In My Perfect World
By: JA_Japster
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is copyrighted to JK Rowling. "In My Perfect World" is the product of JA_Japster and should not be reproduced in any shape or form without my prior consent.
Summary: Harry Potter is lost. Grieving and consumed with the guilt of the death of his friends, the magical community's savior is overwhelmed by the burden of fulfilling Dumbledore's death wish and the impending duel between him and Voldemort. In the world's darkest moments, a thought continues to run through his mind. Maybe this is a battle he wasn't meant to win.
Prologue
It was raining…
Dark heavens. Pouring rain. The lot. An ominous portent for an ominous occasion.
Master Sergeant John Haley crouched beside the dead body of a fellow soldier, searching through the man's equipment pouch until he discovered a single slender pistol magazine in it. Haley wished that he still had a clip for his automatic rifle that lay discarded uselessly a few meters away, or even better, a few belts for the M-60 that they had used what seemed to be ages ago. It was better than nothing though. He switched out magazines for his handgun, worked the action and then carefully stood up.
One of the corpses of the monsters had been set ablaze from an incendiary grenade thrown sometime during the skirmish, and its burning torso cast a dim glow across the survivors of the battle where they were positioned hunkered down behind the burnt husks of wrecked automobiles and strewn rubble accumulated during the firefight. There were only three left of what had previously been a full platoon of Special Air Service commandos, the elite military force in the British military. Of the three, two were wounded from various cuts or bites sustained from the short lived but vicious massacre. One nearly had his arm ripped off when one of the beasts bit him. His eyes were closed, and his lips moved to a prayer only he could hear. None of them really expected to make it out of this alive.
Haley moved among the wounded, trying to ignore the permeating stench of rotting flesh that even the pouring rain could not suppress. While he was no medic, a cursory examination of the men's wounds told him that infection was setting in rapidly…too rapidly in fact. It defied common sense that their wounds would already begin to rot, but the smell emanating from the blood soaked bandages was unmistakable.
It didn't make any sense, but then again, none of this did.
They were deployed less than an hour ago to assist in the evacuation of the Prime Minister after a demonstration of some sort in front of parliament had turned nasty. The protestors had reportedly attacked the security forces in front of the gates, not with guns or knives, but with tooth and nail like savages. Gunfire had slain scores of them, but even after being dropped with a round in the chest they would get back up and amble towards the gate, determined to get inside. The guards in front where overwhelmed and hacked to death, and even backup from local police units had been devastated by the hoard before the SAS troops could arrive to provide assistance. No one knew where the mob originated nor could anyone explain their cannibalistic behavior and drugged demeanor. They were like monsters. None of this made sense.
Haley had overseen the evacuation of the Prime Minister and his family on helicopter, but the sudden appearance of unforeseen storm clouds and torrential rain had prevented the chopper from returning to pick up his team. They had just setup in the parking lot in front of parliament with the few survivors of police teams when the hoard broke through the last set of security gates. They had opened fire. It hadn't been enough.
"Hang in there, chap." Sergeant Haley encouraged one of his men, the one with only one arm. He patted him on the shoulder, but the soldier didn't seem to notice. His skin was pale and clammy, and his eyes were shifting erratically. The poor guy wouldn't make it. Maybe none of them would.
More to keep his mind off his inevitable fate than anything; Haley glanced over their makeshift barricade and scanned the courtyard again. It had been about five minutes since they had put down the last of the monsters with a single round to its head, but the chorus of moans indicated that more of them resided out there, eclipsed by the darkness.
"Hey, sergeant!" the other wounded man suddenly screamed. "Sergeant! It's Timothy!"
Haley whirled around just in time to see the soldier with shifting eyes spasm violently and collapse on the ground. Haley prodded him gently. He didn't move.
"Well that's that then," sighed the Master Sergeant. "Grab his-"His words died on his lips at what he saw next. Timothy's eyes had snapped opened, staring unblinkingly at Haley. His mouth opened, revealing a bloody mass of twisted flesh and rotting teeth.
"What in the hell?" Involuntarily Haley's pistol rose, but it was too late. With a screech, Timothy lunged at the other soldier, his teeth ripping a huge chunk of the soldier's neck out in a wash of blood before a weapon could be raised. No sooner was that done did Timothy turn on his sergeant, blood dripping from his teeth.
Haley squeezed the trigger, but his hands shook at the last moment and the bullet struck Timothy in the neck instead of the forehead. It rocked the resurrected soldier back a step, but it recovered quickly and threw itself at Haley. They collided and fell backwards onto the ground, and the pistol fell from Haley's grip and clattered away.
"Timothy!" Haley roared, trying to push his former comrade's face away from his as Timothy determinedly tried to clasp his teeth down on Haley's neck. Using one hand he struggled to push Timothy off of him, and with the other he blindly grasped for his handgun, praying for the cool touch of steel against his palm. It came to him after a moment of searching, and with a surge of strength he twisted around.
Just then though, sweat and blood on Haley's palm slipped on Timothy's face, and without hesitation the insane soldier buried its teeth into Haley's shoulder. A wave of sharp pain shot through the sergeant's body, but with a final surge of energy he pushed Timothy backwards and lined up a shot.
"Sorry, mate." He whispered. The pistol exploded and a second later Timothy's head snapped back as half of it was blown away from a 9mm bullet as it ripped through his skull. This time when he fell, he didn't get back up. Haley pumped another bullet into Timothy's head and then reluctantly did the same to the soldier Timothy bit.
There was something about the bites that made them like this…into cannibalistic monsters. Haley groaned and slouched back against the car, trying not to look at the bloody wound on his shoulder. If this theory was correct, then before long he would become like the monsters roaming around outside the barricade.
