Disclaimer: I don't own, any of the characters from either Harry Potter, or The West Wing, which makes a cameo ;) Many thanks to my editor M, for helping me with this even when she was without power!

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Harry Potter and the Marauder's Vendetta

Chapter 14: St. Mungo's Massacre

The night shift at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries was never what Margaret-Mary Wormcrest considered glamorous. Of course, it was never what she thought she would be doing with her life either. After Hogwarts, she had gotten noticed by one of the best directors of the magic stage, and knew her life would now revolve around long rehearsals and crowd-pleasing curtain calls. Her only concerns would be her lines and whether or not The Quibbler got wind of her promiscuous affairs with many of her fellow actors. In Macbeth, she not only bedded her stage husband, but also Duncan, Banquo, the three beautiful witches, and her own understudy. In one glorious night. She knew she had found her place, her calling. At 17, Margaret-Mary saw her entire life stretch out before her, in glorious certainty.

By age 18, her certain life was dashed by the vicious attacks of both the newspapers and a rival actress. The papers hurt her reputation. The actress hexed her so violently that her nose became perpetually crooked. And although in the regular world, this would be considered a mere blemish, if it was noticed at all, in the theatre it was a death knell. And so, on a cold December morning, she had entered St. Mungo's, looking for a job, any job.

That gray and freezing morning, her life changed forever. Whenever the night shift became too much for her, Margaret-Mary thought back to that life altering morning. For it was on that morning that a young wizard swept her off of her feet. At 18, her new and more depressing life was happily dashed, as she found the man she would spend the rest of her life with. A man who spent his days wiping the floors of St. Mungo's, and felt honored to do so. The man who got her a job as the night nurse at the front desk, a position she came to love. She loved it for the people she met, and the comfort she gave and sometimes received from the many people who walked through the door of the hospital. She had whispered hundreds of thousands of prayers, comforted a hundred thousand lost souls, and laughed at the most ridiculous accidents ever to befall wizards. And through it all, she had been able to maintain a positive attitude. Simon always used to say there wasn't a power in the universe that could stop me from being cheery, she thought. But how could she not be, with all of the memories working here had given her? How could she forget the man who came in with the chicken growing out of his nostril? Or the man who, after being caught cheating on his wife, stumbled in with a pair of Constricting Pants slowly tightening around his legs, Constricting Pants he was madly trying to push down around his ankles. Margaret-Mary had seen Werewolf bites, poison, curses, hexes, and pure bad luck walk or be walked through the front door.

Sighing, Margaret-Mary flipped through another page of The Quibbler usually kept in the waiting room. It was two months old, and she had memorized every word, and seen every face inside. But tonight, her mind was not focused on the gossip, and the nonsense about Pimple-Pussed Paralaxes. Her mind was a few hundred miles away, with Elizabeth. Elizabeth was her youngest granddaughter, the daughter of her son. She had borne five children with her Simon, and had gladly assumed the position of matriarch to her adoring family. Simon used to tell me how much he loved to listen to me tell them all stories, she thought wistfully, remembering how each child fell asleep with a tiny smile on their faces. Elizabeth had just begun her first day of Hogwarts, and Margaret-Mary was awaiting the owl she had been promised, telling her what House she was in. I would be proud of her no matter where she is, even if she comes back a Slytherin. She was a Hufflepuff herself, and expected nothing more of her grandchildren, but really, how could she be anything but proud.

The Main Doors opened slowly, allowing in a cool breath of fresh air from the outside. She sent the owl to Simon, and here he comes, she thought, hopefully. But it wasn't Simon who walked through the door. None of the men were her sainted husband. The man in front had a silver hand, alerting Margaret-Mary that she would need to contact the hexes department. The next man might have been a vampire, she thought, due to his pale skin, which looked as if it had never seen the sun. The last person to enter was hooded, his entire body was covered. Poor dear, she thought. No need to be ashamed of it. I've seen it all in my day. She repeated her usual prayer for the injured, and sat up straight behind her desk.

