Chapter 94

September had been and gone much quicker after Harry, Hermione and Ron were exposed to the truth and reality of Umbridge’s detentions. It was no longer agonisingly slow, a misfortune every time Atlas so much as opened her eyes from slumber, she felt lighter in a way but carried so many burdens and regrets she could feel herself slipping back into her despair. Every time she so much as passed Dumbledore’s gargoyles, arrived for another Defense Against the Dark Arts class or even caught sight of those letters engraved into her hand when she washed them or showered, it made the rocky overhang of the cliff she stood on, crumble that much more.

So the gloves had stayed, nobody had mentioned them but Hermione would glance at them furtively sometimes when she thought Atlas wasn’t looking. She avoided the corridor that passed through the headmaster’s office. And Umbridge, well, there was no pleasing that woman but Harry had quietened, Hermione had stopped asking questions about the curriculum and Ron stuck to being silent. Atlas simply kept her head down, kept the churning of her stomach under control and tried her damnedest to not breathe through her nose when their professor passed.

It was early October now, the Hogsmeade weekend just around the corner, classes were getting tougher and Atlas, she didn’t know how to feel. She was in a way, apathetic but not in its entirety, it was not as if she didn’t care because she did, perhaps too much, rather, there was an absence of passion in her life. She could not will herself to laugh as she used to, every smile felt lacklustre, she was on edge, constantly but not consciously. Nothing was fun, every day was a repetition of the last and Umbridge’s rule grew larger in the background.

And Atlas had noticed, though they were okay, they were friends again, her, Harry, Ron and Hermione, she had noticed a pang of particular guilt, a certain shame every time she was around them, every time they mentioned protecting each other, having each other’s backs because she knew, deep down, she still couldn’t do that because that was not how life worked. It was either one got hurt, or, they all did, standing as one, and Atlas knew what she would choose when the time came and it would come.

She gently shut the book of ingredients, finding that none of the information on Potions found rest in her brain, instead, it remained as clumps of letters and became incoherent, jumbled when she tried to think of anything she had read in that past hour. The legs of her chair creaked as she tilted backwards and closed her eyes, reaching up to drag her clothed hands down her face, trying to pull the fogginess from her mind through her skin.

“Hey you,” a cover of soft leather tapped against her head and Atlas opened her eyes, meeting the front of a potions book and when it came away, Atlas found herself staring directly up at Hermione, the girl upside down, hung over her. “What are you doing here?”

Both legs of Atlas’s chair returned to the floor and the girl pat her own books, “studying…”

“I meant what are you doing here alone? You could have asked us to come,” Hermione said as Ron and Harry sat down with small greetings of their own, getting out their things as they idly chatted about their latest Quidditch practice. One Atlas found she did not enjoy. Not at all.

“I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Okay…” Hermione muttered, looking confused as she slowly took her own seat. “Have you made any progress?”

“No,” Atlas sighed, rubbing between her brows again, “it’s not going in.”

“That’s good actually,” Hermione smiled and Atlas turned to her, stare, incredulous while the girl grew quickly nervous, shaking her head, “it’s not good that you can’t concentrate, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant…well, we wanted to talk to you about something,” she glanced to both Harry and Ron, the boys falling silent immediately and glancing to Atlas. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah?” Atlas mumbled, growing more and more confused. “What’s wrong? Is everything ok?”

“Of course. There’s nothing wrong, we just spoke…not too long ago, about Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Hermione began and Atlas frowned. “Look, we just thought –” Ron and Harry made vague noises of discontent, “– fine — I just thought we weren’t getting properly educated during our lessons with Umbridge, so, I decided we should teach ourselves. I’m holding a meeting, this weekend, in Hogsmeade, I’m going to be recruiting others who want to join. Harry’s going to teach us and I thought, maybe, you’d teach us as well?”

“No,” Atlas instantly refuted and Hermione’s hopeful smile dropped, instead, she grew confused, “I’m sorry Hermione, it’s a no.”

“But you’re the best we know,” Hermione said, looking at Ron and Harry who looked equally as shocked. “We need you.”

“Hermione’s right, I don’t think I can do it without you,” Harry tried, speaking finally as Ron simply nodded beside him. “Couldn’t you at least think about it? I did.”

“How long have I been out of the loop?” Atlas questioned.

“A few weeks…” Hermione offered and Atlas frowned, “that was only because Harry was making up his mind, I wanted to have him on board because I thought it might encourage you.”

“You thought wrong,” Atlas sighed, rubbing her eyes this time, the muscles of her jaw moving beneath her skin in tandem with her tension. “Did you not stop to think of what might happen should Umbridge find out?”

“Of course we have,” Hermione argued.

“We’d stick together,” Ron spoke, glancing between Hermione and Harry before settling his gaze on Atlas, “you know, have each other’s backs. But it won’t come to that, mate.”

