Chapter 114

Exams were in session all across the school, many of them the final ones of the year, so the school was quiet, devoid of noise to better accommodate those studying students. Atlas was finished, however, so, with nothing to do and only her rampant and worried thoughts to accompany her, Atlas had sought to distract herself somehow, answer destructive questions she had had on her mind ever since Minerva had been attacked. She had ventured to the infirmary, a bouquet of flowers in one hand while she held a book in her other, she was going to visit Minnie, maybe talk to Poppy concerning her condition but when she had gotten there, Minerva’s bed was empty and she was nowhere to be seen.

Only Poppy remained, quiet and solemn. She had told Atlas what had happened.

“She was taken to St Mungo’s this morning, my dear.”

“I see…” was all Atlas had said, expression troubled as she set the flowers down where Minerva had been, laying the book beside them and patting its leather. 

“Would you like me to send these to her in your name?” Poppy asked, approaching the bedside.

“Please,” Atlas nodded, “how are you holding up?”

“I’m…all right.”

“Come on, Poppy. You’re seeing each other now, aren’t you? You don’t have to act so detached,” Atlas said, smiling softly and Poppy seemed to flush to the roots of her hair. “It’s no secret.”

“What of you and Miss Granger?” Poppy replied once she had regained some semblance of composure. Atlas’s eyes widened the slightest bit before she huffed out a small little laugh, stepping away from Minerva’s old bed and shaking her head.

“I’m not quite there yet,” she confessed before she frowned slightly again, looking at Poppy earnestly. “Seriously…are you ok?”

“…I will be,” Poppy smiled and moved forward, ushering Atlas out, “go on now. Have fun. Away from this depressing place. Rest assured Minerva is in good hands.”

“But Poppy I –” their contact was broken and a large slab of wood came between them.

There were several moments in which Atlas simply remained, eyes trained on the wood, her nose an inch from its surface, her expression saddened, deepened with lines of worry. She pulled away eventually, turning slowly, glancing over her shoulder several times before walking away, her head throbbing, back aching and her heart slowly but surely breaking. It was not the first time Atlas had felt so fragile and it was surely not the last.

She ended up meandering the halls mindlessly, settling in the courtyard on the lip of the centre fountain, her back upon the cold stone, burning slightly before cooling. She let one of her hands hang within the water, the other resting on her chest as she drew patterns in the ripples and simply lay in silence, mulling over the past days and the events that had since transpired. It was there she pondered, left in her own company, on the contents of her future. She thought about what results she might achieve in her OWLs, what curriculum she might choose to study next school year — she thought about her teachers and slowly but surely she grew sombre. Next year would be another full of Umbridge.

She sighed.

“You all right there, Atlas?” A familiar voice called, muttering something to someone else before his footsteps grew nearer. Atlas glanced over, noticing Hannah Abbott’s retreating figure before settling her eyes back upon Neville, the boy smiling kindly.

“Yeah, I’m all right,” her response was quiet, a little tired as she smiled and sat up, plucking her hand from the water and running the wet through her hair, it remained slicked back for a moment before falling back into place. She patted the spot beside her and Neville sat down. “Take it you’ve finished your exam?”

“Yeah,” the boy said a little nervously, his brows furrowed, “there’s no way I passed.”

“Don’t say that, Neve,” Atlas encouraged, knuckling his shoulder, “I’m sure you passed at the very least. You worked hard.”

“Maybe it wasn’t enough,” Atlas felt inexplicably struck by the boy’s words and felt her breathing hitch, something flashing over her eyes before she let out a very brief very curt laugh, she knuckled him again.

“You gave it your all then, in my book, that’s enough,” she assured before turning to look the way Hannah had disappeared, “did you see Hermione leave?”

“Hmm? Oh,” Neville said, some realisation glazing his eyes as he fully turned to Atlas, “right, she went after Harry.”

“Harry?” Atlas questioned and watched as the boy nodded.

“Yeah, he…well, I don’t actually know what happened but he left mid-way through the exam,” Neville told and Atlas frowned, standing. “Atlas?”

“Any idea where he could have gone?”

“The infirmary?” Neville suggested but Atlas shook her head, she had been there not long ago, he hadn’t been there and she hadn’t seen him heading there on her way to the courtyard. She contemplated several options in that moment, her hand stuck within her hair before she pulled it away, shaking her fingers from the knots they’d found themselves in. “If we just walk around maybe we’ll bump into him? Or, wait, maybe he’s just gone back up to the Common Rooms?”

