Chapter 96

Books piled high around Atlas, towering so that darkness consumed her, combated only by the lantern she sat beside her. It cast shadows across her front, made her face, etched in concentration, appear almost gaunt, lifeless as dull eyes poured over each page, stained with its old age. Her ungloved hand turned each page, her other, donned in leather, scrawling words across the parchment of her notebook, noting each notable piece of knowledge she could snatch.

For days, Atlas could only think of finding a cure. A cure or at least something to negate the effects of Astoria’s condition. With Minerva’s warnings and wisdom in mind, she had been looking through tomes and papyrus, mountains of understanding just to see if she could. To satisfy Fobbo and to help a young and kind girl, one she had not seen since finding her face down in that dirt. It was a welcome distraction, pulling her thoughts from Hermione and her small army, away from Umbridge and further from the budding war and the lost life that had sparked it all.

She clenched her hand into a tight fist around her quill, eyes drifting to where the ring decorated her finger beneath the cloth of her glove, chilling it to an unwarmable degree. She wondered if Cedric would have joined, if he would have urged her on, encouraged her to defy Umbridge so boldly. But those thoughts were fleeting. Thinking of him when her resolve was so weak would only pull her under further. She hadn’t thought of him in so long, not since her talk with Hermione, their chat about him and who he was. Atlas smiled faintly, a tightness to her throat as she raised her hand to her eyes, closing them for a moment.

He smiled at her from some memory from her distant past. At least she could see him there, in her mind but she didn’t do it often. It was still painful.

A sigh. She leant back, running her hand through her hair and cracking her arms. What was she doing here? Trying to save Astoria, yes. But why? Because Astoria was young, she didn’t deserve to have her childhood hindered because of something someone else, her blood of aeons gone, had done. She deserved to live a long fulfilling life. Just as they all did. So maybe that was it, Atlas could not stop the war, no matter how she might try, no matter what she might do but if she could do something, anything to help one little girl, by Merlin she would try.

The thought led her back to Hermione’s proposal, her request that Atlas teach those students to defend themselves. It would help them, it could even save them but she would be participating in the creation of an army, then again, that army would rise, regardless if she were a part of its creation. She was confused, Atlas was confused, torn, her thoughts growing louder the more she thought, eyes wetter the more her ideals contradicted. That familiar tightness settled in her chest and Atlas took in a quick breath, hands over her ears as she sought to steady her breathing, to hold the numbness of her arms at bay.

It worked. To a degree. Atlas opened her eyes once more, chest rising unevenly, silent tears falling from her eyes. She shook her head, hasty in her movements to pack her books away and when they had found their homes she stood and grabbed her notes, exiting the library without even a glance to Madam Pince. She read through them again almost desperately, frantic to rid her mind of her thoughts, to only focus on one thing. Potions. Alchemy. All things that were famously able to combat illnesses of the body rather than injuries.

But she saw students in the distance, secretive students who whispered things, topics of meetings, a room of requirement and the DA. Amongst them was a face she had not spoken to since the train ride. A face Atlas knew as Cho Chang. Their eyes caught and Atlas froze, notes almost slipping from her fingers. So Cho had joined Hermione’s group? Of course. It only made sense, so why did it strike Atlas so painfully? She just stared for a moment, her jaw tense as Cho directed her friends down the corridor.

And when it looked as if Cho might approach her, Atlas left for Gryffindor Tower, looking back to her notes and going through the potions once more.

The common room was devoid of any familiar faces when she arrived, just as her dorm room was. She’d become accustomed to such a thing, being alone in the afternoons, only finding company in the comfort of teammates on training days, school hours were the only pockets of time where she wasn’t alone but even then all her trio spoke of was their group, meeting times and dates. Hermione had been especially avoidant, her smiles almost grimaces. As if she were pained in some way.

Nobody was around anymore.

Atlas sat at her desk, sprawling her notes out in front of her as she stared at her ceiling, finding patterns in the aged wood above. Crookshanks eventually found comfort in her lap and purred to fill the silence but he was the only one, Kalo and Little Robin were out flying and her Agoniser would no longer wake. It was lonely, she quietly admitted, cold. She looked back upon her desk and reached out for her lion doll once more.

