Warnings and disclaimers: The rating is for language, a bit of incidental peacock carnage, and the odd bit of nookie. If you don't like any of these, please don't read it! As usual, if you recognise something here, it belongs to JKR (or, in this case, to Shaun of the Dead, The Walking Dead, Night of the Living Dead, or Dawn of the Dead). I make no money here!

A/N: This was inspired by a prompt from the incomparable Shiv5468, where she requested a SSHG story about the zombie peacock apocalypse. If you haven't read her stories, you are missing out on some hilarious storytelling! Go! Go now and read! Many thanks to Mundungus42 and Lena1987 for brainstorming and beta-reading! (Two brilliant writers who you should also read!)

Also, "Louis le Gros" means Louis the Fat, a medieval French king. Lucius plucks all his peacock names from the French aristocracy.

The Squawking Dead

A low-pitched squawk sounded across the manor grounds.

"Something is decidedly wrong with Louis," Lucius declared in a careful tone of voice.

Severus peered over his morning tea at the single fattest peacock he'd ever laid eyes on. The bird was all white, like the rest of Lucius's ostentation of peafowl, but while most of the birds weighed just shy of a stone, the aptly named King Louis le Gros clocked in at a good twenty-four or twenty-five pounds. He was resting at Lucius's feet like a dog, with his alabaster plumage arrayed behind him, his head cocked to one side, and his tongue hanging slightly askew in an inelegant manner.

"Something besides avian obesity?" Severus muttered under his breath. He dunked a biscuit into his Earl Grey before taking a bite, ignoring Lucius's scowl. "I know you pamper your birds, but what are you feeding him?"

"As the alpha peacock in the Malfoy birds, I feel that he has earned the right to eat whatever he wishes," Lucius said. "He loves a double cream quiche as much as the next man, and he nibbles on pate throughout the day."

Good grief, Severus thought. It was no wonder the bird was ill. "Can birds develop Type 2 diabetes, or is that disease particular to humans?"

"Quiet, you!" Lucius hissed, reaching down to cover the rotund bird's ears. He spoke in a whisper. "I do not want him to develop a complex of some kind. What would happen to his breeding capabilities if psychological distress were to prevent him from performing sexually?"

Severus snorted, imagining the bird as he waddled over to any of the prize hens, ready to mount them from behind. "You're lucky he hasn't flattened any of the females you've sent his way."

Still keeping his voice low, Lucius explained further. "Since the Championnat mondial des oiseaux last month, Louis has lost all his vim and vigor. He has been moving much more slowly these days—"

"Ask one of your house-elves to build a peacock-sized wheel for his exercise," Severus said, interrupting the man with a practical solution to his problem.

"—so I took the time last week to examine the list of show cocks competing against him for best in show." Lucius spoke over his friend more loudly, clearly in denial about the state of the bird's physique. 'The list of suspects is brief.'

Severus sighed. Lucius was clearly labouring under the delusion that another peacock breeder in the world was as merciless as he was himself. As if anybody besides a Malfoy cared that much about a bunch of well-heeled pigeons. Still, he humoured the man. Amused by his own wit, he asked, "Do you suspect fowl play?"

A glare was sent his way, along with an exaggerated rolling of the eyes.

After pouring himself a second cuppa, Severus rephrased the question. "Did anything out of the ordinary happen at the competition?"

"The younger Fwoopergrass boy was poking around Louis' holding pen," Lucius said, his voice colder than usual. He had a look in his eyes that Severus hadn't seen since the Ministry forced him to free and pay all his house-elves. "In addition, Irina Girya's male narrowly lost to Louis in their one-on-one judging. And there was Janjak Dessalines, a judge from the Caribbean, asking leading questions about Louis' age and weight."

"If the man is a judge," Severus interjected, "isn't it his job to enquire after the physical status of the birds?"

Lucius stared off into the distance, absentmindedly patting the peacock's head. "One of them interfered. I don't know who and I don't know how, but—"

At that moment, Lucius did the unthinkable. Despite being born and raised a Briton, despite being acclimatized to all the social customs of his people, he felt the need to—Severus could hardly bear to think it—the need to display an emotion.

It appeared as though it might be sadness, judging on the tear in Lucius's eye. Or constipation? No, Severus was pretty sure that it was a hopeless kind of desolation.

Then Lucius let out a soft sob.

"He is simply not the bird I raised from a chick," the blond said, reaching for a handkerchief from his pocket. The damned thing was monogrammed with a poncy flourish on either side of the cluster of initials.