“I’ll check there first then,” Atlas decided and Neville nodded, more than happy to tag along for the ride. He had an innocent desire to just follow Atlas, they weren’t exactly close but he’d always thought her kind, maybe this would be his chance to set a good impression, despite the fact Atlas had expressed her gratitude and debt to him in the past, he wasn’t exactly convinced of his place in Atlas’s eyes.

Atlas glanced over at the boy, quietly perplexed at his insistence to follow but outwardly shrugging it off and welcoming his childlike eagerness, she walked ahead and heard him stumbling behind, the boys steps clumsily falling in line. 

The duo were originally intent on following through with the boy’s suggestion, their destination that of the Gryffindor Common Rooms but their attentions were grasped by the sounds of a scuffle not too far from them, down the corridor that led to Umrbidge’s office. Atlas hesitated at first, a stutter in her step as she seemed to falter, vision tunnelling and heart unsettled at the idea of going anywhere near the office belonging to that pink monstrosity. 

Before Atlas could decide, torn between fight or flight, Neville rushed ahead, his wand drawn and Atlas – with a sigh – really had no choice but to follow. She didn’t draw her own, intent on witnessing the situation before she made any sort of judgement, but when she stumbled upon the scene, she wished she had done the same, in an instant Neville had been pulled into the arms of Crabbe, the Slytherin’s arm around her friend’s neck and she had been tripped to her knees, bones creaking pitifully under the sudden collision.

A boot landed squarely in the middle of her back and she continued to her front, chest pressed into the cold of the floor as her back wept pitifully, she turned so that her cheek rested against the stone, watery eyes peering up at Draco Malfoy who glared down at her malevolently, some twisted enjoyment glinting in his eye. It was clear he knew of her injury, perhaps not of how it tortured Atlas, not of the extent to which she was harmed but he knew its general location and that it still ailed her.

“Atlas!” Ginny?

Draco pressed harder.

“Draco,” A familiar voice, Atlas shakily turned her gaze, teeth gritted so tightly together it was a surprise her bone did not splinter. Pansy Parkinson stared down at her, brows furrowed as she watched, clearly discomforted. “Come on, let her up.”

“What? Why –?”

“Just do it, Draco,” Pansy rushed, twiddling with her fingers as her eyes lifted to the spot in which Draco’s foot rested. The boy seemed to pause for a moment, considering before digging his heel into the girl’s back and twisting as if stubbing out a lit cigar. Atlas let out a short cry and seized for a second, going limp upon the floor as Malfoy scoffed and walked away.

“You bring her then,” Draco spat, shouldering past Pansy as he sauntered over to Cassius Warrington, grinning at the sight of Ron captured in his arms. It was only now, Atlas realised Luna was there also, collared by a Slytherin just like Ginny.

There was a moment of clarity in Atlas’s pained haze where she registered a pair of hands curling around her left bicep, pulling her to her feet where she stood unsteadily, face so pale she held no resemblance of the girl she had been mere moments ago. Pansy hooked the arm she held around her shoulder and let out a quiet note of exertion as she pulled Atlas’s tall frame closer to the door of Umbridge’s office.

“Could you at least try and walk?” Pansy muttered under her breath, some annoyance laced beneath her words. Atlas had half a mind to go limp again but refrained, knowing the action would simply end in the both of them on the floor and her in a great deal more pain, so she complied and relinquished some of her weight from Pansy’s shaky legs.

“Got ’em all,” Warrington said up ahead and Atlas watched as the boy shoved Ron roughly into the office she had been so desperate to avoid, Crabbe, Goyle, Malfoy and some other sixth Year Slytherin following close behind, each with their own catch. Pansy hesitantly stepped in last, adjusting her hold on Atlas who seemed to slowly grasp her bearings once more. “That one,” he pointed to Neville, “tried to stop me from taking her,” he pointed at Ginny, “so I brought him along too.”

“And Atlas was reaching for her wand,” Malfoy happily added, toying with somebodies captured wand over by the far wall, “so I tripped her up and apprehended her myself.”

“Good, good,” the pink lady crooned and Atlas flinched, a distressed noise catching in the back of her throat as her eyes shot open and she took in the state of the room. “Well, it looks as though Hogwarts will shortly be a Weasley-free zone, doesn’t it?”

She reached out to lightly slap Ron’s cheek, pinching Ginny’s as she passed the girl only to stop in front of Atlas, Malfoy making some noise of amusement as he copied the woman, poking at Ron’s face.

“My, my…back so soon?” She grinned and looked to Pansy, “drop her.”

