Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The prison yard was nearly theirs.

Harry drove his knife into the temple of a walker, the sickening crunch barely registering as he yanked the blade free. His breath came sharp and fast, sweat slicking the collar of his shirt. Around him, the others fought with precision: Daryl reloading in fluid motions, Rick barking orders between gunshots, Glenn and Maggie guarding the perimeter, keeping the dead at bay. Every second edged them closer to securing the yard, one step nearer to safety.

A sharp shriek tore through the air.

Hedwig. A warning. Urgent.

Harry barely had time to process before Mungo let out a frantic chitter against his ear, tiny claws digging into the fabric of his jacket. Sprout squirmed, pressing deeper into his hair, a string of distressed clicks spilling from its tiny body. His creatures knew. Something was coming.

Magic exploded through the yard.

A shockwave rippled outward, static crackling in the air. The ground trembled beneath Harry’s boots, rattling through his bones like an aftershock. His ears rang, and for a split second, the world seemed to tilt. The magic was raw, uncontained, heavy in a way that wasn’t right.

The Portkey.

Harry spun just as the first figures materialized.

A tangled heap of bodies crashed onto the pavement. Wizards and witches, disoriented, scrambled to catch themselves before hitting the ground. The air shimmered around them, magic lingering too long, pressing against Harry’s skin like a living thing. It buzzed, thick and cloying, unnatural in its weight.

His stomach twisted. Something was wrong with the portkey. 

He took a sharp step forward, instincts screaming to check for injuries.

A low groan rose from the far end of the yard.

The sound cut through the thick, electric silence. One groan turned into two. A chorus followed. The far end of the yard stirred with movement, shambling figures drawn toward the surge of magic, their moans swelling into a wave of hunger.

The portkey had shattered their progress. The yard wasn’t safe anymore.

The Hogwarts survivors were still dazed, unarmed save for wands clenched in white-knuckled grips. They wouldn’t react fast enough.

Daryl swore under his breath, crossbow already raised.

Rick’s voice cut through the thickening tension. “Everyone! Move! Now!”

Chaos erupted.

Harry ran.

His knife was still slick with walker blood as he bolted toward the fallen wizards. Behind him, the snap of Daryl’s bowstring, the crack of gunfire, the scuffle of boots. All of it blurred together.

The first walker reached the edge of the group. A young witch with dark curls shrieked, stumbling back, her feet tangling on the uneven pavement. She hit the ground hard. The thing lunged.

Harry slammed into it, shoulder first, knocking it off balance. He drove his blade deep into its temple, felt the jolt up his arm as it went limp beneath him. Another groan, too close. He twisted, bringing his knife up again.

“Get up!” Harry snapped, positioning himself between them and the oncoming dead.

Above, Hedwig streaked low, talons slashing across a walker’s face before wheeling back into the sky. A gunshot cracked. Rick, taking down another.

Wands began to rise.

“No magic!” Harry barked. The last thing they needed was another surge, more noise, more walkers swarming in. “Fight with what you’ve got!”

Harry didn’t stop moving. The only way out was through.

The gunshot was the only warning.

A walker’s head snapped back, its body crumpling to the ground as Rick took the shot without hesitation. The deafening echo barely faded before the next crack followed. The fight had begun.

Daryl fired a bolt, the impact slamming a walker backward. He reloaded before the body even hit the ground. Glenn and Maggie moved fast, covering the flanks. T-Dog and Carol held position near the fence, eyes sharp for potential breaches. The yard was chaos, but they weren’t losing ground. Not yet.

The Hogwarts survivors weren’t moving.

They stood frozen behind him, wands clutched in white-knuckled grips, their disorientation leaving them exposed. They had landed in a war zone, and reality was setting in fast. Instincts screamed for them to cast a shield, to summon fire or force. But magic would only make things worse.

A small blur of movement darted through the chaos. Mungo’s baby Niffler, scurrying between staggering feet. Its beady eyes locked onto something shiny, tiny paws reaching.

Draco Malfoy swore as it yanked a silver cufflink from his sleeve and bolted. He lunged after it, only to stumble as a walker lunged at him.

“Bloody hell!”

He barely twisted away, face contorted in revulsion. The walker’s fingers scraped the fabric of his robes, yellowed teeth snapping an inch from his throat.

Hedwig swooped low, talons flashing. She struck the walker’s face, claws raking deep before she wheeled skyward with an irritated screech.

Daryl, watching, let out a low scoff. "Yourbird just saved that guy's ass."

Harry yanked his knife free from a walker’s skull and barely spared a breath. "She does that."

Then the wands came up again.

Sprout screeched in protest, burrowing deeper into Harry’s collar. Mungo’s fur bristled as he let out a series of sharp chitters.

“Don’t!” Harry barked.

Ron, mid-spell, froze. “What?”

A walker lurched toward him before he could finish. He barely had time to react, throwing out a wild punch that connected with the side of its head. The thing barely staggered. It wasn’t enough.

Neville moved first. His wand hesitated in the air for a fraction of a second before he shoved it into his pocket and grabbed the nearest weapon he could reach. A rusted machete Glenn had dropped earlier. His grip tightened, jaw set, and he swung.

Hermione threw her weight into a shoulder slam, sending a walker crashing against the fence before scrambling back, putting distance between herself and the grasping hands.

Draco, pale but furious, snatched a broken broom handle from the ground and swung it like a club. The walker reeled back just enough for him to escape its grasp. He grimaced, lip curling in disgust. “Filthy.” But he didn’t drop the weapon.

Luna, seemingly unfazed, sidestepped a slow-moving walker with ease. As it reached for her, she kicked its knee out, sending it buckling to the ground. She barely glanced back as she called out, “We should move.”

Rick’s voice cut through the chaos. “Push forward! Secure the yard!”

A walker lunged at Hermione. She ducked as its rotting fingers swiped at her hair. Ron saw and reacted without thinking, grabbing the closest object. A rusted length of pipe. He swung with everything he had. The impact crushed the walker’s skull, sending it to the ground in a limp heap.

Ron panted, staring at the bloodied pipe, hands shaking. He had done it. No spells. Just survival.

More walkers poured in, drawn by the noise, filling the open sections of the yard.

Fred and George had instinctively fallen into formation, covering each other’s backs. George grabbed a fallen baton from an abandoned riot guard, giving it an experimental swing before nodding to his brother. “Bit crude, not quite a beater’s bat, but it’ll do.”

Fred grinned despite everything. “Improvisation is a skill.”

A walker lunged, but before it got too close, Hedwig dove again, talons raking across its scalp. It bought them just enough time to shift positions.

The wizards weren’t soldiers, but they were learning. Fast.

Daryl fired another bolt, reloaded, then side-eyed Harry. “They gonna keep up?”

“They don’t have a choice,” Harry muttered, driving his knife into another walker’s skull.

The yard was still a battlefield, but the tide was shifting.

Rick’s voice rang out. “Take it back!”

Harry surged forward, and this time, they all followed.

Draco staggered back, chest rising and falling as he took in the wreckage. Dirt and walker blood streaked his fine robes, his blond hair mussed and sticking to his forehead. He looked out of place among the hardened fighters, his presence almost jarring against the grim backdrop of the prison yard.

His lip curled as he wiped a smear of gore from his sleeve, expression twisting in distaste. His gaze swept the scene, sharp and scathing, lingering on the mangled bodies littering the ground. His breathing remained uneven, though he masked it well.

“Bit grim, isn’t it, Potter?”

Harry, drenched in sweat and walker blood, barely spared him a glance. He drove his knife into another walker’s temple, the body crumpling as he yanked the blade free. His fingers, slick with grime, flexed against the hilt. His heart was still hammering from the fight.

“It’s home.”

Draco scoffed, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the weight of it all. His voice carried its usual arrogance, a poor attempt at maintaining control in a world that had long abandoned such things. “Muggles and barbarians. You always did aim low.”

Mungo hissed from Harry’s shoulder, fur bristling at the tension. The baby Niffler, still clutching Draco’s stolen cufflink, chittered with glee before stuffing its prize into the folds of its pouch.

Draco patted his pocket, pausing as realization dawned. His scowl deepened. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake-” His irritation sharpened when he spotted the tiny thief perched atop Mungo, eyes bright with mischief. “Of course it’s a thieving rodent.”

Hedwig, perched on a low ledge, clicked her beak with slow deliberation, feathers ruffling in something that could only be described as judgment.

Nearby, Daryl slid another bolt into his crossbow, his movements unhurried but precise. He shot Draco a look, sharp and assessing. “You got a problem?”

Draco hesitated. His eyes flicked from Daryl to the still-twitching corpse at his feet, its skull punctured clean through. He swallowed.

“…No.” He dusted off his robes, though it did little to rid them of filth. “Just questioning my life choices.”

Harry huffed, shaking his head. “You’re a bit late for that, Malfoy.”

Daryl frowned before something clicked. His smirk was slight but unmistakable as he shifted his crossbow to one hand. “Malfoy, huh? So this is the pompous git you were on about back at the CDC.”

Harry froze. His stomach dropped. “What?”

Daryl’s smirk widened. “Yeah. You were drunk off your ass, goin’ on about some ‘arrogant, pointy-faced ferret.’”

Heat flushed through Harry. He didn’t remember exactly what he had said that night, but considering how much alcohol had been involved, it probably wasn’t flattering. “I-” He cleared his throat. “That was a long time ago.”

Draco folded his arms, one pale brow arching. “Ferret?”

Harry groaned. Mungo let out a soft chitter that sounded suspiciously like laughter. Even the baby Niffler seemed to enjoy Draco’s deepening scowl.

Draco exhaled sharply. His gaze swept the ruined yard, the bloodstained pavement, the smoldering embers of a fire still lingering from earlier in the fight. His lip curled slightly, but he held his tongue.

Instead, he turned, his eyes shifting to the Hogwarts survivors still scattered around the yard. Some looked lost, stunned by what they had just lived through. Others whispered among themselves, their voices tight, hurried. They were trying to make sense of it all.

Draco’s fingers tightened around the broken broom handle in his grip.

“Merlin help us all.”

The battle for the prison yard had ended, but the tension lingered. The acrid scent of gunpowder and rot clung to the thick summer air. Bodies, walker and human alike, littered the ground. The Hogwarts survivors, still disoriented, gathered in small clusters, their hands clutching wands that had proven nearly useless in the fight.

Harry barely noticed them. His attention had been pulled elsewhere.

Remus stood at the edge of the group, clutching something small, wrapped in the folds of his tattered cloak. The moment their eyes met, Harry knew.

A cold weight settled in his gut, heavy and unmoving.

Mungo, perched on his shoulder, let out an uneasy chirr, pressing closer against Harry’s neck. Sprout, still nestled in his collar, bristled at the tension in the air.

Remus took a slow step forward, deep shadows under his eyes and the tight set of his jaw made every step look like an effort. His arms shifted slightly, pulling back the cloak just enough to reveal a sleeping infant tucked securely against his chest. A tuft of pale blue hair peeked out from the bundle.

Harry’s breath hitched.

A baby.

A child, no older than a few months, cradled in Remus’ arms, peaceful despite the chaos around them.

Remus’ voice was hoarse, uneven, each word carrying the strain of too many battles and too many losses. "His name is Teddy. My son." He hesitated for only a moment before meeting Harry's eyes. "I need you to take him."

Harry stared, the words settled in his chest, dense and suffocating, pressing against his ribs.

Not just words. A finality. A surrender.

His gaze flickered lower, toward the bandages wrapped tightly around Remus’ forearm. Red soaked through the already-dirty fabric.

The world narrowed.

"No," Harry whispered, barely hearing himself. His heart pounded against his ribs, magic twisting and curling in warning beneath his skin.

Remus gave him a tired smile, one that barely reached his eyes. "Harry."

Harry shook his head, throat tightening. "No. There has to be, there’s something we can do-"

"There isn’t."

Harry wanted to argue. He wanted to fight it, to undo what had already been written into Remus’ fate. But he wasn’t a child anymore. He knew that look, the same one he had seen on Sirius, on Dumbledore, on too many others before they slipped through his fingers forever.

The weight of Teddy in Remus’ arms sent a fresh wave of grief crashing into him.

"Please." Harry barely recognized his own voice.

Remus exhaled, his hands trembling slightly as he adjusted Teddy’s blanket. "He needs you."

Harry’s chest ached, a raw and open wound. He didn’t know how to take a child into his arms when his own were shaking so badly. But Remus was looking at him, and Teddy was so small, and the world was cruel and unforgiving, and there was no other choice.

So he stepped forward.

With a care that felt fragile, Harry reached out, hands slipping under Teddy’s small frame as Remus passed him over. The baby barely stirred, his tiny fingers curling against Harry’s chest as if recognizing something familiar in his touch.

Grief and responsibility slammed into him at once, raw and unrelenting, hollowing out something deep inside.

Mungo shifted, peering curiously at the infant before letting out a soft chitter, nuzzling against Teddy’s blanket. Sprout, after a long pause, wriggled free from Harry’s collar and scampered down his sleeve, settling atop the baby’s chest like a guardian taking its place.

Hedwig landed nearby, clicking her beak softly.

Harry swallowed past the lump in his throat. "I’ll keep him safe."

Remus nodded, his composure fracturing, sorrow pooling in his gaze. He had nothing left to say.

The weight of grief and quiet resignation pressed between them, making words impossible.

The morning had settled into something resembling routine, or as close as they would ever get in a world like this. Rick’s people were already working, reinforcing weak points in the prison’s outer fence and taking inventory of supplies. The Hogwarts survivors, by contrast, had clustered together in small groups, murmuring amongst themselves as they processed everything. The air felt heavy, conversations hushed and cautious. Some of the Hogwarts survivors clutched their wands tighter, their gazes darting between the unfamiliar faces and the looming walls of the prison.

Harry had seen it before, the hollow stares, the quiet denial that came before reality set in. He had felt it himself when he watched Sirius fall through the veil, the world tilting in an instant, or when Cedric hit the ground, his life stolen before Harry could even react. He had been through it himself, more times than he could count. But looking at the faces of the people who had arrived with the Portkey, he could see that most of them hadn’t yet accepted it. Not fully.

He pulled Teddy closer against his chest and exhaled. It was time to face them.

As he crossed the yard, eyes turned to him, some relieved, some cautious, some outright unreadable. But they didn’t just linger on him. They flickered just beyond his shoulder, watching the silent presence following in his wake.

Daryl.

He wasn’t hovering, not really, but he wasn’t far. He trailed just behind Harry, crossbow slung over his shoulder, his expression unreadable as he sized up the newly arrived survivors. His sharp gaze flicked across each of them, lingering slightly longer on Draco and the other Slytherins before moving on. He wasn’t hostile, exactly, but he was watching.

The reaction from the Hogwarts survivors was immediate.

Draco stiffened, his posture going rigid, his fingers twitching slightly at his sides as if resisting the urge to step back. A muscle ticked in his jaw, the only outward sign of unease. Pansy did step back, bumping into Theodore, whose eyes narrowed as he studied Daryl in return. Blaise didn’t move, but his expression was carefully blank, his fingers flexing at his sides.

Fred and George exchanged a glance. “Huh,” Fred muttered, loud enough to carry. “Tall, broody, and armed to the teeth. Looks familiar.”

George nodded solemnly. “Reminds me of someone. Can’t quite place it.”

Daryl shot them a look that could have been mistaken for a glare. But Harry, who had spent enough time around him, caught the flicker of amusement at the corner of his mouth. He didn’t dignify the twins with a response, just shifted his weight and kept his gaze level.

Hermione, at least, had more pressing concerns. Her sharp gaze flicked from Harry to Daryl, something calculating behind her eyes. “And you are?” she asked, tone neutral but assessing.

Daryl tilted his head slightly, expression unreadable. “Daryl.”

Silence.

Ron frowned. “Daryl…?”

Daryl shrugged, shifting his grip on his crossbow strap. "Just Daryl."

“Charming,” Draco muttered under his breath.

Daryl’s eyes snapped to him, gaze narrowing slightly. Draco’s jaw tightened, a flicker of tension in his stance as if caught between retreat and defiance. Draco immediately shut his mouth.

Harry sighed, shifting Teddy’s weight in his arms. “Daryl’s why I’m still alive,” he said, cutting through the tension. “So maybe dial it back a little.”

That definitely got a reaction.

Neville’s frown deepened, but it wasn’t one of disapproval, it was thoughtful. His gaze flicked from Daryl to Harry, then back again, something like understanding settling behind his eyes.

Luna, who had been standing slightly apart, tilted her head, watching Daryl with an expression of quiet curiosity, as if she were seeing something beyond the man in front of her. Her gaze lingered, as though she could sense the unspoken connection between him and Harry, something deeper than words could explain. “You’re important to him,” she said, her voice soft but certain.

Daryl blinked, looking slightly unsettled. “Uh-”

Before he could say anything, Ginny moved.

She broke from the group and ran straight for Harry, eyes bright, relief written all over her face. “Harry!”

Harry barely had time to react before she threw her arms around him. It wasn’t quite a hug, she was careful not to jostle Teddy, but it was close. He tensed, caught off guard, but before he could say anything-

A barely perceptible shift in the air sent a prickling sensation down Harry’s spine, as if an unseen force had coiled behind him.

It wasn’t an outright movement, but Harry felt it. The air grew dense, a charged stillness settling over them. Harry’s spine stiffened, instinct flaring like a warning before he even turned his head. It wasn’t anger, not exactly, but it was territorial.

Draco noticed first. His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Well,” he murmured, voice low enough that only those nearby caught it, “this is interesting.”

Fred and George, of course, noticed too. Their heads snapped toward Daryl almost in sync, eyes glinting with amusement.

Neville, however, stiffened beside them. His eyes flicked from Daryl to Ginny, and something shifted in his expression, not shock, not amusement, but understanding.

Luna smiled, a knowing look in her eyes. “Oh,” she said softly, almost to herself.

Daryl didn’t speak, but his grip on his crossbow strap tightened. Ginny was too close. Harry realized it too late, but when he glanced over his shoulder, Daryl’s expression was unreadable, except for the very obvious fact that he did not like what was happening.

Ginny, oblivious, pulled back, eyes scanning Harry’s face. “You’re really here,” she breathed. “I thought we’d lost you.”

Harry exhaled, nodding. “I’m here.”

She smiled, something almost hopeful in her eyes. But before she could say anything else, she seemed to finally notice the shift in the air. The way Daryl was watching her.

Her brows drew together, lips parting slightly before her shoulders tensed. She took a slow step back. “Right,” she murmured.

Fred, meanwhile, had a downright mischievous glint in his eyes. He turned toward Daryl, taking in the stiff posture, the way his jaw was locked just a little too tight. Then he elbowed George. “I like this one.”

George nodded sagely. “Protective, broody, slightly feral? Yeah. Good choice, Harry.”

Luna hummed in quiet agreement.

McGonagall, ever the voice of reason, pressed her lips into a thin line before adjusting her glasses and finally breaking the tension. “This is all very fascinating,” she said, tone sharp. “But we have more important matters to discuss.”

Before anyone could respond, a sudden pop cut through the air, and before anyone could react, a small figure barreled into Harry’s side.

“Harry Potter, sir!”

Dobby clung to Harry’s arm, large eyes wide and frantic. “Dobby is so happy to see Harry Potter alive! Dobby was so worried! He is being ready to help, sir, whatever Harry Potter needs!”

Harry let out a slow breath, the tension in his chest loosening as his shoulders dropped slightly. “Good to see you too, Dobby.”

Another presence lingered just behind him. Kreacher, older and wearier than the last time Harry had seen him, inclined his head slowly. “Master.”

Harry swallowed. “Kreacher.”

McGonagall, still watching Harry, adjusted the sleeves of her robe before exhaling sharply, then finally spoke again. “This world has changed, Mr. Potter.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah.” His gaze swept over everyone, old faces and new. “I know.”

And deep down, he knew he had changed too.

More than they realized. The weight of it settled in his gut, heavy and unshakable, pressing against his ribs like something he couldn't escape.

The prison yard was quieter than it had been all day. The fires burned low, casting flickering shadows over the patch of ground where the group had settled in for the night. The fight to clear the yard had left them exhausted, too drained to push into the prison itself. The battle had been brutal, harder than they expected. The walkers had swarmed faster than anticipated, and more than once, Harry had caught glimpses of magic flickering to life despite their efforts to avoid it. No one had died, but the weight of what could have happened lingered, settling heavy in the air. That would come tomorrow. Tonight, they camped under the open sky, surrounded by chain-link fences and the looming, unwelcoming walls of their would-be sanctuary.

Harry sat on the ground near the fire, Teddy nestled in his arms, his tiny breaths warm against Harry’s chest. He was impossibly small, his little fingers twitching in his sleep. Every so often, he’d let out a soft sigh, his blue hair shifting with each tiny movement. Holding him felt like balancing something fragile and precious on the edge of a knife, one wrong move and he’d slip right through his hands. Harry’s grip instinctively tightened, his breath catching for a moment before he forced himself to relax. One wrong move, and he’d slip right through his hands.

The camp had split into loose clusters. Rick’s group sat close together, watching the newcomers with wary eyes. The Hogwarts survivors huddled in smaller groups, whispering among themselves, their wands still clutched tightly as if magic might shield them from the harshness of this new world. The merging of the two groups was slow and uneasy. Rick’s people stuck close to their own, their eyes sharp and assessing whenever a wand was in sight. The Hogwarts survivors kept their distance, their whispers laced with uncertainty as they watched hardened fighters move through routine survival like second nature. They weren’t just strangers; they moved differently, carried different instincts, and spoke in ways that neither side fully understood.

A few of the Hogwarts survivors stole glances at the hardened fighters among Rick’s group, Daryl standing with his arms crossed, muscles on display, Maggie tending to a small wound on Glenn’s arm without a hint of hesitation, Carol moving between conversations as if she could sense where she was needed most. It was survival, raw and unflinching, and the wizards weren’t sure how to fit into it.

Across from Harry, Daryl stood at the edge of the firelight, crossbow slung over his shoulder. He was quiet, arms folded, staring out beyond the fence as if expecting something. Maybe trouble. Maybe nothing at all. But every now and then, his eyes flickered back, not at Harry, but at the bundle in his arms.

Carol, crouched nearby sorting through supplies, didn’t miss it. She smirked, nudging Daryl’s leg lightly with the toe of her boot. “Not much of a baby person?”

Daryl scoffed, shifting his stance. “Hell no.”

Carol’s smirk widened slightly. “You sure? ‘Cause you’ve been starin’ at him for a while now.”

Daryl shot her a look, but she only arched an eyebrow, waiting. He muttered something under his breath before exhaling sharply, rubbing a hand over his face.

Nearby, Ron and Hermione sat on one of the overturned crates they had scavenged, watching the exchange in silence. Hermione had been unusually quiet since the battle, arms folded tightly around herself. Ron, less subtle, frowned openly as he glanced between Harry and the baby.

“You sure about this, mate?” Ron finally asked, nodding toward Teddy.

Harry looked up. “No.” The answer came quick, honest, too exhausted to be anything but. He swallowed hard, adjusting the blanket around Teddy’s tiny frame. “But I wasn’t sure about a lot of things, and they still happened.”

Ron exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Guess that’s how things go now.”

Hermione leaned forward slightly, eyes searching Harry’s face. “Are you okay?” she asked softly.

Harry let out a breath of something that wasn’t quite a laugh. “No,” he admitted again. “But he needs me.”

A strained silence followed, heavy but not uncomfortable. Hermione nodded slowly, understanding something deeper than words could express.

