Chapter 113

Most Defense Against the Dark Arts classes were cancelled — a few persisted but would end up the same way, interrupted by vomiting students, sweating and swooning about the place. The culprit? Skiving Snackboxes, courtesy of Fred and George, were all the rage in the corridors. Anyone who wanted one ended up with one, using it the next day to torture Umbridge and her Inquisitorial Squad. It was utter chaos, a conundrum for every corridor or hallway stunk of Dungbombs and Stink Pellets and Atlas understood, she was in fact all for it.

However, she quickly grew tired of the constant burning of her nostrils every time she walked to class, the Bubble-Head Charm everyone had been sporting seemed to work just fine for them but Atlas was cursed with a powerful nose, so even with the charm she smelt, in detail, every ingredient that went into the honking things. The only place untainted by the smell was the library, for no one dared incur the wrath of Irma Pince, so that’s where Atlas sat, down some narrow corridor of texts, looking over her mother’s book once again after studying for the majority of the morning.

There wasn’t much change, she could read the lines but found the words upon them incompressible as if all meaning of every one was suddenly lost to her. It was frustrating at first, finding herself stumped once again, but she quickly grew used to it, mindlessly flipping through pages and noting every mention of Visha — of Newt, every time Amaya would make a snide comment about her family that Atlas had never picked up on before and every experiment Atlas could not quite grasp. She would skip the pages she found incomprehensible and eventually found herself at the end of the book, no more enlightened than she had been when she’d first plucked the tome from its shelf.

“Miss Black,” Atlas jolted from her book-induced daze and looked up, blinking once then twice to focus upon Madam Pince. “I see you are reading your mother’s book.”

“Oh…yeah, I’ve read it once before — last year, when Hermione told me about it just before the second trial. I never got a chance to really delve any deeper, not into this nor Newt Scamander,” Atlas mused, gesturing to the closed book before her, “I did do some research on him but I mainly came up with dead ends so I gave up, I just…I had a lot to worry about that year.”

“And you do not this year?” Madam Pince said almost haughtily but Atlas was beginning to assume that was simply the woman’s natural tone. 

“Well, you got me there,” Atlas laughed shortly before inhaling a breath between her teeth, “I don’t know what I was expecting…I can read it still but there’s just — there’s something stopping me from understanding. It’s like how some people listen but don’t really hear, you know?”

“I see that frequently in here, students reading over copious texts only to fail every exam they attempt,” Madam Pince said, eyeing a few lingering pupils with their heads within books with a certain look of mocking. “Plebs.”

Atlas bit back her laugh, cheeks bulging as she ducked her face to her fist and shook her head. “Madam Pince they’re really trying.”

“Yes well, I suppose that is all they can really do. Try,” the librarian mused, turning back to Atlas, “not that it is good enough most of the time.”

“Well, what do you suggest they do then?” Atlas asked, leaning back in her chair, intrigued. Madam Pince seemed to observe her a moment, regarding the girl in silence before silently pulling out a chair.

“Give up,” she sat down, clasping her hands in her lap.

“Give up?”

“Precisely. What is the use in forcing texts and novels down their throats if it does not satisfy their needs? They will continue to gorge themselves on these books knowing it never gets them anywhere only to throw it up on an exam paper that ends up another failed attempt,” Madam Pince told wisely, looking upon her hands and then to Atlas quite seriously, “the end product is disastrous. I have seen it many times.”

“So…either way they fail? They don’t pass?” Atlas frowned, glancing over at the concentrated faces of those surrounding them, beads of sweat upon their brows, face’s almost deathly pale.

“There are always solutions to things. While some people continue to doom themselves with their habits of overconsumption, others find alternative ways to understand, less destructive ways,” Madam Pince said.

“Like?”

“Well,” the lady began, standing from her seat and tucking it in gently, “some ask for mock exams, some create flashcards, some summarize, they do things in smaller bursts and some — some go directly to the source.”

