Title: Finis
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Harry Potter, and all of the characters and places associated with it, is a product of the creative genius that is J. K. Rowling. Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and the mythos that I'm borrowing belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. The only thing I own is the plot and any original characters.
Distribution: If you want to post this anywhere else, ask first. I'll say yes, but I want to know. Also, give me credit for it.
Summary: India Cohen is dead, and a new Slayer has been called. Harry Potter x-over.
a/n: This chapter is a sort of dream sequence. In other words, it's what Hermione was "thinking" while she was unconscious. I'm working off of the fact that the Slayer dreams work as a guide for Slayers and show them what they need to know (think "Restless"), so tell me what you think.
Gaul1- Thanx, again!
Ringo's Wildrose- Hermione might keep it a secret for a little while, but not forever. About Ron and Hermione, there have been slight hints as to his feelings this chapter (naturally, Hermione couldn't hint anything because she was asleep). Same thing with Harry and Ginny. However, I'm not guaranteeing that any, or all, of the pairings (or hints thereof) are going to stay the same for the whole story.
Yep, Hermione is seventeen already, so she is of age in the Wizarding World. But Hermione is Muggleborn, which means there are mysterious "procedures" to go through to integrate them into the Magical Community. After all, can you imagine the government turning a blind eye to hundreds of kids disappearing from any known public schools for a year? The Muggle Liaisons Office deals with the paperwork for allowing them into Hogwarts, but to satisfy the Muggle government, Hermione would have to have an official guardian for the three months (approximately) until she turns eighteen. Well, that's what I think, anyway.
BTW, thanks!
Allen Pitt- Yeah, I'm pretty sure Hermione broke the record for shortest-lived Slayer. If the Council knew she existed, I would have them send her a plaque or a trophy- maybe something shiny. The theories are interesting in the extreme, but I'm not saying (or writing, as the case may be) a word on what's planned for the next few chapters.
Bob the Almighty- Thank you. I wouldn't have been able to stand it if I screwed up the HP characters' ages, since the Trio would be one year, half a year, and a few months (respectively) older then the Scoobies. And again, thanks. A lot. In the non-sarcastic sense.
Moonjava- Thank you, to the third power.
Moony'sMate- Thank you, too. What Hermione becomes is going to be interesting.
ChibiChibi- Thanks for pointing out my mistake. You might not have known, but I couldn't get into my account until last night, so I used a new one to update, then transferred the story over (in the wrong order). I figured that once anything pierces your heart, it stops beating, but the spell froze Hermione at the very tail-end of her last heartbeat, which meant that her heart was technically stopped at the time, because it was her last beat that was frozen. I hope that clears things up, but I think that I might have gotten my explanation down all wrong.
Please REVIEW!
Chapter Three
The Labyrinth Within
"The only reason some people get lost in thought is because it is unfamiliar territory."- Paul Fix.
Hard. That was the first thing Hermione noticed. This observation was quickly followed by another one. Cold. She was cold and there was something hard pressing against her face. Hermione opened her eyes slightly and saw… brown. Brown and gray. It was stone.
Groaning slightly, Hermione stood up and looked around. She was sitting on the grimy, cold floor of a dungeon. A very dark dungeon corridor, seeing as there weren't any torches or candles such as those you would find at Hogwarts. In fact, the place Hermione now found herself in made her think of what she'd imagined the dungeons of Durmstrang to be like, thanks to Viktor Krum's descriptions.
But what on Earth was she doing there?
Hermione searched her memory, but she couldn't remember anything about a dungeon. In fact, the last thing she remembered was… the Death Eaters attacking her parents. Oh no, this was not good. Not good at all. She'd obviously been captured and was now somewhere in Voldemort's stronghold. But where were her parents? They certainly weren't in the narrow passageway with her.
I'm wandering lost with nowhere to go.
She began to walk, trying to find a room. Surely if her parents were in the dungeons, too, they would be in a holding cell of some sort. But Hermione didn't find any rooms, even after walking for twenty minutes. There didn't seem to be anything besides corridors. Lots and lots of twisting and turning stone corridors. That was when it hit her. She wasn't in a dungeon- she was in a maze.
But why am I in a maze? And how have I gotten here? What's the point of all of this? The witch wondered.
Her thoughts were cut off when she reached a fork in the maze and realized she was lost.
Think, Hermione, think, she ordered herself, How can I get out of here?
