Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor Walking Dead and I don't earn any money with this story.

Author's note: I have the impuls control of a five-year-old sometimes. This fic is the proof. This was not meant to exist. At least not before I finished a few of my old fics. Alas, it wasn't meant to be, because I started to watch The Walking Dead and then the plot bunnies attacked.

Rating: M

Warning: canon-complient violence, because, you know, zombies.

Daryl wasn't in the habit of missing. His accuracy with the crossbow was damn near perfect and he wasn't half bad at throwing knives either. All that ceased to matter, however, when it came to one fucking bird that had avoided being dinner for the past month.

His first encounter with it had been a few weeks after the Greene farm had been overrun by walkers. It had sat on the window sill of the house they had designated their abode for the night. Back then the brunet had been annoyed, when the ball of feathers had avoided his attacks and disappeared into the night, but he hadn't lost any sleep over it… metaphorically speaking. Nowadays none of them were particularly well-rested.

After that first night, the bird (a merlin, which had probably migrated south for the winter) had appeared every other day in whichever house they were spending the night in. With every failed attempt to hit it with an arrow or blade and every mocking glint from dark eyes, his efforts had doubled, if only to sooth his bruised ego. The day he had finally admitted defeat, the bird of prey had lived up to its name and gifted him a pigeon, like a cat would bring back a dead mouse.

More had followed.

That wasn't normal behavior for a wild animal, neither was keeping him (and only him) company during his watch or hopping onto his shoulder to groom his hair. Maybe it had been some sort of pet or used for falconry? Either way, the rest of the group found it hilarious and teased him every chance they got about his new friend. He grumbled and glared at them, but honestly didn't mind the semi-regular companionship.

"Hey Daryl, your buddy is back," Glenn announced with a shit-eating grin and carefully opened the window after making sure no walkers were close-by. The merlin swooped inside and settled on the hunter's leather clad shoulder, where it promptly started to tug on Daryl's hair.

"What, no present this time? That an invitation to make ya the meal?" The brunet mocked softly and got an especially hard tug in response. Daryl smirked, but raised his hand to offer a placating breast scratch, something the bird always reveled in.

His fingers had barely grazed the soft feathers, when a knock on the front door put all of them on edge. Daryl reached for his crossbow as the other's scrambled for their guns or knives and crept to one of the windows facing out front. He nudged the heavy curtain aside and peered outside.

"It's a guy," the brunet hissed towards Rick, who'd got into position next to the door. "Otherwise looks clear."

The former cop nodded and waited for Daryl to step in-between him and the rest of the group, before he raised his gun and carefully opened the door with his other hand. The man on the other side was middle-aged, with stern features and a nasty, albeit old scar on the side of his neck. At first glance he looked unarmed, but Daryl didn't assume that to be the case for even a second. In this shit world even children had means to protect themselves.

"What do you want?" Rick inquired, voice tense but the finger curled around the trigger of his gun steady. The visitor stared into his eyes for a long moment, then his gaze wandered to Daryl to repeat the stare down. Afterwards, he paused shortly on the bird, which was still calmly sitting on the hunter's shoulder, and finally returned his attention to the leader of their group.

"Good evening, my name is Severus Snape and I am here to issue an invitation for sanctuary," the man announced. The British accent took them by surprise just as much as the words did. Sanctuary? Was there even such a thing left? "During the last few weeks we've been vetting you, a procedure we partake in with all potential newcomers to make sure they're a good fit. If you decide to accept, you will have, amongst other amenities, regular meals, reliable defense against both the undead and the living and medical care."

Without even looking, Daryl knew Rick was tempted to go along with it, no questions asked. They had been constantly on the move, gone hungry more often than not and barely slept longer than a few hours at a time. Under normal circumstances those issues maybe wouldn't have cut it, but Lori was also starting to show. Another few month and the woman'd have serious problems with walking, let alone running from walkers. Not to mention the negative effect the stress and malnutrition was probably having on the baby.

"How do we know this ain't a trap?" Daryl pressed with a suspicious squint and an arrow still unwaveringly pointed at the other brunet. It was just too convenient that luck knocked on their door at sunset and offered them a secure roof over their head, especially when they hadn't stayed at the same place for more than a night and seen neither hide nor hair of anyone who could've watched them.