“Ok. And…let’s say we use this and apply it to my mystery solving,” Atlas said, huffing as she patted the cover of her mother’s book, “I can’t do any of those, this isn’t anything to do with an exam, I can’t seem to write any notes on anything in this book, so no flashcards or summaries — doing it in short bursts doesn’t help and going directly to the source? My mum’s dead, Newt’s missing and — and I don’t know who Visha is.”

“Then I suppose there is frankly only one thing you can do,” Madam Pince declared and Atlas sat quietly, clearly waiting. “Give up. Truly. If you are not getting anywhere with it and that shows no sign of changing, all I can do is suggest you give up.”

Atlas remained quiet, eyes slowly drifting to the cover of the book.

“But I see you will not, even though you’re not quite sure if you want to understand your mother’s novel in the first place,” Madam Pince observed.

“What if it leaves me with even more questions?”

“And what if it leaves you with questions answered?” Madam Pince replied quickly and Atlas smiled, shaking her head with a sigh.

“That sounds familiar…”

“Miss Granger?”

“Yeah.”

Madam Pince seemed to nod, neither showing her like or dislike for Hermione, only something akin to acknowledgement. She turned to leave, stopping still with her back turned. “Ah, I remember now. I came to tell you the match is starting soon. I’m sure Mr Weasley is in desperate need of your support.”

“The match…? Oh, Merlin!” Atlas jolted upright, gathering her things quickly and grabbing her mother’s book, showing it to Madam Pince as she darted out of the doors. “I’m taking this!”

The match was already in full swing by the time Atlas arrived, green and red duelling in the sky atop steeds of wood and twine. The Quidditch Cup had been overwhelming, even within the top box but there was just something about being within the stands at an inter-house game. Something so much more personal. The energy within the school stands was something Atlas had never experienced but she could confidently describe it as nothing short of electric, it still, however, made her long for the air. She still thought it was for the best, being off the team for a while but she did love sitting in the sky, receiving the Quaffle and scoring the deciding goal. 

Reluctantly, she tore her gaze from the match and continued through the crowd, peering over many heads and many banners, trying to find Harry and Hermione amongst the many faces. But they were nowhere to be found. Atlas filtered through the Gryffindors again, inquiring as to where her two friends were and when everyone offered her the same words and noncommittal shrugs, Atlas frowned and cast Ron one very fleeting look, the boy unsure atop his broom as Davies made a rather easy goal.

She’d get back in time for the end of the match.

Atlas ventured back the way she had come, taking the steps down from the stands two at a time and leaping from the final four, breaking out into a run. There was nothing to worry about, Hermione and Harry were probably just late but not knowing where they were was unnerving — terrifying. So, leaving Ron where she knew he’d stay for at least the next few hours, she continued across the grassy plain, looking around very briefly before shifting and landing on four paws.

She inhaled deeply, eyes closed before following the peach fragrance she had caught. Eventually, her mild run became something akin to a sprint, the further she found herself going the swifter she ran, especially when the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest quickly became its deepest dredges. Why Hermione and presumably Harry had decided to take a stroll into the murkiest depths of this place, Atlas didn’t know. But she could smell something else with them, something like cedar, coal and blood. She recognised it but couldn’t place it, not with whatever cologne or perfume that someone had decided to wear. She’d never smelt that before.

A tremendous bang shook the very earth Atlas traversed and almost sent her toppling sideways, her four legs out like a baby deer on ice as she tried to get her bearings but her back was throbbing, she could tell it was leaking. In her Animagus there was no patch to stop it or obscure it, nothing to shield it from the elements but if Atlas wanted to get to Harry and Hermione, she’d have to do so, very quickly. Which meant staying in her Animagus, just for the time being at least.

She leapt over brambles and overgrown roots protruding from the earth, eyes a glimmering gold as she focussed on what was in her path, gaze unwavering and never detering. Her footsteps were loud, a rhythmic thud upon the forest floor for she saw no point in hiding them, especially considering there was already something else in the forest making noises that overpowered her own. 

And that’s where she saw them, two pale balls of light shining at the tips of two wands, pointed in the air towards something in front of them. Atlas’s eyes grew wide when she realised just what and she found herself leaping forward before she could even attempt to stop herself, snarling at the swiping hand of a giant, teeth bared and pupils mere dots in her golden eyes. She growled and she snapped, standing her ground in front of Harry, Hermione and…Hagrid?

