Chapter 132

Today was not the day. Ron was still unconscious, fighting a fever; they hadn’t found out who had poisoned Slughorn’s mead, Harry was obsessing over Draco more than ever, and Cormac McLaggen was lacing up his shin guards, wearing Ron’s Quidditch number on his back with that stupid grin on his face. Hermione had discreetly kissed her cheek before retreating to the stands to watch their training, but it hadn’t done the job. It was a valiant effort, one Atlas appreciated, but not nearly enough to distract her from the burning fury in her chest as she watched him criticise Ginny’s form.

Her brother was in the hospital, and he was telling her, one of their best Chasers, how to fly? The nerve. Harry looked worse for wear, fingers twitching for his map whilst his brow jerked every time Cormac so much as uttered a single syllable of a word, and the others on the team were no better, shooting exhausted looks at Cormac’s big mouth as he flaunted in the air and made a show of blocking each attempt at a hoop. He missed most of them, too busy showboating for Hermione in the stands.

“I’m going to kill him,” Atlas said quite seriously as Ginny flew beside her in the air. A Quaffle was placed in her hand, and she smirked at Ginny’s tired yet mischievous expression, “Thank you, Ginevra.”

“Go for the gonads,” she winked, and Atlas hummed, spinning the Quaffle on a finger before hugging herself to her broom and launching herself forward. She waited until Cormac made a show of running his hand through curly blonde locks before whispering an acceleration charm under her breath and throwing the ball like a bullet through the air, straight at his groin. He wheezed, gagged and doubled over, resting his forehead against his broom.

“Atlas!” Harry shouted. Though he looked amused, he had to act the part of a captain and sent her to sit in the stands. An unfair punishment to Atlas, who dusted off the length of her broom unrepentantly. In her mind, any attempt at stopping Cormac’s future reproduction was doing the world a favour. Hermione, who looked both exasperated and quietly entertained, slapped Atlas’s thigh when she sat down beside her, the two knocking knees. She was wearing Atlas’s team jacket, too small these days for her, but snug around Hermione’s form, her face was tucked into a scarf, a woollen hat atop her head in the house colours. Atlas leaned in and brushed her nose against Hermione’s cheekbone.

“You thought it was funny…”

“Maybe. Doesn’t mean I want you doing it again.” Hermione scolded quietly as she reached out and intertwined her fingers with Atlas’s. She leaned into Atlas’s affectionate gesture. “Did Harry tell you about his conversation with Hagrid?”

“Probably,” Atlas sighed, her eyes closed as she rested her head against Hermione’s shoulder. I tend not to listen when it gets into Draco territory. He’s declined my offer of getting Daph to spy on him too many times for me to care anymore.”

“Yes, well, this time it’s about Snape,” Hermione said, and Atlas sighed as she opened her eyes, rolling them to the back of her head, “I know, but apparently he and Dumbledore had an argument.”

“An argument?”

“Mhmm, and Harry’s convinced it’s about Draco,” Hermione huffed, and Atlas shook her head. “Look…I know you don’t think Draco is very capable –“

“Oh, don’t start, Hermione.”

“I don’t believe Draco is a Death Eater any more than you do, but it’s all been rather…coincidental, hasn’t it? With what Harry’s been saying…the conversations he’s overheard. I believe in facts, Atlas, you know this, I just have a feeling,” Hermione said and bit her bottom lip, looking contemplative. She wrung her hands together, and Atlas looked at her imploringly, tilting her head to the side. Eventually, Hermione gave in to whatever internal debate she was having, “I think you should ask Daphne to keep an eye on Draco, just to see if there is any evidence of what Harry is talking about?”

“Harry told me not to.”

“Harry doesn’t have to know,” Hermione said and tucked some of Atlas’s hair behind her ear. 

“Fine,” Atlas sighed and watched the others practice, each of them a blur of red apart from McLaggen, who was sitting in the air, sullenly shooting Atlas envious looks. Atlas practically preened at that, leaning in closer to Hermione, who hadn’t noticed McLaggen’s looks and simply basked in Atlas’s subtle affections.