"Good evening, and welcome to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and…"

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Margaret-Mary slumped to the floor, a look of startled terror etched across her now ashen face. The wind of the killing curse swept through the corridor, and blew back the hood of the man that brought up the back of the party. It slipped past red eyes, a flat snake's nose, and a pale mouth full of pointed teeth. Lord Voldemort allowed a small smile to play across his lips.

"You can come in now, friends," he hissed, beckoning the remaining Death Eaters through the door. The Lestranges, Crabbe, Goyle, and three young women, all with matching black Mohawks sauntered into the Hospital. These three were the Dante Triplets, the daughters of one of the oldest and most influential families in Britain's Wizarding ranks. The three girls had done everything together. They had gone to school together, rebelled against their parents together, and when Morgana told her two sisters about the possibility of the Death Eaters recruiting, the girls jumped at the chance together. And now, looking at the lifeless body of the nurse, each of them, separately but together, began to have second thoughts about their course of action. Voldemort seemed to sense their hesitation, and laid a hand on Morgana's shoulder. The young girl shivered, as what felt like a slimy tarantula latched on to her body.

"She is but the first, my dears. And if you wish to join the Dark Order, you must prove yourself worthy. Bella, Bella my dear, take these three to their…Initiation." Bellatrix Lestrange chuckled icily, and led the girls down a dark corridor to the left. Voldemort motioned to her husband, Rodulphus, to head down the center corridor, and he began to move down the right corridor, with Wormtail, panting slightly, on his heels.

The first stop for the Dark Lord was the Werewolf Transformation Room. The room was comprised of several kennels (Werewolves still had not yet earned equal rights), each of which held a large wolf. All were asleep at the moment, chained to the wall by a thick chain tightened around their necks. Voldemort opened the door, and allowed it to slam closed. The slam awakened all of the werewolves held within. The recent advances in the Wolfsbane potion made it possible for the wolves to have nearly human intelligence, so Voldemort knew they could all hear him.

"My…My…My," he said, silkily. "Such a pity that you have all ended up here. You were once wizards, the cream of our glorious isle. And now…look at you. Chained to a wall like a common mongrel, like a dog, waiting to be put down. But the fools at the Ministry who have imprisoned you do not understand. They believe you to be dangerous. But you are only dangerous because your gift has made you more powerful than they are. They fear you, just as they fear me, because we are stronger than their pathetic government could ever be. They make back alley dealings with the Muggles, praying that above all, we are kept secret from them. Why should we hide, friends? The Ministry shall know our retribution. They will understand what fear truly is. And I offer you a chance to join the Death Eaters, friends. A chance to strike back at the men who have caged you for far too long! Who shall join me?"

There was silence in the kennel. Then, from a far cage, a low, ominous growl emanated from the throat of a large, black werewolf. The growl disappeared into a ferocious bark, the wolf straining to reach the Dark Lord. Voldemort sighed.

"Such a pity," he drawled, and with a wave of his wand, slammed the wolf against the wall of his cage. The wolf yelped and crumpled to the ground, dazed.

"I offered you a chance to join freely," said Voldemort. "Now, allow me to demonstrate what happens to those who turn down my generous offers…" Voldemort turned to Wormtail, who shuddered at the sight of his master. Voldemort nodded at his left hand, and Peter Pettigrew drew it out. The entire hand had been replaced by one of silver as a gift for returning Lord Voldemort to power. And now, Voldemort reached out and touched the hand with his wand. The hand seemed to melt for a moment, before reforming, reshaping into a long, deadly dagger. Voldemort whispered to his servant, "Show them, Wormtail."

