Chapter 89

They resided in silence. Atlas sat pooling over the monotonous book Umbridge had assigned them in class, her head down while the soft scratch of Umbridge’s quill rang through the air, quickly turning raucous and harsh on her ear. The copious number of cats that donned the walls in the forms of collectable plates all mewled irritably, in a way that Atlas could tell was entirely unnatural, they hissed on occasion, hackles raised when Atlas’s eyes flashed with agitation. And it made her palms sweat, made her eyebrow twitch from stress and had her knee bouncing anxiously. Umbridge did not seem to notice and if she had, well, it would explain the pleased smile upon her face.

It had been hours since the school day had come to an end, Atlas should be apologising to her professors for her absence that morning, catching up on homework and perhaps flying through the darkened sky to clear her head before bed, but instead, she was waiting, her gaze flitting uncomfortably to the fire and the pokers that hung from the mantle above it and back to her dull and frankly drowsy book. There wasn’t really much to look at and Atlas wouldn’t dare look at Umbridge for fear of drawing attention to herself.

Unfortunately, that would happen whether she liked it or not.

“Now…” Atlas had to restrain her neck from physically snapping upwards to meet Umbridge’s gaze and instead, calmly glanced at her professor, closing her book – with some shocking amount of hesitance – carefully in her lap. “You’re going to be doing some lines for me, Miss Black, with a rather special quill of mine.”

She handed her a long, thin black quill, the hollow shaft a sickly red with an unusually sharp point at its end. Atlas took it, feeling an instant shiver crawl up her spine, her hand shook as she accepted the piece of parchment that followed.

“What would you like me to write?”

“You have not done anything wrong as of yet,” Umbridge said thoughtfully, “so I cannot punish you for telling lies…however, I must leave an impression on you, to give you a reminder and…motivator to control your brother’s behaviour.”

“Of course.”

“Well then, how about that family motto of yours you despise so much?” Umbridge suggested sweetly, shrugging her shoulders with a high giggle to her pinched smile. Atlas looked at her and then back to the paper, eyebrows furrowing as she thought, “well? What was it? Will you remind me?”

“Toujours Pur…” Atlas muttered.

“Good.”

“How many times would you like me to write it?”

“Oh, as long as it takes for the message to sink in,” she said and turned back to her marking, a great big stack of parchment practically blocking her from view. “Off you go.”

“You haven’t given me any ink, professor,” Atlas continued, trying her damndest to sound polite.

“You won’t be needing any,” that horribly vile voice came and Atlas didn’t need to see her face to know she had smiled.

Atlas frowned, adjusting the quill between her fingers a few times and glancing at it hesitantly before she pressed it to the paper, her neat letters forming into a vile string of French. A mere two words she had come to despise over time, maybe not entirely the words themselves but because of what they stood for; absolute purity of blood. An impossible and repulsive expectation the House of Black placed upon all its kin.

A sudden pain jolted across Atlas’s right hand and she grimaced, biting back a gasp as she winced at the gouges of her fist, the words she had written upon parchment now etched in the flesh of her skin, angry, red but slowly healing until not a scar remained. She quickly turned back to the parchment, well aware that Umbridge’s eyes had fallen upon her.

However, she diligently continued, only wincing a few times through the night, writing that motto again and again, over and over, cutting the words into her hand with the tip of a ghostly quill until the healing slowed and it grew less effective, remaining irritated and raised even when it had supposedly healed over. With each stroke of her pen, her nose grew tense, the smell of stale iron and new mingling together thanks to the heightened senses the consistent injuries had conjured.

Darkness had fallen but Atlas had not once looked to the window, her hand unwavering in its pursuit further and further down the page, the ink, her blood, bleeding through to the pieces of parchment beneath from the sheer intensity of her flicks, her strokes, her tenacity and determination to show no weakness. Not to Umbridge. Never to Umbridge.

“Come here,” Atlas immediately stopped, her letters cutting off with a swipe so vicious a long line had shot off from her final ‘r’, she stood and walked over to Umbridge, around the neatly stacked and marked essays, until she was there, stood tall over the woman but remaining forever small under her gaze. “Hand.”