Remus sat a short distance away, propped up against an old crate, his bitten arm wrapped tightly in bandages. His fingers flexed slightly over the wound, as if testing the strength left in them. His gaze flickered to Teddy, lingering for a breath before he shifted his attention back to the fire, his expression unreadable. He looked worn, more than usual. The firelight deepened the hollows in his face. He had barely spoken since handing Teddy over. Now, he watched from the shadows, eyes unreadable. Harry met his gaze, and for a second, neither of them spoke.

Then, almost too quiet to be heard over the crackling fire, Remus murmured, “You’re doing better than you think.”

Harry wasn’t sure he believed that, but he nodded all the same.

On the outskirts of the firelight, the divide between groups was tangible. Some of Rick’s people cast uneasy glances toward the witches and wizards, their discomfort barely concealed. Some of the Hogwarts survivors muttered among themselves, confused by the raw violence they had seen, struggling to process a world where magic wasn’t the ultimate answer. Luna, ever the oddity, simply sat with her legs crossed, watching the two groups like a bird studying the tides, waiting for them to settle. She tilted her head slightly, a serene smile playing at her lips, as if she already knew how it would end.

Daryl, who had been listening without looking, scoffed softly.

“You can hold him if you want,” Harry said suddenly before he could think better of it. The words just slipped out.

Daryl’s head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing as if Harry had lost his mind. “Nah, I-”

“You don’t have to,” Harry added quickly, suddenly regretting saying anything. He wasn’t even sure why he had. Maybe because Daryl hadn’t stopped looking at him. At Teddy. At the whole damn situation since Remus had handed the baby over.

Daryl shifted uncomfortably, gaze flicking from the infant to the darkened landscape beyond the fence, his grip tightening on the strap of his crossbow. His jaw worked for a moment before he shook his head.

“Nah,” he repeated, but this time his voice wasn’t as sharp. Just rough. Tired. “Ain’t my kid.”

Carol, ever the observer, smirked again. “No, but he’s Harry’s.”

Daryl’s expression flickered, hesitation tightening the corners of his mouth before something more resigned settled in his gaze. He muttered, “Yeah. Guess he is.”

On the other side of the yard, Merle let out a low whistle, clearly having caught the tail end of the conversation. “Well, ain’t that somethin’,” he drawled. “Kid’s barely settled in, and he’s already got himself a damn family.”

Several of the Hogwarts survivors exchanged glances, some shifting uncomfortably, others avoiding eye contact altogether. Seamus' fingers drummed restlessly against his knee, while Dean let out a slow breath, shaking his head. Lavender wrapped her arms around herself, lips pressed into a thin line. They were still processing the casual way everyone here spoke about death, survival, and parenthood like they were interchangeable. Seamus whispered something to Dean, who only shook his head. Neville frowned slightly, as if still trying to reconcile the world they had come from with the one they had landed in.

Luna, however, only smiled in that knowing way of hers. “Families are chosen more often than they’re born,” she murmured, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

For a long moment, Daryl didn’t move. Then, without another word, he turned and walked off toward the outer fence, keeping watch.

Carol let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head. "Give him time." Harry glanced at her, considering the words. Did he believe that? That Daryl would come around, that any of them would? He wasn’t sure. But as he adjusted Teddy’s blanket and felt the warmth of his tiny body against his chest, a deep, unfamiliar weight settled in him. It wasn’t just responsibility, it was something heavier, something that both grounded him and made his chest tighten with the enormity of it all. He wasn’t sure he was ready to name it.

Harry wasn’t sure if she was talking about Teddy, or if she saw something in him he wasn’t ready to face. The thought sat uneasily in his chest, lingering long after the fire had burned low.

The night had settled heavily over the prison yard. The fires had burned low, leaving only embers glowing in the dark. Flickers of orange light wavered over the cracked pavement, stretching shadows long and restless across the ground. Most of the camp had gone quiet, exhaustion pulling them under, but Harry remained awake.

Teddy was asleep in his arms, impossibly warm, impossibly small. His tiny fingers twitched in his sleep, a soft, content sigh escaping his lips. Harry exhaled slowly, staring down at the baby’s peaceful face. How was it possible for someone so untouched by the world to exist in a place like this? It reminded him of stepping into the castle after Dumbledore’s death, seeing the fractures in the world he had known, and yet, somehow, life had continued. Teddy was that same impossible proof, fragile but real. He could hardly believe it himself.

His body ached, not just from the fight but from everything. The gunshot wound in his side throbbed dully beneath the layers of bandages, a constant reminder of how close he'd come to not being here at all. Every movement sent a twinge of pain through his ribs, but he barely noticed anymore. The weight of the day, the impending loss of Remus, settled over him like a lead blanket. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been this exhausted, and yet his mind wouldn’t quiet. Even with Teddy safe in his arms, his magic curled uneasily beneath his skin, restless.

A shift in the air made him glance up. Daryl was near, lingering just outside the firelight, leaning against the fence. He wasn’t looking at Harry, but he wasn’t looking away either. His crossbow rested at his side, his stance relaxed but alert, always watching, always ready.

Beyond him, the groups were scattered across the yard. Rick’s people slept in small clusters, keeping to their own. The Hogwarts survivors were more restless, shifting, whispering in hushed tones, glancing toward the hardened fighters who had welcomed them with wariness. It wasn’t fear, not exactly. Just uncertainty. They were different, and in this world, different meant unpredictable.

“You’re still up?” Harry asked quietly. His voice barely carried over the crackling embers.

Daryl shrugged. “Ain’t tired.”

Harry huffed out a quiet breath, something that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Liar.”

Daryl tilted his head slightly but didn’t argue. The silence between them stretched, not uncomfortable but heavy.

After a moment, Harry adjusted Teddy, making sure his blanket was tucked snugly around him before looking back at Daryl. “You don’t have to keep watch all night, you know.”

Daryl finally met his gaze, something unreadable in his eyes. “Ain’t about that.”

Harry frowned slightly, shifting Teddy in his arms. “Then what?”

Daryl hesitated. He glanced toward the sleeping forms scattered around the yard, noting the uneasy mixing of their two groups. Some of Rick’s people kept their distance, their hands never far from their weapons. The Hogwarts survivors, in contrast, whispered among themselves, their wands clutched tightly as if they could will themselves into safety. The wariness on both sides was thick, unspoken but ever-present. When he spoke, his voice was quieter than usual. “Ain’t used to this.”

Harry tilted his head. “Used to what?”

Daryl exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face before nodding toward the baby. “That. You. This.” His fingers flexed against the strap of his crossbow. “World ain’t built for it.”

Harry swallowed hard, glancing down at Teddy. “No,” he admitted. “It’s not.”

Daryl shifted his weight, the leather of his vest creaking slightly. “But you’re still doin’ it.”

Harry didn’t answer right away. He watched Teddy’s tiny chest rise and fall, so steady, so unaffected. “Because someone has to.”

Daryl was quiet for a long time before he muttered, “Yeah.”

The silence stretched again, but this time it felt different. The tightness in Harry’s shoulders eased, his grip on Teddy loosening just slightly. The weight of everything hadn’t disappeared, but for the first time that night, it didn’t feel quite as heavy.

Then, unexpectedly, Daryl moved. He pushed away from the fence and walked over, crouching beside Harry. He didn’t reach for Teddy, didn’t try to hold him, but his presence was grounding in a way Harry hadn’t realized he needed.

“You look like shit,” Daryl grunted after a moment.

Harry let out a small, exhausted chuckle. “Feel like it too.”

Daryl huffed, shaking his head before looking down at Teddy. “Kid don’t know how screwed up this world is yet.”

“No,” Harry murmured. “He doesn’t.”

They sat there for a while, neither speaking. Just existing. The world felt smaller in that moment, just the two of them, the fire, and the tiny life resting between them.

“Y’ever held a kid before?” Daryl asked suddenly. His voice was rough, unreadable.

Harry shook his head. “No.” He hesitated, glancing up. “You?”

Daryl’s expression flickered. His fingers flexed against his crossbow strap, his gaze flickering briefly to the fire before he muttered, “Nah.” He shifted slightly, gaze flicking back to Teddy. “Looks like you got it handled, though.”

Harry exhaled. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

Daryl snorted. “Nobody does.”

Harry looked down at Teddy again, brushing a stray tuft of blue hair from his forehead. The fine strands were impossibly soft beneath his fingers, and the gentle touch made Teddy stir slightly, his tiny fingers curling before he settled once more. “He doesn’t deserve this world.”

Daryl was quiet for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than before. “Then we make it better.”

Harry’s breath caught. He looked at Daryl then, really looked, and saw the quiet determination in his face, the certainty of someone who had never needed words to make a promise. It wasn’t just a throwaway statement. It was a promise. A simple one, but solid.

Finally, Daryl stood, stretching slightly. “Get some sleep.”

Harry watched him for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. You too.”

Daryl snorted but didn’t argue as he took a step back. But then, instead of turning away, he hesitated. His gaze lingered on Harry for a beat longer, something unreadable in his expression. Then, with deliberate care, he leaned in, pressing a kiss to Harry’s forehead.

It was brief, almost hesitant, rough lips against sweat-damp skin, lingering just long enough to make Harry’s breath catch. By the time he fully processed what had happened, Daryl had already pulled back, his face unreadable in the dim light. A faint warmth lingered where Daryl’s lips had pressed, a ghost of contact that sent a shiver down Harry’s spine. His breath hitched, his fingers unconsciously tightening around Teddy’s blanket, but he didn’t move, didn’t speak. The quiet between them carried meaning, unsaid but deeply felt, wrapping around them like the dying embers of the fire.

A knot deep in Harry’s chest uncoiled, something fragile and uncertain giving way to trust. Daryl wasn’t leaving, not because of Teddy, not because of anything. He was here.

Harry exhaled, a slow, steady breath, and for the first time since the Portkey had brought the Hogwarts survivors here, he let his eyes close.

Dawn had barely begun to stretch across the sky when the first sarcastic remark shattered the morning quiet.

“So, do we get a welcome feast, or is this one of those ‘bring your own apocalypse rations’ situations?”

Fred Weasley, lounging against an overturned crate as if he hadn’t just spent the night on unyielding ground, smirked lazily, his fingers tapping idly against the wood as he surveyed the prison yard. He stretched dramatically, groaning like he’d just woken up in a luxury suite rather than a war zone.

George, sitting beside him, nodded solemnly. “Yes, and while we’re on the subject, how’s the wizard discount on proper beds? Because I, for one, refuse to accept that a world-ending catastrophe should get in the way of good customer service.”

Carol, unimpressed, arched an eyebrow. “It’s a prison.”

Fred’s grin widened. “And yet, I still expected better amenities.”

George sighed dramatically. “Even Azkaban had a better class of clientele.”

Ron groaned from where he sat beside Hermione. “Merlin, here we go.”

Harry, rubbing at his tired eyes, barely mustered a glare at the twins. “We just survived a horde of the undead, and this is your priority?”

Fred shrugged. “You say ‘undead horde,’ I say ‘exhilarating group bonding exercise.’”

Rick, who had been standing nearby, listening in with increasing bewilderment, finally ran a hand down his face. He glanced toward Daryl, as if expecting some kind of explanation, but Daryl only smirked, shaking his head. “Are they always like this?”

Harry sighed. “Unfortunately, it gets worse.”

Draco, who had been surveying the prison’s perimeter with an air of disdain, muttered, “Finally, someone else who understands.” His gaze flicked toward Rick, as if in silent agreement that dealing with the twins was an exhausting ordeal.

Hedwig, perched on the remains of a rusted-out car, clicked her beak in what could only be described as judgmental disapproval.

“You lot don’t seem too concerned about survival,” Maggie observed, arms crossed.

“Ah, but that’s where you’re mistaken,” George said, grinning. “We are deeply concerned about survival, ours specifically. And if we have to annoy the enemy to death, so be it.”

Daryl snorted but didn’t comment, scraping the heel of his boot against the ground, his gaze flicking toward the twins with something caught between amusement and exasperation.

The baby Niffler, never one to miss an opportunity, scurried across the yard, latching onto Draco’s sleeve and yanking at the cuff of his robes.

Draco sighed. “No. I am not your personal treasure chest.”

The Niffler chittered in protest and proceeded to attempt exactly that.

“Looks like he disagrees,” Glenn noted, watching in amusement as the tiny creature stuffed the stolen fabric into its pouch.

Merle let out a bark of laughter. “Gotta say, if I’d known y’all had magic, I’d have figured out a way to get myself a little thief like that. Could’ve made a fortune before the world went to hell.”

Fred turned to George, eyes twinkling. “You hear that? Our marketing potential extends even beyond the end of civilization.” Across the yard, Rick shook his head, muttering something under his breath, while Glenn smirked and nudged Maggie, who only rolled her eyes.

George gasped dramatically. “It’s a shame, really. Imagine the profit margins on ‘Undetectable Undead Repellent’, a steal at five Galleons a vial!”

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re both unbearable.”

“Ah, but charmingly so,” Fred corrected.

Even Harry, exhausted as he was, couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. The tension in his shoulders eased just a fraction, the weight of the past day momentarily lifting under the absurdity of it all. The wariness between the groups lingered, but for a brief moment, the laughter dulled its edges. Glenn shook his head with a quiet chuckle, and even Maggie’s crossed arms loosened slightly. The weight of survival hadn’t vanished, but for now, it sat a little lighter.

Andrea, having been quietly observing from the side, shook her head. “You all are insane.”

“Insanity is relative,” George countered. “For instance, talking to a severed head? That’s insane. Making jokes to avoid the crushing weight of impending doom? Perfectly healthy.”

Carol smirked. “I like them.” Daryl rolled his eyes, but there was no real bite behind it. Rick exhaled sharply, glancing toward Harry as if silently asking if he’d truly meant to bring these people along, before rubbing his temples in clear resignation.

Daryl muttered, “Yeah, well, you would.”

The group settled again, the laughter fading but the warmth of it lingering in the air. The fire sparked softly, sending occasional sparks into the dark, and someone let out a quiet, contented sigh. A quiet chuckle drifted from someone in the dark as the fire crackled, casting flickering shadows over weary faces, the glow catching in tired eyes. It wasn’t much, not a solution, not safety, but it was something.

For now, it was enough.

And in a world like this, moments like these, brief, absurd, and fleeting, were rare enough to be treasured.

The morning sun crept over the horizon, casting pale golden light across the prison yard. The fires had burned down to faint smoldering embers, their glow barely visible in the creeping dawn. The air was thick with the damp chill of the night, carrying the lingering scent of smoke and charred wood, mixed with ash, sweat, and old blood.

Most of the camp was stirring now, stretching sore limbs, murmuring in hushed tones as they prepared for the day ahead. Some of Rick’s people were already moving supplies, checking weapons, or discussing their next steps. T-Dog rolled his shoulders with a weary sigh, while Carol adjusted the strap of her bag, glancing toward the newcomers with quiet assessment. Others cast sidelong looks at the Hogwarts survivors, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty. In contrast, the Hogwarts survivors clustered together, their murmurs reflecting the strain of adjusting to this unfamiliar reality.

Harry sat near the dying embers, Teddy cradled in his arms, watching the steady rhythm of the baby's breathing. His own body ached; his back stiff, legs sore, a dull throb lingering in his wounded side. Sleep had eluded him, his thoughts circling endlessly about Remus, the prison, and the sudden, heavy responsibility placed upon him.

A soft humming drew Harry’s attention, and he turned as Luna approached, carrying her oversized bag effortlessly. She wore her usual thoughtful, distant expression, hinting at something both strange and unpredictable.

“Oh! I nearly forgot,” she said brightly, stopping in front of him. “I brought you something, Harry.”

Harry blinked, his mind still sluggish from lack of sleep. “You brought me something?”

Luna nodded, kneeling to rummage through her bag, the soft rustle of fabric mixing with a faint clink of glass. Ron, Hermione, Rick, and Daryl turned toward them, curiosity piqued. Glenn and Maggie paused their conversation, while Carol glanced over, eyebrows raised.

Harry expected something practical like food or a blanket. Instead, Luna pulled out something that made Harry’s breath hitch sharply.

A small basilisk.

Its dark green scales shimmered softly in the early sunlight, its golden eyes alert as its tongue flicked curiously at the air. It coiled comfortably in Luna’s hands, small but radiating a heavy significance.

Hermione nearly dropped the tin she held. “Luna!”

Ron stumbled back, paling noticeably as his hand flew instinctively to his wand. “Are you mental? That’s a bloody basilisk!”

Luna tilted her head calmly. “He’s quite friendly. He hatched just before we left. I thought he should be with Harry.”

Harry stared at her, mouth dry. “You brought me a basilisk?”

“Of course.”

Daryl, leaning against the fence, raised an eyebrow skeptically. “That normal?”

“No,” Hermione hissed sharply.

Rick crossed his arms, visibly tense. “And you’re saying this thing won’t kill us in our sleep?”

A weary voice answered before Harry could. “That depends.”

Remus sat against a crate, looking worn but alert, his eyes fixed firmly on the basilisk. “You realize what you’re holding, Luna?”

“Yes,” she replied simply. “That’s why he belongs with Harry.”

Remus exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “Basilisks are not… pets, Luna.”

“Neither are wolves,” Luna replied gently, holding his gaze.

Remus said nothing, though his expression softened slightly.

“This is highly irresponsible,” McGonagall’s stern voice cut through, tension evident in her posture. “A basilisk, Luna? Have you lost your sense of reason?”

“Reason is a matter of perspective,” Luna said, unbothered.

McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose, clearly torn between arguing and giving up entirely.

The basilisk’s tongue flicked again, its gaze turning slowly toward Harry. ‘Master’.

Harry’s breath quickened. parseltongue surged back into his mind, both alien and intimately familiar. “Why?” Harry whispered. “Why would you bring me this?”

Luna smiled serenely. “Because he’s yours.”

Rick exhaled sharply. “Magic, and now snakes?”

“Basilisk,” Hermione corrected, horror clear in her voice.

Rick grimaced. “Even better.”

Daryl shifted, fingers twitching uneasily. “What’s it do?”

Harry’s pulse quickened. “Normally? Kills people just by looking at them.”

Glenn groaned. “Fantastic.”

“It won’t hurt you,” Luna assured them. “Only dangerous if it chooses. He won’t hurt Harry.”

Harry exhaled slowly, watching the basilisk coil neatly around his wrist. “He stays with me.”

Ron stared incredulously. “You can’t be serious.”

Harry met his friend’s gaze. “I don’t think it’s a choice.”

He turned slightly, eyes settling on Daryl, noticing the wary curiosity still lingering in his stance. Without thinking, Harry spoke softly in parseltongue, the words smooth and low. ‘It's alright. You're safe’.

Daryl stiffened visibly at Harry’s sudden switch to parseltongue. A slow shiver rolled through him, his eyes darkening, breath unsteady. Harry caught every subtle reaction, the way Daryl’s throat bobbed, the restless shift of his stance. Harry's lips curved into a wicked smirk, slow and deliberate, as he watched the heat pool behind Daryl's stare.

Daryl exhaled roughly, trying to steady himself. His gaze flickered over Harry's mouth again, clearly intrigued, clearly drawn. Harry leaned in just slightly, voice low. "Figures."

The basilisk settled around Harry’s wrist, and Harry felt his magic stir, recognizing something profound. An instinctive sense of belonging enveloped him, as unsettling as it was undeniable.

The morning had settled into a strange rhythm. Survivors moved through the prison yard, adjusting to their new reality, assessing supplies, reinforcing weak points. The divide between Rick’s group and the Hogwarts survivors still existed, but it had begun to blur at the edges. A little.

Michonne stood apart from the others, watching.

She had always been an observer, a tracker. She followed what others couldn’t see, felt what others overlooked. And right now, she was watching him.

Harry Potter moved through the yard, balancing a sleeping Teddy against his chest as he spoke in low tones with Rick. His movements were easy but… wrong. Not in a physical way; he was injured, sure, but it wasn’t that. It was something deeper, a subtle but profound imbalance she sensed like a barely audible hum beneath his movements. It felt like unease woven into quiet certainty, a contradiction Michonne couldn’t quite grasp.

Michonne had seen people change before. Loss, war, survival, they altered a person. But this was different. Harry carried something more than grief, more than exhaustion. It clung to him like a shadow, a weight just beneath his skin. It wasn’t something she could name. But she could feel it.

She reached into the small pouch at her hip, fingers brushing over the smooth surface of bone dice. The kind her cousin had taught her to use, long before the world ended. They weren’t for fortune-telling. They weren’t magic in the way people thought. They just… showed things. Things others didn’t notice. Things that had always been there.

She turned the bones between her fingers, letting the weight of them settle.

A presence approached, light and airy, but steady. Michonne didn’t need to look to know who it was.

“Harry’s different,” Luna said, settling beside her like she had simply drifted there. She didn’t ask what Michonne was doing. She just knew.

Michonne cast her a sidelong glance. “You see it too.” It wasn’t a question.

Luna nodded, her gaze following Harry as he adjusted Teddy’s blanket, his expression distant. “He’s walking a path no one else can see.”

Michonne considered that. “Not even him?”

Luna’s expression softened, thoughtful. “Not yet.”

Michonne turned the dice in her hand, considering the weight of them. “He feels… like something else.”

Luna hummed. “Like he doesn’t fully belong here anymore.”

Michonne looked at her then, sharp and assessing. “What is he?”

Luna blinked slowly, tilting her head as though listening to something far away. “Not what he was.”

Michonne rolled the bones in her palm once, feeling the tug of unseen threads shift around them. She wasn’t a seer, not like Luna, not like whatever magic Hogwarts had taught. But she had her own ways. The world left marks on people, some seen, some unseen. And Harry?

Harry carried something old, a heavy, ancient presence that seemed to linger around him like a memory that refused to fade. It was a grief or burden from a time long past, something powerful and intangible, connecting him to something beyond their current reality.

The bones had been warm in her hand a moment ago. Now, they felt cold.

Luna exhaled softly, the smallest hint of sadness in her voice. “The dead don’t let go of him. Not anymore.” Luna’s voice was quiet, almost mournful, and Michonne felt a chill skate down her spine, her grip tightening unconsciously around the bones in her hand.

She didn’t understand what Harry was now, not fully. But she understood one thing:

Whatever path he was walking… he wouldn’t be walking it alone.

Chapter Text

The sound of gunfire and wet, sickening crunches filled the air, but they were losing.

The group had been making steady progress, hacking and stabbing their way through the walkers clogging the prison halls. The air was thick with the cloying stench of decay, a putrid mix of old blood, gunpowder, and something even fouler that clung to the back of the throat. Every step sent boot soles squelching against viscera, the floors slick with gore and entrails from previous kills. The prison walls were smeared with dried blood and filth, streaked from desperate hands clawing at the stone. The occasional flickering light above cast eerie shadows, making it feel as if something unseen lurked just beyond their peripheral vision.

The oppressive silence between walker groans and gunfire made the whole place feel suffocating, as if the walls themselves were closing in around them. It was slow work. Messy. Glenn and Maggie fought side by side. Rick barked orders, his voice cutting through the chaos. Neville struggled, his grip on his knife slipping as he yanked it free from a walker’s skull.

Harry barely had time to breathe, twisting to avoid a decayed hand grasping for him. He rammed his knife up through the walker’s jaw, wrenching it free with a grunt. Draco, breathing hard, was pressed against a wall, gripping his blade too tightly. He had already stopped sneering.