That was when it hit her. The Four Point Spell! She remembered teaching Harry the spell to find a way out of the maze created for the Third Task in their Fourth Year. Elated with her idea, the bushy-haired girl reached in her pocket for her wand… and found nothing. Hermione checked her other pocket, too, but it wasn't there either. She was wandless and alone in a dark, cold maze. What was she supposed to do? There was no other way for her to accurately find the direction. The only thing she could do was wander and hope for good luck.
So which way should she go? Hermione tried to think which fork would be the better option and opted for the right one- no pun intended, of course. After all, wouldn't going right be more likely to drive her towards the center of the maze? She turned right and froze mid-step. Because that was when she felt it. The cold chill that flooded her body but had nothing to do with the icy temperature of the maze and the heightened awareness that accompanied it- as if all of her senses had been being unknowingly muffled and now the gloves had been pulled off. And suddenly she knew she wasn't alone. There was something watching her.
I feel you around me, your presence a cloak.
She could feel it presence near her. It was searing and intense, yet somehow felt familiar. And it wanted her to do something. Once again, Hermione didn't know how she knew what she did, but as soon as the thought crossed her mind she knew it was true. She briefly reflected that Harry had once described his connection to Voldemort the same way, but didn't think that was the key to what she was feeling.
"Hello?" she called out, stopping in the middle of the passageway.
No one answered her, but Hermione hadn't really expected anyone to. Then she heard it.
"You're going the wrong way," something breathed.
The voice was raspy, almost a hiss, but strangely enough wasn't frightening.
"What do you mean?" Hermione asked out loud, "Am I supposed to go left?"
Again no one answered her, but somehow the silence seemed to be an answer. Yes.
Hermione turned around and walked down the left fork, wrestling with herself as she did. Why was she following directions from an invisible, probably evil, presence that might or might not exist? What if she just managed to get herself even more lost, although it was doubtful that that could be possible.
Why I still follow, I don't really know.
Without a watch or a wand, Hermione had no idea how much time had passed, but if she went by her internal clock, it had been roughly half an hour. She had been walking along the left fork without pause, even though her feet were beginning to hurt. There was a sense of urgency around her that the girl that Hermione knew wasn't from her own feelings. It was as if her "ghost", as she'd mentally labeled it, wanted her to find something, and quickly.
Frankly, Hermione was beginning to wonder if the thing her "ghost" was waiting for was for her to drop dead of exhaustion and boredom. There hadn't been much change of scenery for the past thirty minutes. Just more dirty, grimy walls, filthy floors, and the infernal unending corridor that her invisible, possibly imaginary, friend had led her into. Indeed, Hermione was doubting her own existence at this point, not to mention the "ghost's". It was hard to remember that there was anything in the world besides ugly mazes and darkness.
Then she felt it again. The same instinct that had caused her to choose the left fork was no screaming at her, but Hermione couldn't figure out why. After all, there was nothing there but the rest of the long corridor. And then Hermione saw the small passageway branching out to the right. So that was why that annoying ghost was screaming in her head again.
Hermione followed the new, much narrower hall along, not noticing the slight film of mist beginning to curl up around her.
Someone please guide me through this hazy smoke.
The presence had disappeared again, and the corridor had ended in a wide open area that had a number of different passages branching off of it. Hermione couldn't see how many branches she had to choose from because she couldn't see more then three feet ahead of her thanks to all of the fog that was obscuring her vision. She decided to just keep going straight, but the fog was getting thicker.
Soon, Hermione couldn't see her hand in front of her face. However, she hadn't collided with a wall like she should have, and she didn't think the fog would have made it all the way down the corridors. She felt like she was suspended in limbo, and the fog was getting impossibly thick- it felt like she was trying to walk through gray pudding.
Maybe she had been stuck like that for years; maybe it had only been a minute. Hermione never did know how long it took for the vapor to clear. But after a while (to her, at least) the smog began to clear and she could see dark shapes looming out at her.
Slowly, the shapes came into focus and the fog dissipated. Hermione realized that she wasn't in Dartmouth and she wasn't in 1997 anymore. She had no idea where she was, but hazarded a guess as to the when of her location. She was probably in the eighteenth century, possibly early nineteenth, if the style of the buildings was anything to go by, even if architecture had never been one of her strong points.
