Chapter 136

The Quidditch cup glistened in the common room. Atlas was sitting on the sofa, Hermione under her right arm, while she flicked cat treats into the trophy with her left and watched as Crookshanks shoved his head to the bottom of it to retrieve each one. The room was filled with soft chatter, still riding the high of this year’s Quidditch win, Ginny was recounting her epic dive for the snitch, which had ultimately won them the season, and Ron was puffed up in pride over his keeping skills. Harry had disappeared to another meeting with Dumbledore.

Hermione shifted under her arm, and Atlas glanced down to see her eyes drooping closed. She had been pulling far too many all-nighters; it was exam season, but since they would soon be finishing, Atlas didn’t think it’d last too long. She deftly caught Hermione’s ink well before it could slip off of her knee, an already precarious placement and capped it.

There was a sudden yowl and a laugh from Ginny over in the corner as Crookshanks got his head stuck in the cup. Atlas looked over and chuckled under her breath; he was a glutton.

“Chub,” Atlas murmured under her breath as she whisked her finger, and the cat popped free with a disgruntled meow. As soon as his paws touched the carpet, he sat and began to clean himself, trying to act nonchalant. He was naturally a proud creature.

“Don’t fat shame him,” Hermione scolded sleepily.

“I didn’t,” Atlas said and rolled her eyes as she bent down to scoop the cat into her arms. She returned to Hermione’s side, leaning back as Crookshanks began to purr and knead against her thigh. Hermione reached out for her essay and began to quietly read it over to herself, a loud laugh from Ginny drawing her gaze. 

“You never told her about Zash…”

“Do you think now is the time?” Atlas whispered back, stroking Crookshanks’s ears so that his face pulled back. She smiled faintly and then swallowed hard. With everything that had happened recently, the deal with the Horcruxes, the Vivarium, Draco and even Quidditch, Atlas hadn’t had the chance. Even now, Ginny was happy, she was happy and Atlas didn’t want to ruin that. Secretly, Atlas was hoping Ginny would get over Zasha so the news wouldn’t be so hard on her. It was a terrible thought.

“No, but that’s the problem,” Hermione said and dropped her head against Atlas’s shoulder, “she’s going to find out eventually.”

The portrait door flung open, and Harry brought with him a gust of cold corridor air. He looked frantic, grabbing his bag and ripping it open to find his invisibility cloak, which had been bunched up into a shimmering ball. Atlas stood, and so did Hermione, Ron rushing over as well.

“What did Dumbledore want?” Hermione asked, and then, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Harry said shortly and then ran upstairs to his dorm. The three of them shared a look before running up after him. He was tearing his room apart, grabbing a pair of balled-up socks and the Marauders map. At first, Atlas frowned, figuring Harry was back on his Draco kick, but he suddenly spun around to face them and stuffed the balled-up socks into Hermione’s hands. “Listen, I haven’t got much time. Atlas, Dumbledore wants us to –“

“No,” Hermione said, shaking her head as she thrust the socks into Ron’s chest. “She’s not going.”

“Dumbledore has found a Horcrux!” Harry blurted quickly, ignoring Hermione’s look of anger and turning to Atlas instead, “and I just bumped into Professor Trelawney, and she told me she saw someone cheering in the Room of Requirement, she heard a voice, a young male voice! It’s Malfoy, I’m sure of it — whatever he was trying to do, he did it –” 

He shoved the Marauder’s Map into Hermione’s arms blindly. 

“– Dumbledore won’t be here, Malfoy’s going to have a clear shot at whatever he’s up to. You’ve got to watch him, and you’ve got to watch Snape, too. Use anyone else you can rustle up from the DA. Hermione, those contact Galleons will still work, right? Dumbledore says he’s put extra protection on the school, but if Snape’s involved, he’ll know what Dumbledore’s protection is, and how to avoid it — but he won’t be expecting you lot to be on the watch, will he?”

“Harry, Atlas isn’t going on a mission!”

“I know, I know,” Harry nodded. Ron unfurled the socks, his eyes bugging out of his head at the sight of the liquid luck potion phial, “I don’t like it either, but he was adamant!”

“It doesn’t matter!”

“I haven’t got time to argue!” Harry said curtly and grabbed Atlas’s wrist, “Atlas, we have to go.”

“I can’t,” Atlas said, shaking her head. She squeezed Hermione’s hand instead.

“Atlas, Dumbledore said it was important.”

“It’s always important,” Atlas scowled. “But I can’t leave, not if you think something’s going to happen.”

“I gave them the liquid luck!” Harry snapped, and Atlas glanced over her shoulder at Ron, who was cradling the potion as if it were a fragile thing, “They’ll be safe!”

Atlas gritted her teeth; she didn’t want to do this, she didn’t want to do anything for Dumbledore. She hadn’t helped Harry win Slughorn over at all, hadn’t let herself be collected as Dumbledore had ordered, she had vehemently ignored all of Dumbledore’s demands, and she didn’t want to start now. But that thing stirred, that feeling tugging at her chest, every time she swayed towards Hermione, it would tighten, then, as she inched closer to Harry, it loosened.

“Where are we going?”

“Atlas, no –“

“I don’t know,” Harry said, and Hermione looked stricken, an odd sound squeezing out of her throat.

“Of course,” Atlas scowled, and her fists clenched, she let out a shaky breath and turned to Hermione, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “I’ve gotta go.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Hermione,” Atlas guided Hermione’s hand over her heart, letting her feel how it stuttered and panicked. “I do.”

Hermione let out a soft sob and swallowed, “We need to get that checked.”

“Yeah, we do,” Atlas smiled gently, chuckling breathlessly. She kissed her again, this time solidly on the mouth, and Ron and Harry glanced away. “I’ll be back quicker than you can say ‘the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe’.”

“I love you,” Hermione sniffled, and Atlas blinked back her tears, hating Dumbledore more in this moment than ever. She nodded, swallowed hard around the words stuck in her throat and parted her lips, a weak sound dying on her tongue. She looked pained, and Hermione understood, “You love me too.”