“Behind you!” Glenn shouted. Draco barely turned in time, staggering as a walker lunged at him.

A gunshot rang out, Daryl’s crossbow was too slow for the immediate threat, so he’d switched to his pistol. The walker dropped, half its skull blown apart, but there was no time to celebrate. More were coming. Too many.

A sharp cry tore through the chaos. The gunfire stuttered as if the sound had momentarily stolen everyone’s breath. Harry’s blood ran cold before his mind even registered who had screamed. His stomach lurched, an instinctive, gut-deep panic clawing up his throat. Around him, Glenn hesitated mid-swing, and Maggie let out a shaky breath before turning toward the source. Even Daryl’s crossbow wavered for a fraction of a second.

Harry whipped his head around just in time to see Madam Pomfrey stumble, a piece of jagged metal lodged deep in her side. Mungo shrieked, scrambling to her, tiny claws digging at her robes as if he could pull the injury away.

Harry was already at her side, steadying her before she could collapse. “How bad it it?”

“Not deep enough to be fatal,” Pomfrey gritted out, her face pale but composed. “But I won’t be much help like this.”

Hedwig landed on the ground beside her, clicking her beak sharply in disapproval. Sprout, still clinging to Harry’s collar, twitched anxiously, leafy ears flattened against its head. Even it knew something was wrong.

Pomfrey didn’t hesitate. With a flick of her wand, she muttered a healing incantation. A soft golden glow pulsed against her side, sealing the wound within seconds.

A strange, unnatural silence settled over them, thick and pressing. Harry eyes widened as he watched the last of the blood siphon away.

A guttural moan rippled through the silence, deep and close, spreading in waves from the darkness beyond.

Harry’s stomach dropped as the first wave of walkers appeared in the hall, drawn by the pulse of magic like a dinner bell ringing through the night.

“Shit,” Daryl breathed, already raising his crossbow.

“Everyone move! We have to-” Rick’s order was cut off as the undead swarmed.

The fight turned desperate.

The hallway was narrow, forcing them to fight in close quarters. Walkers shoved their way in from both ends, making retreat impossible. Glenn and Maggie fought back-to-back, their blades hacking and slashing, but for every walker that fell, two more took its place.

Draco had lost what little composure he had left, his breath coming sharp and uneven as he swung wildly. His grip on the blade was white-knuckled, his movements erratic, more desperation than skill. His face, usually twisted in arrogance or disdain, was wide-eyed with terror. His breath hitched every time his knife met resistance, a strangled sort of grunt escaping him when he had to force the blade deeper. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple, mixing with the grime and blood smeared across his pale skin.

When his weapon lodged deep into a walker’s skull and refused to come free, panic flickered across his features. He yanked, fingers slipping, but the corpse kept coming, dragging itself toward him. A choked noise left Draco’s throat, half a gasp, half a curse, as his legs locked up beneath him. He was frozen, his body betraying him in the worst moment possible.

A cold, rotting hand clamped onto his arm. Draco’s eyes widened, and a sharp, strangled sound escaped his throat. He froze, too horrified to react, his body locking up as decay and death pressed in around him.

A gunshot rang out, and the walker’s skull exploded in a spray of bone and blackened blood. Draco staggered back, colliding with the wall, his breath coming in shallow gasps. His hands trembled, smearing filth across his robes as he frantically wiped at the place the walker had touched him. His face twisted, somewhere between revulsion and disbelief, before his gaze snapped toward Daryl. For a split second, he looked like he might say something but no words came.

He simply stood there, panting, wide-eyed, looking more like a lost child than the boy who had once ruled the halls of Hogwarts with effortless cruelty.

A walker lunged out of the swarm and clamped its teeth onto Hershel’s leg. The old man let out a strangled cry as Maggie screamed his name.

“Dad!”

Blood spurted from the wound, dark and pooling against the cold concrete. Glenn grabbed him, dragging him away from the fight, but it was too late. The bite was deep, irreversible. Hershel’s face twisted in pain, his fingers digging into Glenn’s arm as he was pulled to safety.

Harry felt something crack inside him.

The realization struck like a bolt of lightning.

The dead reacted to his magic. Maybe he could use that. Maybe he could buy them time.

Harry didn’t think.

He turned sharply. Daryl was still fighting, crossbow up, but his eyes flicked to Harry like he could sense it, like he knew something was about to go wrong.

Harry grabbed him by the front of his vest, yanked him in, and crushed their mouths together in a desperate, bruising kiss. Daryl stiffened, his body going rigid in shock, his hand twitching as if he meant to grab Harry and pull him closer.

Harry broke away just as fast, pressing his forehead against Daryl’s for the briefest of moments.

“I love you.”

Daryl inhaled sharply, but before he could react, before he could even process it, Harry was gone.

He bolted straight for the walkers.

"HARRY!" Daryl’s roar split the air, raw and furious, but Harry didn’t stop. He let his magic loose in a pulse, just enough to send a ripple through the air, just enough to make the walkers turn toward him. Their heads snapped in his direction, movements jerky but eager, their hunger momentarily redirected.

Walkers turned as one, their movements jerky but eerily synchronized, hunger overtaking hesitation.

The group’s horrified shouts faded behind him as Harry ran, dodging grasping hands, weaving through the darkened halls of the prison with only his magic and instincts guiding him. He could hear them snarling, shuffling, their bodies slamming into the walls as they pursued. He didn’t look back. He couldn’t.

Hedwig shrieked above him, her wings a blur as she tried to keep up, her keen eyes watching every movement.

His lungs burned as he ran, each breath a struggle against the suffocating weight in his chest. Sweat mixed with the grime and blood already smeared across his skin, stinging his eyes as he pushed forward. His legs felt like lead, muscles screaming with each desperate stride, but the sound behind him kept him moving. The moans of the horde were a wall of sound pressing down on him, relentless and suffocating.

The pounding of boots and the clattering of bone against concrete chased him, moans swelling like a twisted chorus. His chest ached from exertion, breaths coming in ragged gasps, but he forced himself forward. Every step sent jolts of pain up his legs, exhaustion dragging at his muscles like iron weights. The walls around him blurred, the thready sunlight casting grotesque shadows that twisted and stretched in his peripheral vision.

A walker lunged from a side corridor, its fingers brushing his sleeve before he wrenched free. The scent of rot was suffocating, clinging to his skin and hair, but there was no time to recoil. The echoes of his own footsteps bounced off the walls, swallowed by the relentless tide of growls and snapping jaws just behind him. He knew if he slowed for even a second, they’d be on him, pulling him down into a sea of teeth and decay.

Still, he forced himself forward. There was no other way. He turned a corner sharply, nearly skidding as he pushed himself forward.

A door. An open corridor beyond it.

Harry threw himself through it, slamming it shut behind him just as the first walker reached it. The force of their bodies against the door rattled through his bones, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

His vision blurred as he turned down another hallway, his heart pounding in his chest.

Harry never expected to survive this. His muscles ached, leaden with exhaustion, every breath burning like fire in his lungs. His legs wobbled beneath him, screaming for rest, but there was no stopping now. The weight of the horde behind him was crushing, pressing into his mind like a vice. His vision tunneled, every step a battle against the overwhelming fatigue clawing at him. But none of it mattered. Because this was the only way.

But at least they would live.

At least Daryl would.

Harry barely made it out of the herd. Unsure of how long he’d been running, long enough for it to get dark, he just kept moving.

His entire body ached, exhaustion settling deep into his bones as he leaned heavily against the wall of the darkened corridor. The adrenaline that had carried him this far was fading, leaving behind trembling limbs and a pulsing ache in his ribs where his gunshot wound had torn open again. His breath hitched, sharp pain flaring through his side as fresh, warm blood trickled beneath his shirt. He hissed between his teeth, pressing a hand against it, but there wasn’t time to stop.

He had to keep going.

The prison around him was eerily silent, save for the distant groans of the dead. The air was thick, stagnant with decay, and every breath tasted like rot and dust. The walls felt narrower here, suffocating, as if pressing in around him. Shadows stretched long in the flickering emergency lighting, distorting everything in ways that made his already-dizzy head spin. He swallowed down the nausea threatening to crawl up his throat, shaking his head to clear it.

A soft rustle above made him glance up. Hedwig perched on a bent metal beam, her sharp eyes trained on him with unwavering focus. She had been following him the entire time, staying just out of reach, as if making sure he didn’t collapse where he stood. The sight of her was grounding. He wasn’t completely alone.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, his voice hoarse, barely believing it himself.

Hedwig let out a low, skeptical hoot.

He let his head fall back against the wall, eyes slipping shut for just a second, one second too long.

A walker lurched from an open doorway to his right, its decayed fingers brushing against his sleeve. Harry’s body jolted before his mind caught up, knife already in his hand, moving on muscle memory alone. He rammed it upward, the blade sliding through brittle bone with a sickening crunch. The walker collapsed at his feet, a twitch of final death shuddering through its ruined body. He stumbled back, breath coming in ragged gasps, every nerve in his body flaring in protest.

Too close.

His pulse hammered in his ears as he wiped the blade against his jeans with a shaky exhale. The sound of movement ahead made him stiffen. More of them. He didn’t have the strength for another fight, not with his vision swimming and his limbs sluggish. A fresh wave of pain pulsed through his ribs, spreading like fire across his side. When he lifted his fingers from his wound, they were wet, dark with his own blood.

He had to find somewhere safe. Somewhere he could catch his breath.

Harry pushed himself off the wall, biting back a grimace, and forced his feet forward. Each step sent a fresh wave of pain through his side, but stopping wasn’t an option. He moved as silently as he could, ears straining for any sign of movement. The corridors twisted ahead, leading deeper into the prison, into the unknown. Every sound, every shuffle of decayed feet, every echo, set his nerves on edge.

A sudden bang from further down the hall made him tense, his grip tightening on the knife. The sound of something, multiple somethings, stirring nearby sent a chill racing down his spine. He pressed himself into the shadows, breath shallow, willing himself invisible. A pair of walkers shambled past, their milky eyes searching for movement, their mouths slack as they exhaled slow, hungry growls.

His heart pounded against his ribs as he remained perfectly still, barely daring to breathe. They lingered for what felt like an eternity before one of them turned, shuffling toward an open doorway and disappearing inside. The other followed after a long moment, and the hallway was silent again.

Hedwig swooped ahead, disappearing into the shadows. He took that as a sign to follow. He had no other choice.

His legs felt like lead, every step growing heavier. His body was betraying him, his muscles trembling from exhaustion. He clenched his teeth and pressed on, refusing to give in.

He turned a corner, only to find himself facing a locked metal gate. He swallowed a curse, slamming his palm against it in frustration. The clang echoed down the hall, far louder than he wanted. His breath caught. If there were any walkers nearby, that sound had just given him away.

Silence stretched for too long.

Then came the groans.

It started faint, distant, but it grew. Shuffling. The scrape of bone against concrete. They were moving toward him, drawn by the noise. His stomach clenched. He pivoted sharply, searching for another exit, another way out, but the hallway was a dead end. No doors. No vents large enough to slip through. Just the gate and the growing darkness behind him.

His pulse raced. His knife felt too small in his hand, his body too weak. He gritted his teeth, preparing himself.

Out of nowhere, something slammed against the bars from the other side.

Harry’s breath hitched as he snapped his head around.

A figure loomed behind the gate, not a walker.

A person.

A voice hissed through the bars, urgent and low. “You wanna live? Move when I tell you.”

Harry blinked, disoriented. “Who the hell-”

“Shut up and get ready.”

The walkers were nearly on him now, the first of them rounding the corner, hands stretching, mouths opening. Harry had no choice. He gripped his knife tighter, dropping into a defensive stance. Whatever was about to happen, he had to be ready for it.

The stranger moved, and the lock rattled.

Daryl moved the second Harry disappeared into the dark but a hand caught his arm, yanking him back.

Daryl twisted violently, breath heaving, but Rick held firm. "We can't lose anyone else tonight."

"Then let me go!" Daryl snapped, wrenching his arm free. His whole body was coiled tight, breath ragged with something close to panic. "He ain't dead yet, but he will be if we sit on our asses talkin' about it."

Rick’s expression was grim, jaw set. "Daryl-"

"No!" Daryl’s voice came out rough, sharp, cutting through the chaos of the room. "You can stay here and play it safe. I ain't waitin'."

Every second they stood around talking was a second Harry didn’t have.

Maggie was still kneeling by Hershel, hands slick with blood, her breath ragged. Glenn had his hands braced against his knees, still catching his breath from the fight. They were shaken, all of them.

But Harry was out there. Alone.

Daryl took a step back. "Stay here if you want. I’m goin’ after him."

"Daryl, hold on-" Rick started, but Daryl was already moving, already pushing past them into the darkened corridor.

"Dammit," Glenn muttered, exhaling sharply before jogging after him. "You really think running in blind is gonna help?"

Daryl didn’t answer. He didn’t have time for this.

He moved fast, his footsteps heavy against the cold floor, each stride fueled by desperation as he tore through the prison halls. He didn’t care about the risk. Didn’t care about Hershel, about Rick’s orders, about Glenn scrambling to keep up behind him. None of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was finding Harry.

His breath came sharp, raw, burning against his throat, each inhale scraping like sandpaper. His legs ached from the relentless sprint, muscles protesting with every stride, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Every second wasted was one Harry might not have. The darkness swallowed everything in jagged shapes, warping the wreckage of overturned furniture and broken-down cells into twisting, unrecognizable shadows. The air was thick, putrid with rot, the walls slick with dried blood and filth, but Daryl barely noticed. His mind was singular. Focused.

He needed to find Harry.

He wouldn’t lose him. Not him.

A fresh smear of blood on the wall caught his eye. Daryl skidded to a halt, fingers grazing over it. Still wet. Fresh. His stomach twisted. Too fresh. He forced himself to breathe, forced himself to think past the panic clawing up his throat.

Harry had been here. Bleeding.

The realization sent a fresh spike of adrenaline burning through his veins. He moved again, faster, scanning the ground. Boot scuffs. A few droplets trailing forward. His grip on the crossbow tightened, his knuckles aching.

“Dammit, Harry,” he muttered under his breath, pushing forward.

“Daryl, slow down-” Glenn’s voice wheezed from behind him, but Daryl didn’t even acknowledge it.

Another crash echoed somewhere ahead. Not far. Something metal slamming against concrete. Daryl’s head snapped toward the sound, his entire body coiling tight, ready to spring.

He took off in a dead sprint.

“Daryl!” Glenn cursed, struggling to keep up, but Daryl didn’t care. Couldn’t care.

His pulse was a hammer in his skull, his breathing ragged. The smell of decay was stronger here, suffocating. Too many walkers. Too much death.

He shoved past an overturned bench, kicking through debris, eyes scanning wildly for any sign of him.

A body lay sprawled in the hallway, a walker, freshly taken down, its skull split open on the floor. Not long dead. The blood pooling beneath it was still glistening, not yet dried. Daryl barely slowed as he crouched beside it, fingers curling around the hilt of a familiar knife still lodged in its skull. Harry’s knife.

The world stilled.

Daryl’s grip locked around the handle, his knuckles aching as he wrenched it free. His jaw clenched, tension grinding through his teeth, a sharp pulse of frustration and fear burning beneath his skin. His stomach twisted violently. Harry wouldn’t have left this unless he had no other choice.

Which meant he was defenseless.

A distant shuffle of feet, slow and dragging. Daryl froze, crossbow rising instantly. Another walker, further down the hall, barely visible in the dim light. Alone. Wandering. But heading in the same direction as Harry’s trail.

Daryl moved before it could register his presence, stepping into the shadows and darting forward. His blade struck clean, slicing through the base of its skull, and the walker crumpled instantly. He didn’t even stop to watch it fall.

Another noise, a rattling clang of metal, echoing down the halls.

Daryl’s head snapped up. It was close. Too close.

His body moved before his brain could catch up, pure instinct propelling him forward. He tore down the corridor, his pulse a snarl in his ears.

If Harry was dead…

No. He refused to think it.

His footfalls thundered against the stone, his balance shifting as he rounded a corner, and staggered to a stop.

Through the bars of a metal gate, Harry stood, barely upright, sweat-slicked, blood soaking his side.

Alive.

Daryl exhaled sharply, nearly choking on it, his hands trembling from the sheer force of relief and rage colliding in his chest.

“I found you.” His voice came out rough, almost unrecognizable.

But then a shadow moved behind Harry, lingering just beyond the bars.

Daryl’s blood ran cold, crossbow already rising. “Who the hell is that?”

Harry, still catching his breath, barely managed, “Not a walker.”

The stranger grinned through the bars. “Not yet, anyway.”

Daryl didn’t like this. Not one damn bit. His jaw tightened, muscles flexing as he took a slow, deliberate step closer to the gate. His crossbow stayed raised, aimed straight at the stranger’s head. "Open the damn door," he growled, voice low and dangerous. "Now."

The stranger didn’t flinch, but his smirk widened. “That a request, or a demand?”

Daryl took another step forward, his grip shifting on the crossbow, breath steady but sharp as he leveled the weapon. “A promise.”

For a long, tense moment, no one moved. The only sound was Harry’s uneven breathing, shallow and strained. His knees threatened to give, his fingers pressing weakly against his wound. His skin was pale, and Daryl felt another surge of panic claw up his throat. He didn’t have time for this bullshit.

“Tick-tock,” the stranger murmured, eyes flicking to the walkers beginning to gather on the other side of the corridor. “Door’s locked from this side. You want him out, you better start listening.”

Daryl’s heart pounded. He needed to get to Harry. Now.

“Then unlock it,” Daryl snapped, his patience hanging by a thread.

The stranger tilted his head. “I do that, what’s stopping you from putting a bolt in my head after?”

Daryl didn’t hesitate. “Nothin’.”

The stranger chuckled, as if amused. “Fair enough.”

His hand moved to the lock. The metal clicked.

The second the lock released, Daryl yanked the door open, stepping forward to grab Harry before he could fall. The younger man barely had the strength to stay upright, his body sagging against Daryl’s grip.

“Got you,” Daryl muttered, this time softer, his free hand gripping Harry’s arm to steady him.

Harry’s breath hitched, fingers weakly fisting into Daryl’s vest, but his attention flickered back to the stranger still standing just inside the gate.

The sound of approaching walkers echoed down the corridor, a chorus of guttural moans closing in.

“We need to move,” Glenn hissed, eyes darting between the advancing dead and the stranger still leaning against the bars.

Daryl barely spared him a glance, already hauling Harry toward the exit. “You comin’ or what?”

The stranger smirked but didn’t budge. “Nah. I’ll be fine.”

Daryl scoffed, shaking his head. “Suit yourself.”

But Harry hesitated. He turned, still breathing hard, blood soaking his side. “You sure?”

The stranger’s grin widened, his posture too casual despite the chaos unfolding around them. “Ain’t the first time I’ve been locked up.”

Daryl growled, already pulling Harry away. “Ain’t got time for this.”

The walkers were closing in now, their grotesque figures shifting through the flickering lights. The stranger gave a lazy wave before slipping into the darkness beyond the cells, disappearing from sight.

Harry stumbled as Daryl dragged him forward, but he cast one last look over his shoulder, something gnawing at him. He wasn’t sure if it was guilt, unease, or a nagging sense of unfinished business, but leaving the guy behind didn’t sit right. The stranger had saved his life, without him, Harry wouldn’t have made it out. And yet, here they were, leaving him in the dark, behind bars like he belonged there. Like the world outside wasn’t just as much of a prison. His fingers curled into Daryl’s vest, but he didn’t say a word. Not yet. The guy was still in there. Still alone.

And for some damn reason, Harry knew this wasn’t the last time they’d see him.

“Move!” Glenn’s shout cut through the moment, and Daryl didn’t wait for Harry to hesitate again. He threw Harry’s arm over his shoulder, tightening his grip around his waist, and pushed forward.

Behind them, the lock clicked shut again, sealing the stranger inside.

The run back was a blur, each breath a raw scrape in Harry’s throat, the air thick with the damp, metallic scent of blood. Every step sent sharp jolts of pain through his ribs, his vision hazy as dim torchlight flickered against the prison’s cold stone walls. The distant groans of walkers still echoed somewhere behind them, a reminder that they weren’t safe yet.

Harry barely stayed upright, his legs sluggish, his body screaming for rest. Daryl had a firm grip around his waist, half-dragging him forward, his pace relentless. Every few steps, Harry’s vision wavered, the darkened halls tilting, but Daryl’s grip never faltered. His breathing came fast and shallow, more ragged with every step. The pain in his side pulsed, hot and deep, like molten iron spreading under his skin, radiating up through his ribs and down into his hip with every jarring step. He clenched his teeth, trying to keep himself upright, but the effort was slipping through his fingers like sand.

Glenn moved ahead, scouting the path back, his breathing ragged from exertion. “Almost there,” he muttered.

Harry barely registered it.

His limbs felt heavy, unresponsive, like they no longer belonged to him. Every step felt like dragging dead weight, his muscles sluggish and slow to react, as if they were betraying him in the moment he needed them most. The world narrowed down to each agonizing step, each sharp inhale that sent a new wave of pain radiating through his body. His knees buckled, the ground tilting violently, and only Daryl’s steady grip kept him from hitting the floor.

“Easy,” Daryl muttered, shifting Harry’s weight against him. “Just a little further.”

Harry wanted to tell him he was fine. Wanted to crack a joke, push past the pain, but his body had reached its limit. His limbs wouldn’t cooperate. His fingers were numb where they curled weakly into Daryl’s vest. Somewhere in the haze, he heard voices.

The second they emerged into the light of the cell block, movement erupted around them. Carol rushed forward first, her face drawn with worry, her hands already reaching for Harry.

“God,” she breathed, “what happened to-”

Maggie’s sharp intake of breath cut her off. “Oh my God…”

Hershel lay still on the cot, pale and unmoving, unconscious from the blood loss. Harry looked down, swallowing hard at the sight of his missing leg. His breathing was shallow but steady, a grim reminder of how close they had come to losing him.

Carol’s voice cut through the tension. “Get him over here.”

Daryl didn’t hesitate, guiding Harry toward the makeshift medical area. Carol grabbed his free arm, helping lower him onto a cot. Harry hissed as he hit the mattress, the sudden change in position making the pain flare sharp and hot through his ribs.

Carol was already pressing a damp cloth to his forehead, her hands gentle but firm. “He’s burning up.” Sprout finally unclenched his death grip on his hair, moving down to watch Carol work.

Maggie hovered nearby, her face tight, eyes red-rimmed but sharp. She stood there with her arms crossed tight over her chest, her voice was thick with something between relief and frustration. "You stupid, reckless idiot. What the hell were you thinking, running into a fucking horde?"

Ron sat on the edge of a cot nearby, his arms crossed as he blew out a breath. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

"Of course he is," Hermione muttered, shaking her head. "That’s Harry."

Luna, who had been watching quietly, nodded serenely. "He does have a habit of sacrificing himself at the worst possible moments. It’s quite consistent."

Daryl’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing as he turned toward them. "He’s always like this?" His voice was sharp, incredulous, but there was a rawness underneath it.

Neville exhaled, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Yeah," he admitted. "Since we were kids."

Rick stepped forward, arms crossed, his face drawn in deep lines, but his gaze flickered toward the Hogwarts survivors for half a second before locking back onto Harry. His eyes tracked every shallow breath, every tremor in Harry’s fingers. "We’ll talk about this later," he said finally, voice edged but restrained. "For now, let Carol work."

Daryl barely nodded, his focus never leaving Harry.