“McLaggen, will you pay attention?!” Harry shouted.

Demelza smacked a Bludger at Cormac’s head.

Getting Daphne Greengrass alone was proving to be quite the conundrum; she was always in her little slither of snakes, giggling high with Pansy and Milicent, both girls Atlas could hardly stand on a good day, despite how neutral they had been in recent months. She had tried meandering back to the Room of Requirement, hoping to bump into Daphne there as she usually did, to no avail. She’d even thrown Daphne pieces of paper across classrooms, but they’d somehow be intercepted, and Atlas would have to set them alight before anyone could read them.

So a direct approach was needed – but Atlas couldn’t simply walk up to the girl in the middle of mealtimes. She scowled down at her breakfast. It was hours before their Quidditch match, and Atlas was entirely unprepared. She was out of practice, Cormac was still their Keeper, and Daphne was sitting in the centre of a den of snakes, oblivious to Atlas’s glare. For a while, she sat there, thinking up a plan as Harry and Hermione talked in hushed tones about what Snape and Dumbledore could have possibly been arguing about. She couldn’t care less about what they were saying. An idea had begun to form. She reached for Hermione’s necklace, taking the quill off the end and ripped up a piece of parchment from her bag and began writing.

Beside her, Hermione shot her a quizzical glance, but before she could ask, Atlas had handed her her quill back and stood, storming over to the Slytherin table with a convincing mask of anger. She tapped Daphne’s shoulder and slammed the piece of paper down in front of her. “Greengrass, I need to talk to you. You mind?”

“What?” Daphne said, eyes wide with genuine shock and subtle concern as she glanced down at the paper and read the words peeking out from underneath Atlas’s palm, her concern morphed into a smirk and she turned to look up at Atlas with those piercing green eyes of hers, “want me alone, Atlas?”

Atlas blinked, shaking her head to better grasp what direction Daphne had decided to take this. In front of everyone? In front of Hermione? Atlas found herself shifting uncomfortably as she straightened and scoffed, clearing her throat as she turned and began to walk out. Daphne stood behind her and grabbed her things, waving goodbye to her girls before following after Atlas with a sharp expression and even sharper eyes.

Outside, Atlas dragged Daphne down a hall and fixed her with an unimpressed glance before sighing. “I had hoped to make it clear to everyone that we were not on friendly terms, but why did you decide to flirt?”

“It’s natural.”

“Right,” Atlas frowned, lips a thin line. “Look, I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything,” Daphne grinned, and Atlas smiled. “Oh, want me to sabotage Zacharias Smith for the game?”

“What? No,” she shook her head and gripped Daphne’s shoulders, “Spy on Draco for me.”

“Huh?” Daphne’s eyes widened, and she shook her head, “No.”

“You just said you’d do anything,” Atlas frowned and let go, crossing her arms as she stared down at her. Her expression was irritated, her eyes flashing gold with the pulse of her heartbeat, and she dug her fingers into her biceps. 

“Draco’s been acting weird, I don’t want to get involved, even Pansy’s backed off.”

“Even Pansy?” Atlas said, her eyes widening.

“Yeah,” Daphne sighed and ran a hand through her blonde locks, tousling them slightly. “Why do you need this?”

“Harry is…well, he just thinks Draco’s up to something.”

“He’s right,” Daphne said, worrying her bottom lip. “Look, I…I can keep an eye on him, let you know if anything weird happens, but I am not inserting myself into Draco’s inner circle like a double agent.”

“Thank you.”

“You saved my little sister,” Daphne smiled, genuine and kind, “I kind of owe you something in return.”

“Damn right,” Atlas huffed as she nudged Daphne’s shoulder with her fist.

“You sure you don’t want me to hex Zacharias?” Daphne asked again, this time looking serious as she crossed her arms and gestured over her shoulder with a tilt of her head, “Looks like you’ll need all the help you can get with Cormac guarding your posts.”