“I do,” Atlas whispered and pulled away. She wiped her eyes and looked between her and Ron, pointing at the Liquid Luck. “Stay safe, you two…drink what you need of that and share the rest if you can.”

“Be careful,” Hermione hiccuped, and Atlas smiled.

“We will,” she said and turned, grabbing Harry by the collar of his shirt and dragging him back downstairs. Her reassuring smile dropped, and instead, she scowled as soon as they were in the corridor. 

“I’m sorry, Atlas,” Harry said, looking solemn as he draped the invisibility cloak over them and they moved through the castle unseen. Atlas didn’t reply for fear of snapping, her eyes set ahead through the shimmering transparent fabric over her face. “Dumbledore told us to meet him by the Entrance Hall.”

Atlas adjusted, turning left instead of right at the stairs and took them down two at a time. Harry struggled to keep up, almost tripping over his feet, but Atlas didn’t slow down; she had spotted Dumbledore waiting beside the oaken front doors. He turned as they stopped before him, and Harry clutched his side, no doubt nursing a blinding stitch as he panted.

“Good, you came.”

“I’d ask why you wanted me here, but I’m sure I’ll find out,” Atlas said, uncaring of her volume. Harry seemed to look around pensively, but Dumbledore simply nodded, still calm and sure.

“Shall we go?” Dumbledore said and set off at once down the stone steps. 

The cool night air was a relief against the heated skin of Atlas’s neck; it may have been summer, but the Scottish Highlands rarely boasted much heat, which was a mercy, especially now trapped under the confines of a cloak with Harry, who really needed to do less flying and more running. The walk wasn’t long, the lamp lights flickering on as darkness quickly fell; it all felt rather calm, too calm for a mission with Dumbledore.

The High Street was rather empty, lights off in houses as the streets slept. Atlas cast a glance down the lane to Minerva’s cottage in the distance. It sat empty and unused, as was customary, until the summer holidays rolled around and Minerva would return to it. Harry stopped, and Atlas bumped into his back – Dumbledore had stopped to exchange a few words with Madam Rosmerta, none that Atlas cared to listen to.

They continued after a moment, wandering towards the Hog’s Head. It was empty as usual, not a soul inside apart from the one trapped in the sentient hog head on the wall. Atlas and Harry moved, intending to enter when Dumbledore disappeared down the back alley instead.

“It will not be necessary for us to enter,” Dumbledore said, glancing around. “As long as nobody sees us go…now place your hands upon each of my arms,” he waited, and Atlas and Harry exchanged a furtive glance before reaching out from under the invisibility cloak to each take a wrist, “on the count of three — one…two…three –“

Atlas took in a great lungful of air, closing her eyes, for she could never quite stand the spinning that came with apparating, and letting her body relax so that the twisting and contorting of the magic didn’t push her to the brink of suffocation, it was loud, a big woosh of air that popped Atlas’s eardrums into a moment of blissful silence.

Then came the waves, great big crashing waves that lapped at her trainers and kicked salty air up into their lungs. She blinked against the moonlight, looking around across the endless expanse of ocean behind them and then to the cliffs before them. Black. All black, a bleak, vicious landscape. Her heart pitter-pattered, the sudden drastic change to her surroundings throwing her straight into the deep end. Harry reached out and held her hand, his own eyes wide as he looked around in the unending darkness.

Without a word, Dumbledore began to climb down over the edge of the rock on which they stood, sticking his hands, one blackened and weak, into slippery outcrops of rock. Once again, Atlas and Harry found themselves sharing a glance as they soon followed the enigmatic old man closer down to the water’s edge.

“Lumos,” Dumbledore said as he reached the boulder closest to the cliff face, their supposed destination. Atlas could only just make out a fissure in the cliff, illuminated only just by Dumbledore’s Lumos. “You see?”

“We’re not going to swim, are we, headmaster?” Atlas said, frowning deeply, and she frowned even further, if possible, when he laughed.

“I had planned to, yes, the potential reactions of this place elude me,” Dumbledore said, his half-moon spectacles glistening in the moonlight, “but, thankfully, your presence here has proven my worry for nought.”

“What?” Atlas said, brows furrowed.

Instead of responding, Dumbledore flicked his wand, loose rocks and boulders falling into place, a wet, haphazard path lying before them. Atlas took Harry’s hand as they walked across it, pointing out spots for him to watch his step. The spray from the sea still lapped against their feet, their toes numb from the salty water and their clothes damp from the stray droplets that had managed to splash them before Dumbledore created a barrier around them.

He made it across first and slowly spun around, the bright tip of his wand revealing the patterns in the rock, traces of old magic, even older than perhaps even Voldemort realised. It had known magic, yes, Voldemort’s magic, but something more, something ancient, ingrained into the stone, scars in flesh that would never fade. Harry didn’t seem to see it, whirling around with a clueless expression on his face.

“This is merely the antechamber, the entrance hall,” Dumbledore said after a moment or two. “We need to penetrate the inner place…now it is Lord Voldemort’s obstacles that stand in our way, rather than those nature made. Atlas, I require your aid.”

“What am I looking for?” Atlas said, looking around, she dragged her hand across the blackened stone, her brows furrowing as she felt something stir in her flesh, the tips of her fingers had gone cold and black.

“You will know,” Dumbledore said as he turned to make several loops around the cave, dragging his hand over every inch of rock. Atlas frowned, the uncomfortable emptiness snaking up her arm as that part of her magic seemed to react to whatever latent charm rested in the marrow of the cave. Harry stared around listlessly.

And Atlas found she did know. Her fingers twitched, and an arch protruded from the rock, smoothing the stone until it resembled brick, but it didn’t open, not immediately. Atlas’s eyes flickered, a low, glowing gold as she stared at the patterns. She couldn’t read them, but something in her understood, something in her reached out and slashed her palm against a jagged rock, her blood dripping onto the black brick.

“I would have much preferred if I had done that,” Dumbledore spoke, and he looked genuinely disapproving, his eyes settling on the cut in Atlas’s palm as the outline of the archway glowed and phased into nothing, opening up into a much larger cave filled with water. “Your blood is worth more than mine.”