She’d come to hold it more as of late, finding some old comfort in the fibres as she inclined backwards in her chair, the doll resting tucked beneath her chin, its charred fabric itching at the exposed skin of her neck. The rumbling silence of the room soon paved a way for her thoughts to mingle, inviting that noise within her space once more, so she chased it away using the gift Hermione had gotten her the year prior. The Walkman she often used to study.

Music filled her ears and overruled any raucous whispers that dared test her, she simply lived in the notes, between each symphony as old songs of romance danced between her ears. She closed her eyes, humming quietly as she idly ran her fingers through the fur in her lap and cradled the doll against her chest. It was peaceful for a time, the exhaustion of her features melting from the creases between her brow so that her face adopted a look of softness, the kind she only wore on the most fortunate of nights. Where no dreams of darkness tried and ruined her day before it dared begin.

She sighed, turning back to her desk and eyeing her notes. The easy part was slowing the blood, Atlas had almost cracked a perfect formula in that regard, she was just stuck on isolating the curse. Nothing she read had remotely nudged her in the direction of her answer, it was infuriating. Even after countless hours spent reading through books and scrolls, it was still as if the answer just didn’t exist, or rather, hadn’t been documented. Atlas knew it existed, after all, Astoria had been getting Potions to help her before.

There was nothing she could do right now, she’d have to start fresh, maybe ask Astoria about certain symptoms, gather a better insight on what she would be working with. Even though Daphne had told her to stay away.

A door creak met her ear through the music and she turned, plucking one of the headphones from her lobe to listen to any greeting Hermione might give her. But none came, only the quiet acknowledgement she gave to Crookshanks when the cat woke and padded over to his owner. She didn’t even seem to notice Atlas as she walked inside and placed her bag at the foot of her bed, a few clinks coming from inside. Like the sound of two coins colliding.

Hermione was avoiding her, ignoring her still. Why? Atlas was going to find out. She stood, placing her Walkman on her desk but keeping her doll in hand as she approached the girl, the soft melody of whatever romance song she had been listening to acting as a filler of the silence.

“Mi…” Atlas murmured and Hermione glanced over to her, nodding for her to continue as she busied herself with her clothes, “did I do something wrong?”

“…how do you mean?” Hermione replied, the longest string of words Atlas had heard from her in quite some time.

“You’re ignoring me.”

“I’ve been busy…I’m just contemplating some things,” Hermione excused, turning away to unbutton her shirt.

“You’re not busy enough to avoid Harry and Ron as well though…”

“It’s to do with the DA.”

“You’re lying,” Atlas pressed with a frown, her grip around her doll growing tighter.

“That’s rich,” Hermione muttered under her breath but, of course, Atlas heard.

“What are you talking about?”

“You’d think, as I’m your best friend, you’d tell me if you were dating someone,” Hermione said, turning with a glare. Atlas startled, her lips parting slightly as she stared at the girl, lost for words.

“I’m…I’m not.”

“I’m not blind, Atlas,” Hermione continued, tossing her shirt aside and grabbing her pyjamas. “I saw the lipstick, the dishevelled clothes. You smelt like cherries, Atlas, you never smell like cherries, you always smell like — like the forest, warmth, strawberries…not cherries.”

“Cherries? Hermione, what are you…?” Atlas made a face of sudden realisation. She’d almost forgotten, “Hermione, I’m not seeing anyone. That day…ok, I did lie and yes, I was kissed but she kissed me and I pushed her way. Honestly, Hermione, it was meaningless, just a stupid kiss.”

“Just a stupid kiss?” That had apparently been the wrong thing to say, for reasons Atlas did not know, or rather, felt she could not remember. “Why is that your excuse every time you kiss somebody?”

“Why do you care so much?” Atlas said and Hermione puffed up in frustration.

“I don’t! You’re at perfect liberty to kiss whoever you like. It’s none of my business, I’d just…like to know if you date anybody,” Hermione muttered and Atlas looked at her, tilting her head to the side as her grip on her doll lessened and she smiled faintly, shaking her head. “What?”

“You would be the first person to know,” Atlas assured, “was this really the reason you’ve been avoiding me? Because you thought I hadn’t told you I was seeing someone?”

