Chapter 131

Something was wrong with Harry.

He wasn’t eating, wasn’t sleeping, and seemed constantly on edge. At first, Atlas wondered if it was because of his task. Slughorn still hadn’t invited anyone to a party, and getting closer to the truth of his memories seemed more and more like a pipe dream. Still, when she’d asked him, he’d waved her off and gone back to staring at the Marauders Map, obsessively looking over the tiny footsteps. She could never quite catch who he focused on, and it seemed half of the time, Harry couldn’t find whatever, or rather, whoever he was looking for.

It was Ron’s birthday, and Harry was here, poring over that old piece of parchment instead of waiting for his friend to wake up upstairs. 

The sofa creaked as she sat, worn pillows compressing under her weight as she set her old satchel by her feet, she reached out for some parchment, popping the cap of her inkwell to dip her quill tip in its murky depths. All the while, Atlas would glance up at Harry, who seemed wholly uninterested in whatever poor Neville had to say. Eventually, he stood and walked away, excusing himself quickly as if needing to get his latest fix of the Marauder’s Map in private. She sighed.

“Acting strange, isn’t he? Ron told me he’s watching Draco.”

“Malfoy? What’s Harry want with a sod like Malfoy?” Atlas asked, and Ginny shrugged, leaning back into the soft plush cushion of the sofa and crossing her arms. She was in her pyjamas, soft ones covered in Dragons. Charlie had probably gotten them for Christmas.

“Dunno, thinks Draco’s a Death Eater, don’t he?” Ginny said. “How are your stitches? Hermione said she’s used up the last of the salve Madam Pomfrey gave her. You’ll be coming back to practice soon, right?”

“They’re fine now. Scars again, and yeah, I should be back soon,” Atlas said, skirting away from the topic a little bit, she didn’t want to talk about that night, the werewolves and the werebear. Zasha. Atlas’s brows dipped, jaw working as she clenched it and dug her fingers into the stem of her quill. She didn’t even know what she was attempting to do, study? Take notes? The parchment crinkled between her fingers. 

“I still can’t believe Greyback was so bold,” Ginny said, fiddling with her fingers before threading them together. She was tense, her voice strained. “Mum was beside herself, like Ron said, she was inconsolable. Remus had to assure her you were all right, he’s doing recon, you see.”

“Yeah, I know, Dumbledore told me,” Atlas said. She angled her head away, fingers pressed together, a triangle in her lap as she refused to meet Ginny’s eye, she picked her nails and swallowed down the lump in her throat. “Ginny, I…I need to tell you something.”

“Yeah?” Ginny said, a smile on her face that Atlas desperately didn’t want to dash.

“That night…When I was attacked…the bear…” It was on the tip of Atlas’s tongue. Ginny waited, brows furrowing in confusion as she lightly jabbed Atlas’s knee, gesturing for her to spit it out already. “Ginny, I’m sorry…I –“

“Atlas,” Harry had just descended into the common room, he was standing stiffly, nodding his head back up the stairs to the boys’ dorms. Atlas tilted her head to the side, brows furrowed as she apologised quietly to Ginny and stood. Leaving her stuff behind, she approached Harry only to be grabbed and urgently dragged up the stairs.

“Godric, Harry! Where’s the fire?” Atlas said as she wrenched her wrist free and peeked into his dorm room, she saw Ron staring dazedly at the ceiling, there was drool dribbling down his chin, his cheeks pink and his grin lopsided—clear signs of a love potion. 

“Harry, this is Atlas! Not Romilda!” Ron roared and raised a fist at Harry, ready to throw it. Romilda. Romilda Vane. Atlas remembered her somewhat. She had been an admirer for a while, a leech, but from the looks of things, she’d moved on to Harry since he became the Chosen One. Not that Atlas was sorry for it; Romilda Vane was a certified pain in the backside. 

There was a loud woosh, and suddenly Ron was in the air, flung by his ankle, his hair dangled, blood rushing to his face as he swung at the air, both fists aching to collide with the side of Harry’s head. From the sidelines, Atlas watched, wide-eyed, as she reached out and lowered Harry’s wand.

“Not that godforsaken spell, Harry! Hermione will have our heads,” Atlas hissed. Ron dropped to the floor. “Oh, sorry.” He staggered to his feet but Atlas quickly whisked her wand at him, the boy freezing totally and falling again, completely paralysed. “The love potions fresh right? I suppose you got them for Valentine’s?”