The blood loss was making him dizzy, and the world seemed so far away. Even still though, he could swear the moaning was growing louder. He struggled to his feet and spared a glance over the top of the car he was hiding behind, and his heart sank.
"God, I hate being right all the time." He muttered. On the horizon, illuminated by the eerie green light produced from a burning flare, he could see maybe a half dozen of the monsters ambling towards him. Dejectedly he slumped back down and looked down at the handgun. He was in no shape to fight them. Better to just end it here instead of turning into one of them…or worse, being eaten alive, the fate that Haley had seen some of his men meet.
He twisted the handgun around and shoved it underneath his chin. His gaze fell to the sky. His finger tightened on the trigger…and then relaxed. He paused. What in the…
Overhead, soaring through the air was what appeared to be two motorcycles, and driving them were two men garbed in cloaks. They roared through the air, and it was only after a moment that Haley realized they were heading towards him. The motorcycles shot past only an inch above his head, spewing clouds of black exhaust as they streaked past, and then skidded noisily to a stop a few meters ahead of the barricade. One of the riders disembarked, casually tossing back his hoods and observing the carnage sadly.
"Looks like we're too late, Kira" said the one that remained seated on his bike.
The other man nodded and took a step toward the approaching hoard. As he did so, he stepped into the light, briefly revealing a young man with shoulder length black hair and skin as pale as snow. "Too late to save these poor souls, but we're not too late to take these bastards out."
Angrily, he whipped off his trench coat and tossed it aside, revealing the black jumpsuit he wore underneath and two brown leather bandoliers that ran across his chest. From the pouches on the bandolier he began removing what appeared to be normal playing cards and then lengths of piano wire to which they were attached. Swiftly, but with obvious care, the pale young man tied the ends of the cords to the base of his fingers and then delicately held six of the cards in his hands.
"Need help there, Kira?" asked the other man.
"No, Jerome. I have this." With a wicked smile, the young man's hand extended and like a pack of wild cobras, the cards sprung open and shot towards the pack of oncoming beasts. With each deft tug of his fingers the cards weaved in turn in the air, like a puppet being controlled by a puppeteer, and in moments they had wrapped tightly around the necks of each of the monsters.
The smile on the young man's face widened, and he suddenly tugged viciously on the cords. Simultaneously the razor sharp tips embedded into the edges of each card did their job, tearing into the flesh of the monsters and the cords did the rest. Blood sprayed everywhere as the nooses closed, neatly decapitating each of the beasts.
"Too easy," the card thrower remarked as he reeled in his cards. He cleaned them and then stowed them away. "The necromancer must be far away already."
"It was a hit and run job," agreed the man's partner. "But this many in so short a time…had to have been several novices all working together."
"Or only a couple powerful ones," added the young man, picking up his jacket and putting it back on. He crossed over to his motorcycle when he stopped, and turned towards where Haley lay, looking dazed at the young man. Haley could not believe his eyes, and if it weren't for all the other crazy things that had happened tonight, he might have believed he was going insane.
"H-how did you do that?" Haley asked in awe.
"The cards you mean?" the young man asked. He pulled one out and showed it to him. "Magic."
"Magic?" The sergeant nodded as if it all suddenly made sense. "Who are you people?"
"I'm Kira, Kira the Jester." The young man introduced. He pointed at his partner. "That's Jerome the Ax. We're members of the Fourth Hunt and Suppression of Magical Anomalies Division."
"Members of the what?"
"Hunt and Suppression of Magical Anomalies," Repeated Kira slowly. "Basically we kill things like those," He jerked a finger back at the headless bodies on the ground, "and other dark creatures. Werewolves, golems, the occasional rowdy vampire -stuff like that."
Haley could only manage a blank stare. Did he just say vampires? "What were those things?"
"Zombies," Kira said with a smile.
"Kira, don't say that." Jerome interjected from his perch on the bike.
"Don't say what?" Kira asked.
"Say that, that, that zed word. They're called Inferons. Calling them that zed word is just acting plain muggle."
"Well they are." The young man argued. He turned back to Haley. "Now, what happened here?"
Haley told them and Kira frowned deeply when he had finished. "Bad news I take it?" guessed Haley.
"Very bad. Well, it's not our problem for now. We'll leave this for someone else to clean up and modify the memory of…oh say…what do you think, Jerome?"
"Half the city."
"About that, sure. Now, as for you, sir, we'll just modify your memory and be on our way." Kira said kindly.
"I-I've been bitten." Haley objected hesitantly. As blood gushed from the deep bite in his shoulder, he suddenly felt so weak, and darkness hovered on the edge of his vision, threatening to completely engulf him. "I'll turn into one of them, won't I?"
"Nah, don't worry about it," assured the young man. "You'll wake up in a couple hours…" He stopped talking after realizing that the soldier was no longer listening to him. He was dead. "Well shit…"
Kira sighed. The poor guy was right. A bite from a Feron would kill you first, and then bring you back as one of them. No cure had been invented yet by the healers; the best they could do was create a preventative potion that all hunters used before going it. The bite of a Feron was magic of the darkest kind, and it disgusted Kira more than words could describe. Reluctantly he bent down and placed the tip of his card against Haley's throat.
"I'm sorry."
Author's Notes:
As promised, after devouring book six in about four hours (my eyes bleed) I started drafting the storyline for my latest fanfiction. As for book six…book six was a disappointment to me, and I wasn't overly impressed. I'll just leave it at that. The introduction of zombies was a nice touch though, and I couldn't help but include them in typical Resident Evil/(Blank) of the Dead fashion. Anyone catch the Shaun of the Dead reference? I love that movie.
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