Wormtail walked down the rows of cages, trembling. Each wolf had a name over their cage. Emilia McGarry. Deuteronomy Falstaff. Maturin De Vance. Names of men and women who, by no fault of their own, had been chosen by fate or simply bad luck. They don't deserve this, thought Pettigrew, but his fear outranked his conscience, as it always had. Better to be at the right hand of the devil, than in his path. He stopped in front of the last cage. The tag above it read Byron James. The black werewolf looking pathetic, as it lay crumpled on the floor, attempting to recover from Voldemort's attack. It whined softly, as Wormtail drew closer. He bent down to the wolf's ear, too near to be safe, but he felt the need to do it anyway. "I'm sorry," he whispered, and plunged the knife into the dark wolf's heart. The wolf gave a pitiful howl, the howl of a dog in pain, which switched abruptly to the anguished scream of a dying man. The knife wound began to burn, giving off the strong odor of burning hair. The man screamed for only a few seconds, as his body reverted to human form, but to Wormtail, and the other werewolves surrounding him, it seemed like the screaming went on for ages.

To Lord Voldemort, it sounded like a symphony.

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Up two flights of stairs, the Dante triplets were sweating.

"Welcome to your initiation, girls," whispered Bellatrix Lestrange excitedly. She had just killed the nurse guarding the door, a woman in her early twenties, whose eyes still shone with terror. Bellatrix simply walked over her, not giving the corpse a second thought. The girls looked around at each other, wondering what they would have to do as they stepped through the door.

The corridor was nearly silent, except for the rhythmic breeze of sleeping breaths. On either side of the girls were three panes of glass, each looking in on cribs and bassinettes. Morgana looked over her head, and a hand went to her mouth in horror. The sign above them read "MATERNITY WARD." Lestrange spun to face the triplets.

"Good," she said, looking from side to side. "We are only here for the Mudbloods, and the Squibs. Do not touch the purebloods."

"Wh…what do you want us to do?" asked Morgana.

"Your initiation," she snapped. "Dispose of the vermin in our midst."

Morgana stepped back in revulsion, treading on the feet of her sisters. "We can't," muttered her sister Agnes. "Shut up!" spat Morgana, looking nervously at the Death Eater before them. Bellatrix looked amused, and not the least bit surprised.

"Look…we didn't know what you wanted of us when we joined up," said Morgana. "I don't think…I know…We can't do this! They're…they're only babies…"

"They are rats!" spat Bellatrix, with a mad gleam of vindictive joy in her eyes. "They are the lowest scum to have ever crawled the earth! If you are to kill a nest of rats, my dear, you must not hesitate! You mustn't show mercy! That little rat will do nothing but grow, infesting the pure, unadulterated blood of our families with their pestilence! You will do this, Morgana! And you, Agnes, and you as well, Verona. You will help me in killing these infestations, or you will join them!"

At this, Verona, the smallest of the girls, gave a terrified shriek and launched for the door leading out of the ward. It slammed in her face, knocking her back. Blood began to pour from her nose, and Bellatrix Lestrange looked strangely ravenous at the sight of it.

"There will be no weakness in our Order, brats! Ah, tonight we have seen who you truly are. You have been tested, and have been found lacking. Not one of you are strong enough to be one of us! And if you are not strong enough, then you do not deserve freedom; you do not deserve LIFE!" She drew her wand, holding it silkily in her hands, and pointing it at each girl in succession. The triplets began screaming. Morgana began calling for her mother; her mother who had been right all along. Their screams drowned out the curse Bellatrix fired, and all each girl saw was the terrible rush of green.

The commotion had awakened one of the babies, who according to his chart, had been born earlier that night. Bellatrix hummed to herself as she looked at the child's name. Howard. Filthy, common, Muggle name. She picked up the child, holding it, cradling it as her own.

"Hush, little one," murmured Bellatrix Lestrange. "I shall sing you a lullaby…"

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The screaming had begun by the time Peter Pettigrew had reached the final room. They were the screams of purebloods who remained alive inside the hospital; the screams of mediwizards, nurses, and patients who were about to die; and the horrible howling still coming from the werewolf den. Of course, the room they had just entered showed no interest in the cruelty surrounding it, nor did its residents. They were all transfixed inside their own minds; unable to comprehend the fact that hell had fallen around their ears.

"Oh, good! Admirers!" sounded a voice from one of the beds. A middle-aged man with golden hair sprang out of bed towards Peter Pettigrew, carrying with him a pile of pictures. The man was clothed in a long, purple nightgown, and wore a grin of blissful stupidity. It made Peter shudder, as he had done so much tonight. He is more than an innocent, he thought. He is a blank slate. But, as he had done so many times, Lord Voldemort supplied the initiative, stepping over the dead body of the nurse who had been guarding the door.