“Well…” Hermione flushed, brows narrowed as she gritted her teeth, “no…”

“So? What else did I do?”

“I really was just busy with the DA,” Hermione insisted and turned, pulling back her covers viciously as Atlas remained still, watching her every move. Then she resigned and sat back at her desk, returning to her music with only one headphone cupped around her ear, just in case Hermione spoke again. She played with her doll idly, sitting it atop her knee and fiddling with its arms.

“You know…” Atlas began, she couldn’t wait for Hermione to talk, “if you were so concerned, you could have just talked to me about it. Instead of avoiding me.”

“I was dealing with something, even before you lied.”

“Yeah? What?” Atlas inquired, glancing over at the girl. She looked contemplative.

“I was just…thinking of moving on.”

“From?”

“The person I love,” Hermione said and Atlas stopped, her hands freezing around her lion. She knew Hermione liked someone but not that it had progressed to love.

“Why so suddenly?” Atlas asked, turning her music off completely.

“People talk about me, you know?” Hermione began and Atlas shifted in her chair. “It’s sort of…stupid compared to the stuff you and Harry have to endure but…it makes me think.”

“You shouldn’t mind what those tossers say, Mi. The person you…care for…is probably not someone persuaded so easily by public opinion,” Atlas observed.

“What makes you say that?”

“You wouldn’t like them, otherwise,” Atlas said and Hermione smiled faintly.

“Yeah…you’re right, she’s not but…I suppose I am, when it comes to stuff about me said by others, I start to believe it,” Hermione admitted quietly and Atlas frowned. “I guess it really was stupid in the end.”

“Hermione is the best,” Atlas said loudly and Hermione turned to her, confused.

“Atlas?”

“Hermione is awesome. She is the greatest and smartest. Nobody can compare. Her brains are otherworldly,” Atlas continued and then smiled, a smile larger than any she had done in quite some time, “are you being swayed by my public opinion?”

“That’s not –“

“No? Ok, I’ll keep going. Hermione is the best in the school. The most pretty, with the most gorgeous smile. She is amazing and Atlas Black is lucky to have her as a friend,” Atlas beamed, tilting her head to the side as Hermione stared at her, colour in her cheeks that had not been there before. Then, she laughed, dropping her hands to her face.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Did it work?” Atlas asked, “are the worthless opinions of those blinded by jealousy still worth more than my opinion? And you know, I bet the person you like thinks the same as me. So you shouldn’t give up, Mi, if she makes you happy, go for it. But if she breaks your heart, send her my way and I’ll break her face.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Hermione grinned and it was as if the tension from that morning had never been there at all. As if just hours ago Atlas had not been pouring over research, had not been suffering the onslaught of disorderly thoughts. It was normal, for a few minutes, sure, but it was enough for the moment.

“So…” Atlas spoke again, seconds later, “are you going to move on?”

“I don’t think I could, even if I tried,” Hermione admitted softly and Atlas smiled to herself, it was small, a little painful but it was a smile.

“That’s good then,” she muttered, nodding slowly. “Tell me how it goes if you decide to confess.”

“I will…who kissed you by the way?”

“Er — so, I have this homework that needs doing and I –“

Hermione never got an answer that night but some part of her was thankful for this, some part of her didn’t want to know.

The time Atlas spent with her friends significantly increased after that day, DA meetings had come to an end to make time for all Quidditch players to train for their respective up and coming matches, so she was able to see Harry and Ron more frequently. Not to mention the rest of her team who she’d found out had also joined the little army. It made her second guess herself once more when she’d initially found out, the fact that most of Gryffindor’s had enlisted themselves in this miniature corps.

Everything seemed fine without her, however, so her resolve had not continued to waver. She had overheard whispers between her teammates in the sky, happenings and insights of their secret endeavours. They were doing just fine without her help, Harry was a good teacher. So she managed to push the talk aside, managed to continue with her training without hindrance, even through the abysmal weather, cold conditions brought on by the true monster known only as the elements.

