After the others had returned to their new homes and Harry had bid his dads goodnight, he made his way back to his rooms with the brothers in tow, already mentally preparing for how he was going to explain the situation that landed him and his dads in the States a handful of years ahead of the outbreak.

Buying time as Merle threw himself in an overstuffed chair, Daryl hunkering down to light the fire Harry had laid in the grate earlier that day, Harry made his way over to the chill cabinet and took out a trio of familiar glass long-necked bottles, popping the tops one by one and grabbing a couple bags of crisps out of the dry storage.

Daryl had the fire roaring and was making himself at home on the plush rug before the fire, his arms stretched out to the sides and knees up with his bare feet flat on the floor, having shed his boots on entering the apartment, both Dixons unconsciously echoing Harry's movements as he'd kicked off his own and set them on a low shelf adjacent to the entry. The younger brother didn't even open his shuttered eyes as the butt of a cold glass bottle was set gently on his flat stomach, simply lifting one long-fingered hand and wrapping it around to steady it before it could fall over. Lifting his head slightly he studied the label with a crooked grin. Harry certainly knew how to stock a fridge.

"Hard cider?" Merle asked, half-mocking. "You ain't got no regular beer?"

"Nope, sorry, fresh out." Harry said unapologetically lying straight to his face. "Can't stand that piss water you Americans call beer. I'd go for one of your ciders anyday."

"There it is." Merle pointed an accusing finger that was attached to the hand holding the bottle at the Brit. "I was waitin' for the hoity-toity Brit to come out. Here I was thinkin' you were plumb Americanized by now."

"Six years is a long time when it starts in your teens." Harry admitted easily with a nod. "But I was more than transplanted from a different country. I guess my dads and I held onto a couple of things harder because it was all we had of home. Like how we prefer to drink." He held up a bottle in mocking toast before taking a long pull that had the muscles in his throat working to the fascination of his rapt audience.

"Y'all said you were gonna explain that later." Daryl said head turned to the side, cheek against the soft rug as he spoke. "It's later."

"It's…" Harry sighed, leaning back in his chair with a slump, taking another, quicker drink of his cider. "Hard to wrap your head around, even for us…what happened."

"Try us." Merle shot at him, polishing off his cider and going for another with a loose-limbed saunter. "We might surprise ya."

Harry nodded, mentally struggling with trying to decide how to start. At the beginning he supposed, though even that required some heavy explanation.

"What do you guys know about parallel universes or the multiverse theory?" He finally asked, trying to get a bead on just how much he'd need to explain. "Or just magic in general."

"Like in the Twilight Zone?" Daryl asked with a frown. "A bunch a different worlds an' shit but with different realities or somethin'."

"Sort of." Harry blew out a breath. "From what we've read or just guessed at, there's hundred or thousands of difference universes. A lot of them are similar to this one before the outbreak, usually with small differences."

"Some say the world will end in fire, others in ice." Merle quoted with narrowed eyes, bringing up some of his mama's favorite poems to mind.

"Exactly." Harry snapped his fingers at him. "Like that. This world has walkers, another has the Resident Evil T-Virus. Follow?"

"Yup." "Yeah, sorta."

"So." Harry leaned forward, rolling his half-empty bottle between his palms restlessly. "My world, the world we came from: me, Siri, and Remy. It had a whole society of magic users just like use going back to the beginning of time. No one really knew why or how we got magic, just that it occurred naturally in about one percent of the human population."

"Like a recessive gene." Daryl observed, thinking on it a moment. "Blue eyes, red hair, magic."

"Pretty much like that." Harry nodded. "So, going back to the beginning, like all other people, magical people created things and innovated. Partly out of need or necessity and partly out of curiosity. In my time there was even a whole section of the magical government dedicated to study and innovation called the Department of Mysteries, who also worked on magical innovations from the past that the purpose of has been lost to time and forgotten."

"Pyramids." Merle grunted, showing that he was following.

"Right." Harry agreed easily. "In my world they were created by the magical sector of Ancient Egypt and were cursed to the rafters to protect the treasures. There was a whole career that revolved around breaking the curses to raid them and study the remains."

"Graverobbers." Daryl sneered, having always hated those kinda people.

"In a way." Harry allowed, not wanting to get into that debate. He'd already done it once with Hermione and that was enough for one lifetime. "Now, one of the things the Department of Mysteries studied was this archway hidden in the bowels of London. In fact, the Department and the Ministry itself were built over and around it to keep it hidden and study it. They called it the Veil of Death." He shuddered out a breath. "Because no one who went through it ever came back. It was covered in runic markings that no one ever deciphered. And on the 18th of June, 1996, a battle began in the Department of Mysteries, eventually leading to the Veil chamber, where in a serious miscalculation of his opponent's abilities, a wizard named Sirius Orion Black III was hit in the chest by a Stunner, and thereby fell backwards through the Veil."