"Professor Lockhart!" the Dark Lord whispered, his voice taking on a silky, mocking tone. "What an honor! What an honor indeed! We are two of your greatest admirers…could I trouble you for an autograph?"

"My dear Sir!" cried Gilderoy Lockhart, his eyes brimming with gratitude, "It would be MY honor! You know, the more I stay here, the more I begin to remember. Just flashes, really, but my memories are coming back! And soon I'll be able to take up my post again at Hogwarts, teaching those delightful children about my exploits!" How lovely, thought Peter, he doesn't remember yet that he's a complete fraud.

"And they will be better off for your teaching!" proclaimed Voldemort, placing his hand around Lockhart's shoulder. "Ahh, what lovely penmanship…Wormtail, be so kind as to pay back Professor Lockhart for his generosity."

Pettigrew felt the Dark Lord's eyes on him, even if his hood was up again. It was a penetrating stare, letting him know what would happen if he refused, ever, the order of Lord Voldemort. His malice toward his enemies had long been replaced by self-loathing. Coward, he thought. Your friends have given their lives to protect the world from this man. And all you have done is broken your promises. You promised Lily and James, you promised Sirius and Lupin when you signed the Marauder's Map. They trusted you, gave you friendship when you gave THEM no reason. And the only promise you have kept is to this…Lord before you, asking you to kill again. But deep in his heart, Pettigrew knew it was useless to chastise himself. He loved his life more than anything. His life must go on, even if it meant the death of all the rest. Besides, it was not his genocide…He was just following orders.

"Avada…Kedavra."

This had been the first mentally disturbed person Pettigrew had ever killed, and the effect of the killing curse on a disturbed mind was not pleasant. To the end, Lockhart had been happy just for the recognition he had received. He had died with the same toothy smile on his face, the smile that had won him so many awards during his lifetime. An innocent to the end…

"Come, Wormtail, our mission is hardly accomplished here…Why Wormtail, did you pity this man?"

Peter knew he could not hide his thoughts from Lord Voldemort. "My Lord, I did not wish for him to live, I merely thought that he was of no harm to us. He was an innocent."

"He was of no harm to us?" cackled Lord Voldemort. "He was of no use to us, my dear Wormtail. He was defective, a weak specimen of wizarding, and not worthy of the empty life he led. Now come, I wish to extract my vengeance further."

Pettigrew gave one sad last look at the twisted grin of Gilderoy Lockhart, half covered by his photos, before moving on. Only following orders…

"Now," said Lord Voldemort, smiling, "These two I shall need to dispatch personally. After all, they've earned it." They had entered the small nook occupied by Frank and Alice Longbottom. Their madness had befallen them at the hands of crazed Death Eaters, looking to learn the whereabouts of the Dark Lord, and it seemed the Dark Lord was about to return the favor. Alice Longbottom smiled pleasantly at the snakelike face before her, and offered the Dark Lord a gum wrapping…

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"They're gone," muttered Rufus Scrimgeour, pouring himself another brandy. It had been offered to him by the Muggle Prime Minister, a man who knew that brandy was one of the best remedies around for a bad day. The new Prime Minister had become well accustomed to having bad days. Lord John Marbury had been the ambassador to India, Pakistan, and most recently the United States under the Bartlett Administration, and in his tenure, he had seen more than his fair share. Marbury was in his sixties, still rakishly handsome, with a wit that gave him the air of a debonair playboy as much as one of a Prime Minister. He had become thought of as an eccentric and a drunk, but those closest to him in his Cabinet knew it was merely for show. Underneath beat the heart of a dedicated and masterful statesman, and this was the side that made him valuable to the Minister of Magic as well. His trips to Marbury's Office in Number 10 Downing Street had been more and more frequent, as he began to recognize the man's astute ability to see the answers to some of the thorniest problems, without the use of magic.