Harry blinked up at the ceiling, exhaustion pressing heavy against him, but something still gnawed at the back of his mind. The prisoner.

He swallowed, voice hoarse. “There’s someone else.”

Daryl’s head snapped toward him. “Not now, Harry.”

But Harry didn’t stop. “He’s locked up. Helped me escape.”

Rick’s gaze sharpened. “Who?”

Ron frowned, exchanging a glance with Hermione. “Someone else survived in the prison?”

Harry tried to answer, but the words tangled in his throat. The room tilted again, the exhaustion winning out. His vision blurred, his body sinking into the cot.

The last thing he felt was Daryl’s hand, firm and steady on his shoulder, an anchor against the pull of exhaustion dragging him under.

Silence settled over the room.

Rick exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. "You went after him alone. Against my orders."

Daryl barely looked up. "Yeah."

Rick’s voice tightened. "And what if you hadn’t come back? What if neither of you had?"

Daryl’s jaw clenched. "Then at least he wouldn't have died alone."

Neville shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the others. "Look, I get it. But, he's Harry. He always makes it back."

Draco scoffed, arms crossed, his sharp gaze flicking to Harry’s unconscious form. "It’s infuriating, really. Every single time you think he’s finally finished himself off, he just," he gestured vaguely, "survives."

Ron sighed. "Yeah, welcome to our lives. He should’ve been dead a dozen times over by now. But he’s not. He’s Harry."

Daryl’s head snapped up, his shoulders rolling back as tension coiled through his entire body. His jaw clenched tight, breath flaring through his nose like he was holding back a storm, barely keeping his fury from breaking loose. He stared at them, long and unblinking, and the weight of it made the air feel thick, like the buildup before a thunderclap.

"That supposed to make me feel better?" His voice was lower now, too quiet.

Hermione frowned. "It’s just how he is. He’s reckless, but he always finds a way out."

Daryl’s hands flexed at his sides. His nostrils flared. The room felt colder.

"You think that’s a good thing?" His voice dropped, guttural, like gravel in his throat. His gaze was hard, unreadable, but his fingers twitched, like they wanted to grab something, hit something. "You think that’s somethin’ to be proud of?" His breath shuddered out, uneven, like he was barely holding back from throwing something. "He ain’t invincible." Daryl’s voice went razor-sharp, slicing through the quiet. “One day, he ain’t gonna come back. You ever think about that?”

Silence. Heavy. Suffocating.

No one spoke.

Neville swallowed, looking away. Ron shifted but didn’t respond. Even Draco, for once, had nothing to say.

Rick finally broke the silence, his voice measured but firm, but there was something else beneath it, a wariness, an understanding. He didn’t look at Daryl like he was angry. He looked at him like he knew exactly what that kind of fear felt like, like he’d stood in that same place before and made the same choice. But they couldn’t talk about that now. “We’ll deal with this later.”

Daryl sat back down beside Harry, exhaling sharply. His fingers twitched before finally, hesitantly, settling on the blanket beside Harry’s arm. His pulse was still racing, his body still coiled tight with leftover adrenaline, but for now, Harry was back.

And Daryl wasn’t moving.

The prison was quiet.

Most of the group had settled in for the night. The only sounds were the distant shuffle of a night watchman and the occasional muffled cough from deeper in the cell block.

Daryl sat on the floor beside Harry’s cot, elbows resting on his knees, fingers absently twisting the edge of the blanket. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been there, long enough that the adrenaline had finally drained from his system, leaving behind the dull ache of too many close calls.

Long enough for it to settle in just how much this stupid, reckless idiot meant to him.

The fear was still there, coiled tight in his chest, a ghost of what had nearly been. He’d lost people before. Hell, he’d spent his whole life expecting to lose everyone who mattered. But this? This was different. This was Harry.

The thought of a world without him, without his resilience, his defiance, the way he laughed in the face of all the horrible shit he'd endured, made Daryl’s stomach twist. He’d never let himself need someone before. Never let himself have something he couldn’t afford to lose. But Harry had burrowed his way in, all sharp edges and stubborn fire, and now the idea of losing him wasn’t just painful, it was unbearable.

Daryl exhaled sharply, shaking his head. He wasn’t built for this kind of shit. But for Harry? He’d try.

Harry stirred, a low sound escaping him as his eyes fluttered open. He blinked slowly, disoriented, before his gaze landed on Daryl.

Daryl huffed. "‘Bout time."

Harry tried to smirk, but it barely made it past the exhaustion dragging him down. "You stickin’ around to make sure I don’t run off again?"

Daryl didn’t answer immediately. He reached for the cup of water on the nearby table, pressing it into Harry’s hand. "Drink."

Harry took a slow sip, wincing as he shifted. His ribs throbbed, a reminder of how close he’d come to not making it back. He exhaled sharply, then let his head fall back against the pillow. "You should get some sleep."

Daryl scoffed. "Funny, I was gonna tell you the same thing."

Harry chuckled weakly. "Yeah, well. I figured you weren’t the type to listen to orders."

Silence settled between them. Not uncomfortable, but heavy with everything unspoken. Daryl leaned back against the cot, staring at the opposite wall. "Why’d you do it?"

Harry didn’t pretend to misunderstand. He sighed, closing his eyes briefly. "Because if I hadn’t, we’d be burying more people right now."

Daryl’s jaw ticked. "Yeah, and what if we’d been burying you?"

Harry turned his head slightly, meeting Daryl’s gaze. "Then at least it would’ve meant something."

Daryl’s fingers curled against the blanket. "Don’t talk like that."

Harry frowned. "Like what?"

"Like you don’t matter." Daryl’s voice was low, rough. "Like you dyin’ would’ve been worth it."

Harry exhaled, long and slow. "I’m here, aren’t I?"

Daryl shook his head, his grip tightening. "Yeah, but you won’t always be. You keep doin’ shit like that, and one day, we ain’t gonna be fast enough to find you."

Harry didn’t have a response to that. Not one that wouldn’t piss Daryl off more. He sighed instead, shifting slightly. "Daryl-"

"Just don’t," Daryl muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. "Not tonight."

Harry watched him for a long moment before nodding. "Alright."

Daryl exhaled sharply, shoulders dropping a fraction. Then, after a pause, he stood, grabbed a spare blanket from the foot of the cot, and sat back down, this time beside Harry, not on the floor.

Harry arched a brow, watching as Daryl kicked off his boots and stretched out next to him, back resting against the wall.

"You planning on babysitting me all night?" Harry murmured.

Daryl didn't answer immediately. Instead, he shifted, carefully, and before Harry could react, an arm slid around his waist, pulling him in just enough that their bodies aligned, close but not suffocating. His grip was steady, protective, as if making sure Harry was still there, still breathing.

Harry blinked, a little startled but too tired to do anything but sink into the warmth. "Daryl-"

Daryl turned his head slightly, pressing his lips to Harry’s temple, then lower, barely brushing over his mouth. "Love you too, dumbass," he muttered against his skin, voice rough but certain.

Harry exhaled, something tight in his chest finally loosening. He let his forehead rest against Daryl’s, murmuring, "Yeah, I know."

They lay there, half-drifting, their breaths syncing as the weight of the night settled around them. Harry traced slow circles against Daryl’s arm, against the scars he’d seen that first night so long ago, when he realized he wasn’t alone, grounding himself in the warmth, in the solidity of the moment. Daryl’s thumb rubbed slow, steady circles against Harry’s hip, his grip loose but firm, like he wasn’t letting go anytime soon.

"You scared me," Daryl admitted after a long while, voice rough with exhaustion.

"I know," Harry whispered back. "Didn’t mean to."

Daryl grunted, unconvinced. "Then don’t do it again."

Harry let out a slow breath, his fingers stilling against Daryl’s arm. "I’ll try."

That was the best he could offer. Daryl must’ve known it too, because he didn’t push.

Eventually, the silence stretched, their heartbeats falling into the same slow rhythm.

By the time morning came, neither of them had let go.

Chapter Text

The cafeteria doors swung open on rusty hinges, squealing as Daryl pushed it, crossbow already out and ready before him.

A waft of spoiled, putrid air had Harry covering his nose as he fought back bile. Under the rotten scent was a hint of stale blood and sweat that coated the back of his throat. Daryl stepped in first and Harry followed close, trusty knife steady in his grip. Each step sent a sharp jolt through his ribs, but he kept moving, clenching his teeth against the pain. His eyes fixed on the shifting shadows ahead.

The cafeteria was dim, lit by thready sunlight filtering through the high windows. Debris scattered across the floor, their steps crunching softly as they made their way further in. Rick entered next, Glenn following a step behind.

A metallic clatter further in had them tensing. A single, empty can rolled across the space, its tinny echo bouncing off the concrete. Rick’s gun was up and aimed instantly, Daryl a half a second behind.

Five shapes emerged from behind an overturned table in the far corner. Their clothes were ragged, eyes hollow and wild. One of them stepped forward, arms raised in surrender, but his gaze measured each of them with a cold sharpness.

“Holy shit,” Glenn muttered, weapon lowering slightly. “We missed this whole wing.”

“’Cause it was welded shut,” Daryl grumbled, crossbow fixed on the man in front of them.

Rick stepped forward, pistol still ready but no longer aimed. “Ya’ll been in here this whole time?” he asked calmly.

The man nodded, smile too quick, hands twitching slightly as he stared back at Rick. “Yeah. Power went out day two. Been rationing what was left.” Rick’s eyes narrowed slightly as he tracked the twitches.

Harry scanned their group, taking in the mismatched members. The man in front, hands still raised, rubbed him the wrong way. His magic prickled, raising the hairs along his arms. He felt slick, wrong.

“I’m Tomas. That there’s Andrew, Axel, Big Tiny, and Oscar.” He turned slightly, nodding his head behind him. “The guards locked us in here a while ago, said they’d be back. Didn’t think anyone else made it.”

Harry must have made a sound. Daryl glanced at him, just a moment, gripping his crossbow tighter. A muscle clenched in his jaw as he glared at Tomas.

Rick nodded as he slowly relaxed. “We’re clearing the prison.” He relaxed his hand, letting the gun drop fully. “Got a group set up in C Block."

“No shit.” Tomas’s smile widened as he let his hands fall. “Y’all got people?”

“Families,” Glenn confirmed. “Kids, too.” Harry snapped his head towards him, hissing through his teeth. Glenn ducked his head slightly, cheeks reddening.

“Mind if we join ya’ll?” Tomas asked, voice too eager as he rocked on his heels.

“No.” Harry stepped forward, ignoring Rick’s stare. “Hell no, actually. You’re a fucking prisoner.”

Tomas’s grin fell, that faux sparkle dimming. He was too quick to put his mask back to rights. “Ah, c’mon man. We’re not dangerous. Most of us are in for petty theft,” he said smoothly. “I don’t think I caught your name.”

“You don’t need it,” Daryl growled. Harry side-eyed him, grateful for the back-up. Apparently the others were too-trusting idiots that forgot everything they’d been through.

Rick cleared his throat, glancing sharply at Harry. “You’ll be under supervision, in a separate cell block.” Tomas’s grin widened and he subtly winked at Harry. “One wrong move, though, and you’re out.”

Tomas smirked like he’d won a game. “Understood,” he drawled.

The others behind him grinned and nodded, aside from one giant of a man that stood slightly apart from the others. Like a magnet, Harry’s attention kept pulling back to his hulking form. He stood against the wall, arms crossed tightly over his chest as he glared down at Tomas.

Harry hated turning his back to the prisoners, so he stood to the side as they filed into the corridor. A tingle traced the back of his neck, like someone was staring at him. He twisted sharply, wondering if they’d missed a prisoner.

But the room was empty.

The feeling followed him into the hallway, getting harder and harder to ignore. Daryl glanced at him, a questioning look on his face. Harry shrugged slightly, confused by what he felt. It wasn’t until he turned all the way around that he finally noticed it.

A shadowed figure stood in the doorway of the cafeteria, the faint shape of prison scrubs barely catching the light. The pale, eerie grin a sharp slash in the dark.

A chill coated him, a queasy feeling sinking into his stomach, as he watched the figure meld into the shadows and disappear.

“What did you see?” Daryl’s quiet voice made him jump. He was on edge, body vibrating to an unheard tune. He glanced back again, but the figure didn’t return. “Harry?”

“Nothing,” he whispered, just loud enough for the hunter to hear. “Thought I saw something, but it must’ve been my imagination.” He shook his head, turning around fully to follow the convoy back to the cell blocks. Daryl lingered a moment, glancing back at the spot Harry had been watching.

They return in silence. Harry kept his eyes on the others’ backs, watching for the inevitable slip. Rick led them to a separate holding area, promising someone would bring them food later. Harry watched, making damn sure he locked the cell block behind them.

Tomas’s gaze never left Harry, an oily smirk on his face. Harry met it with a cold stare. Rick’s trust was going to end in bloodshed. The only question was whose.

Daryl nudged him away from the prisoners, steering him back to their common area. Harry could feel that slimy stare on his back until they turned the corner.

“I don’t like him,” he said, voice threaded with anger. “I don’t trust him. Rick made a mistake.”

Daryl didn’t have a chance to say anything. Draco was on them the moment they stepped into the block.

“What, no daring dash into a horde of the dead this time, Potter?” He smirked, shifting lazily against the wall. “Did your strong bowman not need to rescue the damsel today?”

A freckled arm snaked sneakily across Draco’s shoulder. George yanked, pulling Draco into a tight headlock. Harry couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out. “Huh, guess I’m not the damsel after all, Malfoy.”

Fred snickered as he came up behind Draco, helping his twin carry him off somewhere. Harry shook his head as he watched in amusement.

“Harry.” Luna’s airy voice startled him, but he calmed as she stepped up beside him. She was so silent it could be scary. “Here’s the little one. I think they missed you.” She held out a wrist, the baby basilisk wrapped snuggly around her pale skin.

Harry reached out, looping a finger under the snake’s body. He tugged slightly, letting it adjust to his presence and move on its own time. It only took a moment before it slithered over to him, settling into its place.

‘Hello little one,’ he whispered to it. A tongue flickered out, fluttering against his pulse point. Beside him, Daryl shivered at the parseltongue. Harry smirked. ‘We’re going to have some fun with this.’ He glanced sideways, looking at Daryl’s slightly flushed face as he continued speaking.

He didn’t even see Hermione before his face was full of bushy hair, some getting trapped in his mouth. She pulled back just as fast, hand flying to smack him hard on the shoulder. “Harry James Potter! I ought to do more than just smack you.” Her shout turned heads, several people glancing over to watch the drama. Harry winced and stepped closer to Daryl. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“Uh…well, I just-” he stammered, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. Daryl wrapped an arm around him, pulling him in against his side as he levelled a narrowed stare at a fuming Hermione.

Oh, this was not going to end well.

“Are you trying to get killed?” She snapped, then turned her glare on Daryl. “And you! Are you just going to encourage it? Just let him do what he wants?”

Daryl crossed his arms, bending down slightly to meet her gaze head on. “I don’t think it’s any of your goddamned business,” he said with a deep grumble in his voice. Harry shivered at the tone, heat licking through his belly.

Hermione stepped closer, temper overriding any common sense she should have had. “It is when he almost gets himself killed,” she responded, words laced with a threat. “I would have said something earlier,” she turned her glare back to Harry, “but he decided to just completely disappear this morning!”

“Herm-“

“No, I don’t want to hear it, Harry!” Her voice cracked slightly. “You’re being a reckless idiot, once again, and leaving all of us behind to pick up the pieces!”

“Alright, I think that’s enou-“ Hermione whirled on Daryl before he finished speaking.

“You don’t get to tell me what’s enough mister ‘least he won’t die alone.’ You’re just as bloody stupid as he is!”

“That’s enough, Hermione.” Harry didn’t raise his voice, but Hermione snapped her mouth shut. “Daryl did absolutely nothing wrong, and you don’t get to talk to him like that.” His chest heaved as he forced the words out through a clenched jaw. “Daryl has stuck with me and protected me, even when my uncle beat the absolute shit out of me! HE protected me! HE kept me safe. He protected me even when I DIED!”

He ripped his shirt up, exposing the still-healing gunshot wound. “This killed me Hermione. I saw my parents when-“ Harry looked down, unable to meet her tears. “I died Hermione. And Daryl carried me for days until I could walk on my own again. He was there for every second.” He lowered the shirt as he finally looked at her. Her hand was clasped over her mouth, eyes wide in horror. “I don’t want to hear you EVER speak to him like that again.”

Harry turned to where Daryl stood with a slight smirk, gaze heated as he watched Harry. “Besides,” he said quietly, eyes only for the man beside him, “the fact that he didn’t want me to die alone says everything I need to know.”

The wind carried the sweet scent of rot from the groaning walkers along the fence line. Remus leaned against a metal railing, face worryingly pale and shoulders hunched. He’d been keeping his distance, not wanting to mingle in case he turned.

It was a miracle he was still alive. He should have been dead, everyone else died within hours of a bite. But here he was, day three and still going. The only answer he could come up with was that it had to do with his wolf.

He wondered if he would have been able to fight the creeping infection off if he’d accepted his wolf fully, but it was too late to change things now.

A wave of weakness washed over him, and he leaned harder into the metal. It was getting difficult to catch his breath, his chest becoming tighter with every inhale. He could feel it, like a living worm inching through his veins, decaying him from the inside out.

He glanced over, watching Harry bounce Teddy gently. His giggles carried across the yard, reaching his sensitive ears. He released a bitter laugh, tears choking him, as he thought about the life he’d brought his son into.

Harry would be good for him, he had known that since Tonks told him she was pregnant. And now, Harry wouldn’t be alone. By giving him Teddy, he had secured his son’s best chance at a future, at life. Teddy gave Harry something to live for in turn. He’d realized a long time ago that Harry was alone in the world, that he was so reckless because he had no one. So, in a single action, Remus was reassured that he saved both of his boys.

His head spun as his heart sped up, working harder to fight the virus. He slid down the railing, falling down at the end heavily, as he continued watching them. Daryl, the hunter that always hovered around Harry, stepped up behind him, placing his hands on Harry’s shoulders. Harry turned to him, a joy so radiant it lit up his face.

Remus had never seen him look like that.

Yes, Teddy, and Harry, would be happy. He closed his eyes, thunking his head into the bar.

It was all he could ask for, their happiness.

Footsteps crunched on the gravel as they drew closer to him. The smell of charged ozone and sweet grass wafted in front him, and he knew without looking that Harry was there.

“Remus?” His voice was quiet. It took a strength he didn’t have to peel his eyes open enough to look at the young man in front of him. Harry looked devastated, lower lip wobbling as he watched Remus. “It’s time, isn’t it?”

Remus cracked his lips open, suddenly thirstier than he could ever remember being. “I think so, Harry,” he croaked.

Harry sat gently beside him, moving Teddy into his lap facing his father. Daryl leaned against the railing behind him, his presence steady and grounding.

“Promise me-“ he had to stop and clear his throat, which turned into a deep cough. Catching his breath, he tried again. “Promise me, that you’ll take care of him.” His vision turned hazy, and it became more difficult to see Harry’s face. But he didn’t miss the choked sob from him.

“I promise, Remus.” Harry reached out, grabbing Remus’s hand tightly as the tears started to fall.

“Good, good.” Remus pulled in a rattling breath. “But you have to promise me one more thing.”

“Anything, Remus.”

“Promise you’ll take care of yourself, too.”

His next breath was wet, fluid filled, and grief coiled itself around Harry’s heart.

“Let him…call you…dad. Tell…Teddy…me and…Tonks-” he wheezed, a thread of air pulled in. “Love you.”

They buried Remus beneath a towering oak tree beyond the fence. Just as he’d run the forest in life, he’d forever be laid to rest at the wood’s edge. Daryl, knowing Harry was too hurt to do it himself, gently pressed the blade deep into his skull. Harry cried, quietly, as he hugged Teddy to him.

Big Tiny, who they hadn’t noticed watching the scene, offered to carry his body. Despite his frame, he was gentle, respectful, as he bundled him up into his large arms. Harry watched him closely, but he felt nothing ill intentioned from him.

Sprout jumped, landing on Tiny’s leg before clambering up to rest on his shoulder. He tapped his cheek with a leafy claw, releasing a sorrowful chirp.

Fred, George, and Ron arrived carrying shovels. Hermione and the rest of the Hogwarts survivors appeared just behind them, eyes instantly dewy at the sight. Harry led them to the largest oak tree he could see, Daryl’s crossbow twanging occasionally as he took down the few walkers on this side.

The procession was silent aside from the steady digging. With three of them, it took barely any time. Tiny carefully lowered Remus’s still form into the grave, bowing his head just before he stood up.  

Harry passed Teddy to Hermione, stepping forward just enough to peer into the hole. Remus looked peaceful in death, as he should have in life. Stooping to grab a handful of dirt, he held it out over the grave.

“I’ll give him the life he deserves.” He let the dirt roll from his fingertips. “And I’ll start living for myself, too. Thank you, Remus, for everything.”

He stepped back. One by one, the others stepped forward to say their own goodbyes. Hermione handed Teddy back when it was her turn, her words soft and tear filled.

As soon as she stepped back, the Weasley’s began to fill the dirt back in. Each slap of dirt was another echo of a life taken before its time.

At the end, just before they turned to head back into the prison, Sprout chirped and jumped from his perch. He spoke, in his little bowtruckle language, as he patted the mound, a gentle trill that carried through the group. Reaching up with his little leafy twigs, he pulled a single, small seed from a little area between the sticks.

His mother tree seed, the one he’d carried with him since Harry found him. It had sprouted, a single line of green flowing with life from the tip. Sprout opened a small hole in the grave, gently placing the only piece of home he had, and covered it just as softly.

Mungo flitted between their legs, a bundle of shiny treasures in his paws. He laid them out in a pattern only he understood, decorating Remus’s final resting place. The baby peeked out of his pouch, mournful sounds escaping it as it watched.

Overhead, Hedwig flapped her wings, her usual piercing call muted into a soft, lingering shriek. She landed at the top, placing a small mouse she’d snagged inside a ring of Mungo’s treasures.

Tears pierced Harry’s eyes as he watched his magical creatures honor one of the most honest creatures to walk the Earth.

Like called to like.

Tomas was smiling too much. It was the first thing Harry noticed when they got back. He stared out at them from inside the gate, watching their mournful march inside.

The others were too focused on their grief to notice it, but he could feel Daryl tense up beside him.

The man was a good actor, but not good enough.

He laughed too loudly, wrong in the somber mood, when Axel said something to him. He offered to help Carol carry the water, twice, despite her using work to keep her mind busy. And when he passed Glenn, he clapped him on the back like they were old friends, even though he was speaking to Maggie privately.

Oscar stood to the side, staring at the oak tree. When Harry passed him, his eyes flashed amber and Harry knew he understood. Pushing the warnings of danger aside, he gave the man a tight nod and continued on.

He turned his attention back to the current threat, still making rounds through the yard. Carol came up beside him, her faced lined as she stared at him closely. Harry only needed to look at her for her to understand. She reached out and took a slumbering Teddy from his arms, calling out to Sophia as she took the children inside.

Harry followed Tomas silently, Daryl an instant presence at his back. He could hear the man already loading a bolt, getting ready before anything happened.

He found him leaning against the fence, posture a forced casual stance as he watched Harry close in on him. His infuriating smirk was still in place.

Tomas opened his mouth, likely to say something posturing, greasy. Harry whispered to his basilisk under his breath as he approached. ‘Come out and coil around my neck. I don’t like this man, I need you to threaten him.’