Atlas extended it toward her wordlessly, clenching her jaw when the woman’s fingers came and caressed against the aching and raw skin of the back of her hand. There was some savagery to it, she poked and prodded, applied pressure to lighter areas and she was smiling all the while, giddy maybe with an underlying disappointment and hunger to see something more, worse. Atlas had seen that before, many times before. During her private trial, the trial after Azkaban. The worst one.

“There is not much of an impression yet,” she said, looking up and smiling as she dropped Atlas’s hand and wiped her grubby fingers upon her handkerchief, Atlas watched the movement, eyes unwillingly to fall from that palm, the one she knew all too well, “we’ll just have to try again tomorrow, evening, won’t we? You may go.”

“Thank you, professor,” Atlas nodded quietly and left, closing the door silently behind her and then, immediately looking to her hand, frowning with a tight jaw at the words upon it. She sighed, rubbing her eyes with a soft groan, her shoulders sagged and her movements were sluggish as she walked, the halls deserted, her mind numb and her hand prickling painfully.

The Lady’s portrait appeared in the distance sometime later and Atlas offered her some idle small talk before thanking her and excusing herself for the night. The Common Room was empty, the only sounds coming from the fireplace and the occasional snoring painting but otherwise, nothing and Atlas found solace in that, venturing further upwards and into the girls’ tower, clicking the door of her dorm open softly, in case Hermione had gone to sleep already.

She really should have known better.

“What did she have you do?” Hermione’s desk light switched on, illuminating the girl in all her nightgown wearing glory, Crookshanks in her arms, sleeping soundly as she yawned and rubbed her eyes with a bundled fist.

“…lines,” Atlas supplied dully.

“Oh, that’s not too bad, must have been a drag going at it for seven hours though,” Hermione chuckled, smiling but Atlas couldn’t manage one of her own, the tingling of her hand burning even brighter with her lie. She clenched her fist, tight, and moved over to her bed, getting ready for the night soundlessly.

“Why aren’t you asleep?” She finally asked, feeling Hermione’s eyes boring into the scars of her sides, examining them. She pulled her shirt down hard, turning to look at Hermione, sat contemplative, thoughtful, her gaze still on the concealed claw marks Atlas had hidden.

“I was…I was waiting for you,” she replied, a few heavy seconds later. 

“Why?”

“I always do?” Hermione said, matching Atlas’s gaze with a confused look of her own. “I’ve always tried to stay awake when you’re out late.”

“Oh…right,” Atlas sighed, rubbing her eyes again, “sorry, I’m exhausted.”

“You haven’t eaten anything all day, you missed dinner last night too…maybe you should go to the kitchens,” Hermione stood, concern laced across her features, “or I could go. If you just look after Crookshanks, I’ll be back in a moment, I’m a prefect so I’m allowed to be out –“

“Hermione, I’m ok,” Atlas eased, a small smile on her face that seemed to comfort Hermione’s sudden agitation. “I’ll have a big breakfast tomorrow.”

“Missing so many meals is no good, you know?” Hermione said, in her best attempt at a firm and scolding voice but it fell flat with her own fatigue and she ended up crawling back into bed, Crookshanks mewling in protest at the continuous disruptions.

“I know, I know…” Atlas nodded, folding up her uniform for the morning. They sat in silence, the air around Hermione thick with something anxious, unknowing and questioning while Atlas worked in static, the air around her mute and still, the dull thump from her clothes falling to her bed the only sound besides their breathing. “Hermione…”

“I did your homework for you.”

Atlas stopped and then turned, looking over at Hermione’s back with a subtle quirk to her brow, “what?”

“Well…I just thought it’d do some good. You don’t need a pile of homework right now, not you nor Harry, which is why I helped him as well, just — I thought you might appreciate it but now I’m thinking you might be offended, like — like you think maybe I think you can’t handle it which isn’t the truth, actually because I think you’re very capable –“

“Hermione –“

“So I just wanted to let you know, I think you’re highly proficient, incredibly intelligent and amazing –“

“Mi –“

“But I’m worried I might’ve crossed the line after this morning because you clearly don’t want me to interfere –“

“Hermione!” Atlas threw a bundle of socks at the girls head with a light laugh, watching as Hermione turned around, her face screwed up as she held where the bundle of soft fabrics had smacked her. “Merlin, I have never heard you blab like that!”

