Listening to: Thank you and Goodnight – Tonight Alive

When the Witch growled and lifted her head to glare at him, Harry knew that his plan had just gone down the drain.

The eighteen year old had come to America a month or so ago, to get away from everything (and 'sort out his head' according to Hermione). The aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts had left the British magic community in shambles. And of course, as their 'saviour' it was up to Harry to help sort everything out, from the government to the schooling system to the exchange rate at Gringots (who still only allowed him inside with an armed guard). Added onto that, he had his responsibilities as Lord Potter-Black also thrust upon him by the Wizengamont, making him stress over laws and politics and run around like a headless chicken to stay organised.

Not only was he pushed into fixing everything, the reporters and fans wouldn't leave him alone and mobbed him if he went outside without his invisibility cloak or a disguise.

Added onto the stress from all of his public responsibilities, his private life wasn't great either. He and Ginny had decided to put off trying to repair their relationship, they had been arguing lately and with her at Hogwarts it was hard on the both of them. Ron and Hermione were barely apart unless they were working or studying, and he was beginning to feel like a third-wheel if they went out together. Ron was also helping out George at the joke shop, but he had been trying to convince Harry to become an Auror with him. Hermione had been trying to get him to complete his education but had given up, knowing that he was stubborn when he dug his heels in.

The only truly great thing at the moment was the time he could spend with his godson Teddy. The kid had already wormed his way into everyone's heart, and was determined to make sure he grew up loved and knowing what wonderful people his parents had been.

After three months, Harry had snapped at a large group of fans and Hermione had intervened, dispersing the gawping crowd and pulling him off to a bar for a good Fire Whiskey.

After calming down (and a little bit of alcohol) she had convinced him, in a typically Hermione way, to take a break from everything. Pulling out pamphlets from seemingly nowhere (he'd have to work out how she did that one day) that detailed international portkeys and laws about magic and international travel, they had eventually decided that North America seemed like a good place to take a break.

Four days later, his bag (complete with an undetectable extension charm) was packed and his portkey was booked. While apparition was good for travelling around Britain, it would drain him fair too much to attempt to transport himself over the entire Atlantic Ocean. He was set to return in around two months, his portkey being ready to activate after the two month mark.

Ron and Hermione saw him off, Ron clapping a hand on his shoulder and Hermione hugging him while crying and telling him to not get into too much trouble.

He laughed and hugged her back "Come on Hermione, you know me. I'm going on holiday; I can't have that much bad luck that I'll get into trouble on my break, right?"

3 WEEKS LATER

"Come on Hermione, I can't get into that much trouble can I?" Harry muttered under his breath as he hid inside a safe room.

Everything had been going great when he had arrived, nothing major had happened to him and there was no fuss getting to his hotel. He relished in the freedom and anonymity he had in America having decided to go completely muggle for the rest of his break. His hotel was nice enough, and he had admittedly gotten a few numbers from some very attractive girls who found his accent 'incredibly sexy'.

However, in typical Potter-fashion, his luck couldn't last. A week, one single week after he had arrived, the infection had broken out.
Originally he hadn't been worried about the Green Flu. He had been told by Madam Pomfrey on one of his many visits to the Hospital Wing that his magic was unusually strong around his immune system and healing his body. Grudgingly, she admitted that this was the reason why he was always released fairly quickly (and had scolded him when he had raised an eyebrow at her).

However, a week after he had arrived, the infected (or Zombies as they were affectionately called) had risen and panic was everywhere. He had quickly found out that magic was near useless against the infected unless he was using apparition to escape (however he had to see where he was going due to being unfamiliar with the city, and the fact that most places were covered with infected didn't exactly help matters).

Firearms, explosives and other weaponry were also quickly used against the rabid former-humans. He had adapted fairly quickly, his less than stellar childhood having caused him to handle a gun or two over his summer breaks for some extra protection in case some rogue Death Munchers attacked him when he wasn't allowed to use magic.

For the first few days he had travelled with another couple, but they had separated from him after an encounter with a few hordes and Harry had come out with a few bite marks.
He bandaged the wound, but when he hadn't been changed or remotely sick after a week he had reasoned that he was either immune, or his magic was protecting him.

