Chapter 127

Christmas at the Grangers’ was something, not quite the spectacle it’d be at Hogwarts, nor the Burrow, instead, it was distinctly Muggle, everything running on mechanisms and science, engineering rather than Magic. Atlas came to understand why Arthur Weasley was so taken by Muggle Artefacts as she watched a snowglobe constantly pump snow around its innards without the aide of a spell, for a long time Atlas would simply stare at the contraption, her brows furrowed as she marvelled at Muggles and their abilities to build where they lacked. She couldn’t understand why certain wizards wanted to snuff this out, destroy all Muggles or live in a world where they were lesser.

Warm hands curled around Atlas’s shoulders from behind and she leaned back into Hermione’s embrace, it seemed she and her father had just come back from the shops, a place Atlas refrained from venturing to ever since a child had pointed at her face and loudly pointed out to the entire shopping centre that her face was marred with scars. To be fair the kid had said they were cool but the disconcerting looks Atlas received from the other older Muggles around them had put Atlas off ever returning.

“Mum’s making hot chocolate downstairs, want some?” Hermione murmured into her ear and Atlas let out a soft breath, closing her eyes as she debated it before standing and smiling.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Atlas nodded, letting Hermione drag her out of the room. Hermione’s room had little things adorning the walls, some paintings and a few printed pictures of them on a corkboard. It had been Atlas’s home for the past few weeks leading up to Christmas.

“Did you get an owl today?” Hermione asked as they descended the stairs and Atlas shook her head, “They must still be intercepting the mail…”

“I get it, dangerous packages disguised as gifts could easily cause chaos,” Atlas reasoned and Hermione nodded though she still seemed upset, she wanted Harry and Atlas to talk somehow, especially after he and Ron had departed early the next day after Slughorn’s party and hadn’t said goodbye, Ginny had at least slipped them a note under their dorm room door.

“Still…”

“What’s wrong?” Atlas asked, looking at her girlfriend tenderly as she reached out and pinched her cheek gently. “Mione?”

“Don’t worry, I was just a little sad Ginny wouldn’t get her gift,” Atlas could sense the half-truth in Hermione’s words but didn’t push as they entered the kitchen and were greeted by the sight of Mrs Granger warming some milk on the stove while Mr Granger read the local paper. It was odd how the pictures didn’t move, Atlas was yet to get used to it.

“Girls, I’m just warming the milk, Atlas would you like any marshmallows?” Mrs Granger asked and Atlas smiled, nodding as she leaned against the counter and raised her arm when Hermione sought to bury herself against her side.

“Yes please.”

“Cream?”

“Yes please,” Atlas repeated, and Hermione fondly rolled her eyes.

“We’re going to go out again for dinner tonight,” Mrs Granger said as she gently set two mugs of hot chocolate in front of Atlas and Hermione, both with cream and marshmallows. Atlas took an eager sip whilst Hermione nodded at her mum’s words, “Would you like us to bring you anything home?”

“Atlas and I can cook mum,” Hermione said as she watched Atlas in the corner of her eye, amused by how the girl downed her steaming hot mug of hot chocolate and came out of it with a handsome cream moustache – she reached over to clean around Atlas’s mouth and licked the residual cream off of her thumb. “Don’t worry about us, enjoy your date night.”

“Ok dear, maybe you two can have a date night of your own.”

The words brought Atlas to a startling realisation – they had not in fact, indulged in an official date, outings sure and there was the Christmas Party but they would have attended as dates or not so that could hardly be classed as such. Atlas lamented over this, her brows furrowed as she looked deep in thought and stared into the bottom of her empty mug, leftover cream slowly dripping to the bottom.

“Looking for your fortune?” Hermione said softly, interrupting Atlas’s thoughts, their faces inches, mere breaths apart, “Professor Trelawney would be proud…”

“Mmm think I got the Grim,” Atlas said just as gently, a slow grin forming on her face, she glanced up to see Mr and Mrs Granger had left to sit in the living room, “Your mum’s right…maybe we should go on a date.”

Amused, Hermione quirked a brow and leaned on her palm, a smile on her face as she listened, “Yeah? When?”