“Frog!” Hermione cried and Atlas turned to her, shrinking back when she realised just what she had done. Hermione’s light was far too close, any closer and she’d see her marred and charred leg, the writing — though covered by fur — upon her paw and most significantly, the brand left slick against her back. Any closer and Hermione would know.

“Frog, there yeh are! Don’ go attackin’ Grawpy, now,” Hagrid said a moment later, brushing himself down as he stood from where he had fallen, nursing a broken nose. “He’s family, Frog. My half-brother.”

Atlas froze, looking between Hagrid, Hermione and a smiling Harry sort of incredulously, eyes sort of wide and tail very still as she took the information in. Hagrid had a brother, a half-brother but a brother nonetheless and Atlas was finding out like this, stuck in a body incapable of speech. So she just stood there, staring blankly as if caught with something she shouldn’t.

“So…so yeh’ll look after him, won’t yeh?” Hagrid asked, addressing Hermione and Harry specifically but glancing at Atlas meaningfully as well. The Dire-wolf perked, looking over at Harry and Hermione again, staring so intently they were sure to get the message. But they didn’t, however, and if they did, well, they’d chosen to ignore it.

She would have to ask Harry many questions later.

“Erm…all right, Hagrid,” Hermione nodded unsurely, taking a step toward Frog as she stared up at Grawpy and it inevitably pained Atlas when she had to move away, further into the dark out of view. “Frog?”

“Don’t take it to heart, Hermione. Atlas told me Frog’s a bit fragile right now. Sick,” Harry tried to ease but Hermione frowned ever deeper, brows drawn. “Don’t worry. Come on, now. She probably only came ’cause she caught our scent, she doesn’t want to play.”

Well, Atlas had caught Hermione’s scent. Not his or Hagrids. But he didn’t need to know that. He’d never know that. The fact was sort of mortifying actually. Embarrassing.

“I wasn’t going to play, I don’t think I could lob a big enough stick to rival the size of her head anyway,” Hermione huffed. Atlas remained very still, blinking very slowly as she processed the girl’s words and the annoyed expression upon her face, even Harry seemed taken aback, suppressing a sudden snort as he turned away.

“Well…I reckon tha’s enough fer one day,” Hagrid clapped, glancing over at Grawpy who seemed very interested in a small butterfly floating around, “we’ll — er — we’ll go back now, shall we?”

The duo nodded as Atlas took a few tentative steps out of the darkness to join them. She’d never really ventured this far into the woods unaccompanied before and if she had, the centaurs would always guide her home so she had no idea how to navigate back to Hogwarts grounds on her own. As soon as her surroundings became familiar, however, she’d sprint the rest back, determined to accidentally bump into them as Atlas.

Nobody spoke, not for a while and though the silence paired with the odd air of the forest unnerved Atlas, it was not as if she could do much to change that, with no way to speak natural human words without sounding like a monster from the deepest pools of Absence it was not as if she could strike up her own conversation. So it was in silence they stayed, stumbling through the brambles and thorns, tiny little things that only tickled Atlas’s thick hide yet damaged Harry and Hermione’s skin.

Their trek was to be interrupted, however, by a herd of hostile beings thundering towards them. Atlas immediately shielded the lot, the shadows be damned, snapping and snarling at those hooves who trod too close and a Centaur spooked away from her, trailing a line in the forest floor testily as he held at his stomach. There were claw marks there, old and healing front and centre. Atlas gave a brief chuff of amusement though her hackles remained raised.

“Oh, blimey,” Hagrid said very quietly as Atlas licked at her maw, remaining stood between the herd and her friends.

“I thought we told you, Hagrid,” a deep voice called and Atlas looked over to him, scowling ever deeper at the sight of Magorian. “That you are no longer welcome here?”

“How are yeh, Magorian?” Hagrid asked, somewhat nervously as he glanced back to the kids.

