On Whom The Pale Moon Gleams

by Messenger Of The Masses

Dropped into a pre-Outbreak world, Harry, Sirius, and Remus follow the advice of a thankful Seer and prepare for the worst. Six years later, the dead begin to walk and the Walsh/Grimes group forms. Only, instead of finding only a hand on the roof of a department store, Daryl and the rest find nothing at all, leading to the question: How did Merle escape?

11. Chapter 11: Settling In

For the second morning in a row, Merle stumbled out of bed to the smell of freshly made breakfast and hot coffee.

Mana from heaven.

However, this time when he hit the kitchen, both his brother and their Pretty were sitting down at the bar, steaming mugs of coffee and mostly-full plates of pancakes and eggs laying on the countertop in front of them as they perched on the cushioned stools. With the suite being originally designed when Harry was still a teenager, there hadn't been a need to add an actual dining area, with the ebony haired man – then teen – preferring to eat with his family. Something he might have to consider changing, maybe expanding along the far kitchen wall, if he planned on having private meals with his Dixons.

Merle made himself at home at the place that had been laid for him, thanking Harry with a nod and a barely-coherent "Thanks," before gulping down coffee and digging into the food.

Harry was finished first, mostly because even after all the healing he'd undergone thanks to his dads as well as years of full meals and getting up to a healthy weight, he still had a hard time shaking years of having to bolt down food before it was stolen from him. He'd weaned himself off of guarding his plate, and remembered to chew more than just once or twice…most of the time, but still eleven solid years of abuse followed by summers that seemed determined to make up for his absence the rest of the time, had left a strong mark on his behavior that he fought and would continue to fight all through his life. But, leftover habits or not, Harry often found himself more thankful than ever that the Dursleys' abuse and neglect had been mostly corrected as far as his actual health was concerned.

His mental health now…that was a different story as what the Dixons had dubbed his "hoarder" habits and severe preparedness that bordered on obsessive paranoia made clear to anyone who thought about it.

And no matter how much he'd like to, Harry couldn't blame his mental scars on the Dursleys alone. No, they'd definitely had help on that front. Help from years of a finicky public, lying reporters, traitorous friends, and manipulative old goats to make him this fucked up.

Shrugging it off, as he tended to whenever his mind wandered to the subject lest he lose control of his temper – and his magic in the process – Harry sat back, hooking his feet around the rungs of the chair, and wrapped his hands around his still-warm cup of coffee, inhaling the life-giving aroma with pleasure.

His movements drew a pair of dark blue eyes that studied him carefully now that Merle had had a cup of coffee and cleared away half of his plate, allowing him to think of things other than how much he'd like to go back to sleep or the growling of his stomach.

"What's with the fancy treads, Pretty?" Merle asked in between mouthfuls of pancake slathered in fresh butter and Aunt Jamima's. "Got an appointment at the golf club?"

Harry was wearing a pair of crisp cotton slacks in a rich cream color, topped with a, silk? Merle thought, silk red short-sleeved Polo shirt. Leaning over a bit to study the rest of the Pretty, the canny-eyed elder man recognized a genuine leather belt in black and matching black leather boots on his feet – nice ones too that shone under the light and didn't have the tough-as-nails look of his normal boots.

Daryl, who had wondered over the clothes when he'd seen Harry pick them out from his large closet, didn't say a word but was obviously waiting and listening for Harry to answer his brothers question.

"Not quite." Harry laughed lightly. "No, I'm afraid today I'm playing doctor instead of runner or hunter or commander. I normally open up the little clinic attached to the mess hall on Sundays for non-emergency visits, yearly physicals, and the like." He cocked his head and gave a shrug thinking about the next couple of days ahead of him. Hopefully soon he'd be able to slow down and just be for a day. He needed the break to recharge after the adventure that started with rescuing Merle and had yet to really end. "I'm not a fully-fledged doctor, mind, but I had all the fundamentals taught to me and was about to enter my year of Patient Care, plus with my magical medical training and first aid…I come as close as we're likely to find with the dead wandering around. Plus," he sighed thinking about it. "I've gotten a lot of practice since this thing began."

"Ain't today Friday 'cording to yer calender?" Daryl pointed out with a slight frown. "Why're you openin' up today?"

"You." Harry supplied before adding: "Well your group. Everyone gets checked over when they come in from the outside, and gets checked on a rotating schedule. It helps me keep an eye on any chronic conditions people have and stop problems with a person's health before it becomes something I can't treat. These days, with the healthcare system gutted and no way to replenish supplies for medications and vaccines, prevention is more important than it ever was."

He let the brothers mull that over a minute, finishing off his coffee and taking his empty cup and plate over to the sink where they automatically started to get cleaned but the permanent enchantments that he activated with a press of a gemstone inset next to the faucet.

Then he finished his explanation saying: "Besides, with all the magic everyone is exposed to daily from the protections and using things like the chill cabinets, I have to keep a firm eye on their magical-radiation levels."

"Magical radiation?" Daryl blinked, taken aback by that, those two words not making much sense to him next to each other. "What the Sam-Hill is that?"

"Magic is dangerous to non-magical people, at least over-exposure is." Harry told them as he wandered around and put up the leftovers, taking Daryl's plate with a smile when the other man handed it over. "There were studies done on it and everything in my original world. And like anything else, the healthier someone is the more they can take – along with other factors. The protections, the wards, we live under give off a constant, low-level hum of magic that seeps into everything under them. The same with anything else that's magical. Radiation is the best way of describing it since it's similar: some, small amounts is fine, greater amounts you need to keep an eye on like X-Ray machines, but large constant doses like exposure from a reactor malfunction or nuclear winter can be deadly…depending."