"Jesus." Daryl breathed eyes wide. "That's fucked up."

"It gets better." Harry laughed hollowly. "Sirius was – at that time – my godfather and one of only two caring adults I had in my life. I was fifteen, angry as hell, and had spent the last nine months being systematically tortured by a woman who was supposed to be my teacher and having my mind torn to shreds by a man who actually was my teacher. To say that losing Sirius wasn't an option for me in that mindset would be an understatement since the battle began in the first place by a trap being set for me using Sirius as bait. I'm fast, always have been. Before he disappeared into the Veil I managed to grab onto his robe. But Sirius was close to the same size-wise as he is now and at fifteen I was a hell of a lot shorter and scrawnier than I am now."

"He pulled you in." Merle cursed under his breath. "The weight of him…"

"Yeah." Harry gave a rueful half-smile. "He did. And not just me. Remus was right behind us trying to pull us back but gravity, force, momentum, whatever you want to call it…it was just too much."

"An' it landed ya here?" Daryl asked incredulously. "What y'all are dead and we're just livin' in yer hell or somethin'?"

"No, nothing like that." Harry waved a hand. "What we do know about the Veil now is that it's – or it was – a portal of some kind that could lead to different world or universes. A – source – of ours called it the Veil of Judgement. And since none of us were guilty of any real crimes, it spit us out in the first available world – this world, six years ago last June." He thought for a minute before adding. "Which is actually kinda heartening since the Ministry used it for executions once upon a time. I imagine those actually guilty would end up in some form of actual plane of punishment while those falsely accused – and yes it happened even with magic – ended up in a relatively benign world somewhere."

"We really need ta examine yer senses if this world is wha' ya call benign, Pretty." Merle drawled shaking his head.

"It is though, relatively." Harry shrugged at the shocked looks he was getting from two sources. "I mean the dead are walking and hungry and civilization has gone to shit: agreed. But with three grown and powerful wizards, our family fortunes, and magical texts to help with wards and spellwork." He cocked his head shooting them a devil-may-care grin. "This really isn't hell for us. Shitty at times but not hell. Hell would be a world were magic didn't work at all. To a magical person," he explained further seeing their confusion over his priorities. "Magic, our magic cores, are as dear as breath, water, or the blood in our veins. Take it away from us and we'll go insane in a matter of days and die within weeks. Magical people can't live without it. We can choose not to use it…but we all need it, more than food or shelter or other basic human needs."

"Ya said y'all were powerful?" Merle asked after chewing on that for several minutes. "How ya mean?"

"Sirius is a Black." Harry replied, setting aside his empty bottle and talking over his shoulder as he went for another, tossing one to Daryl when the other man held up his own and caught his eye. "That title of his isn't just for show. When we said old family we mean as in ancient and magical. They are a line of insanely powerful witches and wizards." He sighed as he sat back down, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "But thanks to inbreeding to "keep the lines pure" they were heavy on the insane with a 50/50 split on whether a Black will go round the twist or not. Sirius has a mild form of the Black madness that just comes off as eccentric…but he has almost zero impulse control. At all. About anything."

"That's one a the reasons ya lead an' not him, ain't it?" Daryl observed shrewdly. "It were easy to see even 'fore ya said it. They're yer da's an' ya listen to 'em, take their advice…but yer in charge."

"It's one of them." Harry admitted, chewing lightly on his bottom lip. "Sirius doesn't like to take command if he doesn't have to. You wouldn't guess it to look at them but Remus and Sirius are very much an Alpha/Omega type pairing…and you don't have to do much guessing to know how the Alpha is. Sirius needs a leader. When they were kids it was my father." He pointed to a set of pictures up on the mantle the others had noticed but not really studied.

It was a series of pictures from his photo-album or Remus's things that had eventually been found inside his necklace. How Luna – or Pandora – got their hands on them was just another mystery to add to the pile surrounding the two Seers. But they were all glad they did, however it came about.

"That's them there: the Marauders they called themselves in school." He smiled, looking up at the young faces of Prongs, Padfoot, and Moony, Wormtail nowhere in sight. "My father James, dad Sirius, and papa Moony." Two pairs of blues eyes flicked from Harry's face to the series of pictures, more than one question rolling around in their heads at what they saw. "Next we have my mother Lily, father James, and mini-me." Baby Harry was all big eyes and a shock of black hair, a beautiful redheaded woman holding him in her arms as James hugged them both from behind, clearly in mid-laugh.

"Why do ya look like yer da, then?" Daryl asked seriously confused over what he was seeing. Unless someone knew otherwise, anyone would guess Harry was Sirius's son just with some features from whoever his mother was. Line him, Siri, and James up in a picture and you'd be hard pressed to guess at who was related how.