Bane descended closer to them, breaking from the herd and stopping between Atlas and the Centaur she had once harmed. “Mutt,” Atlas snapped at him but he merely stared, not batting a lash before turning to look at Magorian. “So, we agreed, I think, what we would do if this human ever showed his face in the Forest again?”

“‘This human’ now, am I?” Hagrid began testily, his grip around his sudden crossbow so tight Atlas could hear it creak. “Jus’ fer stoppin’ all of yeh committin’ murder?”

“You ought not to have meddled, Hagrid,” Magorian said evenly. “Our ways are not yours, nor are our laws. Firenze has betrayed and dishonoured us.”

“I dunno how yeh work that out,” Hagrid began as Atlas circled the group, eyeing those horse legs that dared tread a step closer. “He’s done nothin’ except help Albus Dumbledore –“

“Firenze has entered servitude to humans,” A Centaur Atlas vaguely remembered as Galeus said, earning another harsh snap — foam dripping to the forest floor.

“Servitude!” Hagrid harumphed, looking around incredulously, “he’s doin’ Dumbledore a favour is all –“

“He is peddling our knowledge and secrets among humans,” Magorian said quite calmly, casting Atlas a meaningful look as his gaze travelled to her hidden back. The wolf shuffled uncomfortably under his knowing eye. “There can be no return from such disgrace.”

“If yeh say so,” Hagrid shrugged, “but personally I think yeh’re makin’ a big mistake –“

“As are you, human,” Bane began angrily, advancing a few minuscule steps before Atlas intervened, forcing out a rough warning that the Centaur ignored, “coming back into our Forest when we warned you –“

“Now, yeh listen ter me,” Hagrid began, advancing just a tad. “I’ll have less of the ‘our’ Forest, if it’s all the same ter yeh. It’s not up ter yeh who comes an’ goes in here –“

“No more is it up to you, Hagrid,” Magorian interjected quite smoothly, holding his hand against Bane’s chest. “I shall let you pass today because you are accompanied by your young –“

“They’re not his!” Bane argued, eyes wide as Atlas backed away and sank deeper into the shadows again. The Centaurs wouldn’t try anything, not on Magorian’s word. “Students, Magorian, from up at the school! They have probably already profited from the traitor Firenze’s teachings.”

“Nevertheless,” Magorian said calmly, “the slaughter of foals is a terrible crime — we do not touch the innocent. Today, Hagrid, you pass. Henceforth, stay away from this place. You forfeited the friendship of the centaurs when you helped the traitor Firenze escape us. The same with you, young foal.”

Atlas did not snap, she simply stared, eyes narrowing.

“I won’ be kept outta the Fores’ by a bunch o’ old mules like yeh!” Hagrid said very loudly. “An’ neither will Frog!”

“Hagrid,” Hermione called in a voice that bordered pleading, hers and Harry’s eyes watching as the Centaurs grew restless, “let’s go, please let’s go!”

Hagrid moved away, but his crossbow was still raised and his eyes were still fixed threateningly upon Magorian.

“We know what you are keeping in the Forest, Hagrid!” Magorian called after them, as the centaurs slipped out of sight and Atlas rejoined the group — still at a distance but following all the same. “And our tolerance is waning!”

Hagrid almost resumed his chase.

“Yeh’ll tolerate ‘im as long as he’s here, it’s as much his Forest as yours!” he yelled, as Harry and Hermione both pushed him in the opposite direction, shoes digging up clumps of mud and twine, redness flushing their cheeks with their exertion. Hagrid caught a glimpse of them beneath him and donned a look of surprise, Atlas still slowly walking ahead, only checking back on occasion to see if they were still stopped.  “Calm down, you two,” he said, turning to walk on while they parted along behind him. “Ruddy old mules, though, eh?”

“Hagrid,” Hermione began breathlessly, letting out a quiet little ‘oh!’ of surprise when Atlas helped her over the patch of nettles with her tail before she continued, “thank you, Frog — Hagrid, if the centaurs don’t want humans in the Forest, it doesn’t really look as though Harry and I will be able –“

“Ah, you heard what they said,” Hagrid waved off dismissively, “they wouldn’t hurt foals — I mean, kids. Well, maybe Atlas is bes’ kept away, they did quite the number on ‘er las’ she came. Then again, we can’ let ourselves be pushed aroun’ by that lot.”