Merle got up and took his own plate to the sink, watching with narrow-eyed contemplation as the cloth and scrubber got to work and the plate and silverware dunked themselves in the wash and rinse before floating over to rest on the drying rack: all without him lifting a finger.

"There's another layer of protections on the castle." Merle noted with his sharp cleverness. "And a shit-ton of magical shit on the inside of it." He looked over at the steadily-watching figure of Harry, his brother having padded off to tug on his boots, but still listening from the entry-way. "That's why all the others houses are on the other side of that first wall…that an' for extra security for your family itself."

"Yes," Harry acknowledged with a slow nod. "That was part of the reason I designed it this way. If you're not at least a four on the scale of magical power, living in close contact with this much magic could be toxic after a prolonged period of time." Harry smirked, turning and walking with Merle as they went to join the waiting Daryl, the older Dixon quickly tugging on boots and grabbing his jacket from the hall tree. "Which is why the two of you are my first patients of the day: I was sure from your reactions to the wards that you're each at least a four on the scale but I won't be 100% until I test you myself."

"Gonna play doctor with us, Magic Man?" Daryl drawled, low and silky, making Harry blush a bit unwittingly thinking back to water-slicked kisses on scarred skin…and their unfinished business that came along with them.

"That's the general idea." Harry said, clearing his throat and ignoring the knowing leer he got from Merle, the other man having a damned good idea of something happening between the other two in their joint shower, just not what. "After if you want to hunt or help out in the machine shop, you'd be welcome to. Just if you take one of the horses let Max know…and stick to either Annabelle Lee or Josie…some of the others can be trouble if you're not used to them and them to you."

The trio stopped off at Max and Sarah's house, catching the foreman at his own breakfast, so Harry could have them pass along appointment times to the others in the Dixons' group, doing the same with Rosalia, before Harry led the brothers into the small clinic attached to the mess hall.

It wasn't much of a thing, Harry having his "lab" – fancy word for it since while it was set up, Harry was still learning how to use some of the equipment and learning how to process certain tests and read results when he had a moment – in the basement levels of the castle. Mostly it was a small area for people to wait with a chalk board on the wall that had reminders of open hours on Sunday, as well as a place for people to sign in, and a blank area for Harry to write in whatever tickled his fancy on a given day or for kids to draw on. Today Harry wrote out a list of questions for people to be prepared to answer as best they could, setting out a small table with several forms – medical history from what they saw – with clipboards and pencils.

Next to the chalkboard, Harry had hung up a long list that had important tests, vaccinations, and other healthcare milestones from birth through death on it. On another wall there was a list of signs of having an emergency such as high fevers, sharp chest pains, and sudden dizziness or blurred vision. After you passed through the waiting area, Harry had set up a staging area like found in any doctors' office that had a height chart, a pair of scales, and an eye test chart. There were only two rooms, one much larger than the other that was clearly used for emergencies requiring surgery or a sterile environment, and the smaller that was a regular clinic room with an exam table, doctor's stool, and cupboards that held Harry's tools of the trade, including a locking filing cabinet and a door that led to a dispensary that had from what they were told, a fraction of Harry's actual supplies the rest being kept in the castle storage until required.

For a family that claimed to trust the people under their care, they certainly didn't skimp on the safety precautions.

Which both Dixons heartily approved of.

Just because you take someone in, that didn't mean they won't try and screw you over, magically-binding contracts or not.

"Alright." Harry bustled around, grabbing a box out of a drawer from his desk in the staging area. "Who's my first victim?"

Merle none-too-gently shoved Daryl forward, feeling zero guilt over offering his younger brother up as a sacrificial lamb in this situation, sure that Harry wouldn't do them any harm…especially after the night before.

Besides which, Merle had spent time under Harry's doctoring and the other man had never harmed him once, no matter how much Merle wanted to cuss him blue for detoxing him when he was passed out…whether Merle liked it or not.

Looking back, and able to see for himself the differences between him using and him clean, Merle was more than okay with that decision.

That didn't mean he was one-hundred percent at ease with Pretty making it for him without so much as a by-your-leave.

"Excellent, Merle." Harry smirked wickedly. "You're up first big boy."

Daryl snickered at his brother's face, feeling no sympathy since Merle tried to screw him over.

"Catch." Harry tossed the contents of the wooden box – some sort of egg shaped stone – at the former soldier, the other man's reflexes snatching it easily out of the air, only to suck in a sharp breath as after a moment it started to glow. "Put it down here," Harry told him, gesturing to a mat on he'd laid out on his desk that had a series of colored squares printed on it.

Merle set the weird glowing stone down at the top of the chart where Harry had pointed, Merle seeing that it was a blank square in black, whereas the rest of the squares had some sort of abbreviation under them, even the white one. Harry tapped his wand on the glowing stone, and to the shock of the brothers, one of the colored squares lit up. Harry tapped his wand again, and the stone went back to what looked like a white diamond the size of a lemon.

"Yellow." Harry told Merle, referencing both the chart and a book which he flipped through to the proper page. Arching a brow, he said with no little surprise: "You're more gifted than I thought, Sargent. Yellow: a six on the Scale of Magical Power. You would've been identified as a PC or having a partial magical core in my old world. I knew you two were something because of being able to feel the wards but I figured you were a four at best, the same as Max who can feel them also."

"What's that all mean?" Merle asked with a frown, not sure what to think about what he was hearing. "PC, partial core, an' all that?"