"My father and dad Siri are second cousins, or were." Harry explained, a scrunched up look on his face as he tried to remember the degree of relation between them. "My grandmother was Siri's great aunt…or something…I think. Sirius looks like a Black, while my father is a Potter with some Black features, and I'm a Potter with Black and Evans features coming from my mum. The cocktail makes it so I could pass as either's kid unless you knew my parents, then the relation is pretty obvious."

"That explains how ya got here." Merle was like a dog after a bone. "But not how y'all knew to prepare for the walkers."

"We didn't know it was going to be walkers." Harry corrected immediately. "That wasn't even in the top ten of guesses when we designed this place. But we knew – we warned by a source we trusted – that something was going to happen in five or six years. So rather than melting into normal life with a house in the suburbs, we bought a chunk of land no one else wanted and started preparing, bringing in people we thought we could trust after a while and carried on carrying on. I went to college and then med school, dad and papa had the kids, and so on and so forth."

"What source?" Daryl jumped on that like a tick on a hound.

Harry blew out another breath. They dealt with magic easily enough, having seen proof with their own eyes. But how do you explain a Seer?

"With magic came some unique magical abilities." He started. "Like Siri's transformation. Not everyone could do it, in fact back home I only knew of half-a-dozen witches and wizards with animal forms. Another is Sight."

"Like a Ms. Cleo or somethin'?" Merle asked skeptically.

"Not even close." Harry shook his head emphatically. "More like Oracle of Delphi or the infamous Cassandra: real, verified, witches and wizards capable of seeing or knowing things no one else could. And one of the most accurate in decades saw what happened to me and my dads and decided to help us out – not that we had any idea at the time."

"Why?" Daryl was mystified by that. Magic or not, that wasn't the sort of thing that happened, not even before the world went to shit.

"Because whatever it was she saw." Harry explained as simply as he could. "It led her to believe that my befriending her daughter led to Luna having a better future than she would've had I taken another path and eventually ended up here. She was thankful and helped us accordingly: warned of a danger in the future and made sure her daughter gave me an enchanted necklace that was packed with things we'd need in this new world: both information and gold from mine and Siri's family fortunes."

"Like a guardian angel." Daryl muttered, eyeing his empty bottle. He wasn't near enough drunk for this talk of Seers and precognition shit.

"Basically." Harry agreed. "Though Pandora would say it was just one good turn deserving another if she was around to ask." He climbed to his feet and stretched, collecting up the bottles and dumping them in the bin where they were magically transferred to part of the farm for cleaning and repurposing. "I think that's more than enough for one night." He waved over his shoulder calling out a goodnight as he ducked into his room, leaving the Dixons to stay up and think over what all they'd learned – and whether or not it changed their plans for their Pretty Magic Man.

Daryl woke with the dawn as light crept through the window, the hunter having left the drapes thrown wide out of both neglect, it had been a long time since he thought about things like curtains rather than watching for walkers, and a lifetime of habit.

He knew Merle would sleep for a couple hours more yet, Harry having let them know after leaving the meeting the night before that they could sleep in a bit as he'd only be working on the work roster for the next week and other things they weren't needed for.

Taking advantage of the quiet time, he ducked into the shared bathroom, larger than any he'd seen before for one or two people and started to explore.

The day before he and his brother had had a quick scrub up with the simple unscented bar of soap in the shower, not taking the time to dig through the closet or drawers. Daryl felt himself grin as he found a whole supply of men's soap, shaving foam, razors, shampoo and conditioner, even an electric battery-operated beard trimmer and after shave lotion. All fancy-pants things that he'd seen in stores but never seen the point in wastin' money on over simple bar soap and two-in-one shampoo.

Opening bottles and pots and wrappers, Daryl found some neutral-scented things that wouldn't stick and scare off the wildlife if he took it in mind to go huntin' sometime, before caving in a moment of weakness and snatching a pot of shaving lotion with a light sandalwood musk to it.

Staring in the mirror, he dragged one hand through the short beard he'd grown in the last couple months before picking up the grooming scissors tucked in the trimmer bag and set to work on removing the dead animal from his face. A quarter of an hour later saw him with a much-trimmer goatee and his hair cut back to his face and neck instead of hanging down past his jaw. Cleaning up the hair from the countertop with efficient hands, he climbed in to revel under the hot water and suds of the shower for a good thirty minutes – half of that dealing with a persistent problem courtesy of his friend and host Harry.

Toweling off, he wrapped one of the massive fluffy bath sheets around his waist, then headed back into his room to paw through his clothes – both his own from before and those that'd been left for his use in the closet and chest of drawers.

In the end he through on a pair of butter-soft leather pants in a dark brown that would wear well, a soft cotton undershirt, and a tough broadcloth work shirt with long sleeves and black buttons in a dark blue, slipping his feet into thick boot socks to keep them warm before padding out to investigate what the cabinets in the kitchen had to offer for breakfast, only to come to a screeching halt at the sight that waited for him.