“Tonight, like she said,” Atlas said and Hermione hummed, shaking her head.

“Not tonight.”

“Why not?” Atlas frowned and Hermione laughed softly, leaning in to kiss the tip of Atlas’s scar, right above her brow.

“I’d rather stay in. Alone again. With you…” 

“That sounds good,” Atlas nodded slowly, though she still looked a little upset, “I still think I should take you on a date.”

Hermione sighed and slumped her forehead against Atlas’s shoulder, “How about tomorrow night?”

“Perfect,” Atlas grinned and Hermione couldn’t help her fond smile as she leaned in to kiss Atlas softly. 

Dinner later that night was easy enough, Hermione had Atlas chopping up ingredients the Muggle way this time, no magic allowed for once, much to Atlas’s chagrin as she had some trouble chopping a few onions without crying, she had grown up with most of her meals prepared for her so she didn’t really know how to cook, it was a fact that seemed endearing to Hermione who would help her parents make dinner most nights growing up.

By the end of it, they had a decent impromptu roast and ate at the table and Atlas felt it was all so soothingly intimate. When they stayed together at the Burrow it was with Ron’s family and Harry, even at Grimmauld Place there was always someone else – they’d never eaten together just the two of them and with their newfound relationship, it all felt so domestic. Cooking and cleaning with Hermione the past few days, with Hermione’s parents going out whenever they could to give the girls some time together, had become a pleasant highlight. Atlas couldn’t help but lean over and kiss Hermione as they did the washing up, wrapping her arms around her girlfriend from behind and burying her face against the side of her neck to breathe in her perfume.

“You okay there?” Hermione said, leaning back into her touch as she used a cloth to dry the dishes.

“You smell good,” Atlas mumbled and Hermione laughed softly, putting the plate down before turning in Atlas’s arms to look up at her, she reached up and played with the baby hairs at the base of Atlas’s neck.

“That reminds me – what did you really smell in your Amortentia?” 

“Obviously you,” Atlas huffed and whilst Hermione rolled her eyes she smiled softly and ran her fingers through Atlas’s hair, giving it a little tug. “Fine…” Atlas relented, rather quickly, “leather, peaches, old books and…caramel tea…”

“Three out of four?” Hermione murmured, leaning up on her tiptoes so that their noses brushed as she spoke against Atlas’s lips, “Oh you love me.”

“Yeah, yeah, what did you smell again?” Atlas huffed and Hermione flushed, pressing her face in the crook of Atlas’s neck.

“The forest, wood, something metallic and…strawberries.”

“All four?” Atlas grinned, beaming wide as she picked Hermione up and spun her around.

“How do you know they’re all you,” Hermione said as she was placed back on her feet. 

“Wishful thinking maybe…considering all four of mine are actually you.”

“The leather?”

“The gloves you gave me.”

Hermione flushed to the tips of her ears and groaned, “You’re too much.”

They ended up laying together in Hermione’s bed, Atlas against the headboard while her girlfriend lay with her back against her chest reading a book, the rising full-moons light filtered through the window and Atlas stared at it, lost in thought while her fingers habitually dragged across Hermione’s stomach beneath her shirt in gentle loving motions. Outside the snow kissed the glass, the sight of it chilling Atlas so she pulled Hermione closer which earned her a little noise of protest before the body in her arms sank a little further.

It all felt so surreal, and Atlas momentarily couldn’t believe how lucky she had gotten. Leaning down after tearing her eyes away from the moon, she pressed a kiss to the side of Hermione’s neck, the place she liked leaving little marks, interrupting her reading.

“Do you think I should’ve spoken to Harry the night they left?” Atlas asked in a hushed tone, Hermione hummed to herself in thought, contemplating quietly before turning to look up at Atlas behind her.

“No, I think it’s good you both had time to cool off. Harry has always been very…passionate about his hatred of Draco, and he tends to lose his cool quite easily when it comes to him,” Hermione said, bookmarking her spot in her book before laying it to rest on her bedside table. “It’s just a shame you haven’t been able to write to each other.”

“…do you think Draco really is a Death Eater?”