"It means," Harry read out from the book he was leaning over, missing the wordless communication going on over his head via worried or angsty-looks on the part of the brothers. "That you have a magical core but only have partial access to it. You'd never be able to do spells but you can use magical items that don't require a constant supply of magic to maintain themselves, you can bond a familiar or a spouse, and might have developed a sort of extra sensory which can be anything from telepathy or clairvoyance to just being a really really good sniper with survival instincts that are frankly ridiculous."

Harry said the last with a smirk as he eyed the somewhat-smug grin on Merle's face at that last bit acknowledging the ex-Marine's skills.

"So nothin' too…"

"Freaky?" Harry asked with no little amount of sarcasm. "No. Nothing you haven't already developed, like those skills I just mentioned and you would know better than me what you're just a little too good at. The good news with that is I can use magic to diagnose you or treat you, which is a helluva lot quicker and more effective than mundane methods. You also don't have to worry about the magical radiation we already talked about: since you have a core even a partially blocked one, you're inoculated against it." He gave the other men a wry smile. "Magic wouldn't do us much good if we were poisoned by it on a daily basis, just for existing."

"An' the bad news?" Merle asked with his usual wariness.

Harry shrugged. "That depends on your perspective. In my old world there would've been some blow-back if you'd been born into a magical family. Kids born without a fully-functioning core like a PC, and especially a blocked core BC aka a Squib, well…it was treated like some people treat birth defects here. Some didn't care, others gave them up rather than deal with the 'shame' of it. In any case the only difference it makes in this world is you're a little safer thanks to your enhanced skills and instincts and maybe, depending on the magical power of the other person, you might have a magical child. That's it."

"Wha's bondin'?" Daryl chimed in, a thoughtful expression on his face. "You said Merle might be able to bond a familiar or a spouse…wha's that then?"

"Magical bonds are like the contract you guys had to sign to get here." Harry shrugged, propping his hip on the desk. "But completely binding and unbreakable. A familiar is an animal companion, like my Knave. They'll be in-tune with your thoughts and feelings, almost like they can read your mind, and can display uncanny abilities." Harry gave a soft smile, the expression in his eyes far away. "Before here, back in my old world, I had an owl as a familiar, she always knew when I needed her for anything and could find me or anyone else, anywhere in the world, no matter what wards or protections they were under. Knave is much the same but different since he's a completely different animal."

"An' with a spouse?" Merle prompted, more interested in that than the other, though the way his Pretty explained havin' a familiar made it sound rather intriguing. Like the K-9's the Marines had that were trained to find bombs…but better. He wouldn't mind one-a them.

"'til death to you part. Literally." Harry's voice was as dry as the Sahara. "But for it to work there has to be a certain level of compatibility, love, or companionship already in place. And there's different levels to it. Remy and Siri share a creature-bond due to Remy's other side. It's second only to a soul-bond as far as how deeply bound to each other they are."

Harry tossed the stone over to Daryl, who being more prepared from watching the process with Merle wasn't surprised when it started glowing, though the color seemed a little different than Merle's.

Apparently Harry thought so too, as after it was set down and the wizard tapped a spot on the chart, two of the colors lit up, the yellow of Merle's PC rating and the orange right next to it.

"Hmm," Harry muttered to himself. "That's interesting."

"Wha'?" Daryl asked gruffly. "There somethin' wrong wit' me or somethin'?"

"No." Harry answered, shaking his head as he flipped through the reference guide. "But you're harder to classify than Merle, not strictly being either a six or a seven but floating in between."

"An'…?" Merle asked in a growling drawl. "Wha's that mean? He's more powerful than me or somethin'? That's what this test is, ain't it? Seein' where we are and what we can do or use with your magical shit?" Makin' sure they were good enough for him more like.

"It's more for your safety, actually." Harry shot back at the hidden accusation in Merle's words. "Due to that magical-radiation issue we talked about earlier. If you two weren't at least a four…I'd have to see about finding a way to shield you while you lived in the castle. And if you were only a four I'd have to be very careful about using magic to take care of you or to rescue you in case of trouble since you're constantly being bombarded by magic living under the wards. I just want you two to be safe." Harry snorted, eyeing Merle scathingly. "I don't give a rat's ass if you were as magical as a doorknob or Merlin reborn you defensive asshole."

Turning back to Daryl, Harry ignored the growling form of Merle.

"You're borderline between a six and a seven which means you probably have a fully functioning magical core, just not a powerful one. If you want I can do some more tests to see if a magical focus like a fine-tuned wand or something could let you do actual magic…though how you two wound up with the cores you have I have no idea." The last was more muttered to himself in vexation. "We were told there wasn't a magical community in this world but you two kinda contradict that idea…but maybe…I guess it could've happened…"

"Wha'?" Daryl asked, then said. "Don' worry 'bout the focus or whatever. I done without spells and shit all my life, I'll get by just fine without messin' with it now."

"I told you two about the Veil, yeah?" Harry clarified his mumbling for his audience. "And how it used to be used for executions? Well, if it spit me and my dads out here because we weren't guilty of execution, then it's possible others had been as well. And since it dumped us in Louisiana…they could've been dumped in the South as well. And magical people tend to be both suspicious as hell and reclusive around 'outsiders'."

"So…" Daryl followed the thought. "Two brothers from bumfuck Georgia could have magic in their blood because some shmuck was falsely accused of a crime and lit out for a more rural area after gettin' dumped off in the South, what…a couple hundred years ago?"