It was Harry, but a Harry he'd never seen before.

In other words, Harry was half naked, wearing only a pair of tough leather-looking pants with a scale pattern like the ones he'd first seen him wear when they came across him and Merle, only this pair was an inky black instead of a worn-looking grey, the other man not even having a pair of socks covering his bare slim feet or a tie to hold back his hair.

The women had been the ones to notice it first.

Because, honestly, how often did men pay attention to what people wore or didn't, especially in the middle of running for their lives.

But once they said something about it, Daryl and Merle had found it hard to not notice, enough to the point that they'd even talked about it once – as much as they actually spoke about anything instead of just reading each other.

Harry never changed his clothes in front of them.

Not once, not ever.

He never went shirtless or shucked down to a tank top, never was found in any sort of undress or with a button out of place.

The closest anyone ever saw him to even semi-naked was when he'd take his braid down and redo it – that was it.

Nothing else, not ever.

And it wasn't like an unobservant idiot would think, that he was just living in the one set of dirty clothes and never changed to be caught at it.

Harry was probably the cleanest person in their group, constantly rotating between a pair of jeans, his grey leather pants, and a pair of tough work pants in brown, his shirts changing just as often if not more so.

So, then the question became, why?

With as many people tripping around each other in a confined space, catching someone in partial nudity or full-on naked was a fact of life.

You would have to work hard at not getting seen to avoid it, and no one worked that hard without reason.

As Daryl stared at Harry's unknowing back and sides, taking in the patchwork of silvery scars in shapes he was familiar with – belt marks, cigar burns, a knife slash or two, and what looked like claw marks from something nasty, Daryl knew that he'd finally found the reason behind Harry's almost obsessive privacy.

He didn't want anyone's nosy questions or annoying pity, something Daryl could relate to after Carol had seen him washing up in the quarry at one point and asked about his own belt marks on his back.

If he'd had the choice…he wouldn't have let anyone see his own scars either.

"Cat got your tongue?" Harry asked lightly, turning his head lightly to the side, proving that he wasn't as unaware as Daryl had thought. He just didn't want to make a bigger deal out of what Daryl was seeing than necessary, and spinning around to hide his back would've done just that: made a big deal out of nothing.

After another moment or two Daryl continued forward, taking the cup – of coffee by its scent - Harry held out to him all without turning around to face him head on.

"That the reason your dads fought to get custody of you, then?" Daryl asked, remembering what the other man had said about his family.

Harry turned to face him, leaning back against the countertop with a cup of his own in his hands.

"Part of it." He allowed, before taking a cautious sip of the hot beverage before motioning with the cup to the steaming platters on the breakfast bar and the plates and silverware already sitting out.

Harry must've woken up even before Daryl to have showered, cooked, and made coffee already, Daryl reckoned.

"Food's on." Harry said casually as if Daryl hadn't just gotten a peek into his shitty past. "Help yourself."

"Coffee and warm food on the counter." Daryl told his brother when he stumbled out of their part of the apartment over an hour later.

Merle had obviously taken advantage of the bathroom supplies as well, trimming his hair back down from its curly poof and getting his beard down to a close clean shave. He was wearin' boot socks, clean work pants, and a plain black t-shirt with his leather jacket in one hand. Daryl held in a snort. His brother looked down-right respectable – almost – for once.

"French toast, bacon, eggs, coffee?" Merle let out a low whistle. "Like Christmas morning when ma was still alive."

Daryl nodded once, agreeing but not as surprised. Harry noticed everything. Daryl wouldn't be shocked if he'd picked up on their likes from what he'd seen them take to the best or little things they said here or there.

Ignoring his brother as Merle bolted down breakfast, Daryl went back to sharpening his crossbow bolts and maintaining the fletching. Several of them were going to need repair, but he was sure somewhere around there would be feathers he could appropriate. He had his smallest whetstone in his hand as he maintained the edges on the points, a larger one sittin' and waitin' in water for him to get to takin' care of his knives.

Before long, Merle had finished as well and joined his brother on the living room floor after laying down a protective tarp from his bag, breaking down and starting to clean and maintain his guns before grabbing a whetstone as well and working on his own knives and sword.

Neither of them felt the need for conversation, knowing they were of the same mind about this new place and the man who ran it.

They simply enjoyed the quiet and the companionship, knowing that soon enough they'd be up and runnin' around with Harry and back to work.

Still, it was good to just sit and abide awhile with some familiar tasks to keep their hands busy and their minds off the world going to hell just outside the gates.

Once Daryl had set aside the last knife, clean and sharpened in its sheath, he told his brother what was on his mind as Merle knew he eventually would.

"Harry's kin were like Da." Was all he said. "He's got the marks an' everythin…just like us."

