Chapter 97

It was the day of the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin and Atlas wasn’t at all ready. She wasn’t excited, didn’t feel a spike of vibrancy not like she usually was and it saddened her to think Quidditch didn’t thrill her anymore. That morning had dawned bright and cold, Atlas had earlier decided to take a swim in the Black Lake to clear her head but it had only succeeded in numbing her limbs, now, she sat in the Great Hall, pouring over a platter of toast, slathered in her favourite strawberry jam. She ate aimlessly, blind to the chatter surrounding her and the jumping bodies of those Gryffindor’s celebrating prematurely.

Many hands and arms would frequently dress Atlas, words of confidence and faith cried loudly into her ear. But she hardly listened to any of them, her own words, echoing throughout her mind much louder than any cheer offered. She took up her final slice of toast quietly while thoughts ran rampant behind her eyes. Most were indecipherable and that was what created her turmoil. A loud roar sounded from her right and she jumped, gaze snapping upwards to look over at Luna Lovegood. The girl was dressed in a lion headpiece, smiling widely as she rocked back and forth on her feet, she caught Atlas’s gaze and waved eagerly, the girl offering a half-hearted one of her own.

“Hello, Atlas!” Luna cheered, skipping over to her. The girl in question straightened, turning in her seat to engage the girl in conversation. “You look a little pale today.”

“It’s just pre-game nervousness.”

Luna gave her a brief searching look before shaking her head, the lion atop it following the movement, “that’s not it at all, your head is full of thoughts, it must be confusing.”

“I…yeah?” Atlas muttered, the noise growing the slightest bit louder. She shook her head, “can’t seem to quieten them.”

“I get that,” Luna beamed, her hands behind her back, “I find my magic calms me down, maybe it’s because you haven’t been doing much spellwork with Professor Umbridge as our Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor?”

“Maybe,” Atlas nodded, fiddling with her wand idly, disturbed by the lack of song, from the wood in her hand and the broken pieces in her pocket. It unsettled her deeply and she found herself growing restless. “But I also just have a lot going on, I’m hoping a victory will cheer me up.”

“That would be nice,” Luna agreed wholeheartedly, “anyway, good luck doggy.”

“Thanks, Luna,” Atlas laughed quietly, watching as the girl skipped away and back over to her table. She turned back to her empty plate, leg bouncing beneath the table as she examined her wand again. 

It was frustration, the emotion that weld up inside her as she looked at the wand because it was perfect, the weight, the distribution, the length, the wood and the pattern. Flawless in every sense of the word. Her mother truly was a talented inventor, a woman of many polished talents as it really was a fine piece of weaponry. To Atlas, however, it was just wrong. It felt wrong to hold, to use. She yearned for her old wand and its song.

“Atlas!” A sudden pair of arms wrapped around her neck and ginger locks fell into view, “has Dumbledore said anything yet?”

“No, Ginny,” Atlas sighed, Ginny had been persistently pestering her about any news from the Order ever since her ‘girlfriend’ had become a topic of interest among them. “And you know your mother would have my head if I told you.”

“And I will have yours if you don’t,” Ginny warned, hooking her arm around Atlas’s throat and putting the tiniest bit of force behind the lock. Atlas rolled her eyes and tapped at the girl’s arm.

“Ginny, let her go,” that voice. Atlas turned, looking over at an approaching Hermione, she was wearing Atlas’s team jacket again. Harry and Ron followed behind, the latter looking paler than any ghost that roamed the castle. “Honestly, roughhousing before a game…”

“I didn’t do anything,” Atlas muttered as Ginny held her arms up, sitting down on Atlas’s left while Hermione took the seat on her right.

“I see you’ve donned your Gryffindor pride,” Ginny grinned as Hermione scowled at her over Atlas’s head. The girl had dropped her wand under the table and had ducked to retrieve it. She banged her head upon rising and groaned. “Idiot.”

“Shut up…” Atlas hissed.

“By the way, Atty,” Hermione began as Atlas turned her, still wincing but attempting to give the girl her utmost attention. “What Potion are you working on? I didn’t want to seem nosy but you left some notes out this morning and I couldn’t help but snoop a little. It seems very advanced.”

“Oh, that? That…that’s nothing really,” Atlas murmured, still rubbing at the back of her head to soothe the throbbing area, “just a theoretical thing I’m researching.”

“You say it’s nothing but you’ve been in the library a lot, doesn’t seem like nothing,” Hermione continued, leaning her chin in her palm.

“Well…ok, I can’t tell you specifics but I’m helping someone,” Atlas admitted, noticing Angelina and Katie entering in the background, gathering the team as they walked past each member. 

“Can I help?”

“The only way you’d be able to help is if I told you what I was doing and…it’s a secret that’s not mine to tell,” Atlas said, turning to fully face the girl as Ginny continued to hang over her shoulder. Hermione stared back at her, an eyebrow cocked, “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise, Atty,” Hermione replied, surprisingly soft as both of her brows dipped into a soothing expression, “I was just wondering because it seemed like something important to you.”

“Oh…” Atlas replied quietly, watching as Hermione slowly smiled, “Yeah, I guess it is.”

A plate appeared beside her with a puff of smoke, apparently intent on grabbing her attention. It came with a crackle, the dark cloud hitting Atlas’s full force in the nose. She coughed, Ginny, stumbling away and fanning a hand through the air while Hermione simply grimaced, reaching out to wipe the soot from Atlas’s face. It was a slip of torn parchment, or rather, a torn napkin with words scrawled upon it in messy words.

It was written in a sweet juice of some kind, not in ink nor pencil, no, fruit juice. Atlas took it up in her palm curiously, reading over the print carefully. The words were all jumbled, almost incoherent, it had Atlas’s head spinning as she tried to comprehend the mess of letters. A few curious eyes fell to her as she rose, a frown on her lips. Though she couldn’t read it, the note had undoubtedly come from Fobbo, nobody else, not even Winky nor Dobby would send her message so publicly.

