Miss Moony would like to dedicate this chapter to summer last time for being the first reviewer.
Miss Moony would also like to thank Qem, flit, Unknown-Dreams and Allisarte for reviewing.
To flit: I didn't mean that I'd stopped; I just meant that I've finished writing the story… there's still… (checks…) two more chapters after this one.
------- I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good -------
Chapter 14
'The only thing I know for sure,' Harry said, a faraway look in his eyes, 'is that when you're walking through Hell, you have to keep on walking, because there's no turning back, and if you just stand still, then you'll never get out.'
He'd opened up a little more since the night when he'd come crawling into Briar's bed, but Briar knew that if he pushed too far, then the younger boy would freeze up again in an instant: he'd seen it many times when he'd been on the streets.
That considered, he decided to ask the less personal of the two questions pushing at his mind. 'What's Hell?'
Harry looked at him in surprise, but then seemed to remember something, and he answered, 'I suppose you wouldn't know. It's a religious thing, really, back home: a bit like an afterlife of sorts. Heaven and Hell: Hell's for the sinners, and Heaven's for the believers. Rubbish, if you ask me, but the way I meant it, Hell is the worst thing you could ever imagine, or even something you couldn't.'
His words didn't quite make sense at first, but Briar puzzled them out eventually, and then gathered up the guts to ask a second question: 'When did you walk through Hell?'
Harry's eyes met his for a second, and he was momentarily stunned by the ripples of emotion he could see in them, but then they flickered back towards the ground as Harry replied, 'I told you, there was a war. And everyone expected me to save them. I did, eventually, but there's always a price to pay for victory.'
'Your sanity?'
Harry smiled bitterly. 'That, too. I meant the deaths of everyone I ever cared about, though.'
'The people in your tattoos?'
Harry nodded, and then they were back at Discipline's gate, where they saw Rosethorn beckoning to them, and quickly marched over to join her in the garden.
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Now that he'd been around longer, Harry was beginning to see bits and pieces of the "Magecraft" that his new friends (or not, depending) seemed to practice.
It was subtle, and they didn't use it except when they needed to, which explained why he hadn't noticed it before, but when he looked closely, he could see signs of it everywhere:
The plants in Rosethorn's garden practically oozed with health, which not even Aunt Petunia had been able to achieve, and she'd been particularly fussy about making sure that all her plants were as well presented as they possibly could be. The small trinkets that Tris, Daja and Keth sometimes brought back from their workshops were more small signs: they gave of an ethereal energy, which seemed to pulse inside them, almost like the magic bound inside the walls of Hogwarts had, but to a lesser extent.
And, looking closely, the tattoos on Briar's hands moved, almost like a wizarding portrait.
Talking of Briar… Harry wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel, really. It had only been a few months since Blaise had died, and the half-Italian had made it clear from the minute things began to get serious that if anything ever happened to him, Harry would have to move on. Live again.
He just wasn't sure how.
