Chapter 81

A torrent of sounds deafened them as Harry and Atlas fell from the sky, Cedric in the girls clutches as she continued to cry, holding onto her brother, his body cold, their foreheads still connected. And then those sounds turned distressed, they multiplied so that they were everywhere, footsteps, screams but Atlas remained where she was, as did Harry who simply turned himself on his back.

She couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes, because she knew Cedric’s dull ones would be staring right back and that thought, it made her cry harder, her shoulder shaking from how she sobbed. More footsteps now, closer while urgent voices shouted and yelled above her, calling her and Harry but Atlas could not focus on them, would not. Because all she could think about was Cedric, a boy who called her sister, a boy that loved her and who she…she felt the same for. Atlas felt the same yet she could never tell him, would never be able to tell him.

Not anymore.

A pair of hands seized her softly around the shoulders and tried to peel her away but Atlas relented, sobbing louder when she briefly opened her eyes and saw him, dead, bloodied and gone. He was gone and it was because of her. She would never see his smiles, she would never fly with him in the sky, she would never bump into him the corridors, she would never see him in the Great Hall, she would never think of him the same as, now, all she could see when she thought of Cedric, was his final words and the look on his face as the green light encompassed him.

She vaguely heard Harry tell Dumbledore Voldemort was back, heard how the screams were growing louder in the stands as Fudge announced Cedric’s death, heard how her heart thundered in her mind at the declaration because it made it real, so real. She knew he was gone but hearing it. It nudged her over the edge and she fell into a deep abyss, splashing down into a pool beneath that encompassed and swallowed her, drowned her and clawed at her throat.

She couldn’t swim to the surface, so she let herself sink to the bottom of the lake she called despair.

“Atlas. Atlas, my dear, you must let go…” A soft voice whispered, echoed in her mind and it stirred her, opened her eyes in the water so she saw, through blurry vision, the colours of the world again. “Sweetheart, let go…it’s over. Let go.”

It was Minerva and at the sight of her Atlas collapsed, falling into her chest to cry as Fudge insisted Cedric’s body be moved because his parents were in the stands. His parents. Merlin, he wasn’t even supposed to be part of the games and yet…yet he was gone. How would they react, his parents? With anguish, yes but toward Atlas? Would they blame her? They would blame her, she knew. After the Cup Amos’s opinion on her had flipped, Cedric had told her that, a few days into the year before this whole sick and twisted game had started.

Her question was soon answered as soon, two figures had run onto the pitch, dropping to their knees before the body of their son. Joane – Cedric’s mother – cried, she wailed, falling, collapsing into the arms of a bystander while Amos simply stared down into his son’s eyes, sobbing as he cradled his boy’s cheeks. He cried, as Atlas did, but as a father, not as a sister and then he turned, when he finished, wiping his eyes, red-faced and he pointed at Atlas, the girl flinching back in shock as Minerva tried to remove the muzzle from her mouth.

“You!”

“Mr — Mr Diggory –“

“I knew — I knew you — ! I told him to stop talking to you! After those rumours, I had heard! That you were a monster! And now look at him, my boy…my boy he didn’t listen to me…” Amos wailed as Atlas blanched, more tears forming in her eyes as they widened. “My boy! My — my boy! My son! He’s gone! Because of — Because of you — !”

“Amos, would you please — ” Mrs Diggory could not finish her sentence before crying again, her head in her hands.

“Mr Diggory!” Minerva yelled, tears in her eyes as she clamped her hands over Atlas’s ears. It was useless, Atlas was sure Minerva knew it was useless as well because Atlas could still hear everyone, everything and the lady knew that. So maybe it was for comfort, the idea of it but it did not comfort her in the least, instead, she stared up numbly at the sky, turning to look at Harry. But Harry was gone and Harry was walking away, with Moody.

Moody. The Death Eater within Hogwarts. It was Moody.

Dumbledore was back, a stretcher behind him as he seemed to look around, searching. Atlas shot up, much to her bodies protest and lunged for him, grabbing the hem of his robe. He looked down at her, frozen, seeing something in her eyes, her mind, her soul again, as he always did. Because that was the way he was.

“Moody…” Was what Atlas settled with, her voice hoarse from crying. “He’s…he’s a traitor.”