It was fun, for a time, Quidditch had always been liberating for her but it failed to ignite her spark to its fullest flame. It seemed no matter how high and fast she flew, her problems continued to disrupt her even in the sky, dulling her gleam. But it was fine, even if she did not find as much enjoyment in the sport as she once did, she still found some semblance of happiness when she soared, perhaps when they won the match against Slytherin it would change. Maybe it would help her.

Their training came to an end and Angelina beckoned them from the sky, talking idly of things they could improve, things they had done well, congratulating them after tearing them down so they were not left disappointed. Then they changed but unlike the other times, where they’d walk back to the Tower together, laughing and joking about, flinging mud throughout the halls. Atlas was asked to leave.

She was confused for a moment, all of them turning to her expectantly, they each held some sheepishness to them, something sorry as they surrounded Harry. Then it hit. They were going to talk about the DA. They didn’t want her there, she was an outsider to that, she hadn’t joined and her knowing was perhaps a liability.

“Right…” Atlas nodded and shut her locker, “yeah, I’ll see you guys later.”

And she left, hearing their whispers as she turned her back and let the door shut behind her. It was a strange feeling, the emotion that donned her face but she didn’t seek to understand it, she was tired from practice, cold, fingers numb, hair damp, she wouldn’t have wanted to stay anyway, the showers were calling for her.

It was a welcome warmth when she made it to the Prefects bathrooms, the ones down the corridor from Gryffindor Tower. She’d decided to visit those instead, finding her own private bath was better than a timed shower. Hermione had given her the password for a reason after all, and she was intent on using it. She was immersed in the soapy waters, stale rain and dried mud flaking from her body as she submerged herself. It engulfed her kindly, not unlike the depths of despair she frequently waded within but not quite the same either, as instead, this was warmth, a comforting embrace rather than one of cruelty.

Her hair floated around her as she hugged her knees to her chest, peering through the water and through the calming tint of blue. She could swim if she wanted, the bath was so huge but she figured that was for another day, today she would simply relax. After a few minutes, she arose and took in a breath, running her hands up her face to clear her eyes of the water before puffing out a burst of air, looking around the room and over to the mermaid sat prettily on her rock, combing her hair. She waved as the woman flipped her locks behind her and straightened her back, smiling.

She looked nothing like the merfolk in the black lake. So perhaps her true identity was that of a siren. Would it be rude to ask? Atlas didn’t want to upset her so she refrained and stared up at the ceiling. The scent of her bodywash rose with the temperature of the water and she sighed, content. So she smelt like strawberries? She remembered Hermione had mentioned it, she was glad to know her soaps worked so well.

Before long her fingertips had grown wrinkly, her time in the bath well exceeding the time normal people spent bathing themselves, so she decided to leave, standing up and grabbing her towel to dry herself. Idly humming as she changed and left, the warmth following her out of the door.

“You’re not a prefect,” Atlas glanced to her side, finding an unfamiliar boy with a towel tucked under his arm, his Ravenclaw tie telling of his house and the badge upon his lapel depicting his position as a prefect. Atlas couldn’t remember his name, Hermione and Ron had told her the names of all the prefects that day on the train but she hadn’t been paying attention.

“I know…” Atlas muttered, rubbing at her hair, “my friend gave me the password.”

“Well, she shouldn’t have.”

“How do you know I’m talking about a girl?”

“Hermione, right?” He asked and Atlas froze, “so I was right?”

“What’s your name?”

“Anthony Goldstein,” he replied, raising his hand, Atlas took it slowly, the name familiar to her befuddled mind.

“Are you related to — ?”

“Porpentina Scamander?” He seemed to sigh and Atlas grimaced, figuring the boy had perhaps been asked this question many times before. “Yes, I am, distantly.”

“Right…well, I don’t know if you know but my mum, Amaya Magi — Amaya worked with Newt Scamander,” Atlas said, still rubbing at her damp hair but idly now, so that the same spot at the back of her head became scruffy.

“I know…” Anthony nodded and then smiled sorrily, “if you’re going to ask if I know where they went, I’m sorry but I don’t. You’re not the first to ask me about them, well, you are the first student but I’ve had reporters at my doorsteps looking for a scoop since I was small.”

“I know how that feels,” Atlas murmured with a nod of understanding, “I’m sorry…I just, I had been researching him last year and came across dead ends, when I heard your name it just clicked.”