Fuck.

Fuckity fuck.

Severus was fairly certain that the social response called for here was one of empathy, but Lucius was sniffling over a fucking bird. A stupid, squawking, annoying bird. He was stumped as to how to respond. His friend had broken a cardinal rule of Englishness by this unorthodox display. Didn't he know that he was supposed to sublimate his feelings by glass upon glass of gin? He bit his tongue, waiting for Lucius to realise his egregious error and collect himself.

Just then, Lucius gasped, remembering something. "I never warded Louis' food dishes." He leapt from his chair and knelt before the bird, still sitting there with his tongue dangling from one corner of his mouth. After pressing the bird's head in a few different places and staring down his gullet, Lucius glanced at Severus with a knowing look. "I am alerting the authorities immediately!"

"Whatever for?" Severus asked, watching the man jot a brief note on a red piece of paper. "Just take the damned bird to an animal specialist. St. Mungo's has a whole floor dedicated to animal trauma."

"No!" Lucius said, summoning an owl to send the message. "Someone has sabotaged Louis! He has been drugged! He has been poisoned!"

Except that he hadn't been.

Poisoned, that is.

Since he was something of an expert in the subject, Severus took it upon himself to give the bird a once over. He'd made a specialty of poisons and antidotes during his time in service to his pair of crafty overlords, and he knew that there was no possible way that Louis le Gros had been poisoned. None of the telltale signs appeared in any diagnostic test, his blood work was normal, and his saliva carried no trace of any toxins.

Severus tried to explain, but Lucius simply wouldn't hear it. He whisked the bird into the Malfoy family library and locked the door.

This left the taciturn Potions master to explore the wine cellar unattended. He took advantage of his friend's distraction. After all, Lucius would never miss a bottle—or a case—or two, and Severus was still strapped for cash after the war. Funny how the Ministry's gratitude for his actions in the war only extended to an Order of Merlin, second class, rather than one of the top drawer first class medal that came with a ten thousand Galleon reward.

Only Potter received that one, the Order of Merlin, first class. Of course Potter received that one. The boy desperately needed more gold in his vaults, as he was merely the sole inheritor of both the Black and Potter family fortunes.

No, Severus himself still lived at Spinner's End, although he'd spent the first year after the war tidying the place up a bit and reinforcing shoddy construction work with a spell here and there. The place was still shit, but it was sturdy shit now. Shit that held up on a stormy day, with windows that didn't rattle around in the wind like they had when he was a boy.

So Severus sold himself to St Mungo's when he could, contracting Potions work here and there and publishing the odd article on his discoveries, which were brilliant but generally unappreciated by the hoi polloi. When he went home to his two-story bungalow after years of indentured servitude, the Malfoys and Potters of the world returned to their various mansions as they always did, enjoying the lifestyles they'd been lucky enough to be born into.

That was life, after all. A total crapshoot where some people always landed on top no matter how foolish their mistakes, and where Severus found his teeth kicked in by fate at every turn. At least he maneuvered through the world with an air of respectability now—war hero and all that.

After twenty minutes or so in the cellar, with Lucius doing Merlin only knew what with the bird in the library, Severus was startled by the loud ringing bells of the estate. He ascended to the foyer, discovering the Aurors whom Lucius had called earlier. Moreover, the master enormous peacock was walking slowly and steadily behind his master to the front door.

Rather too slowly.

It was… an unnatural gait, a kind of biomechanical form that didn't occur in nature. Severus knew the bird was tubby, but not even his excess weight explained the way he moved now.

The Aurors noticed it as well.

"Ha!" Dim Weasley snorted aloud. "What's up with your peacock, Malfoy?"

As it turned out, "Aurors" was a generous word for the twosome who had arrived to investigate Lucius's claims. Merlin, why did Lucius have to alert the authorities? And how had Ronald Weasley even become an authority? Unless something had changed substantially since he was a student, the boy was slower than a nematode waiting for its next meal to crawl into its mouth.

The other one was even worse.

Granger.

Or was it Weasley now?

Gods, he hoped not. He wouldn't wish that fate upon anyone, and, well, she was a person under all that hair.

All bright eyes and misguided idealism, she stood there in a prim little skirt suit and flats. Lips pursed, she mercifully held her tongue while Lucius explained the case.

"Louis has fathered more birds on my estate than any other in history," Lucius said. "To lose him in his prime would be devastating for the Malfoy breeding lines."