“I’m sure,” Atlas huffed, though she regretted the words as soon as they were out, in fact, she was half tempted to ask Daphne to hex Cormac instead, that way the match may be postponed. But no, Hermione wouldn’t be amused so she held her tongue. “Can you uh…storm back into the Great Hall looking irritated?”

“Whatever, weirdo,” Daphne nodded, rolling her eyes as she crossed her arms, put on her best-irritated expression and nudged past Atlas. Hard. Method acting, Atlas supposed as she rubbed the sore spot and turned to watch as Daphne’s skirt swished around the corner, and she entered the Great Hall with a very convincing scowl.

She waited a moment before following in after her, flexing her fists and clenching her jaw. Others turned and stared at her, waiting with bated breath to see if she would explode, maybe transform and rip a few heads off, but no such thing came, and Atlas sat down beside Hermione again, sighing. Her girlfriend turned to her, lips pursed and head ticking sideways as if to ask what had just happened – in response, Atlas flashed her eyes over at Harry, and Hermione seemed to understand.

“Maybe Daphne’s all right,” Hermione murmured under her breath, begrudgingly, and Atlas smiled, spooning some mash into her mouth. “Did you hear, Ron broke up with Lavender?”

Atlas choked, her eyes widening as they immediately darted over to where Lavender usually sat beside Parvati. She was sullen but slightly more furious, a white knuckle grip around her knife and fork whilst Parvati chattered uncertainly beside her, trying to distract her, it seemed, from her…heartache? Atlas wasn’t so sure it could be called that; she seemed more livid than anything.

“She looks like she’s trying to explode her glass with her mind,” Atlas whispered, and Hermione pinched her thigh. “Ouch, what?”

“She’s just been broken up with, she must’ve really liked Ron, bless her,” Hermione sighed, and Atlas looked at her incredulously. That was not the look of love on Lavender’s face, and if that’s how Hermione viewed such a look, Atlas was starting to worry about their relationship. “I certainly think she was out of Ron’s league.”

“Hey, he’s in the hospital,” Atlas said with a little frown but found herself quietly agreeing, “well…I suppose you’re right, but you have to admit she was intense.”

“If I got you a necklace that said your nickname on it, would you wear it?” Hermione questioned, and it seemed she wanted Atlas to really think about her response before condemning herself to anything, but Atlas readily nodded, much to her surprise.

“Of course.”

“…And if I made it my personal mission to kiss you everywhere within the castle, would you –?”

“Absolutely, shall we start with the Astronomy Tower?” Atlas grinned.

“See, I don’t think she was intense – well no, I suppose she did want to remain fused at the hip at all times – my point is, they weren’t a good match and it’s a shame Lavender didn’t see that,” Hermione sighed and pushed her finished plate to the centre of the table. “She deserves better.”

“She should give Parvati a shot,” Atlas hummed as she leaned against her palm and glanced over at where Parvati was desperately trying to cheer Lavender up with all of her favourite foods and jokes. Even trying to loop her into the inane gossip going around Hogwarts. Atlas knew Parvati only listened to it for Lavender. “You reckon she’ll be cheering on Hufflepuff later?”

“Undoubtedly,” Hermione smiled.

The match was a disaster. Atlas was ready to hand in her broom and start cheering on Hufflepuff at this rate; her house pride had wilted, her handling was useless if McLaggen couldn’t keep his posts clear, plus he looked on the brink of jumping onto Ginny’s broom and taking up a position as Chaser. Atlas could only watch in quiet despair as the team crumpled around her. She searched the stands forlornly, looking for Hermione. She found her beside Neville, shooting her encouraging smiles, but not even that could comfort her in the face of McLaggen’s utter destruction.

“Seventy-forty to Hufflepuff!” Minerva barked over the megaphone, snatching it from Luna, who had been making the odd comment on the funnily shaped clouds in the sky, or that perhaps Zacharias Smith had caught something called ‘Loser’s Lurgy.’ Atlas wished that was the case, but no, she was busting her ass keeping the Quaffle out of Hufflepuff’s hands because Merlin knew McLaggen wasn’t going to save it from a post.