“It’s no problem,” Anthony shrugged, “but just so you know, I really don’t know anything about them, like I said they’re distant relatives. I might as well not be related at all.”

“Yeah…”

“Sorry again. About not being able to help.”

“No that’s fine, it was a stretch anyway. I gave up on it last year,” Atlas smiled and stepped aside, “sorry for disturbing you, I won’t use this place in the future.”

“I don’t mind, Padma says you’re nice.”

“Padma? Oh, Parvati’s sister, yeah, tell her I said hi,” Atlas nodded and then gave her own farewell, turning to go back to her dorm. She hadn’t seen Padma since the Yule ball. But that wasn’t something to think about, instead, Atlas thought back to Newt Scamander. Right, the man who had been mentioned in that unreadable book her mother had published.

It was true that she’d tried to find any leads on him the year prior, but none of it bore any fruit so she’d dropped it, the trials had been a more pressing matter. But now? Well, she was trying to help Astoria and Umbridge was still breathing down her neck, she didn’t think she could find anything on him but maybe she could ask. Merlin, there was way too much happening. It seemed every time Atlas dared relax she was reminded of yet another problem. She should just drop it, who’s to say Newt Scamander was still alive anyway? Maybe he disappeared to live the remainder of his life in solitude, away from people. She wouldn’t blame him.

Not to mention her motivation to learn more about herself had all but disappeared, she had realised every time she found the answers to something it damned her even further.

Atlas sighed and tossed her towel over her shoulder, shaking her head as she entered through the Lady’s open portrait. Inside there was a buzz of chatter between the inhabitants, each conversation coming to an end as soon as Atlas stopped in the Common Room. All eyes turned on her. They were surrounding her trio, Harry, Ron and Hermione standing to look over at her as she opened and closed her mouth soundlessly. She’d walked in on another small DA meeting and felt immensely uncomfortable.

“Sorry…” she murmured and tossed a thumb over her shoulder, slowly shuffling to the stairs that led upwards and to her dorm room. “I’ll go.”

“You can stay,” Hermione smiled.

“No, she can’t,” A tall blonde boy said, Atlas recognised him as the one Hermione had partnered with last year, practising for the Yule ball. Cormac McLaggen.

“Yes she can,” Harry defended, glaring at the boy.

“She hasn’t got her name written down,” another protested, this time it was Romilda. Seemed she had gone off Atlas.

“She doesn’t need to be,” Ron snapped.

“She’s not a part of the DA,” Cormac persisted and Harry went to speak, a scowl on his lips.

“It’s fine, honestly,” Atlas said tensely, holding her hands up. Having them fighting between each other would only spell disaster. “They’re right, I’ve got no right. You said it yourself, Mi, if I didn’t join, I should stay out of it entirely.”

“Yeah, but –” Hermione sighed, looking off to her side when Atlas shot her a small smile. “Ok…”

“Cool, so I’ll go,” Atlas said and turned to leave.

“Hold on!” This time it was Ginny. The girl ran after her, excusing herself from the group. “Sorry, I need to talk to Atlas, Colin will fill me in later, carry on without me.”

“All right,” Harry murmured and addressed his group once more, leaving Atlas and Ginny to ascend to the dorms together.

Atlas had not a clue what the girl might want from her but by the looks of her face, it was something important. She looked worried, brows furrowed so deeply she seemed to glare a trail in the stairs as she conquered them. Never had Atlas seen her so serious and it was concerning, just what might the girl be thinking. It was in moments like these that Atlas wished she had learnt the gift of the Legilimens.

“Zasha sent me a letter.”

In an instant, Atlas froze, Ginny, continuing ahead and opening the door to her and Hermione’s dorm room. She was quick to follow after her, closing the door quickly and sitting at the end of her bed, watching Ginny as the girl picked at a few objects Atlas had shelved.

“I got it a few hours ago,” she told and Atlas remained silent, “she sends me her regards, she says she misses me and…she warned me.”

“Of?”

