Leave it By the Wayside

Chapter One

Disclaimer:I don't own Harry Potter or the Walking Dead.

Rick had Carl pressed in close against his one side, awake but exhausted and 'Chonne dozing under his other arm restlessly, waking up every few seconds with a small start.

Across from him Harry was sitting in the centre of a fancy circle that covered the better part of the dining room floor, drawn onto the light hardwood in street chalk and walker guts, looking unsure. Hovering over his creation for a moment before settling back on his haunches.

"Is it done?"

Harry jerked a bit, "Yeah," he croaked.

He shook his head and cleared his throat, before looking up and catching Rick's eyes, letting him feel the weight of his gaze, "I don't know if this is going to work, and if we do this it will take everything that I have. I won't be able to do magic anymore—no more ward stones, no more scent masking spells, no more healing potions. You get that right? It'll be—"

"It'll be just the same as it was before you found us," Rick interrupted, "We survived for years without magic, at the very least we could do it again. But we're stronger now, we've been through it all before, we know what to expect and how to deal with it. I think it's worth it for the chance to make everything right."

"Okay, I just—I wanted to make sure."

"You know it's okay if you don't want to do this, right?" Carl put in, "I mean, giving up your magic for us."

"Not to worry. I'm very sure about this. This group is—well, we're a family. You are all I have in the world now," Harry's lips quirked up in a familiar, wry little smile. "Besides, I've been told before I'm pathologically unable to resist being the hero."

"Let's go over the plan one more time," Daryl said, not looking up from where he'd been meticulously cleaning his crossbow and bolts all evening in the light of the flickering candles.

"Well, step one is the biggest one—I do the incredibly complex and virtually untested ritual and drag the lot of us as far back in time as I can manage," Harry said flippantly, standing up to stretch.

"And we'll all just, kind of, wake up?" asked Glenn, "In our younger bodies?"

"Hopefully," shrugged Harry, "There weren't too many experiments done with this magic that actually, well, worked but there was something about the possibility of 'scars of the past carrying over'—whatever that actually means."

"Nothing we can't handle, even if it does end up happening," Carol said, supremely unconcerned, "It's not like we're not already living with the scars."

"What if we're not together when we wake up?" asked Glenn, picking at the hem of his shirt.

"Then we look for each other. If we get as far back as before—before all this ever happened, we come together, organize, gather supplies, find someplace isolated to ride it out. Save who we can," answered Rick, "Same as always."

"Same as always," agreed Glenn, with a sigh, "Looks like we haven't stopped being dumbasses."

"Looks like," chuckled Rick.

"We gonna do this or just sit 'round gabbin' bout it?" asked Daryl.

"Harry?"

"Everything's ready, all I need is the blood."

"Alright then."

According to the ritual Harry had described to them the blood needed to go into a cup, they'd found a dusty glass in the kitchen of the apartment down the hall, one of those fancy champagne flutes, real crystal, practically unused. Harry had said it would do in a pinch.

Carefully Carol brought it out and unwrapped it from the padding of her spare shirts, then she took her knife and slit the meat of her forearm, hissing as the blade dug in and trying to angle the sluggish drip of blood into the flute before passing it over to Daryl.

Once everyone had contributed Harry helped Carl to his feet and the two of them settled in the centre of the circle, cross-legged with the flute of blood between them.

Out in the hall a walker threw itself against the door, snarling.

"Alright?" Harry asked, holding out his hands for Carl's.

"I'm good. Let's just do this."

Carl settled his hands into Harry's grip and closed his eyes, his brow furrowing in concentration.

The circle lit up with a dull reddish light, and Harry started to chant, his voice sing-songing over unfamiliar liquid syllables, some of which sounded more like gibberish than actual words.

Rick let his hand drop to his gun as the snarling in the hallway grew louder. Michonne reached for his other hand tangling their fingers and bringing him closer to the circle.

"Come on," she murmured, "We're okay."

Nodding he reached for Carol on his other side, stretching out his arms so that the five of them could encircle the whole ritual setup. Closing his eyes he tried to do what Harry had said and focus on his memories of before. But they seemed so far away—like they'd happened to someone else. Hell, they practically had.

He wasn't the same man he'd been four years ago. Not even remotely. Still, he had to focus, had to try to feel a little like that man again as he concentreated on the little things, working his way backwards, bit by bloody bit.

Harry laughing a bit and saying that seven was a magic number.

Harry showing him the ward stones.

Daryl shooting the walker that had Harry treed.

Losing Tara.

Losing Maggie.

Losing the Washington Trio all in one go when they blew up that department store.

Judith's festering bite.

Tyreese.

Noah.

Sasha.

Beth. Gods, Beth.

Killing that dumb cop of Dawn's.

Killing Gareth's psycho crew.

Finding Bob with his leg so neatly amputated.

Reuniting with everyone.

Terminus.

Killing Joe. Carl's crys.

Those days on the road, just him and Carl and Michonne, eating cheese from a can and feeling a little lighter when Carl laughed.

The prison.

The governor.

Hershel.

Carol's exile.

The feeling of helplessness that welled up when the sickness started.

'You don't get to come back from things.'

His hands buried in soft earth.

The wink of Maggie's wedding ring and Beth's songbird voice and the burble of Judith's laughter and Daryl's irreverent snort and Glenn tripping over his own feet. Three questions and a slow drib and drab of people, of company—people he wanted to protect, wanted to help make a life with, no matter what it cost.

Andrea's faint voice, 'I know how the safety works.'

Those foggy red days where everything was a blur of red spray across his face and the backs of his hands and the flash of Lori's white dress and cool eyes.

T-dog.

Those prisoners.

Hershel's leg.

Carol's elated voice, 'We haven't had this much space since we left the farm!'

The days before that, the ones that turned them hard as steel on the road, Lori's accusing looks. Boiling toilet water they scooped out of the tanks and sinking as low as thinking dog food was appetizing. Freezing nights spent awake and alone, because he was the leader, he wasn't meant to need anyone.

Shane. Shane's blood hot on his hands, his own tears hot on his face. Feeling like his heart was breaking.

He's going to kill me.

I can't leave him.

Dale with his gut's spilling out. Daryl's hand on his gun.

Sophia, poor little Sophia.

Lori's pregnant. We can't leave, Lori's pregnant.

You've got the hard part.

I need a sign. Any sign'll do.

We're all infected.

You're killing us.

Andrea and Amy.

The sharp urgent crack of gunfire and the screams in the night as the herd fell upon them.

Glenn looking down from the edge of a roof.

Merle's severed hand and Daryl's choked scream.

Carl running to him. Lori in his arms. Shane's bewildered grin.

Glenn's voice over a radio calling him a dumbass.

Morgan and Duane.

The first walker he ever saw.

Waking up in that hospital.

Disorientation. Fear. Pain. Light.

There was a sharp crack like a shot ringing out, and then nothing.

AN: Alright, well, there's a short intro chappie to get us out of the gates. Hopefully you guys enjoyed it. Please take the time to let me know what you think or to share an idea for plot or pairings.

Some things you should know about this story include the fact that there will definitely be slash/femslash/and het pairings represented. (Although no I haven't decided on most of the pairings yet). Also scenes of an explicit sexual nature will not be posted on this site but you can read them on AO3 where I have an account under the same penname.

til next time

-Donna