“Umbridge won’t find out, we’ll make sure of it,” Hermione tried, “please, Atlas, think about it?”

“No, I’m sorry Hermione,” Atlas shook her head and stood, stuffing her books in her bag, “I’ll look out for you from the outside.”

“What? So you know the exact moment you can step in and take the blame if Umbridge found us out?” Hermione frowned and Atlas sighed through her nose, furrowing her brows at the floor. “Well don’t. If you don’t want any part of it, that’s fine but stay out of it entirely if that’s your decision.”

“Hermione –“

“Sit down,” Atlas stopped packing and obliged, slumping back into the seat beside her and slowly pulling her books back out. “We should at least study together, let’s not go back to how we were in September because of this. I’m sorry, Atty, forget I said anything, ok?”

“Right,” Atlas muttered as Hermione flipped open her own tome, getting her supplies from her bag. Ron and Harry exchanged looks before doing the same, voicing their own agreements before engrossing themselves in their potions homework, just as Atlas had been doing before she’d given up and they’d interrupted her.

The days following were tense for Atlas, Hermione seemed unbothered, she smiled, they talked, even into the early hours of the morning and they were okay, they were as good as always, it was just Atlas who found herself uncomfortable, uneasy as the Hogsmeade weekend grew nearer. After her declination of Hermione’s suggestion, they hadn’t spoken about the secret classes since and while, initially, Atlas hadn’t given it much thought, now she couldn’t stop thinking about it.

How many people would be going? Who would be going? Could they be trusted? What would happen if Umbridge found out? When she found out? Because there was no doubt she would, it was fact, fate, if Umbridge grew powerful enough she would surely find out and with Mr Filch in her corner, it was surely inevitable, that man knew every nook and cranny of the school. Save for a number of secret passageways but they had been blocked for quite some years, so they didn’t matter anymore.

And then, when the Hogsmeade weekend arrived and Harry, Ron and Hermione disappeared before Atlas had even gotten dressed for the morning, she sat alone in her dorm, hands intertwined in her lap as she worried her bottom lip. Crookshanks was sat beside her, cleaning himself, unbothered and unperturbed by his owners early morning absence, but after another few minutes of Atlas’s intensity he seemed to grow quickly disturbed and swiped at the girl, no claws drawn but with enough power behind his smack to illicit a quiet sound of pain.

“What was that for?” Atlas muttered, standing with a frown. Crookshanks stared up at her, unblinking and then slowly went back to cleaning himself, leaving Atlas to sigh, brood a moment and then walk over to her desk testily. She reached out and grabbed her old lion doll, fiddling with it idly to give herself something to do as she then took to pacing around the room, her bare footfalls the only sound besides the muffled chatter of those first and second years below, unable to attend the Hogsmeade trip.

She thought of everything and nothing, occasionally rubbing at the weariness of her eyes and grumbling something before she ultimately got changed, pulling on some loose joggers and a tank quickly. Not to venture into Hogsmeade, no, Atlas just needed to walk, anywhere, somewhere away, where the winds were so mind-numbingly cold she couldn’t think at all.

“Kalo!” The feathered being perked up, looking down upon her curiously as she held up her arm. “Come. We’re going out.”

He obliged, descending upon her arm with his red-chested robin apprentice in tow. Atlas waited, half expecting for her Agoniser friend to reanimate, but she didn’t, remaining stationary on her desk, just as she had been for the past few weeks. It concerned her, admittedly, but Atlas supposed she was hibernating and walked out of the room, giving a quiet goodbye to Crookshanks while she shuffled her feet further into her shoes and jogged down the stairs.

The stranded first and second years were all mingling in the Common area, the youngest all still incredibly jittery, nervous and avoidant of Atlas who’s tired eyes surely looked deadly but a few of the eldest greeted her, out of respect for an upperclassman surely but Atlas found some relief in their friendliness. Especially with everything going on in the paper. The thought made her sour and she scowled as she burst through the Lady’s portrait, making it a good length down the corridor before she turned and apologised quietly to the clearly baffled painting.

Though she didn’t wait for a reply and resumed her escape of the castle, her head down while Kalo and Little Robin glanced around curiously, like first years arriving on the docks at the beginning of a year. Atlas wondered when the castle stopped awing her, stopped knocking the breath from her lungs, she wondered when its magic stopped being so wonderful and wondered when, instead, it became so tiresome.

She came to a sudden halt, dropping her face into her hand and breathing deeply, feeling, rather abruptly, as if she wanted to cry, that familiar feeling of a sob lodged in her throat, making it tight, the familiar feeling of that wetness fogging her vision eventually stoking the flame of anger in her chest. She grew annoyed with herself and rubbed her eyes viciously, so cruelly Kalo and Little Robin jerked to the floor, startled. Her focus returned to her at the little squeak of her bird and she turned hurriedly, crouching down to Kalo’s level, looking at Little Robin.