“Minerva,” Dumbledore said and then turned to look over his shoulder, “Severus, follow me.”

“Let me come,” Atlas said, struggling to stand, her legs shaky beneath her and her body fueled only by rage. She would not take no for an answer and Dumbledore saw that, Minerva, apparently, did not.

“Absolutely not, you will be going straight to Poppy, she will — !”

“Very well,” Dumbledore nodded and before Minerva could protest he continued. “She will come, Minerva, because she needs to understand. Understanding is the first step to acceptance, and only with acceptance can there be recovery. She needs to know who has put her through the ordeal she has suffered tonight, and why. If we were to deny her it would torment her, she does not deserve that, she already has enough questions. Let’s not pile another on top.”

“But she is clearly in no condition to walk!”

“I can walk,” Atlas assured, pushing herself away from Minerva, tears still falling from her face, stinging the opening of her faces, the recut gashes and watering the dried blood from her other small cuts and the stream that fell from her nose courtesy of a broken nose given to her by Krum in their brawl. “I can.”

“You see, Minerva…she is fine.”

And then they moved, the crowd turning into a distant whisper as they climbed and climbed, their footsteps all hurried and in sync. There was one pair that sounded off, however, Atlas’s footsteps, for no matter how she tried not to, she still stumbled and tripped, the arm burned and marred now shaking at a level uncontrollable but she trudged on and they came to Moody’s office, hearing the chatter inside.

They rushed him, Dumbledore stunning the man and sending him falling to the floor, unconscious. Atlas stared, that’s all she did, vaguely listening to how Dumbledore spoke to Harry, how he sent Minerva and Snape away to fetch things she didn’t quite catch and then half-watching as Dumbledore grabbed Moody’s keys and moved over to his seven-layered trunk. He began opening them, one by one until Atlas made a weak gesture to the final trunk, the final layer.

Dumbledore had looked at her then and gave her a look of acknowledgement skipping to the last and opening it to reveal what was inside. It was Moody, unconscious, pale and skeletal, patches of his hair missing and without out his distinctive false eye and leg. And, though Atlas should have been shocked, instead, she felt an odd sort of guilt. As if she could have helped the man when she’d heard his screams the first time she had entered Moody’s office. She hadn’t — couldn’t have known but Atlas thought she should have.

Mere moments later, Moody started to convulse, just after Dumbledore had explained the reason the Moody in the trunk was missing so many patches of hair and it was because he had been used as a suppliant for Polyjuice Potion. And when the convulsing stopped, when Moody has finally revealed who he truly was, Atlas heard static and felt the borders of her vision shrinking.

Barty Crouch Jr, the dead boy who was left to rot in Azkaban. But apparently, he wasn’t dead, he was there, in front of them, explaining through Veritaserum just how he had accomplished this as Dumbledore, Harry, Snape, Minerva, a sobbing Winky and Atlas listened, appalled. He talked and he talked, and with each word, Atlas felt herself crumbling further and further. He continued though, he did not stop talking.

It was about how he had not been the one to die in Azkaban, it had been his mother, disguised by Polyjuice Potion; how he had been under the Imperius curse ever since his escape, Winky had been his caretaker, but he had begun fighting against it; how Bertha Jorkins had found out about him and confronted his father, he put a very powerful Memory Charm on her, too powerful and it destroyed her memory; how he had stolen Harry’s wand in the Top Box at the Quidditch Cup – Winky had convinced his father to let him go, he loved Quidditch as a boy – he used it to send the Dark Mark into the air.

His confessions continued and Atlas found herself growing weaker and weaker in the knees.

Voldemort had found him, courtesy of a broken Bertha and he placed his father under the Imperius Curse; how he had devised a plan, him and Voldemort to enter her and Harry into the Triwizard Tournament, but first they needed Moody so they captured him and forced him into a compartment of his own magical trunk, so they could continue taking his hair for a Polyjuice Potion.

It was too much, too much information, too many questions suddenly answered and Atlas wasn’t used to that, so the answers overwhelmed her, they hounded her and suddenly she realised how much of this could have been avoided if she’d just told someone about how suspicious she was of Moody. She realised this was her fault.