Slytherin always had a penchant for the dramatic, and the creature tied to his legacy was no different. The basilisk twined around his sleeve, trailing it way to wind around his neck. To Harry, it sounded like childish laughter, but to the others it was a menacing hiss that stretched through the air.

Tomas paled instantly.

Well, Harry was always meant for the house of snakes after all.

He stopped a breath from Tomas, letting the basilisk arc out to snap inches from the mans face. Tomas dropped, the acidic smell of urine permeating the area.

“I am only going to give you this option once. Leave, or you won’t get the chance to.” His words ended with a hiss, echoing the basilisk he wore.

Tomas stared at him, naked fear raw on his face. He didn’t waste another second, just turned tail and fled, like the coward Harry has immediately pegged him as.

Harry stood still as a rock, not even a muscle twitching, until the man disappeared from sight.

The adrenaline left his body in a flood, his shoulders dropped and the basilisk moved back to his wrist now that its job was done.

“Well,” he started, turning back to look at Daryl, “that was easier than I-“

Daryl gripped him, hoisting him up by his thighs as he slammed him back against the fence. He dove in, mouth smashing into Harry’s, as he devoured the very breath from his lungs.

Heat burned through him, turning a smoldering ember into a roaring blaze. Harry kissed him back just as fiercely, wrapping his legs around his waist as he gripped his shoulders hard.

He could feel the hardness of Daryl pressing against his own, which only made him want more. Daryl broke from his lips, trailing kisses and nips all the way to his ear.

“That was fucking hot.” Harry shivered, cock growing impossibly harder in the confines of his jeans.

‘You like the parseltongue, don’t you,’ Harry whispered back. Daryl growled, thrusting his hips. Harry keened at the feeling, nails clawing at Daryl’s skin as lightening arced through him.

Daryl pulled his hips back slightly, loosening one hand to dive between them. His knuckles brushed against Harry’s stomach, sending torch bugs buzzing through him. With deft fingers, he unsnapped Harry’s button, hand moving just enough to untie his own after.

He brought his hand up to Harry’s mouth, eyes blazing like melted honey. “Lick,” he demanded.

Salty sweat stung his tongue as Harry set to work. He laved the palm, staring straight into the blistering heat of Daryl’s gaze. Daryl pulled his hand away, diving in for another searing kiss as he trailed his hand down to their aching cocks.

The first touch of skin had Harry jolting, but the second he felt the heavy weight of Daryl’s cock against his own he jerked, sliding them against each other in the man’s palm.

Harry threw his head back, a deep moan vibrating his chest. Daryl shifted, pressing Harry deeper into the fence. He could feel each link burrowing into his skin, which only heightened the moment more.

And then Daryl moved, a slow, testing roll of his hips.

Harry exhaled weakly as the encompassing heat of pleasure curled through him. Daryl thrusted again, harder this time, hand wrapped tightly around them both.

Harry buried his head in Daryl’s shoulder, clinging as the man began to move.

The slick heat was all he could focus on, the sure steady movements of the hunter hurling him toward a precipice. Sparks flashed through his vision with every shift of his hand as he drew closer to reaching that peak.

Harry bit down on the shoulder, an instinctive action, that sent Daryl into a frenzy of movement.

Daryl growled, burying his teeth into the side of his neck as the crescendo crashed through them. Heat pulsed in waves as Harry’s vision whited out, spilling between them in bursts. Daryl stilled his hips in jolts, Harry realizing he had been moving too when his hips kept twitching through his release. The hand pulled on him gently, wringing every last drop from his limp body.

Harry traced the bite mark as he stayed wrapped around his hunter. Daryl kept him hoisted up on the chain links, breaths coming harsh as he panted into Harry’s neck. He let the shivers wrack through him, to wrung out for more of a reaction.

“This means you’re mine now, too,” he whispered into the man’s ear. His body buzzed in the aftermath. Never in his life had he felt the way Daryl made him feel. They fit together, a perfect sync, like a puzzle piece that found its mate.

Daryl huffed lightly, pulling back enough to press a tender kiss to his lips. “I was always yours, Harry.”

They put their clothes to rights quickly. Daryl removed his undershirt, taking his vest off in the process. Harry stared at his muscles, twitching despite the exhaustion, licking his lips in want. Daryl replaced his vest, leaving his arms on show, and used the shirt to clean their mess.

He caught Harry look and smirked, his honey eyes dancing in mirth. Harry blushed, but didn’t look away. This was his, all his, and he’d look his fill if he wanted to.

They were lucky that no one had wandered across them when they were busy. Or maybe they had and neither had noticed. Harry found that he didn’t really give a damn either way.

The first steps he took were wobbly, like his legs were made from jelly. Daryl wrapped an arm around his waist, a grumbly laugh escaping under his breath. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Psh, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that, actually,” Harry said succinctly.  

But he couldn’t keep the grin off his face. Glancing sideways, he noticed the hidden smile on Daryl’s lips, too.

Harry staggered his way inside, Daryl assisting (read: practically carried) him.

“Oh Merlin! Did you get bit by a walker?”

Harry snapped his head around, glaring at George. A flush creeped up his neck as he stared the grinning redhead down. Neville looked horrified where he stood next to him, staring holes at his neck.

“Well, guess the fence held up after all,” Carol muttered slyly, side eyeing them with a smirk.

“Oh my God, Carol!” Harry gasped, scandalized.

“Harry what the hell happened! You look like you lost a fight against a beast,” Ron asked, standing up like he was about to fight something himself.

Harry fought the blush down (losing, but who’s counting), raising a brow at Ron. “Yeah. Really life or death out there, mate. Wrung me out something good.”

George cackled, falling from his stool. Merle howled beside Dudley, standing at the back of the group.

“Damn, baby brother! Looks like he got you good this time.” Still laughing, he turned to Harry. “Didn’t know you had it in you, greenie.”

“Shut the hell up, Merle,” Daryl barked, ears and nose flushing red. Harry thought it was adorable. “I’ll kick your fucking ass!”

Harry cracked up, even while embarrassed, he couldn’t help it. Catching a glance at Ron’s face, a deep crimson that clashed horribly with his hair, had him doubled over clutching at his stomach.

“Uh, I’m just gonna, yeah…” Ron sat back down, still blushing as he threw his head into his hands. Hermione shook her head as she rolled her eyes.

Ginny on the other hand, was fuming.

She glared at Daryl, eyes sliding down to his neck before slicing over to Harry’s matching mark.

“You’re kidding me, right?” she hissed, eyes narrowing dangerously. Harry wiped the tears from his eyes as he straightened up, meeting the fiery girl’s stare head on.

“What, Ginny?” he asked, only a hint of amusement tracing his words.

“It’s not enough that he took you from me, but you have to shag him, then parade it in front of me?” Her voice cracked. “Like it’s some kind of joke?”

She shook her head, hair flying wildly as she stood. “Go to hell, Harry.”

Harry stared bewildered. His brow furrowed as he watched her retreat. He glanced behind him at an expressionless Daryl, then at a dejected Ron.

“Can one of you please answer me why the hell she thinks we were together?”

“Because she thought you’d come back to her,” Ron muttered. “We all did.”

“Honestly, Harry. You can be so insensitive sometimes.” Hermione stood, rushing after Ginny.

Harry stood there silently, watching one of his closest friends run away, and a hollow feeling burrowed into his chest. Everyone looked away, no one was laughing any more.

And Harry still didn’t know what he did wrong.

The hallway outside the infirmary was dim, lit only by the flickering flame of a single candle. The rest of the prison had settled into a tired quiet, the kind that came after a long emotional day.

Harry sat beside Teddy’s little cot, legs drawn up, one arm braced on his knee. The baby slept soundly, tiny fist curled around Harry’s finger. Harry watched every soft, even breath. It hit him again, that this precious little baby was an orphan, just like him.

But unlike him, Harry would stop anything that tried to ruin his childhood.

Harry exhaled slowly, uncurling his arm to brush a hand over Teddy’s hair. “You’re safe,” he murmured. “I’ll always protect you.”

Sprout was curled at Teddy’s feet, half draped over the edge. Gentle trilling snores escaped the bowtruckle, fluttering his leaves every few seconds.

A chill settled over him, the candle flickered, almost extinguishing in a wind that couldn’t be felt.

The silence turned stifling. He could still see Teddy breathing but no longer hear it. Could still see the fluttering of Sprout’s leaves, but no trill.

The hatchling uncoiled from his wrist, tongue darting in the air. Its head lifted, nose turning left and right before it settled somewhere over his shoulder. Harry tensed.

He pulled his finger from Teddy’s grip, placing his tiny, vulnerable hand on his chest, and stood. He knew without turning what he would see. And he was right.

That shadowed figure stood at the end of the tunneled corridor, just before it curved out of sight.

The only thing he could make out was that same creepy grin that stretched across his mouth.

Harry kept his mouth shut, not wanting to break the silence first.

He stepped forward, shadows bending unnaturally around him. Just close enough for Harry to hear him when he spoke.

“Are you ready to listen, now?”

“Depends. Are you going to hurt us?”

The grin widened. “That’s not the right question, Harry.” The figure drew a step closer, just enough for the weak candlelight to show his shadowed eyes. One more step and Harry could make out his face, but the figure stopped, tilting his head as he started unblinkingly.

“Are you real?” he asked, not even questioning how he knew his name.

The head tilted again, laying against the other shoulder. “That’s still not the right question. But yes. I’m as real as the very blood that gives you life.”

Harry swallowed thickly. “What do you want? Why can nobody else see you?”

He laughed, a grating chuckle that raised the hair on his arms. “They can see me just fine, Harry. They just choose not to.”

A cry from the cot pierced the barrier of silence, and Harry twisted to look behind him. Teddy woke up, little arms waving in the air.

But when he turned around, the figure was gone, the shadows back to normal.

Chapter Text

The silence of the prison pressed uncomfortably against Harry’s skin. His breath hitched, fingers twitching, as the hair on the back of his neck rose.

He blinked, vision adjusting to the dim light, heart already pounding.

Daryl’s arm was draped across his ribs, solid and warm, his body curved protectively to Harry’s back. The comfort of it clashed with the dread pooling in his gut. He didn’t want to move. But something had changed.

A low grumble rumbled from Daryl as Harry pulled free. He rolled the other way, still half-asleep.

Harry sat up carefully. Mungo and his baby were bundled in a furred tangle at the foot of the bed, unmoving. Sprout twitched under his collar, burying deeper.

Teddy slept in his little cot, bundled up, releasing soft snores as he slumbered with Hedwig perched at the head. Her eyes tracked him as he pulled on a hoodie and moved toward the hallway.

The corridor beyond their cell was cast in muted blue light, the pre-dawn gloom stretching long shadows across the concrete floor. The air smelled like damp stone, smoke, and something faintly yeasty.

Somewhere, far off, a creature yipped softly.

He paused for a moment, wondering which creature it was, but pushed it from his mind and kept walking.

Down the corridor, toward the edge of the inner yard, the air felt colder. Lik the way grave dirt was cold. The way the Department of Mysteries had been cold, years ago, when he’d stood near the Veil.

A shadow flickered across the yard.

Harry froze. It was there and then it wasn’t.

His hand moved instinctively toward his knife, curling his fingers around the hilt in comfort as much as protection.

Sprout pressed flat against his neck. Hedwig had followed, landing beside him on a rusted railing, feathers tight, head cocked. She didn’t hoot. Didn’t make a sound.

Harry strained to see beyond the chain link and weeds, beyond the fog still clinging to the tree line. There was nothing. Just old fences and frostbitten grass.

He swallowed hard. "Did you see it?"

Hedwig didn’t react.

Behind him, familiar footsteps approached.

Daryl didn’t speak right away. Just stepped up beside Harry and followed his gaze. “Thought I felt you get up.”

Harry nodded, eyes still on the yard. “Someone was out there.”

Daryl scanned the area. He was calm, but his hand hovered near the knife on his belt. “I don’t see anyone.”

Harry’s mouth was dry. “He was standing there. Just beyond the gate.”

Daryl squinted. “No one’s there, Harry.”

Harry shook his head slowly, a chill settling into his spine.

That wasn’t right.

Someone had been there.

The prison kitchen still smelled faintly of rust and powdered eggs. Carol leaned against the counter with her arms crossed, watching Daryl try, and fail, not to look suspicious.

Fred, perched on a stool, whispered theatrically, “You know, the more you skulk like that, the guiltier you look.”

Daryl scowled. “Ain’t skulking.”

George, crouched on the floor organizing scavenged tins, looked up with a grin. “You’re literally hiding behind a stack of beans. That’s peak skulking, mate.”

“Let him be,” Carol cut in, though the smirk tugging at her mouth betrayed her amusement. “He’s trying.”

Fred leaned over to George. “Trying what, though? To bake? To express emotion? To plan a party?”

Luna drifted into the room like she had simply appeared there. “A celebration,” she said, dreamily. “For Harry. His birthday’s soon, and I think he’d like it even if he says he wouldn’t.”

Daryl shifted, uncomfortable. “Ain’t gotta be big. Just somethin’. Quiet.”

Carol’s smirk widened. “You’re really doing this.”

“Not a big deal,” Daryl muttered, eyes fixed on the floor.

“Mhm.” She patted his arm. “And I’m not judging you. I’m proud.”

Fred gasped. “Our Harry? The boy-who-lived-to-see-apocalypse Harry? Is having a birthday party?”

George stood and saluted. “God bless the end of the world.”

Luna pulled something wrapped in cloth from her satchel. When she opened it, a handful of pressed blue petals fluttered onto the counter. “We could use these. Enchanted them last spring. They hum a little, but only if you’re listening.”

Carol leaned against the table, watching them. “You all talk like it’s some miracle he made it this far.”

Fred and George exchanged a glance.

“It is,” George said, voice quieter than before.

 “He say much about back then?” Daryl glanced at them, one brow lifting.

 “Harry?” Fred snorted. “He barely said anything at all, first year. We had to pry it out of him over time. Honestly, we didn’t know how bad it was until we showed up at his place that summer.”

“Window job,” George added. “Had to pull the bars off his bedroom window to get him out.”

Carol blinked. “Bars?”

“Yep. Locked in like a bloody prisoner. Skinny as a broomstick, too. Ate like he thought we’d take the food away.”

Daryl’s jaw tightened but he didn’t say anything.

“His aunt and uncle were...let’s say ‘old-school sadists,’” Fred said, a false lightness to his tone. “Gave him a cupboard to live in until he turned eleven. Real thoughtful folks.”

George shook his head. “Never even celebrated his birthday, far as we could tell. We just sort of...started doing it for him.”

Carol’s gaze drifted toward the hallway. “That why he acts like it’s nothing?”

Fred nodded. “He still flinches when people make a fuss. Even now.”

 “Hell,” Daryl muttered under his breath, then straightened. “Well. We’re makin’ a fuss anyway.”

Fred grinned. “Good man.”

 “Do you want to do food?” Carol glanced at Daryl. “Gifts? Something for Teddy too?”

Daryl hesitated. “Figure a meal, maybe. Give Harry a minute where he ain’t watchin’ his back.”

Fred, already halfway to chaos, whispered to George, “We have to prank decorate. Tastefully, of course.”

George nodded. “We’ll rig something delightful. Nothing that could accidentally summon the undead this time.”

 “What about a floating charm with candles that don’t burn?” Luna looked thoughtful. “Mungo could guard the cake. He seems like he’d take it seriously.”

Carol was still watching Daryl. Her voice dipped. “You didn’t know about all that. Before.”

Daryl shook his head. “Didn’t ask.” His jaw worked for a moment. “Knew he didn’t like talkin’ about it. Didn’t figure it was that bad.”

Carol softened. “He’s not good at letting people take care of him.”

“Don’t mean he don’t need it,” Daryl muttered, quieter.

Carol pulled out a crumpled notepad. “Okay, if we’re doing this, we need to be smart. He’s got instincts like a hawk and Hedwig’s worse.”

“Leave Hedwig to me,” George said solemnly. “I’ve been bribing her with dried lizard bits.”

Fred raised an eyebrow. “So that’s what happened to the jerky.”

They all turned as a soft clatter came from the hallway. Daryl stiffened instinctively, hand brushing the knife at his hip, but it was only Sophia, peeking around the corner with a wide grin.

“I heard something about a party?”

Carol sighed. “And the circle widens.”

Sophia stepped in fully, already energized. “I’ll make a banner. And Mungo can help pick the colors. He likes green.”

Fred looked up, mock-serious. “Do you think we can enchant a sock into a birthday hat for the Niffler?”

George shook his head. “Mate, he’d just eat it.”

Luna tilted her head. “That would be the gift.”

Carol scribbled rapidly. “Fine. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it today. While Harry’s out with Glenn and Rick.”

 “Just wanna do it right,” Daryl said, looking around at everyone.

Carol reached across and squeezed his arm. “We will.”

Sprout, tucked into Sophia’s hood, chirped once, an odd little noise like approval.

Fred nodded gravely. “The operation is underway.”

George mirrored him. “Operation: Make-Harry-Smile.”

Carol laughed. “God help us all.”

The courtyard was quiet in a way Harry had come to appreciate. Somewhere behind the fences, wind stirred through dying leaves. Far off, a walker groaned from beneath a collapsed wall. Closer still, the low coo of doves nesting in the rusted gutters kept rhythm with Teddy’s soft babbling.

Harry crouched near the steps, elbows on his knees, chin resting in one palm. Watching.

Across the yard, Daryl stood with Teddy half-balanced against his chest, the baby’s small fists clutching tight to the rough collar of his shirt. They weren’t moving quickly, just slow, supported rocking in place, Daryl adjusting with every shift, letting Teddy stretch and push with wobbly legs.

“Alright,” Daryl muttered, voice low and scratchy. “Slow it down, little man.”

Teddy made a pleased sound that came out like a cackle, kicked his legs, and promptly slumped backward. Daryl caught him easily, big hand splaying protectively over the baby’s back.

“Dumbass,” he said, soft and affectionate. “You ain’t even got the hang of balance yet, and you think you’re ready to run?”

Teddy blinked up at him, startled but unharmed, and then let out a delighted shriek.

From Harry’s collar, Sprout peeked out, watching with wide black eyes. It clicked once, then climbed down his arm, settling into the crook of his elbow.

Daryl shifted his grip and lowered Teddy again, letting the baby push with his feet while he held him steady. It wasn’t walking, but Teddy tried, head bobbing with determination, little teeth flashing in a proud, drool-slicked smile.

Harry smiled before he could stop himself. The ache in his chest was a strange kind of warmth.

When Teddy sagged again, legs giving out, Daryl crouched immediately, big hands brushing dirt from Teddy’s backside, voice low and quiet. “Almost had it.”

Harry thought of everything that could’ve broken this moment, what they’d already survived. The weight of it sat heavy in his chest. A mix of grief and the terrifying realization of how much he wanted to keep this safe.

Teddy reached up, both arms flailing toward Daryl’s face. Daryl sighed, scooped him up with a small bounce, and stood.

“Hair again?” he muttered as Teddy grabbed a fistful and yanked.

Harry stood and made his way across the yard. He stopped a few feet away, watching as Teddy leaned sideways in Daryl’s arms and reached for him next.

“You just gonna stand there all quiet?” Daryl asked without looking at him.

Harry shrugged. “Didn’t want to interrupt. You were doing great.”

Daryl snorted, shifting Teddy’s weight. “Ain’t exactly got a handbook for this.”

“You don’t need one.” Harry reached out to smooth Teddy’s wild blue hair. “He likes you.”

Teddy made a happy noise and shoved his hand into Harry’s mouth. Harry blinked, then bit down gently, making the baby shriek with laughter.

Daryl gave him a side glance, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Y’know that ain’t sanitary.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “He’s literally been chewing on your crossbow strap for the last ten minutes.”

“Yeah, well. Don’t make it better.”

They stood there, the weight of the moment folding in around them, quiet and close.

“I want to give him something normal,” Harry said after a long silence. His voice came out low, the words heavier than he meant them to be.

Daryl nodded sincerely, meeting Harry's eyes with determination “We will.”

He said it like a fact. Like a promise he didn’t need to explain. Like it wasn’t about some mythical future that might never come, but about the trying. About being the people who tried anyway.

Sprout skittered up Harry’s sleeve and nuzzled into Teddy’s side. The baby squealed again, batting at him. Daryl shifted his hold, letting the creature crawl where it wanted, letting Teddy grab at his shirt and mouth at his chin with no complaint.

Harry watched, stomach tight. There were things he wanted to say, like how he didn’t think he could do this without him, how terrifying it was to want someone this much, how good Daryl was without even knowing it, but the words felt fragile in his throat.

So he just stepped closer.

Their arms brushed. Daryl’s shoulder was warm.

Harry murmured, “You look like you’ve done this before.”

Daryl raised an eyebrow. “I haven’t.”

“I know. That’s what makes it worse.”

Daryl’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t pull away. “You’re the one who looks natural.”

Harry laughed under his breath. “That’s a lie.”

Teddy burbled nonsense between them, reaching toward the sky, then abruptly collapsed against Daryl’s chest and yawned.

Harry reached for him automatically, and Daryl passed the baby over like it was nothing, like it wasn’t the most intimate thing in the world. Their hands brushed, fingers curling briefly.

“Think he’s tired himself out,” Harry murmured.

Daryl watched them both. “He’s gonna be movin’ around soon.”

Harry nodded, rocking gently on his feet. “Yeah.”

They didn’t say anything more. The wind picked up again. A few dry leaves scratched along the cracked pavement. Somewhere, Hedwig let out a soft, echoing hoot from the top of the watchtower.

Daryl stood close, arms crossed but relaxed, like maybe he wasn’t guarding himself so tightly anymore.

Harry let his head dip forward, resting his chin against the soft weight of Teddy’s hair, breathing him in, milk and dust and magic that hadn’t quite settled yet.

“I think this is the only part of me that still feels human,” he said softly.

Daryl looked at him for a long moment. “Yeah. Me too.”

The hallway outside the infirmary still smelled faintly of bitter herbs and antiseptic. Harry sat on the edge of a table pushed beneath a broken window, legs swinging idly. Morning light filtered through the jagged glass, catching in the dust that danced slowly through the air.

Hermione stood in the doorway.

"You gonna just stand there?" he asked, voice low.

She hesitated, then stepped inside, boots scuffing lightly against the floor. "Didn’t know if you wanted to see me."

Harry shrugged, but it was tight. "Figured you’d come eventually."

They let the silence settle.

"I owe you an apology," Hermione said.

Harry finally looked up. There was no heat in his gaze, just exhaustion. "That right?"

She stepped closer, folding her hands in front of her. "Not just for yelling. For everything. For assuming the worst. For not asking before judging. For not listening."

Harry’s jaw flexed.

Hermione took a breath, voice steadier now. "When we got here, I was scared. Everything was falling apart and you were...different. I kept thinking you were slipping away from us. From me."

"I was," Harry said softly. "And none of you followed."

That landed. She didn’t try to deflect. "I know. I saw how close you and Daryl were getting and I-"

"Got angry."

She nodded. "Not because you loved him. But because it meant I couldn’t protect you the way I used to. Because it meant someone else could."

Harry let out a quiet breath. "I never asked you to."

"I know," she said again. "But I did it anyway. For years. It made me feel useful. Like I still mattered to you."

He stared at the cracked floor. "You always mattered. Still do. But I needed someone who didn’t see me as a responsibility. Daryl never once looked at me like I might break."