"More or less." Harry shrugged. "What Pandora wrote made it seem like there wasn't a magical people native to this world, at least not one we were used to. But Seers tend to be cagey as hell. I could be way off base and you two have some sort of native power that shows up on my scale. I don't have facts I just have theories and no way to really prove them short of a blood-lineage test and a record of every person sent through the Veil…which doesn't exist as it was an open-secret that some of the Darker ministers and families had used it off the books in the past."

"How many people are you talkin', Pretty?" Merle asked, nearly incensed at the idea after he barely dodged a Dishonorable Discharge due to his CO gettin' his panties in a twist. If his JAG lawyer hadn't been as good as that fella had been, Merle would've been bounced and done time in Leavenworth for Felony Assault of a Superior Officer.

"Could be a handful." Harry sighed, shoulders drooping at the idea which was highly probably true. "Could be a thousand or more. It's impossible to tell." He shook his head, needing to finish with the brothers before the others started showing up in the next half-hour. "Let's finish up, which I can do with a spell each if you're okay with it? I can just get your histories and stuff that way…save a lot of time."

The Dixons exchanged a look before giving him dual nods, Harry smiling at the sight. Tapping his wand on the two folders he'd already prepared, just in case, he linked them to the brothers. Any diagnostic spells or magical treatments would automatically record themselves in the folders, while potions use would have to be logged manually, like he just did for the Scale diagnostic with the power stone. Another tap recorded the potions and treatment he gave Merle on finding him, which wasn't too dangerous at the time since Harry wasn't planning on whisking him away under the wards immediately to prevent a magical overdose. A precaution at the time since Harry had no way of knowing where on the scale he fell, most of the inhabitants of the estate being not magical – as he understood the classification - at all, which had been his assumption for everyone in this world before meeting Max and finding out otherwise first-hand.

Another set of spells had the medical history of each brother writing itself out in the folders as Harry – the Dixons' leaning over his shoulders – watched avidly. And with no little amount of concern over just how thorough the spell was going to be. Both of them have taken injuries they weren't necessarily proud of.

They just hoped it stuck with the injuries and illnesses themselves and didn't show what exactly caused them.

Merle snickered a little bit as a period of malnutrition – lasting exactly nine days – accompanied by a poison oak rash, showed up in Daryl's folder, knowing full well the story behind that little episode.

Daryl smirked back at him and pointed out a line in Merle's own folder – one which embarrassingly recorded his bout of – and treatment for – a case of the clap he'd caught while visiting a brothel in Amsterdam while on leave from his base in Germany.

"Nice, brother." Daryl snarked, shaking his head in disappointment. "Way to play it safe."

"Shut it, baby bro." Merle snipped back, blushing heavily at Harry seeing that awful thing show up. Daryl was one thing, but Merle wasn't happy in the least that Harry was gettin' a front-page view of one of the worst choices he'd made in his life. "I learned from it, didn't I? And taught you better'n that."

"Calm down you two." Harry shushed them. "I'm not here to play judge and jury over shit that happened before I even knew you existed. So long as you're clean now, that's all I give a fuck about. It's not like I was an angel when I was away at school, no matter what my Dad Siri likes to believe."

Scanning over the contents of each folder as the spell came to a close, Harry nodded to himself absently not seeing any surprises in their current health, though he'd been taken aback by a couple of things in their histories despite what he fed them to keep them from getting into a brawl in the middle of his clinic.

In addition to injuries likely caused by dumb kid shit and too much testosterone-fueled fights, he saw the physical abuse they'd been subjected to in black and white – and some nutritional gaps from not enough fresh fruits and veg growing up though it hadn't stunted their growth at all. The Bastards. But that did mean he'd have to watch them and make sure those gaps didn't continue lest they develop issues down the line.

There were Merle's injuries from his time in the service, and Daryl's increased abuse once his father didn't have two targets any more.

Plus, Merle's drug use to take into account, and a little dabbling in the same for Daryl though nothing really hard-core like Merle, more just a bit too many beers, a liking for smoking, and some pot here and there.

"All in all." Harry told them after reading both folders through. "You two are as healthy as you'd expect after three months on the run from walkers. Hearty meals, some potions you'll take whether you like it or not to fill the gaps in diet, and you'll be right as rain. Throw in some exercise to make sure the extra rations become muscle and not fat and you'll have an easy time keeping up if you come on runs with me."

"Exercise?" The Dixons parroted back in unison, both with mild frowns.

"Exercise." Harry echoed with a firm nod. "We're big on prevention of issues here, as you've already heard me say. I can sooth sore muscles but I can't cure cancer, not with the drugs I have on hand and no reliable way to get more. Or perform a heart surgery or remove plaque from clogged arteries. Even with using magic, I won't be able to keep you two healthy if you don't do your parts. A few of the men exercise after morning chores but before breakfast some days. My dads and I workout in the evenings when we can. I'll show you where, and let you make your own decisions on it but I'll repeat." His voice and eyes were calm and dead serious. "Magic isn't a miracle cure-all. And if you two get yourselves killed because you got fat and lazy and a walker munches you, I'll call back your ghosts and make your afterlives hell, am I clear?"

"Yup." Daryl winced.

"I hear ya, Pretty." His brother growled.

"Good." Harry said with fake cheeriness. "Glad you can see it my way. Now go make yourselves busy elsewhere, I've got a bunch of people to run through today and I can't cheat the way I could with you two most likely. Go on. Shoo."

As Harry had anticipated, Daryl wanted to go hunting while Merle was interested in investigating the machine shop and getting some grease under his nails.

