Chapter 95

Monday morning came and Atlas left, early, just as the sun kissed the horizon, leaving Gryffindor Tower to slumber as she moved throughout the castle, undisturbed by any souls doing some early morning wandering and came to her destination minutes later. Minerva’s office, nobody was inside yet, no light pouring from the crack at the bottom of the door but Atlas ventured inside regardless, closing it quietly behind her and flicking the light on with a whisk of her wand.

It was quiet, the usual paper planes and figures of creatures from legends of old remaining stationary, their natural state, even when Atlas picked them up and examined them to pass the time. The room was quite eerie when there was no true life inside, many unseeing eyes surveying the innards of the office and in turn, Atlas as she sat in a worn chair, torn from excessive usage.

She fiddled with her gloves, stood up at moments to walk to the length of the room, skimming the spines of old Transfiguration books and gazing upon the old magical instruments strung from the ceiling. All of this to pass every minute she spent waiting for Minerva’s arrival, which was apparently much later than usual. By now the woman would be marking the last dregs of homework she had been given or marking up new lesson plans, perhaps even taking a secret cat nap to soothe her weary bones. But no, the woman was nowhere to be found.

Not until a good half an hour later, when breakfast had reached its halfway mark. That was when she ambled inside, first confused by the light of her office and then understanding when she lay her eyes upon Atlas, the girl sat with a small cat figure in hand. It came to life and jumped away, leaving Atlas to blink out of her stupor, suddenly sitting straighter and turning to look up at Minerva.

“Atlas, what are you doing here?”

“Minerva,” Atlas stood and brushed herself down, glancing around for a moment only to appreciate how everything came to life, filling the room with a mystical warmth. “You’re later than usual.”

“Yes, well, I have had many students pursuing me this morning, in regards to Professor Umbridge’s new decree. Please do not tell me you are also seeking such guidance?” Minerva queried and at the look on Atlas’s face, she relaxed, “seems not. So, what can I do for you, my dear?”

“I just…I needed to ask you something. About potions,” Atlas said and Minerva rose a brow, “and no, I can’t go to Snape with this.”

“I see, well, I am a Transfiguration professor, Atlas, so I might not have the answers you seek,” Minerva reasoned as she took her seat, raising a hand to stroke a large wooden cat that wandered over to her. “What would you like to know.”

“Is there…how would one go about making a cure for a blood curse?”

“A blood curse?” Minerva repeated and Atlas nodded, hands behind her back as Minerva looked upon her quizzically, “well, unless one could go back in time and cure the origin, curing a descendent of the curse bearer is, as of late, impossible.”

“Ok, so…what about potions to slow it down?”

“That is possible, I’ve heard of many blood curse bearers living their lives pain-free until their untimely demise thanks to many different witches and wizards,” Minerva nodded and Atlas went a little wide-eyed, “however, I am not one of those witches capable of producing such a thing, nor do I think Professor Snape would be able. Those recipes are taken to the grave. Such a selfish thing to do.”

“You…don’t have a clue, or?”

Minerva sighed, looking upon her goddaughter curiously again before resuming, “in theory, one would have to stem the flow of the curse in the bearer’s blood. But, the curse and the blood are merged as one, so, first, one would have to separate those two subjects, which is a most difficult task.”

“Right, ok…” Atlas nodded as Minerva continued.

“If done incorrectly, however, I suspect the bearer will die. Slowing the blood flow as a whole rather than succeeding in separating curse from ichor will no doubt result in a fatality,” Minerva said and Atlas paled, mouth dry, sucked of any moisture. “Why do you ask, Atlas?”

“…curiosity,” Atlas muttered, looking to the floor.

There was a length of silence between them before Minerva coughed sharply, “While you’re here…Atlas, I must ask that whatever you and your trio of troublemakers are up to be stopped.”

“What?” Atlas blinked looking up quizzically.

“The High Inquisitor has issued a decree that any organisation be disbanded. Now, this could be due to many things, however, I’ve realised in my years of teaching you four, that nothing is a coincidence. And reports from the Order tell me Harry Potter was spotted at the Hogs Head Inn leading a meeting,” Minerva said and Atlas blanched, drawing a look of concern upon Minerva’s face. “Atlas?”

