Harry/Daryl - Harry Potter/Walking Dead
Hell Entry # 5
Hello, Traveler,
Though it shames me to admit, this story was buried beneath cobwebs and rust, sealed in a tomb away from threats of decay.
But stories like this one don't stay dead. They claw their way up, as fractured and ravenous as the dead, waiting for someone to look them in the eye.
This one isn't for the gentle hearted.
But still, it's a story that deserves to breathe...
Summary:
After the Triwizard Tournament, Harry's sent to America with the Dursley's for the summer. An inconvenience, a throwaway plan. But one detour changes everything.
He meets Lucille.
Then he meets her husband, Negan.
In the short weeks before the end of the world, they become something like family.
But when Lucille dies and the world falls apart, Harry is taken. Stolen.
Lost.
Years later, Daryl Dixon finds a starving man tied up in a storage unit who says his name is Harry.
What Harry doesn't know yet, is that the man kneeling before him is about to lead him back to the one who mourned him like a son.
Preservation Note:
This entry was sealed within its own crypt, buried, quiet, and with the bones of brutality.
It has been preserved in the archive as it was found. Frayed at the edges and haunted.
The rest of the story has yet to be told.
Vanished
Daryl expected the trip to go exactly as every trip had before. Straightforward, maybe boring, and for nothing to really happen.
The emaciated, tied-up man in a random room in the storage unit was definitely not on the list of possibilities.
He glared at him with killing green eyes, staring him down like just his vision would kill him. “Listen, I’m just going to remove the gag and we’ll talk, alright?” He reached forward slowly, making sure the man could see each of his movements as he pulled the dirty rag from the man’s mouth.
The man smacked his lips a few times, there’s no telling just how long he’d been gagged, as he continued to glare at Daryl. “What’s your name?”
The man cracked his lips, moving them like he was trying to speak, but only a whisper of sound escaped. Ah, he was probably thirsty. Daryl reached carefully to grab his flask, bringing the water up to the man’s lips. He drank greedily, gulping down the contents as if it was the first taste of water he’s had in years. Pulling the now empty flask away, Daryl watched the man carefully.
“Harry. My name’s Harry.” His voice was hoarse with disuse, and it sounded like it pained him to speak, especially with his wince when he started talking.
“My name’s Daryl. What are you doing here, kid?” Now that he was looking closer, Daryl noticed just how young the other man looked. Despite a few stress lines on his forehead, he couldn’t be out of his teens.
“I don’t fucking know. The idiots that traded for me tied me up a few days ago and left for another meeting. I haven’t seen them since.”
Spark Bunny
It’s the summer after the Triwizard Tournament. Fourteen-year-old Harry is dragged along on a trip to America with the Dursleys, another punishment disguised as a family holiday.
While wandering alone, Harry meets Lucille. She’s warm and gentle, and unbelievably kind.
Despite the sickness eating away at her, Lucille brings him into her quiet world and slowly, her husband, Negan, does too. What begins as wary tolerance turns into something close to family. Harry starts to see Lucille as the mother he never had, and Negan, unexpectedly, becomes the father figure he never asked for but always needed.
Then the Dursleys leave him behind.
Negan is furious, but protective. He promises Harry he can stay until they figure out how to get him home. No one expects the outbreak. No one expects the grief that follows when Lucille takes her own life. And in the chaos that swallows the world, Harry disappears, kidnapped before Negan can stop it.
Years pass. No one knows what happened to Harry.
Until Daryl, while scavenging near Alexandria, finds a feral, emaciated young man chained up in a storage unit. He says his name is Harry.
And when Negan finally sees him again, scarred, starved, kneeling at his feet among strangers and murderers, he doesn't recognize the boy he once called his son.
A Final Note from the Crypt Keeper:
While some stories rot quietly, this one festered.
Not for a lack of love, but because the pain was too sharp to touch.
But even now, long after the smoke and silence, its heartbeat lingers.
The boy who found a mother.
The man who lost a son.
The hunter who found a ghost in a storage unit.
This story isn't just undead.
It's waiting.
Some reunions don't heal... they ruin.
-𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓒𝓻𝔂𝓹𝓽 𝓚𝓮𝓮𝓹𝓮𝓻
(Excavator of Emotional Ruin. Keeper of Lost Sons. Chronicler of Ghosts.)