“Is it?” Atlas said and turned on her heel. She didn’t wait for Dumbledore’s word, nor for Harry to stop looking at her with something between pity and guilt; she left them and entered the cavern, looking around with a narrowed gaze.

It was dark, far too dark to comprehend. The cliff was large, yes, but the vastness of the chamber defied all logic. Atlas cast Lumos into the air, the little ball of light swallowed instantly by the darkness; her eyes flickered gold as she watched the last fizzles sink into the water. Living in a world of magic, Atlas had seen it all, and yet there were moments in which she found herself silenced by the power of some of these wizards.

“Voldemort created a dimension,” Atlas said as Harry and Dumbledore approached the waters edge with her, she pointed into the distance at nothing; they couldn’t even make out the ceiling. “It’s endless. Everything in here feels…alive.”

“Be careful not to step in the water,” Dumbledore said, and Atlas made sure to put several more inches between the toes of her trainers and the water. Dumbledore began to walk around the edge, their footsteps echoing off into the distance. There must have been boundaries to this place, unseen, but there, Atlas kept looking for them, her eyes falling instead upon the island in the centre.

“Professor, are we sure the Horcrux is here?” Harry asked.

 “Oh yes,” Dumbledore said. “Yes, I’m sure it is. The question is, how do we get to it?”

Harry chewed on the inside of his cheek, looking around with a brave face. He wanted to get out of here, and Atlas couldn’t blame him. He licked his lips and asked, “We couldn’t…we couldn’t just try a Summoning Charm?” 

“No, we don’t know what sort of defences are in place,” Atlas said.

“We could,” Dumbledore interjected, and Atlas looked at him, aghast. “Why don’t you do it, Harry?”

“Professor,” Atlas said, her expression incredulous as she grabbed Harry’s wrist. Voldemort was a powerful wizard, and Atlas was sure he wouldn’t leave his precious Horcrux vulnerable to something as simple as Accio.

“Atlas, I will not let anything harm you,” Dumbledore said, suddenly very serious. Atlas looked at him, into his pale blue eyes brimming with knowledge that Atlas couldn’t hope to possess. “Harry, please, give it a go.”

“Okay…” he gave Atlas a brief searching look to which she nodded with a sigh, “Accio Horcrux!”

The water breached in the distance with a loud splash, the dark, inky water spraying up into the air; something very large and pale had erupted from the water, and before Atlas could see what it was, it had vanished again. The water rippled and lapped at the edge of the rock they were standing on. Atlas had drawn her wand, her jaw clenched so hard it ached, while Harry flattened himself against the wall.

“What was that?” Harry said, his voice an octave higher than usual.

“Something, I think, that is ready to respond should we attempt to seize the Horcrux,” Dumbledore said without a worry.

Atlas stared at the water; it had settled unnaturally fast, evidence of any disruption vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. She swallowed hard and decided to keep her wand at the ready. From the look on Dumbledore’s face, Atlas knew that he had thought that would happen and that there were probably hundreds more beneath the mirrored surface of the lake.

“Aha,” Dumbledore raised his hand over the water. Harry seemed perplexed, but Atlas noticed the subtle shift in the air, the way Dumbledore’s palm sank where an invisible something pressed into his skin, an indent. He grasped it tightly and tapped his fist with the point of his wand.

From thin air, a thick coppery green chain appeared, extending from the dark inky depths to Dumbledore’s hand. Atlas inched forward, instinctively to help him, but Dumbledore had already tapped the chain with his wand, and it began to reel itself in. And from those depths, the pale prow of a tiny boat broke the surface, the wood of it shimmering a dull green; its innards were dry, protected by a charm whilst its outside appeared slightly rotted. It bumped against the shore and tilted slightly, lopsided.

“How did you know that was there?” Harry asked in astonishment.

“Magic always leaves traces,” Dumbledore said as Atlas examined the boat, “sometimes very distinctive traces. I taught Tom Riddle. I know his style. “

“Is…is this boat safe?”

“Oh yes, I think so, Harry.” He said as he placed a foot in the boat. “Voldemort needed to create a means to cross the lake without attracting the wrath of those creatures he had placed within it in case he ever wanted to visit or remove his Horcrux.”

“So the things in the water won’t do anything to us if we cross in Voldemort’s boat?”

Dumbledore seemed to apply some pressure, a flicker of recognition flashing briefly across his face. He stepped back onto shore. “I think we must resign ourselves to the fact that they will, at some point, realise we are not Lord Voldemort. Thus far, however, we have done well. They have allowed us to raise the boat.”

“But why have they let us?” Harry seemed apprehensive, staring into the depths.

“Voldemort would have been reasonably confident that none but a very great wizard would have been able to find the boat,” Dumbledore said. “I think he would have been prepared to risk what was, to his mind, the most unlikely possibility that somebody else would find it, knowing that he had set other obstacles ahead that only he would be able to penetrate. We shall see whether he was right. “

The boat was very small, and Atlas figured she’d have to fold herself up into a ball to fit with Harry, let alone Dumbledore as well.

“It doesn’t look like it was built for two people, let alone three. Though I don’t suppose Voldemort was taking any dates for a…well, non-lit stroll on the shores of his cave,” Atlas said as she gently nudged the boat with the toe of her shoe.

“Voldemort will not have cared for the number of passengers, but about the amount of magical power that crossed his lake. I rather think an enchantment will have been placed upon this boat so that only one wizard at a time will be able to sail in it.”

“So…one at a time then,” Atlas said, realising what Dumbledore’s flicker of understanding had been the moment he had set foot in the boat. The three of them lapsed into a moment of silence, staring out at the vast expanse of water. It was so silent. “Ladies first.”

“Atlas, after me,” Dumbledore said, but Atlas had already settled herself into the boat. It was stupid in hindsight, but just for a moment, she wanted to be as far away from Dumbledore as possible, and the centre of the lake seemed as good a place as any. It began to move without her input, and Atlas sat as still as possible, squinting into the darkness of the water as the island in the centre grew nearer and nearer.

