Chapter 103

Everyone within Grimmauld Place awoke to a white Christmas the next morning, finding stacks of presents at the foot of their beds and Sirius, up bright and early, singing Christmas carols louder than ever before. And though he wasn’t a terrible singer, Atlas found herself developing a horrible headache, the girl sat upright in her bed, hair askew and vision blurry, eyes wearily roaming around the innards of her room and stopping on her very own pile, colourful against the earthy tones of her room. She pulled the headphones of her Walkman from her ears carefully, turning the musical contraption off and tucking it safely in her drawer before she even made to move. Now that there were no old romance songs singing in her ear, her father’s carolling became all the clearer.

She sighed and reached for Molly’s present first, pulling the handmade jumper on before anything else thinking at least this would be the year Molly got to see her in one of her creations. The thought made Atlas smile as she pulled Harry’s two gifts into her lap, the first one she didn’t even have to open as it had no wrapping, instead, the dog’s chew toy was adorned with a thin ribbon, dolled up by a pretty bow. She merely tossed it across her room and went for the other one, peeling back each fold carefully until she got to the bundle beneath, it was an ornament, of a wolf, of course, something Atlas thought would become a running gag gift but it was still remarkably made. Had such a likeness of her Animagus she could have sworn it was specifically made for her. She set it on her nightstand with a smile.

The next package was from Ron, he’d bought her a large bar of Honeydukes chocolate, a gift that would probably go right alongside Poppy’s as the woman had consistently bought her a massive box of chocolate frogs every Christmas. And when Atlas opened the woman’s next, she was right and set the box atop Ron’s present. Remus had gifted her a nice bracelet that she slid on beside the leather wristband Hermione had gotten her for her birthday and Tonks had gotten her a miniature Firebolt that whizzed around her when she unleashed it. Sirius’s present was a set of books, some Muggle literature Hermione had no doubt suggested he buy, along with some practical stationery and a few little moving figurines that seemed handmade. 

The little creatures seemed the same as the pieces in a game of wizards’ chess, only sentient when spoken to, unlike Atlas’s Little Albanian Agoniser who seemed to awaken on her own accord, or rather, who used to awaken on her own accord. Atlas was saddened by the thought the dragon would never wake again but snapped herself from the thought and tickled at the belly of one of the creatures with a small smile, watching as it retaliated for a moment before resigning to its fate and ultimately going still when Atlas stopped.

She moved on to Hermione’s present after setting them with the wolf ornament on her nightstand. It wasn’t wrapped like the others and was simply a wooden box, dark oak it seemed with brass clasps and a bow to sell the image of a present, Atlas huffed and opened it, pulling back the leather strip that covered what was inside. Whittling tools, all of different shapes and uses, handles beautifully crafted and blades beautifully sharp. They seemed magical in some way, emitting an aura of sorts. She hadn’t whittle anything in a while, she’d done some brief carving but nothing huge. With these tools, however, she’d have to get into it again.

A loud crack startled Atlas and the lid of her box fell closed on her fingers. She winced in pain, glaring up at Fred and George who had just Apparated at the foot of her bed.

“Merry Christmas, Atlas,” George beamed, don in a ridiculous elf hat.

“You know those are offensive to elves right?” Atlas grimaced, setting her box aside and cradling her fingers as she stood. 

“You’re merry this morning,” Fred retorted and pointed a thumb over his shoulder, “Sirius has been calling you, everyone’s already downstairs.”

“Right, and why were you two twats sent to get me?” Atlas muttered, slipping her feet into some socks and slippers. “Couldn’t it have been Hermione?”

“She was going to but we beat her to it,” George said, grinning wider as he exchanged a look with his brother. 

“You know, we thought you’d want to be awoken by the two most beautiful specimens in the house,” Fred added on and Atlas huffed, rubbing at her eyes as she grabbed the fake bone she’d thrown earlier, turning to slap the twins atop their heads.

“That’s why Hermione should have gotten me you tossers,” she snapped and exited ahead of them, hearing as they quickly followed, descending the stairs on either side of her.

“You’re just biased,” Fred retorted.

“You’re head over heels,” George added.

“Sure, sure, whatever,” Atlas sighed, waving them off.

“Hey, you should be nicer to us,” Fred said and Atlas stopped, turning to look up at them, standing three steps behind, they were both smug in their looks, hands-on-hips. “We’ve been putting up enchanted mistletoe around the house that only activates when you and Hermione walk underneath it.”

“You what?”

“Sirius has helped too,” George beamed, rubbing his nose with a smirk and a wink. “No need to thank us.”

“Are you — ?” Atlas took in a breath, “take them down.”

“What? After all of our efforts?” Fred gasped, falling dramatically against the rail as George looked at her, aghast, horrorstruck, green in the face.

“You’ve never appreciated us,” George huffed, crossing his arms. “Or our talents.”

“I do appreciate you, I do,” Atlas placated, “I mean…who gave you some of the money for the joke shop?”

“…fair,” they said in unison and then Fred said, “but why take them down? This is your chance to confess, it’s Christmas which makes it cliche and you’re a hopeless romantic.”

“Fuck yourself,” Atlas snapped and shook her head, “I’m not confessing…not anytime soon, we’ve both got stuff going on, Hermione’s basically managing the DA amongst other things and I’m — I’m just not…I don’t know. We’re busy.”

“You’re just avoiding the inevitable,” George shrugged and Atlas scoffed, raising a brow.

“You’re a seer now, are you?” Atlas asked, “I’ll tell her…someday, just not now, I don’t want to ruin things and — shit, just don’t rush me.”

“Rush you? We’ve been keeping quiet since you started holding hands in third year,” George quipped and Atlas flushed, watching as they both shrugged.