“I don’t know, she just…told us to demonstrate caution. She’s worried about us. Atlas, what if she knows something is coming because she’s been inducted,” Ginny said and Atlas frowned, her features darkening as she dropped her gaze to her hands fiddling with her fingers. “Atlas, please say something.”

“I don’t know Ginny. If she’s a Death Eater…I don’t know,” Atlas sighed, dragging her palms down her face. “I mean, if she has then she sent you that letter at great personal risk. She couldn’t send me a letter for years and she wasn’t even under Voldemorts control yet.”

“You’re not helping.”

“I know, Ginny. I’m sorry,” Atlas muttered as the girl took a seat across from her, “I don’t know what you want me to say. We’ve known for a while Voldemort is getting stronger.”

“But what if it’s not just about us, what if — look, I know you don’t like the Order but remember how they were guarding something? What if it’s to do with that? Zash probably knows we’re a part of it and sent me a letter to warn everyone,” Ginny said and Atlas glanced up at her, suddenly standing with her hand out.

“Give me the letter.”

“What?”

“I’m going to go to Dumbledore.”

“I’ll go with you,” Ginny made to stand as well but Atlas shook her head, pressing her back into her chair, “Atlas?”

“If you go, Dumbledore might rope you into some scheme, he might rope you into the Order. I’m already a part of it so it’s fine if I go,” Atlas explained and sighed when Ginny backed away, putting a defensive hand over her pocket.

“Good, I want to be a part of the Order.”

“This isn’t your fight. Not yet.”

“It’s my fight because it’s Zasha’s fight.”

“Stop with that,” Atlas snapped, “you think she wants you fighting in this war?”

“She knows I’m the type to,” Ginny retorted.

“Ginny, please, just let me do this,” Atlas implored, her expression suddenly sombre, “I know you’ll become part of the Order someday, no matter how I try to stop it but right now? You can at least live without worrying about some stupid mission. I know you want to fight but not now…not yet, please.”

“…fine,” Ginny resigned, pulling out the letter and slapping it in Atlas’s open palm, annoyed, “tell me what he says.”

“I will. Thank you,” Atlas sighed.

She turned and exited her dorm, further leaving the common room where she broke out into a light jog, turning down halls and sliding down the handrails of stairs until she made it to that familiar corridor. One she had not visited since finding out the truth of the name Astraea and its origin. The Gargoyle’s granted her entry as soon as she arrived, the password on her tongue and soon she was at Dumbledore’s door, a scowl on her face as she marched inside.

He was sat in his chair, scribbling down passages upon old papyrus.

“Atlas.”

“Dumbledore, I’ve some information,” Atlas reported, tossing the letter to the table. Dumbledore took it, examining it over his half-moon spectacles with a glimmer to his pale eyes. “Zasha Volkova recently contacted Ginny, warned her of something. We — I think it might have something to do with the Order. About the weapon we’re guarding.”

“We’re? So you’ve accepted your induction?”

“…I didn’t have a choice,” Atlas muttered and then sighed her shoulders slackening. “Do you think we should worry?”

“You say young Ginny Weasley was the recipient?”

“Does it matter?”

“She’s read this?” Dumbledore asked and Atlas scowled.

“Naturally.”

“I’m surprised she’s not here with you.”

“I knew you’d try something,” Atlas accused and Dumbledore glanced at her, humming something under his breath before returning to the letter and examining it once more, searching between the lines, into the very fibres of the page. “So?”

“I’ll alert the Order, thank you for bringing this to me.”

“I did it for Zash, her efforts should not be in vain after all,” Atlas said and approached the desk, taking the paper back and tucking it into her zipper pocket. She turned for the door. “That’s all, so I’ll be going.”

“Whispers say you’ve been looking for Newt Scamander.”

“Whispers are ugly things.”

“Do you deny it?” Dumbledore pressed, Atlas glanced at him, half tempted to ask answers of him but she refrained. She would not make herself indebted to the devil.

“Goodnight professor,” she said, leaving at once.

When she returned, the meeting had ended and Ginny was nowhere to be seen. So she’d slid it under the girl’s door and gone to bed, a million thoughts running rampant through her mind. Zasha. Remembering her, their departing words, Atlas couldn’t help the pang of worry that struck the chords of her heart.

Another thing to lose sleep over.