Merle nodded slowly, running a rag down the edge of his sword after testing the edge with the pad of his thumb.

"We thought that might be the way of it." The older man said. "How'd you find out?"

"He was fixin' breakfast in only his leather pants." Daryl shifted a little restlessly as – now that the shock had worn off – he could fully appreciate the vision Harry had made this morning. "And he had his back to me. Hard to see a patch of skin without a scar on it – no matter that most of them are old an' silvered. Even had some on his front an' arms."

And one that looked like words on his hand that Daryl knew he would've noticed before now. The other man must have some way to conceal it. There was nothing else that made any kinda sense.

"You two decent?" Harry called out as he strode into the apartment, effectively killing their conversation of his background – for the moment.

"Shit, Pretty." Merle joked as he resheathed his weapons except for the guns that would go back into his and Daryl's rooms. "Been called a lot of things in my life but decent is a new one."

"Bet you have at that, cantankerous creature you are." Harry laughed, rubbing one hand on the back of his neck under his rebraided hair. "Well." He eyed their dressed and relaxed forms all loose-limbed on the floor. "Ready to get to work? I've got some things to take care of and wanted you two to come along and start learning the estate."

"Sure." Daryl shrugged. "Ain't got nothin' else ta do since ya claimed us last night."

"Okay then," Harry wandered off towards his room. "Let me grab my jacket and we'll head out, there's new boots for you two by the door, your old ones are being cleaned and repaired by Remus when he has a minute to spare."

The Dixons climbed easily to their feet, strapping on their various weapons, including their pistols and some full clips, the way Harry made it sound it was like they were going on a scouting trip or some such. Daryl darted into his room – his room he still couldn't get over it, with his bed, and all his things after a lifetime of sharing everything with Merle or having nothing at all – and grabbed the leather jacket he'd seen in the closet. Merle tossed the fresh – but broken in both brothers could plainly see – boots at his brother's head, Daryl snatching them out of the air with a soft growl at his brother's evil chuckle.

They were a perfect fit, reaffirming the Dixon's earlier notion, Harry pays attention.

The man himself sauntered back in, relaxed and easy from the feeling of being back home, at least that's what the Dixons assumed it was, he wasn't relaxed or loose hipped enough to have gone and gotten laid…likely with that flirty hand of his Sean or John or somethin' like that. Whatever his name was had seemed awfully amenable to the idea if they'd read him right, despite Harry writing it off as mere teasin'. It'd been real enough to get their possessive hackles raised. They might be willin' to share with each other, the way they'd done pert-near everythin' else in their lives, but they wouldn't stand for an outsider to hone in on their territory…whether they'd claimed it yet as theirs or not.

Harry eyed them both a moment, disconcerted over the stormy looks both had on their faces, not sure what'd caused them but betting on a memory of some sort…they hadn't really been doing anything or around anyone that would've gotten them hacked off so that was the only thing he had to explain it.

If he only knew…

"You two any good with horses?" He asked, shaking off his mental wanderings for the task at hand, focusing on the best way to get it done.

"Good enough, but no buckaroos." Merle said. "Those nags of Hershel's were the first we spent any real time around 'em."

"Ours are a little better trained for these times than Hershel's farm horses." Harry promised with a laugh as they made their way through the castle and out the doors towards the stables. "And it's the best way next to walking it to get a feel for the land or surrounding area."

"What would your plan be if we weren't willing to sit a horse?" Merle had to ask. He just couldn't not. Harry had been damned good so far at not assumin' shit so he knew the Pretty had to have a backup plan.

"Motorcycles or ATV's." Harry said nonchalantly. "But I like to keep those for when we need to venture out and might run into people, they're harder on the land than horses and their fuel source isn't renewable like the feed for the livestock."

"Wouldn't know it by the way you bring tankers home." Daryl said with a cocky grin. "Y'all have to be better stocked for fuel than anyone for a hundred miles."

"Probably." Harry conceded with a little amused twitch of his lips. "But anything will run short by the time this whole thing is over, we have to make the things we have last as long as we can."

"What will you do when the fuel runs out and you have all those cars an' such lyin' around, Pretty?" Merle questioned as Harry led them towards the tack room and had them grab what they wanted for their ride, both brothers going for the more utilitarian Western working saddles that were plain save for some tooled designs.

They carried the tack out, each man with a saddle swung over his shoulder save for Harry whose things were already waiting on a stand next to a stall. His getup was an inky black that matched his dragonhide – though the brothers weren't familiar with the material other than it being a type of leather – pants with the same griffin from their rooms stitched in dark grey on the skirt and reins. Harry whistled once, bringing horse heads swinging over stall doors, ears twitching and eyes bright and gleaming dark.

"Repurpose what we can to run on solar or magic." Harry shrugged, pointing out a tall buckskin Walker and a bay Quarter horse to the brothers, both mares. They didn't have any geldings on the estate, only stallions like his and Siri's mounts, or mares. "Tear down the rest for scrap metal."