“Are you all right?” she asked quietly, rubbing her eyes briefly before picking the bird up and cradling him in her palms, “I’m sorry little bird.”

It chirped hesitantly, before standing and quickly burying itself in one of her jogger pockets hiding but also remaining close. Kalo stared up at her, analysing with his voidal eyes and Atlas shifted uncomfortably, furrowing her brows as she began walking again, quick to leave him behind as she muttered more apologies to her pocket bird. He followed eventually of course but flew ahead as she entered the courtyard, the autumn air chilly against her skin, while the bird of black faded in the distance.

Maybe she should visit that branch of Bowtruckles. See the little rogue one that had snuck into her bag those weeks ago. She’d managed to take it back in one of Care of Magical Creature’s classes just as she had promised and had stuck to keeping her bag clasped firmly shut so she could avoid another stowaway incident. That sometimes, however, didn’t work and she had no choice but to leave and return the little beast the next lesson again.

She sighed. Maybe she shouldn’t then, she’d have to deal with a territorial Crookshanks if the Bowtruckle did come back with her again and while endearing, his yowls for attention grew annoying when they would wake her up from a rare dreamless sleep. Thinking of it now, though, Atlas smiled softly and rubbed at her tired eyes, digging her hand in her uninhabited pocket and looking across the forking paths, namely the one into Hogsmeade Village.

Hermione would be giving her speech by now, Harry would be shifting in his seat, undoubtedly uncomfortable and Ron, well, he’d be snapping at anyone foolish enough to ask about that night. About Cedric. Atlas shook her head, she was trying to take her mind off of the meeting, not seeking to ponder on it more.

She made to turn, down the other path, the one leading away from Hogsmeade until she stopped, her back straightening and eyes widening as her gaze flickered back to what she had thought she had seen, what her eye had caught in her fleeting peripheral. A body, lying face down across the path. Her breath caught in her throat as the scene darkened, as the cobblestone walls lining the path turned to headstones and the signage along the path formed masked persons, as the body grew larger and the hair shorter so it formed that familiar well-kept hair Atlas had made fun of since she was young. 

A blink and then another, frantic as she breathed, steady, and reopened her eyes jogging over to the small form in the dirt. She dropped to her knees, feeling the mud cake her knees, the grey of her joggers a murky brown. It startled her robin awake and it struggled from the confines of her pocket, flapping once to propel itself into the air and to the lip of a wall.

“Hey,” Atlas called, sniffing at the cold and shuffling closer to flip the little girl over. Her eyes widened, lips parting in surprise, “Daphne’s sister…?” she was certain, her hair was darker than Daphne’s but everything else bore a striking resemblance. Now was no time to wonder at the familiarities of the sisters, however. “Hey…hey, little Greengrass, are you ok?”

She didn’t stir. Atlas chewed at the inside of her cheek, eyes furtively flitting over the girls face, she didn’t look good at all, so pale she looked like a sheet of paper, with a sickly amount of sweat lining her forehead, her chest heaved with laboured, staggard breaths and the heat of her face was borderline feverish, perhaps beyond that. How she had made it outside from the dungeons in such a state was a mystery to Atlas.

“Ok…ok…” Atlas muttered, nodding as she scooped the girl up in her arms, adjusting carefully so that the younger Greengrass rest comfortably against her. “Kalo…Kalo, where’s Kalo?” She looked around, gazing into the distance where her feathery friend had disappeared to, “fuck, ok…he’s gone.”

She looked to where Little Robin had been perched, only to find him missing also, flying off in the direction of Kalo. 

“For fucks — ok, no, it’s ok, Poppy…Poppy can help, ok, yeah…” she had never dealt with a sick child before, the closest thing to it was perhaps Harry but it seemed different, Atlas knew Harry she didn’t know Daphne’s little sister. Even her name was lost to her. “Hospital, hospital, hospital…”

Atlas mumbled to herself as she walked, continuously adjusting so that she was as comfortable as possible. The kid might be Daphne’s sister, a part of that side of Slytherin and perhaps even worse than her sibling but she was ill, incredibly so, passed out in the mud and cold, she deserved to be handled with some sort of respect. Not respect but rather, some sort of care.

The hospital was in front of her, great hulking doors ajar, inviting when the little form in her arms started to stir, halting Atlas’s movements merely on instinct. The girl’s eyes blinked open, dazed, confused with bags of black beneath them and then, suddenly, they were open, frantic as she all but pushed herself from Atlas’s arms. And Atlas tried valiantly to keep her steady, hissing in pain when she received a solid palm to the eye and an elbow to the nose that surely cracked the bone there.