“Is it, already?” Luna said vaguely. “Oh, look! The Gryffindor Keeper’s got hold of one of the Beater’s bats.”

Atlas spun around in the air just in time to see McLaggen, for reasons unknown, snatching a beater’s bat from Demelza, demonstrating how to hit a Bludger toward an oncoming Hufflepuff, her eyes widened as she watched him mishit the heavy ball with a violent swipe towards a flier which happened to unfortunately be Harry. A sickening crack echoed across the field, and Harry fell. Demelza and Coote caught him before he could hit the dirt, setting him down gently.

“Harry!” Atlas shouted, dropping the Quaffle as she dove down to the pitch and dismounted her broom. Madam Hooch ran over with Madam Pomfrey just as Atlas swiped some hair off of the boy’s bloodied forehead. She felt something hot turning over in her gut as she scowled and turned to glare up at McLaggen, who looked red-faced with embarrassment.

“Atlas,” Poppy said quickly, but Atlas had already flicked her wrist, McLaggen’s broom jerking oddly before smacking him in the face. “That’s enough,” Poppy grasped Atlas’s wrist before she could flick it further, McLaggen’s shaking broom suddenly relaxing out of her control. “He’s going to be fine, Atlas, dear.”

“His fucking head is split open.”

“Nothing I can’t fix,” Madam Pomfrey reminded and yes, Atlas knew that, non-magical wounds like that were an easy fix, a simple charm, and a healthy dose of pain potions would have Harry put to rights by tonight, but Atlas persisted.

“We can’t play without a Seeker, Madam Hooch,” Atlas said imploringly, knowing Harry would be pissed when he woke up to the news of their loss if this continued. Madam Hooch made a gesture, as if deciding it was out of her hands despite her being the referee of the game, so Atlas scowled and turned to Demelza and Coote. “Fine, you two, focus everything on Summerby, make sure he does not get a lock on that Snitch. I’ll replace Harry.”

“You’re going to leave Ginny and Dean as Chasers?” Demelza looked unsure, and Atlas sighed.

“Do you have any better ideas?”

Both of them were silent, so Atlas gestured for them to get going, leaving her on the ground for a time, she stared up at McLaggen and mounted her broom, propelling it forward up to him where she gripped the front of his uniform and pulled him close, her eyes golden, nails extending, ripping holes into his jumper, she could feel his heart pounding against the back of her hand. “Do not touch Demelza’s bat, do not look at Demelza’s bat, you do anything that so much as tickles the responsibilities of anyone else on this team, and I will crack your skull open like you did Harry’s.”

“It’s just Quidditch.”

“This isn’t about Quidditch. This is about you overextending into places you don’t belong, touching things that aren’t yours to touch, do you understand?” Atlas said. Every time he tried to look away, craning his neck left and right, she just followed him, forcing that long, intense eye contact.

“Fine, fine, whatever, freak,” he snapped and Atlas very nearly pushed him off his broom; however, she pulled herself back and descended. Hooch began the game again. 

It was a clusterfuck of positioning, without Atlas, Ginny and Dean were left the only Chasers, desperately trying to claw their score to the forefront of the board. McLaggen was awful, despite keeping to his hoops, he was completely off kilter, flying around aimlessly as if spending all of his brain power focusing on not belittling his team, and without the Beaters to target each opposing Chaser, there was simply no defence. Atlas gritted her teeth, tutting under her breath as she spun in the air, looking up at Demelza.

“Protect the goals, target the Chasers!” She said, and though Coote and Demelza shared a look of confusion, they nodded and flew away, leaving Atlas to chase after Summerby on her own. Her body was naturally inclined to hunt, to score, her eyes following the Quaffle more often than not before she realised what she should be looking for. A flash of gold caught her eye, her heart lurched to her throat and her hands shook as she grasped the end of her broom and willed it forward, diving and swooping under bludgers.

