Chapter 48

The pain ceased, Atlas could breathe but no sooner was she attacked with another suffocating feeling as all eyes fell upon her. She looked around, absolutely horrified. There was no uproarious applause but the silence was deafening enough. The warmth was sucked from the air and Atlas looked up at the Top table, panicked. Minerva’s expression only further added to her anxieties and Atlas shook her head numbly, swallowing thickly.

“I — I don’t…I can’t–” Atlas wheezed, a comforting hand slid into her own and she turned to see Hermione looking at her with a soft smile. “Hermione, I didn’t–“

“It’s ok…you’re ok, just go up, Professor Dumbledore will figure it out,” Hermione urged, rubbing her thumb over Atlas’s knuckles, realising, no matter how solidly she held the girl’s hand, she wouldn’t stop shaking. “You’re ok, Atty.”

“I — I didn’t,” Her voice cracked.

“Atlas!” Minerva called and Atlas flinched, that aching in her heart coming back again. “Atlas, come on up!”

“Go on,” Hermione whispered, giving her a slight push.

Atlas stood up, her legs almost giving out beneath her, and stumbled forward, her head down and eyes trained on the floor. She didn’t know why she was feeling so bad but she was feeling bad, worse than all the other times her heart would lurch so painfully. As if woken from another vivid nightmare of that night those years ago, in her bedroom, lying in her crib as she was bathed in her own mother’s blood. Her heart was clenching again and the tips of her fingers felt static, feeling, instantly, as if they’d gone into a state of paralysis. She glanced down and immediately bawled up her fists, trying to rein in the magic that had threatened to seep through her palms.

She was overwhelmed, more so than she had ever been in her life, more so than the time she almost destroyed Hogsmeade Village after manifesting her powers when she was five, scared, confused, feeling alone as a prodigal witch. More so than the time she had faced her Boggart in Defence Against the Dark Arts the year prior. More so than when she had run away after finding out the ‘truth’ about her dad in The Threebroomsticks and it only just rivalled the urge to burst she felt when she had laid her eyes upon Peter Pettigrews face in the Shrieking Shack. 

A hand landed softly atop her shoulder and she looked up at Minerva, well aware of the fear etched across her face.

“Minnie, I can’t…” Atlas murmured. “I don’t want to be a champion.”

“I’m sorry,” was all she got. 

Hesitantly, Atlas moved away, glancing up at the other teachers at the table to only see them staring back at her in quiet astonishment. She swallowed again, painfully slow and went through the door out of the Great Hall, almost falling down them as she ventured into the champions room. As soon as she hit the bottom step, she didn’t look up, nor did she move, instead, she took a moment to breathe, away from the judgemental stares, away from that whispering goblet, away from everything.

“Atlas?” Now she looked up, watching as Fleur advanced toward her. “Do zey want us back in ze Hall?”

“Fleur,” Atlas felt tears building in her eyes. “I’m the Hogwarts Champion…”

“What?” She snapped sharply, bringing the girl over to the fire where a sofa sat. She guided Atlas down and sat next to her, rubbing her back. “‘Ow did you–?”

“I didn’t put my name in the cup, I was…I was with Hermione the entire night, I couldn’t have…and my chest. Fleur, it won’t stop hurting,” She said, through pained breaths. “It’s warning me, Fleur, I can’t do this.”

“I-it is ok!” Fleur tried, patting her back awkwardly. Hurried footsteps came quickly behind them and Atlas turned to see Harry, practically sprinting down the steps and towards her, Ludo Bagman tailing behind him, muttering to himself.

“Harry!” Atlas stood, opening her arms as Harry ran into them and hugged her fiercely. “Harry! Harry, I didn’t, tell them, I didn’t! We were with each other–“

“Atlas, me too. I got chosen too” Harry breathed, looking just as bewildered and winded as her. Atlas blinked in surprise and sat down again, Harry going with her this time as Fleur moved and stood by the fire, watching them with her arms crossed. She knew, if Atlas said she hadn’t done something, she hadn’t done it, however, Harry was another story and she just stared at him with her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Extraordinary!” Ludo exclaimed, “Absolutely extraordinary! Gentleman, lady,” he said, approaching the fireside and addressing Krum and Fleur. “May I introduce – incredible though it may seem – the third and fourth Triwizard champion?”