It grew so quiet that all Atlas could hear was the ringing in her ears and her own heart thudding irregularly in her chest. The boat thudded gently against the bank, and she hauled herself up and out of the boat, taking a seat on one of the jagged rocks as the boat drifted back to the other side. It was no bigger than her and Hermione’s dorm room, with a tall basin in the centre filled with a shimmering emerald liquid. Atlas looked away and couldn’t help but glance around again at the cavern instead, a sudden chill licking up her neck as she saw something pale slink into the shadows of the water. It had been a hand, she was sure of it.

Before long, the boat returned, carrying Dumbledore this time. Atlas had been so sure he’d make Harry go next, but instead, she was trapped with Dumbledore alone, “Inferius…that’s what’s in the water.”

“Indeed.”

“You let Harry come across last?” Atlas frowned. “With those?”

“He is far safer in that boat than we are here on this island,” Dumbledore said, and the boat began floating back to the other side. “I regret the time we have lost this year. I had hoped to spend more time with you.”

“I didn’t,” Atlas said.

“And neither did, Miss Granger, I suspect,” Dumbledore said, and Atlas remained slumped on the rock, staring out at the tiny dot that was Harry Potter on the other side of the lake. She hoped the boat would hurry up. “I do not take any delight in seeing harm befall you.”

“So you’ve said,” Atlas murmured.

“…you know me well, Atlas. Far better than most, you know I am telling you the truth,” Dumbledore said calmly, and Atlas glanced at him. He looked older now, older than he had ever appeared in this low light. And the problem was, Atlas did know, she knew that in some way, Dumbledore cared for her, in whatever capacity he could, regardless of the reason. “You know that I keep things from you. Things you can’t know until you are ready.”

“Again, why did you decide that?”

“Because, if I do say so myself, I am older and wiser,” Dumbledore explained, and Atlas bit back a retort, “But…I haven’t been honest. The answers you seek, I cannot give them to you just because you are not ready, but because I do not have them. Not any that would satisfy you.”

“What?”

“I think through life and experience, you have learned far more than what I could have told you,” Dumbledore said vaguely and glanced down at Atlas, his pale blue eyes peering into her, seeing something that she didn’t. “And I think you’ll find the answers to the rest of your questions are closer than you think,” he poked his blackened finger into Atlas’s chest over her heart. “Listen to your heart. Your glass heart born too full.”

The boat docked, and Harry stumbled out of it, his face ashen, “I saw something in the water. B-bodies.”

“Inferius,” Atlas said and rushed forward to help him steady. She cast Dumbledore a glance, her jaw clenching at his words, but he appeared serene, acting as if nothing were amiss; he instead approached the basin that Atlas had seen. The two of them watched Dumbledore attempt to dip his hand into the liquid, only for his fingertips to meet a sudden invisible barrier.

They watched in silence as Dumbledore worked, waiting for his verdict until finally he smiled again, “I can only conclude that this potion is supposed to be drunk.”

“What?” Harry said. “No!”

“Yes, I think so: only by drinking it can I empty the basin and see what lies in its depths.”

“But what if — what if it kills you?”

“Oh, I doubt that it would work like that,” Dumbledore said easily. “Lord Voldemort would not want to kill the person who reached this island.”

“Sir,” Harry said, his voice steady despite his clear fear, “sir, this is Voldemort we’re –“

“I’m sorry, Harry; I should have said, he would not want to immediately kill the person who reached this island,” Dumbledore corrected himself. “He would want to keep them alive long enough to find out how they managed to penetrate so far through his defences and, most importantly of all, why they were so intent upon emptying the basin. Do not forget that Lord Voldemort believes that he alone knows about his Horcruxes. “

Harry made to speak again, but this time Dumbledore raised his hand for silence, frowning slightly at the emerald liquid, evidently thinking hard; there was half a clam shell resting on the side.

“Undoubtedly,” he said, finally, “this potion must act in a way that will prevent me from taking the Horcrux. It might paralyse me, cause me to forget what I am here for, create so much pain I am distracted, or render me incapable in some other way. This being the case, Harry, it will be your job to make sure I keep drinking, even if you have to tip the potion into my protesting mouth. You understand? Atlas will keep an eye on our surroundings, you must do this…”

“But, what if –“

“You swore, did you not, to follow any command I gave you?”

“Yes, but–“

“I warned you, did I not, that there might be danger?”

“Yes,” said Harry, “but –“

“Harry,” Atlas interjected and grasped his shoulder, “you can’t reason with him.”

“But –“

Before Harry could make any further protest, Dumbledore lowered the seashell into the potion. Atlas and Harry both watched as it sank through the barrier; when the centre puddle with the liquid, Dumbledore lifted it to his mouth and drained it in one. Atlas had to look away; instead, walking around the edge of the island, listening to the subtle scrape of the shell’s edge on the bottom of the basin as Dumbledore drank and drank.

Atlas heard him stagger, heard him gasp and groan, but she did not turn as she heard Harry’s frantic words. “Professor Dumbledore?” Harry said, his voice strained. “Can you hear me?”

Dumbledore didn’t answer, and his silence was what made Atlas turn her back to the water’s edge. He was struggling, pale-faced and terrified, barely holding himself upright as he white-knuckled the seashell.

“I don’t want…don’t make me…”

Atlas approached and stared at the old man, the man she had known since she was a tot and found she didn’t know what to do.

“…don’t like…want to stop…” he half-sobbed, and Atlas glanced at Harry, who looked horrified.

“You…you can’t stop, Professor,” Harry said and dropped to his knees in front of Dumbledore. He caught the shell full of potion before Dumbledore could tip it. “You’ve got to keep drinking, remember? You told me you had to keep drinking. Here…”

Harry shook; he looked repulsed by what he was doing, forcefully tipping the shell to Dumbledore’s lips.

“No…” Dumbledore groaned as Harry stood to scoop more onto the shell. Atlas felt herself stepping closer, the perimeter no longer her concern. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the man who had tormented her, raised her, hurt her, and cared for her all in equal measure, sobbing in pain and utter gut-wrenching fear. “I don’t want to…I don’t want to…let me go.”