“But if you want to torture yourself, be our guest. We’re not taking the mistletoe down though,” Fred said and slid down the rail, hopping off and waiting for George but the boy didn’t follow and instead Apparated, startling Atlas with the loud crack. She scowled at them as they grinned and walked away, moving to the kitchen with looks of nonchalance on their faces.

Atlas followed moments later, following the happy chatter and laughter until she found herself at the kitchen door, pushing her way inside with a smile. Sirius greeted her first, beaming wide as Atlas mirrored his joyous ‘Merry Christmas!’, and pulled her into a hug in the doorway. Harry and Ron came forward next, thanking her for her presents to them.

“It’s no handcrafted thing but I hoped you’d like them,” Atlas smiled, eyeing the custom Keeper’s cap atop Ron’s head — why he had elected to wear it now, she didn’t know. Harry probably had his wallet tucked away somewhere.

“Hagrid actually got me an anti-theft wallet but…unfortunately I can’t actually put any money in it,” Harry said and Atlas smiled sympathetically when she saw a shallow bite mark on the boy’s hand. It looked to have some paste on it so Atlas figured Molly had already seen to it, at least it wasn’t some major injury. “Ah, I see you like my present.”

Atlas had almost forgotten the chew toy she held firmly in her grasp and huffed, tossing it at the boy’s chest, “yeah, now take it back you pisstake.”

“Oh come on, I thought Frog would love it,” Harry grinned and though Atlas was more than happy Harry seemed to be in better spirits she simultaneously wished for nothing more than to wipe that smirk off of his face.

“Git,” Atlas hissed and turned to Ron who looked mildly confused. She was lucky the boy — like herself — couldn’t pick up on most context clues. “Thanks for the chocolate, Ron.”

“Thanks for the cap,” he returned, smacking his own head a few times. “Works really well, decided to wear it because Fred and George keep tossing bits at me.”

“I did wonder,” Atlas nodded with a smile and then turned to the figure hurrying over to them, with a cheek splitting grin on her face, aflame with excitement. Atlas had to quickly open her arms to accept the sudden hug Hermione threw her way.

“Atlas! How in the hell did you get a first edition signed set of The Chronicles of Narnia books!?” She practically cried when she pulled away, remaining in Atlas’s arms as the girl held her shoulders, looking at the much shorter girl amusedly.

“I saw them in Hogsmeade some time ago. Why? Are they good?” Atlas asked, completely oblivious and clueless to the reason Hermione was beaming so brightly, eventually hitting the girl’s shoulder continuously, seemingly unable to speak. Atlas took it, confused and bewildered by the events spiralling before her.

“Think you broke her, Atlas,” Ginny commented over a bowl of cereal, “thanks for the Nimbus.”

“Still can’t believe you gave her your Nimbus,” Ron huffed but he seemed to have already accepted that fact ages ago, he simply wanted to be petty.

“Mum wants me to give it back,” Ginny said and Molly tossed her towel to the counter.

“You bet your buttons I do! Honestly, Atlas dear, it’s too much,” Molly said, turning to the girl with a soft and appreciative smile. “You really didn’t have to.”

“I told Ginny I’m never buying her anything ever again, I think it’s a fair trade,” Atlas said with a shrug, now seriously concerned as Hermione quietly rambled to herself, still blindly punching her shoulder. She caught her wrist, “Hermione love, are you all right?”

“Am I all right!? Atlas you don’t even know how absolutely valuable those books are to lovers of classic literature! Blood would spill for those books and you’re giving them to me for Christmas!? You do realize C.S. Lewis very rarely signed his books, right?! And one of them has a dedication to one of his closest friends signed with the name Jack Lewis!” Hermione rattled, “it’s too much! I bet they were really expensive too!”

“Not really?” Atlas said, smiling sheepishly. “I suppose there’s like…a small nick in my savings but that’s all.”

“Rich people,” Ginny huffed, shaking her head.

“No, honest, they weren’t really expensive,” Atlas tried, holding her hands up in defence, “it’s Muggle literature, I doubt the guy even knew how valuable they were, they were behind the counter just collecting dust, I saw them and thought of you Mi, you told me something about the first editions at some point.”

“Yes but…” Hermione paused, looking up at the girl hopelessly, she sighed and seemed to contemplate something, “ok…to put it into perspective, imagine I bought you not one but ten Albanian Agoniser scales — no — ten Albino Albanian Agonsier scales, that’s the dragon enthusiast equivalent to the books you bought me.”

“Wait, really?” Atlas muttered as Harry whistled lowly, Ron’s mouth hanging open while Ginny and Sirius laughed openly, the twins each shooting her meaningful looks and Molly shaking her head fondly, resuming her preparations for lunch. “So I did good?”

“Seriously, Hermione tells you how much they’re worth and all you want is for her to say you did good?” Harry teased and Atlas shot him a glare, cheeks tinging a rosy red. “What? I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, you act like a dog.”

“Piss off, you tosspot,” she snapped.

“Well, she did do good,” Hermione sighed and Atlas grinned, “but Atlas…though I am extremely grateful, I mean…I can’t even begin to express how much — you really need to understand the value of money.”

“She doesn’t need to when she has so much of it,” Ginny said.

“Hey! I already said they didn’t cost that much!”

“Oh yeah? How much did they cost then?” Ginny taunted and Atlas froze, lips forming thin lines as she slowly shuffled over to Harry, muttering the price in his ear just for some sort of confirmation. Instead, Harry burst out laughing at her, taking a moment before turning to Atlas, face draining of colour.

“You’re not joking?”

“…no?”

“You spent — you spent — holy shit!” He laughed again and looked over at Hermione, laughing harder. “Even I’m not that bad.”

“How much did she spend?” Ron asked but Harry shook his head.

“You don’t want to know,” he waved off and Hermione turned to Atlas, clearly appalled.

“Atlas…” she began lowly and Atlas grimaced. “You idiot…”

“I just wanted to get you something nice…” Atlas mumbled, “thank you for the…the tools anyway,” she muttered, trying to redirect the topic and lucky for her, Ron was easily distracted. He always seemed to be the one to unknowingly aide Atlas in that regard.