“But evidently zair ‘as been a mistake,” Fleur spoke up as Krum straightened and surveyed the two underaged wizards severely, “Zey cannot compete. Zey are too young.”

“Well…it is amazing,” Bagman said, rubbing his smooth chin and smiling down at the two. “But, as you know, the age restriction was only imposed this year as an extra safety measure. And as their names have come out of the goblet…I mean, I don’t think there can be any ducking out at this stage…It’s down in the rules, you’re both obliged…they’ll just have to do the best they –“

The door behind them opened again, and a large group of people came in: Professor Dumbledore, followed closely by Mr Crouch, Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Snape. Atlas immediately stood up, wobbly on her feet at first but she quickly straightened herself out, running over to Minerva and hugging her as if she were a child again.

“What is ze meaning of zis, Dumbly-dorr?” Madame Maxime said imperiously.

“I’d rather like to know that myself, Dumbledore,” Professor Karkaroff said. He was wearing a steely smile, and his blue eyes were like chips of ice. Atlas had never seen a man hiding behind a smile look so obviously furious. “Two Hogwarts champions? I don’t remember anyone telling me the host school is allowed two champions – or have I not read the rules carefully enough?”

He gave a short and nasty laugh.

“C’est impossible,” Madame Maxime said, resting her enormous and heavy hand on Fleur’s shoulder. “‘Ogwarts cannot ‘ave two champions. It is most unjust.”

“We were under the impression that your Age Line would keep out younger contestants, Dumbledore,” Karkaroff said, his steely smile still in place, though his eyes were colder than ever. “Otherwise, we would, of course, have brought along a wider selection of candidates from our own schools.”

“It’s no one’s fault but Potter and Black’s, Karkaroff,”  Snape said softly. His black eyes were alight with malice. “Don’t go blaming Dumbledore for their determination to break rules. They have been crossing lines ever since they arrived here -“

“Thank you, Severus,” Dumbledore said firmly, and Snape went quiet, though his eyes still glinted malevolently through his curtain of greasy black hair. Minerva pulled away from Atlas and cupped her cheek, urging for her to move back over to Harry. She obliged, seeking comfort in holding her brother’s hand as Professor Dumbledore turned to them, she stared up at him, trying to discern the emotions behind his eyes as she usually did in his company. “Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, Harry?” he asked calmly.

“No,” said Harry. Atlas swallowed thickly as Harry held her hand tighter.

“Did you ask an older student to put it into the Goblet of Fire for you?”

“No,” Harry said vehemently.

“Atlas?”

“Yes professor?” Atlas murmured.

“Did you disable my Age Line to put your name in the cup?”

“No, professor,” he stared at her a moment and Atlas tried to match his gaze, even when her heart renewed its fit, her chest cramping again. “Please, professor. I don’t want–“

“I know,” Dumbledore interrupted, holding up his hand. “And I know you did not put your name in the goblet.”

“How can you say that? Of course, they are lying!” Karkaroff protested.

“Atlas has never once, in the many years that I have known her, written her name as Atlas Magianima. She has always written Atlas Magianima Black,” Dumbledore told. Snape was now shaking his head, his lip curling.

“How can you make such a bold declaration on something so flimsy?!” Karkaroff pressed.

“I know my students, Karkaroff,” Dumbledore said wisely.

“As do I!” Minerva cried, “Potter could not have crossed the Age Line and Atlas would never try,” she said sharply. “I am sure we are all agreed on that –!”

“Dumbly-dort must ‘ave made a mistake wiz ze line,” Madame Maxime said, shrugging.

“It is possible, of course,” Dumbledore agreed politely.