"You only have my word," the Brit replied levelly, seeming indifferent to their suspicion, but then he raised one dark eyebrow towards his hairline. "However, it may interest you that about a week ago we had two newcomers. One of them, a woman named Andrea, spoke of her former group. Apparently she got separated from them on a farm during an attack counting at least several hundred revenants. I assume that group is yours?"

Several gasps and muttering could be heard from the living room following that revelation, though Daryl didn't pay too much attention, because just then, for some reason, the merlin on his shoulders started to flap its wings in agitation and dug its talons deep enough into the leather vest to prick Dary's skin beneath. At least it didn't screech. Dary hushed it softly and after a moment the bird settled back down and carefully nipped his ear.

The man, Snape, studied their interaction with a peculiar look in his eyes, but didn't comment.

"We… do know an Andrea, but we thought she'd died during the attack," Rick admitted, his face a grimace riddled with guilt.

"You have the chance to reunite with her then but be that as it may, this concludes my visit. The Sanctuary is located about fifty miles to the West from this starting point. If you wish to come, Potter," and here he honest-to-God nodded towards the bird in their midst "will lead you there. Good evening, gentlemen." The man shallowly bowed his head to them in farewell and before they knew it, he turned on the spot and fucking vanished. Into. Thin. Air!

"I didn't imagine that, right?" Rick choked out after a moment, his eyes still fixed on the spot where their visitor had stood seconds ago. "That wasn't a hallucination?"

Daryl pushed him out of the way to close the door before the walkers had the chance to become aware of them.

"Ya didn't or I did, too."

Rick rubbed his eyes with a drawn-out sigh, glanced at the door for a long moment and finally went back into the former living room, where the rest of the group, who hadn't seen the unexpected departure, was already discussing the new information. They were speculating if it was all a big hoax, a trap or the real deal, how a bird was supposed to lead them anywhere and another big topic was, of course, Andrea.

Meanwhile, Daryl shifted his crossbow back over his shoulder and contemplated the encounter. The guy had made a… well, not good but honest enough impression on him, so Daryl didn't rule out the possibility of there actually being such a sanctuary in their vicinity and Andrea being there unharmed. It was up to Rick if they'd check it out, however.

His thoughts wandered to the disappearing act. It hadn't been the first weird and unexplainable experience in his life, even if he seldom recounted them. He tried to from time to time, the most recent story being about the chupacabra he'd seen, but nobody believed him anyway. At least this time the disbelief wasn't accompanied with painful injuries, like the permanent reminders on his skin from when he hadn't yet learnt to keep his trap shut as a kid.

More nipping on his ear pulled Daryl out of his thoughts. He turned his head to the side and met the green-eyed gaze with his own. Potter - Odd name for a bird, especially for one of the predator side of things. Daryl also wasn't sure how to feel about said predator belonging to someone. Maybe disappointment...

"Our guide, huh? Better not lead us astray. Ending up as dinner ain't off the table completely."

The discussion continued long into the night and all the while Rick was silently brooding in one corner of the room. At first they had tried to pick Rick's brain and offer suggestions, but his snappish attitude had quickly dissuaded them. Daryl was still convinced their leader's decision would go towards checking the Sanctuary out.

A few hours later he was proven right.

"So, we seriously going to follow that birdie up there?" T-Dog pointed up to the sky, where said bird had flown in circles since they'd opened the front door to load up their vehicles.

"Yeah. Yeah, we are," Rick confirmed adamantly as he slid into the driver's seat of his car. "We've all seen that it's clever. It's probably been trained by that man somehow."

And it's probably not a normal bird, Daryl added mentally as he started the motor of his bike.

As soon as all of them were seated and ready for travel, Potter abandoned its circling and winged its way westward. Exactly the direction Snape had mentioned. On the way they had to stop once or twice to deal with pile-ups and every time the merlin waited for them to clear the path while soaring through the sky and playfully chasing anything smaller than it or resting in nearby trees.

As they approached the fiftieth mile, Daryl suddenly felt a vague urge to turn around and look for gas to refuel his bike, even though the fuel tank was still half-full. A few hundred feet later Rick, who was driving in front, stopped his car and started to turn it.

In that moment their avian guide swooped towards the street, but the legs touching down on the tarmac weren't short, orange and armed with talons. Instead they were clad in a pair of tan cargo pants and black boots and belonged to a young man with dark, windswept hair.