“Hey! Kid! Kid! Stop!” Atlas tried, holding tighter because she was sure if she were to let the girl stand she would crumple to the floor. “I’m taking you to the hospital!”

“No! Get off of me!”

“Relax, I’m trying to — bloody hell!” Another elbow to the nose, prompting the release of the girl but as Atlas had predicted, she fell to the floor, colliding, hard and gasping out in a shock of sudden pain. Atlas blearily looked down at the girl, wincing at her broken nose. “Broken nose again…?” she sighed out. “Hey, Greengrass Jr, I’m trying to help you kid.”

“No hospital.”

“No hospital?” Atlas grimaced and smothered the blood flowing from her nose with the cloth of her shirt, lifting the bottom of it to her face. “But you’re sick, what are you — what are you doing out anyway?”

“It’s my first Hogsmeade weekend…”

“You’re not missing anything, it’s pretty boring down there actually,” Atlas commented offhandedly and crouched in front of the girl, reaching out with her unbloodied hand to measure the girl’s temperature.

“Maybe to you.”

 “…you’re running a fever.” Atlas pulled away and stood, dropping her shirt and examining the large blotch of red decorating her front. “Come on, we need to see Poppy.”

“No. There’s no point. There isn’t anything she can do.”

“Poppy can regrow bones, I’m sure she can –“

“There’s nothing,” Atlas paused, looking at the girl intently, analysing her tone, the shift in her demeanour. There was nothing Poppy could do. It was fact to the girl, Atlas recognised the sincerity, the certainty. She had demonstrated it herself, after all, that night, after everything was revealed. She clenched her fist, feeling as the mangled skin pulled tight and a spike of pain shot up her arm.

“Ok…what would you like me to do?” Atlas asked, growing uncomfortable again. If she didn’t have Poppy to hand the girl to, she would have to look after her herself, she couldn’t very well go off and find Daphne. That would be strange. Looking for a girl she didn’t like in Hogsmeade only to drag her away from her friends and back to Hogwarts.

“I…don’t know,” she murmured, that sickness creeping across her face again.

“Dungeons?”

“No, there are too many people.”

“All right…” Atlas muttered and then tilted her head to the side, crouching again so that the girl did not need to strain her neck every time she spoke, “what’s your name, by the way?”

“Astoria.”

“Right, I knew that,” Atlas nodded with a small assuring smile, “come on…I think I know where to take you.”

“Where?”

“Well…first, what’s your opinion on elves?” Atlas questioned as she picked the girl up again.

“What do you think?” Astoria asked, not maliciously or sarcastically, she was genuinely curious.

“What do I think of elves or what do I think you think of elves?”

“Both.”

“Well, though Minerva is my godmother, and a bloody good one at that, I was practically raised by an elf in my home at Hogsmeade. And as to your second question…I don’t know,” Atlas sighed, shrugging, “it’s a risk…taking you there, for all I know you could blab to your sister and then she’d blab to Pansy who’d no doubt blab to Draco. Then the elves would be terrorized. You’re a Greengrass…and perhaps I shouldn’t be so…hypocritical considering I’m a Black. Your sister is just so –“

“She’s not actually,” Astoria interrupted and Atlas glanced down at her. “My sister, she’s not as bad as you think.”

“She and Pansy have made fun of Hermione for years, they sent her letters full of hexes last year,” Atlas frowned, looking suddenly annoyed, “she hurt her and anybody who hurts Hermione…or rather, anybody who hurts anyone for fun and entertainment is a bad person.”

“She’s not…” Astoria frowned as well, looking into her lap, “She doesn’t mean to…and Pansy is the one that does those things, Daphne’s only friends with her because of our parents.”

“She doesn’t stop Pansy from doing those things though, does she?” Atlas retorted and then sighed again, shaking her head, “I should not be having this conversation with a twelve-year-old.”

“I’m thirteen.”

“Sorry, you’re just…very small,” Atlas amended, sniffing and instantly wincing at the action. She had forgotten about her broken nose even with the throbbing of her face. “Very small with a killer elbow thrust.”

“I’m sorry about that I just…I don’t like hospitals,” Astoria murmured and Atlas nodded.

“Me too. I wouldn’t go if it weren’t for Poppy, she makes it better. Even if she couldn’t do anything I still think you should have let me take you, so you could have rested comfortably,” Atlas said with a small shrug, turning a corner slowly and eyeing the secret door in the distance, her brows furrowed in returning contemplation, “you didn’t answer me before. Do you…like elves?”

“…I suppose I do,” Astoria nodded faintly and Atlas sighed a tiny breath of relief, growing silent and carefully quicker so that she reached the painting as fast as possible. She tickled at the pear and nudged the frame open, revealing the larger space beyond that had that wonder Atlas craved shining in Astoria’s eyes. Atlas eyed the girl with a slow and faint smile before stepping inside and announcing her presence to the busybodies that flitted around the kitchen.