Daryl found himself very happy that Harry knew him well enough to know he wouldn't be comfortable stickin' with helpin' out here and there while livin' off the produce of the farm and stockpile of food and supplies the wizards collected and were constantly addin' to. Harry had given them both – in a show of trust that still shocked them – each a metal bracelet in a metal neither brother had been before coming to the estate. It was silvery and pretty and shiny – but tougher than anything they'd ever seen. The bracelet was both a keycard to the wards and gates, allowing them to come-and-go as they pleased, and a tracker that would let the wizards know where they were at all times – if they cared to check.

It would even let Harry or one of the others do their "popping" trick – apparatin' or whatever they called it – if the bracelet told 'em they were in trouble.

They couldn't take it off – much to Merle's grumbling about wearing jewelry even one of such masculine design – no matter what which allowed for some insurance on the part of the wizards.

The only way trustin' them could backfire was if'n one of them went off and brought back others through the wards – which would in turn alert the wizards before they even made it passed the second gate.

Still, it was a big deal and one they fully understood the gravity of, with Harry explaining that only Max had another one, any of the other people on the estate who worked outside of the farm proper had to have either Max (or now the Dixons) use a bracelet or have the wizards open the gate with their wands.

All this boiling down to the fact that Daryl and Merle didn't feel trapped under the protection of the wizards – and in Daryl's case was able to go off and hunt or scout around the outermost wall whenever he felt the urge without having to check in with anyone else like a snotty-nosed toddler.

Daryl made quick work of gatherin' up his crossbow and a huntin' knife from his room before headin' to the stable to saddle up Ms. Josie who he'd leave hobbled in the pasture land to wait for him to return with his haul.

If he was lucky and huntin' was good Ms. Josie would be a grand help to haul his catch up to the outbuilding they used for processing either game or livestock during slaughtering time.

Gods knows he doesn't want to pack a deer all that way, and venison for dinner sounded mighty fine to Daryl Dixon.

Mighty fine indeed.

Merle gave him a one-fingered salute as he loped past his brother mounted up on his horse, Merle already belly-deep in the guts of Daryl's truck and happy as the grumpy bastard was capable of being without their Magic Man cuddled up against him.

His brother was planning on tuning up and doing some maintenance work on both his motorcycle and Daryl's rig, keeping his hands busy and their vehicles in good condition all at the same time.

Which was a damned good idea.

Nothin' good ever came from Merle havin' idle hands and too much time to get stupid-ass ideas in his head.

Shit like that was how his big brother wound up cuffed to a roof.

Like a dumbass.

In the clinic, Harry was starting at the top of his list with the easiest (he hoped anyway) members of the new arrivals before ending with the biggest pain in the ass…the Grimes family.

His hope was getting them between the end of the day and dinner time would make them too tired to piss around and waste his time.

He hoped.

Anyway between then and the Dixons wandering off at his insistence, Harry's day passed in a blur of tests, medical histories, and handing out some medications or treatments for the little problems that he found in the course of his exams.

Honestly, the only surprise he fielded was the knowledge that somehow Otis was still alive with his insanely high blood pressure which Harry would bet Castle Black was matched or exceeded by his cholesterol.

Though he was intrigued that several of this group scored above a one on the magical scale, one being completely non-magical and having no magical ancestry or genetics. Carol and her daughter Sophia was one such pair, Carol scoring at a two (no magical core but being of magical descent) and Sophia a three (no magical core but having active magical recessive genetics), both of which meant that Sophia was capable of bearing a child with a magical core, the same as having any other recessive genetic pop up in her offspring. The Greenes were almost identical, only with Maggie being a three and her sister a two, Hershel remaining a one which meant that their mother was the magical gene carrier, likely another two.

It was fascinating to Harry, watching with his own eyes as his theory about magical descent bear fruit, making him think once more that "muggleborns" were merely the product of several generations of descent without an active magical user until the recessive genetic popped up in a random child of their line.

Magical descent and how the magical power scale plays out in families had become a hobby of Harry's after Max married Sarah and had children. Children who were either on the same level of power as their father or more powerful. Harry couldn't yet explain how a four (Max) and a one (Sarah) produced another four (their son Jacob) and twin fives which was a blocked core or Squibs in Celia and Felicity, where it was insanely common for inbreeding in the magical world to produce less powerful children instead of more. His thought was that perhaps living in a magical environment, even from the womb, and being surrounded by powerful, mostly intact magic had played a part.

Other than Sirius, the rest of the magicals on the estate had diverse magic that wasn't pruned down from inbreeding. It was like Siri's magical gene sequence was, for lack of a better term, missing some pieces in the code. But with the genes from Remus, who was a half-blood and a strong werewolf, their children were more powerful than either man.

And neither was a slouch in the magic department, most of the wizarding world was rated at a nine which was the standard power range for a witch or wizard.

Sirius was a ten or adept wizard and Remus was an eleven or master wizard, Remus edging out Sirius by having a power boost from the werewolf virus and also from strict training during his Defense Mastery.

Minerva McGonagall, Harry knew, had been an eleven as well, while Severus Snape was a twelve which put him in the Sorcerer category just one notch on the scale lower than Albus Dumbledore.

Though from what Harry had come to understand after tearing through every book in the Black library on the subject, the higher up the scale you climbed the greater the difference in power levels became.

Oh, there were some hoops to jump through to become officially recognized as having that level of power, like gaining a Mastery in some cases or completing a rare spell or skill like the Animagus transformation.

But as far as the raw power needed to even attempt gaining that recognition, the gaps widened considerably as the levels increased.

Merle and Daryl were a good example of that, there being barely any noticeable difference in their cores. And yet, Daryl was almost a Hedgewizard, the levels were that close.