Turning as lips nipped at his braid, he hushed the stallion who was a massive seventeen hands, more than a hand taller than most other Fresiens ever reach. All black and beautiful, Harry'd instantly been drawn to the stallion at the auction he'd gone to with Max and Sirius to get the foundation of their herd. They'd agreed ahead of time to stick with Walkers and Quarter horses but like when Hagrid had handed him a cage with a snowy owl in it, when Harry saw 'Knave of Spades' now known as just Knave, it'd been love – or familiar – at first sight.

The last thing Harry had ever expected on getting dumped in a strange world was to find another familiar after Hedwig had been left behind (though Pandora assured him she found a great home with Neville), let alone a horse from a breed that'd been used as war horses for centuries, preferred by generals, kings, and knights from all over Europe.

"Hey, Knave." Harry reached up and rubbed one hand down his silky black nose. Said familiar snorted in his face and tossed his head before trotting over to the far end of the stall, flicking his tail at his human in derision.

Knave was not amused to have been left alone by his human for weeks.

As if running around with other two-legged grown-up apes was sooo important.

He whinnied in protest, snorting once more.

"Having troubles there, Pretty?" Merle asked, plainly amused from where he already had the buckskin bridled and was leading her out to get the saddle on her back.

"Oh shut up." Harry snarked back, jumping lightly over the stall door without bothering to open it, not wanting to chance Knave bolting in his temper, and unknowingly showing off his lean strength. "He's just irritated I was off without him, huh Jacks?"

Knave snorted, eyeing his person warily over his shoulder, not willing to be appeased by a few pats and soothing murmurs from his human. But Knave knew full-well that his human was wily. Harry had to have something up his sleeves or he never would've jumped into the stall with him. Knave had to be strong and ready to ignore whatever…oooh…

His wonderful, perfect human brought him sugared dried mango pieces.

While Knave was distracted munching the rare treat – taken from Harry's stash in his bedroom, otherwise his little brother and sister would've already eaten it all the monsters – that was like candy for both people and horses, Harry quickly had him saddled and bridled, leading his familiar from the stall and then the Dixons from the stables altogether.

"Sugar lumps?" Daryl leaned forward trying to get a look at what bribe had caused such a massive turn-around in the formerly stubborn horse.

"Dried mango with sugar dusting." Harry explained. "A favorite one of my school-friends introduced me too in the way back, almost impossible to find anymore unless I hit a payload like that warehouse store supply truck. It's like crack, Knave can never say no." Harry offered a piece to both brothers, snacking on one himself and enjoying the pleased looks they each got at the sweet-tart flavor of the treat.

Clearing the stable doors, the trio swung up into the saddle, Harry a lot smoother than the brothers but they still got the job done even if it wasn't as pretty or practiced as Harry's own movement, before turning and setting the horses at an easy lope for the gate, ignorant to the eyes watching the sight they made: tough and handsome men on horseback, it was certainly a sight to see.

Harry led them back through the switchbacks and zig-zags of the gate systems, certain that after leaving and coming back again both Dixons would know the path blindfolded, being the trackers and hunters they were.

"What've you got planned for us, Magic Man?" Daryl asked after getting familiarized with the bay mare, Josie while Merle was still busy adjusting to his mount dubbed "Annabel Lee."

Most of the time you'd never know Merle had spent the better part of ten years gone with the Marines, the two brothers were so in sync with each other, nearly twins at times. But then something would come up, Merle's military training rearing its head or him being uncomfortable with something that used to be easy, like horseback riding, and the differences were plain as day. Like they'd said, neither of them were buckaroos, but Daryl had done a stint as a stable hand when his drifting took him into horse country while Merle was busy getting shot at by tangos in Afghanistan.

He'd learned enough in those couple weeks before his feet got itchy again that using the horses to patrol the Greene farm was a simple thing, and riding again now was easy as pie once he got back used to it.

A good thing too, since if he was reading Harry right, they were going to be on horseback a lot in order to cover the miles and miles of fence lines that circled the estate.

"Those signs on the way in." Harry explained, still kicking himself for overlooking such a simple thing. "They're like beacons just calling out for someone to come looking for high walls and secure doors. I can't take the prison off the map but we can make it a bit harder to find if anyone comes looking. And as this thing lasts and people key into it not being over quick, they're going to come knocking for those walls and fences and steel doors. Figured you two wouldn't mind watching my back and learning some of the local territory while I was at it."

"Ya coulda just gone an' done it, ain't that so?" Daryl asked perceptively, eyes open and on the passing forest, looking for sign for when he came back huntin' in the next day or so. He couldn't stand eatin' food that others had worked hard to grow an' harvest an' not give anythin' back. He'd never taken anythin' he hadn't earned in his life an' he ain't 'bout to start now.