The ginger dullard knelt before the bird, meeting the creature with an equally glazed stare. Meanwhile, the girl's delicate little fingers were wrapped around a ballpoint pen, scribbling furiously in her spiral notebook as Lucius described the international bird breeders' competition in Paris, the prolonged illness of his bird, and his suspicions that someone had tried to kill the thing.

There was no ring to be seen as she jotted down the case notes.

"He looks alive to me," Thick Weasley said helpfully, always one to state the obvious.

"Well spotted," Severus said, rolling his eyes. "He is alive."

Weasley didn't catch the sarcasm, but Granger cracked a smile and—for a moment—seemed to glance up and down his body.

Curious, Severus thought. If she were any other person, he might think that she was observing him with amorous intent, but… No. That couldn't be.

Could it?

"It's good to see you again, Professor," she said. She smiled prettily at him. "I can tell you in person how your alterations to the Draught of the Living Peace saved a coworker of ours last month."

"Was that Smith, after he was attacked in Brighton?" Ron asked her.

"Yes, Ronald," she replied. "Professor Snape—Severus, if I may?—figured out a way for the Healers to keep his body in stasis while he recovered."

Severus was struck momentarily speechless.

Lucius coughed, waiting for her attention to settle on him before speaking up. "Louis is alive, but he is most unwell," he said, laying it on thick as he played for her sympathy. "I need the full support of the Aurors to move forward for the sake of… justice."

So he had noticed her, too. It was clear in his eyes that he regarded Miss Granger with something akin to respect or interest. More likely interest, since Lucius rarely respected anyone of the softer sex who didn't have his bollocks in the palm of her hand. Or anyone at all, really.

For some reason, this did not sit well with Severus. A girl like her—well, a woman like her, he supposed, since she was a decade past her schooling—should know better than to trust a man like Lucius, but she was just too damned naive for her own good. She probably wouldn't know how to assert herself around a man like Lucius. Not if she were like every other woman who fell prey to his pretty talk and pretty nose and pretty vault of gold.

"Poisoned, you say?" Granger flipped her notebook closed and slipped it back into the ratty beaded bag slung over her shoulder.

"I did what I could for him once I noticed that he was sick, but I fear I was too late."

She gestured to Louis. "Is this the bird in question?"

"My cock?" Lucius asked, a smirk written on his face as he sauntered over to the white bird to stroke his head. "Yes. Magnificent, isn't he?"

Weasley the Simple poked the bird once or twice in its wobbling belly, oblivious to the conversation going on around him.

"Well," Granger said, circling the bird to look at him from all angles. "It's certainly the biggest one I've ever seen."

Severus groaned internally. She had no idea what she doing, did she? Gods, the innocence of the woman was almost painful to observe. Lucius was going to chew her up and spit her out, but not before playing with his food.

The aristocratic man lowered his voice a notch or two, stepping closer and putting his hand in the small of her back. "And have you seen many, Miss Granger?"

She didn't flinch, and her expression was impressively unreadable as she met his gaze. "I've seen enough for comparison."

Lucius leaned in for the coup-de-grâce, whispering his words into her ear as his fingers traced circles over the beige tweed she'd adorned herself with. "Do you prefer a large cock, Miss Granger?"

"Mister Malfoy!" she exclaimed. Did she sound a tad breathy?

Was it possible that she was actually falling for it? Severus felt a bit betrayed by this. Surely one woman in England could withstand the attentions of Lucius Malfoy, couldn't she? The last time he'd felt such treachery from womankind, Minerva Fucking Stalwart McGonagall had been giggling and blushing at Lucius's words in a Hogwarts governors meeting. And if you couldn't count on a Scotswoman to identify bullshit, who could you count on?

Granger spoke again, her tone clinical and detached. "No female could stand one this big. Truthfully, your cock looks like it can barely even stand on its own."

He frowned.

"It's actually a bit sad. He has this tiny little head, and he's rather lopsided, isn't he?"

Lucius crossed his arms over his chest, lips pursed.

"You're right about one thing, Mister Malfoy," she said. "Your cock is abnormal."

"Ha! Good one!" Weasley began sniggering to himself at her declaration. "Never thought I'd hear that from you, 'Mione. Didja know you just told Malfoy's dad that his dingaling is wonky?"

She smiled at her partner, extending her hand to help him stand up again to his full six-foot-something height. Such a gangly fellow.

"Oh, did I?" she asked lightly. "A slip of the tongue, surely."

Then Hermione Granger surprised Severus. She turned her head just enough in order to make eye contact with him.