She grabbed her things and climbed out of her seat.

“What is it?” Hermione asked, reaching out to gently seize Atlas’s wrist.

“Hopefully nothing,” Atlas muttered and peeled Hermione’s hand from hers, offering a small smile as she leaned down and pressed a kiss atop her head. “Cheer for me?”

“Naturally,” Hermione huffed and Atlas grinned, knuckled Ginny’s shoulder as she passed her and moved down the aisle of tables, ignoring some of the faces staring curiously at hers. Angelina and Katie looked up at her approach, the two of them smiling.

“Atlas! You ready for the game?” Katie beamed, her grin nervous but excited all in one.

“Actually…” Atlas began and Angelina’s face dropped.

“You’re not backing out are you?” she asked, almost breathless.

“No! No, no, of course not, no,” Atlas rushed.

All at once, the air was back to her lungs and Angelina smiled again, a hand against her chest, “Merlin, Atlas. I thought you’d finally got enough of us leaving you out of those…meetings. We’re — we’re really sorry, by the way, as team captain I feel like I’ve ostracised you in some way but it’s only because the DA is a sensitive –“

“It’s fine, Angie,” Atlas smiled softly, tucking her hands in her pockets. “I get it, besides…it was my choice to stay out of it.”

“Right…right, yeah,” Angelina nodded slowly, “so, what is it you were going to say?”

“Oh right, yeah,” Atlas straightened, her gaze dropping to the torn napkin in hand as she worried her bottom lip, “look, can you start without me?”

“What?!” They both practically cried in unison.

Atlas rushed to defend herself, “just for a few minutes! I promise I’m not backing out it’s just…I need to check something. Tell Hooch you can play without me for a bit so she doesn’t have us forfeit the match. Say I’m throwing up or something.”

“But — Atlas — no, hold on,” Angelina was shaking her head, waving her hands in the air almost frantically. “You can’t! Without you, we won’t win the centre toss! You’re always first in the air!”

“Centre toss doesn’t guarantee a win –“

“But it’s beneficial!” Katie said this time. “First to possess the Quaffle has the first shot at scoring and you’re the only one on the team that has done a successful half-field goal.”

“It was a fluke, I haven’t done one since,” Atlas retorted and donned a look of pleading, “just…just cover for me, I promise I’ll pull my weight, this is just potentially very important, all right?”

“…shit, ok fine,” Angelina relented, grimacing as Katie groaned, “you cannot be gone for any longer than twenty minutes, got it? We need you against the Slytherins, if it was Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw fine but Slytherin? They play dirtier than any other house and tensions are running high enough as it is. They see you’re missing and they won’t pull any punches.”

“All right, ok,” Atlas nodded and brought Angelina into a quick hug, moving past her and readjusting her bag on her shoulder.

“Twenty Minutes, Magianima!”

“Yes, Captain!” Atlas tossed a wave over her shoulder and barged her way out of the Great Hall hearing how Angelina sighed so heavily even she could feel the weight atop her shoulders increase. 

She shook her head and sprinted, her cloak billowing behind her as she ran and steps echoing through the empty halls. Twenty Minutes, she had twenty minutes. It would be more than enough. She rounded a corner, pulling out her pocket watch and setting a hasty timer, movements clumsy with how she ran. Another corner, another corridor, paintings flashing by, blurred faces and forms standing from whatever furniture adorned their portraits to watch her go.

Some cheered, some berated her, some ignored her brief form in favour of some tea or fruit, not that she cared, she had twenty minutes and the notion that the Slytherins might grow comfortable with her absence had her teeth on edge. Whatever Fobbo called her for, it best be important. Though there was no doubt it was, Fobbo had very rarely called for her, only a handful of times in his many years of service and each time had been important. Atlas also had some vague idea of just why he had sent her the notice. It had only been a few weeks since the incident with Astoria, after all. Since the promise she made to come running should Fobbo call for her.

The painting appeared in the distance and Atlas almost went barreling through it, her finger poking a dent in the fabric as it failed to give immediate way. She jumped through, almost falling as she took in a stuttered breath, her chest rising and falling unevenly as her heart fell into pandemonium, assaulting the innards of her chest at its exertion. Her throat burned as did her calves as she straightened and finally looked around.

“You actually came…?” That voice and the face that accompanied it, Atlas had not expected. She had expected the girl, the one feverish and lying across a bench, she had expected Fobbo, of course, and all of the other elves, but this? The thought hadn’t even dipped a toe upon her mind.

“Daphne?” Atlas got out, breathless as she furrowed her brows. “Why are you here?”

“Why are you here?”

“Fobbo called for me, I –“

“I know but…why did you come?”

“I thought Astoria might be here,” Atlas sighed and stood, taking in one deep breath before approaching the girls pale form and kneeling, the back of her hand, her knuckles brushing across the girl’s forehead. “It’s worse this time…”

“You should be on the field.”

“I promised your little sister I’d come if she called for me,” Atlas told, “Fobbo, get some sweets, a cold towel, some soup too, chicken if you don’t mind unless…” she turned to Daphne, “is she vegetarian?”

“Most potions these days require the body parts of animals, she can’t afford to be vegetarian,” Daphne snapped but Atlas didn’t flinch, she figured the girl was just worried about her sister. Taking her fear out on the nearest and most unfortunate individual. It wasn’t uncommon, Harry did it, so did most of the general public, even her.

“Actually…” Atlas turned back to Astoria, nodding at Fobbo to proceed with gathering what she had asked for, “there are a lot of plant alternatives to a lot of Potions, sometimes it makes them less effective but it can also do the opposite. It’s a hit or miss.”