“Nice try,” Atlas heard Harry murmur to Hermione, who looked crestfallen.

Soon enough the forest became familiar and Atlas sneakily parted from the three and down a denser, unused path towards the green of the Hogwarts fields and, of course, on four legs and a bottomless vat of stamina she was the first to arrive. Unfortunately, she did not, in fact, return to see the rest of the game.

Students were pouring from the stadium in droves, their words one big lump of noise that Atlas could not hope to decipher from where she stood in the middle of the grassy plain that separated the stadium from the forest. So she turned, with a quiet sigh, and eyed the woods, waiting for any sign of movement and when Harry and Hermione appeared – Hagrid nowhere to be found – she approached them.

“Harry! Hermione!” She smiled, stopping before them with her hands on her hips, “where were you?”

“I could ask you the same,” Hermione retorted, crossing her arms and Atlas blinked, lost for words.

“I was…at the game?”

“This morning, Atlas,” Hermione huffed and Atlas made a face of realisation.

“Oh, I was in the library, studying at first but I ended up reading my mum’s book again,” she told and Hermione looked at her for a long moment.

“You didn’t tell me Frog was sick,” Hermione’s arms came unbound and she looked genuinely concerned for a moment, looking her over with a very swift – very brief look, one Atlas did not quite catch.

“I didn’t think to,” Atlas said offhandedly, shrugging in a way that was entirely noncommittal. Harry sputtered in a way that really could have been perceived as a laugh, Atlas chose to see it as a cough to spare the boy of her wrath. “Anyway, are you going to tell me where you were?”

“We were with Hagrid,” Harry told her, growing nearer as he joined the pair who had sort of gravitated closer to one another. He grinned cheekily as he rose a mock curious brow. “So, you watched the game, right? Who won?”

“Well…” Atlas smiled awkwardly, glancing backwards very quickly to find the oddest of sights, Ron was getting carried out and off of the field, a trophy in hand. She turned back to find Harry and Hermione had looked as well, their eyes wide and mouths the very same. Atlas had to hide her own shock to sell her lie, “as you can see – surprisingly – we won.”

“No way…” Hermione muttered as Harry huffed out a disbelieving laugh.  

Gryffindor had won, Ron made sure everyone knew of that fact any chance he got, it got to the point Atlas could recite the entire game as if she had been there as if she had lived it, sat in the sky with Ron. In honesty, it made her a tad bitter, so bitter she had once cut the boy off mid-tale one night and left for her dorm. Being chucked off the Quidditch team was doing more harm than Atlas had originally thought it would, especially after talking to Angelina about it, the girl was rightfully ecstatic but halfway through Atlas realised this was Angelina’s last season, she’d be graduating this year. And Atlas had missed playing with her in her final game.

So, suffice it to say, when Harry and Hermione eventually cracked and told Ron they had not been there to see his game and instead told him of the task Hagrid had given them, Atlas was, horribly, sort of happy Ron stopped talking about the match so often. She was happy for him, of course, she was, and she was so glad he had found confidence in the sport but when it became the topic of conversation every conversation while she was sat there with a lifetime ban, it became annoying. Frustrating.

But, regardless, both the topic of Quidditch and Hagrid’s request had been practically forgotten when exam season rolled in, Atlas spent most of her days studying and so did the rest of her friends, noses in books every free period they had while Hermione had started to become quite the drill sergeant. Ron had spilt his ink over a stack of her notes one evening and Hermione, forgetting the mess was an easy fix with a wave of her wand, almost murdered Ron then and there, Atlas had found it all very funny until Hermione very nearly pushed the boy into the fire.

And when the exams truly started? Well, not even Atlas was safe from Hermione’s wrath, though she would come out considerably less burnt by the time Hermione was done chewing out the entire Common Room for collectively breathing too loudly, she had still been held victim to the woman’s ire on a number of occasions. Granted a majority of those times stemmed more from Atlas being absent from her side than being present, but anger was anger.