“Ok, yeah…I’ll — I’ll tell them,” Atlas nodded quickly and stumbled to the door, “I’ll tell them right now.”

“Atlas, dear, wait a moment — !”

The door slammed closed behind her and Atlas all but sprinted down the corridor, turning when she realised Breakfast had long since ended and instead pushing her way to History of Magic. Faces blurred past her as she ran. Thoughts of Umbridge, sat in her office, with that smile on her face run rampant through Atlas’s mind. She couldn’t have found out. Not so soon. Yet it was all too perfect, such coincidental timing.

Atlas almost slipped as she turned a corner, barrelling into her lesson and disturbing the musings inside. Professor Binns, her eternally irritable teacher spun around and brought her into a sharp droning lecture, but she hardly paid him any mind, muttering apologies idly and then sitting instantly beside Hermione when he was finished, mouth moving to speak.

“She doesn’t know,” Hermione rushed, placing a hand atop one of Atlas’s own.

“How do you know? She could — she could have –“

“Atty, she doesn’t know,” Hermione eased, “I had everybody sign their names, instantly putting them under a contract. If they were to have broken it, we would know.”

“Then how…”

“Coincidence.”

“It’s too perfect. Too –“

“Atlas, stop,” Hermione interrupted curtly and Atlas froze, looking at her desperately. “We’re safe.”

“Ok…ok,” Atlas pulled away, staring so intently at the wood of her desk she looked to be seeing its past, its life in a bountiful forest.

“Atlas,” Hermione whispered, turning in her seat and putting down her quill, both hands now moving to soothe the girl, one palm was on her shoulder, while the other brushed against her thigh. “She doesn’t know.”

If she did, they wouldn’t be sitting in History of Magic. That thought was what eventually soothed Atlas, the girl, though agitated, knee bouncing, sat dutifully through the rest of class, making notes with Hermione’s hand still placed upon her thigh. It comforted her just as much as it distracted her from her thoughts and she made it to the end of the lesson without breaking down into a puddle of nerves at the whisperings going on between Parvati and Lavender. Both girls were unhelpfully muttering about the latest decree throughout the entire hour.

Potions was next, bringing thoughts of blood curses and Astoria Greengrass back to the foremost part of Atlas’s musings, she did not notice Harry’s absence, nor did she notice Ron’s. Hermione was walking beside her still, shuffling through papers and books, occasionally looking up to ask a question, or rather, to repeat one. She’d get a vague answer in return as Atlas grazed through her own books but nothing more, eventually earning several mild and mock-offended grumbles of disbelief.

Harry and Ron returned some moments later, Harry clutching a rolled up piece of parchment in hand and speaking in whispers to the three but Atlas was hardly listening, gaze set on Daphne Greengrass across the hall. The Slytherin was leant against the wall, chatting with Tracey and Milicent on her left while Pansy hung off Draco’s arm to her right. It was strange, knowing something private about Daphne’s family without the girl herself knowing. It felt off, somehow, she didn’t know why.

“Yeah, Umbridge gave the Slytherin Quidditch team permission to continue playing straight away, I went to ask her first thing this morning,” Atlas blinked, glancing over to Draco who was waving around an official-looking roll of parchment. “Well, it was pretty much automatic, I mean, she knows my father really well, he’s always popping in and out of the Ministry…it’ll be interesting to see whether Gryffindor are allowed to keep playing, won’t it?”

“Wait, what?” Atlas murmured, looking over at Harry, Ron and Hermione to find the boys watching on with faces set and fists clenched. “Gryffindor’s not allowed to play Quidditch?”

“It’s an organisation,” Harry told, looking at Atlas, angry and clearly provoked, “Umbridge has disbanded those, hasn’t she? That twat over there is –“

“Don’t rise,” Hermione pleaded while the boys grew angrier with every Slytherin laugh they heard, “it’s what he wants.”

“I mean,” Malfoy started again, raising his voice a little more, grey eyes catching brown as Atlas turned to meet his nasty glare, “if it’s a question of influence with the Ministry, I don’t think they’ve got much chance…from what my father says, they’ve been looking for an excuse to sack Arthur Weasley for years…Black’s already despised by the Minister and as for Potter…my father says it’s a matter of time before the Ministry has him carted off to St. Mungo’s…apparently they’ve got a special ward for people whose brains have been addled by magic.”