“I think…maybe he wants to be. He respects his father and wants to be like him, he’s vocal about that,” Hermione reasoned but fell quiet a moment, “whether or not that means he’s capable of being a Death Eater is a different story.”

“He hurt Katie…” Atlas said and let her head fall back, “if he is what Harry says then he’s willing to kill…”

“…maybe Daphne would watch him for you?” Hermione suggested after some hesitance and Atlas rose a brow. “Look, I might not like her but she kinda owes you…after what you did for Astoria. Also, she’s your friend…right?”

“Yeah…I’ll ask her too – though Harry told me not to,” Atlas shrugged and sighed, “I’ll see about it.”

A howl echoed outside, close and ripping across the suburbs like a chill. It reminded Atlas of her childhood home, Minerva’s cottage sat just on the outskirts of the forest, close enough for Atlas to venture in with Lyra when she was little, she’d go with Kalo and Fobbo, chasing the deer and little whisps. Those two were always there for her, looking over her every action, though Kalo still lingered overhead, a constant watchdog, she missed Fobbo dearly, he always seemed so busy as of late, running around the kitchen barely sparing her a glance.

She wondered what had him so flummoxed.

She made to speak and talk again but she noticed how Hermione seemed frozen with confusion, another howl wracked the neighbourhood and lights turned on within houses, seeking out the source.

“Wolves…”

“Mhmm, reminds me of the Forbidden Forest,” Atlas said but Hermione still seemed frightened, “Mi? What’s wrong?”

“Wolves are extinct here.”

The full moon’s light taunted them as another howl tore through the night, “stay here,” Atlas said as she stood and pulled on some clothes, grabbing her team jacket and checking her pocket to make sure her wand was there.

“What!? No! I’m coming with you,” Hermione protested but Atlas denied her.

“One bite and you’re a werewolf, Hermione,” She warned and nudged her away, “you’re not doing this.”

“I don’t care! You might not get infected but you can still die –“

“Please!” Atlas snapped and pressed her forehead against Hermione’s chest, holding her wrists, “please, don’t…I beg of you, stay here…stay safe.”

“Atlas…”

“Hermione…I beg,” Atlas reiterated and Hermione made a face of pain, biting her lip as she nodded and Atlas pulled her in for a thankful kiss. “I’ll come back soon.”

The chill air was biting outside, the snow across the neighbourhood was highlighted by the moon’s glow and the amber hue of the flickering street lights. It was a frigid night, Atlas’s breath fogging the air as she slowly closed the door behind her, she held the knocker so that it wouldn’t make a sound as it fell and stepped out across the stone path, eyes aglow, two balls of gold roaming across the houses. She made sure to lock the house tight so that no charm would free Hermione if she tried to help.

She could hear them, the subtle shifts in the trees and the bushes doing little to cover their snarls and growls of malice. The werewolves stood beneath the trees, surveying the neighbourhood, searching it seemed with their snouts upturned and tasting the air. Atlas ducked behind a car, sinking down to her front so that the snow melted into the fabric of her thin shirt, she bit back the biting hiss of the cold as she watched them pour from the shadows, a group of eight, relatively calm and in control. 

Though something writhed behind them, chained and caged, Atlas could make out its hulking form pacing the length of its enclosure, low rumbles that didn’t belong to a wolf, a greater, bigger thing echoing from within. Aside from them, their biting growls and sniffles at the air, the snowy roads and powdery streets muffled most other sounds, it was quiet, so every move Atlas made was amplified as she ducked behind cars and moved closer.

She wondered how Greyback had managed to get his hands on Wolfsbane, especially enough to give his pack control over their shifts, or was this a one-time thing?  Was he making sure his pack had control so they could carry out his mission? Fuck, were they there because of Atlas?

Her foot slipped in the snow as she made to dash to another car and she froze, covering her mouth as the werewolves turned to look in her direction, snarling lowly, their long fangs dripping with foam that sizzled with infection. She could take on four, maybe five werewolves on her own but eight and whatever was behind them? She’d be wounded badly and she didn’t want Hermione to find her torn to shreds.

She needed to send for help.

A flash went off across the road, for a second Atlas had thought another wizard had arrived and stupidly cast Lumos, instead, however, it was another worse thing. There stood, at their open door, a Muggle with a camera to their eye, taking a picture of the overgrown wolves that had wandered into their neighbourhood.