Summerby seemed to realise too; his face panicked as Atlas blew past him. Luna made some odd commentary in the background, something about the sun, something about snidgets – Atlas didn’t care – she was focused on winning. Her arm stretched forward, fingers grasping, and as the tips brushed against feathery wings, she winced, her heart pounding in her ears. A black ball came hurtling towards her. Atlas snapped her arm back, the nose of her broom getting caught, sending her careening into the stadium’s wooden wall.

“Protego!” She rasped, a dome cascading over her as she smashed through into the bare bones of the stands, lying in a rubble of wood and wheezing as she brushed wooden splinters from her hair. Atlas lay there a second before she climbed out of the hole to a raucous chorus of applause. She summoned her broom, jumping atop it as she shook her head and resumed her chase. The tip of her broom was bent; she could feel the magic of it thrumming out of control. A damaged broom was an unpredictable one, but she willed it under her control, gritting her teeth as she soared past Summerby.

The bludger came once more but she careened over it, grinning as she reached out and grabbed the snitch, her fingers clasping around the cold gold, her heart racing, she turned to look up at the score and her face fell, a scowl on her face as she floated down to the pitch and her shoulders slumped. 

140 – 160

The Hufflepuffs had won by two goals. The players clad in yellow cheered, huddling together as Atlas turned to her team with a sad smile, shrugging. “I’m sorry, guys, I –“

“It’s fine, Atlas, you did your best and you couldn’t have held out much longer with Summerby on your tail, we were a player short,” Ginny said encouragingly as she hugged Atlas fiercely and then glared back at McLaggen who seemed to open his mouth to spout some vitriol, “shut up McLaggen, if we’re blaming anyone it’s you.”

“Well, if I had been on the team from the start instead of your stupid brother –“

In an instant, the team fell apart. Dean jumped in front of Ginny to stop her from tearing McLaggen to shreds, a roar of angry voices exchanged over their heads, McLaggen taking the brunt of it as Demelza waved her bat around at him, very nearly cracking him over the head with it. Madam Hooch had to run over, separating them all as the Hufflepuffs cheered and watched it all unfold, but even in there, their voices could be heard across the grounds.

Atlas tossed her chest piece to the ground, her voice rising as she poked a finger at the boy’s chest. He winced, flushed from embarrassment. “Maybe if from the beginning you hadn’t been sticking your ugly mug in everyone’s positions and actually kept your eye on the ball — !”

“It’s not my fault they were rubbish!” McLaggen snapped. “They needed correcting!”

“We needed correcting?” Coote snapped as Demelza stopped unlacing her boots and returned to the argument. “You kept leaving your post! You weren’t even in your position! You split open Harry’s skull!”

“Well — well, maybe if Atlas had kept her eyes on the Quaffle, we would have scored more, instead she was searching the stands for — !”

“You don’t get to say her name!” Atlas snapped and pushed him into a locker. McLaggen sneered and pushed back. He didn’t want to accept any of the blame; in his eyes, they were all wrong and didn’t know anything about the roles they played in the sky. In his eyes, they were all beneath him. Atlas was sure of it, the way he looked at them, especially Ginny, especially Coote, the ones on the team who weren’t in the same crowd as his rich parents. 

She should punch him. Hard. Because he’s a bigot. Yeah. He’s a bigot. Atlas pulled back her fist and flung it into the centre of his face, and all hell broke loose. He fought back, swinging for her, but she ducked and kicked him against the wall, her long limbs firm with enough muscle to bring him to his knees. He’d cracked open Harry’s skull. For Merlin’s sake. He cracked open his skull, and Atlas knew he would be fine, but the fact that McLaggen was here with no remorse set her teeth on edge. 

He also kept looking at Hermione. 

Ginny and Dean pulled Atlas back, Demelza standing between them as Coote helped McLaggen to his feet and shoved him over to the other side of the changing rooms. Coote was big with a Beaters build – so he crossed his arms over his chest, glared at McLaggen, and that was the end of that.