And then he spoke about the night in the Forbidden Forest, about how he had longed to slaughter Atlas then and there, because he knew that she was suspicious of him, but he had refrained because his master needed her; he spoke about how he had murdered his father, because he had begun fighting the Imperius curse and was going to tell Dumbledore. He couldn’t have that so he killed him and transfigured him into a bone, burying somewhere in Hagrid’s pumpkin patch.

Then he finished, grinning madly, Winky now unconscious on the floor in a puddle of her own tears. “I offered to carry the Triwizard Cup into the maze before dinner,” Barty Crouch whispered. “Turned it into a Portkey. And then I captured Cedric Diggory,” Atlas stared at him, into his eyes and saw nothing but triumph. “I had asked for him to help me and then I grabbed a rock and I hit him…over the head. My Master had asked me to bring him, someone, Atlas Magianima loved so that when he killed them, she would show her true colours. What she really is.”

Atlas thought back to the graveyard, to what she had unleashed, the pale mist that had everybody screaming, running. The fear she was able to have them feel.

“He wanted two,” Junior continued, “so that he could make her choose between them, only to kill them both. It would unleash more. So, I set my sights on the Granger girl, but Atlas was suspicious, she did not let me take Hermione. Lucky, otherwise not only would she have lost Cedric Diggory tonight, but her as well.”

Blood spattered up the wall as Atlas smashed a candlestick across Junior’s mouth, his blood splattering upon her hands and face, mingling with the other patches of blood across her skin, she stared upon him, raising her hand again only to find herself incarcerated in rope, Snape in the background with his wand pointed at her while Minerva and Harry stared, eyes wide. Dumbledore just looked at Crouch in disgust, not even blinking at Atlas’s violence.

A cackle sounded from the boy and he turned, crazy-eyed, to look up at Atlas.

“He was planning the sweetest surprise for you, Astraea.”

“My name is Atlas, you fucking pig!” Atlas roared, shifting her hands to claws but the transformation ceased, for she was suddenly muzzled once more, the straps tighter and the bar far larger between her teeth. It had been Snape again, his wand steady and still pointed at her.

“Severus, what — what do you think you’re doing!?” Minerva cried as she moved forward, cupping Atlas’s cheeks, the girl now crying again but from rage this time, frustration because she felt the same as she had done in the graveyard, helpless and weak. Vulnerable. “Release her this instant!”

“If you still wish to have a witness by the end of this interrogation I suggest we keep her bound or remove her entirely,” Snape said languidly and then gestured to the bulging veins of Atlas’s hands. “She clearly cannot control herself.”

“Dumbledore, stop him this instant!” Minerva shrieked but the man held up his hand.

“Severus is right, Atlas is too volatile but she cannot leave, she must hear this. All of this,” Dumbledore said simply. “Did you let the Kelpie loose in the second trial?”

“No.”

“Then who.”

“…Achlys,” It was the truth but it did not seem to be the whole truth. Barty Crouch was fighting the potion, now more than ever.

“Who amplified Atlas’s magic at the Yule Ball?”

“…Achlys.”

“Why?”

“So that her magic would become more and more unstable. So that it would be potent and mirrored by the core of her wand. We wanted to break her down so that she fell to her lowest point when my Master needed it most.”

“Needed what most?”

“Her Fear.”

“Why?”

“So that he could not be touched by her. Because she is a relative of Amaya, with the name of an Ancient Guard and the body of a Dire Wolf, even my Master knew that was she was too severe of a threat,” Crouch admitted and Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled.

“And why is she a threat?”

“She is a combination of three powerful figures, though one of them is forgotten to time, you can see their works all around. Amaya was creation, she meddled with things beyond the veil, the Ancient Guard were protection, they were the first curtain between us and those filthy Muggles and the Dire wolves were destruction, forced to masters but remaining monsters. Now, she is useless against him…helpless and she will remain forever vulnerable to my eternal Lord.”

He laughed loudly and gestured lazily at Atlas who had since dropped to her knees, Harry curled around her in a tight hug.

“She doesn’t know what she is, does she? She doesn’t know her power. She is held back by a mere muzzle and was confined in rope. It’s a shame she’s incompetent, if she had known how to control it, she might have been able to save her big brother.”