“Sorry,” Hermione winced, dropping her face into her hands. Atlas let her head tilt to the side as she huffed disbelievingly, the soft footfalls of her socks against laminate wood sounding quietly through the room as she moved towards the girl and lowered herself into the bed carefully. “I’m a mess…”

“Sure,” Atlas agreed, “but…I swear that’s a trait that runs throughout your trio. You, Harry and Ron all have incredibly wild hair.”

“What do you mean my trio?” Hermione grumbled and fell against Atlas’s side, “we’re more like a quartet.”

“Oh, right, yeah,” Atlas nodded and ran her fingers through the topmost part of Hermione’s hair, “thanks for doing my homework, you’re not overstepping. And I’m sorry about earlier…this morning just wasn’t — wasn’t great. I guess I got scared.”

“Of what?”

“Being seen as less than my best,” Atlas shrugged and Hermione buried herself further into her pillow, arms now wrapped around Atlas’s torso as she closed her eyes and hummed out a sigh of content.

“I think you’re the best regardless.”

Atlas gave a short laugh, “in what world?”

“How about mine?”

“You’re living in a world of fantasy.”

“Maybe that’s why I’m feeling so perfect right now.”

“Merlin, there’s no winning with you,” Atlas muttered.

“Absolutely not,” Hermione agreed with a small grin. “Now go to sleep.”

“Sure, sure.”

Breakfast was a treat the following morning, the unending pit that had formed in Atlas’s stomach filling with every meal she consumed, multiple platters ended up empty and a few unbiased Gryffindors watched her in amazement, Katie was sliding her trays from further down the table and Angelina was keeping track on the number of dishes she had eaten. Hermione looked thoroughly disgusted by it, however, she didn’t scold Atlas, knowing the girl was in real need of a good meal after going without for a day. She knew how large Atlas’s appetite was.

Harry came down sometime after Atlas’s last goblet of apple juice and sat as far away as possible, Ron looking conflicted as he chose to sit next to his best friend. Atlas ignored him, the pang in her chest running through her like a particularly nasty curse but she remained outwardly composed, blind to the looks Hermione and Ron exchanged. They left anyway, Atlas and Hermione, deciding to turn up to Charms early.

The day flew by really, even with the multiple lectures about their up and coming OWLs, Atlas didn’t find anything too challenging, the Summoning Charm Professor Flitwick was teaching them was something Atlas had already demonstrated many times before and Minerva had already taught her the Vanishing Charm when she was younger so she’d gotten it first try when she’d been asked for a demonstration. It’d only taken Hermione three time’s as well and Atlas couldn’t help the swell of pride that overwhelmed her when she saw it. It had taken her a good fifty times to get it right when she’d been taught, granted she was ten but Hermione’s feat was impressive regardless.

It was raining lightly by the time Care of Magical Creatures came around, the wind cool and breezy. Professor Grubbly-Plank stood waiting for the class some ten yards from Hagrid’s front door, a long trestle table in front of her laden with unmoving twigs Atlas recognised, even from a distance, as Bowtruckles, tree-guardians that liked to live in wand-trees, she used to play with them when she was little, not frequently but on occasion. Like when she went wandering in the forest with Lyra.

“Everyone here?” Professor Grubbly-Plank shouted, once all of the Slytherins and Gryffindors stopped in front of her. Atlas heard a few giggles to her right and turned, looking right at Pansy Parkinson and the group of girls she had bumped into the day prior, the three of them, now accompanied by Milicent Bulstrode all staring right back. Pansy waved, wiggling her fingers while Tracy grinned and Daphne winked, Milicent just glaring dully. “Let’s crack on then. Who can tell me what these things are called?”