Hermione also noticed something much more important. This wasn't her body. This she became aware of as she could hear other thoughts in… well, maybe not her head, but the other girl's.
This can't be happening, the girl was thinking, and Hermione could hear her heart racing, He- He was obviously quite mad. I should tell someone so they can take him away to the asylum. But what if they believe him?
Now Hermione could hear the thud of her feet match her rapid heartbeats as the girl sped up. But what was the girl thinking about? And why was Hermione sharing her body? It was as if the whole- was it a day? After all, the moon was out, even if it was covered by clouds, and it was currently night- day/night had been nothing but a long, boring stream of unanswerable questions.
No one was out on the streets, which meant it was obviously late. The only thing either girl heard was the sound of rats scurrying in the alleys, and the occasional beggar trying to catch and cook one. She…The other girl…They were still running, and showed no sign of stopping. There was something about the other girl's fear that seemed to reach Hermione. It felt like she, too, should be afraid, and it made her want to run even faster, even though nothing Hermione did or did not want to do could affect her host body's actions.
Something lunged from the shadowy alley they were currently running past. The girl let out a shriek and instinctively flipped him over her head. Both Hermione and the girl scarcely had time to marvel at her strength when their attacker rose up and rushed at them again. Once again the girl reacted on instinct and pulled a skirt-covered knee up and caught the man underneath his chin, sending him flying backwards before he landed on the cobbled road ten feet away.
Feeling the adrenaline pumping in her, the girl reached in the pocket of her large dress and pulled something out as she ran over to the fallen man. Only, he wasn't a man. He couldn't be. Both girls shuddered in revulsion as they looked at his feral, ridged face. He looked evil, and the girl plunged her stake into his- it's- heart just to get rid of that horrible face, with its yellow eyes staring up at them, gleaming with hatred.
As soon as the thing had exploded into dust, the girl stood there, white-faced and shaking, her knuckles white as she clutched the stake so hard it, too, exploded into dust. The girl didn't even wince as long, thin splinters forced their way through her palms. She simply stood there, terrified, as the feelings surged over her.
No, no, Hermione heard her thinking, That did not happen. Whatever that thing was wasn't real. It- It was simply the shock of facing that madman. Obviously, it destroyed my nerves.
But Hermione could tell that the girl didn't really believe that. She didn't seem to want to admit- even to herself- whatever it was that had frightened her so badly. And that was compounding her own fear.
There was the tap of a booted foot stepping along the road from behind them and the girl spun around.
A well-dressed, middle-aged man wearing a small, powdered wig was standing behind her, looking cautious.
"Ah, Helena," he said, "I'm pleased to see you are embracing your sacred duty."
"I do not have a sacred duty!" Helena exclaimed. "Sir, I think you are quite mad!"
The man chuckled slightly.
"Helena, you do not truly believe that," the man said.
Helena winced, and Hermione knew that was because the strange man was right. Neither Helena or Hermione believed that the man was mad. However, Hermione, unlike Helena, felt a prickle of curiosity at the sound of the words "sacred duty".
"You are the Slayer," the man continued, "The one girl in all the world who can stand against the forces of darkness."
"I'm not a Slayer!" Helena insisted.
Now that prickle of curiosity had turned into something else. Something… different. It was as if Hermione had heard the man's words before, but she couldn't remember where.
"Then how do you explain the way you destroyed that vampire?" the man challenged. "Skill like that would take years to develop in anyone else, and no other females would have it. And why else would you have kept that stake I gave you? Instincts and abilities like yours belong only to the Slayer."
Helena shivered and Hermione began to put two and two together.
"How do you explain how quickly you were able to spin around when you heard me? For that matter, how do you explain the way you heard me coming when I was over six yards away? And the dreams, how can you explain the dreams of those from before you?" the man went on.
This last bit especially, struck a chord within both Hermione and Helena.
The Death Eaters had all seemed so slow to react when they attacked the house, Hermione was thinking. I was able to Stun three of them before the others had gotten their wands out. Even after Malfoy had jinxed me I had enough time to Stun him and that skinny little man. I've been dreaming of girls fighting creatures like that vampire… that's where I heard the word Slayer! And… I dreamed about this girl too. I dreamed of her death the night before Dumbledore's funeral. Oh my god, I'm a Slayer. Ohgodohgodohgod.
Helena's hands were shaking, and so was her voice, as she asked, "W- What must I do?"