“Right…you’re good at Potions…” Daphne mumbled, almost to herself but Atlas heard and nodded, standing and hovering over Astoria with a frown. She was worse, so much worse, mumbling in her fever-induced sleep, old tears still in her eyes. Atlas rose a knuckle and wiped them away. “You could help her!”

“Actually, I –“

“I’ll do anything,” Daphne began, looking at Atlas with such sheer determination it was quite scary. Atlas, however, held her stare without so much as a waver, her mouth still open, frozen from where she had been interrupted. “Tell me your demands and I’ll have them met.”

“Well, first of all, I don’t want another kiss,” — she took a few subtle steps away, not so far she left Astoria’s side but far enough so that Daphne could not leap at her as she’d done once before — “and second, I’ve already been looking for a potion. I haven’t gotten anywhere yet.”

“So you’re giving up?”

“I never said that –“

“So you’ll help her?”

“It’s not that easy –“

“But –“

“Merlin’s beard would you let me speak!?” Atlas snapped, flinching when Astoria whined and sighing when her temper boiled down to a simmer. Fobbo appeared once more and Atlas took the findings from his arms, she placed the towel across Astoria’s forehead, her food just beside her atop the table. “I’m good at Potions, yes but I’m not — I’m not some all-knowing being that can just…make a cure or whatever with a whisk of my fucking wand. It takes time.”

“She doesn’t have time!”

“You’re wrong,” Atlas replied cooly, shooting the girl a look when Astoria stirred again, “she’ll live, at least, to her early 30’s, even without potions…she’ll just…”

“Be in pain the entire time,” Daphne seethed.

“Look…I’ve done my research, she shouldn’t be like this, in fact, blood curses hit when a person reaches their adult years, the lowest it’d show would probably be graduating age,” Atlas sighed, sitting down by Astoria’s head as Daphne stared down at her quizzically. “I think…I think she’s suffering from some sort of backlash, usually, victim’s of blood curses don’t develop these sorts of things but they can happen if the potions were never safely…made, brewed, whatever. I’m thinking she’s suffering from the curse prematurely because of improperly prepared medicine.”

“So, what? The process has been sped up? That can’t — you can’t…” Daphne’s face morphed into something akin to anguish, desperation as her eyes widened and mouth fell open, there was a subtly shake to her head, “no, that can’t be right she — she can’t, you’re telling me the curse has already been activated? So that means she won’t even live to her thirties! She’ll be lucky to reach twenty-five!”

“Daphne, I’m trying –“

“Try harder!”

“You know…” Atlas began, her voice firm, cold as she decided to stand, her gaze upon Daphne turning to that of stone, “I don’t have to do this, I have no obligation to even help her but I am, I have been in that library for days on end, even after you told me to stay away. I get it, you’re scared of losing her –“

“You have no idea how I feel.”

“Don’t I?” Atlas replied, though softer, a downturn to her brows, a look of sympathy, understanding on her face. Daphne’s scowl slowly fell away and instead, she dropped to the bench, hands clasping the edge of her seat as she stared at the floor, the cracks in each tile. “What happened to the previous witch making her potions?”

“She went missing,” Daphne murmured, sort of despondent, her eyes closed, face a painful grimace.

“When?”

“In the summer…mother and father were outraged.”

“Astoria tells me they had been looking for another Potions Master but soon became distracted. By what? Or…who?” Atlas asked and Daphne looked up at her, glaring.

“You know who.”

“You-know-who?” Atlas echoed and Daphne looked away. “I’m not surprised.”

“Don’t bad mouth my parents. You have no right,” Daphne snapped but it lacked its usual bite.

“Don’t I? They support Voldemort and he killed my brother, ordered the Death Eaters to torture me,” Atlas advanced, the friendliness sucked from her face and now she looked angry, spiteful, so full of hatred Daphne visibly recoiled, “I think I have every right. So yeah, as I said, it doesn’t surprise me that they’re neglecting their daughter, their followers of him after all.”

“You –!”

“She’s right,” Atlas’s face softened immediately, a look of concern on her face as she backed away and looked upon Astoria, the girl upright, Fobbo feeding her spoonfuls of chicken soup, while the peach clusters lay open in her lap.

“Astoria. I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to wake you,” Atlas kneeled in front of her as Daphne stood, crossing her arms and hanging behind, she looked at Astoria like she was some strange object, some wariness in her features, lips pulled into thin lines. It’s as if she was unsure of her own little sister, hesitant. “Are you all right?”

“‘M’fine…you came,” Astoria smiled, it was weak, feeble but it was a smile. One Atlas returned.

“Of course,” she gently ruffled the girl’s hair, “I promised, didn’t I?”

“Yeah…” the girl turned to look over at her sister and soon frowned, looking back to the sweets in her hand, “thanks for listening to me Daph.”

“It was hard to even understand what you meant,” Daphne sighed, “your last words before passing out were Fobbo, kitchen and fruit bowl.”

“Yes, well, sorry I’m dying,” Astoria retorted and Daphne flinched, a look of regret washing over her face before she closed it off. “I just…I wanted to come here so nobody could find me, you know how mother and father would get if anybody else found out.”

“Yeah, I know,” there was some tenderness there, some love and understanding. “But they really do love you, Ria.”

“If you say so…” Astoria muttered and Daphne glanced her little sister over, solemn, guilty in some way while Atlas idly took Astoria’s temperature with her wand, checking her over for any abrasions or bruises she might’ve gotten in a fall. She wanted to say something but she shouldn’t, no matter how she hated family’s that gorged themselves on pure-blood mania, this was different, they were just two sisters, their upbringings not dissimilar but not the same either. Even under the same roof.