Instantly, Hermione’s hand shot up beside Atlas and she turned, glancing down at the girl, clearly eager to share her knowledge with the class, even if that knowledge seemed to be the butt of a hilarious joke Malfoy was telling the Slytherins around him. Atlas’s fists tightened yet she remained silent, looking back at Hermione encouragingly. Only that was again interrupted when Pansy let out a shriek of laughter, disturbing the Bowtruckles from their inanimate states, their stick arms and flat faces suddenly moving, big brown eyes gleaming.

“Oooooh! They’re adorable!” Lavender squealed and Parvati beamed at her, something Atlas noticed with a subtle smile and shake of her head.

“Kindly keep your voices down, girls,” Professor Grubbly-Plank ordered sharply, scattering little woodlice among the stick figures. “So — does anyone know the names of these creatures? Miss Granger?”

“Bowtruckles,” Hermione said, smiling brightly, “They’re tree-guardians, usually live in wand-trees.”

“Five points for Gryffindor,” Professor Grubbly-Plank said. “Yes, these are Bowtruckles, and as Miss Granger rightly says, they generally live in trees whose wood is of wand quality. Does anybody – besides Miss Granger – know what they eat?”

“Woodlice,” Atlas offered when Hermione’s hand fell slowly from the air, clearly dejected, “but they also like fairy eggs if they can get them and they remember faces so if you’ve given them a gift without wanting something in return, they’re more than likely to be docile in the future.”

“Good girl and you’re quite right, Bowtruckles have an incredible memory. Take another five points for Gryffindor. So, whenever you need leaves or wood from a tree in which a Bowtruckle lodges, it is wise to have a gift of woodlice ready to distract or placate it. They may not look dangerous, but if angered they will try to gouge at human eyes with their fingers, which, as you can see, are very sharp and not at all desirable near the eyeballs. So if you’d like to gather closer, take a few woodlice and a Bowtruckle you can study them more closely. I want a sketch from each of you with all body parts labelled by the end of the lesson.”

A lot of the class surged forward and quickly grabbed their own Bowtruckle and woodlice, picking up their own notebooks as well, to draw a portrait of their little friends. Atlas was the last to pick, holding her hand out flat as she scooped up a fistful of woodlice absentmindedly, turning back in confusion when no Bowtruckle had ventured onto her palm. She found out why as soon as she looked and dropped her notepad in a sudden flit of panic. The ones remaining were all fighting over Atlas’s hand.

“Hey, stop fighting,” Atlas warned quietly, shooting a look over to her professor who was getting talked to by Harry. It was obviously one-sided as Professor Grubbly-Plank was staring off into the distance. She turned. “Just get on, the lot of you.”

They all obliged, clambering into her palm and venturing up her sleeve, some settling on her shoulder, others climbing into her half-tied hair, while a few slotted themselves in her vacant pockets. There was one that remained to hug her hand and she decided it would be the one she drew, sitting under a tree to shelter from the light drizzle as she pulled out her retrieved notepad. It was hard to concentrate with them climbing all over her, the little tugs of her hair, the jerks of her uniform and the little sharpened hands accidentally nicking exposed parts of her skin all contributing factors to her failing attention.

But she managed, of course, she managed and she found the little Bowtruckle she had decided to draw was quite the model, remaining still as long as Atlas fed it the occasional woodlouse. She gave the little thing breaks so that it could hug her fingers, something it quite liked to do apparently, but then it was back to business a moment later.

“You look like you’re having fun.”

A Bowtruckle slid down her nose and fell into her quick palm, shaking its head in a dazed way before pushing it’s self upright and hurrying back to where it had been, right at the top of her head. Atlas glanced up at Ron, seeing the sheepish smile on his face before she turned and looked over to Harry, the boy distracted by his drawing and Hermione’s lecture.

“You should be careful, Ron. Harry sees you talking to me and he’ll blow a bulb,” Atlas muttered, turning back to her diagram.

“Yeah, well you’re my mate too, I’m allowed to talk to you, I don’t need Harry’s permission,” Ron said, sitting across from her. “Beside’s he’s got my Bowtruckle.”

“Were you coming over to ask for one of mine? As you can see I have plenty.”