Cold spread up Atlas’s arms, a bone-deep chill that made her stomach swoop – she knew, beneath her gloves, her fingers had turned black, knew it would reach her wrists soon, so she shook off Ginny and Dean, taking in deep breaths as she clenched her fists and grabbed her jumper, leaving the changing rooms as quickly as possible.

A body collided with her own, and Atlas’s heart raced at the sight.

Immediately, Atlas latched onto Hermione and hugged her tightly. Hermione chuckled, startled as her hands crawled up Atlas’s back and dug into her shoulders, a shaky breath wracked Atlas’s body, this was what she needed, a moment with her. She pulled back and placed a firm kiss on Hermione’s lips, her eyes clenched closed as the numbness in her arms disappeared, and she melted into the warmth of Hermione’s body. It was bliss, a reprieve as Hermione smiled against her mouth and nudged her back, looking up into her eyes; however, upon seeing the distressed look upon Atlas’s face, it dampened.

“You tried your best, you’ve never played Seeker and yet you caught the Snitch, I’m really proud of you,” Hermione said quickly, playing with the hair at the nape of Atlas’s neck. She let her hands drop, squeezing her shoulders tenderly. “You did so well.”

“What? No. I’m not…” Atlas flushed and silently took the praise, hunching down to bury her face against Hermione’s collar. She sighed, her body aching from the collision into the stands. She may have been able to protect herself, but her body still felt some of the blow. “McLaggen was being a pest.”

“Yes, I could see that,” Hermione said, amused.

“He has a crush on you.”

“Oh?”

“…don’t look at me like that.”

Harry was quick to recover, leaving the hospital the following Monday. Hermione, in a giving mood, decided to mark his homework, proofreading it for him, whether out of sympathy or simple worry that he’d fail Herbology. Atlas watched from the sofa, sipping on a butterbeer as she read the words over her shoulder, snickering to herself at some of the nonsense he had come up with. She wasn’t the greatest at Herbology, but even she knew the difference between a tuber and a root plant.

She set the butterbeer aside, sinking to the floor beside Hermione and draping one leg over Hermione’s thighs, leaning in to blow at her ear, she nipped the tip of it and watched as it turned red, a small smirk on her face.

“Will you stop that?”

“It’s so cute,” Atlas murmured and leaned in again. Hermione pushed her face away, shooting her a warning glare that Atlas abided by. Instead, she rested her head against her shoulder, staring over at the fireplace, lost in thought – she wondered about Daphne and if anything had happened with Draco over the weekend. She didn’t believe he was a Death Eater, not really. She knew what it took to take a life, and Draco…he didn’t have it in him. Yet still, the circumstances of the poisoned mead Slughorn had intended as a gift, and the cursed necklace Katie had been Imperiused to deliver, both to Dumbledore, did tell them the killer was either a coward or someone unwilling to watch the light leave their victims’ eyes directly.

Hermione raised a hand, cupping Atlas’s face and scratching the side of her head. Turning to look at her in question, she asked, “Are you okay?”

“Just thinking…”

“About?”

Atlas shrugged, closing her eyes as Hermione kissed her jaw, “do you think Hogwarts is safe?”

“…as safe as it can be considering the state of the wizarding world…I suppose it’s much safer than out there,” Hermione said, and Atlas nodded in quiet consideration, glancing over at a painting of a landscape up high on the wall. It was a serene picture, overlooking a lake, with centaurs in the foreground and a water nymph on the shore.

“But Katie almost died…and so did Ron, and there’s the Room of Requirement…the vivarium in it that could connect to the outside world.” Atlas trailed off, her expression hardening as Hermione held her hand. “What if Harry’s right…? I know I’ve constantly shot down the idea, grown tired of Harry’s accusations, I just…thinking about everything…what if Draco does belong to Him? He’s no Death Eater, but all of these attacks are accidental, someone in over their head, throwing flimsy attempts at Dumbledore’s life…what if he finds that room and it is a connection to the outside world?”