A few that had grown accustomed to her presence merely gave curt greetings before slipping between her legs and continuing their work while others offered her biscuits and sweets, all of which Atlas accepted only to give to the sickly girl in her hold, hoping that some sugar might revitalize and combat the fatigue on the girls face. It seemed not to work, the sickness was not so easily deterred but Astoria glowed a new shine with every delicate treat. So Atlas kept them coming, she had a feeling the girl, despite her house and lineage, was not at all like her sister.

“So…how are you feeling?” Atlas asked tentatively, hunching over slightly so that she appeared smaller, less threatening to the sickly girl. At least she hoped.

“These sweets are delicious. I’m not usually allowed such sugary things because mother and father say they’re unhealthy for me,” Astoria smiled and held one of the crystalized peaches to Atlas, “try one.”

“I know, they’re good aren’t they?” Atlas smiled, accepting the offering and popping it in her mouth, “Hermione really likes them.”

“You mentioned her earlier, she’s that really smart one, right?”

“Hey, someone gets it. Yeah, she’s the really smart one,” Atlas confirmed with a much larger smile. “Though, you didn’t answer my question, do you feel ok?”

“Well…yes, I feel better than I did,” Astoria muttered, chewing a little slower as her gaze turned to her lap. She was growing avoidant, her movements hesitant and second-guessed, Atlas recognised it in an instant, the signs of someone backed into an uncomfortable corner. She saw it often in the mirror. “Could I have more of these?”

“Oh — er — sure,” Atlas nodded and an elf ran by a moment later, depositing another small bag of crystal peach clusters atop the table with a soft thump, the sweets inside clattered together for a single moment before the lul of elven noise returned to the rooms forefront and the workers to normality. “Do you mind if I ask what happened?”

“It’s really none of your business.”

“Right…you’re right,” Atlas nodded, her hands out in front of her, trying to placate the irritable girl. They stared for a moment, Atlas’s mouth open, her eyes searching and mind grasping sentences too befuddled to form. She was seconds away from speaking when a small pop sounded from beside her and she turned instead, laying eyes upon an appearing Fobbo, the elf with a small sack over his shoulder. “Fobbo?”

He jumped, bag clattering to the ground but not sprawling apart to reveal its innards, the knot was tied too tightly. “Miss Atlas!”

“Where have you been this time?” Atlas queried but noticed the blatant disinterest from the elf, instead, he was looking at Astoria, eyes shining brightly as a small grin formed across his face. And then he started hopping up and down, all but throwing himself into Atlas’s arms, one of his large ears smacking against her nose. She groaned, reeling backwards while her hand shot to her face, desperate to cradle her injury.

“You found her! You found her! I knew Miss Atlas would do it! Fobbo is most pleased! Most pleased indeed!” Fobbo cheered and then pulled away quickly, hurrying over to Astoria and engaging in some quietly rushed chatter while Atlas ducked her head between her knees, groaning as drops of blood formed small pools between her feet.

“Not my bloody nose…” Atlas wheezed, blinking through tears as she raised her shirt again to stem the river of red creasing between her lips, “and what in Merlin’s name are you talking about?”

“This is the one! The one who gave Fobbo his book!” Fobbo cried in glee. “You has found her!”

“Wait, what?” Atlas looked up, looking over at Astoria with squinted eyes, gaze trailing across her sickness as comprehension dawned upon her, “but that means…Astoria, you have a blood curse?”

“I…how did — ?” Fear etched across Astoria’s face, horror at the thought of being found out, some inexplicable dread Atlas did not understand shining across her eyes. She was so scared, looked so suddenly vulnerable.

“Hey, woah,” Atlas spoke softly, reaching forward so suddenly Astoria stumbled from the bench, her sweets pooling across the floor and seat tipping over in her haste. “Shit, ok…” Atlas was slow in every movement, in the retracting of her hand, the dropping of her shirt, she was so careful, the delicacy of her descent from her own chair surprised even herself. “I’m sorry, sometimes I’m horribly blunt but you can blame Ginny for that and possibly even Hermione,” she smiled nervously. “I didn’t mean to…startle you?”

“How did you know!?”

“Fobbo…he can — er — he can sense it, the sickness in your blood,” Atlas replied crossing her legs and remaining seated, not daring to venture closer. 

“Have you — have you told anyone?”

“What? No…I only just figure it out myself, I didn’t really know who you were before finding you in the mud, I knew you were Daphne’s sister because you look incredibly similar,” Atlas reasoned and then went a little wide-eyed, “does Daphne have — ?”

“No.”

“Ok. All right,” Atlas resigned quietly, “Is there anything that might help — ?”