“Professor –“

“I said drop,” Umbridge said, that saccharine sweetness in her voice replaced by something cold. Still, Pansy hesitated, eyes flitting to Atlas against her side and back to Umbridge before slowly letting Atlas go, swallowing solidly as she listened but did not look when Atlas hit the floor. The girl made to rise but Umbridge pressed her hand into the girl’s hair, forcing her further down to all fours.

At first, Atlas relented but her will was short-lived and she soon crumbled, her eyes clenched closed.

“So, Potter,” Umbridge began, though her attention remained on Atlas for the time being. “You stationed lookouts around my office and you sent this buffoon,” — Atlas felt the woman’s attention momentarily fall from her and chanced a glance upwards, catching the eye of one Hermione Granger the girl desperate to free herself from Milicent Bulstrode’s hold — “to tell me the poltergeist was wreaking havoc in the Transfiguration department when I knew perfectly well that he was busy smearing ink on the eyepieces of all the school telescopes — Mr Filch having just informed me so –“

A breath.

— “Clearly, it was very important for you to talk to somebody. Was it Albus Dumbledore? Or the half-breed, Hagrid? I doubt it was Minerva McGonagall, I hear she is still too ill to talk to anyone.”

At that Atlas stirred, fighting against Umbridge’s arm, even rising from one knee before the headmistress applied more force, shooting the girl a look of disdain, nails burying themselves into her scalp. 

“Sit down, mutt.”

Some inexplicable rage coursed through her in one swift motion, something uncaring, dangerously so as she threw all caution to the wind, “bite me you –“

“Atlas…” Hermione warned very briefly, her voice curt and urgent, worried and frightened, Atlas cast her a long look before her stance wavered and she returned to both her knees, brows furrowed as she winced. The rage however remained tempered and did not dissipate.

Satisfied, Umbridge turned her attention to Harry as Hermione mouthed apologies and words of reassurance in Atlas’s direction. “So, Harry?”

“It’s none of your business who I talk to,” the boy snarled and yet Umbridge was not the only one who wished to know, Atlas did as well. She wished to understand what she had been dragged into and why Harry and Hermione had been here in the first place, especially after Neville told her the boy had walked out halfway through his exam. What had she missed?

“Very well,” Umbridge said in her falsely sweet voice, the picture of calm as she turned her body to Draco, still looking upon Harry, “very well, Mr potter…I offered you a chance to tell me freely. “You refused. I have no alternative but to force you.” she now turned her head with the rest of her, “Draco, fetch Professor Snape.”

The boy was all too eager to accept the task and left at once, leaving the room in the silence of his exit, there was an occasional grunt or scuffle but otherwise, it was calm, eerily so considering the situation. Umbridge has since released Atlas’s hair, her hands back to herself but Atlas kept on her knees, staring into the carpet as she chewed at the inside of her cheek, feeling as hot liquid steadily made the adhesive of the patch upon her burn useless and limp. Pansy shuffled at her side from foot to foot, hands behind her back as Atlas felt a pair of unsure eyes flit to and from her form on occasion. She resisted the urge to return the gaze and instead looked over at Hermione, the girl trying fruitlessly to throw Milicent’s body from her own.

It was a dead-ended endeavour, of course, Milicent was of the same stature as Atlas, if not stronger and larger it did not stop the Gryffindor from trying however.

Soon, the door swung open again and Snape revealed himself in the doorway, Draco not far behind, he regarded the room in disinterest and addressed the pink lady, “you wanted to see me, headmistress?”

“Ah, Professor Snape,” Umbridge said, her grin large once more, “yes I would like another bottle of Veritaserum, as quick as you can, please.”

“You took my last bottle to interrogate Potter and Black,” he said, eyes not once flitting from the woman despite both of the mentioned students staring intently at the man, “surely you did not use it all? I told you that three drops each would be sufficient.”

Umbridge evidently did not like that and almost seemed to thump her foot in irritation like a frustrated rabbit.

“You can make some more, can’t you?” there was a fury in her voice that made her voice a pitch higher, her cheeks flushed and veins pulsating.

“Certainly,” Snape said somewhat agreeably, “it, however, takes a while to mature, I should have it ready in a month.”

“A month?” Umbridge exclaimed, outraged clearly. “But I need it at once!”

“I have no further stocks of Veritaserum,” Snape cooly replied again and then seemed to smirk, “unless you wish to poison him and I assure you, you would have my greatest sympathies if you did…” Atlas scowled, “I cannot help you.”

“Get out! Get out of my office! You are being deliberately unhelpful!” Umbridge cried, pointing one of her short and stubby fingers towards the door, Snape mock bowed and turned away, clearly unperturbed by the woman’s threat.