“Wait, she didn’t get a nagging homework planner too!?” He cried, clearly put out.

“Atlas doesn’t need it, she’s good with staying on top of things already,” Hermione defended, thankfully distracted also. “So, I got her some whittling tools. My dad’s friend makes them.”

“Yeah? Is your dad friends with magic folk then?” Atlas added on curiously but Hermione shook her head. “Really? They felt like they had some magic in them though.”

“That’s because I charmed them,” Hermione told. “And don’t think I’ve been distracted, we’re having a talk about your spending habits later.”

“But –” Atlas received a sharp glare and frowned, crossing her arms. “Fine…whatever…”

“Please don’t nag my daughter too much Hermione,” Sirius grinned, looking at his daughter fondly and sending her a quick wink as the girl moved to sit beside him, arms still crossed and gaze in her lap, “probably just wanted to do something nice for you, look, you’ve made her sad. Tail’s tucked between her legs.”

“I’m not a dog!” Atlas practically barked, her cheeks aflame. “And I’m not sad…”

“Probably expected a good scratch behind the ears,” Harry continued to taunt and Atlas sent him another deadly glare, he just smirked and sat across from her, Ron sitting at his side as plates of food slowly descended upon the table, their scents wafting pleasantly in the air. “Or some belly rubs.”

“One more and I will hex you,” Atlas threatened, scowling. Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes, sitting beside her and pouring Atlas and herself a cup of apple juice.

“Well, I sort of agree, didn’t you practically grow up with wolves? I mean, Hermione told me you raised a litter of pups and Ron doesn’t shut up about that Dire-wolf of yours. You’re at least a bit…wolfish,” Ginny added and Atlas sighed. Now everyone was joining in. 

“Sometimes you nuzzle noses in greeting,” Ron said, pointing his fork at her, “that’s something dogs do ain’t it?”

“I do not!”

“You do, Atty,” Hermione said softly, sliding the cup to her.

“…whatever,” Atlas huffed, frowning as she took a sip of her drink.

“What’s all the noise for then?” Atlas looked up, smiling as she spotted Bill in the doorway, unwinding his scarf and taking off his coat. “I could hear you from outside, surprised you didn’t wake that painting of yours.”

“Bill dear! Just in time for lunch!” Molly beamed, greeting her eldest with two kisses, one on each cheek. She guided him to a seat, the one beside herself and took his coat, brushing the man down of any snow. “We’ll be going to see your father after we’ve all eaten.”

Atlas noticed how Sirius seemed to physically deflate, but saw how his smile didn’t falter. He really hated being on his own, it seemed. Maybe Atlas should stay behind. But then she’d get an earful for not getting her injuries checked. She sighed, at least he’d have Crookshanks. Wherever he was.

“Sounds good,” Bill grinned, tucking himself under and looking across the table, “so what were we talking about?”

“Atlas’s dog-like tendencies,” George told.

“She likes head scratches,” Fred added with a horrible grin on his face.

“Oh, I get that, feels really good, like a massage,” Bill nodded and Atlas straightened, smiling over at him as she nodded. Finally, someone understood.

“Exactly!”

“Calm down everyone,” Molly chuckled, sitting as well, “let’s just eat, stop tormenting Atlas.”

“Thank you,” Atlas breathed, content now knowing at least two people weren’t going to pick at her for her wolfish side. It’s not her fault turning herself into an Animagus at such a young age affected her mentally as well. Well, maybe it was a little bit her fault but it mostly wasn’t.

“Don’t worry Atlas, I’m sure someone finds it sweet, you know, how you can be flirty but oh so loveable with a snap of a girl’s fingers,” Ginny said idly and then twitched oddly a moment later, wincing in apparent pain. She shot a look at Hermione across from her, the girl innocently eating a carrot slice. 

“You know, most girls do go for that,” Sirius grinned, nudging his daughter and sending her another cheeky wink, she looked up from her plate and at her dad, an eyebrow raised, “it’s why your ama was so popular, she even won over dear Lily years before James did.”

Harry choked across from them, red-faced and glasses wildly askew. “Amaya dated my mum!?”

Once they had eaten their Christmas lunch, the Weasleys, Harry, Atlas and Hermione readied themselves for a trip to St. Mungos. They’d be visiting Arthur as planned of course but Atlas would first get a check-up, per the majority vote of everyone going, after Ginny had told Molly about her little injury. The woman had drained of all colour and immediately demanded she be checked over. Atlas knew then that there was no room for arguing and resigned to her fate.

They’d be escorted by Mad-Eye and Lupin who had arrived halfway through lunch and would be getting there by car, courtesy of Mundungus who insisted he’d borrowed it rather than stolen it. No one bought his story but they had all climbed inside anyway after much resistance from Molly who very much disliked Mundungus and his less than innocent means. It was rather large on the inside and though Atlas had never been in a Muggle car before, she wagered the interior wasn’t usually supposed to house eleven including Mundungus driving when it was so small on the outside. After a few moments of fussing, they were off, Atlas waving goodbye to her dad through the back window as he ventured further within Grimmauld Place, the home disappearing into those that surrounded it, concealed and unseen.

It was a quick trip with very little traffic to hinder them, Atlas spent most of it looking out of the window, asking Hermione what certain landmarks were as she had never been to this part of London before. Well, she hadn’t been to most parts of London but that was for another day. When they stopped Atlas got out and held the door for Hermione, slamming it shut on Harry as the boy made to exit also, she was still annoyed at him for the dog comments. He only laughed and made another jab after climbing out of Ginny’s side. 

The hospital was concealed as an old shop, displaying horrible outfits and decrepit mannequins, one was dressed in something nylon green, it looked incredibly itchy and Atlas couldn’t help the small grimace on her face. She turned away and followed after the group, sinking through the glass window and appearing in the reception area.