“It’s all right, Professor,” Harry said, his hands shaking, “It’s all right, I’m here –“

“Make it stop, make it stop,” Dumbledore croaked.

“This’ll make it stop,” Harry lied. He tipped the contents of the shell into Dumbledore’s open mouth. Dumbledore screamed; the noise echoed all around the vast chamber, across the dead black water. Harry looked green, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Harry…Harry, stop,” Atlas said and let out a shaky breath. She crouched down and curled her fingers around Harry’s, squeezing the shaking hands with her own steady ones. “I’ll do it…I’ll do it, Harry.”

“Atlas,” Harry rasped, his glasses faintly fogged as Atlas took the shell from his grasp and shuffled closer to Dumbledore.

“No, no, no, no, I can’t, I can’t, don’t make me, I don’t want to…”

“Come on, professor,” Atlas said, her voice steadier than she felt as she poured what she could into Dumbledore’s mouth, her hand squeezing Dumbledore’s cheeks to force his lips apart. He struggled, but Atlas held firm, her teeth gritting as she handed the empty shell to Harry for him to fill. “This is why you bring me on these things, isn’t it?”

“I don’t want to…”

“It’s all right, Professor,” Atlas lied and kept her eyes on him, he looked so weak, so pitiful. Atlas’s heart pounded, her arms buzzing as she tortured the man who had raised her. “Nothing’s wrong, nothing’s happening, this’ll help you, this is an antidote.”

And obediently, Dumbledore parted his lips again and drank, sobbing softly. They were cut off with a gag of pain. He fell onto his side, shaking uncontrollably.

“It’s all my fault, all my fault,” he sobbed. “Please make it stop, I know I did wrong, oh please make it stop and I’ll never, never again…”

“Harry, quickly,” Atlas said, her hands starting to shake now as she handed the shell to Harry and reached forward to gather Dumbledore up into her arms. He fought, cried and though she loathed this man, she didn’t like this; she had never wanted this. Once, long ago, Atlas had loved Dumbledore; their history was far too tenuous and riddled with secrets and betrayal now, but once it had been dear to her. He had been dear to her. “This’ll make it stop, old man. Come on now…”

She took the shell from Harry, and Dumbledore began to cower as though he was being attacked, “Don’t hurt them, don’t hurt them, please, please, it’s my fault, hurt me instead…”

“Here, drink this, drink this, you’ll be all right,” Atlas whispered, her heart aching now. He obeyed, but as soon as the liquid was past his lips, he began to flail, his arm striking out in a near miss to Atlas’s face, but she had dodged quickly to avoid it. “Fuck…Professor, please,” she had to hold him down, his strength far more than she had thought, “Harry, you have to do the rest.”

“Please, please, please, no…not that, not that, I’ll do anything…”

“Harry!” Atlas snapped, and the boy came to life once more, taking the shell back into his possession as he began to feed Dumbledore the last dregs of what was left. Dumbledore’s screams grew louder, his sobs and his pleas for death echoing in the chamber. Atlas had to cover his mouth; she had to, each time Harry poured the potion past Dumbledore’s lips, Atlas would clamp her hand over his mouth until he swallowed it.

“We’re nearly there, Professor! Drink this, drink it!” Harry shouted. It was all too much.

“I want to die! I want to die! Make it stop, make it stop, I want to die!”

“Fuck…” Atlas rasped, tears springing into her eyes as her arm began to ache with the effort it took to hold him down. This was wrong. This was so wrong. Restraining an old man, forcing a potion down his throat that drove him into unimaginable despair. He wanted to die. He was begging for it. “Hold on, Professor…it’s ok…this one, this one will do it.”

“It’ll all be over,” Harry promised as well, his breathing just as frantic, “this one will…just drink this!”

Dumbledore gulped down the rest of the potion and fell limp beneath Atlas. She froze and slowly stood, her eyes wide as she panted softly. Harry quickly took her place, falling to his knees beside Dumbledore, begging for him to wake whilst Atlas’s ears began to ring, her vision narrowing as she bumped into the basin. She felt as if her body was not her own all of a sudden, viewing it from the outside as a moment later, Harry nudged her aside, and she turned away, her hands over her ears.

She had held Dumbledore down and, together with Harry, killed him, forcing a poisonous potion down his throat.

The fuse in her was running short, darkness curling up her arms as chaos suddenly erupted; all around her, bodies clambered out of the water, and Atlas turned to see Harry poised over the water’s edge, the shell in his hand dipped into the water. She barely had a chance to move as hands lunged out for her, her fingers fumbling for her wand as she aimed it at the Inferi holding Harry. 

“Incendio!” She managed to snap before she was dragged into the water, the dark, inky black of it engulfing her completely.

It was with a strange suddenness that she sank, the magic running rampant within her growing louder. She felt hands all over her body, pulling her further down into the depths, passing her along, deeper and deeper. She blinked up at the surface, her throat tightening as an arm squeezed around her middle. Bubbles drifted to the surface, her last breath making it out, whilst she remained here at the bottom of this lake of bodies.

The energy inside of her thrummed through every vein, a restless creature clawing at her bones, biting at her skin. It grew louder and louder. She saw that ball in the centre of her mind again, orange crackling in its centre, folding in on itself over and over, great flashes of it clutching at her consciousness.

A ring of fire lightened the depths, and Atlas saw the pale, lifeless figures surrounding her, bony hands like gnarled, demented trees scratching at her clothes. She found it in her to fight, her arms growing chilly and cold as something inside of her snapped and exploded. 

There was silence. There was nothing.

And then the surface of the lake exploded, an amalgamation of matter freezing midair, pale white bodies hanging suspended before being flung up into the endless expanse of darkness. Atlas surfaced, flung back to shore, choking and clutching at her chest as the shadowy rope attached to her chest went taut and then snapped back like an elastic cord. The ball of matter smashed back into her chest, and she screamed, loud and agonised, rivalling Dumbledore’s in its intensity. She wanted to die. Like him, she wanted somebody to put her out of her misery.