Hermione’s throat bobbed. "And I did. I’m sorry for that too."

Sprout, nestled in the windowsill, blinked slowly. He let out a soft click but didn’t move.

Hermione looked at Teddy asleep in his cot. "I saw you nearly die, Harry. Again. And all I could do was yell about how reckless you were, instead of telling you how scared I was."

Harry’s voice was quieter now. "I know you were scared. But I need you to understand—this isn’t about running toward death. It’s about giving him something to live for. Giving me something to live for."

Hermione moved to sit beside him on the table. "You’ve changed. Not in a bad way. Just... grown in ways I wasn’t ready for. But I want to be ready now. If you’ll let me."

He didn’t answer right away. Then, with a slight nod, he murmured, "Alright."

She reached over, gently taking his hand. "Happy early birthday."

Harry glanced sideways. "You remembered?"

"Of course I did. I just... forgot how to show it right."

Harry gave her fingers a small squeeze. "Then let’s try again."

She smiled, eyes damp. "We will."

After Hermione left, Harry stayed seated, letting the silence linger.

The baby niffler climbed up onto his knee, nose twitching, then curled into a tiny, warm ball without asking. Its weight was comforting, barely there, but somehow grounding.

The breeze slipped through the cracked window, brushing against his face refreshingly.

Harry leaned back, palms braced behind him on the cool table surface. For a second, he just breathed. No crisis. No blood. No screaming. Just… stillness.

Hedwig passed by the window overhead with a low, lazy hoot, casting a long shadow over the floor. He didn’t call her down, watching as she circled once and vanished.

His shoulders ached from holding too much for too long.

“I’m tired,” he whispered to no one.

The niffler chirped softly in reply.

He didn’t want more apologies. Didn’t need the past dissected. But this kind of quiet, this sliver of peace, felt almost foreign now. Like touching something he used to know, but hadn’t held in years.

He didn’t trust it to last.

He stood slowly, scooping the niffler (Merlin he's terrible at naming his animals)  into his hands and tucking it into his jacket. The little creature made a pleased clicking sound and settled against his chest.

The hallway seemed empty when he stepped out.

“Harry.”

The voice stopped him. He didn’t have to turn to know it was her.

He exhaled slowly, but did anyway. Ginny stood a few paces down the hall, arms crossed over her chest. Her hair was pulled back, windblown. Her face flat.

“Hey,” he said, quiet.

“Can we talk?”

Harry hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah.”

They moved to a half-collapsed corridor along the outer wall. The morning light pushed through gaps in the fencing, casting stripes across the cracked floor. Vines had started creeping through again, green and reaching.

Harry leaned against the stone. Ginny stood across from him, not quite meeting his eyes.

“I need to ask you something,” she said.

“Okay.”

“Did it ever mean anything to you?” Her voice cracked. “What we had?”

Harry blinked. “Ginny…”

She rushed ahead. “I’m not trying to corner you, I just—I need the truth. Because I held onto this idea of you. That if I waited long enough, if I stayed loyal, one day you'd remember what we had. And come back to me.”

Harry rubbed at the back of his neck. “I didn’t know you thought that.”

Her jaw tightened. “Then you weren’t paying attention.”

“Maybe not,” he admitted. “But we were never... that. I never even really understood that you thought there was something more between us. I cared about you, I always have, but I was naive back then. I didn’t know what I was supposed to feel, let alone what I actually wanted.”

She crossed her arms. “You never said goodbye.”

“There wasn’t time,” he said softly. “Dumbledore was dead. The castle was falling apart. Everything was coming undone, and I was barely holding on."

Ginny looked down. “And then you left. And now you're... different.”

“Because everything is different now,” he said. “I can't pretend I’m still that boy at Hogwarts. I can’t be who you wanted me to be back then.”

“So you never loved me?”

He hesitated. “I don’t think I even knew what that meant. Not really. Not until...” He stopped, but she followed his gaze. Knew exactly who he meant.

Her voice was quieter. “It’s him, isn’t it? Daryl.”

Harry nodded. “He makes me feel... whole. Even when I’m falling apart.”

Ginny exhaled sharply. A sound not of anger, but release. Like letting go of something that had been dragging her under.

“I hated him,” she admitted. “Not because of who he was. But because he didn’t have to earn you the way I thought I did.”

Harry took a step closer. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I just didn’t know how to be honest back then. Not with you. Not with myself.”

Ginny nodded. “It’s not your fault. I built a future in my head. I held onto it longer than I should have.”

“You deserved better than what I could give.”

She smiled, tired but real. “Then be happy, Harry. If you found something real, hold onto it.”

He nodded. “I will.”

She hugged him. It wasn’t long. It didn’t need to be.

When she pulled back, her eyes were wet, but she was still standing. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks.”

She left without another word, footsteps light.

Harry stood there a moment longer, letting the wind move through the corridor.

Sprout poked its head out from his collar.

“I know,” Harry whispered. “It’s not over.”

Harry found himself in the vegetable garden, kneeling beside the rows of stringy, half-wild carrots someone had managed to coax out of the soil. He wasn’t doing anything useful. Just… pulling weeds. Letting the dirt under his fingernails be something to focus on.

Teddy sat nearby in a nest of mismatched blankets under the shade of a drooping sheet, waving his fists at a clump of floating petals Luna had charmed to drift in lazy circles. Mungo crouched beside him like a watchdog, twitchy and alert, though it occasionally got distracted trying to chew the petals.

“Fatherhood suits you.”

Harry didn’t look up.

“Though, you’ve got dirt on your face. And your shirt’s inside out.”

He glanced sideways. Draco Malfoy stood just beyond the edge of the garden, arms folded, robes swaying slightly in the breeze. His expression was neutral, but the smirk lurked just behind it.

“Did you come out here just to insult me, or is this a social call?”

Draco stepped closer, boots crunching lightly over dry earth. “Bit of both. I’m branching out.”

Harry sat back on his heels. “Don’t strain yourself.”

Draco crouched nearby but didn’t touch the dirt. Of course not. He examined his nails as if something had offended him. “Didn’t expect to see you like this. Thought you’d be… I don’t know. Stalking through the woods, brooding over fate, maybe calling lightning with your tragic grief magic.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Is that what they’re calling it now?”

“Well, I don’t know what else to call it,” Draco said lightly. “You glow sometimes. That’s not normal.”

“I died.”

“Yeah. Well. So did my social life, and I don’t have powers.”

Harry snorted, despite himself.

Teddy gurgled and flailed a blanket over his face. Mungo yanked it off with a disgruntled chirp.

Draco watched the exchange, lips pursed. “He likes you.”

“Teddy?”

“No, the Niffler. Obviously Teddy.”

Harry glanced at him. “You surprised?”

Draco shrugged, picking at a piece of grass. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Harry tilted his head. “And now?”

Draco didn’t answer right away. “Now… I don’t know. You seem more real.”

Harry blinked. “You’re not about to compliment me, are you? I don’t think I’m emotionally prepared.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“Pot. Kettle.”

They sat in silence for a bit. Teddy sneezed. Mungo startled like he had been struck.

Finally, Draco spoke again, quieter this time. “You make this place feel less… doomed.”

Harry looked at him. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You stayed,” Draco said. “That’s not nothing.”

There was something brittle under his tone. Harry could’ve pressed but he didn’t.

Instead, he said, “You ever want to hold him?”

Draco blinked, startled. “What?”

“Teddy,” Harry said. “You can. He’s heavier than he looks. Don’t drop him.”

Draco stared. “Are you actually handing me a baby right now?”

Harry stood, brushing dirt off his hands. “I can take it back if your hands are too delicate.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Draco reached out, awkward but determined. Harry passed Teddy over, watching as the baby blinked up at this new face curiously.

Draco held him like he might explode, arms too stiff, jaw clenched.

Teddy grinned, then sneezed on him.

“Lovely,” Draco muttered. “Absolutely charming.”

Harry smirked. “He likes you.”

“Don’t get used to this.”

“I won’t.”

But he would.

Daryl was sitting on the steps outside their cell, cleaning his knife with a scrap of cloth, when Harry slid down beside him.

No words, at first. Just the creak of old metal, the distant hum of wind across the yard, and the low rustle of leaves brushing the outer fencing.

Teddy was napping with Sophia and Luna, Harry had checked twice. The creatures were all off exploring, probably causing mischief. For once, the world felt… not safe, but still.

“You okay?” Daryl asked hoarsely.

Harry nodded. “Yeah. Just… needed to be next to something quiet.”

Daryl huffed softly. “Ain’t been called that before.”

Harry let his shoulder bump against his. “You’re quiet in here.” He tapped his own chest. “That’s what matters.”

Daryl didn’t answer, but his hand stilled on the blade. He let it rest in his lap, turning slightly toward Harry without shifting away.

“Talked to Hermione today. And Ginny.”

“Yeah?”

Harry nodded. “Sorted things out. Finally.”

“Was it bad?”

“Hard,” Harry said. “But honest. I think that’s what mattered.”

Their hands brushed as they sat. Daryl didn’t move away. He never did.

“Fred’s been sneakin’ around like a raccoon,” Daryl muttered after a beat. “Assumin’ that’s related to whatever they think you don’t know about.”

Harry smiled. “You in on it?”

“Maybe.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

Daryl gave him a look. Harry laughed quietly.

“You two lovebirds done makin’ eyes at each other?”

They both turned.

Merle Dixon stood just beyond the doorway, shirt half-buttoned and cigarette dangling between his good fingers. He looked amused, like a man who’d seen something worth not ruining.

Harry opened his mouth, ready for whatever sarcastic defense might come, but Merle held up a hand… well stump, actually.

“Relax. Ain’t here to bust your balls. Not today.”

Daryl narrowed his eyes. “What do you want?”

Merle scratched at his stubble. “Nothin’. Just came to see if the kid’s up. Thought I’d show him how to whistle.”

Harry blinked. “Teddy?”

“Yeah, who else?” Merle shrugged. “Figured one of us oughta teach him somethin’ practical before Luna starts trainin’ him to talk to ghosts through seaweed or whatever.”

Daryl looked suspicious, but Harry grinned. “He’s napping. Maybe later?”

Merle gave a little two-finger salute. “You let me know. I’m great with kids.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“No,” Merle said, completely deadpan, “but I’m tryin’.”

“He means well,” said Dudley, appearing behind Merle with a sandwich in one hand and a book tucked under his arm. “In his own… alarming way.”

Merle scoffed. “Alarming? I’m charming, Diddykins.”

Dudley sighed like a man who regretted every life choice that led to this moment.

Harry stared, bemused. “Are you two… hanging out?”

“Unfortunately,” Dudley said dryly.

“I’m mentoring him,” Merle added, grinning.

“I am a grown man,” Dudley said. “Who has made many mistakes.”

“Still counts.”

Daryl groaned and stood, muttering something about “goddamn sitcom energy.”

Harry smiled as the two bickered their way down the hall, Merle elbowing Dudley, Dudley pretending not to laugh.

When Daryl returned to his spot beside Harry, there was a faint smirk on his lips.

“Gotta admit,” Harry said, “this place is weirder than I ever expected.”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah. But not all bad.”

Harry leaned against him. “No. Not all bad.”

And for a little while, they just sat there, listening to the sound of Merle’s laughter and Dudley’s exasperated protests echoing down the hall like background noise in a world trying to stitch itself back together.

Harry didn’t suspect a thing until Daryl said, “Come help me check something,” and then refused to meet his eyes.

That alone should’ve tipped him off.

They were halfway down the corridor when Harry caught it, that subtle hum in the air. The kind of quiet, regulated pressure that only came from controlled spell work. His magic pricked under his skin.

“Daryl,” he started, already slowing.

But they turned the corner, and it hit all at once.

A burst of golden light zipped overhead, harmless but fast, and the old cafeteria erupted in noise.

“SURPRISE!”

The shout came from dozens of voices, colliding into one chaotic wave. Fred tripped over a box mid-cheer. Dean yelled too late. A magical banner flickered between HAPPY BIRTHDAY HARRY and THANK YOU FOR NOT DYING AGAIN, complete with charmed stars and a doodle of Harry with far too much hair.

Harry stopped cold.

Floating candles drifted lazily through the air, their light warm and soft. The tables, three of them shoved end to end, were draped with mismatched linens. In the center sat a precariously leaning cake that looked alive in a way no dessert should.

Mungo wore a sock hat with a drooping bow. Hedwig perched on a rafter overhead, eyes sharp and ribbon trailing. She glared like she’d eat a lesser wizard over this indignity.

His hand twitched toward his wand.

That kind of magic, so visible, so layered, shouldn’t be safe.

Daryl caught his wrist gently. “It’s okay.”

Harry didn’t answer.

“I helped,” said Hermione, stepping from behind the nearest table, her face lit with quiet pride. “Kreacher anchored it. Hershel reinforced the grounding under the old boiler room. We’ve been planning this for weeks.”

Harry’s eyes flicked to Kreacher, who stood straighter than usual beside Hershel. “Magic tied to the stone, buffered through rootlines,” the elf said. “Thread-bound, as it should be. Risky, yes. But not reckless.”

Hershel leaned against the wall, one crutch beneath his arm, face lined but steady. “Ain’t invisible. But it won’t echo past the fence.”

“We watched the signals for three days,” Hermione added. “No surges. No spikes.”

Harry didn’t speak. His magic still hummed but it didn’t recoil.

Across the room, every group was represented. Rick stood near the back, arms folded but face soft. Carl beamed beside him, practically vibrating. Lori. very pregnant, hand pressed to the small of her back, sat near the door, Beth keeping a drink within reach. Glenn and Maggie were tangled together in the corner, both smiling like they couldn’t help it.

T-Dog clapped a hand against the wall in rhythm with the music someone had started. Michonne stood at the edge of it all, sword sheathed, but watchful. Andrea elbowed Merle, who somehow had a drink and was trying to spike the punch already.

He glanced around, throat tight as he looked at the others.

Carol stood near Sophia, her hand resting lightly on her daughter’s shoulder. Neville and Luna arranged little charms on the table. Blaise rolled his eyes while Theo and Pansy tried to hex each other using decorative spoons. Lavender hovered near the cake, wand drawn, arguing with Madame Pomfrey about “festive but safe.” McGonagall stood behind them, surveying everything with arms crossed and one thin brow raised.

Ron grinned, already holding a plate. Ginny nodded at him quietly. Draco, annoyed and uncomfortable, still stood near the wall, not leaving. Dudley lingered awkwardly near the drinks. Even he was here.

And Teddy… Teddy squealed from Luna’s lap, hands sticky with mashed fruit, laughter bright and high.

A hard lump settled in his throat.

For a long moment, he didn’t move. The room was too loud. Too full. Too much. But behind it all was this quiet, steady thread of effort. This hadn’t just happened.

They had made this for him.

“You absolute bastards,” Harry finally said, his voice low and shaky. “You actually pulled it off.”

Fred beamed. “Told you we could!”

“Not without frogs,” George added from beneath the table. “Also, cake might be sentient.”

“I did not bake that,” Carol said flatly.

Kreacher folded his arms. “No one should stab the cake until I’m finished securing the perimeter.”

Harry laughed. It slipped out, rough and real, and though he’d never admit it, wet through tears.

Daryl leaned in. “You okay?”

Harry looked at him. Really looked at him.

Then nodded. “Yeah. I think I am.”

The laughter hadn’t faded before Fred clapped his hands and yelled, “Right! Toasts!”

Harry turned slowly. “Please don’t-”

“Too late,” George said, already conjuring a cup of something fizzy and suspicious. “Tradition demands tribute.”

“You just made that up,” Hermione muttered.

“Technically,” Fred said, raising his glass, “we’ve been winging traditions since Hogwarts burned.”

Ron stepped up first, clearing his throat. “To Harry,” he said, voice strong but a little sheepish. “You’re still a pain in the ass. But you kept us alive, even when we didn’t know how to follow you. Happy birthday, mate.”

A low chorus of “hear hear” followed. Harry swallowed hard.

Neville stepped forward next. “You taught us to be brave,” he said simply. “Before the world fell apart. After. Doesn’t matter. You’re still the one we look to when we forget how.”

Then Glenn raised a cup. “You saved my life. And Maggie’s. And Beth’s. You didn’t even know us. But you fought like we mattered. I won’t forget that.”

Maggie touched his arm and added, “And you gave us something to believe in.”

Beth held up her glass with both hands. “To Harry. For bringing magic to the apocalypse. Even if it’s kinda terrifying.”

Soft laughter rolled through the group.

Rick nodded from where he stood. “Didn’t trust you, at first. Still not sure I understand half of what you do. But I know this, every time we’ve needed you, you’ve stood your ground. You earned this. All of it.”

Michonne didn’t step forward. She just raised her glass from the edge and said, “To the boy who refuses to die.”

That one got a small cheer.

Even Dudley mumbled, “You’re... not bad. For a cousin.”

Hermione touched Harry’s arm. “You were always the heart, Harry. Even when you didn’t know it.”

Kreacher cleared his throat. “I have served many masters. Some noble, some foolish. None as stubborn or as maddening as you. But the house-elves speak your name with respect. That is no small thing.”

Harry blinked rapidly and looked away.

Hershel chuckled. “Boy doesn’t know how to take a compliment.”

Dobby pushed his way to the front, his button-crown askew, chest puffed proudly beneath his patchwork vest.

“Harry Potter is Dobby’s greatest friend!” he squeaked, voice high and trembling with feeling. “Not because Harry Potter is famous, no! Not because he is powerful or clever, but because Harry Potter is kind!”

Harry’s throat tightened.

“Dobby has seen it, oh yes, sir! From cracks in the walls, from dark corners. Dobby has watched Harry Potter fight for others, again and again, even when it hurt him. Even when nobody saw!”

He turned, small arms outstretched toward the room.

“Harry Potter is brave! Harry Potter is good! And Harry Potter is loved, so very much loved!”

There was a pause. Sprout chirped. Kreacher muttered something that sounded like, “Ridiculous,” but didn’t leave.

Dobby beamed wider.

“Happy birthday, Harry Potter, sir!”

Then he bowed low, so low his nose touched the dusty floor, and stayed there a moment, like the words alone weren’t big enough to hold what he meant.

Harry wiped at his face with the heel of his hand, silent.

Then Daryl stepped forward and stood beside him.

He didn’t hold a glass.

Didn’t raise his voice.

But when he spoke, the room fell still again.

“I didn’t grow up with words,” Daryl said, eyes on the floor at first. “Didn’t learn what they meant ‘til too late. And I sure as hell never learned how to use ‘em right.”

He looked up, met Harry’s eyes.

“But I know what he is. I know what it feels like to wake up every day wantin’ to fight ‘cause he’s still here. I know what it means to have someone who sees you, the mess, the hurt, all of it, and stays anyway.”

Harry’s throat tightened.

“You saved me,” Daryl said softly. “Not just with magic. Not just out there.” He tapped his chest. “In here.”

He stepped closer, voice low. “You ain’t just someone to survive beside, Harry. You’re the reason I started wanting to live like it mattered.”

And then, more gently, almost too quiet to catch.

“You’re home.”

Harry didn’t move, couldn’t speak, not with the lump in his throat, not with everyone watching, not with Daryl looking at him like that.

But he reached out. Caught Daryl’s hand. Held it.

The silence after Daryl’s words wasn’t heavy. It was full. Breathless. Waiting.

Harry stood slowly, his fingers still curled around Daryl’s.

For a moment, he just looked at him, really looked. Like Daryl was the only person in the room. Like he always had been.

And then, quietly, just loud enough for the people who mattered to hear, Harry spoke.

“I’ve spent most of my life not knowing how to say the right things. Not knowing what I needed. Who I was. What I wanted.”

He swallowed, the words clumsy in his mouth, but true.

“I didn’t think I deserved peace. Or safety. Or love that didn’t come with conditions.”

He glanced around at the crowd, the lights, the people who had made a broken world feel less sharp, and then back at Daryl.

“But you made me want those things. You make me believe I might be worth them.”

Daryl’s eyes flickered, jaw tight.

Harry stepped closer, voice rough.

“You say I’m home.” His free hand lifted, touched Daryl’s chest. “So are you.”

The words hung between them, simple, quiet, and sacred.

Harry leaned in, hands cradling Daryl’s face, and kissed him. A soft, reverent press of the lips.

Daryl’s hand curled at Harry’s hip, grounding. Their foreheads touched when they broke apart.

Fred muttered, “Finally,” and a few people snorted.

Harry didn’t care, he smiled, wide enough that his cheeks ached.

Daryl couldn’t look away.

The fire smoldered, long flickering shadows casting across the mismatched tables and half-empty mugs. Most of the party had faded, people falling asleep or patrolling, but a small group remained.

Fred slammed a dusty bottle onto the table. “Right, enough loafing, time for the birthday gauntlet.”

“Oh, come one,” Harry groaned. “Haven’t I suffered enough today?”

“You haven’t suffered at our hands,” George said cheerfully, already conjuring cups. “Completely different category of torment.”

“I don’t like where this is going,” Harry muttered.

“Well,” Pansy said as she propped her boots on the bench, “you’re going to like it even less in a minute.”

Fred spun the bottle like it was a sacred artifact. “The rules are simple. Each of us gets to ask Harry one question. Any question, and he has to answer.”

I absolutely do not,” Harry shot back, sitting up straighter. “That’s blackmail!”

“You’re thinking of interrogation,” Hermione said, sipping her drink calmly. “This is emotional enrichment.”

“It’s a trap,” Harry seethed, looking toward Daryl for support. He just gave a slow shrug that said you’d on your own. “Traitor,” Harry hissed at him.

“Don’t worry, Harrykins,” Fred grinned. “You get to turn it back on each of us. You answer our questions, then you get to ask us one.”

“Oh,” Luna said dreamily. “That makes it fair and karmically balances. How lovely.”

“Fine,” he muttered, crossing his arms. He turned a glare on Fred. “But you’re first. You started this.”

Fred grinned in delight. “Gladly.” He took a ceremonious sip from the bottle, then leaned across the table, grinning like a fox.

“Alright, Chosen One. What’s the weirdest bit of accidental magic you remember before Hogwarts?”

Harry blinked. Then blinked again. “Oh. Uh. That’s actually… a long list.”

“Start at the top,” George said, placing his chin in his hands as he leaned forward.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, eyes turned up as he thought back. “Uh. Okay, um… Once, when I was uh, maybe eight, I made Aunt Petunia’s cake vanish. Whole thing. Just gone.” He huffed a small laugh, thinking of his aunt’s reaction. “She screamed, and I think Dudley cried.”

Cake thievery,” Neville said, nodding approvingly. Behind him, Dudley shuddered silently, tipping his drink back in a hearty gulp.

“Except, it didn’t really vanish,” Harry continued, a small smirk on his lips. “It reappeared three days later. In the upstairs bathtub. It was still intact and everything.”

Everyone stared, Daryl had an eyebrow raised.

“It grew eyes,” he added with a shrug. “I think it was alive by then.”

Hermione made a horrified squeak. “Harry, I don’t think that’s how accidental magic is normally.”

“I thought it was funny.”

“Harry, the cake watched me pee. How was that funny? It growled!” Dudley called from his corner, looking vaguely green at the memory.

Harry chuckled. “Yeah, Uncle Vernon didn’t think it was funny either. I had to stay in the cupboard for a week for that.” Harry wiped a tear from his eye. He really had thought it was so funny. He’d even giggled over it at night, especially when they tried to get rid of the thing.