“I suppose we’ll have to wait and see what Daphne says,” Hermione offered, looking concerned as Atlas chewed on her bottom lip, “hey…” she cupped Atlas’s chin, forcing her gaze to her, “stop that. What’s wrong? Why are you suddenly thinking about…this?”

“I don’t know, I just…I feel so restless, quick to anger…so short-tempered, this thing inside of me is clawing at my chest, it’s panicking, and I don’t know, maybe I am too? You know how it gets, it warns me, instils fear in me, this ache…” Atlas sighed and stared down at Harry’s botched Herbology essay, “I think it’s getting harder to control…I’m getting closer and closer every day; the smallest things set it off.”

“Maybe you should send a letter to Moody?”

“How? You couldn’t pin that man down with a curse,” Atlas said, though she thought of Kalo and his uncanny ability of finding those who don’t want to be found, “…I could try. He’ll probably just tell me to use my power before it uses me.”

“Is that…bad advice?”

“No, it’s just,” Atlas trailed off and frowned. “It makes me feel…empty.”

Hermione said nothing; she simply stared and then slowly stood, holding her hand out for Atlas to take. “Come on, let’s go to bed and discuss it in the morning. Harry’s sure to tell us all that Dumbledore has shown him as well.”

The room was dark, Hermione slept soundly, pressed against Atlas’s side, arm thrown over her chest, Atlas’s eyes glinted gold in the darkness, blinking softly as her ears rang in the silence. She couldn’t sleep; every time she closed her eyes, something tugged them open again. It was a maddening cycle, her head pounding with the need for sleep whilst her heart thumped out of her chest. She sat up carefully, and Crookshanks looked up, a questioning trill filling the silence. 

“Shhh, Crook, let your mother sleep,” Atlas said as she climbed out of bed, turning to press a kiss to Hermione’s forehead. She lingered for a moment, watching as Hermione’s face twisted in her sleep, her words echoed in Atlas’s head, her fears of waking up alone, without her and her heart clenched. Quietly as she could, she wrapped a pillow up in her jumper and tucked it into Hermione’s arms, watching as her brow smoothed over. “I’ll be back soon, okay, Crook? Look after her.”

Crookshanks pressed himself against Hermione’s chest, and Atlas grabbed her slippers, venturing down into the Common Area. The hearth burned, crackling as the logs turned to ash. She watched for a moment before she was drawn out of the Common Room and into the silent hall, the paintings were asleep, soft snores sounding from their frames as Atlas used her eyes to guide her. Something pulled her towards that room, a niggling at the back of her head, gnawing away at her.

Her footfalls were silent, not a peep from her as she made it to the Room of Requirement and paused. There was a door, tall and imposing, her heart thundered in her chest, eyes widening as her breath hitched, she reached out for it, quickly tugging it open and stepping inside, for a second, a flash of the vivarium, a small figure running off into the distance. She thought of its potential to be a gateway to the outside world and it warped, Atlas felt her stomach roll, her vision blackening for a second, suspended in darkness before colour swirled around her and she found herself on the outside again, ejected from it’s innards, she panted, her head throbbing.

Before her, was a blank wall. The room had rejected her presence. She struggled to piece together what she had seen. Someone had entered the Room of Requirement, someone knew about the vivarium. There was a sudden clatter and she turned. Her heart stopped, her entire body growing rigid as she was met face to face with a dark mist, gleaming, endless eyes staring into her soul, inches from her face. Blood trickled down her cheek as a clawed hand caressed her.

“You’re so like her…but different by just enough,” Visha said, an endless echo to her voice in this tight hallway, a sound out of place in a corridor whose walls were lined with tapestries that muffled all else. Atlas experienced whiplash, her recollection of all facets of Visha’s personalities grinding to a halt; there had been the cold one, unmoving and then Achlys, the mournful one, this seemed a mix of both, an uneasy fusion, yet the most stable, there was no fight behind her eyes.