“…it’s none of your business,” Astoria replied icily.

“But if there’s something –“

“There’s nothing.”

“Right…” She was at a loss for what to do, “do you want me to do anything?”

“Don’t — don’t tell anyone…please,” Astoria said quietly and Atlas nodded quickly, a movement so drastically different from those she had down in the few minutes prior it had her head suddenly spinning.

“Of course…who else knows?”

“Daphne.”

“Is that all?” Atlas urged gently and Astoria glance up at her, remaining silent for so long Atlas thought she might have overstepped.

“Yes…apart from my parents, nobody else knows.”

“Not even…Dumbledore?”

“It would be a stain on our family if anybody found out, even the headmaster,” Astoria snapped, so harshly she seemed to almost faint, the paleness of her cheeks tripling. Even Fobbo, who had cowered behind the fallen bench moved to offer some support should the girl fall again. Her words were not her own, however, as if drilled into her by those she called parents, robotic in how they came out, spiteful and full of abhorrence. 

“Your family should care more for you than some fickle reputation, Astoria,” Atlas said softly.

“Perhaps,” Astoria whispered, drawing her knees to her chest. Atlas frowned and moved forward, stopping still when Astoria tensed but resuming when the girl relaxed, stopping again only when she was beside the girl and sat, cross-legged. “You really won’t tell anyone?”

“Why would I?”

“My sister…she –“

“The things between your sister and I are meaningless, just…petty fights. I suppose you were right, Pansy is the instigator, Daphne’s just a…face without a voice. They have nothing to do with you,” Atlas reasoned, nudging the girl with a small smile turned grim from the blood smeared across her face, it seemed to comfort Astoria, however. In some strange way. “Besides, I think you’re ok, you gave Fobbo a book.”

“Daphne likes elves too,” Astoria whispered and though Atlas made a face she did not speak, “she used to love our house-elf, bought her gifts all of the time and when she died, Daphne cried for months. She wears a necklace beneath her shirt, made by the elf, she’s never taken it off. If she’s asked about it though…she says I made it.”

“I…I see,” Atlas nodded quietly. “So, are you feeling any better?”

“It’s subsided for now,” Astoria supplied, curling further in on herself. “But it’ll be back.”

“I know you said it’s not my business but…do you not have…potions or…charms? Nothing that can help?” Atlas asked, brows furrowed as she looked upon the girl. Surely her parents would not let their child suffer. No matter how vile they were, no matter how conscious of their reputation they might be, there must be some care for their youngest. Enough to scour the wizarding world in its entirety for a witch or wizard capable of saving their child.

“Well…” Astoria was hesitant, a disagreement behind her eye, some trepidation. Should she trust Atlas, reveal secrets she has kept close to her heart since before she even understood the concept of mysteries, expose things never uttered even to an empty room?

“You don’t have to tell me. I understand.”

“No, I just…” Astoria chewed over her words, mouth moving soundlessly as Atlas simply nodded, encouraging but not so much Astoria felt an obligation to speak, “yes…there was a potion.”

“Good. That’s good,” Atlas smiled, “where do you keep it?”

“I don’t have any.”

“Right…well, where can we get some?”

“We can’t,” Astoria murmured and palmed at her watering eyes, combatting the tears that dared fall in front of a stranger. A kind-faced and understanding stranger but a stranger nonetheless, “the witch disappeared…she took her knowledge with her. Mother and father were trying to find a replacement but their attentions have been…torn. They don’t really care.”

“That’s…ok, it’s ok,” Atlas nodded, “just — ok.” She raised her hand to her mouth, tracing her fingertips across her bottom lip as she thought. She grew lost, dazed as her eyes fixed on a point beyond the interior of the kitchen, she mumbled, formulas flitting through her mind, recalling any potion she could, hauling them from the depths of the copious corridors of her mind, full of knowledge both meaningless and meaningful. 

Yet with all of this, all of this understanding, she could not find anything that might help Astoria, no matter how deeply she delved.

“Hey!”

A harsh shove, so harsh Atlas stumbled and her hand brushed against her swollen nose. It sent another bolt of lightning through her face and she falter again, blinking out of her daze and looking down at Astoria.

“Where’d you go?”

“I was…thinking.”

“Oh.” Astoria mouthed and went back to staring at her hands while Atlas went silent again, picking at the dried mud on her knees, brushing when it became brittle enough to wipe away. It left a mess on the floor that cleared in an instant. “I think I should go.”

“What?” Atlas looked up, realising Astoria had stood, “are you sure?”

“I won’t faint again.”

“Do you want me to walk with you?” Atlas asked, already to her feet but Astoria shook her head.

“No, that would be strange.”

“An older student helping a younger student to their dorm?” 