The man moved closer to her and extended his arm.
"Let me train you," he said as she put her hand into the crook of his elbow, "Let me be your Watcher; your guide. I can teach you what you need to know."
Helena nodded slightly as they walked down the street through the fog. Hermione, however, seemed to walk right out of Helena's body, invisible to all, as the mist coalesced around her, growing thick and oppressive. She was wandering blind, now.
I'm trapped inside with no place to hide.
Once more the fog finally began to clear, after what felt like an eternity, and shapes were made visible. Again, Hermione knew she wasn't in her body, but this wasn't Helena's body, either, as was immediately proven.
She- and her unknown host- were standing in the doorway of a large, slightly aged, Victorian house. This body felt different, the thoughts had a different… signature to them; a different sound; taste; feel to them.
And then there was the sight inside the house that so scared both girls. Two adults were lying in a pool of blood on the previously shiny hardwood floor. But, where the Host girl saw one set of parents staring up at them, Hermione saw another- her own.
There's no one to hear me scream.
The Host girl (this one's new nickname) began to scream and cry, and Hermione joined in, although no one could see or hear her, as her presence had no effect on the Host girl. Because somehow, once again, Hermione knew that what she was seeing was real. Just like she instinctively knew to listen to her ghost, just like she knew that the man had been talking to her as well as Helena. What she was seeing was real, and her parents were dead.
The two of them had been sitting on their knees, rocking back and forth, and sobbing brokenly for at least an hour, and probably more, even though neither one of them was thinking of the time, when there was a tap on the girl's shoulder. Without a word, a brown-haired woman with a slightly rumpled suit and sympathetic eyes enveloped the girl in a hug.
The gesture was wasted, though, because both the Host girl and Hermione heard the voice in their heads.
"The Slayer stands alone," it hissed.
No! Hermione screamed in her head, knowing the "ghost" would hear. I don't want to be alone.
"You are the Chosen One, you stand alone against the forces of darkness." Was the raspy reply. "We are alone. The Chosen know only each other. The Shadow Men are our guides."
Then I don't want to be the Slayer! Both Hermione and the girl screamed, and Hermione didn't even notice that the Host girl could hear her.
"You have no choice," the voice of the "ghost" croaked, "You are needed. You have been Chosen. You are the guardians of our world. You cannot live within it. The Slayer has a duty."
Bollocks, Hermione thought in response, too angry to care about her language. I don't have to be the Slayer if I don't want to.
"You cannot be forced to accept your duty, but to refuse would be to be put the world in danger. You have no choice." It said hoarsely.
Why me? Hermione thought. Why do I have to be the Slayer? Don't I have enough to handle?
"It is not for you to decide. You have been Chosen." The Thing (Hermione had given up "ghost" as too affectionate a nickname) said.
Who are you? Hermione asked, giving up any attempt to reason with the Thing and resolving to ignore the load of rubbish she was being told as soon as she got back home. Why should I believe you?
"I am the Primal," the Thing answered in a croak, "I was the first of us all. The one the Shadow Men created to save them."
Why are you doing this? Why am I here? Hermione asked the Primal.
The Host girl had gone back to her loud grieving, trying and failing to find comfort in the woman who was still holding her. Hermione, on the other hand, was looking at the fog beginning to condense around her.
I follow you, my invisible guide
"Walk with me," the Primal ordered.
Hermione complied, feeling like she couldn't say no. She was still crying inside, and it felt like she'd never stop, but she didn't want to.
She walked through the fog, seemingly alone, except for the strange gleam of yellow eyes every now and then.
"The Slayer is alone," the Primal said, "The Slayer is eternal. The roots of our power are in all of the Chosen line. We need no one else."
No, that's not true, Hermione choked out in her mind. I need people. I need my parents.
"No," the Primal croaked, "We are alone."
I won't be alone, Hermione reiterated, I can't survive like that.
"Embrace your destiny or you will die," the Primal warned hoarsely.
Through this, my perpetual dream
Hermione spent the next few hours, or days, or months, or years like that- walking through the fog of time and space to live in the bodies of other Slayers. Time seemed to have no real meaning in the dream world she was in. Every moment made her feel like she was in hell, as she screamed unheard in the bodies of other girls who tried to refuse the Calling.