“Visha…”

“You really hurt your māmā Kushaal. The Dark Lord had to give him new eyes, but they’re not the same…windows to the soul, eyes are…you took his soul,” Visha’s form warped and she stood, human, fleshy, her eyes white like an endless expanse of canvas not yet shaped or stained. Atlas closed her eyes, unwilling to stare at the monster who shared her mother’s face. “Can’t you face me…? You should never take your eyes off your opponent.”

She pushed, and Atlas stumbled back, but she couldn’t open her eyes, didn’t dare open them, for if she were to die, she did not want the last thing she saw to be her mother. The corner of a display snagged her side, and she winced as she fell, pulling out her wand and muttering a spell in an odd direction. It hit, but Visha said nothing.

“She won’t hurt me. Not when I house her beloved sister,” Visha said, right in front of Atlas. She was hauled to her feet. “Open your eyes.”

“No.”

“Open them!”

Atlas shook, her breathing uneven as she felt her arms numb, though Visha remained unflinching, holding her in her grasp tightly. And Atlas couldn’t help it, couldn’t help how she slowly peered up at Visha, her breaths stuttered, eyes wide now with tears. This is the face her father had seen before he had died. The dark tint of her arms meddled with Visha’s own, the two mists entangling in an embrace, a dance whilst their vessels stared at one another, eyes of rage and fear.

“No respect for family…so like your mother,” Visha spat and let go, a ghostly wail from the mists as they were wrenched apart. Atlas felt suddenly nauseous, the black spreading further down, racing for Visha’s shadow. “Get that under control.”

Atlas didn’t know how, she didn’t know what to do, or what was happening. Visha was in the castle, standing before her, and yet she didn’t strike her, didn’t spread her darkness throughout the castle, didn’t seem interested in being anywhere but here, at this moment. Atlas thought of the many times Visha had been on the grounds, the many times she had slipped past the security of Hogwarts simply to see her, to observe her.

The mist retreated back into Atlas’s shadow, and Visha stared again, unblinking. “I’m not here to kill you. If I had wanted that, I would have left you to die in that ditch after you were attacked by that stupid mutt, Lupin.”

Atlas froze. A flash of recognition on her face.

“What do you want?” Atlas said, her voice hard, the rage mixed with that melancholy returning with a wicked vengeance, seizing her heart and clenching it tightly.

“To look at you.”

This perplexed Atlas; her expression morphed into confusion, an unease settling in her chest. Visha had treated her with coldness in the graveyard, Achlys had always treated her with quiet contemplation and though Atlas had sensed something different from Visha for a moment in the Ministry, she had been cold then as well. Never this. Whatever this was.

“So similar…but different enough, with these,” Visha’s hand shook as she reached out and traced the scars she had left those years ago, her eyes were wide, as if desperate to take all of her in. “Different enough.”

“Don’t touch me,” Atlas swiped her hand away, raising her wand again as Visha’s cold, indifferent expression returned.

“Maybe not…you’re still like her when you open your mouth.”

“How did you get here? Was it through the Vivarium?” Atlas panted, her heart clenching as she shook, rage upon her face.

“What are you talking about?” Visha said and shook her head, stalking forward, she looked almost panicked for a moment, “Do not look at me with that expression. With her eyes.”

“Why? Does it bother you?” Atlas snapped, her entire body shaking as she faced this fear, her heart in her throat, shadows returning, tiny hands grabbing at Visha’s clothes, clutching tightly, unwilling to follow Atlas’s will to hurt and maim the one time she wished to genuinely hurt. “Face me. You wanted to look at me, so look.”

“Stop this.”

“Then, not me, look at yourself!” Atlas shouted, and transfigured her pocket watch into a small mirror. She shoved it into Visha’s face and watched as she stumbled back, her fleshier form disappearing, replaced by mist once more as the mirror cracked in Atlas’s hand and the hall descended into a sombre darkness.

“Enough!”

Atlas bolted upright, her heart pounding in her chest as she looked around and found herself in her dorm room. Hermione jostled awake beside her, looking perplexed as she reached out to console Atlas, noticing her tears, but the static in Atlas’s ears was loud, her expression distant, far away.

And in her hand? A cracked mirror.