“Dumbledore, you know perfectly well you did not make a mistake!” Minerva shouted angrily. “Really, what nonsense! Harry could not have crossed the line himself, and as Professor Dumbledore believes that he did not persuade an older student to do it for him and that Atlas did not disable the line, I’m sure that should be good enough for everybody else!”

She shot a very angry look at Professor Snape.

“Mr Crouch…Mr Bagman,” Karkaroff said, his voice friendly and calm once more, “you are our – er – objective judges. Surely you will agree that this is most irregular?”

Bagman wiped his round, boyish face with his handkerchief and looked at Mr Crouch, who was standing outside the circle of the firelight, his face half-hidden in shadow. He looked slightly eerie, the half-darkness making him look much older, giving him an almost skull-like appearance. Atlas felt a muffled aura around him, something she could not explain in her pained state nor would she remember to when she got back to her dorm. All she knew, was that it was cold and distant.

“We must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament.”

“Well, Barty knows the rule book back to front,” Bagman said, beaming and turning back to Karkaroff and Madame Maxime, as though the matter was now closed.

“I don’t want to do it,” Atlas said, “I can’t…just, resubmit the names, light the goblet again, I don’t care! Do what you want but I am not participating in these games!” she yelled and the room went silent. “Somethings off, I can’t…” she clutched her chest again and Minerva moved forward, gently leading the girl to a seat.

“What is wrong wiz ‘er?” Fleur asked, crouching down beside them. Minerva didn’t reply, turning to send an imploring look to Dumbledore as Harry moved forward in a slight daze, worried for his god-sister.

“She can’t compete, Dumbledore. You know what this–” she gestured to Atlas’s state, “–means.”

“I insist upon resubmitting the names of the rest of my students, as Miss Black said,” Karkaroff nodded. “You will set up the Goblet of Fire once more, and we will draw a new Hogwarts Champion It’s only fair, Dumbledore.”

“But Karkaroff, it doesn’t work like that,” Bagman began as Minerva continued to talk quietly to Atlas. “The Goblet of Fire’s just gone out – it won’t reignite until the start of the next tournament -“

“- in which Durmstrang will most certainly not be competing!” Karkaroff exploded. “After all our meetings and negotiations and compromises, I little expected something of this nature to occur! I have half a mind to leave now!”

“Empty threat, Karkaroff,” growled a voice from near the door. “You can’t leave your champion now. He’s got to compete. They’ve all got to compete. Binding magical contract, like Dumbledore, said. Convenient, eh?”

Moody had just entered the room. He limped toward the fire, and with every right step he took, there was a loud clunk. Atlas looked up with a pained grimace, Harry eventually deciding to sit next to her in an act of comfort, he gave Minerva an assuring look and the lady smiled tightly, standing up to face her fellow professors while Harry took up the mantle of helping Atlas. Fleur offering some input quietly.

“Convenient?” Karkaroff said. “I’m afraid I don’t understand you, Moody.”

“Don’t you?” Moody said quietly. “It’s very simple, Karkaroff.  As Atlas said, something is off and someone put their names in that goblet knowing they’d have to compete if it came out.”

“Evidently, someone ‘oo wished to give ‘Ogwarts two bites at ze apple!” Madame Maxime said.

“I quite agree, Madame Maxime,” Karkaroff nodded, bowing to her. “I shall be lodging complaints with the Ministry of Magic and the International Confederation of Wizards -“

“If anyone’s got reason to complain, it’s Potter and Black!” Moody grunted.

“Why should they? Many would die for this opportunity,” Karkaroff spat just as viciously.

“Maybe someone’s hoping they’re going to die for it,” Moody uttered and Atlas finally felt the pain in her chest dissipate, taking in deep even breaths to satisfy her burning lungs. She wiped the sweat from her forehead and smiled at Harry in thanks, turning to the professors where a very tense silence hung upon Moody’s words. Ludo Bagman, who was looking very anxious indeed, bounced nervously up and down on his feet.

“Moody, old man…what a thing to say!” He called nervously.