It looked pleasantly festive, with all of the lights shining in various Christmas colours, holly decorated every doorway and Atlas noted which ones were donned in mistletoe, a multitude of white Christmas trees were dotted here or there, powered in magical snow and topped with a golden star. There was one larger than the rest with mock presents beneath and a much prettier, more intricately designed star on top, shining brighter than the rest.

Atlas was pulled from admiring the interior as Remus pulled her forward so she stood with him and Moody. She smiled awkwardly at the blonde witch behind the desk and muttered a ‘Merry Christmas’ when the lady acknowledged her, it earned a soft laugh and Atlas was glad for it. She relaxed.

“This one’s just here for a quick check-up,” Remus said, ruffling her hair gently, “Nymphadora Tonks said Chiara would have a look.”

“Of course, I’ll go and get her,” the witch excused, removing herself from the desk and disappearing into the room behind her.

“Chiara’s nice,” Remus muttered to her quietly, “we very briefly met while she was at Hogwarts, we’re…very similar, perhaps you’ll know what I mean when you meet her.”

“What are you talking about?” Remus simply smiled and turned back to the desk where the receptionist had suddenly returned. She was not alone however as a white-haired witch stood behind her, looking over her shoulder and smiling as she noticed Remus, her blue eyes adopting a subtle sheen.

“Remus? What’s happened? Dora sent you to me?” The white-haired witch said, Chiara, Atlas realised. She seemed friendly and stood with a smile on her face, an air of professionalism about her. She wore a necklace, decorated with an image of a moon. Atlas quirked a brow, slowly understanding what Remus had meant, they certainly gave off the same vibe. The concealed fatigue and placid nature. It seemed Miss Chiara was a werewolf.

“Nothing terrible, Chiara,” Remus said though a few notes of protest came from those behind them. “Well, Molly, Ginny and Hermione disagree but that’ll ultimately be up to you. Atlas here has…unfortunately crossed paths with an unkind creature. She has some bruising, none of us has seen it as she refuses to show us but she agreed to a check-up. The creature was — well, the same one who attacked Arthur Weasley.”

“I see,” Chiara seemed serious now as she turned her gaze to Atlas, still with that friendly smile on her face, “well, I’ll have a look and let you know. If you’d kindly follow me, Miss Atlas.”

“Oh, sure,” Atlas nodded, glancing over her shoulder and casting them all a quick wave goodbye.

“We’ll be in the Dai Llewellyn Ward, honey,” Molly called, waving her off with a pinch of worry upon her face. Atlas smiled assuringly and promised she’d meet them up there and then turned, following the Healer to her apparent office. 

It was a small room with an examination table in the corner, accompanied by a smell of absolute cleanliness, it was vastly different compared to Poppy’s infirmary. Where hers was old and of brick, clearly that of an old castle, this room was more Muggle it seemed, with well-kept walls and floors, no stained windows or the like. Atlas sat atop the bed readily, watching as Chiara sterilised her wand and turned to her with a soft smile.

“So you’re the witch I’ve been hearing about,” Chiara said gently and Atlas nodded unsurely. “The one Dumbledore has inducted,” she then sighed and shook her head, “it’s not as if I was never inducted into anything dangerous when I was at Hogwarts but that was a tradition I thought would hopefully die when our group disbanded.”

“Trouble follows me, can’t help it,” Atlas muttered and Chiara smiled again.

“I get that,” she nodded, some odd expression on her face. She adopted something more professional a moment later, turning away a moment to put a few things on her desk in order. “Let’s have a look then. Could you show me where the bruise is?”

“Oh, of course,” Atlas nodded, pulling at the hem of her shirt and drawing it over her head to reveal the nasty purple beneath. It ached, of course, every time she moved but it wasn’t so bad she couldn’t tough through it. There was definitely nothing broken, she knew what a broken rib felt like. Chiara turned around and set her eyes upon Atlas’s abdomen, frowning slightly as she began prodding the area with her wand, the tip of it alight with some sort of spell. “So…?”

“There’s some spell residue left behind,” Chiara said and Atlas tensed when the woman’s cold hands met her skin. “Remus said it was the same snake that attacked Arthur?”

“Nagini,” Atlas nodded.

“Well…I suppose you’re lucky she didn’t bite you, Healer Smethwyck is finding it tough enough having one man’s life hanging in the balance as he searches for a cure, it’d be worse if there were two,” Chiara offered but frowned, all the same, that expression unchanging, “but this is still strange, I can’t pinpoint the spell, it doesn’t seem malicious, however.”

“So, I’m ok then?”

“In that regard,” Chiara nodded, smiling briefly before frowning again, this time, however, Atlas noticed the woman’s gaze was not upon her bruise, but upon the claw marks shredding her sides, eyes wandering to the bite in her shoulder. Atlas watched as the woman swallowed thickly. “If — if I might be so bold as to ask, are you –?”

“A werewolf?” Atlas finished and then shook her head when Chiara nodded, “no, I — I’m an Animagus…I was attacked by one though.”

“Really?” Chiara said, eyes widening as she took a few subtle steps back. Perhaps to make Atlas feel more comfortable, Atlas didn’t know. “Who –? I mean, never mind. I should be treating you as a patient but given our distant relation my professionalism has slipped, forgive me.”

“It’s fine, I’m used to Poppy being the same,” Atlas shrugged, “and…well, it was an accident.”

“Remus?” Chiara inferred and Atlas simply nodded.

“But, as you can see, I’m covered in scars, most of them given to me by creatures and people I consider friends,” Atlas smiled, chuckling slightly at the irony. “This on my arm was given to me by a Hippogriff, he’s a dear friend of mine. This burn was from an Albanian Agoniser, a lovely lady who was protecting her young. And obviously, the bite and these claw marks are from Remus, my Uncle.”