"How many?" asked Marbury, consolingly, as he refilled his own glass of brandy.

"Eighty-five Doctors, Nurses, and Mediwizards, one hundred and forty seven patients, and our entire medical supply of potions."

Marbury winced. They'd taken his legs out from under him.

"You know, Rufus, I've found that simply adding bamboo shoots to a shot of whiskey is remarkably effective…"

"Please don't joke with me today, John. I really cannot take it."

"It wasn't a joke, sir, but I see your point. What is it you require from Her Majesty's Government?"

"Doctors," replied Scrimgeour. "We need any help we can get."

"My doctors will not be able to supply the medical attention your patients require, Rufus."

"It's better than nothing. We've only got a few dozen doctors left. Thank God they did this at night and not during a full day shift…"

"Yes, I've found that men like this hardly ever do anything during the day. Of course you'll have my help, and the help of the British government. I have quite a few doctors on Her Majesty's payroll who keep bigger secrets than wizardry on a daily basis, and I'm certain they'd be more than happy to earn a few extra pounds by keeping this one. Is there anything else?"

"Not for the moment, thank you," said Scrimgeour, rubbing his eyes. He hadn't slept a full night in weeks. "Is there anything I can do for you, John?"

"Well, if you can find a way to stop bringing these Dark Wizard chaps into my sphere of influence, I'd be quite grateful. Do you know how many men, women, and children live in your magical world?"

"About 10,000, I believe," replied Rufus.

"Hmm, about the size of the population of criminals, cutthroats, terrorists, and all-around evil men that fall under my jurisdiction of London Proper, and there are more coming every day. They are coming, with guns, with bombs, with knives and with enough malice to shake the very foundations of my country. If there were any way you could keep magic from leaking over into my everyday life as well, I would be forever in your debt, Rufus."

"I'm grateful for all you've offered. We are trying as hard as we can to make sure our two worlds don't cross." Scrimgeour's shoulders fell; his eyes were full of pain when they met the Prime Ministers. "But these people, this man, Lord Voldemort, he's attacking us from all sides, John." Rufus' eyes moved to stare out the PM's window, down onto twinkling London.

"Then all sides should fight back," said John, placing a hand on the wizard's shoulder. Both men stood silently, staring out at the London night, as their separate worlds passed by beneath them.

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"Can we get anything for you, Neville? Tea? Cake? We might be able to snatch something a bit stronger? I can have Dobby up here in a second if you'd like anything from the kitchen…"

Neville sat in an armchair across from Harry and Hermione on the sofa, Ron standing behind them, leaning on the back, and had just finished telling the trio about the St. Mungo's Massacre. The Ministry had spent the day telling the bad news to the families of those killed. Harry couldn't believe the villainy, the cruelty, the sheer evil that could murder so many innocents. Of course they attacked at night, the cowards! They're building up their courage. First attacking a train full of students, and now killing doctors, and sick and defenseless men, women…children. Neville had told them of the cribs where the children had been found, each with a tiny Dark Mark over its head, like a grotesque hanging mobile.Hermione had been listening with one hand over her mouth, looking shocked and disgusted, the other gripping Harry's leg above his knee. He had dropped a hand to cover hers, his other fisted tightly at his side. Ron was gripping the back of the sofa so hard that his fingernails had begun to rip holes in it's fabric.

"N-no," said Neville, still holding himself rigidly erect, and maintaining what Harry considered a surprising and frightening amount of composure. "I- I just can't believe they're gone. I saw them only a few weeks ago. I always go and visit them before the start of term. And I thought…Well, I guess I wanted to think, you know, that they were getting better. My mother looked so happy when she saw me, I thought…Maybe…" Neville's head sunk down to his chest.

"I'm just being stupid," he muttered. "They were never going to get better, no matter what. The Dark Side got a hold of them, and they were done for, no matter what. I'm such an idiot."

Hermione shifted forward and reached across the space between them to rest a hand on Neville's cheek, waiting for his eyes to meet hers. "It's never stupid to have hope, Neville. That's what makes us better than them. We hope that things can improve; that they can get better. You were talking earlier today about becoming a doctor yourself, to help people who've been hurt, like your parents. That's not stupidity. That's nobility."