“We all know Professor Moody considers the morning wasted if he hasn’t discovered six plots to murder him before lunchtime,” Karkaroff said loudly. “Apparently he is now teaching his students to fear assassination too. An odd quality in a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Dumbledore, but no doubt you had your reasons.

“Imagining things, am I?” Moody spat. “Seeing things, eh? It was a skilled witch or wizard who put their names in that goblet…”

“Ah, what evidence is zere of zat?” Madame Maxime said, throwing up her huge hands.

“Because they hoodwinked a very powerful magical object!” Moody yelled. “It would have needed an exceptionally strong Confundus Charm to bamboozle that goblet into forgetting that only three schools compete in the tournament…I’m guessing they submitted Potter’s name under a fourth school, to make sure he was the only one in his category…and changed the age requirements for Hogwarts.”

“You seem to have given this a great deal of thought, Mad-eye,” Karkaroff grumbled, advancing on the ex-Auror, “and a very ingenious theory it is – though of course, I heard you recently got it into your head that one of your birthday presents contained a cunningly disguised basilisk egg, and smashed it to pieces before realizing it was a carriage clock. So you’ll understand if we don’t take you entirely seriously…”

“There are those who’ll turn innocent occasions to their advantage,” Moody retorted in a menacing voice. “It’s my job to think the way Dark wizards do, Karkaroff – as you ought to remember…”

“Alastor!” Dumbledore said warningly. Moody fell silent, though still surveying Karkaroff with satisfaction – Karkaroff’s face was burning. Atlas would have laughed if she wasn’t terrified at the prospect of Moody’s theory being true. Somebody wanted her and Harry dead and she had an idea who. “How this situation arose, we do not know,” Dumbledore continued. “It seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it. Both Atlas and Harry have been chosen to compete in the Tournament. This, therefore, they will do….”

“Ah, but Dumbly-dort –“

“My dear Madame Maxime, if you have an alternative, I would be delighted to hear it.”

Dumbledore waited, but Madame Maxime did not speak, she merely glared. She wasn’t the only one either. Snape looked furious; Karkaroff livid; Bagman, however, looked rather excited.

“Well, shall we crack on, then?” he said, rubbing his hands together and smiling around the room. “Got to give our champions their instructions, haven’t we? Barty, want to do the honours?”

Mr Crouch seemed to come out of a deep reverie. “Yes,” he said, “instructions. Yes…the first task…”

He moved forward into the firelight. Close up, Atlas thought he looked ill. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes and a thin, papery look about his wrinkled skin that had not been there at the Quidditch World Cup. She held her breath, the aura he gave sending a wave of nausea her way.

“The first task is designed to test your daring,” he told Atlas, Harry, Fleur, and Viktor, “so we are not going to be telling you what it is. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard…very important. The first task will take place on November the twenty-fourth, in front of the other students and the panel of judges.

“The champions are not permitted to ask for or accept help of any kind from their teachers to complete the tasks in the tournament. The champions will face the first challenge armed only with their wands. They will receive information about the second task when the first is over. Owing to the demanding and time-consuming nature of the tournament, the champions are exempted from end-of-year tests.”

Mr Crouch turned to look at Dumbledore.

“I think that’s all, is it, Albus?”

“I think so,” Dumbledore said, looking at Mr Crouch with mild concern. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to stay at Hogwarts tonight, Barty?”

“No, Dumbledore, I must get back to the Ministry,” Mr Crouch said. “It is a very busy, very difficult time at the moment….I’ve left young Weatherby in charge….Very enthusiastic…a little overenthusiastic, if truth be told…”

“You’ll come and have a drink before you go, at least?” Dumbledore pressed.

“Come on, Barry, I’m staying!” Bagman called brightly. “It’s all happening at Hogwarts now, you know, much more exciting here than at the office!”

“I think not, Ludo,” Crouch snapped with a touch of his old impatience.

“Professor Karkaroff – Madame Maxime – a nightcap?” Dumbledore said.