“No. These are from before Christmas,” Harry said and Atlas sighed, crossing her arms tightly. “What?”

“Love potion ferments, which you’d know if you didn’t rely on that little booklet of yours every class.” The subtle irritation could not be kept from Atlas’s tone, try as she might, her disdain for that book was clear. Her lip, snagged between her teeth as she thought quietly for a moment. “Ok, give me half an hour, I need to get the ingredients and I –“

“No! We should take him to Slughorn,” Harry rushed, and Atlas’s brows rose, “I need your help taking him.”

“Oh…ok,” Atlas nodded and bent down to hoist Ron up and off the floor. The petrifying charm seemed to be slowly wearing off as Ron’s body loosened up, his arms flopped around Atlas’s shoulders as she hoisted him onto her back.

“Why are we going to old Slughorn?! I want to see Romilda!” He fidgeted on Atlas’s back like a petulant child, throwing around his body weight and almost toppling them over, he wasn’t a light lad and his feet began to drag on the floor with how tall he was. Atlas struggled with him, cursing under her breath. “I want to see Romilda!”

“Romilda has extra potions lessons with him,” Harry quickly said just as Atlas almost turned to snap, her hands large and furry, claws digging into the boys knees around her waist, she loosened her grip when Ron smiled that happy little grin and looked as if Harry had just told him he’d won a million galleons. “Maybe you could ask to have them with her?”

“Great idea, Harry!” Ron cheered and jumped off of Atlas’s back, practically sprinting downstairs.

Lavender was waiting beside the portrait hole, a complication that had been unseen. Atlas had thought she’d seen her with Parvati back in the dorms. She should have known better than to assume Lavender would stick with Parvati when she had a birthday boy boyfriend to hang off of for the entire day.

“You’re late, Won-Won!” Lavender pouted. “I’ve got you a birthday–“

“Leave me alone,” Ron said impatiently, “They’re going to introduce me to Romilda Vane.”

“Ron!” Atlas called out as he pushed past his own girlfriend and practically sprinted ahead. Harry chased after him, and Atlas stood frozen, glancing down at Lavender, who looked like she might burst into tears at any moment. “Uhhh –“

“Why are you introducing him to other girls?!” Lavender suddenly blubbered as Atlas shook her head frantically, waving her hands around with a bewildered and lost look, she mouthed words of denial soundlessly, unable to speak. “You’re so horrible, Atlas!”

“Now, hold on, Lav –“

“Screw you!” Lavender sobbed and pushed past her, entering the dorm and slamming the Lady’s portrait so hard behind her that the very fabric shook and rattled its occupant awake. The Lady looked down at Atlas, and Atlas looked back, shaking her head again, coming to her own defence, but before she could speak, Harry shouted from the far end of the hall.

“Atlas, hurry up!”

“I’m coming!”

The halls were empty on a Saturday morning, most taking it as a chance to sleep in after a full week of lessons, they hurried to Slughorn’s office without bumping into any obstacles, apart from Ron himself of course, who had taken to singing and swooning, acting as if he was in one of those romantic movies Hermione had shown her over Christmas, he had spun around one of the stone pillars and almost cracked his skull open on the hard ground.

“I’m surprised Romilda didn’t try sending you chocolates,” Harry suddenly said, breaking the silence filled only by Ron’s occasional snippets of humming. He looked sideways at Atlas, who shrugged.

“Maybe she did…doubt it though,” Atlas said, uninterested as she kept her eye on Ron.

“Yeah, you were pretty horrible to her on the train ride over at the beginning of the year,” Harry acknowledged, and Atlas nodded, a flicker of recognition in her eye. Yes, she remembered now how cold she had treated Romilda, but she also remembered how quick Romilda was to turn in the first place, considering she had been adamant in not allowing Atlas access to information on the DA last year. “Speaking of admirers…that diary Hermione gave me went off on Christmas — apparently you and I made a deal.”

Atlas was confused for a moment before her eyes widened and she shook her head, “You were drunk. We were drunk.”

“You don’t get drunk.”

“I’m not publicly confessing to Hermione,” Atlas refused. The first time had been mortifying enough, reduced to poetry and tears like a pathetic simpering fool, she flushed to the roots of her hair just thinking about it. 

“Then I’m telling her.”