“I feel like if I tried to take one I’d end up blind,” Ron chuckled nervously and Atlas nodded with a smile of her own. “Can I ask — er — Atlas why didn’t you stick up for Harry in class?”

“Ron –“

“I’m sorry for bringing it up, I just thought it was weird.”

“It’s fine,” Atlas shrugged, “I didn’t want Harry to face detention with Umbridge because I knew she was unpredictable, anything could have happened when he was alone with her,” Ron nodded, looking into his hands. There was a small cut on his knuckle, gifted to him presumably by a Bowtruckle. 

“So you were protecting him?”

“I guess so.”

“But what about you?”

“What about me?”

“I mean…if you’re protecting Harry, who’s protecting you?” Ron shrugged and Atlas looked at him in confusion. “Harry’s definitely going to keep catching the attention of old toad-face and that means you’ll keep throwing yourself in front of him. I mean, why don’t you let us take the fall one time, I’d try and Hermione’s already said she’ll do the same –“

“What?” Atlas’s face dropped and something snapped within her, the raised and still irritated skin of her hand prickling suddenly. She grew serious and dropped her placid demeanour in an instant. “No, you won’t.”

“It’s just lines, Atlas. It saves you from having to be in the same room as Umbridge for seven hours, we know how much you hate her so we figured –“

“Ron,” Atlas was stood now, the Bowtruckles watching curiously as Atlas gripped the boy’s shoulders, hard, a glare in her eyes. “I’m telling you now, you’ll do no such fucking thing. I’m fine doing lines and I don’t care if Harry hates me right now for what I did, you tell Hermione if she pulls that shit I’m requesting to be moved to a different fucking dorm and if you pull that shit, I’ll tell Angelina I won’t join the team if she recruits you for Keeper.”

Ron looked taken aback by the declaration, his eyebrows furrowing as a flash of hurt flitted over his eyes, his features suddenly becoming hardened as he stood as well and glared at the floor, “fine, whatever.”

“Look, I…” Atlas winced, taking in a breath through her teeth, “I appreciate the sentiment Ron, I’m sorry for snapping at you — Merlin — just stay out of the Umbridge business ok? You don’t know what she’s capable of…”

“Yeah, ok…sorry for bothering you,” Ron muttered and turned away, walking back over to where Harry and Hermione were, the girl looking up instantly to greet Ron but frowning when she saw his dejected state. Atlas groaned, turned away before she could lock eyes with Hermione and threw her drawing to the floor, rubbing her hands down her face. A vast pit of guilt formed in her stomach alongside some mild annoyance, she’d already told them countless times to stay out of Umbridge’s way but they all seemed determined to throw themselves in front of her path.

The Bowtruckles climbed down from her uniform and landed soundlessly in the leaves below, four of them approaching her drawing and picking it up to bring back to her while the rest hung back, watching from afar. Atlas glanced down at them and crouched, smiling half-heartedly as she petted each of their heads with the tip of her finger and took the finished drawing from their tiny green hands. They seemed to grow joyful at that, running off into the forest happily while Atlas stood and walked over to Professor Grubbly-Plank, handing the drawing in.

“Exceptional work, Miss Black. Impressive artistry and you’ve labelled the piece beautifully,” She complimented, holding the parchment in front of her while Atlas tossed her quill and ink into her bag, finding one of the Bowtruckles tucked inside, she went slightly wide-eyed and quickly closed the latch when her professor turned back to her. “Five points for Gryffindor for the incredible work, Atlas. You may go.”

“Thank you, professor. I enjoyed the lesson,” she nodded and then turned, walking over to the treeline and opening her bag again, she grabbed the Bowtruckle from inside carefully and set him on a low hanging branch. “You can’t come with me. I get it, I feel warm to you magical creatures but I’d get in trouble…I think. Regardless your branch has run off without you, you should go and find them.”

It seemed to understand but didn’t move and Atlas sighed, shaking her head as she placed a few of the last rolled up woodlice on the branch with it and walked away, trudging up the bank to her final class of the day. Herbology. The bell rang in the distance and she heard a few other students catching up to her but she didn’t turn and kept her gaze forward, bumping into the fourth years leaving for their next lesson. Namely Luna and Ginny.