Atlas drew her wand and sent a stunner into the centre of the Muggle’s chest, swishing her wand to slam their door shut before one of the werewolves could lunge for their unconscious body. She hadn’t seen any point in telling them to run, knowing a muggle in the face of something entirely unnatural, would’ve frozen and had themself eaten.

This, of course, meant her presence was known.

“Ok…” Atlas flicked her hands and rolled her wrist as they stalked ever closer, massive paws and hulking bodies brushing past cars with purpose, she could see in the corner of her eye how they tried to swarm her, surprise her from the right or even from above, they were coordinated, bloodthirsty but not through any influence of the beast they became, this was them, all them.

Atlas rolled to the side, narrowly missing a sharpened claw and blasted the werewolf with a stunner, sending it careening into the side of a car where an eruption of alarms had lights awakening in house windows, faces peering out of the glass to see what had caused such ruckus, “Muffliato!” Atlas yelled before ducking under a lunging mass of muscle and letting out a sharp harrowing breath, sucking the cool air between her teeth, “Nix.“

The car had been silenced and Atlas summoned enough snow to obscure the scene when she sent bolt after invisible bolt towards the street lights, engulfing everything in darkness. The werewolves could still see however and continued their assault, snarling through the snowstorm Atlas had conjured, the wind wailing in her ears as the world seemed to spin around her. It whistled and whined, the breath in Atlas’s lungs stolen, coming out in short bursts and returning with gasps, she grunted and flung spell and hex in any and all directions.

Some wolves fell, others only grew bolder, throwing themselves at her so that she dropped her wand and held their snarling jaws back by the meat of her forearm, she cried out as teeth sunk to bone, right over Buckbeak’s talon scars, her scream turned into a growl as she shifted into a much larger wolf than them, kicking the hound off of her and scrambling to her feet. The six that remained clustered, attacked her all at once.

She grabbed one from its jump with her teeth, its body sailing through the air when she shook it around and released her jaws, turning to the next when she’d watched its body snap and crack against a telephone pole. Two meaty claws sunk into the sockets of a wolf’s eyes as she pushed it to the ground, her tail wiping around to collide with the third wolf’s snout as it made to claw her back. Other wolves continued to pour in, attacking with everything they had, they were fuelled with rage and fear, knowing they would not escape with their lives and deciding to fight with what they had left, her jaw clamped around the body of another.

Her claws grew sticky with the lives she took or narrowly kept, fur thick and warm with death as the saliva of her maw quickly turned just as pink as the snow, her tongue grew heavy with iron and her body a pin cushion of puncture marks and bites, the skin and tissue of her body the canvas of their war. She snapped and attacked, pummelling a werewolf into the floor with her meaty almost humanoid paws that had elongated throughout the fight, she missed the clink of a cage door opening, too absorbed in tossing the wolves as far away from Hermione’s house as possible.

She hadn’t noticed the hulking form until it was too late and she was tackled sideways, flung through the air, as a bear – a werebear – tossed her across the street, she landed with a whine, a sickening crack from her rear leg causing a pitiful howl to claw its way from her throat. The surviving pair of wolves hid in the shadows, watching and waiting as Atlas pushed herself back up again and panted, her maw slick with saliva and blood, her body wracking with each pained and shuddering breath as she stared into the beast’s, cerulean blue eyes.

So familiar. So goddamn familiar.

The bear lunged, a force to be reckoned with as Atlas jumped out of the way and let it collide with a car. She tried to get her bearings as the werebear turned, shaking the glass out of its light fur and lunged again. Atlas was running out of steam, her body unable to move as it took the brunt of the collision and she was crushed into the top of a car, those cerulean blues staring into her soul.

They were so familiar. Usually so soft, now so cold, Atlas almost didn’t recognise them clouded by anger and pain, and confusion. So much confusion. It couldn’t be. It shouldn’t be. Please don’t let it be.

Zasha.

 What did they do? What did they do to her? To sweet Zasha, to meatheaded, kind, loving Zasha. What did they do?