“You’ve lived an interesting life,” Chiara grinned and thankfully didn’t bring up the other less forgiving scars. “Well…back to my professional medical examination, I’ve deducted you’ll recover, the spell residue on your torso is not malicious, in fact, it seems to be a charm of some sort. But go easy, that is a nasty bruise and you’re lucky you didn’t fracture a rib, in fact, I’m surprised you’re able to walk.”

“Poppy says I’m built abnormally,” Atlas offered and Chiara chuckled, nodding lightly. “Is that all?”

“Yup, you’re all done here,” Atlas stood and collected her shirt from the bed, putting it on carefully, “if you’d like, I can escort you to the Dai Llewellyn Ward?”

“That’d be helpful, Molly told me where they’d be but I don’t actually know how to get there,” Atlas smiled sheepishly and Chiara laughed again. “Lead the way Miss Healer.”

And she did, talking idly with Atlas as they walked, telling her stories of her time at Hogwarts, withholding certain bits of information, perhaps sensitive topics and Atlas didn’t push instead, she was surprised to find out Chiara already knew of her. Apparently, Minerva was very open about her home life back then and spoke about Atlas all of the time. The thought made Atlas smile, she really needed to see Minerva. And soon. The woman was probably driving herself crazy, restraining herself from visiting Grimmauld Place. Now that thought made her frown.

Eventually, they came to the ward, Chiara’s laughter becoming quieter as they came to stop, Atlas’s retelling of an adventure she had had with Lyra coming to an end. It was only when the two of them broke from their nostalgia that they noticed the small group of people staring over at them curiously. Of course, they were Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny.

“Oh, hey guys,” Atlas greeted as Chiara stood, her hands in front of her, clasped together as she gave the four a vague hospitable bow. Ron bowed back and flushed when nobody else did the same.

“Hey, you,” Hermione greeted and then looked between the girl and Chiara, “are you — are you ok?”

“Yeah, like I told you guys yesterday, I’m fine,” Atlas said and she couldn’t help the grin on her face.

“No need to be smug about it,” Ginny huffed, “we were worried, that’s all.”

“Well, I can assure you, she’s ok, the bruising was terrible but she has no broken ribs,” Chiara said with a smile.

“How bad was it for a Healer to say it was terrible?” Ron muttered, looking suddenly pale. “Like…like is she just purple underneath her shirt?”

“Not entirely but –“

“No, I’m not purple Ron,” Atlas rushed and looked upon Chiara, “patient confidentiality.”

“Oh, right, yes, professionalism,” Chiara mumbled and turned back to Atlas’s friends, “she’ll heal nicely.”

“How long will it take?” Hermione asked.

“…she’ll heal nicely,” Chiara repeated and then looked at Atlas, smiling, “well, hopefully, I won’t be seeing you here again but perhaps we’ll meet somewhere else someday.”

“I look forward to it,” Atlas smiled and shook the Healer’s outstretched hand, it was clear the woman was more of a hugger but her attempt at remaining professional trumped over that and Atlas watched with an amused smile as the lady walked away, stiff and uptight. 

“You look forward to it?” Harry grinned and Atlas turned, looking confused. “So what did she have you do Atlas?”

“Well,” she walked over and joined them where they stood, following when they started walking again, “I had to take my shirt off so she could see the bruise and then she just prodded it a few times with her wand, that’s all.”

“Honestly, Harry, don’t be childish, that Chiara lady was just doing her job,” Hermione said, shooting the boy a look. She looked at Atlas and smiled. “I’m glad you’re ok, Atlas. But you understand why we wanted you to see a Healer right?”

“I suppose so,” Atlas shrugged and cast a glance over her shoulder, “why aren’t we seeing your dad?”

“We just did but dad had the bright idea of getting treated with some Muggle remedy,” Ginny sighed, shaking her head, “didn’t want to stick around for the fallout, mum went mental. Listen, you can probably still hear her.”

And Atlas could, honing her ears into the distant screams of Mrs Weasley, berating her husband for his stupid antics. She withheld her wince and sent the man silent well wishes, knowing very well she would have probably tried the Muggle remedy herself out of curiosity.

“Well, you know, they do work well on non-magical wounds,” Hermione said fairly and Atlas looked at her, intrigued. It seemed however, Hermione wasn’t in the mood for divulging deeper into the mechanics of Muggle medicine. “I suppose something in that snake’s venom dissolves them or something. I wonder where the tearoom is?”

“Fifth floor,” Harry told. At least one of them seemed to be paying attention.

They walked along the corridor and found a set of double doors, old stairs just beyond them that were lined with portraits of Healers, each of them looking upon the five critically. Muttering diagnosis under their breaths as they all passed, Atlas busied herself with some pamphlets she had found, reading them through with a curious expression. Especially the one regarding afflictions not dealt with at St. Mungo’s as one of the illnesses reference Blood Curses. She sighed, idly wondering how Astoria was doing, so lost in thought she bumped into Hermione’s back when the girl had stopped a step above her.

“Oh, sorry, Mi,” she muttered when the girl turned to look down at her. “This is weird…looking up at you.”

“I like being taller than you,” Hermione grinned, patting her head to accentuate the difference but Atlas only flushed, turning her eyes ahead of them where Ron was, talking animatedly, apparently outraged with one of the paintings.

“‘Tis a most grievous affliction of the skin, young master, that will leave you pockmarked and more gruesome even than you are now –“

“Watch who you’re calling gruesome!” Ron shouted, his ears ringing red. Atlas smiled and moved past Hermione, offering the girl some quiet words before she found herself beside the boy.

“What’s going on Ron?”

“He’s saying I’ve got spattergroit!”

“Spattergroit?” Atlas frowned at the name, she had only heard of that disease when Snape spoke about her mother. He had not mentioned it in some time so Atlas had managed to forget but this Healer had gone and brought it up again.