“Atlas!” Ginny grinned, running up to her and grabbing her in a hug. “I heard you got detention with Umbridge. That toad is such a bitch, why Dumbledore hired her, I’ll never know.”

“Yeah…” Atlas agreed awkwardly and then looked at Luna. “Hey, Luna.”

“Hi Atlas, me and Ginny were just talking about your friend,” Luna smiled but Ginny paled.

“Which one?”

“That Zasha girl.”

“Oh…” Atlas mouthed and then looked to Ginny finding the girl had suddenly found the clouds quite interesting. “Have you — have you heard from her?”

“Er — no…no, I haven’t,” Ginny muttered, looking suddenly quite sick.

“I see…chin up Gin, she’ll — she’ll pull through,” Atlas smiled tensely. “If you want to talk about her just…knock on my door, you know where I am.”

“Yeah, all right,” Ginny nodded and Atlas glanced over her shoulder, noticing Harry, Ron and Hermione climbing up the last stretch of the hill. She grimaced at the sullen look on Ron’s face and turned to the greenhouse.

“I’ll see you later then, yeah? I’ve gotta get to class.”

“You seem to be avoiding your friends,” Luna observed and Atlas went a little wide-eyed, looking at Ginny who slowly grew confused, her gaze going over Atlas’s shoulder and to the approaching figures. She didn’t wait for a word though and instead, squeezed past, entering the greenhouse alone, leaving Ginny and Luna to chat with the trio.

To nobody’s surprise, the lesson started off with yet another lecture on the up and coming OWLs and Professor Sprout looked serious, leaving her gaze to linger on Atlas when she mentioned truancy and absence, however, she went on to say she had high hopes for everyone in the class, closing the speech with an assuring smile that left not a soul actually assured, maybe Neville’s but he was set when it came to the Herbology exam, he was practically a genius in the subject.

An hour and a half later, Atlas left with an essay due and the smell of dragon dung permanently staining her nasal canal. She grimaced and scrunched up her nose a few times as she quickly left for dinner, ignoring the shouts of her name as she went. In hindsight she knew it was a bad idea, she didn’t want to push Hermione away but she did not want to talk about the outburst she’d had with Ron. Unfortunately, she underestimated the speeds Hermione could reach when she was determined and ended up down an abandoned hallway, Hermione pressing her against the wall with a surprising amount of force.

“What has gotten into you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb, Atlas. Ron told me what you said.”

“Good, so now you know to stay out of Umbridge’s way,” Atlas snapped, pushing back so that Hermione was against the opposite wall and she was free from her grasp. 

“You know Ron really wants to get on the team and you know…you know I really like being your dormmate so you used it against us so that we wouldn’t try and protect you and Harry? That’s so low, Atlas!” Hermione shouted.

“Well it’ll work, won’t it?” Atlas retorted, “Just stay out of it.”

“I don’t get why you’re so dead set against us doing lines, Atlas!”

“It’s not just about the lines, Hermione!”

“So what is it then!?”

“It’s because I want to protect you!” 

“I want to protect you as well! We want to protect each other so why can’t we just do that? And if that means the both of us get detention, so be it!”

“No,” Atlas shook her head, adjusting her bag on her shoulder as she blinked away a few silent tears and swallowed the lump in her throat. “I can’t Hermione…I just can’t, I’m sorry.”

“Atlas, come on…please.”

“I’m sorry, Hermione but you don’t understand the kind of person she is…” Atlas pushed past her and left, another pit forming in her gut as she grew further and further away, the sounds of the Great Hall unkind to her ears. She walked and she walked, head down, mind swimming and hand burning, she hadn’t even registered her team captain following after her, growing more and more impatient with every name she called.

That was until she grabbed Atlas, harshly, at her shoulder and spun her around.

“Atlas, I’ve been — Woah, are you…are you all right?” Angelina asked and Atlas quickly rubbed the tears from her eyes.

“Yeah — yeah, I’m all right, sorry. What is it?”