The others stared at Harry blankly, but he didn’t notice, as he was turned speaking to Daryl about the moment. Fred and Hermione exchanged glances as the others looked between themselves.

Fred clapped his hands, forcing a grin to his face. “That’s it. You definitely win birthday legend status!”

Harry smiled at Fred. “Thanks, mate.”

George spoke up next. “Right, Harrykins. Your turn to ask Fred a question.”

Harry didn’t even hesitate. “Have you ever dated someone who didn’t know you were a twin?”

Fred choked, drink spewing from his nose as George howled.

“Yes,” he admitted between coughs. “And I never told her. She dumped George so I consider that a win.”

“Luna patted his arm gently. “That feels morally ambiguous.”

“It feels iconic,” Pansy said.

The group laughed, tension bleeding away.

Harry sat back, shaking his head. “Ok. George. You’re up.”

George’s smirk could have powered a small city. “Be honest, Harrykins. Have you ever fantasized about anyone in this room?”

The laughter was immediate. Half the group groaned, and the other half cheered. Pansy actually applauded. Hermione turned red before the answer even arrived. Ron looked physically ill.

Harry blinked. “Fantasized?”

“You know,” George said helpfully. “Fantasized.”

“You mean like… wanting to be like them?” Harry asked slowly.

“No,” Ginny said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “He means the sweaty kind, Harry.”

“Oh.” Harry stared at George. “Before or after the apocalypse?”

That silenced them.

Fred wheezed. “There’s a difference?!”

“Well, yeah,” Harry said, frowning. “Before I didn’t know if i would live through the yeat. After, it’s mostly been about survival, so… it’s not like I’ve had time to-”

“Answer the question,” George sang.

Harry turned bright red and looked down at his drink. “Define fantasy.”

Hermione actually put her head down on the table.

“You know what he means!” Ron groaned.

Harry made a vague gesture. “Look, there was a moment once where I think I had a weird dream about someone’s hands but it might have been a fever-”

“Oh my God,” Pansy said.

“It wasn’t that kind of dream!”

Luna blinked slowly. “Was it Daryl?”

Everyone froze.

Daryl, who had been sipping quietly, raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment.

Harry buried his face in his hands. “I hate this game.”

“That’s not a denial,” Fred pointed out.

“It’s also not an answer,” George added.

Harry peeked between his fingers. “...Maybe?”

“Which one?” Neville asked, far too interested.

“Let’s just say it involved a crossbow, a tree, and… shirts were optional,” Harry muttered quickly, face on fire.

Half the table howled.

“Oh, that’s going in my diary,” Luna whispered dreamily.

Draco leaned back in his chair, smirking. “And you all said I was dramatic.”

Harry downed his drink like it might let him escape through the floor. “Fine. George. Your turn.”

George grinned wide. “I regret nothing.”

Harry grinned too, just a little wicked now. “Good. Then tell us, who’s the one person you can’t say no to, no matter how much trouble it causes?”

George’s eyes widened.

Fred cackled.

“Her name’s Maribelle, and she owns a goat,” Fred stage-whispered.

George groaned. “It was one weekend!”

Luna nodded solemnly. “She had beautiful eyebrows.”

Pansy swirled her drink like it was wine and not spiked with chaos. She rested her chin on one hand and gave Harry a look that could slice paper.

“Okay, Potter,” she said, voice smooth as silk and twice as dangerous. “Do you ever miss being the center of the world?”

Harry blinked. “What?”

“You know,” she drawled. “All eyes on you. The breathless headlines. The special treatment. The desperate, tear-filled pleas for you to save the day.”

Fred put a hand to his heart. “So noble. So self-sacrificing.”

George added, “So exhausting, being admired by everyone.”

“Must’ve been devastating,” Pansy said with a little pout. “To go from The Boy Who Lived to The Boy Who’s Mostly Covered in Dust.”

The room snickered. Ron muttered, “You’re the worst,” but it didn’t stop her.

Harry stared at her for a long second. Then he sat back, folded his arms, and said flatly, “You think I wanted any of that?”

Pansy’s eyebrow arched. “Didn’t say you did. I asked if you miss it.”

A beat passed.

Harry looked into the fire. “...Sometimes,” he admitted quietly. “Not the fame. Or the pressure. But the clarity.”

That stilled the room.

“When everyone thought I was the center of everything, I didn’t have to think about who I really was. I was just… the answer to the problem. That was simpler.”

Hermione’s face softened. Ron stared at the floor. Even Pansy’s smirk faded, just a little.

“But I never wanted to be special,” Harry finished. “I just didn’t know who I was without it.”

Silence again.

Pansy broke it with a light, brittle laugh. “Shit, Potter. That was almost deep.”

Harry turned toward her. “All right then, your turn.”

Pansy raised a brow. “You think you can top mine?”

“Probably not,” Harry said. “But let’s try.” He leaned in slightly. “What’s the cruelest thing you’ve ever done… just because you could?”

The smile slid off her face for half a second. Then she looked away, eyes sharp and distant.

“I’ll tell you after I have more to drink,” she said quietly.

Harry didn’t push.

The fire crackled softly.

And the game went on.

Merle leaned back in his chair, one leg kicked out, a half-empty cup in hand. He hadn’t said much all night. Just watched. Smirked. Let the others dance around their feelings.

Now he didn’t look at Harry, just stared into the flames, his voice almost too casual to notice.

“You ever wish you’d stayed dead?”

The room went still like someone had sucked the air out.

Harry didn’t answer right away.

Fred shifted. Hermione sat up straighter, like she wasn’t sure if she should stop it. Ron looked pissed, like he was ready to throw something. But no one moved.

Because they all wanted to know, too.

Harry didn’t lift his head. He just stared into the fire, his fingers twitching once against his thigh.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “More than once.”

Silence.

Merle’s jaw flexed. He nodded once, slow. “Figured.”

Harry’s voice was rough now. “It was quiet.”

He swallowed hard.

“When I came back, everything hurt. The air. My skin. The noise. I couldn’t breathe without feeling like I was choking on something I left behind. And everyone kept saying I was lucky.” A pause. “I didn’t feel lucky. I felt unfinished.”

No one moved.

“And sometimes,” Harry continued, voice barely above a whisper, “it still feels like I came back wrong. Like something stayed behind. Like I’m just an echo of myself.”

Daryl moved quickly, reaching across the space between them. He grabbed Harry’s wrist firmly, as if reminding himself that Harry was real. Alive.

Harry’s breath caught.

Daryl didn’t speak. Didn’t try to argue or fix it.

He just held him.

And it worked.

Harry didn’t fall apart.

He blinked, eyes burning, and breathed.

Slow.

Real.

Still here.

Merle glanced over then, just once, and his eyes were different than usual. Calmer. Tired.

“Didn’t ask to make you hurt, kid,” he muttered.

Harry looked at him. “You didn’t. You just asked what everyone else was afraid to.”

A beat passed.

Then Merle tipped his cup toward him in something that might’ve been respect.

Harry reached for his own drink. “All right. My turn.”

Merle smirked faintly. “Oh, hit me, sweetheart.”

Harry’s voice was quiet, but steady. “Who’s the one person you regret not protecting?”

Merle didn’t smile after that.

He didn’t answer right away either.

Eventually, he muttered, “Daryl.”

And no one said a damn word for a long time.

Hermione’s voice cut through the quiet, steady and warm.

“Harry,” she said softly. “What part of yourself are you still hiding from us?”

Harry blinked.

He didn’t speak at first. Just stared at the fire, the flickering light dancing in his eyes.

Then, slowly, he said, “I remember dying.”

No one moved.

“I don’t remember pain,” Harry continued. “Or fear. Or even sadness. Just… stillness. Like I was floating just above everything. Not quite gone. Not quite real.”

Daryl’s body tensed beside him, Harry felt it, the coiled energy in him going still and sharp.

“I didn’t want to come back,” Harry said quietly. “Not right away. There was this… pull, like I was meant to keep going. And when I came back, something felt off. Like I left a piece of me behind. Or brought something back with me that wasn’t supposed to cross over.”

Hermione’s eyes were shining, lips pressed together.

“I’ve been pretending it’s fine,” Harry admitted, voice cracking. “That I’m fine. That the magic didn’t change. That I didn’t change. But I’m not.”

He glanced around the room, then down at his own hands.

“Sometimes, when it’s quiet, I still hear it. Whatever that thing was. The pull. It’s like something’s waiting for me to stop pretending I’m still all here.”

Daryl stood up so fast his chair scraped backward.

He stepped forward, pulled Harry gently to his feet, and sat back down in his chair, pulling Harry into his lap like he was anchoring him back into the world.

No one made a sound.

Harry tensed for half a second, caught off guard, but Daryl didn’t let him float. He wrapped his arms around him, solid and grounding, one hand braced firm against Harry’s back, the other curling into his shirt like he dared anything to pull him away again.

Harry sank into it. His hands curled in against Daryl’s chest, breath shuddering, but he didn’t speak.

He didn’t need to.

Daryl ducked his head down, his lips ghosting over the side of Harry’s hair, his voice barely a rumble. “Still here. Still yours.”

Harry’s fingers tightened.

Hermione watched them with glassy eyes and said softly, “Thank you for answering.”

Harry, still held close, turned just enough to meet her eyes.

“My turn,” he murmured. “What’s the one truth you’re still afraid to admit?”

Hermione blinked, caught, but she didn’t deflect.

“That I don’t know what comes next for me,” she said. “Now that you don’t need saving.”

Harry nodded, and Daryl’s arms curled just a little tighter around him.

Neville cleared his throat gently, his voice a soft interruption in the hush that had settled.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes on Harry, but not intrusively. Just… open. Curious. Kind.

“If you hadn’t been the Chosen One,” Neville asked, “who do you think you would’ve been?”

Harry blinked.

He was still tucked in Daryl’s lap, the warmth of him wrapped around his back, his heartbeat a steady pulse against Harry’s spine. The question wasn’t sharp, not like Merle’s. Not like Hermione’s. But it slid under his ribs all the same.

He thought about it for a moment.

Really thought.

“I think I’d have been quiet,” he said at last. “Not soft. Just… unnoticed. The kind of person who worked in a greenhouse, or in a library somewhere. Somewhere still.”

Neville smiled a little.

“I’d probably have a cat,” Harry added. “And a flat with too many books. I’d make my own tea instead of summoning it. I’d forget to pay the owl post bill and probably miss all my own birthdays.”

There were a few soft chuckles around the fire.

Harry’s voice lowered. “But I wouldn’t be brave.”

“You don’t know that,” Neville said gently.

“I do,” Harry said, not bitter, just honest. “Being the Chosen One didn’t make me brave. It made me responsible. If I’d had a choice, I think I’d have hidden from the world. Let someone else carry it.”

He hesitated, then looked at Neville. “What about you?”

Neville smiled, just a little wistful. “I think I’d have still ended up here. I always find trouble.”

“Or it finds you,” Harry offered.

Neville raised his glass. “To trouble, then.”

“To trouble,” a few others echoed, soft laughter following.

But Harry stayed quiet a moment longer, head tilted back slightly against Daryl’s shoulder.

And maybe, just maybe, he still thought about the boy he never got to be.

Maggie leaned forward, elbows on her knees, her eyes steady on Harry.

“What’s the last lie you told yourself,” she asked gently, “just to get through the day?”

Harry went still in Daryl’s arms.

His mouth opened once. Closed.

The fire cracked.

Daryl’s hand shifted slightly on Harry’s waist, no pressure, just a reminder.

Harry swallowed. “That I’m strong enough to do this again.”

Maggie’s brow knit, but she didn’t interrupt.

Harry’s voice stayed low. “Some days, I wake up and tell myself I’m fine. That I can carry one more loss, fix one more thing, be okay for everyone else. That I’m not tired.”

He looked up, eyes distant. “But I am. I’m so tired.”

Maggie nodded once. Her voice was soft. “That’s not weakness.”

“I know,” Harry said. “But it feels like a crack. And I keep telling myself that if I stop pretending... it’ll all fall through.”

He leaned back into Daryl a little more, eyes fluttering shut. “It hasn’t. Not yet. But it might.”

No one filled the silence that followed.

Because they’d all lived that lie too.

Finally, Harry’s voice returned, quieter. “What about you?”

Maggie smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “That if I just keep going, I won’t have to admit how angry I still am.”

Harry met her gaze. “Yeah.”

Yeah.

Draco lifted his glass and said, almost casually, “Do you like being the one everyone turns to?”

A few people shifted.

Draco clarified, his tone sharper now. “Or is it just another mask you wear because you don’t know who you are without it?”

Harry blinked. “That’s... a lot.”

“You can take a minute,” Draco said, smirking faintly. “We all know you’ll give a noble answer anyway.”

Harry gave him a dry look. “I don’t like it.”

Draco tilted his head.

“I don’t hate it either,” Harry added. “It’s complicated.”

He looked down at his hands. “People started looking at me like I had answers before I ever had a say. It was easier to pretend I did, than to admit I didn’t know anything.”

A pause.

“And now?” Draco asked, softer.

Harry looked up. “Now it’s just who I am. I don’t think I ever had a mask. I think I just never got to put one down.”

That got a flicker of something in Draco’s eyes. Not quite sympathy. Not quite apology.

Harry smirked. “My turn.”

Draco sighed. “Go on, then.”

“What’s the one thing you’re afraid I already know about you?”

Draco stared at him.

The firelight danced over the contours of his face, painting gold along the sharp edge of his jaw, the faint shadows under his eyes. For a long time, he didn’t answer.

Then, with surprising calm, he set his cup down.

And said softly, “That I only ever hated you because I was jealous.”

The words dropped like stones.

No one moved.

Draco met Harry’s eyes, and this time there was no smirk. No mask. Just that bright, brittle truth burning under the surface.

“You were brave,” he said. “You were loved. You didn’t need to be perfect to matter. You didn’t need to wear a name like a shield. I thought if I could make you small, I’d feel bigger.”

He looked away, voice tightening. “But all I ever felt was smaller.”

Harry didn’t interrupt. Didn’t nod. Didn’t reach out.

He just listened.

And Draco looked back at him again, eyes rimmed with a tired defiance. “So yeah. That’s what I was afraid you knew.”

A long silence followed.

Then Luna, from across the circle, whispered, “I think that’s the bravest thing you’ve ever said.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Don’t make it a moment, Lovegood.”

Fred sniffled loudly. “I’m so proud of all of us.”

George threw a peanut at him.

Harry smiled faintly and turned his head, leaned just slightly back into the arms still wrapped around him.

And Daryl, quiet all night, finally lifted his eyes.

“My turn.”

The fire popped. A few people shifted, Fred gently elbowed George to stop him from crying again. Ron handed Hermione a second cup without speaking.

“Do you want me… or do I just make you feel less alone?”

Harry blinked, as if the words had struck somewhere he hadn’t armored.

His fingers curled slightly into Daryl’s shirt. “What?”

Daryl didn’t flinch. “You look at me like I’m something you can lean on. Something that keeps the dark off. And I ain’t saying I mind it, ’cause I don’t. But I need to know.”

His voice softened,not for the room, but for Harry. “Am I what you want, or just what helps you stand?”

Harry stared at him. Not blinking. Not breathing.

He could have lied.

He could’ve laughed it off, like Fred had earlier. Could’ve said something soft and sidestepping. Could’ve reached for Daryl’s hand and let that speak for him.

But instead, Harry swallowed.

And told the truth.

“I didn’t know the difference at first,” he said, voice quiet. “I thought maybe I’d just latched on. That you were the only steady thing when the rest of the world was burning.”

Daryl didn’t move. But something behind his eyes dimmed.

“But that wasn’t it,” Harry added, stronger now. “You’re not just someone I cling to. You’re who I look for. Even when I don’t want to need anyone.”

He reached up, brushing his knuckles gently over Daryl’s jaw.

“I want you. Not because I feel less alone with you, but because even when I don’t, I still want to be where you are.”

The firelight made his eyes glow faintly gold.

“I choose you. Every damn time.”

Daryl didn’t smile or speak, but a softness shone in his eyes.

He just dipped his head low and pressed his forehead against Harry’s, breath brushing across his cheek, that old roughness masked by something painfully soft.

“That’s all I needed to know,” he murmured.

Fred made a gagging noise.

George kicked him under the table.

The questions slowed.

Cups emptied.

One by one, the others peeled away. Neville with Luna yawning into his shoulder, Ron dragging Hermione toward their shared bunk with a muttered, “C’mon, before Fred starts asking us things.” Pansy disappeared with a dramatic sigh, Draco trailing after her with a weary look and an unspoken truce in his stride.

Carol passed Harry on her way out, ruffled his hair like a mother who didn’t want to make a fuss, and muttered, “Happy birthday, kid.”

Mungo chirped softly from where he’d nested into Daryl’s hood.

Soon, it was just a few dying coals and two bodies still curled together.

Harry didn’t move from where he sat, tucked against Daryl’s chest, his fingers still loosely twined with Daryl’s shirt.

The quiet felt different now.

“Midnight,” Harry whispered.

Daryl’s breath caught.

And Harry stood.

Harry padded softly through the corridor, barefoot, hoodie pulled loose over his frame. The air was cool on his skin, the faint smell of wax and smoke still clinging to the walls. He carried nothing. Needed nothing.

He didn’t have to look back to know Daryl was following.

They didn’t speak.

They never did during this part.

Daryl had promised then, on his seventeenth birthday, that he’d never spend one alone again. He’d been there, when Harry hadn’t realized he’d truly needed him, and he’d stayed ever since.

They reached the old boiler room, long since cleared out, a little tucked-away pocket of silence under the prison where the night always seemed thicker. The window above let in a spill of moonlight, faint and slanted.

Harry sat on the low bench.

Daryl stood for a while. Watching him. Then sat too.

A long pause stretched between them, heavy with everything that had already been said, and everything that hadn’t.

Harry let out a slow breath, glancing down at his watch. He raised his head to the window, but before he could speak, Daryl wrapped his arms around him, pressing his lips into the side of his neck.

“Happy Birthday Harry.” The breath mixed with Daryl’s stubble, sent a shiver down his spine. He twisted to face the man that held his heart.

“I love you, Daryl Dixon,” he said, pressing his lips to Daryl’s in a slow kiss, savoring the moment, the sensation. He could never get enough of the taste.

When they broke apart, Daryl leaned back, watching Harry carefully.

“Had a different question I wanted to ask you, but not in front of them.”

Harry raised a brow, slightly confused over what it could be.

When Daryl spoke again, his voice cracked. “If I died tomorrow… what would you regret not saying to me?”

Harry’s eyes widened as the words struck him. He floundered, unable to pull the words he wanted to say together.

Daryl glanced down at his hands, waiting for Harry’s response.

Harry glanced down at his own, flexing his fingers, watching the fading words stretch and shine in the moonlight. He closed his eyes, whispering to himself, “I must not tell lies.”

Daryl was already watching him when he turned back, eyes caught on the cursed sentence on his hand.

“That you made me want to stay.” Daryl didn’t say anything, but he met his eyes once more. “That’s what scared me the most, Daryl. Not the dying, or the coming back.” He swallowed the knot in his throat. “It was you. What I’d feel if I let myself have this. Have you.”

He didn’t blink as he stared into the warm honey that caught him like a fly. “So if you died tomorrow, and I never got to tell you that, that you gave me something I never thought I’d have, something that truly felt like a future, I’d never forgive myself.”

Daryl didn’t say anything, just reached forward, pulling Harry back into what was quickly becoming his favorite spot. Their foreheads pressed together in the dark.

“I ain’t dyin tomorrow,” Daryl whispered.

“Promise?” Harry’s voice cracked.

“I ain’t leavin you.” Harry’s breath shuddered and he fell forward, hugging Daryl to him tightly.

The world could come for them tomorrow, but tonight, they were exactly where they needed to be.

Chapter Text

They needed supplies. Teddy’s wails bounced off the concrete, reverberating through their ears. 

Harry fought back a headache as he shook the bottle, only slightly desperate. His eyes were ringed in black, bags pulling at them heavily.

Teddy had been inconsolable for the past few days. He couldn’t figure out what was wrong, and now a new problem presented itself. 

They had enough formula for a few bottles, and then they’d be screwed. And with Lori ready to pop any day now, the need was becoming critical.

“It would only be a few hours, Harry,” Carol said gently. “And trust me, you could really use the break.”

“And just leave him? He’s my responsibility, Carol.” He’d never admit he whined, but he was desperate for that break, despite his words. 

“Harry,” she said sternly. “You’re allowed a break. You’ve looked after him non-stop.” She glanced to the side, where Daryl was cataloguing their inventory to prepare for the supply run. “Besides,” she leaned in conspiratorially, “I think your hunter would love some time alone with you.”

Harry blushed, narrowing his eyes at her playfully. “Oh hush. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you and Merle getting close, Ms. Puritan.”

Carol looked taken aback, blinking rapidly. “Merle? Oh, no. No sir.” She shook her head adamantly. “Not happening.”

“You sure,” Harry smirked. “You looked pretty cozy whispering together last night.”

Carol looked at him flatly. “We were discussing how to give you a break, Harry.”

“Oh…” He glanced away, head throbbing as Teddy wailed again. He tilted the bottle, letting Teddy devour the much needed drink. “Only a few hours?”

“Yes. Just enough to give you a small break, and to get some things we really need.”

He sighed heavily, leaning back against the wall while cradling his godson. 

“I guess that will be alright, then.”

“I’m glad you came with me,” Daryl murmured as they headed out the gates. Glenn and Maggie headed out at the same time, heading in a different direction.

Harry smiled at him, reaching out to clasp his hand. “I’m glad, too. Carol was right, as always.”

He'd left his creatures behind, wanting a true moment alone with Daryl. Mungo and Hedwig had been distraught, but he'd been stern and adamant with them. They'd be fine letting him out of their sights for a few hours.

He wasn't made from glass.  

“Heh. Yeah she has a habit of doin’ that.” Daryl twisted the steering wheel, setting the truck to head south, toward the town they’d come from when they’d found the prison. Harry’s mind wandered back to that night, their first kiss. And a lot of other firsts for him. His face heated up at the memories.

“What are you over there thinkin’ ‘bout?” Daryl asked with a smirk, glancing at him sideways.

Harry grinned slyly. “Just remembering how much fun greasy mechanic shops are.”

“Yeah,” Daryl chuckled softly. “I have some pretty fond memories of them myself.” 

It didn’t take them long to reach the outskirts of the town, especially in a vehicle. It looked just as deserted as it did the first time through. “Maybe we can visit the shop again before we head back?” he asked as they stepped out of the truck. 

Daryl readied his crossbow, tightening the straps as he glanced around cautiously. “Definitely.” He threw a roguish smirk at Harry, eyes burning with heat as he raked a stare down his form. 

Harry shivered under his gaze, fire lancing through his stomach as the heat uncurled. 

“But we need to find the supplies first.” The anticipation beat at him as they began the trek to the closest convenience store. The shelves were raked almost clean. A few stray cans of soda, stale bags of chips, and trash were all that could be seen.

“This place doesn’t have anything,” Harry tsked. He grabbed an unopened blue soda off the ground, cracking it open. His nose burned with the first sip, but with that taste, he chugged the rest quickly. “Damn, these things are good!” 

Daryl rounded a shelf, stepping closer. “Yeah, Merle likes those. I like the red ones.” He grabbed one, tossing it to him as he plucked through the litter. 

Harry cracked it open, taking his first sip with delight. “Oh, this one is delicious. Is that cherry?” He took another sip before handing it over to Daryl. “The Dursley’s never let me have soda. I always wanted to try it though, especially at Dudley’s birthday parties.”