After a suitable amount of silence had passed, Atlas spoke, “Astoria, I need you to tell me exactly how you feel before you faint. Where the pain starts and where it ends. If it’s your heart that hurts more or your head when you wake.”

“Oh, ok,” Astoria nodded, tearing her gaze from Daphne’s, “well, I feel as if the blood in my veins turns to lead, I’m slow, sluggish, my knees buckle and it’s — it’s really scary,” she muttered and Atlas placed a hand atop of her shoulder, offering a reassuring smile. “It starts in my tummy and — and makes its way to my heart, it hits my brain and suddenly everything is hot.”

“And when you wake up?”

“It’s my heart, even though my head hurts more when it’s happening, it’s weird, isn’t it?” Astoria asked tentatively as Atlas stood.

“No,” she shook her head, “look, I’m by no means an expert but that’s normal, it’s a blood curse you have, after all, not a head curse,” Atlas smiled crookedly at her own attempt at a joke, “it makes sense for your heart to be the thing that hurts the most, it’s what get’s your blood moving. If it was your head, then we’d need to worry as all of my research would be rubbish. Now, does it clench or does it feel like…fire? I think that was the description I read.”

“Clench?”

“Right so…I get heart pains sometimes as well, whenever my magic is brought on accidentally. It feels like a cramp. Like someone is squeezing your heart,” Atlas explained.

“No, it’s not that it’s more like…more like I don’t feel it at all, it’s a — a hollow pain. I have nothing there and the absence hurts,” Astoria said and Atlas sighed, fingers gliding across her lips as she thought.

“So?” Daphne spoke after another few seconds of silence. Atlas turned to her.

“I’ll need to do some more research. This’ll help…knowing symptoms can lead me to ingredients that combat it specifically,” Atlas told. A vibration buzzed from her pocket and she grew wide-eyed, pulling out her pocket watch. Her twenty minutes was up. “Angelina’s going to kill me.”

“Go, I’ll be fine,” Astoria smiled.

“Yeah, ok…look, go easy, yeah?” Atlas slowly backed away to the portrait, Astoria smiling as she managed a weak wave while Daphne eyed her, arms uncrossing, “remember, Fobbo will get me if you call for me. And if I need you…I’ll send him.”

“Ok, thanks Atlas,” Astoria said.

“No problem, I’ll see you –“

“Come with me a second,” Daphne had lunged out, grabbed her harshly by the wrist and pulled her the rest of the way. Atlas almost smacked her head on the picture’s frame. Again, Daphne’s nails dug into her skin and she grimaced, pulling away as soon as they’d stepped outside, the picture closing behind them.

“Again? Look, Daphne, I said it before and I’ll say it again. Please do not kiss me –“

“You like Granger, I know,” — Atlas whispered a small ‘what?’ as Daphne continued — “it’s not that, I just…I want to apologise.”

“You’re doing what now?”

“Apologising.”

“I’m dreaming.”

“Dreaming of me?”

“It’s a nightmare, actually,” Atlas corrected and Daphne scoffed, shaking her head.

“Merlin, just let me apologise, would you? Look, you’re helping my sister and I’m sorry I acted the way I did…saying you should try harder, I’m just — me and Ria…we’re not close, growing up we were separated and –” Daphne stopped, shaking her head, looking suddenly frustrated, “why am I even telling you this? The point is I don’t want her to suffer and I lashed out and I’m sorry.”

“You’re forgiven.”

“What?”

“You’re forgiven,” Atlas repeated simply and then smiled slightly, “you think I wouldn’t act the same if it was Harry in Astoria’s place? Or any of my friends? I don’t like you Greengrass but I get it.”

“How do you do it?” Daphne asked, suddenly seeming vulnerable, her gaze on the floor as Atlas stared upon her, head subtly tilted to the side. “I mean…you’re all so close and they’re not even blood to you, I just…I don’t know, I want to be close to Ria but whenever I look at her I feel…I feel…”

“Powerless?” Atlas asked and Daphne flinched a moment, seemingly debating something before nodding. “That’s…normal, I get like that — whenever we fall under Umbridge’s radar.” Remembering the scene between herself and Umbridge those weeks ago in Potions, Atlas sought to change the subject. “Look, Daphne, I really need to go. I’m sorry just…know this, ok? Blood doesn’t necessarily make family, it’s the bonds we make that do. Being related is just…a little nudge in that direction.”

“Right, thanks,” Daphne murmured and heaved out a sigh, smiling unsurely, “sorry for kissing you. If it’s any consolation you’re good and you taste like strawberries.”

“I’ve been told,” Atlas nodded and when Daphne quirked a brow she flushed, “No. I meant — I’ve been told I smelt like strawberries so…Merlin, I’m going to go.”

“Hey, what did I taste like?”

“This is…really indecent,” Atlas muttered.

“People say you’re a flirt…I guess you can dish it but can’t take it, huh?” Daphne offered. Atlas could be wrong but it seemed Daphne was trying to lighten the mood. Maybe she wasn’t so bad, Atlas supposed only time would tell.

“Cherries. Though…I prefer peaches,” Atlas said and then turned, tossing a wave over her shoulder, “now I really need to go, Angelina is going skin me,” Daphne seemed to grin but Atlas only shook her head, now running just as fast, if not faster than she did on her way to the kitchens. 

She really hadn’t been exaggerating, Angelina would skin her. Maybe turn her into a fur coat. The image sent an unpleasant shiver down Atlas’s spine. 

The changing rooms were naturally empty when Atlas arrived, her gear hung up and ready, inviting as if set out. Angelina had no doubt had it put out for her so she could dress as soon as possible. Atlas frowned when she reached it, finding not a flicker of excitement in her belly, but immediately stripped down nonetheless and tossed her uniform into a messy pile. It was a slow and arduous process, putting each piece together but Atlas hurried to the best of her abilities even catching her skin in some of the clips from how she rushed herself.