“Yes, young miss, the unsightly blemishes upon his visage and — oh dear — it seems, young miss, that you’re the very same — !”

“They’re freckles!” Ron shouted furiously as Atlas reached up her hand to touch her face.

“My freckles are unsightly?” Atlas murmured as Ron ordered the man to get on with whatever he had been doing in his picture.

“I didn’t even know you had freckles,” Ginny muttered, moving closer and using the little light of the stairwell to examine the girl’s face, “oh you do! They’re super faint though but they’re not unsightly, I think they’re cute.”

“They’re very cute, Atty, you know I like your freckles, don’t listen to the painting,” Hermione sighed, coming up behind them and Atlas smiled again, feeling much better about herself. “I’m actually surprised he even noticed, your freckles practically disappear in the winter.”

“Hey, what about my freckles?” Ron said, pointing to himself. Hermione and Ginny didn’t answer and the boy quickly grew upset, muttering obscenities as he stomped further up the stairs. Harry hurried after him, laughing.

“Hold on Ron, I think they’re cute!” He grinned.

They all stepped out onto the landing of the fourth floor, intent on continuing upwards for the tearoom when Harry, at the head of the group, came to an abrupt halt, eyes set on the windows of the double doors signposted ‘spell damage’. There was a man peering out at them, nose pressed against the glass and heavy breaths creating spots of wetness across it. He looked vaguely familiar to Atlas with his wavy blond hair, bright blue eyes and dazzlingly white teeth. Like she’d seen him in a paper somewhere. She couldn’t quite place it though.

It seemed, however, that her friends did, each of their mouths dropping open.

“Blimey!” Ron shouted.

“Oh, my goodness,” Hermione said, sounding breathless, “Professor Lockhart.”

Lockhart. Gilderoy Lockhart. It clicked and Atlas rose a brow, blinking in shock. This was Hermione’s first crush? Celebrity crush it might’ve been but if this goofy looking man was Hermione’s type she had no chance. She felt rather depressed at that. 

Suddenly, the man had pushed open the double doors, that vacant grin still on his face.

“Well, hello there!” He beamed, “I expect you’d like my autograph, would you?”

“This is your type? I thought you said they were supposed to have a good head on their shoulders? At the very least,” Atlas muttered to Hermione, the girl flushing and spluttering some quiet defence.

“I was thirteen!” She whispered harshly as Ron spoke with the man who kept insisting he sign them each an autograph. It seemed the man had lost his memory and sense of self some time ago, which apparently had something to do with Ron’s backfiring wand back in their second year by the look of guilt on the boy’s face.

“Still…I’m surprised, maybe the girl you like isn’t good enough for you after all if…this is your type,” Atlas murmured and Hermione punched her arm.

“She is most certainly good enough for me, in fact, she’s probably too good,” Hermione defended and Atlas held her hands up in surrender, the two of them blind to the exchange going on at the front. “Gilderoy Lockhart isn’t my type, not anymore, I was just a misguided little girl. My tastes have…improved, I’d say.”

“Oh really?” Atlas huffed, “must’ve been a drastic change then. I still think the girl you like is probably proper stupid.”

Hermione laughed, a hand to her mouth as she slowly nodded between her chuckles. Atlas looked at her curiously but smiled as well, perplexed by the girl’s sudden fit of laughter. “You know, Atty, you’re actually right.”

“Exactly, so maybe you should move on to bigger better things,” Atlas proposed, crossing her arms.

“Oh yeah? And who would you suggest?”

“Who do you think?” Atlas grinned.

“Ron?”

“That’s not even funny,” Atlas said seriously and sighed, dramatically shrugging, “fine, fine, stay liking the mystery girl but I’m telling you, she’s probably really stupid, like…I bet she can’t name ten muggle authors.”

“That’s assuming she’s not muggle-born or half-blood,” Hermione quipped and Atlas flushed. Right, she hadn’t thought about that.

“Well…I bet she can’t name ten of your favourite muggle authors.”

“And you can?” Hermione huffed, apparently amused.

“Course I can,” Atlas said, mildly offended, “I listen to you passionately rattle off about them all of the time.”

“Didn’t think you listened,” Hermione said with a playful smile and Atlas huffed, “fine, go on, give me the names of ten of my favourite muggle authors.”

“Do poets count?”

“…they can count, yeah,” Hermione nodded and Atlas grinned, straightening.

“C.S Lewis, namely his The Chronicles of Narnia books; Roald Dahl, you especially like Matilda because when you were younger you thought you had become her when your magic manifested; Jane Austen, you like Pride and Prejudice but you’re intrigued by her unfinished book, Sanditon so it inevitably became your favourite,” Atlas began and Hermione watched her intently, smiling wide. “Emily Dickinson is one of your favourite poets and you often tell me that you firmly believe she was in a secret relationship with Susan Gilbert –“

“She definitely was, if you’d actually read the book of poems I gave you –“

“I have,” Atlas interrupted with an amused smile, “and I agree, now would you let me finish my list?”

“If you can.”

“Oh, I definitely can –“

“Hey, guys!” Harry called and both Atlas and Hermione only now noticed they had been left alone in the stairwell, Ron and Ginny further down the corridor following behind a motherly looking Healer and Gilderoy Lockhart who had taken to skipping instead of walking. Harry looked between the two of them silently for a moment before grinning, “am I interrupting something?”

“I was reciting Muggle Authors to prove I’m the best,” Atlas told, walking out onto the fourth floor with the boy, Hermione followed, sending a discrete glare Harry’s way. “Why are we staying here? I thought you guys wanted tea?”

“Ron got us stuck here with Gilderoy, that Healer thinks we’re visiting him,” Harry sighed and Atlas nodded, following when the boy made to catch up with their friends, Hermione right behind her. “Let’s just go along with it for now.”