“He’s got Padfoot!” Harry shouted just as Snape reached for the handle behind him. Atlas’s eyes grew large as she stared at her brother, shocked still as she took in the boy’s words, what it all implied and just why the boy had come here in the first place. “He’s got Padfoot in the place where it’s hidden!”

“Padfoot?” Umbridge said, looking eagerly from Harry to Snape, “what is Padfoot? Where what is hidden? What does he mean, Snape?”

Snape turned, looking blankly at Umbridge, “I have no idea.” And left, the door clicking shut behind him.

With his absence and Harry’s outburst of information Atlas slowly grew frantic, descending into a fit of panic. Padfoot? Her dad? Was taken by him? By him did Harry mean who she thought he did? To the place where it’s hidden. The weapon? Was her dad taken to the Hall of Prophecies by Voldemort? What was happening? It was all far too much all far too quickly.

“Very well,” Umbridge suddenly muttered, nodding slowly as she seemed to come to some sort of silent agreement with herself, she pulled out her wand and grabbed Atlas by the back of her head, meaty fingers around fistfuls of her hair as she pulled the girl into the very centre of the room, “very well…I am left with no alternative, this is more than a matter of school discipline…this is an issue of Ministry security…yes…yes –“

“What are you doing!” Hermione cried, fighting against Milicents hold harder than ever before. 

Umbridge, let her go and aimed her wand at the Atlas’s face, ignoring Hermione’s frantic calls. 

“Angorgio Clausus,“ the woman called and her words propelled Atlas into a distant past, the girl’s pupils like pinpricks as she reached out, only for her hands to suddenly be bound and for her body to fall very suddenly forward. She hit the floor with a thud, bouncing once as the side of her head throbbed. There was no point in struggling so she didn’t, in fact, she couldn’t, her body had seized and she no longer felt in control but her chest did heave and her eyes roamed the room frantically, scanning faces.

They were wearing purple and sat in high hats with blurred faces.

“You’re all simply forcing my hand…I do not want to” Umbridge said with what sounded to be a mock sigh, Atlas could picture it, the woman’s mouth pulled into a disingenuine frown, a look of phoney dismay at the prospect of harming a student even though everyone in the room knew Umbridge took a specific sort of delight in disciplining rebellious children. “But sometimes…sometimes circumstance justify the use…I am sure the Minister will understand I had no choice…”

Atlas closed her eyes, biting into the cold iron that protruded into her mouth to stop a criminal’s vicious scrawl. 

“Yes…yes, I am sure this will work,” Umbridge muttered to herself, slapping her palm rhythmically with the length of her wand, she leant forward as if to whisper but spoke her words loud so that the room would hear and Atlas would flinch, “I’m sure the Cruciatus Curse ought to loosen the tongues of your friends, for whatever reason, they seem to enjoy your company.” 

“What!” Harry exclaimed, trying to pull away from his captor as unrest settled within the hearts of every friend in the room, the struggle renewed in its vigour.

“No!” Hermione cried, “that’s illegal!”

“What Cornelius doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Umbridge said, panting slightly as she rounded on Atlas’s back, deciding which spot would inflict the most pain — even though Atlas was sure Umbridge had long since decided, even before she had entered this room she knew Umbridge took a sadistic liking to harming her. She settled where Atlas had thought, the spot that was slowly darkening the black of her jumper with the slick of her wound. “He never knew I ordered dementors to go after Potter last summer, but he was delighted to be given the chance to expel him, all the same.”

On instinct, Atlas flinched and went to lunge only for the tip of Umbridge’s wand to immobilise her instantly, nicking a sensitive bit of inflamed skin. She seethed on the floor, glaring up at Umbridge through rageful eyes. Harry almost got expelled for that. Worse yet, Harry could have died — no! Not even that, his very soul could have been sucked from his body. They could have lost Harry and for what?!

“You?!” Atlas managed through the muzzle, though it came out muffled and mainly mangled, unable to configure her tongue thanks to the bar that laid across it but the point got across and everyone understood the angered cry.

“No need to be so surprised, Atlas. I would have thought you’d known me by now,” Umbridge scoffed, her voice lofty with self-importance, “I will do anything to shield the wizarding world from the likes of you and those you call yours.”

Atlas did not know why Umbridge hated her so. She did not understand what she had done to earn such hatred. It could not simply be because she had managed to slip through that first trial — away from Umbridge’s grasp when she was a child. Or maybe it was. No, not maybe, in reality, Atlas was certain of it. Truly that was the reason because Umbridge was vile, evil without reason. She might proclaim it was in the name of the Ministry, but truly, she was wretched. And Atlas could live with it, she could deal with that hatred, for the rest of this year and the next if needs be. She would allow herself to be broken down and remade, she would fear it, of course, she would, she would fear Umbridge, her breaths would grow shallow at her presence and her vision would darken at her scent but she would happily submit herself to it to protect her friends.