“A Gryffindor helping a Slytherin. More specifically, Atlas Black helping a Greengrass,” Astoria replied and Atlas stopped, furrowing her brows as the younger girl made for the portrait door, slowly, it seemed. She was not entirely well.

“Yes but –“

“I’ll be fine.”

“…ok,” Atlas nodded, “at least –” Astoria stopped and turned, “if you feel ill, come here again, Fobbo will get me and I’ll come as soon as I can,” she swore, motioning over to Fobbo who had been anxiously staring between the two the entire time, “I promise.”

“Thank you,” Astoria smiled and exited, leaving Atlas in the silence she left.

The reality of it all struck as the painting closed and Atlas ran her fingers through her hair, eyes slightly wide with her other hand on her hip as she silently processed all that had happened. Everything, all of it seemingly impossible to have actually transpired. Finding Astoria Greengrass in the mud, sick, feverish and dying. Dying. Astoria was dying.

A dull thud echoed through the kitchen sat in sudden silence, as Atlas fell to a bench and fiddled with her hands. She didn’t know Astoria, yet the knowledge of her slowly wilting was harsh, it was indescribable, it was well out of her hands, however, still, she felt a need to grasp it. But it was natural for her to feel such things. Astoria was young, though thirteen, still a child in Atlas’s eyes and so it was normal, expected for her to feel a need to help the young girl. Though knowing this, Atlas was still struck by her want to save this girl she had, moments ago, not known the name of.

“Miss…?”

“Fobbo,” Atlas breathed, still disorientated by such a twist of events. Astoria was so different from her sister. “What is it?”

“Fobbo is thinking the Miss needs to fix her nose.”

“My nose…? Right, my nose,” Atlas muttered, remembering why the entirety of her face was numb with pain. “I should go too, Fobbo. Sorry, you couldn’t talk with your friend.”

“That is ok. Fobbo does not mind. Though he is thinking…he is thinking the miss will save his friend,” Fobbo said, speaking as innocent as he was, looking up at Atlas with big, earnest eyes while Atlas stared back, tired, inexplicably distraught, clearly hesitant to promise something so outlandish.

“I…I don’t know if I can,” her own words struck her deep within her gut, twisting at the aftertaste of each syllable. She didn’t think she could? What an unthinkable thought. It wouldn’t do, could not do. She had to try, at least, to save this child, a stranger but still a child. A Greengrass whose parents cared so little a stranger would do better as a carer.

“Fobbo knows you can!”

“Fobbo…” Atlas murmured, looking guilty, remorseful for a failure that had not yet come to pass. With a sudden weight on her shoulders that was not hers to bear. “I…I’ll try.”

“Yes! Fobbo knew Miss Atlas would do something! Miss Atlas is the most amazing!” Fobbo cheered as Atlas stared at him, a brittle smile on her face that teetered on the edge of breaking. What if she tried her best and nothing came of it? She stood again and approached the door, tossing a wave behind her with a feeble goodbye, quieter than even the soft click of the painting’s latch.

She felt silly, stupid because of how this all affected her. Though she knew it was not just about a potion, or the possibility of Astoria getting worse, of not being able to help her. She knew there was something more.

It did not take long for her to find herself outside of Gryffindor Tower, the Lady staring upon her quietly, shocked no doubt, drawn speechless by her appearance as she wordlessly opened, allowing Atlas entrance as the girl ambled inside, avoiding those who lingered in the Common Room, buzzing with excitement, feasting on their latest spoils from Honeydukes. She itched at the back of her neck as she climbed the few stairs to her dorm room and stepped inside.

So much for a walk to clear her head.

“You’re back. I didn’t see you at Hogsmeade. Where did you…go…?” Hermione looked up from her desk, eyes widening as Atlas stared back, blankly, “Atlas…” she quickly stood and rushed over, taking the girl’s face in her hands, eyes pouring over her injuries and dropping to her knees where dried mud decorated the fabric of the girl’s joggers. “What — what happened? Who — ?”

“I’m ok,” Atlas interrupted, gently curling her palms around the hands upon her face and pulling them away, “it was an accident.”

“Accident! Accident!?” Hermione pulled Atlas over to her bed and pushed her atop the mattress, quickly rummaging through her drawers with a single hand while the other held a wand up and ready to use. “What sort of accident — I can’t believe — I’m gone for a few hours — bloody accident my arse — what kind of –“

“Hermione!” Atlas snapped, not harshly but curt enough to draw the girl from her ramblings. “It was an accident, I startled a third year and they elbowed me in a panic,” she explained, lied, but with enough sincerity even Hermione believed her. Seemed to, at least. “Honestly, don’t work yourself up about it, Mi.”

Hermione softened and pulled out a cloth from her desk, whisking her chair over to her and sitting so her knees slotted between Atlas’s legs. “Ok…sorry, today was…something,” she sighed and raised her wand, “Episkey –” Atlas groaned quietly at the sudden snap of her face, “– it was quite a turnout.”