“You fucking…” Atlas stood up, stumbling as a golden light flickered in her eye, behind the muzzle that constricted and suppressed her magic. “You…you — I’m going to — to…” her heart cramped and she fell back to the floor, clutching it with her shaking hand.

“Or maybe it’s not your incompetence. Maybe it’s that heart of yours…still so weak. Achlys told me you were born that way, that your mother was told you were to be born weak because she –“

“I think that’s enough,” Dumbledore said, whisking his hand so that a tight coil of rope muffled what he continued to spout. “Minerva, could I ask you to stand guard here while I take Harry and Atlas upstairs?”

“Of course…” Minerva said, standing up from Atlas after Harry had quietly assured her he would look after his god-sister. The Professor looked slightly nauseous, as though she had just watched someone being sick. However, when she drew out her wand and pointed it at Barty Crouch, her hand was quite steady.

“Severus” – Dumbledore turned to Snape – “please tell Madam Pomfrey to come down here; we need to get Alastor Moody into the hospital wing. Then go down into the grounds, find Cornelius Fudge, and bring him up to this office. He will undoubtedly want to question Crouch himself. Tell him I will be in the hospital wing in half an hour’s time if he needs me.”

Snape nodded silently and swept out of the room.

“Atlas?” Dumbledore said gently, crouched with Harry to look over her condition. “Can you stand?”

“I’m — I’m fine,” Atlas panted through the bar of her mouth and stood, Harry’s arm under hers so as to support her but they ended up supporting each other, more than anything. Dumbledore nodded and gripped her other arm, helping the both of them out into the dark corridor

“I want you to come up to my office first,” he said quietly as they headed up the passageway. “Sirius is waiting for us there.”

Atlas nodded, sweat cascading down the side of her face turning her dry blood liquid again. They left a trail behind them as they walked, a trail of both Atlas and Harry’s blood, sweat mingling with Atlas’s. She felt as if she were on fire again, but it was not her entire body now, no, it had settled in her heart. She did not think of it, however, she didn’t want to think about anything so she suffered in her silence, becoming numb in a sense of complete unreality. She detached herself and let her gaze grow dull, no longer golden or a shiny brown, just a murky lake with no bottom.

They reached the stone gargoyle of Dumbledore’s office, even walked into the man’s office, through that large oak door and Sirius was there, he was pacing, face gaunt and still skeletal but he moved with urgency when he had seen the kids he’d promised to protect. First, he addressed them both, but Harry was the only one to answer and when he turned to Atlas, she remained silent, staring at everything and nothing.

“What is this — this muzzle!?” He yelled, hands shaking as he sought to unbuckle the leather straps of her face, when he’d finished it fell to the floor with a deafening clatter, and Atlas could suddenly breathe again. “Atlas…Atlas, my little star, are you alright? Are you — ? Atlas please, say something,” Sirius begged but when she did not speak he almost sobbed, bringing her forward and placing a solid kiss on her forehead, hugging her tightly.

“She is in shock, Sirius.”

“Why is she here?! What was that thing around my daughters face!? Why aren’t they both in the hospital!? Could this not wait until morning!? If I had known — they need to see Poppy!” Sirius cried, pulling Harry into the embrace also, kissing his muddy hair.

“I need to know what happened after they touched the Portkey in the maze,” Dumbledore said and when Sirius opened his mouth to speak, to protest he held up his hand, silencing him instantly. “If I thought I could help you,” Dumbledore said gently, now addressing Harry and Atlas, though more Harry than anything. “by putting you into an enchanted sleep and allowing you to postpone the moment when you would have to think about what has happened tonight, I would do it. But I know better. Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it. You two have shown bravery beyond anything I could have expected of you. I ask you to demonstrate your courage one more time. I ask you to tell us what happened.”

And Harry did, he told them everything but Atlas did not listen, she remained still in her dad’s arms, staring and staring. Staring and staring. Out through the window and up at the stars, naming them in her head, connecting the dots of the sky and she did not think about the graveyard, she did not think of Achlys, she did not think about her mother’s wand, she did not think of Voldemort, she did not think of Cedric and she did not think of her endless torture, the pain and the misery.