Atlas grew wide-eyed as Draco pulled his face into the shape of something grotesque, his mouth sagging as he rolled his eyes to the back of his skull, he twitched mockingly as noises of garbled words fell from his tongue, amusing those snakes that surrounded him. Crabbe and Goyle gave their usual dull grunts of laughter while Pansy went the extra mile, screeching with twisted glee.

Harry went falling into her a moment later and Atlas caught him, confused by the sudden collision until she caught sight of Neville’s back. The boy was lunging for Draco in a blind fury, arms thrashing in the air. Atlas heard, vaguely, Harry’s voice through the commotion as she moved forward, grabbing Neville from behind and holding him as tight as she could.

“Calm down, mate…calm down,” Atlas whispered, dragging him gradually back as she looked upon the shocked face of Draco Malfoy. She couldn’t help it when her gaze drifted to the right, eyes stopping on Daphne Greengrass to find the girl frowning, in concern? Worry? Unease? Atlas did not know and it was gone soon enough, the Slytherin’s eyes having caught Atlas’s.

“Not…funny…don’t…Mungo’s…show…him…” Neville heaved with exertion, trying his best to fight against Atlas’s unrelenting hold but it was no use, even with his rage to fuel him, he could not best Atlas in a trial of strength.

“I know…I know, come on,” Atlas continued as, slowly, the fight left the boy and he hung limply in her arms, nostrils flaring just as his fists did. Atlas let go, unhurriedly, carefully, so that she could grab Neville if he rushed again but no such thing happened and the boy returned to Gryffindor’s line, stewing in ire. “There we go.”

“Should have that boy on a leash,” Draco remarked and Atlas turned to him.

“I’d mind my tongue if I were you, Malfoy,” she scowled as he grinned, grabbing the cloth beneath his collar and flashing the green enamel prefects badge upon his lapel.

“And who do you think you’re talking to?”

“You’re not the only one with one of those,” Hermione retorted, pulling at Atlas arm while her other rested against the girls back.

“Sticking up for your girlfriend are you?” Draco snarked, grinning at those that snickered around him. Hermione’s splayed palm formed to a tight fist, the black fabric of the jumper in her hold, peeking through the slits that parted each finger. Atlas noticed and her jaw grew taut. “Surprised she’d date you, considering you’re a filthy –“

“– little Mudblood, yes, Draco, I get the picture,” Hermione snapped, finally dragging Atlas away so that they settled again at the back of the line with Harry and Ron. The boys glanced between the girls with wide eyes previously so full of anger, they were drawn speechless, shocked and Atlas couldn’t help but share their sentiment.

But Atlas wasn’t granted the time to speak to the girl and the door of the dungeon opened. Snape stood silently. His beedy eyes swept the individual lines, gaze lingering on shocked faces and remaining just as long on those still stewing in indignation, irritation and bitterness. Though nobody endured his eye as long as Atlas. The girl returned it for a moment before her attention slipt past him and into the room beyond. There was a pink there, almost hidden by the fog of the old cauldrons, sat in the corner like an unkind creature lying in wait.

It seemed Umbridge would be observing their Potions lesson.

Atlas forced a smile and stepped inside, moving for her spot next to Hermione only for her to be stopped, grabbed by the back of her collar so that her tie strained against her throat. She turned, eyes wide, startled and looked at Snape, the man unmoving, soundless as the rest of the class entered and took their assigned seats.

“Black, you’ll be at the front of the class,” He declared with some amount of distaste in his voice, “the High Inquisitor has requested my…best student…be closest to her.”

“Sir I’m…I’m hardly your best,” Atlas murmured but was shoved in the direction of the front, toward the empty space beside Daphne Greengrass.

Of course, it was just her luck, or rather, lack thereof. She hesitated a moment, her waver not unnoticed by the Slytherin girl she was to be placed beside, before she succumbed, her face cold as she tucked her bag beneath the table.

“No need to be so skittish, I don’t bite,” Daphne whispered as Atlas pulled out her notebook, quill and her copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. “Not too hard anyway…”

“I’m not into blondes,” Atlas remarked. She shrugged off her cloak and rolled up her sleeves, watching as her Strengthening Solution from the week prior glided over to her and settled before her.