“Harry…”

“What? We made a promise,” Harry smirked, and Atlas shook her head. “Fine, I’ll be generous and give you an extra week.”

“A week?” Atlas said incredulously, as if she didn’t kiss Hermione every morning like the touch of her lips to hers was her life’s blood. As if they hadn’t explored each other, body and soul in the dead of night already, as if she hadn’t counted each constellation on Hermione’s cheeks, dragged the pads of  her thumbs over teeth and —  

Atlas was feeling hot under her collar.

And Ron was trying to interrogate some poor Ravenclaws whom he recognised as Romilda’s gaggle of friends. Atlas quickly postponed her conversation with Harry and rushed ahead, grabbing Ron by the scruff.

Professor Slughorn stood stunned in his doorway, wearing a deep green velvet dressing-gown and a matching night cap. He was bleary-eyed and glancing between Harry, Atlas and Ron, who was trying to peer over the aged man’s shoulder, no doubt searching for his one true love.

“Harry, Atlas,” he mumbled. “This is very early for a call…I generally sleep late on a Saturday…”

“Professor, I’m really sorry to disturb you,” Harry said as quietly as possible, leaning in so that Ron couldn’t hear, “but my friend Ron has swallowed a love potion by mistake. You couldn’t make him an antidote, could you? I’d take him to Madam Pomfrey, but we’re not supposed to have anything from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes and, you know…awkward questions…”

“I’d have thought you could have whipped him up a remedy, Harry, an expert potioneer like you?” Slughorn asked.

“Well, I’ve never mixed an antidote for a love potion, sir, and by the time I get it right, Ron might’ve done something serious,” Harry said quickly as Atlas held Ron back from storming straight into Slughorn’s office and turning up the place in search of his beloved.

“And you, Atlas? I assume you’ve made many with so many admirers,” Slughorn said, and Atlas grimaced, tipping her head in reluctant agreement.

“Yes, sir, but I didn’t have the ingredients in my dorm,” Atlas said, which wasn’t a lie; she’d run out of her batch of butterfly wings just last week whilst teaching Hermione how to brew an antidote herself. “The potion is old, sir, from before Christmas.”

“It’s his birthday, Professor,” Harry added imploringly.

“Oh, all right, come in, then, come in,” Slughorn said, relenting as Ron broke free and barrelled into the office and tripped on a tasselled footstool. Atlas rolled her eyes as he quickly jumped to his feet and looked around quickly to make sure Romilda hadn’t seen. Which, of course, she hadn’t. “Atlas, I’ll leave the antidote to you; the ingredients are in my bag. Consider it extra merit.”

“Professor?” Atlas said, looking utterly bewildered, but Slughorn had turned to talk with Harry. Atlas sighed and walked over to his bag, shifting around inside and pulling out each key ingredient. She began to add pinches of this and that to a small crystal bottle, shaking it intermittently and swirling it every ten seconds until it became pink and then clear in the blink of an eye. 

She glanced over her shoulder and saw that Slughorn and Harry were making easy conversation. At least Harry had managed to make something good come from this, an opportunity to grow closer to Slughorn without setting off any alarm bells.

The phial was capped, and Atlas tossed it over to Harry, who handed it off to Slughorn. He gave it a long, appraising look before grinning and nodding, praising Atlas jovially whilst whisking a glass over to him. It was crystal, reflecting soft colours from the unseen spell into his hand before growing dim when it dropped against his palm.

“How do I look? When’s she getting here, then?” Ron asked, and Slughorn handed him the glass.

 “Very handsome,” he said smoothly, “now drink that up, it’s a tonic for the nerves, keep you calm when she arrives, you know?”

“Brilliant,” Ron said eagerly and gulped down the antidote nearly instantly, not stopping for a breath.

The three of them watched him with bated breath, waiting for a change, a clarity to befall Ron’s clouded eyes. Ron beamed, and for a moment, Atlas had thought she had somehow failed at a simple antidote and wondered if she should review and teach Hermione a better version. Then, quite comically, his grin sagged, and he suddenly looked quite sick. Atlas bit back a smirk of amusement as she clapped his shoulder.

“Not fun, huh?” She said and jabbed his chest, “Maybe next time you’ll think before mooning over mine or Harry’s Valentine’s Day stacks of tainted chocolate.”

“Yeah…” Ron said breathlessly.

“Back to normal then?” Harry asked, equally as amused, whilst Slughorn chuckled.