Veins protruded from her neck, her face going red with the agony of it as she curled onto her side.

“Atlas! Atlas, what happened!?”

“Don’t touch her…don’t touch her, Harry!” Dumbledore shouted rather sickly but firm nonetheless. His voice barely registered in the back of Atlas’s mind. The knowledge that he was alive was a relief, but entirely inconsequential compared to the agony ripping apart Atlas’s body.

“Professor, what’s happening to her!”

“Stay back, Harry!”

Atlas screams grew louder, sobs wracking her body as her insides folded over and over, she felt as if her insides were being rearranged, the mist trying to find its place back inside of her, but it was too big, far, far too big for her heart now, already born too full. She tried to think of anything, her body shifting, growing larger and furrier, her coat billowing with mist blending into the darkness as her screams turned to whimpers and whines. Harry had to cover his ears. He had heard far too much pain tonight; he almost couldn’t take it.

The creature settled behind her larger ribs, shaking off its spectral form as it calmed and relaxed, shrinking into a smaller size. And Atlas could breathe again, lightheaded and shaking as she swayed atop four paws.

“Now, Harry,” Dumbledore said weakly, and Atlas felt Harry’s hand settle in the fur of her hind leg, and suddenly the floor was swept from under Atlas, and she found herself spinning, trying to take in great gulps of air, for she hadn’t been ready for the sudden apparation.

The next time her paws touched solid ground, it was muddy, and she was sodden and shivering still. There was a stillness, but different to the cave; it was the stillness of a village put to sleep, Hogsmeade. Atlas’s four legs gave out, and she slumped to the floor, blinking up at the green sky, her heart thundering, deeply disgruntled by the rough treatment it had just received from its apparent roommate. Atlas had never felt this thing inside of her so clearly until now, far larger than before, an almost oppressive weight that made it harder to breathe.

Wait. Green?

Atlas blinked up at the sky again, ears flattening atop her head as the Dark Mark hung in the sky above the school, the mark Death Eaters left behind wherever they had left a body. A body. In the school. There were Death Eaters in the school.

She didn’t hesitate, didn’t waver, didn’t think. She just did. She ran, leaving Harry and Dumbledore behind, no matter how selfish. Her paws thundered against the dirt, her eyes blazing, she was a streak of black mist, racing up the cobblestone pathways. She saw the shimmer of the protective field over the school and rammed into it, again and again, a crack appearing in the surface, small but enough for Atlas to burst through with a final harsh slam.

Then she heard it, the chaos, the screams, coming from the main hallways. She didn’t hesitate, not for one moment, barrelling through the front doors, her claws drawing spark from the floor as she skidded around a sudden bend, smacking into the wall, but she didn’t stop. Ahead, she saw Remus, Tonks and half a dozen DA members, including Ron, Ginny, and Neville, fighting a group of Death Eaters. 

There were bodies, from both sides, mostly injured, some dead. Atlas couldn’t make out which side they belonged to; she didn’t want to know and lunged, jaws clamping around a Death Eater’s head and popping it between her teeth. A great spurt of blood exploded in her mouth and dribbled to the floor, the empty paintings around her dripping with viscous clumps of flesh and brain.

“Atlas!” Ginny shouted, and Atlas turned to her, only to freeze when she saw a great big bear rounding the corner. Zasha. It wasn’t possible, it shouldn’t have been possible, it wasn’t a full moon. 

“Run!” Remus ordered, grabbing Ron’s wrist and trying to drag him away from one of the bodies on the floor. Atlas jumped over them and intercepted the bear; the two of them locked in a brawl of fang and claw. It was vicious, bloody drool flying everywhere, claws narrowly missing hide and growls rattling the bones of those locked in their own battles.

The bear kicked out, it landed, and Atlas flew backwards through the air against a cracked pillar. She shifted back and rolled out of the way as it began to fall.

“Zasha, come here!” A low, animalistic voice boomed, and Atlas squinted as Fenrir Greyback, with fangs protruding from his mouth and nails sharpened into claws, called the bear back. 

“Zash…?” Atlas froze at the voice, her eyes wide, falling on Ginny, who was standing, tense, teeth gritted, her hands shaking and her defences failing. A Death Eater appeared, but before Atlas could move, a great blonde paw snapped out and pushed Ginny into a pile of rubble. A spell landed where Ginny had been, and Zasha stared for a long moment at Ginny lying in the rocks and broken pillars. “Zasha…”

Zasha shook her head, blowing a harsh breath through her nose before turning and running after Greyback. The rest of the Death Eaters slowly began to retreat deeper into the castle, and Atlas quickly ran over to Ginny.

“Ginny! Ginny, where’s Hermione?”

“Did you know…?” Ginny rasped, her face pale and crestfallen.

“Yes…Yes, I knew, I’m sorry. Where is Hermione?” Atlas said, gripping Ginny’s shoulders.

“Why didn’t you tell me? How could you sit across from me, knowing how worried I was –” Ginny glared, betrayed.

“Ginny, I know. I’m sorry, I was going to tell you,” Atlas apologised again, the guilt warring with her desperate need to find her girlfriend. “Just…please, where is Hermione?”

“You’ve known since Christmas…when you fought her. Haven’t you?” Ginny said, and Atlas shook her roughly, her own teeth gritted now as her eyes flashed gold. Ginny jostled against the rock and winced.

“Where the fuck is Hermione!?” Atlas snapped this time, her breathing growing a little heavier, laboured. 

“She was guarding Severus’s office,” Remus said, limping over and grasping Atlas’s shoulder. He pulled her away from Ginny, who slumped into the rocks, dropping her face into her hands. Atlas didn’t wait; she turned and sprinted, her body tilted forward, and desperation wrought across her face. Her body ached, something was bleeding, but she didn’t care, didn’t notice; she dripped a trail of blood through the corridors, smoke billowing behind her.

Paintings were screaming bloody murder to their neighbours, passing along the news, warning each other of trespassers in the building. There were ghosts phasing in and out of the halls, and Atlas could hear Death Eaters throwing around hexes in the distance. She ran towards them, into this next room of chaos and saw Bella, her Bella.