“That’s ok, baby, I’ll dye my hair,” Daphne winked as Atlas rose a singular brow, a traitorous smile turning the corner of her mouth that quickly turned sour at her realisation. She should not be finding Daphne Greengrass amusing. No matter how kind her younger sister was, it did not change the fact she was a bully.

“Be quiet,” Atlas retorted cooly, glaring as Daphne smirked.

“I saw that, Black. Smiling at little old me, I’m flattered,” she continued and turned to her own cauldron. The potion inside bubbled horribly, smelling of something putrified and rotten, a contrast to Atlas’s, smelling of elderberries and sugar. “I saw you looking at me outside. If you’ve got a crush –“

“I was just wondering where you got that necklace from,” Atlas said, with such a sharpness to her tone anyone would think it were a threat, but Atlas herself showed no hint of such a thing, instead, she was listening as Snape relayed their instructions at the front. Then she turned to Daphne, finding the girl frozen, staring ahead with her necklace clutched in her palm, “it’s mighty pretty.”

“My…little sister made it.”

“Yeah? Astoria, right? I met her,” Atlas persisted, her brows narrowed as her eyes caught Daphne’s, “she’s nice. We had a good chat,” she spoke slowly, acutely aware of Umbridge’s growing distance as the woman ventured nearer to the back of the class.

“Stay away from my sister.”

“You should look after her,” Atlas subsided, no aggression in her voice this time, so that it seemed a civil conversation, “she’s a good girl.”

“Who are you to tell me what to do?” Daphne bit with as much intimidation as she could muster, but it fell short, overwhelmed by the anxiety and fear embedded behind her eyes. Atlas almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

“No one, not really. I’m just an upperclassman concerned about the well-being of a younger student,” Atlas decided, shrugging as she dropped in the last few ingredients to her potion, lowering the heat so it would simmer.

“Bullshit.”

“Pardon?” Atlas turned, looking at Daphne and finding the complete scepticism upon her face, the distrust in how she spat the curse. Atlas’s eyes widened, body inclining backwards as she watched the girl in front of her. Suddenly on the defensive.

A chair collided with the floor at the back of the classroom, Goyle sprawled out on the floor with his head cradled in his palm as he sought to pull himself to his feet. The lady in pink watched him the entire time, that smile on her face, one of false concern, her lips tight and pulled together so that more unpleasant lines creased her face. It was a disturbing sight, distracting, captivating in a way that was horrifying. Atlas could not look away this time, no matter how hard she tried, frozen stiff.

Then those eyes were on her, a flicker of something in the High Inquisitors pupil, as the darkness constricted so that her absolute attention fell on Atlas. That smile pulled wider as the woman advanced on her, Goyle still struggling in the background, unnoticed to Atlas for she was returning her whole attention to the inquisitor approaching. Soon enough she was there, looking up and smelling of that sickening perfume that already had Atlas’s head spinning. It was dizzying, a swirling of her mind distracting her from the predicament at hand.

“Atlas.”

“Professor Umbridge…” Atlas replied, her voice weaker, breathier, not going unnoticed by the Slytherin beside her. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Just checking in as a concerned educator,” she said, glancing at Daphne who was silently stirring her cauldron aimlessly and then back at Atlas, “I just wished to…offer some amicable advice.”

“And what might that be, Professor Umbridge?”

“Well, I think you’d find it in your best interest to alert me of any illicit activities, should you come across them,” Umbridge hummed as Atlas’s insides grew cold, her smile unwavering but heart lurching. “As I understand it, you are quite popular, it’s only natural to assume you’d be notified by a loose-lipped student of any such activities.”

“…yes, Professor.”

“Good…I know you will not upset me,” Umbridge smiled, giggling that high pitched squeak that surely drew blood from Atlas’s ears. “We wouldn’t want that now, would we?”

“Of course, I — I wouldn’t think of it.”

“Excellent, I will see you in our next lesson,” Umbridge said, turning away with her clipboard in hand as Atlas offered her own quiet farewell.

She turned back to her desk, emotion flooding back to her features as she took in a breath and ran her hand through her hair, throat tight when she swallowed and nostrils burning from the lingering stench of that vile witches scent. It hurt to breathe through her nose but she so desperately wished to free herself of the putrid fumes, she had no choice, hovering over her cauldron so that sugary elderberries tickled her senses. Chasing the smells away.