But she did, she did think about the graveyard, how cold it had been; she did think about Achlys, how truly terrible she was; she did think about her wand, dead in her pocket; she did think of Voldemort, his disgusting hands caressing her hair and face; she did think of Cedric, his ring still cold on her finger and she did think about the torture, the pain, the misery because her arm began to shake at the memory.

“Atlas…you have yet to speak,” Dumbledore called and Atlas heard, blinking as she turned to stare at him. “Harry has told us what he has seen, from his perspective, yet we are still to hear what you have to say…”

“They bound Harry…” Atlas whispered, staring at him with dull eyes, “Achlys held me…she took my wand, she snapped it and poured its core into the cauldron…Voldemort was reborn, he called his Death Eaters, he said he hoped I would join them. Achlys brought Cedric to the graveyard, Voldemort told me that if I joined them, he would spare my brother. I agreed but he killed Cedric anyway because he was under the impression Harry was my only brother.”

There was a pause as Atlas slowly recounted everything, finding that it grew easier and easier as she gathered momentum. It was a welcome relief. But it wouldn’t last long, she wasn’t so naive as to think it would get better simply from recounting it.

“I shifted…into my Animagus…but it was different, I was different. My…magic was pouring from me, splitting the earth, capsizing trees…I made them feel fear. They cowered, they hid, running from their truest nightmares, I felt…good, but Voldemort, he was fine. I can’t harm him, he said. Then he spoke, talked about Bertha and then…he gave me to the Death Eaters and he let them…” she swallowed, her arm shaking so violently she had to stop it with her other, gripping so hard her nails dug deep into her skin. “He let them all torture me…all at once.”

She turned back to look out the window.

“Everything was a blur…all I thought about was — was that the stars looked lovely.”

A sudden caw to her left had Atlas tilting her head to look at the Fawkes, the bird jumping from Harry’s leg to flutter onto her shoulder. It rested her head against her face and cried against her, mending her flesh wounds with its thick pearlescent tears. The physical pain vanished in an instant, the skin across her face mended, leaving only the old scars behind and her nose clicked back into place, yet her shaky arm remained and Atlas thought then, that it might remain forever.

“I think…” Sirius managed in a trembling voice, sitting in a far corner now, paler than he had been with his head in his hands. “I think that’s enough, Dumbledore.”

“Yes, I…” Dumbledore nodded soundlessly. “I think you are right, Sirius. Atlas…do you have the remains of your wand?”

Atlas nodded, reaching into her pocket and retrieving the pieces of her wand.

“Might I have them?”

“…why?”

“I wish to fix it.” She put them forward at that and let her gaze linger on them as Dumbledore set them on his desk gently. “I will say it again,” Dumbledore began. “You have shown bravery beyond anything I could have expected of you tonight. You have shown bravery equal to those who died fighting Voldemort at the height of his powers. You two have shouldered a grown wizard’s burden and found yourself equal to it – and you have now given us all we have a right to expect. You will both come with me to the hospital wing. I do not want you returning to the dormitory tonight. A Sleeping Potion, and some peace…Sirius, would you like to stay with them?”

Sirius nodded and stood up. He transformed back into the great black dog and walked with Harry, Atlas and Dumbledore out of the office, accompanying them down a flight of stairs to the hospital wing. He remained between Harry and Atlas, nudging their knuckles when they both donned particularly dark looks.

When they entered the infirmary, Atlas glanced up to see Molly, Bill, Ron, and Hermione grouped around a harassed-looking Madam Pomfrey. They were shouting, demanding to know where she and Harry had gone off to, just what had happened to them. All of them turned, however, with a speed Atlas could barely register as the door closed behind them.

And though they were all equally as disturbed, equally as eager to see them, to ask if they were ok, Atlas could only focus on Hermione, the girl staring back silently with red-raw eyes and she found a sudden strength return to her as she practically sprinted forward, past Dumbledore who was blocking Molly from Harry and crashed into Hermione, hugging her so fiercely, so tightly because she did not want her to slip away, did not want someone to suddenly come and snatch her from her arms.

The blood on her hands, on her face, belonging to Barty Crouch Junior reminded her that she had almost lost Hermione tonight as well, and Atlas was suddenly so very scared, so very frightened. Then, when Hermione hugged back, she fell to the floor, to her knees, her arms shaking around her as she just held on.

And she did not let go. She would never let go.