And she winked.

Well.

Well.

Severus stood in the foyer of Malfoy Manor for a few moments, trying to process all that had just happened. As he contemplated Miss Granger anew, he couldn't help but be impressed. She was a saucy little minx, messing with Lucius Malfoy on his own turf. He was vaguely aware that his mouth was gaping open, still shocked that the woman had been flirting with him.

He was also aware of a gentle tugging at his trouser leg. Looking around, he saw that the others had all left the room. Had he really been distracted for so long? He was now standing beside a Malfoy elf.

"Sir?" a house-elf asked, dressed in a neatly pressed uniform with the Malfoy insignia emblazoned across his chest. "Sir, Master is asking for you outside with the birdies."

"Yes, of course," Severus replied.

He headed out to the peacock grounds in the back, behind the English garden, the Italian garden, and the rose garden.

Malfoys will be Malfoys, he thought.

There he found Lucius, Miss Granger, and Red. The former was walking down the central corridor of the aviary, carrying Louis le Gros in his arms. He pointed out the other peacocks to the young woman, all but ignoring the giant loping behind them.

As Severus drew near, Lucius set the bird down at his feet. "Go along, Louis," he tutted at the bird.

"What do you figure happened?" Weasley asked nobody in particular. The boy turned around and looked at him. "Professor, you hang around Malfoy here, yeah? Did you notice anything with his birds? I mean…" The boy hung his head sheepishly, ruffling his hair as his sentence trailed off. "Listen, Professor, I know your antivenins saved Dad during my fifth year, and you're a right genius like Hermione is. How has this thing been waddling around for a month after he was poisoned? It just doesn't make any sense."

Well.

The boy's words made Severus reconsider him as well. Perhaps he wasn't quite as dull as he first appeared.

"Weasley, I do not think the bird was poisoned. He may just have severe indigestion. If, however, a kind of spell was—"

"AAAAAAH!"

It was a blood-curdling cry.

From Lucius, who was now paler than Severus had ever seen him.

"Mister Malfoy?" Granger asked, her eyes wide. "Is everything all right?"

He grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around, pointing her gaze towards a truly gruesome scene.

At first, it just looked like a lot of blood.

Blood and feathers.

Blood and feathers and a slim, white peacock, lying gracefully on a straw-covered floor. This bird—a female, Severus supposed—had a small hole pecked open atop her skull. The blood had drained from it just like the life that had drained from her eyes.

Behind her sat Louis le Gros, slightly cross-eyed with a ring of red on his face. He hadn't completely swallowed, though, and a bit of medulla oblongata hung from the corner of his beak.

Lucius gasped.

Granger stood in silence.

And Weasley responded with his trademark grace. "Braiiiiiiiins," he intoned. He raised his arms out and wandered around the aviary, muttering the word once more. "Braaaaaaains!"

Clearly, the boy was touched. Severus retracted whatever generous thoughts he'd been considering extending his way.

"Ronald!" Miss Granger hissed, elbowing him in the side as she looked over at a tearful Lucius. The man had crumpled in a heap beside the peahen, stunned into silence. "Please be sensitive."

"Sorry, 'Mione," Weasley replied. He stood up, brushed himself off, and reached for his wand. "Er… Anybody know what do with a peacock who's a—"

"Don't say that!" Lucius said, standing between the Auror's wand and his beloved pet peacock.

"What?" Weasley asked.

"That!"

Severus decided it was time to intervene. Weasley's tactics might have been juvenile, but it apparent what was going on. Even in the magical world, there was only one occasion where one creature began eating the brains of its own kind. He walked over to his friend, resting his hand on the man's arm. "It's time to face facts, Lucius. Louis has become a zom—"

"The zed-word," Lucius said, clutching at Severus's open collar. "Don't say it!"

Severus paused a beat. "Why not?"

And Lucius said the thing that they were all thinking. "Because it's ridiculous!"

Next up:

Hermione rattled on, tapping her fork to the table with a nervous energy. "Listen, Severus, I was really hoping you'd be able to convince me nothing terrible will happen here. I mean… zombies?" She tittered an odd laugh of disbelief. "Zombies. Until last month, I though zombies were purely fictional. When I first learned I was a witch, I read all the hidden histories of centaurs and goblins and giants. For that matter, I met centaurs and goblins and giants. At my school. As my teachers. When a zombie didn't step forward to teach basic maths or writing skills, I relegated zombies into the category of imaginary creatures, just like dryads and naiads and whatnot."