Daryl didn't really count the supplies that the group had brought in as his own contribution. Sure, he'd done his part clearing cars and houses and stores, but no less than anyone else though more than some. Plus he plumb cain't stand bein' idle for any length of time.

Merle was much the same, Daryl wouldn't be surprised any if tomorrow or the next day when Daryl took off to hunt his brother either tagged along or wandered into the machine shop to put his hand in there…if Harry didn't have anythin' goin' for 'em to do anyways.

"Could've." Harry smiled, ducking his head a bit shyly, not willing to admit he wanted their company. "Didn't."

"What else can ya do?" Merle asked, eyes scanning between the ebony horse and rider and his surroundings. They'd said a whole lot of nothin' 'bout their capabilities if you asked him. He'd let it go in front of the others, mostly useless pussies that they were, but wanted a better idea of what sort of limits they were working with in case they got in a jam. Thinkin' like the soldier he'd been and the survivor he was, even before the dead started to walk.

"A lot." Harry said drily. "If you know how, there's not much magic can't manage. And between my dads and our library, there's not much we don't know, magic-wise."

"Like wha'?"

"Funny, or ironic, enough." Harry gave a bitter snort. "We can't bring the dead back to live. Not actual life, anyway. We have something similar to Walkers though, called Inferi, that are animated corpses usually used to guard tombs or treasure. But they're not hungry or contagious." He frowned, not sure he'd explained that very well. "You have to burn them to kill them, even a bullet to the head won't work."

"Gee." Daryl deadpanned. "That sounds like a barrel of laughs."

"Never saw one myself outside of a textbook." Harry shrugged. "I think maybe Remus or Sirius have though, there was a war before I was born and the other side liked to use them as shock troops."

"Ya know." Merle narrowed his eyes thinking strategically. "I could see how that'd be damned effective. If all ya were lookin' ta do was cause shock and awe I mean…not worried 'bout survivors or collateral damage…"

"No, Merle." Harry shot that down before the thought could fully form. "We've seen how dangerous it is to try and wangle walkers on the Greene farm. Let's not even go there."

"Was just imaginin'." Merle shifted a bit, a faint blush rising in his cheeks. "I ain't gonna actually do it or anythin'."

Harry turned the topic back around as they left the final gate, all of them much more alert now that they were coming close to the end of the wards and outside of the strongest protective fields. At this point there were mostly alert wards and intention-based wards, nothing as…militant as the ones that were anchored to the various gates and fence lines. They need to be sharp. Just because his wards weren't warning him of danger, didn't mean that danger didn't exist.

Even the best wards could be fooled, Sirius and Wormtail having both proven that at Hogwarts, not to mention the diary and Quirellmort.

"Magic can't manufacture love, the real kind anyway." Harry kept his voice low, not wanting it to carry. "But it can create infatuation and obsession through potions…both of which were highly illegal and akin to date-rape drugs. And it can't conjure food." He frowned trying to think if there was anything he missed. "I think that's it, but you'd have to ask Papa Remus to be sure, he's the bookworm in the family."

"Y'all had wars?" Daryl asked, averting his eyes shyly when he was pinned with Harry's emerald green gaze. He wasn't one to make too much eye contact in the first place, after growin' up with a da who was set off by it, but Harry's made him feel like the other man was lookin' straight through him.

"Did we ever." Harry rolled his eyes, able to find it both funny and sad with distance and time. "Three really bad ones back-to-back-to-back and over the dumbest shit."

"Like wha'?" Daryl persisted when it seemed like Harry wasn't going to say anything more.

As it was, Daryl found how talkative the younger man had gotten the last couple weeks interesting. Didn't say boo to most anyone but him an' Merle for weeks on end, then the man gets riled by Rick and suddenly he's handin' out orders and openin' up, 'specially once they arrived the day before.

'Course, Daryl didn't have much to say himself most the time, Merle able to read 'im and know that he's thinkin', and himself happy to sit back and observe while his brother did the talkin', usually too much.

"Over blood." Harry finally whispered after several long minutes, making Daryl think he wasn't going to get an answer at all. "Three wars over who had the better blood-right to using magic. As if it meant a damn in the end: magical was magical, and we all fought and died and bled red just the same."

By the time Harry spoke, they were coming up on where Harry had said the prison was…though looking at the burnt out foundation shell, Daryl had to amend that to used to be, him and Merle sharing a shocked look behind Harry's back. They had a pretty good idea what or rather who happened here. After all, short of a massive explosion that woulda torn up the surrounding area, there wasn't much that could do that to concrete and solid stone.

But a wizard…yeah…they figured he coulda done it just fine and easy as blinkin'.

The only question was: was there anyone alive inside when he'd done it.

