If he could choose, Louis would rather face a mountain troll and Voldemort at Hogwarts than stay in this apocalyptic hellscape where basic survival was a question mark.
But he was here. And complaining wasn't going to change that.
He looked down at the vintage suitcase in his lap.
This was his lifeline. His greatest secret.
Louis rearranged the items inside, his mind working faster than it had in either of his lives. Time to make a plan.
First, the good news: his magic hadn't disappeared with this bizarre second transmigration. The warmth that had pulsed through his fingertips when he'd touched the wand, the impossible smoothness of the invisibility cloak—both confirmed it. He was still a wizard.
A wizard who didn't know any spells, sure. But he had potential. He had books. He could learn.
Second: asset assessment.
The ebony wand was the source of whatever power he'd eventually wield, but right now it was basically a fancy stick. Those first-year textbooks, especially The Standard Book of Spells, would be his bible for the foreseeable future.
And the invisibility cloak...
Louis's eyes lingered on that shimmering fabric.
He'd begged his parents to buy it. Spent a small fortune in Galleons—all so he could sneak around Hogwarts after curfew, explore the Restricted Section, live out his Harry Potter fantasies.
Now it might actually save his life.
The walkers seemed to rely heavily on sight and sound. This cloak wasn't a Deathly Hallow—it couldn't fool Death itself—but it was high quality. Good enough to fool rotting corpses? Probably. Theoretically, he could move through the city like a ghost, scouting and scavenging while staying completely invisible.
But there was a catch.
Louis's expression turned serious.
He could never let anyone find out. Not about the cloak. Not about the magic. Not about any of it.
In a world where order had collapsed and morality was optional, an "outlier" who could do impossible things would be seen as one of two things: a monster to be feared, or a resource to be exploited.
And a cloak that could make someone vanish? That was the kind of temptation that got people killed. If word got out, every survivor within a hundred miles would want it. And Louis—an eleven-year-old with no combat training and noodle arms—wouldn't be able to stop them from taking it.
No. Until he was strong enough to protect himself, he had to play a role. Ordinary kid. Harmless. Maybe a little pathetic. The kind of person nobody saw as a threat.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs snapped him out of his thoughts.
Shane descended with a serious expression, but his hands held two bottles of water and what looked like an unopened chocolate bar.
"Upstairs is clear for now. Those things haven't gotten up there." He handed Louis one of the water bottles and the chocolate. "Eat. We need to move soon."
"Thank you, Officer Walsh." Louis accepted the food, keeping his voice small and grateful.
Shane studied him for a moment. The kid's face was dusty and pale, a nasty bruise already forming on his forehead—but his eyes were clear. Alert. He reminded Shane of Carl, actually. Same age, same quiet steadiness that most kids didn't have.
His expression softened.
"You're welcome, kid. What's your name? How'd you end up alone out there?"
"Louis," he said. "Louis Green."
His mother's surname. Safe, unremarkable, impossible to trace.
He looked up at Shane, letting just the right amount of fear and confusion show in his blue eyes.
"I... I hit my head pretty hard. I can't remember everything clearly. I know I got separated from the others. I came out to find food, but then..." He trailed off, letting the implication hang.
The bruise on his forehead did the heavy lifting. Shane's suspicious expression eased.
Kid got knocked around, lost his group, came out looking for supplies. It made sense. More sense than most things in this godforsaken world.
"You're braver than you look," Shane said. "But don't pull something like that again. It's too dangerous."
"I know. I'm sorry."
Inside, Louis was quietly relieved. The lie had landed perfectly.
Shane's shoulders relaxed slightly. He'd been wound tight ever since escaping the hospital—ever since watching the military gun down civilians and realizing his partner, his best friend, was probably dead in that hospital bed.
He'd promised Rick he'd look after Lori and Carl. Every second he wasted here was a second they might be in danger.
But looking at Louis's wide eyes, still holding that faint tremor of fear he was trying so hard to hide... Shane couldn't just leave him.
Damn it.
"We'll find your parents," he said, the words automatic. "The military's setting up safe zones. They're probably waiting for you somewhere."
It was a lie, and they both knew it.
Louis played his part anyway. His eyes reddened slightly, but he didn't cry. Just nodded, hard, like a kid trying to be strong.
It was exactly the reaction Shane expected. Exactly the reaction that made his chest ache.
Just like Carl.
"Thank you, Officer," Louis said quietly. Then, almost hesitantly: "I hit my head pretty bad... I'm even confused about time. When did this... flu... start?"
Shane frowned, thinking back. "Few days ago, maybe? It happened fast. I was at the hospital with my partner when things went sideways. By the time I got out, the world was already like this."
Few days ago.
Before the plot begins.
Louis kept his face carefully blank, but his heart was racing.
This was the best possible news. The main story hadn't even started yet. Rick was still in his coma. The Atlanta camp hadn't formed. The CDC was still operational.
He had time.
Time to learn magic. Time to find a safe group. Time to position himself before everything went to hell.
"We need to go." Shane stood, head tilting toward the sounds outside. "After dark, those things get more active. We need to find a safe place before sunset."
"Okay." Louis rose immediately, capping his water and shoving the half-eaten chocolate bar into his pocket. Ready to move.
Shane gave him an approving look. No complaints, no whining, no dead weight. In the apocalypse, that was worth its weight in gold.
They were heading for the back door when a scream ripped through the air.
"Help! Is anyone there?! Save me!"
A man's voice. Raw with pain and desperation.
"My leg—my leg is injured!"
Louis's heart clenched. He started toward the window, but Shane's hand clamped down on his shoulder.
"Don't move."
Shane crouched low, creeping toward a grimy window. He peered through the gap.
Outside, a man in a torn jacket was limping down the street, dragging a bloody leg behind him. Three or four walkers shambled in pursuit, close but not quite close enough.
Shane's jaw tightened.
Every instinct screamed at him to stay hidden. He could barely protect himself, let alone a kid. Adding another liability—an injured liability—was suicide.
But watching a living person get torn apart...
In that moment of hesitation, the man spotted the building. Spotted them.
Hope ignited in his eyes like a match.
He changed direction, lurching toward the office building with desperate speed.
"Hey! Someone's in there! I saw you!"
Shane's blood went cold.
"Open the door! Let me in!"
The man's voice echoed down the empty street—a dinner bell for every walker within earshot.
Shane's face twisted.
"Damn it!"
They'd been spotted.