“Bella!” Atlas shouted.

“Atlas!?”

“Have you seen Hermione?!” 

“Bella, watch out!” Both Atlas and Bella ducked as a body was thrown over their heads, their gazes snapping over to where Chiara had shouted from, protecting a group of students who had clearly wandered from the safety of their dorms to check out the commotion.

“Atlas!” Another shout, this time, Atlas very nearly sagged in relief, her knees weakening as she stumbled over to where Hermione was, hidden by a pile of rubble and debris. Luna was at her side, bleeding from the head, and a small body was cradled in Hermione’s arms. “He — he protected me, Atlas. He’s really bad…”

Atlas dropped to her knees, grit digging through her trousers and grazing her skin as she reached out, her hands fumbling all over Fobbo’s body, her heart was stuttering, her eyes wide and hands shaking. She cupped his face; he was breathing, alive still.

“Fobbo…hey mate, open your eyes, come on now,” Atlas rasped, tears building in her eyes as she took him from Hermione’s arms, the bottom of his tunic was a mangle of torn fabric and blood, his right leg missing. “Fuck…fuck, what’s happening…?”

“I don’t know.” Hermione was breathing hard, tears streaking down her dirt-smudged cheek as she kept one hand on Luna’s shoulder and the other bracing herself against a solid bit of debris, “I stopped the bleeding, I tried — Atlas –“

“It’s ok. He’s ok…he’s all right,” Atlas sobbed softly, “aren’t you, Fo? Hey, talk to me, mate.”

“Miss Atlas…?” He croaked softly.

“There you go, yeah, that’s it. I’m sorry — I wasn’t here to protect you…” Atlas rasped and pressed a watery kiss to his forehead. Spells continued to fly over their heads, dust settled in their hair, and Atlas held Fobbo close against her chest as she drew her wand and shakily swished it, “Expecto Patronum…” Nothing happened, and she took in a deep steadying breath, “Please…come on, Expecto Patronum!”

A spectral feline appeared, jumping from thin air to sit prim and proper before her. Atlas wiped her eyes quickly, messy face illuminated by the steady blue glow of her patronus. She sniffled and reached out to stroke the side of its face.

“Get help, girl, you know what to do. Bring the others here to help.”

In a puff of blue mist, the lioness disappeared into the solid stone of the wall, and Atlas sagged slightly, feeling fatigued beyond belief.

“It was Kushaal…he’s — he’s different, Atlas,” Hermione said, her words shaky as Atlas kept her gaze on Fobbo. She didn’t know what to do; this wasn’t supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen; they had their final exams next week before the summer started, and Atlas wanted to spend it with Hermione. She’d had a whole plan, though she had known it impossible, she had hoped and dreamed regardless because she was stupid and so clearly naive.

“He did this…?”

“He was chasing me…used some sort of severance charm but Fobbo, he…” Hermione broke off into a soft sob as Atlas took off her jumper, her tank top beneath already stained with the blood of her own injuries — she used it to tie Fobbo to her chest, keeping him close.

“Merlin…” Fobbo managed weakly, his breaths crackling with effort. It was hard to hear his little voice over the sounds of fighting, but Atlas managed, inclining her head closer to him.

“Merlin?” Atlas echoed softly as she stroked the tears from his cheeks. “You want me to take you to Merlin?”

“Mmm,” Fobbo nodded, his body slowly going limp. His eyes began to flutter closed, and Atlas’s breath hitched.

“Ok…ok, I’ve got you, big guy,” Atlas said and looked at Hermione. She leaned in and kissed her hard and desperately on the lips, “I’ve got to get him help.”

“Let me come with you,” Hermione begged.

“No, wait for help, come find me after,” Atlas said and felt something in her throat loosen for the first time. After everything, after all that had happened in just a short span of time, finally, something released in her chest and let her say all the things she had wanted to say, because life was too short and Hermione deserved to hear this more than just once, just like her dad, who had never had the chance. “L-love you…I love you.”

Hermione’s eyes widened, shining with tears as Atlas held Fobbo close and made to move.

“I love you, Hermione. Love you s – so much,” Atlas sniffled and pressed a final lingering kiss to Hermione’s lips.

“I love you too,” Hermione said, her eyes soft with such affection Atlas would be a fool to ever doubt it. “I’ll come find you.”

“Stay safe,” Atlas said, and just because she could, continued, “I love you.”

Hermione nodded, not quite trusting her voice, it seemed, and Atlas smiled, gentle and loving, before tightening her grasp on her wand and ducking out from behind cover. Instantly, spells flew over her head, rocks falling over her, sparkles crackling across her skin. She did everything she could to keep Fobbo covered, shielding his chilled body with her own. Her eyes darted around, taking every corridor in before she came to them. The left was filled with Death Eaters, the right much the same, but she had seen a gap, so she had taken it, dipping and weaving under spells and bodies.

She kept whispering words of comfort to Fobbo, tripping over her feet and catching herself at the last moment. It was there, right there, the corridor in front of the Room of Requirement, but her stomach lurched, and she skidded to a stop, falling over but quickly angling the trajectory so that she curled around Fobbo and her back smacked into the pillar. There was a deep gouge in the wall where she’d been, blue sparks fizzling out from the stone.

“Cousin.”

“Fuck,” Atlas looked up at Kushaal. His eyes were pitch black, a pale ball of white in each, swirling, constantly swirling like a cyclone; they seemed dead and endless, manufactured by magic of course.

“Oh, was that elf your pet?”

“Fuck you,” Atlas tightened the jumper around her and Fobbo shuddered, the shock settling in now. Hermione’s blood-clotting charm had worked wonders; he would be fine. Fine for now, but he needed warmth, and he needed help. Atlas needed to get this over with quickly.

“His own fault, he took the blow meant for that mudblood of yours,” Kushaal said viciously and grinned, crazed, the spiral of his eyes madder now, he had no wand, and he needn’t speak, simply flicked his finger and Atlas was sent flying. “Filthy mutt, scorns to wizardkind. You debase yourself, mingling with that dirt.”