A sound behind her, the door of the changing room opening and closing followed by footsteps clearly intent on remaining inaudible but, of course, Atlas heard. She paused as she clipped her chest piece on, turning inquisitively as she called for her broom and moved slowly forward. The length of her broom met the palm of her hand, cool wood chilling her skin even through thick leather gloves.

Something collided with her chest and Atlas looked down, quirking a brow upon seeing a head of bushy hair. It was Hermione, the girl startled backwards an apology shooting from her mouth before she eventually registered, just as Atlas did, just who she had clashed with.

“Atlas?”

“Hermione?”

“There you are!” Hermione sighed, shaking her head, “I was worried, when I noticed you still weren’t flying I came down to see if you were…in…here…”

“Yeah, I had to go see Fobbo, it was important so I let Angelina know and…what are you doing?” Atlas furrowed her brows, holding her arms stiffly to her side as Hermione stared fixated at her torso, a complicated look on her face.

“Cherries.”

“What?”

“You smell like cherries again,” Hermione murmured and pulled away, glowering, “you…you missed the opening of your game to see her?”

“Hermione –“

“I don’t care, just…if you’re dating her and want to keep it hush that’s…fine but,” she didn’t finish her sentence, couldn’t as she shook her head and stared at the floor, “nevermind.”

“I’m not, I promise you, Mi,” Atlas urged, taking the girl by her shoulders, “look…remember that potion I’m working on? Yeah, it’s for her,” she told and Hermione glanced up at her, brows furrowed, “and I had to meet with her this morning because there had been some changes.”

“Right…”

“I’m telling you the truth, Hermione.”

“Ok, yeah, I believe you,” Hermione nodded, stepping away again.

“You — you don’t look like you do,” Atlas said, frowning.

“I do. I do, I just…I don’t like cherries,” Hermione crossed her arms and Atlas slowly smiled, disbelievingly. “So to me, you smell dreadful.”

“You don’t like cherries?”

“They’re disgusting,” she practically spat, some inexplicable venom behind her words as she then shuffled through her bag, pulling out a bottle of perfume, “here –” she proceeded to spray Atlas in the scent, a pleasant smell of peaches infesting the locker rooms as the previous smell of cherries was conquered by the sweet fragrance.

“Thank you?” Atlas said, looking upon herself quizzically a moment before tensing when an uproar of noise sounded just beyond the room, “I need to get out there, I’m late enough as it is.”

“Yes, you are,” Hermione huffed, shoving her perfume back in her bag and pushing Atlas toward the exit to the field, where the stands beyond were cheering, chanting something she couldn’t quite understand through the fabric. “Now go, I’ll go back to my seat.”

“Cheer for me?”

“I already told you I would this morning,” Hermione said.

“Just wanted to see if you still would.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“You’re annoyed at me,” Atlas frowned and Hermione shook her head.

“I’m not, now go!”

“Ok!”

Atlas threw her arms up in the air and burst through the exit. Nobody noticed, the battle in the air so intense none could tear away, but that was fine, it was all the better actually. They wouldn’t be ready. She sprinted across the field, boots kicking up clumps of mud with how she ran, bitter air kissing her cheeks and then she was jumping, pulling her broom under herself as she joined the raging war of houses. The Snakes versus the Lions.

She was a blur of red against the blue canvas of the sky, a swift thing, intercepting a pass between Cassius Warrington and Graham Montague, shocking the stands into momentary stillness. Then, the roar of the crowd was monumental, tremendous, Lee Jordan shouting his lungs hoarse as she stopped to drift, smiling at the looks upon the two Chaser’s faces. It was pure ecstasy to see, the shock, confusion that marred their faces.

“Miss me?” They charged, expelling harsh cries of fury as they did. Their movements carried absolute intent of harm but Atlas did not falter, she didn’t even flinch, pulling her broom up sharply to her chest and blasting higher into the air as they passed beneath her. She was quick to move, darting across the field and tossing the Quaffle through the hoop. Bletchley tried to make a save but fell short by a mile, a look of absolute shame colouring his cheeks.

“Nice of you to join us!” Atlas turned just in time to face Angelina, her Captain scowling as she harshly pushed against her shoulder. “We’ve been getting our asses handed to us, team morale is low and Ron couldn’t stop a Quaffle if it was thrown into his open arms!”

“I’m sorry! It took longer than expected but I’m back now! I’ll pull my weight!” Atlas excused as Angelina shook her head.

“Pull your weight and then some, the Slytherins are chanting some shifty song about Ron and it’s affecting all of us,” it was then that the noise of the Slytherins became all the clearer, once background noise Atlas could hear the unmistakable song of the snakes, growing louder over Lee Jordan who was trying valiantly to commentate over the incessant sounds.

“Weasley cannot save a thing,
He cannot block a single ring,
That’s why Slytherins all sing:
Weasley is our King.“

Atlas looked over at Ron, watching as the boy fumbled with a save, the Quaffle flying past him and straight through a hoop.

“Weasley was born in a bin
He always lets the Quaffle in
Weasley will make sure we win
Weasley is our King.“

He clambered upright on his broom, the usual red that would tint his cheeks in embarrassment instead replaced by a look of illness, a sort of green that had him matching the robes of those Slytherins that flew by.

“Weasley is our King,
Weasley is our King,
He always lets the Quaffle in
Weasley is our King.“

She frowned, turning back to where Angelina had been only to find her desperately clutching the Quaffle away from Adrian Pucey’s grasp, but she failed, almost tumbling from her broom when Pucey threw an elbow to her stomach. In an instant Atlas was upon him, catching the Quaffle before it could whizz by and sink through one of the hoops. If Ron couldn’t defend she would have to, just until the boy could better grasp his bearings.