"Sometimes, it's a bit hard to tell those two apart," said Neville, somberly. Harry followed Hermione's lead hoping to cheer him up as well.

"Not hard at all, Nev. Everyone knows you've always had your heart in the right place."

"Yeah, my heart was never the problem," said Neville. Harry could feel all the anger brewing inside of Neville heading a dangerous direction: inward. "It was the rest of me. I couldn't ever do anything right. Doctor? I'd probably kill the first patient I had! Maybe…Maybe it was for the best."

"Neville…" Harry shifted forward on the couch, moving closer to Neville, worried; I'm not going to let him go down this road!

"They never had to see!" shouted Neville as he shot to his feet, yelling and waving his hands at his three friends. "They never had to see what a pathetic excuse for a wizard their son turned out to be! They got to fight for what they believed in, and die like heroes, like martyrs! They never had to see what I am…"

"Stop it!" yelled Harry, shooting to his feet as well. He had grabbed Neville's shoulders, and was shook him roughly twice. "They never had to see a pathetic excuse for a wizard? Don't you say that in front of me, Neville. They would've seen their boy turn into a man, that's what they would've seen! That's what you ARE! Yeah, you were a little raw when you came in, but so was I; in some ways, I still am! But you've learned so much! BECOME so much more since then! If they could've seen you in Herbology, and in Potions last year, when we had a teacher who wasn't rubbish! You've come so far! You were easily the best student in all of the DA, Neville, because you had the courage to do what was necessary, and the will to go where no one else would! You followed me into the department of Mysteries, without even knowing why! You put your life on the line for me, for Hermione, Ron, Ginny, all of us, and you were one of few who stood with me rather than against!" Harry paused for breath. He had gotten a lot louder than he meant to. Neville, blushing a bit now, looked a bit more confident, yet still too uncertain for Harry's liking.

"You took on Crabbe, Goyle, AND Malfoy our first year!" said Ron, seizing the opportunity to put in his two cents, scrambling around the couch to stand beside Harry. Neville burst out laughing. It wasn't Neville's regular timid laugh, but a sudden explosion, one that would have knocked down a brick wall.

"I suppose that was something, wasn't it?" said Neville, wiping a tear away.

"It was, Neville," said Hermione, joining the fray, standing to join Harry and Ron. "And you stood up against the three of us too, remember? You won us the House Cup our first year. We were lucky to have you!" Hermione's eyes blazed as she faced her friend. "And don't you ever…ever think that your parents were better off for what happened to them. They were better off simply for having a son like you. Don't you ever forget it, don't ever let anyone tell you different, make you feel anything less."

Harry never would have believed it, but he knew he wasn't looking at a boy any more. Neville might still be a teenager, but Harry knew, in his heart, that he had become a man. He nodded grimly looking them each in the eye before spinning to drop down onto the sofa. He leaned back, almost slouching, obviously much more relaxed.

"You guys aren't going anywhere for a while, right?" said Neville. Harry looked at Ron and Hermione. Ron flopped down into the closest armchair, while Hermione sat down on the sofa next to Neville and said, "Of course not."

Harry took the last seat on the sofa (next to Hermione), and said "No Neville, we're all staying. As long as you want."

The group sat together, firm in their silence, letting the simple fact that they were together heal any remaining injuries. After a while, Neville looked up from the dying embers he had been staring at, and said, "I wonder where they go?"

"Where who goes?" asked Ron, shaking himself out of his own silent reverie, his focus, seemingly, at Hermione and Harry on the couch. They had been shifting closer, inadvertently he was sure, during the silence.

"After we die…" said Neville. Harry looked at Hermione. He had been slowly moving his hand towards hers for the past few minutes wondering if he had the courage to take it, but now slipped it surreptitiously back to his own lap. Neville's question had driven any thoughts clear out of his mind.