Through it all, however, Atlas was able to study and take her exams with minimal stress, she knew she’d get O’s in Transfiguration and Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts too despite not writing a thing the entire year thanks to a certain pink clad someone watching her over so severely her hands would tremble at any attempt at writing and at least E’s in Charms, Care For Magical Creatures and Astronomy. The things that worried her most were Herbology and Divination, both exams she had taken already under a private viewing. All that was left for her was Astronomy, which would be taking place tonight.

That was the thing about having one’s skills begrudgingly acknowledged and known by the Ministry, all of her exams were private and held on different days compared to the rest of the student body. Astronomy would be her final while everyone else still had others to take. It would be bliss. Or well, she hoped it would be. Truth be told, even though she had known she’d be taking her OWLs this way – it had been arranged before she enrolled in Hogwarts – it was separating and somewhat lonely.

And she thought of this impending isolation, so deeply, she did not notice the figure quickly walking up to her, following her the entire way to the top of the Astronomy Tower for their exam. She jumped when a gentle hand brushed a hair from her face.

“I think I’ve done all right in Arithmancy,” Hermione spoke, oblivious to Atlas’s shock, “I didn’t see you at dinner, did you — ? Oh, Atlas, are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m ok…you just caught me by surprise,” Atlas smiled somewhat awkwardly before shaking her head and turning to the girl a step behind, “tell me about Arithmancy.”

“There’s nothing much to tell, though there was a section where we had to choose a number we like the most and define its properties,” Hermione said, a hint of something in her voice that told Atlas the girl had most definitely been waiting for someone to ask her about it for a while now, “I chose 9 because –“

“It’s your number,” Atlas interjected on some random instinct, eyes widening slightly when she realised her interruption, “I’m sorry, I just…I know your number in Arithmancy is 9.”

“…so is yours,” Hermione said with a quirk to her mouth, head tilted slightly, “that’s the real reason I chose it.”

“Oh…” Atlas uttered, looking at the girl, she smiled after a moment, one that was easygoing, “you were thinking of me during your exam? How embarrassing.”

“And you didn’t think of me during yours?”

“I think of you always, my dear,” Atlas grinned and did a sweeping gesture to the final stairs upwards, the moonlight peeking through the grate above that separated them from the very top of the tower. Hermione scoffed, rolling her eyes as she clutched her bag closer to her chest and ascended the spiral staircase.

“How embarrassing…” Atlas heard Hermione mutter and let out a quiet laugh, hurrying up after her.

The two invigilators of their exam, Professors Marchbanks and Tofty, were two silent pillars moving amongst them for the majority of their exam, their shadows looming over star charts that had once been blank. Atlas had lost herself to the scope in the first hour, accurately – she hoped – jotting down positions of certain stars and constellations, she’d moved on from Orion to Taurus quite a while ago, finding her own little namesake in the sky amongst the Pleiades Cluster and scribbling it down with a small smile.

After minutes of silence, however, Atlas was startled from her work when quite a few students repositioned their scopes in the exact same moment, a collection of creaks echoing throughout the tower. She pulled away, peering discretely over at her classmates to see what had caught their attention, only to find herself face to — well, foot with Professor Marchbanks knee-high boots. There was a short cough and Atlas looked up, offering him a sheepish smile as she went back to stargazing.

And then came a roar, a roar so enraged Atlas didn’t care very much if Professor Tofty was staring holes into the back of her head and looked out to Hagrid’s cabin where silhouettes danced in front of windows. Tofty reminded them of the time they had left but Atlas had practically finished hers by now, so instead, she sat and stared, brows furrowed, lips parted in quiet concentration. There came a loud bang across the grounds as Hagrid’s door burst open, the man brandishing his fists and taking on the six jets of red light pelting upon his skin. 

“No!” Hermione cried from Atlas’s left.

“My dear!” Professor Tofty cried, “this is an examination!”

And yet not even Hermione seemed to pay the professor any mind. Nobody was concerned with their star charts by now, all focused on the battle below, red lights reflecting in their irises, cries and shouts echoing in their ears.

“Be reasonable, Hagrid!”