“I see…” Atlas gritted as Hermione wet the rag and dabbed away at the blood, gently, carefully with her own face so close Atlas could feel the girls breath upon her lips. She leant back on instinct.

“Stop moving,” Hermione grumbled and Atlas obliged, returning slightly forward with her jaw clenched and head spinning. So much was happening, too much, her head was still reeling from Astoria’s story, now with a string of thoughts about the meeting and Hermione’s proximity pushing to the front. “So what did you do today?”

“I…walked.”

“You walked?”

“I was worried this morning, I wanted to clear my head,” Atlas admitted and Hermione rose her eyes to meet Atlas’s, hand still dabbing away at the dried blood.

“Because of the meeting?”

“Yes,” Atlas confirmed as Hermione’s thumb, though covered in cloth, brushed against her top lip. She withheld her shaky exhale and returned Hermione’s stare, waiting for the girl to lean away to dampen her cloth again. When she did, Atlas let her chest fall and inhaled deeply again.

“You could have just joined us.”

“I didn’t know where you were meeting, you didn’t tell me,” Atlas excused and froze when Hermione looked at her, in a way she had never done before.

“If I had, would you have shown?”

“I…can’t answer that,” Atlas breathed eventually and waited as Hermione drew closer again, wiping now, at the corners of her nose and grooves of her scars, probably bloodied so that they looked raw again.

“Exactly,” Hermione muttered quietly to herself and Atlas frowned, looking off to the side, “Atlas why won’t you join us?”

“I told you not to do anything stupid,” Atlas replied, avoidant of the question.

“This isn’t stupid. It’s not even drastic. We’re not actively shoving a fuck you sign in Umbridge’s face,” Hermione retorted, frustration carved in her features, her eyes as Atlas startled at the profanity. She would never get used to that. “And it’s not like I promised you anything.”

“Hermione, I know you’re angry at her but –“

“It’s not just about going against her,” Hermione snapped and pulled away, tossing her cloth to a piece of unused parchment on her desk. “This is bigger, we — we’re not learning how to defend ourselves Atlas! And we need to learn because Voldemort –” Atlas startled again, she had never heard Hermione say that name, his name, “– is getting stronger while we’re stuck reading propaganda! We need to be able to fight back!”

That struck a chord.

“It’s not our job to fight a war, Hermione!” Atlas retorted and stood heatedly, walking over to her side of the room. There was a moment where she just moved aimlessly, gesticulating wildly in the air with muddled words spewing from her mouth before she took off her bloodied shirt hurriedly and threw it to the floor, shuffling through her dresser to find her nightshirt only to come up empty. She gave in and turned, throwing her hands up in the air angrily again, “we are children! Fucking children! The war should be left to the adults! The adults should be doing this not us! Do you not remember what happened to the last group of kids Dumbledore tasked with saving the wizarding world!? Because I do! I still taste the blood of my own fucking mother on my tongue!”

“And I understand that –“

“No, you fucking don’t,” Atlas heaved, scowling as Hermione startled, eyes growing wide as they stared upon the shaking figure across from her. “You could never — you…you don’t understand.”

“You’re right…I’m sorry, Atlas, I don’t understand,” Hermione nodded and stood as well, moving closer to place her hands upon Atlas’s arms. “So help me to.”

“I would never want for you to understand,” Atlas whispered desperately, “because for you to understand those things…I couldn’t — Hermione, I don’t want you to fight in this war.”

“…but that’s not for you to decide, I’m — everyone that joins this organisation, our secret lessons…their involvement in this war will never be for you to decide Atlas. We’ll fight to protect ourselves and each other, whether you’re with us or not,” Hermione eased, trying to put things as delicate as possible, “you’re right, we shouldn’t have to fight but we do. You know this, Atlas, deep down I know you do.”

“It’s not fair.”

“That, I at least, know.”

“Please just…fuck, Hermione, be careful,” Atlas breathed, “don’t get caught, she’d…Umbridge would — fuck, ok,” Atlas broke away, running a hand through her hair anxiously as Hermione frowned at her back, moving to get a better look at Atlas’s face. “You can’t get caught.”

“I know, Atlas.”

“Good, ok, ok, ok,” Atlas rambled.

“Atlas?”

“I’m good, I’m ok, there’s just a lot,” Atlas muttered, pointing at her head. “I can’t think.”

“That’s ok. Hey, it’s ok, try and focus on something else,” Hermione whispered, Atlas nodded quickly and pulled her in for a firm hug, “I suppose…that works as well. I bought you some chocolate today, that might help, would you like some?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“All right…is there really nothing else you want?”

Atlas hugged tighter, “no.”

Everything she needed, she already held.