His siblings were certain to be powerful, of that he was sure, but it was impossible to tell until they were much older. At this age in their development, they were rated at an eight until their cores were fully developed and they'd begun seriously training their magical abilities. In fact, Harry would bet that at least one of them would match Remus's eleven while another would likely surpass it.

Harry spent his day musing on this topic until the end-of-work bell rang through the estate, bringing with it the end of his peace and the Grimes family who were the last to be examined.

Joy.

"The Grimes Family, right on time." Harry says with his steadiest "I'm a doctor"-ish voice.

Rick and Lori stood with Carl nestled in between them, halfway hovering in-between the hallway of the mess hall and the entry of the clinic office. Harry had been erasing that day's schedule and putting up a few appointments that some of the others on the estate had made with him for before the open hours on Sunday. Being gone except for flying visits had made his work – in all areas – stack up and he was furiously working whenever he wasn't with either his little brother and sister or the Dixons.

And even then sometimes he would be mentally working on work schedules for the next week or planning the herd thinning before winter, or or or as he spent time with others.

Sirius and Remus had helped where they could, but there were some things only he could do.

Like the clinic.

Sure, his dads knew some basic first-aid and battlefield medic spells, how to use basic household and non-professional strength healing potions. Max and Rob both had a grip on emergency first-aid, as did Sharla as a former teacher. But when it came to things like elder care (which was the bulk of his work anymore) or pediatrics, they were lost.

As he had been even with his years of schooling and theory until he hunkered down and did the best he could between his texts and what hands-on experience he'd gotten from anatomy labs and the summer before college where he'd gotten EMT training along with the rest of his 4-H troop.

This was one area in particular, more than almost any other, where Pandora's suggestions had born fruit, as Harry had yet to come across a doctor to add to their growing community on the estate, as it was Hershel was a godsend, already taking over and helping fill the gaps in their livestock care and animal husbandry programs that Max oversaw with the other hands.

"I'm sure you've heard from the others how this goes." Harry said with a knowing arch of his brow. There was no way that the two adults at least hadn't grilled the others over what happened during their exams. "We can do this one of two ways." He dusted off his hands as he motioned for them to follow him back into the staging area. "I can do all of you at once or I can do the adults privately. Either way I'll need one of you to stay during Carl's exam. So," he propped his hip against his desk. "How do you want to do this?"

"I would prefer a private exam." Lori spoke up, not making eye contact with anyone. "If Rick and Carl can go first, I'll go back and wait in the entry."

Rick opened his mouth as if to protest, before his eyes glinted and he clamped his jaw shut with a harsh click of teeth. Jaw tight, he nodded, and Lori scurried back out of the staging area, the door swinging shut and closing with a click that boomed in the silence left in her wake. Already feeling a headache building in his temples, Harry motioned for Carl to walk over to his side, where Harry handed over the calibrated power stone.

"What does that do?" Rick asked, tugging himself out of his furious whirl of thoughts, as the stone in his son's hands started to glow.

Harry quickly gave him a simplified explanation of magical radiation, finishing with: "This will tell me how much, if any, magic I can use on or around others in case of healing or any other kind of emergency."

Carl's eyes were wide and locked on the glowing stone that Harry had taken from his hands and set down on the desk. After a moment of processing what the older man had said, the eight-year-old asked: "So that thing can tell you how much magic I have?"

"Sort of." Harry allowed, not wanting to get as deep into magical theory and genetics as he'd gotten with the Dixons and then again with Hershel and the Greenes who had asked all sorts of questions. "It's more complicated than that, buddy, but that's the basic idea, yes."

A raise of his brows was the only sign of surprise Harry gave as he focused on the glowing stone, already knowing without activating the chart what the color meant, having seen various shades of it before already today more than once but never this dark.

Turning back to the boy and ignoring his father for the moment, Harry asked an important question: "Carl, when you passed through the gates, did you feel anything?"

"What do you…?" Rick started to ask, only to be silenced with a swift, cutting look from the wizard over his son's head.

"Yeah…kinda." Carl shrugged, not thinking too much on it. "It was a little tingly I guess, at first and then I didn't really notice it anymore."

Harry nodded calmly, that made since. It wasn't as severe as the reaction the brothers had had but it was definitely more…awareness…than anyone else had had, even those like Sophia who were higher on the scale than Harry had anticipated. Carl Grimes was a four, the level he'd expected for the Dixons, and a magical sensitive. Which mean one of his parents, or even both, were more than a simple non-magical.

And as it was Rick that survived almost six weeks with almost no care in a coma, his galleons were on the sheriff over the housewife.

"Why?" Rick probed, his instincts shouting over the unexpected question.

"Because, Sheriff Grimes." Harry said calmly, taking out a folder and making a note in it. "Your son is a magical sensitive, a four on the scale of magical power, and I would've been concerned if he'd felt nothing at all."

"What does that mean?" Carl frowned, looking between the two men. "A magical sensi-tive?"

"It means, Carl." Harry explained soothingly, to both father and son. "That staying here is perfectly safe for you and we'll be able to take care of you quicker and better because we can use some magic like potions to keep you well. That's all."

"So I'm not magic?" He asked, kinda disappointed.

"No, you are." Harry cocked his head, eyeing the slight pout to the lower lip with some amusement. "You just can't do spells the way I can. It's the same as anything else: some people are just naturally better at things than others. I'll never be the marksman Merle is or as good of a hunter as Daryl. And there's nothing wrong with me, that's just the way it is."

"Oh…" Carl nodded, feeling better when Harry put it that way. "Ok, I guess."