The wolves from before came back to finish her off but Atlas managed with a final burst of energy to kick Zasha off of her with her singular working rear leg. Zasha flew into the side of a house and fell under some brick as Atlas shifted back to her human self, darkness seeping down her bloodied arms, mingling with the crimson and dripping black smoke against the snow. It spread like ink in water as she let the tendrils and tiny hands reach out and grab at the wolves’ legs, tearing out their fur and snaking up their bodies, dragging them down into despair so miserable, so terrible, their whines turned soundless, foaming at the corners of their mouths as their eyes rolled to the backs of their heads and even their curses were banished to the far corners, the beasts within them too afraid to remain at the wheel, leaving them within their human husks once again.

Atlas shook, crawled over to her wand and cradled it in her lap, trying hard, a moment later, to pull herself up onto her one good leg. Sometime during the fight the snow had settled, the street lights were still out but Muggle faces pressed against the glass and Atlas had no doubt they had seen.

“Hermione!” Atlas cried out as she stumbled over to the house, undoing all of the charms and watching as Hermione instantly ripped her front door off of its hinges and ran out to her, a complete mess, tears in her eyes. “Hermione…Hermione, you need to wipe their memories –“

“Atlas – Atlas, you locked me in — you locked me -!”

“Hermione please,” Atlas cried, so overwhelmed by what they had done. What they had done to Zasha. “Plea – please,” she wept and kissed Hermione quickly, smearing blood on her cheeks, “Obliviate them…ok – ok, listen to me.”

Hermione cried, trying so desperately to stop the bleeding from Atlas’s arms and shoulder with her scarf. “You need h-help.”

“Hermione!” Atlas hiccoughed and sniffled, cupping Hermione’s cheeks and pressing their foreheads together. “watch…watch, ok?” Atlas did the wand motion for Obliviate, “you gotta twirl it, ok – no Hermione stop.”

“I’ll do it later!” Hermione screamed at her and Atlas whimpered from both the pain of her wounds and the rise in volume, allowing Hermione to drag her into the living room where she was placed on the sofa and had her jacket and t-shirt immediately stripped. “I don’t – I don’t know where to – Atlas, please.”

“Alert…the Order.”

“But how do I help you!?”

“Get the Order –“

“I already have!” Hermione sobbed and looked around, she haphazardly tied her hair and rolled up her sleeves, sniffling as she grabbed her wand and summoned a bucket of water and some cloth over to them. With a shaking hand, she held her wand over Atlas and began to chant, “Vulnera Sanentur, Vulnera Sanentur, Vulnera San –“

“Werewolf…cursed wounds,” Atlas choked out as the venom began to seep into her system, having nowhere to go but her skin where it burned and writhed. Hermione tried to heal the bite and the claw marks that had been carved in an almost identical spot to the ones Remus had gouged into her those years ago.

“Well, then what do I do!?” Hermione cried and returned to staunching the bleeding, her palms covered in Atlas’s blood. “Atlas – Atlas, I can’t –“

White columns appeared outside, aurors and those of the Order arriving on the scene. Hermione jolted up and went to the window, prying it open to scream out for help as Atlas let her head fall back. They were here. Half an hour late but they were here. Witches and Wizards scrambled into the house while others went off to Obliviate any muggle witness, among the ones within, Atlas noticed Tonks and Moody, the former going pale and freezing at the door whilst Moody lumbered past to tend to Atlas’s injuries.

“Atlas, can you ‘ear me?” Moody grumbled as he pulled back one part of his trench coat, retrieving a blue vial, Atlas simply cried out as more of the venom sunk into the walls of her flesh, trying to infect and spread the disease throughout her system. “Atlas open yer mouth!” He ordered, but Atlas’s teeth were clenched shut as her back arched off of the sofa, sweat ridden across her brow. “Nymphadora!” 

No response. 

“Nymphadora!” He shouted again. A ghostly face drifted into Atlas’s peripheral and then hands clasped around her jaw, prying her teeth apart as a liquid was poured down her throat and a palm was placed over her mouth, forcing her to swallow.

All Atlas could focus on was the fading pain and her darkening sight as the last thing she saw before succumbing to the potion was Hermione’s panicked and teary-eyed face.