“Reasonable be damned, yeh won’ take me like this, Dawlish!” Hagrid roared and then something horrible happened, something so grotesque Atlas felt sick to her stomach. Fang had leapt in an attempt to defend his master only to come out stunned and unconscious, his body falling in a heap to the floor. No sooner had the spell left the Aurors wand had he been picked up and flung twenty feet through the air.

Atlas made to stand, an entirely gut reaction but Hermione had grabbed her, clinging desperately onto her arm even as her eyes remained transfixed on the scene, her other hand slapped over her mouth.

“Look!” Parvati squealed, pointing to the castle doors that had since opened, a single long black shadow billowing across the grounds.

“Now, really!” Tofty began, growing anxious. “Only sixteen minutes left, you know!”

But nobody paid him the slightest attention.

“How dare you!” Atlas recognised that voice. She recognised that voice with a sudden dread. “How dare you!”

“It’s McGonagall!” Lavender whispered a few rows away.

“Leave him alone! Alone, I say!” Minnie’s voice rang, an ire in her voice Atlas had only heard on a handful of occasions. “On what grounds are you attacking him? He has done nothing, nothing to warrant such –“

The world ran red as a falling figure became the one and only thing Atlas could see or think of. They had shot no less than four Stunners at Minerva, her body lifting in the air and falling, hard, onto her back where she did not move. Not an inch.

“Galloping Gargoyles!” Professor Tofty shouted. “Not so much as a warning! Outrageous behaviour!”

Atlas suddenly found she could not breathe. She stood so quickly her telescope fell into the murky depths below and turned so swiftly it kicked up a gust of wind and sent a few stray papers flying and then she was gone, bounding down and out of the Astronomy Tower, two, three, four, hell the entire staircase at a time, her back urging for her to stop while her heart cried a different story. All she could think of was Minerva’s motionless body, lying there unresponsive. Minerva was old, she was getting on in her years, and she can’t be taking four stunners to the chest anymore. 

What were they thinking?!

She was still there when Atlas arrived, bursting through the doors that had since fallen shut and desperately looking around for her godmother, chest heaving, tears flowing freely over her cheeks as she cried.

“Minnie,” she breathed out upon seeing the woman, running over and sliding to her knees, hands hovering, breaths uneven, “Minnie…Minnie, fuck — ok, ok, ok — shit!”

There was blood. Somewhere. Atlas didn’t know from where but there was blood.

“Shit!” 

She breathed in and then out again, numbness in her arms and a sudden chill surrounding her, she paid it no mind, reaching forward and scooping the woman up into her arms and despite the battle beyond, the grunts and the cries Atlas did not let her eyes falter from upon Minerva’s form, hurrying back into the castle and in the direction of the infirmary. Somewhere, in the chaos of it all, she arrived, bursting through the big brass-beaded double doors of the hospital wing, stuttering out words of urgency, fumbling and shaking, searching for Poppy.

“Atlas my dear, what has gotten you so –” there was a clatter, a deafening crash as a clipboard met the cold stone of the infirmary floor, “…get her on a bed.”

“Poppy –” Atlas blubbered with a breath, heeding the woman’s orders immediately as she approached a bed and gently set the older lady down, guiding her head to a pillow only to find her hand coated in something sticky as she pulled away. But that was not all, at first, Atlas had not noticed the blood, she couldn’t have, her hand was smoky, so voidal it engulfed whatever colour had settled upon it. 

As dark as the night sky was black.

“Poppy…” Atlas uttered again, looking over at the woman who stared back, expression troubled as her gaze flickered from Atlas to Minerva, magical wisps of gold stabilising the bleeding head trauma.

“Sit down, Atlas. And breathe for me,” Poppy instructed over Minerva’s motionless form and at her words Atlas practically collapsed into the chair behind her, right by Minerva’s bedside, looking into her hands, breathing in and in and in, restarting every time she stuttered over a breath. Her eyes burned white hot while she held no semblance of feeling with her arms, her hands. “Do not look at it. Close your eyes.”

“I can’t — I can’t — Minerva — Minnie –“

“Is going to be ok.”