Harry sent an inquiring glance at Rick, the other man nodding, not happy with the news but still…fine with it.

"We'll have to have a discussion about what magical healing entails, with both you and your wife." Harry spoke directly to the former sheriff. "And get hashed out how much we're allowed to do with Carl as far as that goes, get paperwork filled out for treatment permission, that sort of thing."

"Yeah, of course." Rick agreed with a sigh and a wave of his hand. "Whatever y'all need to do what you do."

"Now." Harry picked up the stone. "Do you want Carl present for your part or would you rather I finish with him and then send him out to your wife?"

"Carl first, please." Rick said at once.

Nodding, Harry removed his wand and looked over at Rick with a questioning look. The other man nodded a go-ahead, and Harry quickly cast a diagnostic, the folder filling out – though much quicker than it'd done for either Dixon. Carl was the only other member of the new group that Harry could use magic to treat – but not as liberally as he could with the brothers. It made things easier – and at the same time harder – since without a functioning core, blocked or unblocked, Carl would still be susceptible to mundane diseases and have a mundane lifespan while the Dixons were hardier and longer-lived but could catch magical diseases…if there even was such a thing in this new world.

That was the trade-off of a magical core. Longer life, fewer diseases. But. Magical diseases could wipe out an entire population within days if healers aren't on top of things or parents didn't vaccinate their children.

"Nothing to worry about." Harry reported when the diagnostic was finished. "Some slight muscle issues from his gunshot and surgery, as well as a mild onset of malnutrition the same as everyone else in your group." He gave both Grimes males a reassuring grin. "A couple of nasty-tasting but fast-acting potions will take care of both issues, while taking a multivitamin, eating a good diet, and some mild exercise will have you back in top-form in no time, young Mr. Grimes."

Carl laughed a little at the funny voice Harry took on to call him young Mr. Grimes, only calming back down as Harry returned from his dispensary with a pair of glass vials – must be the potions – and a jar of kids' gummy vitamins. Harry handed the vitamins over to Rick, then passed the vials to Carl, standing by with a bottle of water in hand to wash them down with.

"Best get them down the hatch quick as you can, lad." Harry advised with a sympathetic grimace. "They taste gross as can be but they'll help, believe me."

"GAH!" Carl made a twisted face, sticking out his tongue after he'd done as Harry'd said. "That was so gross! Like gym socks and, and, ewww!"

"Here you go." Harry handed over the water. "Drink this and go keep your mum company in the waiting area. Your dad will be out to join you in a little bit."

"Potions are so gross…" Carl grumbled as he trudged out to wait, Rick handing over the vitamins as he went, mumbling other things about the nastiness of potions and how he was never taking them again, ever.

Harry chuckled a little bit, shaking his head as he handed over the stone to Rick. "That brings back memories." He laughed to himself. "I thought the hospital wing and Madam Pomfrey were sent to make my life hell when I wasn't much older than that."

"I'm pretty sure all kids are the same." Rick chuckled along with the other man, forgetting for the moment their issues in the comradery of the moment. "And boys are worse than girls."

"That's for sure." Harry rolled his eyes thinking of how sweetly Sophia had taken her potions, with just a little pout over the taste, none of the grumbling and moaning to be had. "Well, Sheriff." Harry chirped, eyeing the stone he took from the other man and setting it aside. "Looks like I was right: you're a four as well. Which is good," he said consideringly, eyeing the too-thin form before him. "Since I can probably correct most of the damage done by your gunshot and subsequent coma followed by running from walkers. And bad." He grimaced. "Since I doubt your wife is and I'll have to provide all her pre-natal care the mundane way…and without a lot of the diagnostics used before the world ended for a high-risk pregnancy."

"High risk?!" Rick's eyes shot wide and a bit panicked. "What do you mean, high-risk?"

"She's pregnant." Harry explained, his voice only a tad dry and sarcastic. "Between ten and twelve weeks if I'm right: the bulk of the first trimester which is when a lot of the most important development stages take place in fetal life. And she spent the bulk of it on the run, under extreme stress, and with hit-and-miss nutrition." His face was calm but understanding as what he said started to sink in. "I'm sorry Rick," Harry gave an apologetic shake of his head. "But there's no way this isn't a high-risk pregnancy when you take into consideration all those factors. And if you do the math…"

"It's Shane's baby." Rick finished the thought blowing out a breath and scrubbing his face with his hands. "So you've said before."

"Does it make a difference?" Harry asked, cocking his head curiously. "I mean…"

"Yes." Rick sighed, then shook his head. "And no. I'll take care of her, and this new baby, the same as if they were my own. It's what Shane did when he thought I was dead, I can't do any less. But that doesn't make what happened right or okay. I'm pissed as hell, and can barely look at her. Jesus." He gave a bitter laugh. "I've been camped out on the couch since we got here and I don't see that changing any time soon."

Harry listened, understanding more of Rick's erratic behavior now that he heard it from the man himself. It was a shit hand he'd been dealt, and from what Harry saw, Rick was a good, solid man before everything happened. Before he woke up in a warzone with no clear way out or any idea what had happened to his family.

"There's options here." Harry told him, after getting the folder in order and the spell going for the diagnostic. "We don't want strife or drama but we don't want our people living in misery if we can help it. If need be, there's always a bunk open for you in the bunkhouse. Or if you and Lori come to an understanding we can set up either her and Carl or you and Carl with a separate house. Just let us know what you need…before you snap," again, "under all the pressure, clear?"

"Yeah." Rick gave a bitter laugh, having heard that again even if it wasn't said outright. "We're clear."