“And Gryffindor is back in possession after a spectacular save from Atlas Black!” Lee cried over the Slytherins, his efforts bound to leave him with a sore throat by the day’s end, “see how she dives, soaring across the field and — WATCH OUT!”

A Bludger brushed past her cheek, startling the air from her lungs as she dipped and rolled, chest to the wood of her broom. Katie appeared to her left, a raging Montague flying straight for her. Atlas went wide-eyed, the Quaffle almost slipping from her fingers. “Sloth! Katie! Sloth!”

Just in time, the Gryffindor Chaser rolled to the underside of her broom, Montague flying over her hovering form and hurtling towards Atlas, the girl quickly throwing the Quaffle over his head and steeling herself for the collision. The two of them fell to pitch on impact, a bundle of red and green robes clashing and landing as one heap in the soft mud beneath. Montague groaned while Atlas stood, considerably winded but standing strong, a hand to her chest. There’d be a nasty bruise around her ribs later, no doubt.

“Fucking tosser,” Atlas spat, ambling over to her broom and plucking it from the floor.

A whistle blew in the distance, Madam Hooch hurrying over to them, ignoring Montague who seemed to glance up at her expectantly and over to Atlas. There was her signature whistle between her lips. “Miss Black! Miss Black are you all right?”

“Fine,” Atlas heaved, she could feel her stomach churn.

“Miss Johnson told me you were quite ill before this, are you absolutely –?”

“Fine! I’m fine!” Atlas repeated, mounting her broom, “check on Montague, boy’s crying like a banshee.”

“Yes, as you say,” Hooch nodded and called for a foul, handing Atlas the Quaffle before the girl rose to the skies once more, shifting uncomfortably for a moment. She would pull her weight and then some, just as Angelina had asked of her.

She made her shot, Bletchley hadn’t stood a chance. Atlas was determined to have these Slytherin’s eat their words. The score was sixty-thirty to Slytherin but Gryffindor had more than enough time to pull through because by the looks of it neither Draco nor Harry had spotted the Snitch.

It continued, a long demanding dance in the sky. Hooch would call a foul, Atlas and Katie would score, Angelina would occasionally do the same, the crowds would cheer the Slytherins would sing and Ron — Ron was yet to save a goal. The words were getting to him, each time the Slytherin’s started their song anew Atlas noticed how the boy grew smaller and smaller. Even the Slytherin’s on the field whispered the song under their breath, flying by Atlas just slow enough for her to hear a few lines.

Every time it happened, she felt her patience slipping further and further.

They were eighty-eighty, a tense tie that had the stands in an uproar. It could be swept from underneath them in a flash. Fred and George were working double, trying their best to dismount the opposing side while Atlas and her fellow Chasers split themselves between defending and attacking. Harry had flown by a few times with a greeting, expressing his annoyance at the Slytherins but had soon gone back to hunting.

It was when Montague made another goal, putting Slytherin back in the lead that Atlas flew over to Ron, pulling the boy back onto his broom and fixing him with a glare that had him cowering more than the song of the Slytherins.

“Atlas…mate, I’m trying –“

“Remember our private training?” Atlas began, cutting him off. He nodded slowly, “I told you it was good the Slytherins watched. Why?”

“So that I could get used to blocking out the sounds of insects?”

“Right, so why, pray tell, are you not blocking out the insects?” Atlas sighed but smiled slightly when some colour returned to the boy’s cheeks. “Come on, Ron…they’re just bugs, annoying bugs. Like…wasps, or flies.”

“I know! I know that but they’re singing that stupid –!”

“What? Weasley is our king?” Atlas echoed the Slytherins in the stands, noticing how the noise came from everywhere in the Keeper’s box. Overwhelming them. She shook her head, placing a hand atop the boys head, “well, Weasley is our king. Don’t let the Quaffle in. Never…leave a single ring! Chant that to yourself.”

“What?”

“Weasley is our king, he won’t let a Quaffle in, he’ll never leave a ring…or something. The team can workshop it,” Atlas shrugged as Ron slowly smiled. Angelina shouted from somewhere behind them and Atlas turned, watching as the Slytherin’s grew relentless in their advance, no matter how the other Chasers tried to stop their movements. “So…” she turned back to Ron, slowly drifting away, “what did I say? Repeat it to me.”

“Weasley is our king, he won’t let a Quaffle in, he’ll never leave a ring,” Ron whispered, nodding his head and repeating the mantra over and over again. Atlas nodded with him, smiling as she then turned and flew by Angelina, leaning over to her.

“I pulled my weight.”

“Nevermind that, get at Montague! He’s going to shoot!”

It was too late for Atlas. However —

“MERLIN’S BEARD, HE’S DONE IT! RON WEASLEY HAS SUCCESSFULLY KEPT A RING!”

The boy was beaming, red-faced and wide-eyed as every one of the Gryffindor players turned their eyes to him. The Quaffle was sat firmly in hand. The applause that followed drowned out even the loudest of Slytherin’s and when the match continued, Atlas flew over to catch the Quaffle as he tossed it back into play.

“I did it…” Ron breathed

“You did it,” Atlas nodded and turned, darting across the field to score another ring. The Slytherins were too frazzled now, their momentum pulled to an abrupt stop, the song of the Slytherins was nothing but a buzz of noise and before long the match was back in full swing. Atlas scored and scored, she missed too but she didn’t care too much, focussed on keeping the game as fast as possible.

Ron let a Quaffle fly but it didn’t dampen the mood of the team because they pulled ahead every time, playing the long game. Holding out until Harry could catch the Snitch. And before long he had done it, he’d collided with the floor but he’d done it, the Snitch firm in his hand as he spun around, Draco behind him gathering himself from the floor with a scowl.