But Madame Maxime had already put her arm around Fleur’s shoulders and was leading her swiftly out of the room. Atlas could hear them both talking very fast in French as they went off into the Great Hall and tried her best to translate it, but again, her mind was too befuddled and she came up empty. Karkaroff beckoned to Krum, and they, too, exited, though in silence.

“Harry, Atlas, I suggest you go up to bed,” Dumbledore said, smiling at both of them. “I am sure the house of Gryffindor is waiting to celebrate with you, and it would be a shame to deprive them of this excellent excuse to make a great deal of mess and noise.”

“Headmaster,” Atlas said before he could leave. He turned back to her, Snape and Moody continuing up the stairs behind them while Minerva lagged a little behind. Harry glanced between the girl and professor, eyebrow cocked. “You know I can’t do this…”

“…there is nothing I can do.”

“Don’t let me compete! Don’t let us compete!” Atlas protested, glancing to Harry who nodded along. “I can’t headmaster. It’s worse, it’s really really bad!”

“Harry,” Dumbledore said, not taking his eyes away from Atlas’s pleading ones. Harry turned and stared at the side of the man’s face. “Go back to your dorm, Minerva, if you would escort him?”

“Headmaster, I must protest,” Minerva said quickly as Harry moved beside her, staring over at his god-sister in confusion. What was she talking about?

“And I must insist,” Dumbledore implored and Minerva remained a moment before turning to Harry, motioning for him to follow as they ventured up the stairs. That left Dumbledore and Atlas alone, the paintings around them emptying as Dumbledore whisked them away. The silence between them was heavy, the fire crackling the only sound for the moment. “Tell me.”

“It started up again last year, I didn’t tell anyone, I didn’t even think about it.” Atlas began, pacing back and forth. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you but I thought I had it under wraps, I could rein it in as long as I calmed myself down but I almost lost control in the Hall. I can’t put everyone in that much danger again and this — this tournament is just an invitation for my magic to explode.”

“There is a binding magic on the Cup, Atlas. I’m truly sorry but I can’t do anything for you without you getting potentially hurt, or worse,” Dumbledore told quietly, his hands behind his back as he watched the girl pace trails in the floor “Atlas, have I ever told you the true reasoning I allowed you not to attend this school when you declined?”

“No, headmaster.”

“Because you were dangerous and you were young, impressionable, you lost your head easily. You would have destroyed Hogsmeade Village if Minerva was not there to stop you those years ago and you were merely five years of age,” he said cooly and Atlas gulped, looking down at her feet as she worried her lip. “I knew you would find something to expel some of that prodigal magic within you and look, you turned yourself into an Animagus, giving your magic two bodies to channel through.”

“I don’t understand…”

“In time, you will. What you have is a gift, Atlas,” he smiled, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You’re more powerful than even I know, you are no normal witch. Remember this, I told you so when you were younger.”

“You said you didn’t want me here because I was dangerous yet you’re making me enter the tournament, anyway?”

“This is an opportunity to release some of that magic, Atlas. You will learn to understand it throughout the tasks, I’m sure of it. You won’t hurt anybody,” Dumbledore assured. Atlas looked up at him. “I promise you. Many young witches and wizards lose control of their magic from time to time, take Harry for instance. He blew up his Aunt last year. The predicament is, you have more magic to repress and control, your magic manifests in ways unnatural. It is different.”

“…yes, headmaster.”

“Good, now go and get some rest.”

Atlas nodded and climbed up the stairs, leaving Dumbledore with his thoughts in that candlelit chamber, alone. She came out into the Great Hall, finding it now deserted as she walked down the empty tables, finding empty plates and empty cups, hollow pumpkin heads now resting atop the surfaces with extinguished candles within them.

She cast the hall a final look before climbing up the marble staircase. Her mind was static, not a thought flitting through besides the question of: What was she going to do? Then, Dumbledore’s words came to mind and she sighed, wiping her eyes. All she could do was compete, even as her chest ached, that was what she decided, what she resigned to, knowing it was her fate. Why would anyone have even put her name forward?