Sometimes the fog would lead back to the labyrinth, and she would see that it had become slightly less complicated, but still impossible to navigate. It was the first time this happened that the possibility of this being some bizarre fantasy first entered the so-called Slayer's head. She had wracked her memory, trying to figure out the last thing she remembered. It was of a sharp piercing pain and everything turning black.
Was she dead? Was she unconscious? Was this real or make believe? Would she ever find her way out of this web of thoughts that had been woven around her, or would she stay trapped?
The only thing Hermione now knew for sure was that her parents were really dead, and there was something familiar about every girl she'd "been", even the Primal. But Hermione couldn't- no, wouldn't believe that every Slayer had had a horrible life. Surely someone, somewhere, had been happy?
I walk through my mind, searching to find tales of those from before me
And so Hermione began to pay special attention to every person- Slayer- she shared a body and memories with. She noted every detail of both them and their lives with strict precision, and found that it made her feel better to focus on the small things. Not having to think made It easier; It being her parents' death.
And so she searched compulsively, determined to find a way to prove the Primal wrong. The spirit had left long ago, and Hermione was thankful for that- it's grim assurance that she had to be alone was unsettling, to say the least. But all Hermione had found was proof that the Primal's words were right. That she would die alone.
But Hermione Granger was nothing if not stubborn. If she wanted to prove the Primal wrong, she would prove the Primal wrong, it was just a matter of figuring out how.
Of them I was blind, but we're intertwined. At last I begin to see
And slowly she began to see the girls behind the Slayer. She knew what they were giving up every time they went to patrol, and she could feel the rush every time they staked a vampire or killed a demon. Hermione was inside the Slayers, but she could finally understand a little bit of what being the Slayer meant.
Somehow, in some strange way, she felt connected to the other Slayers. She could hear their thoughts and feel their feelings, and found that they mirrored her own at times. It was as if they were all caught in the same web, as the Spider that was Destiny wove her trap unaffected.
But even as Hermione discovered her part in a very odd sisterhood, she saw what really lurked in the world at night, and that scared her. The demons, vampires, sorcerers, and general icky things seemed to have walked out of some mad storybook, ready to kill and maim. Even after reading her way through parts of the Restricted Section in the library at Hogwarts last year, she had never imagined some of the grotesque monsters the other Slayers faced, and wondered if she would have to fight them herself.
But that thought didn't really scare her. If anything, she felt the most bizarre mixture of anger, fear, and a desire to fight whenever she saw any of the other Slayers locked in combat. There was an almost inhuman craving woken up in her, and she couldn't stop it. On one hand, the hunger inside her defied everything Hermione Granger stood for, worked for, and wanted- order. Clean, tidy, order and peace, with nothing too horrible or startling happening. At the same time, Hermione realized that that same hunger had always been inside of her, deeply buried, but leaking out at the most unexpected moments.
As she thought about things now, Hermione remembered the words of the Sorting Hat, six, almost seven, years ago.
"Not everything is as straightforward as a book, you know. Sometimes people have hidden depths. There's definitely a sharp mind to be had with you. But also plenty of hidden courage and strength. You'd do well in any of the houses, although I suppose Slytherin wouldn't be the happiest place. Really, it comes down to Gryffindor or Ravenclaw."
"I wouldn't mind Ravenclaw," Hermione had answered. "Almost everyone on the train said I'd do well there, being such a…"
"Know It All?" the Sorting Hat had finished when she trailed off, and Hermione had the uncanny feeling that if she could see the outside of the hat, the rip in the brim would be grinning.
"Well, yes," she admitted.
"Hmmm," the Sorting Hat had muttered, "There's quite a bit in this head of yours, but not in all the right places. Yes, I think you'd be a much better Gryffindor!"
This last bit was yelled out loud, and Hermione took the hat off to applause from the table farthest to the left, and so, never had the time to ask what the hat had meant.
Two moths after this incident, there was another one involving a troll, two boys and a locked girl's bathroom that began to give Hermione memories of another kind. Maybe, just maybe, the Sorting Hat had seen a glimpse of what she could become. And maybe that glimpse had involved becoming the Slayer, and maybe it had involved becoming a best friend.
From the cold I see the fire. In the weak I see hidden might.
For just a moment, things were extraordinarily clear, in a way which most of us can only dream about. Things seemed so simple, and Hermione knew what she was going to do. There might not have been a Slayer before her who wasn't alone, and there might not be one after her who managed to stay connected to both webs- the normal world and the Slayer's world- but Hermione was going to be one Slayer who did stay connected. She could still be Hermione, just like she would become the next Slayer.