Atlas joined her brother on the grassy field, grabbing him in a fierce hug. “We won…”

“Hell yeah!” Harry beamed and when Atlas pulled away his brows furrowed, “why are you crying?”

“Huh?” She hadn’t noticed and wiped at her eyes, laughing, “emotions are running high, I suppose. I guess I was worried I’d lost my spark for Quidditch but I feel…I feel amazing and I guess — I guess I’m just relieved.”

“Heartwarming,” The boy behind them spat. Draco was scowling, white-faced with fury. Angelina and the rest of the team landed some ways away, “saved Weasley’s neck, didn’t you?” he continued, looking between Atlas and Harry, “I’ve never seen a worse Keeper…but then he was born in a bin…did you like my lyrics, Potter? Black?”

They didn’t answer, exchanging tight faced looks before turning to meet the rest of their team. They were all running, yelling and punching the air in triumph. All except Ron, Atlas frowned, searching over the heads of her team for their Keeper. He had dismounted by the goalposts and made his way back to the changing rooms alone. It was shame, Atlas was sure, the feeling he was harbouring something akin to embarrassment but he’d saved a ring, he’d sung that workshopped song and it’d worked. Atlas didn’t understand. He saved a goal, he did his best and they won. Why was he upset?

“We wanted to write another couple of verses!” Malfoy continued to call and Atlas turned slightly to look at him as she hugged Katie. “But we couldn’t find rhymes for fat and ugly — we wanted to sing about his mother, see –“

“What a wanker,” Katie said, looking over at Draco, angered as Atlas placed her hands atop the girl’s shoulders.

“– we couldn’t fit in useless loser either — for his father, you know –“

Draco went on and on, a maddened smile on his face, eyes glistening with malicious intent. Atlas noticed the shift in the air, turning to Fred and Goerge whose faces had morphed into ones of unbridled rage.

“– but you like the Weasleys, don’t you, Potter?” Draco pressed, sneering. “Spend holidays there and everything, don’t you? Can’t see how you stand the stink, but I suppose when you’ve been dragged up by Muggles, even the Weasleys’ hovel smells ok –“

As quick as she could, Atlas jumped to Harry’s aide, the boy was holding George back while Angelina and Katie stopped Fred from leaping on Draco. The boy was laughing openly, hands clutched around his stomach.

“Or perhaps,” Draco continued, leering as he took calculated steps away, as if he knew his next words would set them off, “you can remember what your mother’s house stank like, Potter, and Weasley’s pigsty reminds you of it –“

Two bodies now tested Atlas, the girl’s hand clasp firmly around the collar of Harry’s shirt as he too lunged for the platinum blond. Now it was just her to hold back the two raging boys, fueled by a fire her own adrenaline began to pale against. She groaned, teeth gritted as she pushed, feet planted firmly in the mud. She could feel herself going light-headed from the exertion but pressed on. If they fought now, with Umbridge in the stands, there was no telling what would happen.

“What about you, Black?” Atlas shook her head, closing her eyes, her ears to whatever Draco might say. She could not lose her temper. Even though she was close to blowing she could not. “You remember what your mother’s house stank of? Might not have been a pigsty but I’m sure it was a bloodbath.”

A falter in her grip that she quickly regained, eyes going wide as a flickered image she only saw in her nightmares flashed across her eyes. She shook her head again and searched for Madam Hooch, finding the woman at the very opposite end of the pitch, berating the new Beaters, Crabbe and Goyle for something they had done in the match.

“Madam Hooch!” She shouted at the top of her lungs, trying to yell over the cheers of the stands unaware of the predicament below. Katie and Angelina were both too occupied with Fred so they could not do the same. “Madam Hooch!” Her ribs ached and her arm began to shake.

“Calling for help? Coward,” Draco continued to spit and the boys against her continued to fight. “Hmm, what might rile you up?”

“Shut it, Draco!” Atlas snapped. Her temper was rising, she could feel her grip on the boys loosening with every ounce of anger that piled within her.

“Oh, I know…talking about blood just reminds me of that Mudblood girlfriend of yours, bucktoothed Granger. Miss know-it-all,” Draco pressed. If he hadn’t been mad before he was now, pushing Atlas like this. “No? Well, how about we talk about dear old Diggory?”

“You shut your mouth,” Atlas’s anger was cold.

“Such a joke, it’s his own fault really, being friends with you –“

Atlas let go. Harry and George fell from her arms but neither of them laid the first hand on the boy, no, that honour went to Atlas. Her fist was a blur of red and Draco was soon a pile of green against the grass, blood falling from a broken nose. Then came Harry and George, the two taking her place as she heaved, anger, hatred and madness hanging off of her like a thick shroud.

“Impedimenta!” Both Harry and George rolled to Atlas’s feet, the girl blinking rapidly a few times before turning to look over at an approaching Hooch. “What do you think you’re doing?” she screamed, her whistle still in hand but broom abandoned some ways behind her. Draco was whimpering on the ground, bloody, beaten and bruised. Katie and Angelina were still holding back Fred. “I’ve never seen behaviour like it–back up to the castle, both of you, and straight to your Head of House’s office! Go! Now! You as well, Miss Black! Unacceptable!”

The three of them left the field soundlessly, not exchanging a word as the jeers of the crowd grew fainter and fainter. They climbed the stairs to Minerva’s office in silence, anger still wafting from each form as Atlas looked upon her knuckles, flexing her fist and applying a tender force to her chest piece, grimacing at the ache it produced.

They had barely reached the door of Minerva’s office when she came marching along the corridor behind them. She was wearing a Gryffindor scarf but ripped it from her throat with shaking hands as she strode towards them, looking livid. However, the emotion was just the same on Atlas’s face and the girl did not waver when her godmother glared at her the hardest.