"I think," said Ron, "That there's a huge dinner in heaven, and you just keep eating and eating, 'til you're chock full of food, and then you go back and eat some more! With a couple of breaks to go out and have Dungbomb fights or Quidditch matches…" His words trailed off, as a happy grin spread over his face.

"Typical Norse mythology answer," said Hermione. "Valhalla and all that nonsense. But really Ron, spending an eternity watching you eat?" She twisted her face in mock disgust. "So you DO believe in a hell." Harry and Neville snickered. Ron simply bit his thumb at Hermione.

"I wouldn't mind staying here at Hogwarts, or a place like it," said Harry. "You know, somewhere comfortable, with no worries, no regrets, all my friends around me…"

"Yeah, and no homework," said Ron. This time Hermione laughed along with them.

"I'd have to agree with that actually," she said. "No more reading in the afterlife!"

"Really," said Harry, poking Hermione in the side, "I'd have thought you'd want to retire to a library for your afterlife."

"No, I know where I'd want to go," said Hermione. "A place only a few very special people have ever gone, have ever been allowed. A place reserved for only the greatest heroes in the land." Harry, Ron, and Neville were all looking inquisitively at her now.

"Avalon," she breathed, her eyes dilating and going misty. There was a pause, as she looked from blank face to blank face. "Oh, honestly," she muttered, running a hand through her messy brown curls, "I don't know why I even bother bringing things up to you three."

"Well then, educate us!" Said Harry, jabbing her again in the side; she retaliated with a swift punch to his shoulder.

"Alright then," she said. Hermione pulled her hair back making some kind of mystical moves with her hands securing it all on top of her head so her entire face was visible. Harry knew she was getting into her storytelling mode, and he loved to watch her as she wrapped herself and her audience up in her story.

"Well, there once was a King, named Arthur. You have all heard of him, right?" she smiled, and Harry realized she was toying with them.

"Arthur was, as I'm sure you all know, the greatest King England has ever produced. Also, one of the greatest heroes, in any country, ever. He stood for what was right, what noble, and what was true. And he acquired friends who thought the same way he did." Her eyes turned to Harry, who felt his cheeks burn slightly. Is she saying I'm like that? I'm no Arthur…

"Unfortunately, as with every story about a great hero, Arthur died. It was after saving Camelot from his nephew, the evil Mordred, in an epic battle. After dying, he was put onto a small boat, and allowed to drift out to sea. Now, it's said that Arthur went to the Isle of Avalon, a beautiful and lush place where there was no strife, where a great hero could finally be at peace. It's also said that any hero who is found worthy, may follow the great King Arthur to the Isle of Avalon."

"Where is it?" asked Harry.

"No one knows," said Hermione mysteriously. "You travel over many seas, and into a deep mist, until eventually, you find yourself in an inlet with water as smooth and calm as a polished mirror. The soft hands of water nymphs push your boat along, until you arrive at the dock. Beyond the dock, there is nothing but soft grass, sweet smelling flowers, honey, and sweet, delicious apples hanging from the trees. Big enough even to satisfy you, Ron." She stuck out her tongue briefly then continued. "There, in the rows of apple trees, walk the heroes of old, the men and women who gave the fullest amount of fidelity, of strength of will and character to their people, their causes. And there, with the heroes of old, you can truly find peace."

There was no sound, save for the soft crackling of the dying fire. Neville had gone back to staring into the tiny flames as he listened to Hermione's story. Harry loved how much passion she put into her stories, how she could create an entire world out of her words, causing her listeners to truly think about the point, the moral, what can be drawn from the story.

"An island of eternal peace, eh?" said Neville.

Hermione shrugged. "That's what the storybooks say."

"Sounds good," said Neville. Harry saw Neville's eyes drift off to another world. Harry was pretty sure he was thinking of his parents and how much they'd like apples and honey and meadows of sweet flowers. "Sounds good to me."

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Grrrrrrrrrr! First stupid grad school, then my city decides to have POWER OUTAGE for 2 days, then my editor loses HER power….Ok, I'm better now. Sorry for any delays, hope you all like it, review it, can't wait for more of it!