“Thanks for the ingredients, Professor,” Atlas smiled

“Don’t mention it, m’girl, don’t mention it,” Slughorn said, as Ron collapsed into a nearby armchair, his head in his hands. “Pick-me-up, that’s what he needs,” Slughorn continued, now hurrying over to a table loaded with drinks. “I’ve got Butterbeer, I’ve got wine, I’ve got one last bottle of this oak-matured mead…hmm…meant to give that to Dumbledore for Christmas…ah well…” he shrugged “… he can’t miss what he’s never had! Why don’t we open it now and celebrate Mr Weasley’s birthday? Nothing like a fine spirit to chase away the pangs of disappointed love…”

He poured them each a glass, but Atlas held up her hand in refusal, shaking her head, she wasn’t a big fan of mead and didn’t exactly fancy drinking so early in the morning, so instead she crossed her arms and leaned her hip against the arm of Ron’s chair, ruffling his shocking red locks roughly. 

“Happy birthday, Ronald,” Atlas smirked.

Slughorn grinned airily, “Yes, a very happy birthday, Ralph –“

Ron hadn’t seemed to notice Slughorn’s slip as he had tossed back the mead with an eager gulp, the glass clinking against the table as he set it down. Atlas clapped his shoulder with a grin, muttering her praise when she noticed Harry’s expression and leaned to get a good look at Ron’s face. Something was wrong. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. He stood and began to seize, foam gathering at the corners of his mouth as Atlas stared in shock, her eyes as wide as Ron’s own, bulging out of their sockets.

“Professor!” Harry cried. “Do something!”

Atlas wasn’t listening; she pushed past Slughorn, searching through his desk, climbing onto tables and reaching into high shelves with a desperate intensity whilst Ron convulsed on the floor.

“What — but –” Slughorn was sputtering,

Harry ran over to a potions kit just as Atlas dropped down to her knees and held Ron still to stop him from hurting himself, slamming his body against the wooden legs of furniture in his fit. She didn’t know what to do, whispering panicked words to Ron, whose eyes had begun to glaze over. Harry was suddenly back, hands shaking as he shoved what Atlas had been looking for down the boy’s throat and forced him to swallow. A bezoar.

Ron went still.

“Professor, go and get somebody!” Atlas roared, eyes flashing that cold gold as the old man fumbled to the door. She cursed under her breath, muttering profanities and unkind words before picking Ron up over her shoulder and darting past him. “I’ll do it myself! Harry!”

Harry was at her side in an instant, looking horrifically pale as he stared at Ron’s unmoving face.

The infirmary was chaos, frantic as Atlas and Harry hovered around every one of Madam Pomfrey’s movements, she was forcing potions down Rons throat, trying, simultaneously to comfort Atlas who had somehow thought it was her antidote that had done it despite knowing none of the ingredients were poisonous, even on their own – and Harry who was sick with worry and on the verge of throwing up what little breakfast he had had that morning.

And when Ron was stabilised, Harry was permitted to stay whilst Professor McGonagall came and took Atlas into the hall to calm her down and help her make sense of her own stupid thoughts. It worked, and they sat together for a while, Atlas with her head against her Godmother’s shoulder, eyes closed and shaking subtly. She tried to stop it, clenching her fists in her lap and digging her nails into her knees.

“He’ll be all right, dear…” Minerva whispered into her hair, and Atlas nodded jaggedly, the image of Ron’s foaming mouth fresh in her mind, his bulging eyes growing dim, almost lifeless. Her breaths grew shaky again, and she dropped her head into her hands, her palms pressing so hard against her eyes she saw pulsing colours that beat to the rhythm of her racing heart.

If he had died. If Slughorn had not stocked a bezoar in his office, she didn’t know what would have happened; she had crippled death eaters and uprooted a cemetery when Cedric had died,  levelled an entire ministry sector when her dad had been killed, if Ron had gone too, she couldn’t even comprehend the damage. Everyone could have been put in danger.

Her hands ached and creaked, a dark mist manifesting in her mind’s eye, orange lightning crackling in its centre folding in on itself, desperate for release, to be tamed, to be used, she let out a shaky breath and almost let it, almost felt it seep from her palms into her eyes when a gentle hand curled around her wrist and she gasped, blinking away the tears in her eyes and looking around. Minerva was crouched down in front of her, Hermione as well, puffy-eyed and distraught.