“Sure, but we shouldn’t stay long,” Atlas said and Harry offered some words of vague agreement before the three of them jogged to catch up with Ron and Ginny. The boy was noticeably red in the face, clearly embarrassed as Ginny seemed to try her hardest to not laugh. Atlas patted his back.

They eventually came to a room named the Janus Thickey Ward and the Healer pointed her wand at the door, muttering a quiet ‘Alohomora.’ The door swung open and she led them inside, firmly grasping Gilderoy’s arm as she guided the man to an armchair beside his presumed bed. Atlas looked around, finding the name of the room vaguely familiar as the Healer whispered words to her friends, her tone kept low so that none of the residents would hear her. 

“We’ve seen some real improvement in Mr Bode,” she said and Atlas followed the Healer’s gesture, setting her sights on the man laying partly unresponsive in his bed. “He seems to be regaining the power of speech very well, though he isn’t speaking a language we recognise yet. Well, I must finish giving out the Christmas presents, I’ll leave you all to chat.”

Atlas returned her attention to her friends, looking over Gilderoy’s personal alcove and at the pictures of himself he had papered all over his headboard, each signed in disjointed handwriting, even now the man seemed to be signing himself a good deal more before he even began one any dedicated to them. After a moment more of his writing, he stopped and grabbed a different quill, looking up at them all with a feverish excitement before dutifully signing more personalised autographs for the five of them. Ginny got hers first.

“You can put them in envelopes,” he said to the girl, throwing another in her lap. It became apparent now that they weren’t actually personalised but were instead all the same and Ginny was merely the owl in charge of delivering them. “I am not forgotten, you know, no, I still receive a very great deal of fan mail…Gladys Gudgeon writes weekly…I just wish I knew why,” he paused, looking puzzled again for a moment before beaming and returning to his signing with renewed vigour. “I suspect it is simply my good looks.”

Evidence of the man’s claims was apparent around him, gifts and photos adorned his dresser, cards of well-wishes stacked beside the photographs, at one point Gilderoy had even almost signed one of those in his fervour but Atlas had stopped him and placed a photo card in his hand instead, with a small frown. It was a little sad, Gilderoy had been by no means a good person, after all, he had been prepared to leave Ron, Harry and Ginny for dead in their second year but with no memory of his past, he was innocent in a way and seemed lost within his own mind. It was sort of distressing.

In the background, the Healer that had brought them there gave out gifts to the residents, detailing each one and telling them just who had sent the presents, Atlas mainly didn’t pay her any mind, instead, opting to check the time on her pocket watch. It wouldn’t be long before they had to leave.

“And — oh, Mrs Longbottom, are you leaving already?” Atlas froze, the watch falling from her hand as she turned discretely in the direction of the voice, her eyes falling upon the two beds at the very far end of the ward where Mrs Longbottom, wearing her signature green dress, a moth-eaten fox fur and that stuffed vulture hat Neville had made Snape wear in the third year came walking out. Trailing behind her was Neville, looking pale in the face.

And suddenly, Atlas was looking for anything that might distract her friends from the boy behind them, Harry evidently doing the same as their eyes caught in a stare of urgency. But it was too late, it seemed Ron had also caught the last name of their fellow Gryffindor and had looked up, his eyes settling on Neville and his mouth open to call out to him. Harry tried to stop him but the damage was done. “Neville!”

The boy in question jumped at his name, place face going impossibly paler.

“It’s us, Neville!” Ron said brightly, getting to his feet, oblivious to the boy’s mood. “Have you seen –? Lockhart’s here! Who’ve you been visiting?”

“Friend of yours, Neville, dear?” The woman, whose name Atlas knew to be Augusta, said, looking upon them, her eyes ghosted them all as Neville shrunk on himself, looking as if he wanted to be anywhere in the world but here. Atlas froze when the lady’s eyes landed on her, bulging slightly, “Atlas Magianima! Wonderful to finally meet you dear, the spitting image of your mother — aside from the scars of course.”

Atlas smiled awkwardly, taking the hand outstretched to her and shaking it loosely.

“Yes, yes, I know who you are, of course. Neville speaks most highly of you,” Mrs Longbottom then said, turning to Harry and shaking his hand and Harry gave some vague nod of thanks, eyes skirting over to Neville who was now surveying his feet, the tint in his face turning to something reminiscent of the colour purple. “And you two are clearly Weasleys, yes, I know your parents — not well, of course — but fine people, fine people,” she continued and then turned to Hermione last, “and you must be Hermione Granger?”

Hermione understandably looked rather startled that Mrs Longbottom knew her name, but shook hands all the same. Atlas idly hoped Augusta didn’t know of Hermione’s existence because she had read all the letters Atlas had sent Neville.

“Yes, Neville’s told me all about you. Helped him out of a few sticky spots, haven’t you?” Atlas withheld her sigh of relief and noticed how Augusta gave her grandson a sternly appraising look, “he’s a good boy, but he hasn’t got his father’s talent, I’m afraid to say.” And she motioned in the direction of the two beds at the end of the ward, where one was occupied by Neville’s father, Frank Longbottom and the other was vacant, Alice was instead stood, looking out the window.

“What?” Ron said, looking awestruck. Atlas frowned. “Is that your dad down the end, Neville?”

“What’s this?” Mrs Longbottom said sharply and Neville flinched, “Haven’t told your friends about your parents, Neville?”

Neville took a deep breath and shook his head.

“Well, it’s nothing to be ashamed of!” Mrs Longbottom berated angrily. “You should be proud, Neville, proud! They didn’t give their health and their sanity so their only son would be ashamed of them, you know!”

“I’m not ashamed,” Neville said, very faintly and Atlas restrained herself from going forward, her hands clasping and unclasping.

“Well, you’ve got a funny way of showing it!” Mrs Longbottom continued to scold, looking as if a vein might pop in her temple, she turned haughtily to the group. “My son and his wife were tortured into insanity by You-Know-Who’s followers.”