There was a subtle shift beside her and Atlas tensed, leaning back and inconspicuously consulting her notes, feeling Daphne’s gaze burning a hole through her cheek. It made her hairs stand on end, her muscles twitch with every move the girl made. A quiet interrogation continued in the background, between Snape and Umbridge, one Atlas sought to listen to just so that her attention would fall from the eyes on her front.

“How long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?” Came Umbridge’s voice, her quill scratching with every word the man spoke.

“Fourteen years.”

“You applied first for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, is that correct?” She asked.

“Yes,” Snape said quietly.

“But you were unsuccessful?”

There was an annoyance to his tone, a definite curl to his lip as he said this, “obviously.”

The halls were packed with those rushing for lunch, the buzz of chatter regarding the tension between their Potions professor and High Inquisitor a hot topic of discussion amongst the students as Atlas walked, mingled between swerving bodies. She had been forced behind, her trio at the very front of the hulking mass of bodies no matter how they tried to stall so Atlas waved them ahead, mouthing some words of assurance while elbows nudged and dug into her sides and arms.

A few hands grabbed here or there, legs knocking together through the carnage but Atlas paid them all little mind, focussed on getting to lunch, on satisfying her mounting hunger. But she would not be arriving so soon. No. Firm fingers curled around her wrist and sucked her from the liquid known only as the student body, down a thinner corridor and into an abandoned classroom. Previously used for a forsaken course if the faded Latin was any indication.

“What do you want?”

“What…?” Atlas breathed, rubbing her wrist tentatively as she looked at Daphne, the girl glaring up at her, determined, defiant, “what do I want? What do you want!? Dragging me here like this? And bloody hell…chop your nails won’t you? I think you drew blood…”

“Oh piss off! Cut the shit, what is it you want in exchange for your silence?” Daphne snapped.

“What in Godric’s name are you going on about!?” Atlas yelled as Daphne advanced, pushing her against a desk and trapping her between her arms. Altas grew wide-eyed, her breath catching in her throat when the girl leant up and pressed her lips to hers.

There was a taste of cherry suddenly on her tongue, a warmth against her chest and a hand sliding up to press against her shoulder as she stumbled further and fell heavily into a chair. A heat fell into her lap, enveloped her face as the chair creaked beneath her, the floorboards so old and abused they bowed where the legs of her seat pierced the aged wood. There was a rumbling in her ear, deafening static that made the top of her head burn. Now there was something else to the cherry, a false thing, artificial, a flavour that was unnatural. Like how Atlas imagined lipstick might taste.

Lipstick. They were kissing. Kissing in a way that threatened to turn heated. Atlas found her thoughts, her rationality and control of her body, raising her hands to push Daphne off of her lap so that the girl no longer straddled her thighs and instead staggard to her feet and smacked into a dusty table. It kicked up a cloud.

“What…what the fuck…” Atlas panted, her hand in front of her face as her cheeks burned. “Why the — why did you kiss me?”

“Why did you push me away?”

“Because I don’t like you like — fuck — what the fuck, Daphne…” Atlas breathed and stood, running a hand through her hair as her heart pounded, that unnatural cherry still stinging her lips. “I mean — what the fuck?”

“That usually works.”

“What are you talking about?” Atlas whispered, still reeling from the sudden action.

“Kissing, snogging, you know…it usually stops people from spreading my business,” Daphne shrugged, swiping a finger across her own lips to brush away the wetness upon them.

“Spreading your business? Shit, Daphne if you’re talking about me knowing about Astoria or the fact you actually like elves I wasn’t going to tell anyone,” Atlas told, “Merlin, how many people have you done that too?”

Daphne stared at her silently a moment, analysing, it seemed, Atlas’s first statement, searching for any waver to her words, a slight mistruth or slip in each syllable. She found nothing. Then her shoulders seemed to drop, her eyes going the slightest bit wider. “I…well, not a lot, just — there was one Hufflepuff boy, then a girl, a fair few from Ravenclaw I suppose, five or six from –“

“Christ…” Atlas murmured with a frown. “I’m sorry they took advantage of you like that, Daphne, I –“

“They weren’t taking advantage. I had the advantage,” Daphne snapped and Atlas stared at her, shaking her head subtly before sitting again, dragging a hand down her face as she thought for a moment, silently.