"Good." Nodding once, sharply, Harry scanned the results, already figuring out in his head what he was going to do to negate some of the damage. There was more than he'd realized…and not all of it was limited to his body. His head had been effected from the lack of nutrients and even oxygen. Merlin. It was no wonder he'd been so unpredictable and having mood swings. Anyone would with a diagnostic result like this. "You're not as easy a fix as Carl, I'm afraid." He tsked under his breath as he quickly wrote out a treatment plan in the chart. "I'm doing to have to set you up with a potions regimen, some of this I don't know if I can fix…but I'll do my best."

"What's wrong?" Rick asked with a creased brow. "Shouldn't it just be nutrition issues, maybe pulled muscles or somethin'?"

"No, unfortunately." Harry blew out a breath, looking over at the twitching man who was visibly straining from a desire to snatch the results out from under Harry's nose. "There's damage left over from the coma as well as events before and after it. Honestly," he waved a hand at the folder in agitation. "I'm not even sure where to start to fix it. If left untreated, I'd be surprised if you lived out the decade, if a walker or survivor didn't get you first."

Harry thought a moment before walking off and collecting a handful of vials, tucking several of them into a cotton bag. They were spelled unbreakable so he wasn't worried about that at least. Setting a quartet of vials on the desk, with the filled bag off to the side, he fetched some water to wash them down.

"We'll start with what I know will work to fix what I can and then do another scan and go from there." Harry said decisively. "You'll have standing weekly appointments until you're either as fixed as I can get you or I run out of ideas. First off," he pointed to the vials. "Take these now. A stomach soother first, the pink one, it'll keep you from tossing up the others no matter how bad they taste. Then a nutrition potion, a mild muscle and bone regenerative, and another for nerve damage." Harry ran a hand through his hair as Rick tossed the potions back, grimacing after each one and chasing them down with the bottle of water. "You'll take these same for every night for the next week. And then we'll go from there."

Rick gave a little groan, not looking forward to doing that. But what Harry had said about his life expectancy had hit him hard. Ten years wasn't even enough time to see Carl fully grown. Despite the vague ideas floating in his head still about taking off after Lori's baby was born, Rick wasn't about to be taken out by his health. No way. He'd listen to Harry and take the nasty-ass potions.

And then they'd see.

Maybe, for a man who could be colder than ice when it was called for, Harry Black wasn't so bad after all.

Maybe.

Harry finally let the sneer slash across his face as he watched the back of Lori Grimes finally fucking leave.

The woman turned out to be a two on the power scale, which made turning down her requests for first, a paternity test and then second a diagnostic like the one Carl told her about, easy as can be, stating that it would be too strong a concentration of magic for her to undergo, especially while pregnant.

And as if he didn't like her enough already the bitch completely disregarded his concerns about her unborn child and tried to flat-out demand he perform the tests anyway. Yeah, he'd get right on killing her fucking child. Bitch.

Which was a possibility if said baby took after its mother rather than its half-brother.

The downside of Harry waiting to do any tests on the group was that he had no idea where on the scale Shane had been and couldn't make an educated guess on how powerful the child will be. There was also whether living in constant contact with magical wards and items would have any effect as well. He thought there might be, but it was hard to say.

Sharla or one of the other women who were low on the scale and also married to someone low on the scale but living under the wards and in contact with magic would be the true test of whether magical contact while in the womb increased the child's innate power or not. Harry wasn't thinking that it changed a fetus's genetics, a baby carried and sired by a completely non-magical person was almost impossible to gain a magical core via contact alone. But he thought it might boost or amplify what was already there.

Harry himself had been carried and sired and born under the magical protections of Potter Manor before it was destroyed in the war and his parents moved to the mostly-magical Godric's Hollow, before living out his infancy and first months of toddler-dom under the Fidelius Charm, and then the blood wards after that.

For all that Harry had been raised by and among muggles, it was still under highly-magical protections.

Protections that were equal if not less than the ones around the Black Lands.

And no one could deny that Harry was powerful.

It was very much a nature/nurture type of debate but while most would argue for one or the other, in the case of pure magical power, Harry rather thought it was both.

And the trained medical student in him was nearly giddy for the day he could discover if he was right or wrong. Either way it would be a huge stride forward in understanding magic in their new home. Giving him a firm idea on whether it would be possible for Harry and his dads to make plans for the future of magic in the Black Lands…or if it was truly a pipe dream after all that would eventually die alongside their descendants as their magic slowly dwindled and died out.

Anyway, after way longer than it should have taken, Harry had sent off Lori with a firm no, a bottle of pre-natal vitamins, and the date of her next exam.

From what he could tell with manual testing (that copy of Spiritual Midwifery was turning out to be a major blessing, despite the sideways looks he'd gotten from the cashier at Barnes and Noble for buying it before the outbreak,) she was as healthy as could be under the circumstances. Her blood pressure was a little high, and she was a little dehydrated, but otherwise fine…for the moment. Only time would really tell how her unborn child had handled living the first ten or so weeks in a somewhat hostile growing environment.

At least for the sake of the child, Harry hoped his worries were wrong, and Lori carried and birthed just fine.

Thankfully, from what he could tell, everyone was settling in, even the contentious Lori.

Harry preyed the trend continued, lest he never get that time to decompress Remus was badgering him to take.

Werewolves made the worst motherhens over their pups, as Harry and now Raz and Jamie could tell you from experience.

It kinda made Harry look forward to giving the man grandkids to spoil. Maybe. Eventually.

Though whether those kids would be half-Dixon remained to be seen.

--

All Credits Due to: Sifsshadowheart--AO3