Atlas coughed, the breath knocked from her lungs, and she felt something crackling inside of her. She was on her hands and knees, tired from the mission, aching from Zasha, and she was choking up blood. She had her own wounds she’d neglected. Kushaal walked closer, unhurried, sure of himself as he raised his hand.

But Atlas looked up, sitting back on her heels in time to raise both hands. Broken pillars shook from the piles of rubble they had been settled in, levitating for a moment in the air before Atlas clapped her hands together with a crack of magic. The two pillars flew and met in the middle, crumbling around a protective field Kushaal had placed over himself.

“Are you trying to kill me?” Kushaal laughed as the field dropped and he stood in the centre of a rock pile.

“Aren’t you?” Atlas panted, gritting her teeth.

“No, not really, shall I?” Kushaal asked and tilted his head to the side casually. Atlas felt a rumbling under her feet, and her eyes widened as she rolled out of the way in time for a cut out of the ceiling to smack into a panel of the floor, crushing together. She checked on Fobbo as she stood, her heart racing. Kushaal laughed again, “Yes! Yes, let’s fight, tongue and teeth, claw and fang! Your life or mine?!”

“Hang on, Fobbo…” Atlas whispered, swallowing hard and inhaling through her nose, she cracked her fingers, her wand at the ready and propelled herself to the side. Kushaal began waving his hands, flicking his wrists, and debris was thrown, great big chunks of the castle crashing against the shield Atlas had drawn over herself. It began to crack and splinter, the shimmering blue singing with effort. The hallway was coming down all around them, pieces of it thrown in opposite directions.

She never had a chance to react; his offensive magic was so oppressive that she couldn’t help but remain on the defensive, and he was laughing the entire time, enjoying it, revelling in it. With both hands, he brought down the ceiling onto Atlas’s head, and in that split second, the creature inside of her crackled free again, pushing her heart aside, wiggling its way through flesh and squeezing through her ribs before oozing from her pores. Shadowy hands pierced the very essence of the rock, shattering it into sand-sized pieces that showered down and dusted Atlas’s hair.

“Ah…” Kushaal had stopped laughing, taking a step back as his smile grew wry. “Vish…” he muttered under his breath and skipped back a few more paces. Atlas’s arms were inky black to her elbows, her lungs constricting around each breath, her body too weak to meet its real needs. Pain rippled through her chest as the shadow stretched across the floor, little hands clawing at the surface. Darkness. Fear itself.

The hallway dropped ten degrees colder, and the surviving windows began to crack and shatter. Kushaal looked around. The enjoyment had sapped from his face as a little hand burned into his skin, and he quickly tried to kick it away, but it was parasitic, clinging on as a dull rumbling echoed throughout the hallway, growing nearer and nearer. A dome of inky darkness formed around Kushaal, and Atlas cupped her hands, as if she were holding a small ball, crushing it smaller and smaller, her eyes a pale gold, almost white, as her chest stitched with pain.

A solid mist collided with her side.

The dark ball around Kushaal dropped, revealing a deeply terrified man, his skin had shrivelled on his arms, the white cyclone of his eyes frozen, the front of his trousers wet. Atlas had trapped him in despair, suspended in an unending darkness that forced him into his deepest darkest fear.

Atlas felt a plethora of emotions hit her hard: sadness, anger, happiness; her mind pulled in different directions as she looked up and saw Visha or Achlys — Atlas couldn’t tell which one it was, but it was different. A mess of mist tugging itself this way and that. It began fighting itself, the bricks at its feet rippling, the walls vibrating. Atlas hugged Fobbo close and looked at the wall, stumbling forward slowly, her chest tightening, her heart slowing. She felt like she was going to die.

The creature that had left the space behind her ribs was still running rampant, destroying the hallway. There was a hole in the side of the building, and the space where Kushaal had been was empty. Atlas marched on, trying to pace three times in front of the invisible door, desperate for help, desperate to save Fobbo.

“Astraea!” Visha screamed, her form more humanoid now, hands clawing at her own face, but she wasn’t looking at Atlas, and Atlas wasn’t so sure it was even Visha now, this was — this was Achlys. “Stop this!”

The door appeared, and Atlas could hardly process what was happening. The string connecting her to the creature went taut, and as it snapped back into Atlas’s body just as she felt her heart begin to stop, it destroyed everything in its path, tearing the hallway to pieces, ruining paintings, and then, finally, the ceiling came crashing down, caving in, so reminiscent of the Ministry. The pain was blinding, agonising as Atlas flung herself through the door just as it was destroyed, rubble tumbled in behind her.

Little creatures came out from hiding, approaching Atlas, who lay on her back. Fobbo clutched to her chest. She was struggling to breathe, her chest cramping up, going from deathly slow to pounding a mile a minute. Merlin rushed over from the trees, gently biting at the knot of Atlas’s jumper to free Fobbo.

“Help…help him!” Atlas screamed out through gritted teeth as she watched a branch of little bowstruckles holding Fobbo up and carrying him away. The creature inside of her tried to settle beside her heart again, her arms still black to her elbows as her body attempted to get through its second round of whatever this was within a span of an hour. She felt like she was dying, dead, her heart stuttering painfully. 

She panted, trying to catch her breath, brown eyes flickering from gold to white.

“Steady yourself, Merlin, she’s all right,” A soft, low but unmistakably male voice said, and Atlas could vaguely make out the two figures approaching her, one was an older man, rubbing his own slightly wrinkly neck against the soft, pliant spines of Merlin’s venomous mane, and the other was…the other was…

“Let her settle, just breathe…it’s all right, Atlas. She’s trying to help you…let her find her place again…” The woman said, gently, kneeling in the grass before Atlas with eyes she had only ever seen in her dreams, softer than Visha, everything so much softer. Atlas tried to reach out, but her hands fell through her like smoke, and the figure rippled like a droplet disturbing water. “I’m here…”

It was such a cruel illusion.

“Ama…?”

“I’m here, Atlas…my baby girl.”