"Watch the woods and the road." Harry half-asked half-ordered as he reined a frisking Knave to a stop beside a large metal sign for the prison. The familiar wanted a good gallop, especially with a long open road stretching out before them. He would have to wait until they were back inside the fences to the pastureland on the other side of the trees for his gallop. Hopefully the cows and sheep would be put up by then and the sight wouldn't have any of them off their milk. "This is outside the wards entirely; we do patrols to clear the walkers from the outermost wall but unless I have time on my hands I rarely go looking for them farther out than that."

"On it, Pretty." Merle said briskly, unholstering his throwing daggers, knowing it was a very bad idea to try and shoot a gun on horseback unless you were dead certain the animal was trained to it.

Harry had the sign uprooted from the road's shoulder and shrunk down, tucking it away in Knave's saddlebags to be repurposed, like he did damn-near everything.

Daryl shook his head at the sight. He knew they had ways of reusing things, but he'd never met a bigger pack-rat than Harry. The man made some of the hoarders on TV look plumb mild by comparison. 'Course…Harry was neat and clean about it, not filthy like some'a them.

The road to the prison from the main turn-off they'd taken to the estate stretched a good five miles, with a couple more signs for Harry to remove while they rode. Daryl plugged a handful of walkers in the meantime, his crossbow having a better range than Merle's daggers, though it was a draw for who tended to see them first. Both brothers found themselves pleased by the steady nature of their mounts, neither so much as shying at the sight of the undead creatures, or batting an eye when Harry sent a stream of fire from his wand to burn them to ash where they fell.

Knave on the other hand wasn't being as considerate, making Harry well aware that a long gallop was more than overdue and he'd had enough of his person's stalling.

"Any more signs need to come down?" Merle asked around carefully concealed laughter as Harry's mount, a horse as pretty as its master, frisked up again for the fourth time in an hour.

"No." Harry sighed after he hissed a curse at stubborn mules only good for glue. "Any others would be farther out, and we'd need wheels for that. Without knowing exactly where they are, I'd rather just call it good and cast a charm over this turn off that'll deter all but the most determined…or someone who already knows its here."

"Handy." Daryl said, as the three of them turned back and made their way for the gate at a lope that took them quickly out of sight of the highway and back into the forest lands. Daryl knew his legs would be a bit rubbery, not used to spending so long in the saddle, but got a nice internal cackle over knowing Merle's ass would feel like someone took a bat to it…repeatedly as he smacked into the saddle rather than moving with the gait of the horse when they first started out and he got used to it. "That why you didn't wanna just tell the others where it was in case we got separated?"

Or someone took off on their own, which was more likely considering the mix in the Grimes/Greene group.

"Part of it." Harry nodded as he raised up a little in his stirrups, allowing Knave to pick up a bit more speed since they were back on the estate road. "More…I just don't trust anyone with only a few exceptions."

Green eyes flashed over to each of the brothers, reassuring them that they were a couple of those exceptions before doubts could sneak in.

For two such tough, aggressive men, they had enough self-esteem issues to fill a warehouse and have overflow left over.

He'd have to see what he could do to remedy that, though he already saw some small changes just by showing them he had their back and that they were truly welcomed among his family. Giving them rooms inside the main house instead of with the others had done quite a bit as well. But there was more that he could do, he just had to set it up in a way that didn't ruffle their feathers.

Harry would work on it, plans still needed tweaking.

They passed through the first several zones in companionable silence, the Dixons having more information to mull over and Harry busy thinking of a hundred things at once.

Clearing the forest-gate and trotting out onto the pasture land encircling the first stone wall, Harry reined up alongside the waiting brothers, who had paused and let him secure the gates before continuing alongside him rather than ride ahead. They were surprised when Harry let out a carrying, three-note whistle, leaning idly over the pommel of his saddle. A moment later had another three-note whistle, this one different than Harry's echoing back to them over the fields.

"The gate to the farm proper is open if you two want to ride ahead." He told them after deciphering the tune in less than a second after hearing it. "Knave and I are going for a gallop."

"Alrigh'," Daryl nodding catching the saddlebag with the shrunk-down signs and sign posts in it. "What ya want me ta do wit' this?"

"Give it to either my dad or papa." Harry told him with a smile. "They'll know what to do with it, thanks. It's past lunch so if you wanna grab a snack after taking care of your mounts you're free to, I'll be back in about a half-hour, maybe an hour depending."

"An' after?" Merle asked, dark blue eyes watching him calmly…despite his aching backside.

Harry just smiled blindingly, not about to give either of them any warning about what was coming…though for some reason they both eyed him even more cautiously than before, somehow seeing through his patented "There's nothing to worry about, I'm completely innocent!" look, and leaned up over Knave's neck whispering in one velvety black ear, the two of them taking off like a shot and leaving two very concerned, but resigned to whatever mischief he was up to, brothers behind him.

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All Credits Go to: Sifsshadowheart--AO3