Atlas sighed and closed her eyes as varying reactions sounded around her, Hermione and Ginny inhaling sharply, eyes wide in horror as Ron suddenly looked as if he wished he’d lost his tongue, mortified.

“They were Aurors, you know, like Amaya, very well respected within the wizarding community,” Mrs Longbottom continued despite Neville’s discomfort. “Highly gifted, the pair of them. I — yes, Alice dear, what is it?”

Alice had come edging down the ward in her nightgown with her hand outstretched, she did not seem to want to speak and instead made small motions towards Neville, hiding something within her fist.

“Again?” Mrs Longbottom said, sounding weary. “Very well, Alice dear, very well — Neville, take it, whatever it is.”

Neville had already taken it, clutching the empty Drooble’s Best Blowing gum wrapper tight to his chest.

“Very nice, dear,” Mrs Longbottom said, patting the woman’s shoulder.

“Thanks, mum…” Neville murmured.

“Neville, go and take your mother back to her bed,” Mrs Longbottom said when Alice didn’t make to leave, her overly large eyes set on the five of them, vacantly ghosting across each of them, they stopped the longest on Atlas and the girl smiled softly.

“Come on, mum,” Neville urged but the woman remained and instead walked forward, digging around in the pocket of her nightgown before presenting her bawled fist to Atlas. The girl wordlessly raised her palm and accepted the empty wrapper dropped into her hand.

“Thank you, Alice,” Atlas muttered gently but when the woman still didn’t leave, Atlas looked to Neville, the boy staring back in a way that seemed almost pleading. And then Atlas remembered how the boy would often wonder and speculate if Alice would remember Amaya if she saw Atlas, how hopeful he had always seemed when he rattled off his theories halfway through a lecture about flowers. “…should I follow you?”

Alice didn’t respond and instead turned, ambling back towards her bed with Neville in tow, Atlas followed a moment later, excusing herself quietly from her friends as she caught up to Neville and his mum. The woman was sat on her bed now, looking ahead, not at them but out the window again and Atlas turned to Neville, the boy frowning, looking at the wrapper in his hand.

“I’m sorry, Neville, I — I should have recognised the name of the ward,” Atlas murmured but the boy shook his head, sniffling and then smiling briefly.

“At least you’ve finally met her,” Neville said and Atlas looked at him a moment before swallowing solidly and nodding. “Would you…would you let her feel your face?” Atlas looked at the boy curiously, “the Healers say some memories are stronger through the other senses, touch can be one, so can smell…I thought — I thought because my mum and your mum used to be close friends that maybe…”

“Neville…I –” Atlas remembered only a few entries about Alice in her mother’s journals, mainly part of the set that was partially lost to the fire, so Atlas didn’t actually know how close Amaya and Alice truly were but they had worked together, they had been in the Order and the same year. It wasn’t as if Atlas knew the innings of every relationship her mother had, she hadn’t known she had briefly dated Lily, she didn’t know about her mother’s family and she didn’t know the name of the mysterious Slytherin girl her mother was smitten with. So she smiled and nodded, rounding Alice’s bed and crouching before the woman.

“Mum, this is Atlas…Amaya Magianima’s daughter,” Neville introduced, “you used to be really close friends with Amaya, you remember?”

Alice continued humming happily, showing no indication she had heard her son so Neville backed away, looking to Atlas.

“Remember Neve, I might have my mother’s face but these scars are mine,” Atlas said with a sad smile and gently grabbed Alice’s wrist, raising the woman’s hands to her face and letting them roam across her cheeks, the bridge of her nose, over her closed eyes lids and across her mouth, up her jaw, underneath her chin. She waited patiently, looking up into Alice’s vacant expression and inclining when the woman reached her hair. It all ended a moment later and Alice, much to Neville’s dismay, went back to humming her song. “…I’m sorry, Neville.”

“No, it’s…it’s ok, I don’t know what I was expecting anyway,” he muttered, looking at his feet, Atlas glanced at him with a frown before turning back to Alice, taking up the woman’s hand a placing a soft kiss atop her knuckles.

“It was nice meeting you, Miss Alice,” Atlas stood and tucked the empty drooble wrapper she had been given earlier into her wallet, within the see-through slit. “Maybe I’ll visit again if Neville will let me.”

“That would be nice,” Nevile nodded, offering her a small smile. “I’m sorry, I’ve probably kept you…”

“It’s ok, Neve,” Atlas grinned, ruffling the boy’s hair. He said goodbye to his mum and they returned to Mrs Longbottom and their friends. The old lady looked them over a moment before sighing, the worn look reflecting her age.

“Well then, we’d better get back, Neville,” she said, drawing on long green gloves. From the looks of things, it seemed they hadn’t spoken a word in their absence, so the air was quite tense. “Very nice to have met you all,” she said tersely, “Neville, put that wrapper in the bin, she must have given you enough of them to paper your bedroom by now. And Atlas, don’t feel you have to keep the one she gave you either.”

And then they left and Atlas watched as Neville safely tucked his sweet wrapper into his pocket. The door closed heavily behind them.

“I…I never knew,” Hermione whispered, tears in her eyes.

“Nor did I,” Ron said hoarsely.

“Nor me,” Ginny whispered.

“I did…” Harry said glumly when the three of them looked at him and Atlas. “I found out on accident.”

“Bellatrix Lestrange, a distant relative of mine…she’s the one who did it. It’s why Neville was scared of me at the beginning of the third year,” Atlas offered monotonously. “She used the Cruciatus Curse on them…”

“Bellatrix Lestrange did that?” Hermione whispered, horrified. “That woman Kreacher’s got a photo of in his den?”

“The thing idolises her,” Atlas spat, scowling before taking in a breath and schooling her expression. “Let’s go…we’ll be late and we shouldn’t even have been here.”

None of them objected and silently followed Atlas out of the ward.