“But –“

“Atlas, look at me,” Poppy said, moving around the bed, her wand still in the air making motions on its own over Minerva’s body. Atlas looked up at her, the aged lady teary-eyed and smiling wobbly, “she’s going to be ok, sweetheart. Now close your eyes…” she raised her hands to Atlas’s face and cupped them so that all the girl could see was darkness and waited.

Waited and waited, Atlas’s breathing growing even, her shoulders settling and feeling returning to her palms, for better or for worse as she slowly looked upon them, the red that decorated her skin a brutal splash of colour.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Poppy began evenly, professional and detached. Atlas understood why, the person laying unresponsive beside them was someone the two of them held close, dearly and truly.

“Four…they shot four stunners at her,” Atlas recalled, still staring upon her palms, blinking at the blood, “no…no warning they just — they just fired Poppy and she — she hit the floor, I don’t know…there was a thud, I could hear it from the tower, she hit her head I think.”

“Who?”

“Umbridge and her fucking dogs,” Atlas seethed, spitting the words through her teeth as her eyes flashed and her fists clenched. Every inch of her screamed to go back out there and show those Aurors a few curses and hexes of her own, to show them their deepest and most darkest fears. For them to feel terror, pure and true terror. “She fucking…she’s a monster — she’s a monster, Poppy…”

“I know darling…trust me I do,” Poppy eased and reached out, looking over at Minerva, her expression so inexplicably broken it was a good thing Atlas wasn’t looking, “you must rest…go on, dear.”

“What? No…no, no, I need to be here when she wakes up,” Atlas protested but at her words Poppy turned to her, eyes glazed with a certain sheen and a small and subtle shake of her head. And it told her enough, no words needed. Minerva wouldn’t be waking. No here at least. “Oh…”

“Go on up my lovely,” Poppy said again, gesturing with her chin to the door as she reached over to caress Atlas’s cheek and press a single kiss to her crown. “Go on…”

Atlas stood slowly, eyes upon Poppy and then to her palms, to her shirt that was speckled with droplets of blood and finally to Minerva, and before she could stop herself — before she could consider just what despair the potential outcome of her action could entail she had reached over and touched the slim metal cuff around the woman wrist, the one she had made so many years ago.

The warmth was faint but it was not cold.

And as Atlas walked up to the Gryffindor Common Rooms she continued to habitually rub her hands down her front, over and over with a dazed look upon her face, eyes upon the floor and entirely silent, even when the Lady opened without protest, not a hint of thanks upon her tongue. Then, when she was all the way inside, a large crowd settled in the Common area, everything went silent, just as quiet as their glances fell and fixed upon her, the blood smeared on her hands, the tear stains upon her cheeks.

“Atlas…”

Atlas looked up, eyes settling upon Hermione, the girl slowly approaching her, expression devastated and Atlas just stared at her, hands out in front of her as if they were tainted.

“Hermione…” her voice cracked and her knees gave. Hermione rushed forward, Ron and Harry hovering in the back while others whispered to one another, their eyes still remaining upon the girl but mouths turned to their neighbours. The only ones that seemed to show a shred of decency — of respect were those who knew Atlas. Katie and Ginny were telling some gossiping girls to shut up, Angelina and Alicia were encouraging others to go to bed and Neville, Seamus and Dean were distracting some of the other lads with ‘something they wanted to show them upstairs’.

And after a while, only the trio remained with Atlas, the girl silent on the floor in Hermione’s arms.

“You boys go to bed…” Hermione spoke quietly. “I’ve got her.”

“…ok,” Harry agreed just as silently, nodding his head as he pulled at Ron’s arm, “you comfort her best.”

Hermione couldn’t even bring herself to acknowledge the comment let alone smile at it, her brows furrowed as tears filled her eyes, holding the girl in her arms tighter. She kissed the top of her head and sniffled.

“Where’s your necklace…?” Atlas croaked after what seemed like hours of silence.

“It’s here,” Hermione said readily, pulling it out of the depths of her shirt and holding it forward. Atlas took it in her hand and squeezed.

Its warmth was steady and the thrums that matched the rhythm of Hermione’s heart remained strong.