“In!” She shouted furiously, pointing to her door. Atlas barged inside, slumping down in her beanbag while Harry and George stood in front of the woman’s desk. “Well?” She said, “I have never seen such a disgraceful exhibition. First Atlas knocked Mr Malfoy to the ground and then you two come in and finish the job! A two on one! Explain yourselves!

“Malfoy provoked us,” Harry excused stiffly.

“Provoked you?” Minerva slammed her fist so hard upon the table her tin of Ginger Newts fell upon the floor, sprawling across each tile and cracking apart. Atlas’s eyes drifted to the discarded food, rising to examine her godmother’s fury. “He’d just lost, hadn’t he? Of course he wanted to provoke you! But what on earth he can have said that justified what you three –“

“He insulted my parents!” George yelled, “And Harry’s mother! Atlas’s too, plus he brought up Hermione and Cedric!”

“But instead of leaving it to Madam Hooch to sort out, you three decided to give an exhibition of Muggle duelling, did you?’ Minerva cried, throwing her hands up in the air. ‘Have you any idea what you’ve –?

“We would have let Hooch deal with it if she hadn’t been at the other end of the field,” Atlas snapped, standing and joining the boys at her godmother’s desk, “I was holding them back screaming myself hoarse trying to get her attention but Crabbe and Goyle were distracting her.”

“You should have held them longer!”

“I tried! I tried so hard but he brought up mum’s death, he brought up Hermione and he called Cedric a joke!” Atlas cried, taking in a sharp breath as tears pricked at her eyes and Minerva faltered, her own widening a fraction.

“Hem, hem…”

That sound. Atlas froze, tongue catching in her throat as Minerva turned to address their High Inquisitor, a coolness to her features. Then, as soon as she started talking, it all turned to mush, Umbridge’s voice becoming a garbled croak as Minerva’s words became vicious hisses, both women speaking with such passive-aggressiveness their animosity had the air of the room growing thicker than it had ever been.

Yet Atlas did not hear a word, feeling Umbridge beside her had her body burning, feverish in a way that was ill and smelling her horrid perfume sent her stomach churning, like a bludger to the gut. Everything was a blur, the conversation leaving not a single impression on her. Even as Umbridge read off her latest promotion, her newest decree. Recognition only returned to her eyes when their punishment was decided.

“So…I really think I will have to ban these three from playing Quidditch ever again,” Umbridge declared finally and Atlas felt her insides run cold. “I think the same for the twin as well, I will have your brooms in my office.”

“Ban us?” Harry said, his voice distant just as his eyes, “from playing…ever again?”

“Yes, Mr Potter.”

A commotion outside had every eye to the door, gazes falling upon a head, sheepish as the boy looked to Minerva, “professor, we need your help.”

“Can you not see that I am busy?” Minerva’s voice was cold, icy as she turned away from Umbridge.

“No, no, these three will be fine with me,” Umbridge spoke and Minerva frowned, “I insist.”

“I do not think –” A loud bang, “– I’ll be back then.”

“Excellent,” Umbridge smiled, it was sickly sweet. Minerva left a moment later, leaving the four of them in silence. It was tense, every minute that ticked by spent in absolute quiet, three bodies of the four taught from the pressure that hung in the air. Atlas hadn’t even noticed Umbridge’s approach and when she had, it was far too late.

A sharp pain flew across her face, a feeling of copper soon coating her tongue as Atlas stumbled, eyes wide, lip split and entire form shaking. She kept her gaze to the floor, Umbridge looking upon her with a pleased smile, her grotesquely decorated ring, glinting in the light overhead. Harry rushed to her side, George shocked still, staring at their High Inquisitor. It had all happened so suddenly, not one of them had time to comprehend their professor’s actions.

“It seems in the absence of my hand, your temper has grown unstable once more,” that voice echoed throughout her mind like a twisted tune. “You have been allowed to roam this establishment, unchecked, for far too long.”

Atlas could not move, her joints had locked, her mind in that chair, in that body of the little her, the eyes and the whispers of those officials in chairs situated high above. So very high. Her head was growing louder, louder. She could feel her lungs growing smaller, her vision tunnelling as tears fell over her cheeks, blood dripping down the side of her mouth.

“Cornelius will want to take immediate action. Perhaps another trial is in order,” Umbridge had grown cold, no faux sweetness to her voice nor her demeanour. “Get up.”

A part of Atlas turned automatically at the order, locks unclosed, legs like jelly as she stood, blood dripping from her mouth, face stinging, lungs burning, everything hurting. She forced her watery eyes upon the Inquisitor, catching the self-satisfied smile through her tears and then it was as if she was looking up, the woman, clad in some green tweed cloak becoming this hulking figure and she, a small child in a too-large chair with tissues stuffed up her sleeves.

“Leave her alone!” Harry snapped as George moved forward, placing a hand on Atlas’s shoulder and trying to urge her back.

“What the hell is wrong with you!” He bit, eyes narrowed as Umbridge smiled again, sweet and wide.

“Be careful, I do not want to have to give you detention as well.”

“Go ahead, see if I care –” Harry reached out, stopping George with noticeable hesitance as he scowled. “Harry?”

“Don’t.”

“Well then, now that that is settled, you’re free to go. I’ll explain everything to Professor McGonagall in your absence,” she said and Atlas instantly moved, “remember to keep that temper under control in the future, Atlas. I’m letting you off this time with a warning, Cornelius will not be notified.”

“Thank you, Professor Umbridge,” Atlas managed, her throat tight, inexplicably dry considering the blood that lay thick atop her tongue. 

She left ahead, leaving the boys behind and hearing her name as it fell from Harry’s tongue. But she did not look back. Instead, she ran.