“I was just coming to ask you about your detentions with Umbridge…” Angelina said slowly, eyes falling all over the state of Atlas’s appearance, “are you sure you’re ok?”

“Yeah, and the detentions with Umbridge will cut into tryouts if that’s what you wanted to ask,” Atlas continued, tensing at the steps she heard approaching and looking to her feet when Hermione brushed past them, entering the Great Hall a few steps ahead. Angelina watched the exchange and cocked a brow.

“Lovers quarrel?”

“Not now, Angelina,” Atlas muttered and rubbed her eyes again, “look, I’m sorry but I won’t be able to attend training, I know you’re probably disappointed –“

“Oh, I am but…look, I understand and if it was anyone but you, I’d probably going off right now but we’re cool so it’s cool…sort of,” Angelina nodded, “it’s fine, Ace, you’ll be missed but the newbie will see you in training on Saturday, you can introduce yourself then.”

“Thanks for understanding.”

“Yeah, that Umbridge woman is foul. Katie’s started calling her Umbitch.”

“Right,” Atlas hummed, smiling briefly at the name before speaking again, “I’m gonna get something to eat before detention…sorry again, Angelina.”

“It’s all right, Atlas, see you later,” Angelina waved, jogging in the opposite direction. Atlas turned immediately and walked into the Great Hall, sitting at the very edge of Gryffindor table, alone, with a few plates appearing before her. 

She ate silently, slowly, methodically and left just as quickly as she came, she didn’t dare look in the direction of her friends — friends? Atlas didn’t really know where they stood at the moment, she knew Harry was annoyed with her, Ron just seemed upset and Hermione, well, maybe she was both. Thinking about it made her head hurt, her stomach churn and her throat tight so she cast the thoughts aside and shook her head, reassuring herself she’d done the right thing. If keeping them safe meant being alone, that was fine, plus, she’d be fulfilling Dumbledore’s wishes. It was really the only logical option.

Yet it felt wrong.

Five rolled around and Atlas sat in Umbridge’s office once more, scratching words into the back of her hand soundlessly, her eyes glazed over and head down while Umbridge offered occasional words that bounced around the office unheard. Atlas did not speak and when Umbridge deemed her hand ruined enough she left with only an empty ‘thank you’ walking to Gryffindor tower, alone. Hermione was asleep when she entered their dorm, for the first time since they’d met, she had not stayed up to greet her. And though Atlas should not have expected different, she had and the reality of it hit her hard.

She spent the night in the kitchens, doing her homework with Fobbo.

Wednesday passed in a blur, Atlas sat alone, Harry still stewed in indignation, Ron averted his gaze whenever Atlas walked by and Hermione remained serene, there wasn’t a hiccup in the way she held herself, not a fault in her appearance, uniform still as neat as ever. Minerva had pulled her aside after Transfiguration to talk but Atlas simply lied, she smiled and she said everything was ok. Detention was just as dull, slow and painful as the first and second time, Umbridge just as happy, that look of satisfaction Atlas wanted so badly to slap from her face not wavering once.

She spent the night talking to The Lady.

Thursday ended in blood. It finished with detention as usual but this time, she bled and the words did not heal, instead they continued to ooze so that a large pool of blood had sunk through the parchment. She had stopped then, the halting of her quill something that caught the attention of a humming Umbridge. The words Toujours Pur glared back at her, a revolting red as more blood seeped from the wound, the blood that was the sole reason for her family’s motto. Always Pure.

“Well, isn’t that lovely,” Umbridge smiled sweetly, wider than she had ever done. “Such pure blood, it’s a shame you spoilt it those years ago.”

“Blood is blood,” Atlas whispered and Umbridge grinned. It had been the first time Atlas had ever talked back. 

“You may leave for tonight,” she excused and Atlas immediately stood, grabbing her bag roughly. “But come back tomorrow…I think we can etch the message a little deeper with another evenings work. I’m sure you remember, Atlas, that I’m not the kind of woman to stop unless the message has been sent.”

“Yes, Professor Umbridge, I remember quite well how firm your hand is,” Atlas nodded, her throat tightened as she left and a trail of blood followed her as she walked.

She spent the night looking at the stars.