“Atlas, dear?” Minerva said, her jowls quaking with concern as Atlas coughed and sniffled, wiping her face quickly. 

“Okay — m’okay,” she muttered and looked down at Hermione softly. “Hi.”

“Hey, you,” Hermione said and launched herself forward, holding her tight as she began to quietly cry. Atlas caught a glimpse of three heads of red hair disappearing into the infirmary to join Harry with Ron. “Fred and George were in the area.”

“I’m glad,” Atlas sniffled and clutched Hermione tighter. “Have you seen him?”

“Yes, I went in and spoke with Harry a moment ago,” Hermione whispered, and Atlas quietly wondered how long she had been unresponsive, if Hermione had enough time to slip past without Atlas’s notice. She glanced up, and one look at Minerva’s ashen expression told her all she needed to know.

“Hermione, will you take Atlas up to your dorm room?” Minerva asked, her voice slightly hoarse as she stood and brushed down her green dress, she wiped her eyes quickly.

“Of course, Professor,” Hermione nodded, casting one last look at the infirmary door before taking Atlas’s hand and guiding her along. Atlas felt terrible. Here Hermione was, probably wanting to check in with Ron, see how he was doing, but Atlas just had to go and derail those plans with her own instability.

They made it upstairs and Hermione helped Atlas take off her clothes, which were covered in the dry foam Ron had been gurgling over her shoulder, the sweat of his feverish body and the tears she had shed whilst waiting for news. Her hair was brushed back by tender hands, cheeks kissed by soft lips and hands cradled in tender palms.

“I love you,” Hermione whispered against Atlas’s skin. “I was so scared.”

“He’ll be ok…” Atlas said on instinct, as if convincing herself, combating her own fears.

Hermione was quiet for a long moment, “…I — I wasn’t scared because of Ron,” she said, and Atlas looked at her, “I am now, God, I’m terrified for him, I kept asking myself who could even do such a thing?” She said and shook her head, staring at Atlas again, “but — when I had first heard what had happened, I didn’t know who it had happened to, and I – I was so…so scared. So scared that it was you, and when I saw you outside with Minerva, I felt…relief — I was so relieved, Atlas, you have no idea, and then I saw Ron, and I broke down because I felt so horrible at how happy I had been seeing you outside, unharmed. I felt so horrible because I was glad it wasn’t you for once.”

“Hermione –“

“I love you. So much. You have no idea,” Hermione choked out, eyes growing wet as she balled up her fists and pressed them against Atlas’s chest, feeling her heated skin and pounding heart, she splayed them flat, dragging her fingers across her broad shoulders and thick arms. “I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep because I’m so scared that one day, I’ll close my eyes in your arms for the last time. And every night after I’ll sleep alone, again, and again, and again until I go too.”

“Hermione, stop –“

“I keep seeing you, that night, every night, dying, bleeding on my living room floor, and I wish it would stop. I wish it would go away,” Hermione whispered hoarsely, and Atlas felt her throat constrict. “So whenever something bad happens to someone else, I can’t help but feel relieved that it didn’t happen to you, but Ron is our friend and I’m…I’m terrible. I’m a horrible, horrible friend, because all I thought about is you and me and us. Until I saw him there in front of me, half dead –“

“Shhh, Hermione, please,” Atlas begged softly and cupped her cheeks. She leaned down, pressing their noses together and kissed her softly, again and again until Hermione couldn’t call herself any more names, couldn’t get another self-insult in edgeways, couldn’t think of anything but their lips. Not that night, not tonight, or any other night that had transpired between them, just the here and now and them. “He’s ok. I’m ok. We’re ok. There is tomorrow. There will always be an us tomorrow. Ron included. Harry, Ginny, and everyone. Okay?”

“Okay…”

“We’ll go and see him together in the morning.”

“Mhmm.”

“Hermione?” Atlas whispered softly.

“Yeah?”

Atlas said nothing and placed a shaky hand on Hermione’s back, dragging her finger in looping cursive, letting out shaky breaths into her hair. She closed her eyes, letting her digit draw and twirl on Hermione’s back, feeling as Hermione slowly grew tense, slowly began to shake as Atlas spelt out the words ‘i love you’ on her skin and then placed the flat of her palm against her, holding her close.

“I’m sorry I can’t –“

“That was enough.” Hermione croaked. “That was more than enough…”