A week and a half after the initial infection and he hadn't been contacted at all by any ministry, British or American. His portkey was still ready for transport, but it wouldn't be activated for another 6 weeks at least. He had used magic in front of some muggles but he still hadn't been contacted and he was beginning to worry.

He could hold out, he was a born survivor. Years of mistreatment at the hands of the Dursleys (although they had never physically beat him, the starvation periods were harsh and had conditioned him to survive on little food) had taught him how to fend for himself, and the conflict of recent years has taught him how to fight.

Either way, wizard rescue or not, two weeks after the initial outbreak, Harry found himself crouched inside a safe room. Around three days ago he had started to notice new mutations, stronger than the rest.
Grotesque fat ones (that strongly reminded him of his Uncle Vernon) that were called Boomers, nimble and acrobatic ones that were called Hunters. He had seen the ones that were constantly surrounded by smoke with the long tongues called Smokers, and he had carefully avoided the only female Special infected he'd seen called the Witch, who sobbed constantly unless she was disturbed. Harry had shuddered when he had seen a Hunter accidently crash into a Witch, the mess was unbelievable.

The absolute worst mutation he had come across so far was the giant meatball known as the Tank. The massive monsters required several clips of precious ammo to take down, and being by himself made it extremely hard to defeat one. He had mainly survived his encounters with the monsters by apparating as far away as possible and hiding until the beast lumbered off.

The Sorting Hat had always said he had the skills necessary to be a successful Slytherin, so he utilised them to the best of his abilities. The current situation required thinking and taking opportunities to survive, not the usual Gryffindor running-in-wands-raised-and-hoping-for-the-best.

He was patching up an arm that had been damaged by a Hunter and was trying to remember if he had packed any Skele-Grow in his bag for his cracked ribs that came from a Smoker attempting to squeeze him to death. He had had a rough time getting to the safe room, chased by horde after horde and he had dodged at least three Witches and he was sure that he had passed a Tank as well.

'I really need a team to travel with' he thought as he winced, holding his ribs. He had heard gunshots and yelling during his journey, but he had seldom seen any other Survivors so far. Sighing, he grabbed his wand from the floor beside him and pointed it into his bag that sat next to him.
"Accio Skele-Grow" he murmured and sighed when the bottle zoomed into his waiting hand. The damned potion tasted awful, but if it meant he wouldn't be doubled over in pain the next time he was attacked, in was worth it.

Making a face at the taste, he packed up his medical gear and slid them back into his bag. The groaning from the Common infected was loud, but he blocked it out with years of practise of blocking out his dorm mates snoring. He grabbed a sleeping bag and curled up, deciding to move again in the morning to let his ribs heal properly.

The next day, he had moved off and was slowly making his way through the city. He looked around; comparing the bust metropolis that had been here less than a month ago to the destroyed and decaying ruin it was now. He managed to avoid being mauled several times and was close to his next safe room when he encountered it.

The Witch sobbed on the ground, right in front of the safe room door. He looked around desperately, but there was no way that he could get around her. The crack that came from apparition would likely startle her, and he didn't have a shot gun at the moment, having traded it for the automatic he was currently carrying, so an attempt at crowing her was out. He began to move back, deciding to find another place to rest when his foot hit the side of an empty trash can, the noise echoing around the alley loudly.

The crying abruptly stopped and he turned his head slowly to face the infected. His heart stopped as the disfigured woman's eyes glowed red and she began to growl and slowly stand up.

So now he was faced with a very angry Witch in front of him and the screaming of a horde coming from behind him. Swearing as the growling increased, he decided he had better chances with the horde than the Witch and he took off running away from the Witch and the safe room. He could hear her shrieking, chasing him as he ran, dodging cars and jumping over trashcans. He knew that she wouldn't give up, but he had to get into an open space where there would be more places to apparate to.

When he heard footsteps ahead of him, he was about ready to just give up. There was almost no way he could survive both a Witch and a horde at the same time, at least by himself. In a last ditch effort, Harry leapt onto a dumpster, and from there vaulted up high enough to grab the fire exit stairs on the side of an apartment building.

He felt the claws of the Witch just miss his feet as he pulled himself up and her shrieks increased as he pulled himself out of her reach. Climbing onto a balcony, he took a breather and fumbled around for a Molotov. Finding one near the top in his bag, he carefully took aim at the still shrieking Witch and lobbed it down onto her. She yelped even louder as she caught fire, but dropped after a minute or so.