Well, she had an inkling why, thanks to Moody, she now thought she had a target on her back, put there by Peter Pettigrew or Voldemort or, even worse, the monster that haunted her nights. She pushed that thought away and massaged her chest a final time, looking up to see she had already found herself in front of the Fat Lady’s portrait. She could hear the cheers and celebrations occurring inside and held back a sigh.

“Here’s our other champion,” the Fat Lady said, looking upon her.

“Balderdash,” Atlas murmured.

“What is it with Hogwarts champions this year, so dull,” the Fat Lady said as she swung open and Atlas climbed inside, she jumped slightly back as Angelina, Alicia and Katie tackled her, shaking her around and kissing her cheeks excitedly as they whooped and screamed. Atlas managed a small smile, hugging them all back quickly and nodding mutely as they offered her their congratulations.

“Oh if it couldn’t be me, at least we’ve got two Gryffindors! Fifty per cent chance of winning!” Angelina cried, as Katie hopped onto Atlas’s back and wrapped her legs around the girls middle, waving her arms around excitedly as she suddenly had the point of view of a six-foot-one person.

“I’m so happy, I could cry!” Katie cheered as Alicia Spinnet actually wracked a sob beside her over a bottle of firewhisky. Looked like someone couldn’t hold their alcohol. And Atlas really wanted to enjoy the party, she really did and would have if Angelina was in her place and Harry wasn’t the fourth champion, however, she just couldn’t shake the horrible cold encasing her heart, as if there was a constant Dementor in the area.

“Come on, Atlas! Party with us!” George whooped as Lee Jordan wrapped a Gryffindor banner around her shoulders like a cape after Katie has finally gotten off of her back.

“Yeah! Harry’s being boring!” Fred booed and Atlas smiled tightly, remaining silent as everybody partied and cheered around her, adding things to her frame and steadily transforming her into a Gryffindor merch stand. She was wearing a lion head now, a little bit of paint, splattered haphazardly across her face to make her look like more of their house mascot and of course, the cape, now layered by two more.

A bottle of firewhisky was shoved into her hand and she was urged to chug it, she smiled again and bent to the will of the crowd, standing on the centre table and throwing back three bottles in a row, all the while Fred and George made bets on how much she could handle. Seamus and Dean were passionately arguing over how many while Neville just boldly shouted out ‘7’ in a voice that seemed nervous but so confident, everyone grew more excited by it.

He shot Atlas an apologetic look as the girl accepted more and more drinks from the twins, chucking them back and wincing at the burn, growing sleepier and sleepier as she did and when she hit her 7th bottle she was pushed from the table and carried by the crowd, surfing on top of them. She was dropped in the centre of the mass. Her head pounded and after slamming her lions head on another person, she managed to slip through the crowd, stumbling up the stairs to her dorm as the poor person she had disguised as herself was urged to eat a stack of mini eclairs as fast as they could.

Without knocking, she walked inside and slammed the door shut, taking off the three capes and pulling at her sleeve to wipe the paint from her face. Hermione looked up from her desk and tucked her necklace back into her shirt, even Crookshanks grew more alert, sitting up instantly and watching as Atlas’s strained smile slowly grew wobbly and she finally let out a quiet sob.

Hermione immediately shot up, hurrying over to Atlas and engulfing her in a tight meaningful hug. “I didn’t–“

“I know…I know, Atty. I believe you, you didn’t put your name in,” Hermione whispered and Atlas nodded, burying her face in Hermione’s neck.

“I’m bound to the cup by magic, Mi. Even when I told Dumbledore I had that…that feeling, he said I couldn’t not compete,” she said, her voice muffled by Hermione’s shoulder. “Moody said someone might want us dead and…I think he’s right.”

“Don’t say that,” Hermione hushed, kissing the top of her hair. She pulled away, looking up into Atlas’s watery eyes as she then cupped the girl’s scar ridden cheeks, brushing across the ridges carefully and gently, testing whether or not she was allowed to. It seemed so, as Atlas melted into the affectionate touch, nuzzling her nose against the palm of Hermione’s hand and it, fleetingly, reminded Hermione of Frog.