Daryl growled softly, chugging the soda instead of speaking. Harry continued his exploration, finding a duffle bag slung under one of the shelves. He struggled pulling it out and he unzipped it once he did. 

“Holy shit…” he breathed. Daryl walked up, glancing into the bag. Bottles upon bottles of medication were dumped inside. As he shuffled things around, he found two cans of infant formula, a pack of wipes, and several cans of food. Among the bottles, Daryl pulled out a tube, stashing it in his pocket before Harry could see what it was.

“Damn, looks like someone was scavenging and left their supplies.” He glanced around, brows furrowed in thought. “I don’t like this.” He stood suddenly, taking careful steps toward the shattered front window. Harry zipped the bag, hefting it onto his shoulder with a struggle. 

Daryl picked through the scattered trash carefully, crouching down to look at something closer. Harry walked closer with wobbly legs, seeing rust brown splatters under the papers. 

“What is it?” he asked. 

Daryl dragged a finger through it, smearing the substance around to feel the texture. “It’s blood,” he stated flatly, wiping his hand on his jeans. “But whatever happened was a while back, not recent.” He stared out the window, tracking a lone walker through the street. “But I don’t think it was a walker attack.”

“Shit.” Harry dropped the bag. “Think they’ll come back?”

“Nah. It probably happened before we got to the area.” 

Harry felt a wave of relief, but lingering worry still squirmed in his stomach. 

“We should be fine. I don’t see any recent signs of anyone,” Daryl reassured, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s finish looking around, and then maybe we can visit the shop?”

Harry smiled, leaning forward into Daryl. “That sounds amazing.”

Daryl wrapped his arms around him, ducking his face in for a soft kiss. The lingering taste of cherry soda lingered on his lips, making Harry thirsty for more.

He barely paid attention to the rest of their scavenging. They’d miraculously managed to find several more tins of formula, and several packs of diapers, but nothing like that duffle bag. 

He wondered distantly about what had happened to whoever it was, but those thoughts become dangerous with the way the world works now. So he pushed them aside, thankful at least that they’d found what they needed.

Mungo would have been a fantastic addition to the excursion, with his ability to find ‘treasure’ and be a lookout, but by Merlin, Harry had wanted a moment with just him and Daryl. And he was going to enjoy every second of it. 

When they finally cracked the door to the mechanic’s shop, anxiety and anticipation warred inside him. This moment felt different than before.

It wasn’t just a stolen moment between the two. There was almost no risk of one of the group interrupting them, or worry about being seen. It was a planned, private moment in a world that hardly spared it anymore. 

Daryl led them inside, crossbow raised as he tapped the wall loudly. He lowered it after a moment, when nothing stirred inside. 

The room was untouched from the last time they were here, still dusty and unused. Harry’s eyes flicked to the wall where he’d shared his first kiss, where Daryl had first touched him.

His cock stirred at the thoughts, the phantom touches he could still feel. By the time Daryl turned to him with an “all clear”, he was ready to jump him. 

With two steps, Daryl stood before him, already reaching for the bag. Harry didn’t fight it, letting it drop to the floor with a heavy thud. 

Calloused hands cupped his jaw, tilting his face up. Their tongues met in battle of wills, tangling together as they matched in a parody of dance.

Those rough fingers trailed down his neck, sliding to the front of his shirt. Daryl made quick work of the buttons, and Harry was just as quick to shrug the fabric off. Cool air hit his heated skin, goosebumps prickling up, but Harry didn’t care. 

His lips tingled, raw from Daryl’s chapped mouth. But he wanted more.

He reached up, pulling the strings of Daryl’s vest loose as he pushed him back. Daryl shrugged out of the leather just as they fell backward onto the cot against the wall. 

It forced them apart, but only long enough for Harry to straddle him, grinding down as their lips met again and again. The cherry soda clinging to their lips slowly dissipated, leaving only the taste of each other for them to consume. 

The archer’s fingers trailed down his torso, blazing a trail of heat and want in their path. Harry broke the kiss, a moan erupting unbidden as those fingers tweaked his nipple. His eyes blinked open, but he saw nothing as stars flashed. 

Heat built in his core the more Daryl moved. How had he ever existed without this man? How had he gone so many years without feeling this? In that moment, he found himself grateful–genuinely grateful–for the Dursley’s. If they hadn’t forced him on that trip, he’d have never met the man who completed him so wholly. 

Daryl mouthed a path down his neck, ending at the same rosy bud his fingers had explored. The first brush of wet heat against it had Harry’s hips jerking against his will. 

His arms gave out at the pleasure, plastering him to Daryl’s front. 

The man huffed a laugh, wrapping his arms around his shoulders as he flipped them smoothly, laying Harry out on the bed like a feast. 

It was like a thread snapped in his mind. The feeling of vulnerability struck him, leaving him cold and aching as his arms instinctively rose to cover his torso. He didn’t want him to see the scars, the truth of the horrors he’d endured.

“Hey, hey.” Daryl clocked it instantly, but he didn’t move back, or look at his skin. He met Harry’s gaze softly, tenderly. “I’ve got you, Harry.” If he’d expected disgust, despite knowing that Daryl had already seen them, already knew, then he was sorely disappointed. 

He reached up, making sure each movement was seen, and gently wiped a tear he hadn’t realized had fallen. “Nothing could make me love you any less,” Daryl whispered tenderly. “Here,” he moved back. Harry reached forward with a small cry, sitting up to chase him. Daryl gave him a loose smile as he settled himself on his back, tucking his hands behind his head. “Why don’t you explore instead?”

Emerald green eyes blazed with want as the heat crept back under his skin. Sun bronzed skin stretched endlessly before him, tucked into the muscled abdomen, circling the dusty brown nipples, and interspersed with a dusting of hair on his chest. 

He licked his lips as he moved back over his hunter, fingers already tracing the divots and valleys. The chest hitched as his breathing stuttered, and Harry drew his hand back as he looked up to meet his eyes.

“You’re good. It feels good,” Daryl growled. “Keep going. Do whatever you want.” HIs voice sounded strained, but in a good way, Harry noted. Trembling fingers settled back on his skin, slowly tracing up until he came to a dusky peak. 

Daryl moaned when Harry flicked his nipple, but his eyes stayed open, watching him with hunger. Harry could feel him hardening, the weight settling comfortable against his own. 

His mouth watered, wanting to taste. Daryl had said do what he wanted, so he leaned up, taking his nipple in his mouth. The hunter’s legs shifted, coming up to cradle his bottom. 

“Fuck…” Daryl moaned when he sucked lightly. His arms twitched, like they wished to move, but he threaded his fingers together tightly to force them still. 

Harry let himself go, learning the way Daryl’s body twitched and shook under his ministrations. How when he sucked, then flicked his tongue, Daryl jolted. How when he bit lightly and pinched the other, Daryl grumbled and hissed.

The man was beautiful.

And he was his.

He trailed his lips down his torso, leaving the nipples swollen and red as he licked down the muscled abdomen. Absently, Harry noticed the ridges in the skin, the scars that marred Daryl’s beauty. He slowed when he crossed one, leaving each with a tender kiss and he continued his path down. 

His chin bumped rough fabric and he pulled back, seating himself in the man’s lap as he looked at the canvas he’d painted.

Daryl’s skin glistened in the sunlight, the trails Harry had made looked like a creek bed, soft bruises lining the path. His nipples were like pearls, shiny in the soft light. His eyes met the warm autumn of Daryl’s, his stomach clenching at the desire reflected in them that turned them a warm honey color. 

“You okay?” Daryl murmured gravely, voice deep and wrecked. Harry nodded, throat too tight to answer.

Daryl’s hands didn’t move. His eyes searched Harry’s face like he was memorizing it. “Can I touch you now?”

Harry didn’t answer with words. One hand reached up, tracing the deepest, most prominent scar on his collarbone self-consciously. He worried his lip between his teeth before nodding shakily. 

Daryl slowly unwound his arms, bringing them up to cradle his face as he swiped his thumbs gently across his cheeks. “I’m not looking at your scars, Harry,” he said softly, pressing his lips tenderly against his own. “They’re just another part of you.”

“I trust you, Daryl,” he whispered, finding his voice though it came out wobbly. He glanced up under his lashes, whispering his next words. “You can do whatever you want, too.”

It was worth it, seeing the blinding smile and heated stare he received. 

It would always be worth it.

“Lay back for me, alright?” Harry did as he asked, falling against the mattress as he watched. Daryl leaned back, digging in his pocket for something. When he pulled out that tube from earlier, Harry raised a curious eyebrow.

“What’s that?”

He swore Daryl blushed, his cheeks turning slightly red as he tossed the bottle down. “It’s lube. Grabbed it at the store earlier.”

“What’s lube?” He reached out, picking the bottle up to read the label.

“It makes things easier,” Daryl explained patiently. 

“Makes what-” Daryl cut him off with a kiss. Harry dropped the tube, wrapping his arms around his neck. When they broke apart, Daryl rested his forehead on Harry's, sharing a quiet breath together.

“Do you really trust me, Harry?”

He gazed deeply into the honey eyes above him, warm and tender in the best way. “I do. Completely.”

“Then you’ll see, okay?” He kissed him again, harder, twining their tongues together languidly. “It’s easier to show you.”

He leaned back, still hovering, but they were no longer plastered together. “I need one thing from you, though.” He made sure Harry was paying attention, holding his gaze. “I need you to tell me if something bothers you, or you get uncomfortable, alright?”

Harry nodded, relaxing back as Daryl began to move. 

Rough hands trailed to his hips, dipping under the top of his jeans. Fire traced the touch as they moved to the clasp, and with a sharp snap, his button was undone. 

Harry released a tight breath, fighting the awkward feeling that tried to embed itself. His scars were worse on his legs and butt, and he watched Daryl’s face carefully as he pulled his trousers down his legs. 

But Daryl didn’t stop to stare, didn’t linger on the crisscrossing stripes across his thighs, and relief swept through him. 

HIs cock sprang forth, hard and already leaking. The cool brush of air did nothing to the heat building inside him. Daryl’s gaze turned hungry as he stared at the weeping head. 

He grabbed it with one hand, glancing at Harry for the briefest moment, before his tongue slipped out, lapping up the precome.

“Fuck,” Harry hissed, hips thrusting. Daryl’s hand stopped him from choking him, a soft groan breaking through that vibrated through him. Lighting raced through his body, stars bursting at the sensation.

His lips wrapped around the head, sucking slowly as he moved down. 

“Ah–fuck! D-Daryl, I–” his lungs seized, words breaking apart in his mouth as the fire stole his breath.

“Nnh–can’t–shit–” Hands scrabbled for purchase, voice trembling around each ragged word. Daryl swallowed him, inch by inch, and Harry shattered.

His hands flew up, grasping tightly at Daryl’s hair.

But everything stopped suddenly. Daryl froze, Harry still deep in his mouth as he stilled. One hand reached up, untangling the fingers, clasping them tightly as he held Harry’s hand to the bed. 

Even incoherent, Harry managed to understand.

And Daryl moved again, pulling up the shaft torturously slowly, then swallowing him down quickly. 

Harry’s mouth opened wordlessly, noises and groans falling from his lips like droplets. Every swallow sent tingling fire stabbing through his groin, building a heat that threatened to overwhelm him. 

“Daryl–hah–cl-close,” he tried to tell him, warn him, but he was too close to the edge. The stars burst, warmth flooding through him as he spilled into the waiting lips. 

Pulse after pulse, the tremors of pleasure wracked through him, wringing him dry. Daryl slipped off with a soft pop, licking a stray drop of cum from his lip. 

He gave Harry a moment to breathe, leaning back to reach for the lube as Harry collapsed bonelessly.

Daryl’s eyes drifted over him.

Harry was a fucking sight. Flushed and panting, skin pink with heat and hair damp from sweat. And his eyes, half-lidded and dazed, focused on him.

He looked at Daryl like he was safe, wanted. It ached, a pressure under his ribs, deep and all-consuming. 

He swallowed hard as he grabbed Harry’s thighs, pushing his legs into his chest gently.

“Grab your legs and hold them there,” he whispered, waiting for Harry to hold them..

“There’s more?”

Daryl couldn’t help the smirk as he popped the cap on the lube. “Darlin’,” he said with a rasp. “We’re just gettin’ started.”

Harry’s eyes widened as Daryl poured a generous amount of viscous liquid on his fingers. “Where is that gonna go?” he whimpered.

Instead of answering, Daryl brought his hand down, below Harry’s length. His middle finger drew a slow circle around the tight rosebud, letting the sensation give the answer.

Harry gasped, throwing his head back as his legs trembled erratically. 

Daryl turned his head, pressing a soft kiss to the shaking thigh. He circled one more time, biting down into the meat as his finger pushed through the ring. 

“Mnf.” Harry pulled a stuttering breath in, eyes wide in shock.

Daryl withdrew his teeth, pressing his lips to the indentation as he waited for Harry to grow used to the intrusion.

When his breathing calmed and his hips pushed back the slightest bit, Daryl pushed his finger in a bit more, up to the first knuckle. 

“You good, Darlin’?” he asked as he began to twist, working him open for the next one. 

“Y-yeah. That feels weird.”

“It will for a minute,” he murmured soothingly as he pressed the next finger to the tight ring. 

Harry tensed, walls clenching around him like a vice. 

“Might sting a little,” he added, thumb brushing his hip. “But it’ll start to feel good real soon.”

He eased his index finger in carefully, waiting for the give. Harry winced, breath catching at the stretch. 

“You tell me if it’s too much, alright?” Daryl said, pausing his movements. “We stop whenever you need.”

“I-I’m okay,” he shifted his hips, wiggling slowly. “Just takes getting used to.”

Daryl leaned in, his fingers pushing in deeper as he drew Harry in for a languid kiss. 

“You’re doing great,” he whispered against his lips. Still pressed to him, he spread his fingers apart, stretching the tight ring of muscle. He pressed his tongue forward at the same time he crooked his fingers, drinking in Harry’s gasp like nectar. 

Fingers twisting in time with his tongue, Daryl slowly brought Harry back to that peak. Whimpers and soft cries spilled from his lips, sending throbbing heat straight to his core..

Daryl was so hard it was painful, but he would never rush this and risk hurting him.

When Harry stood fully hard once more, Daryl slipped in the final finger, stretching him wide.

Enough to take him. All of him.

When Harry’s cries turned to high pitched whines, Daryl withdrew his fingers, popping the cap on the lube. 

He hissed as he coated his thick length, the liquid painfully cold against the red, swollen member. He tossed the tube, moving to hover over Harry.

“Are you sure you want this?” It pained him to say, desperate for that tight heat to wrap around his core, but it needed to be asked. Harry’s wide eyes met his, drifting down slowly to where they were almost connected.

“That’s…that’s going in me?” he asked breathlessly. “It won’t fit.”

“Hey, look at me.” Daryl held himself up with one arm, the other reaching up to tilt Harry to face him. “It’ll fit. ‘S why I used my fingers.” Harry still looked afraid, so Daryl shifted his thumb to tug at his bottom lip.

“Do you trust me?”

Harry panted, face still strained. His eyes fluttered shut, throat bobbing as he swallowed audibly. “I do.”

Daryl swooped in, stealing his lips in a demanding kiss as his hips stuttered forward, the bulbous head pressing just slightly into the tight, wet heat. 

“Relax, Darlin’. You gotta let me in.” He reached his hand down, grabbing Harry’s flagging member and pulled. The whimper was delicious, and the resistance slackened enough for him to inch forward. 

He stopped, the head fully passed the tight ring, letting Harry adjust to his girth as he wiped stray tears from his face.

“Breathe.” he murmured, blinking away the sweat dripping into his eyes. His muscles quaked with the urge to push in, but he stifled it with a growl, waiting for Harry’s go ahead.

Daryl brushed their foreheads together, gazing deeply into the hazy emerald eyes. “I’ve got you,” he whispered. 

Harry released his legs, moving his arms to wrap around Daryl’s shoulders, hands skirting his hair as he drew himself up. Lips met messily as they kissed. 

Daryl's heart ached as, even in the throes of discomfort, Harry remembered what hadn’t needed to speak to ask. 

When Harry drew back, he rested his head on Daryl’s sweaty shoulder. Daryl sat back on his haunches, hands wrapping to hold Harry in his lap with his legs spread around him. 

“I know you do,” Harry whispered as he pushed down slowly.

Daryl groaned as tight heat engulfed him. Inch by slippery inch, Harry sank, soft groans slipping out. Daryl’s hands splayed, cupping his bottom, keeping him from forcing himself down too fast. Steadying him so he didn’t rush.

From the breathless moans and twitching limbs, Daryl knew he felt every single millimeter of skin and hardness as he slowly bottomed out.

“Oh Merlin…” Harry breathed. “I didn’t–feels good.”

Daryl turned, placing his lips next to Harry’s ear. “You ready?” he rasped, nipping the lobe as he tightened his hands. With his strength guiding the movements, he pulled Harry until just the tip of his cock was in him, holding him in the air until he answered.

Harry grunted, trying to push down, but Daryl didn’t budge.

“Answer me, Darlin’.”

“Yes! Dammit Daryl, mo– fuck !” Daryl slammed him down, ramming up at the same instant, knocking the breath out of Harry. 

He held him still, dick throbbing as Harry’s walls pulsed. Incoherent hisses spewed from his lips. More of that fucking snake language that made him swell and ache.

He mouthed at Harry’s neck, waiting for him to come back to himself. When he pulled in a breath of air, Daryl raised him again, pulling him down swiftly as he thrusted. 

Nails bit into his shoulders as Harry clung.

Daryl used the full strength of his arms to bounce him. Lifting, slamming, lifting again, fucking up into that tight heat relentlessly. 

He groaned raggedly into Harry’s neck as the sensations washed over him, muscles burning from the effort.. 

He pounded up hard , driving them both higher up that steep peak. 

“D-don’t stop, please don’t stop,” Harry whimpered, head tilted back as he stared unseeingly. “So good, so good.”

With a final thrust, Daryl stilled, buried to the hilt.

“What? No, no, don’t stop!”

“Shh, hang on.” He laid back, still holding on to Harry as his back met the mattress.

The change in position had Harry gasping, body jolting as Daryl hit that sweet spot deep inside. He settled Harry on his lap, finally removing his hands as he let him go. 

Harry’s hips twitched instinctively, pulling a whimper from his throat as lightning shot up his spine. 

“Wh-what?”

“Move, Darlin’.”

He settled his hands on thin hips, helping guide Harry’s movements. Tentatively, Harry rocked, learning which movements felt the best. 

When he started a good rhythm, Daryl let him go, watching the man chase his pleasure. Face slack, eyes fluttering, Daryl couldn’t take his eyes off him as he rode him. Stuttering jolts betrayed his inexperience, but he didn’t hesitate, and that nearly made Daryl come undone.

He let his hand wander, tracing over the ridges in his skin, fingers hesitating over the circular mark on his side. 

That day could have ended so much worse. 

Another jolt had Daryl hissing, adjusting himself subtly so he didn’t spill too soon. 

Harry bounced, twitched, gasped, sobbed as the heat built. And as Daryl traced the scar once more, he thanked the deities he didn’t believe in for saving the man.

For giving them the chance to have this. 

On the edge of release, Daryl reached up to stop him, shushing the pleas Harry uttered. 

He grabbed him, rolled them, and took.

Harry hit the mattress, wide-eyed and breathless. Daryl pulled one leg up over his shoulder, splitting him open as he slammed back in. 

His hips rolled on each thrust, deep and unrelenting, nailing that spot again and again, leaving Harry a blubbering, hissing mess as he took, and took, everything from Daryl. 

And Daryl gave everything.

The heat built in his core, balls drawing up tight as he neared release. He dropped the leg, smashing his lips to Harry’s as his hand drifted down to grab his leaking cock. 

Harry couldn’t even kiss back, just gasped, lips parted, as Daryl plundered. 

Warmth spilled into his palm as Harry moaned deep, eyes rolling into the back of his head as his lashes fluttered and his body quaked.

Daryl stopped holding back..

He grabbed his hips, pulled him flush, and drove in deep, chasing his release now that Harry was satisfied. 

“Ah–too much–hah,” Harry grumbled, each thrust forced a weak spurt out, even though he was spent. 

With one more thrust, Daryl stilled for the final time, muscles tensing as his  orgasm ripped through him with the force of an earthquake as he emptied into the pliant body beneath him. 

He collapsed, landing to the side of Harry, still inside him as he fought to catch his breath. 

Harry’s eyes were closed as he basked in the afterglow, sunlight highlighting the sharp ridges of his cheekbones. Daryl couldn’t help himself, brushing his fingers gently over the smooth skin.

Lashes fluttered open as dazed green stared at him sleepily, a soft smile blooming on his face. 

“Thank you, Daryl,” Harry whispered, nuzzling into his hand.

“Ain’t nothin’ to thank me for, Darlin’.”

“There is though. So much,” he insisted. “If it weren’t for you…” he trailed off, eyes fluttering shut as his throat bobbed. “If it wasn’t for you, I would have never been able to experience this.” He stayed quiet for a moment, but Daryl sensed he wasn’t done. “I don’t think I would have wanted to, if it wasn’t you.”

Daryl’s heart leapt to his throat, pounding against his ribs like it wanted to escape. 

He wasn’t the type of man to shed a tear, but Harry’s words struck him right in the most tender part of his soul. 

He shifted enough to bring their foreheads together, sharing a soft kiss.

“And I like that, by the way,” Harry said when they broke apart.

“Like what?”

“Darlin’.” Harry said in his British drawl. Daryl huffed a laugh, swiping a thumb across his lip.

“Good. ‘Cause that’s what you are.”

Harry ached in places he’d never known could hurt that way, but each step sent a delicious shockwave up his spine, even if he limped.

He couldn’t keep the goofy smile off his face, or his eyes from constantly straying back to his man. 

What they had just done… Never in a million years would he have known that two bodies could move like that. 

Merlin… he couldn’t wait until next time. But he was also pretty sure he’d never be able to sit the same again. 

He’d walked into town needing formula and a handjob and now he was walking out needing a new spine. 

Daryl handed him his shirt, pulling his own vest across his chest as Harry struggled. A quiet laugh echoed before he reached out to help him, tugging the hem down into place. 

As soon as his head popped through the hole, Daryl met him with a sweet kiss, drawing the moment out. 

“Let’s get everything together and head out.”

“Sounds good,” Harry said as he limped to the dropped bag. “I miss the little man, anyway. And Hedwig is probably losing her mind.” He rolled his eyes as he thought about his dramatic bird. Matter-of-fact, all of his damn animals were dramatic. 

Daryl grabbed his crossbow, letting it hang in its straps as he took the heavy bag from Harry. “I’m sure he misses you, too.”

Harry pulled the door open, turning with a smile as he laughed. But Daryl’s eyes darkened as he dropped the bag, hands flying to his weapon.

Harry was wrenched out, pushed down into the dirt on his knees as someone bowed his head toward the ground. Gravel bit into his skin, cold metal kissing the back of his head and a boot pressing at his spine.

“Well now, that was quite the show, wasn’t it boys.”

Chapter Text

This is just to let everyone know that I will not be posting any updates for the next 30 days.

My daughter was rushed to the hospital on Sunday with a ruptured appendix. She is doing good but we have to watch for the next month for any signs of infection. I will be avoiding any updates so that the AO3 curse didn’t have a chance to take hold while she is recuperating.

Sorry guys. But I will be back!