Calming his breathing, he carefully climbed back down the ladder and landed on the ground next to the body. He tore his eyes away from the burnt corpse, shoving down the guilt that bubbled in his stomach and put on an indifferent mask. He was never good with killing despite having done it several times before the actual infection, but his stomach still turned when he killed the infected. They were people once, even if they were now complete monsters.

Turning his back on the Witch, he began his walk back to the safe room, looking forward to his well-deserved rest.

However, this was not meant to be, as within taking half dozen steps, a roar was heard behind him and the ground began shaking.

Swearing again, he took off running towards the safe room, hoping to get closer before the Tank caught sight of him. He managed a few meters before a large piece of rubble landed on his right, blowing him off of his feet and into the side of a building.

He stirred slowly despite the roaring and held the side of his head as he sat up. Wiping the blood out of his eyes, he focused on the corner that the Tank was still hidden behind and stood up, aiming his gun, ready and waiting.

He blinked in surprise when he saw four people come running around the corner, being chased by the Tank, firing furiously at it while they ran. Shaking his head to clear it, he took aim and fired at the giant as well, and it quickly fell under the multiple bullets piercing its body.

As the group reached him, they all collapsed breathing hard. Harry took the time to assess them all while they recovered; silently taking up guard in case they were attacked.

The one that was breathing the hardest was an old guy, a war veteran judging by the army uniform he was wearing. His snow white hair was topped with a green beret and he had a packet of cigarettes in his hand, his old one having been dropped in the fight with the Tank. His eyes often flickered to Harry as he recovered, assessing him as well.

A girl leaned against the wall he had been blown into, also catching her breath. She would have only been a year or so older than he was, her soft brown hair and kind features at odds with the weapons and explosives on her person.

Collapsed in the ground was a young guy with dark skin wearing semi-formal clothing. His white office shirt was untucked and his tie was loose. He breathed heavily and stared at the Tank with wide eyes, taking in the sight of the monster.

The final member of their group was leaning against the wall opposite of the girl. He had tattoos all over his arms and a leather vest on. He was glaring at Harry suspiciously as he caught his breath, judging whether he was worth his attention or not.

Harry kept alert, eyes always flickering around before he moved closer to the foursome. They seemed to have recovered, and were reloading their weapons, but they all looked up as he came closer to them. Harry decided to stay on his guard around them. They may have worked together but he was in a weaker position. If things went badly it would be him who got hurt.

The old guy nodded to him when he joined them and the biker dude grunted. The other two sent him small smiles of appreciation.

"Thanks for your help back there son, would have been difficult without you."

Harry shrugged and continued to search the area. "It's no problem; we've all got to help each other out in this... situation."

They seemed taken aback for a second when he spoke, whether because of his accent or if he had said something surprising he didn't know, but he shouldered his automatic, having decimated a large portion of his ammo in the attack, and pulled out a pair of dual pistols. Searching their eyes, he took a risk and turned his back on them and walked off "Safe room is this way if you're wondering. You lot can come if you want, it's be nice to have some company that isn't trying to kill me."

The biker dude spoke up "And how do we know you won't try to use us as a meat shield kid?"

Harry turned around to glare at him, but stopped when a lout shriek echoed from behind the four. He lifted up his guns and fired twice. The body of a Hunter with two bullet holes in the head fell to the ground a few feet from the biker who had tensed up at the fallen infected.

"Does that answer your question" Harry said, smiling a little. "I'm Harry, Harry Potter by the way. Come on, I'll take you to the safe room."

Hey, hey, hey readers. It's me, the one and only Chaos Ideals. I'm back (having finally having gotten off my writers block) with this cross over. I got L4D a few weeks ago and have been hooked ever since.
I'm still a little rusty, and this is going to be slow at updating, but I promise it will be.
I'm gonna have this rated as 'M' for now, but I may lower it to 'T' in the future, I'm not sure yet.
My other fic SCTMIR is currently undergoing revision and being rewritten (a note will be pt up at some point) as I believe that I can do so. Much. Better. Than what's there.

Either way, I'm back, I'm writing, and I hope that there isn't too many mistakes and that this is interesting for you lot.

Read and Review
Chaos, over and out.

Listening to: Man Like That – Gin Wigmore