There was no real room for her to contemplate, however, as Daphne soon spoke again, her voice accompanied by the opening of the entry door.

“Well then, I appreciate it but,” she stepped just through to the other side, now glaring at Atlas again, “stay away from my sister.”

“But –” the exit slammed shut, Atlas’s unsaid words cut short by the curt crack of the door almost snapping from it’s hinges. She stared at the marbled wood, blinking slowly before dropping her outstretched arm to her side, sighing deeply so that lines formed deep creases atop her brow. A sharp inhale through her teeth was all that echoed through that abandoned classroom, soon accompanied by her steps as she exited for lunch.

Words trailed through her mind, scenes replaying behind her eyes as she touched her lips, frowning deeply, contemplative while she moved, footfalls rhythmic and sharp through the silence of the corridors. The scents of dinner soon found her, chasing away her thoughts for the moment as she sighed again, shaking her head and jogging the rest of the way, throwing friendly waves and farewells to those who were leaving.

She quickly found her friends, sitting beside Hermione and across from Harry and Ron, the boys engrossed deep in some quiet talk, something to do with a scroll the boy was holding, Atlas figured that was what he had been talking to her about earlier but didn’t partake in their conversation. Instead, she sat quietly and arranged a few plates before her, brows still furrowed but mind significantly calmer.

It was not until her lunch was finished did anything really significant happen. She was going through her ingredients book, idly creating formula’s in her head, theorizing what they might do. She had not yet given up on helping Astoria. Fobbo wanted his friend better after all and no mild threat from Daphne Greengrass would deter her. So she was trying and so far, nothing. She was still at a loss.

“Atlas,” she looked up at her name, turning to Hermione curiously while the girl stared at her, eyes trailing the features of her face, “…where did you go earlier?”

“Earlier? Oh…” Atlas paused at the sudden question. “Nowhere really, just a side room.”

“With who?”

“Who…? I — well,” Atlas remembered the taste of cherry and blanched. “Who says I went with anyone?”

“…right,” Hermione nodded, a frown on her face as she closed her book and slowly tucked it into her bag, “well, I need to go to the library before my next class, I’ll see you three after Divination.”

“Do you need any help?” Atlas asked but Hermione shook her head, organising her things.

“No, see you later,” she stood and left, her face something complex Atlas couldn’t decipher. She turned to watch her go, idly rubbing up and down her jaw uncomfortably as she swiveled back to face the table when she disappeared from view.

“So…who did you go with?” Harry asked and Atlas glanced over at him, her hand stopping atop her book.

“What?”

“Well, mate you have…a lipstick smudge,” Ron murmured, pointing to his lips to demonstrate where. Atlas went a little wide-eyed, hastily rubbing the cherry upon her sleeve. She wondered why she could still taste the artificial flavour everytime she wet her lips. “It’s still there.”

“Shit…” Atlas scowled, dipping her napkin in her water and wiping it across her mouth.

“So…?”

“It’s none of your business,” Atlas almost snapped, her heart thumping viciously against it’s cage. She barely restrained herself from glancing over to the Slytherins, just missing the way Daphne reapplied her cherry lipstick beside Milicent Bulstrode.

“Hey, we won’t judge, we just thought…well, we thought you liked Hermione?” Harry persisted.

“I do,” Atlas murmured, her jaw set as she discarded the napkin to the table, the smudged pink now staining the cloth of white.

“Then why did you kiss someone else?” Ron asked this time and Atlas frowned, swallowing solidly. She was feeling inexplicably guilty, as if she’d done something wrong, betrayed a partner she didn’t even have.

“I didn’t…I — she kissed me,” Atlas excused, “and I pushed her away.”

“Again, who kissed you?” Harry pressed.

“And as I said, it’s really none of your business,” Atlas said, rising form her seat just as her temper rose in her gut, “just — just drop it, yeah? I don’t want to think about her — it! Shit…”

“All right mate, we’ll drop it,” Ron eased, elbowing Harry who continued to stare at his god-sister, some strange look in his eye. “Let’s just go to Divination.”

“Ok,” Harry nodded and Atlas grabbed her bag.

For the rest of the day, Atlas remained silent, while the little voice inside her head grew so much more.