And if there was ever another Slayer who found herself to be alone in a labyrinth of her own making, she hoped they would be able to "melt" into her and feel a little better. But Hermione had a job to do, and she had a friend to help. It wouldn't be easy. After all, how could it be? Voldemort had destroyed the natural order of things to fragment his very soul- an enemy like that was obviously not an enemy to underestimate. But maybe, one day, she would be able to look back on this time when even her mind had been dark, and she'd thank Merlin for faith.
For the smallest fraction of a second, Hermione could see the way things could be, and it made her feel good. There was still a chance to make things right, they just had to focus long enough to fix things. There was a long way to go. In fact, Hermione might never get to know herself well enough to be able to focus like that. But there was the slimmest chance that all of the confusion that had erupted inside her overnight might one day go away.
Because when Hermione stepped out of the fog for the last time, she saw that she was right where she had started, in the labyrinth. But now there was a clear path to the other side. She couldn't see all of it, and there were still twists and turns to find her way through, but now it would be possible to make it through to the other side.
In these dark times most dire, the flame begins to ignite
Hermione opened her eyes slowly, causing intensely bright light to slice through the shadows. Things felt different now, and the witch realized that the dream world was gone. She sat up slightly and looked around at the vivid white room as her eyes readjusted to the new light. It really was a "whole new world" wasn't it?
There were about four or five people wearing the St. Mungo's uniform bustling around the room. One of them was using their wand to bottle up some type of icy, blue-white potion, and then floating it over to another Healer, who had a half-filled open box with the words "To Pharmacy," written on the side floating in front of him.
Another Healer was scribbling hurriedly on a piece of parchment stuck to a Muggle-style clipboard. The fourth one was performing all sorts of curious maneuvers with his wand and scribbling the results on a clipboard of his own. The last Healer, a bald chap, was walking out of the room.
How much time had passed? Hermione wondered. Had it really been the months and years it had sometimes felt like, or had it only been a few hours? Would anyone think it was strange, the way she felt?
The feeling of purpose was quickly fading from the front of her mind, and Hermione knew that soon other things would intrude into her consciousness and demand her attention. But that was as it should be. She didn't want to be detached, as even Dumbledore had been. And she also knew that even when there were other things to think about, more reminders of her parents to deal with, that sense of purpose would still be there in the back of her mind.
Suddenly the door burst open and a very large group of familiar people flooded in, causing the startled Healers to look up. Hermione dimly registered another new Healer; the faces of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley; Moody, who was as gnarled and scarred as ever; the twins and Ginny, who all looked slightly queasy, and very angry. The second she saw the two people who probably knew her better then anyone looking at her with forced smiles on their faces and anxious eyes, she knew she had made the right decision.
She had had such a hard time with her parents' death that she had doubted that she had dealt with it even a little bit. It was looking at Harry and Ron that made her figure out that she had learned to accept it, and had even planned what she was going to do about it, all in her own head. It still hurt like hell, but then, it would always hurt, wouldn't it? There was just nothing to be done but go on with her life the way they had taught her to.
Hermione also knew that she wouldn't be able to think about it this way if it hadn't been for her little "dream walk". She had killed and fought her way through just about everything in someone else's body, and with every punch and tear had imagined a Death Eater's face in place of the demon's. She had cried and screamed for days inside while trapped inside her own mind.
In one night her world had ended and crashed down in flames around her. In the fog of lost time she had begun to pick up the pieces, and maybe had come away with a new understanding of her life. For once she was part of something bigger, and there was a part of that inside of her. Right now, there was nothing to do but help as much as she could.
But that didn't mean she couldn't toy with Harry and Ron just a little bit. After all, maybe she was just "psychic".
And so the corners of her mouth twitched up into the smallest of smirks as she asked, "They're dead, aren't they?" and watched everyone's jaws drop.
Eek. I was soo set on separating the parts of this chapter with poetry, but I couldn't find anything on the internet or from my own store of quotes that would fit. However, I'm stubborn, so I had to make up some very very bad poetry and pop it in. At least I remembered something one of my uncles quoted to me, so that's how the quote at the top came up. Please Review, and try not to make fun of my nonexistent poetry skills.
