the edge of the table. He sighed and looked up at Rick, who was watching him with an empathetic smile.

"Tell me, mate," Sirius said, "does being a parent get easier the more experience you get? Or does it just get even more complicated?"

Rick looked off to the side, squinting thoughtfully before looking back at Sirius with a wince. "It gets more complicated…but knowing how to deal with the complications gets easier the more experience you get. Does that make any sense?"

Sirius just stared at him. "Do you lot have any whiskey?"

"We have one bottle of Jameson that we use for special situations."

"Fuck me," Sirius muttered, smearing his face into his hands again.

Rick snorted. "You know what? I think traveling across worlds with a teenage wizard and not knowing how to get home can probably be considered a special situation." Sirius looked up at Rick hopefully. "Be right back."

Sure enough Rick returned two minutes later with a whiskey bottle and two glasses. He poured about a shot's worth in each glass before sitting down and sliding one glass over to Sirius, who grabbed it gratefully, looking at the liquid like it was Felix Felicis. He downed it quickly, eliciting a quiet laugh from Rick, who poured him some more.

"You're a saint, you are," Sirius said hoarsely.

"Hardly," Rick grinned, sipping his own drink with visibly more restraint. "How long has Harry been in your life, if you don't mind me asking?"

Sirius looked down, turning the glass of whiskey in his hands. "Not long enough," he replied quietly.

Nodding, Rick said, "It's hard enough raising a teenager in a postapocalyptic world full of flesh-eating monsters. I imagine it can't be any easier raising a teenager who's been targeted by a murdering psychopath since he was born." When Sirius looked at him in askance, Rick added, "Carl and Daryl caught me up to speed."

"I always feel like I'm failing him," Sirius said, downing his next shot. "I really wanted to bring him good news today."

"Yeah, I know." Rick poured them more whiskey, holding up the bottle to check how much was left in it. It was still at least three quarters of the way full. "Back where you guys come from, do you have the phrase, 'it takes a village'?"

"More or less, yeah."

"Well…that saying applies double in our community. Yeah, Carl and Judith are my kids, but you can bet your ass that everyone else here helps me with them. Hell, if I didn't have these people, I don't even know if Judith would be alive. I was…" Rick looked away for a moment, drumming his fingers on the table. "When she was born, I was in a dark place…because of Lori. She was gone, and Judith needed formula—fast. Daryl stepped up immediately and went out and found some for her. If he hadn't, I…I don't know what would have happened."

Sirius watched Rick with a new gravity of understanding, and, however reluctantly, experiencing a new respect for Daryl.

"My point is," Rick continued, "it sounds like y'all are gonna be staying with us a while. If that's the case, I promise you can count on us to help you with Harry. You don't have to do it all on your own."

Sirius looked down, brow creased and unable to prevent a sharp intake of breath as a swell of appreciation washed over him. He couldn't help but be reminded of James and Remus, thinking particularly of the times they had helped him cope through his tumultuous upbringing. He had struggled with loneliness and a lack of trust for a large portion of his childhood and teen years, but they had constantly reassured him—and then proven to him—that they were there to help him. Rick had only known Sirius and Harry for maybe a week, yet here he was, ready and willing to embrace them with open arms. Sirius' usual response would be to scoff and deny needing anyone's help with Harry, but—maybe it was the whiskey, maybe some semblance of maturity—Sirius found himself pushing that instinct to be independent away and embracing what Rick was offering.

After a moment, Sirius nodded and looked the man in the eye, hoping to convey his sincerity. "That's gotta be the best thing I've heard all day."

Author's note: Next chapter will officially begin the fourth season of TWD. Things are going to be getting darker. You can expect the general plotline of the show to stay the same, but there will be some changes, both large and small (the same will apply for the HP world later on), including character deaths.