However, somehow, despite all of this, despite throwing herself in the way of her friends time and time again, it had not worked. She was reminded of the scar that marred the back of Harry’s hand, that anger she had managed to chain way back when she had first seen it slowly breaking free as everything came crashing down because she had not only hurt him but attempted to separate the boy’s soul from his body. She had threatened Hermione. Threatened Ron. Was holding her friends — her family captive in this stuffy room. No. That would not stand.

“Even so, the Minister wouldn’t want you to break the law!” Hermione’s voice echoed and Atlas slowly looked up at the girl, sweat cascading down the side of her head, “see reason, Professor –!”

Umbridge had pivoted and in one swift movement struck Hermione with such velocity the blood that flew from Hermione’s split lip splattered across the wall.

“See reason?” Umbridge said, her voice shaking as Atlas simply stared at the blood, eyes trailing as it left a trail upon the pink brick. “How dare you, you insolent little girl. My actions reflect the Ministry. Perhaps my methods — to some foolish welp such as yourself — would seem too far but they are done with only the wizarding world’s comfort in mind! To question that is to make yourself an enemy of the Ministry itself!”

The bones within Atlas started to ache, her teeth in agony as blood seeped from her nails, eyes flashing white hot as she continued to glare upon the trail. Her heart was a rabid animal, caged and chained, slamming itself against the bars of its confines, painful with every collision, every beat. It cramped so painfully she thought it might burst. She could feel her bones trying to rearrange themselves, the usually painless shift into her Animagus reminiscing the shift of a Lycanthrope as her power fought against the suppressant embedded within the muzzle she wore.

“Now…” Umbridge murmured, clearly unaware of the Atlas’s inner turmoil despite the girl’s restlessness, despite the bubble of the girl’s shadow, the black that threatened to protrude from her skin, tiny little hands clawing free from the flesh, “where was I?” Umbridge took a deep breath, vibrating still from the excitement of it all as she returned to Atlas’s back, “Cruc–“

“Please!” Hermione cried, her hair askew and lips thoroughly bruised. Though she remained unbothered by the pain she felt as her only concern remained Atlas’s well-being.

The hands halted, froze and withdrew, Atlas’s shadow stable somehow. It did not stop the aching in her chest — in her bones, however, and she felt her fangs sink into the iron within her jaws like a hot knife through butter.

“Please, stop!” Hermione sobbed and her tears were like hexes that rattled through Atlas’s skin, the ache she felt within her bones was nothing in comparison to the pain she felt watching Hermione cry, “I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you so please, stop!”

“‘Mione,” Atlas grunted, her eyes no longer white hot but lingering with something as she looked at the girl urgently. She might not know what was going on, she might not understand the gravity of the situation but she could gather, from the conflicted looks on everyone’s faces that this was important, that this secret was meant to be kept, even at her expense. “Don’…don’ do…it.”

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry everyone,” Hermione heaved, her breaths short and haggard as Atlas looked over at Harry, urging for him to at least try and stop her but the boy looked caught, tears in his eyes as he swallowed, looking from Atlas and Umbridge and then back to Hermione. He clenched his eyes closed and gritted his teeth.

“Hermione, don’t — don’t tell her!” he said, though it tore him apart to say, looking at Atlas who bit harder into her mouthpiece, nails growing and hands extending — becoming darker, furrier. “You can’t.”

“Shut it, Potter!” Umbridge spat, walking away from Atlas and approaching Hermione once more.

“I can’t stand it, Harry — I can’t,” Hermione said, shaking her head.

“That’s right, that’s right, girl!” Umbridge encouraged and seized her by her robes, practically throwing her into the abandoned chintz chair the pink lady usually adorned. Atlas felt something pop out of place at the violent action and very quickly realised it was her jaw as the muzzle quickly grew tight against her throat. If the transformation didn’t cease, the strap would snap or, more likely, her windpipe would be crushed. No, maybe neither of those would transpire, instead, her heart might fail before then from how it beat, from how it cried out and became bruised and bloody from how it threw itself against her ribs. “Now then…with whom was Potter communicating just now?”

“Well…” Hermione breathed in and bowed her head into her hands as something within her face shifted a minuscule amount, unbeknownst to the Slytherin’s, Umbridge and a very distressed and preoccupied Atlas, “well, he was trying to speak to Professor Dumbledore.”

Even to Atlas’s foggy mind that didn’t seem quite right and yet she did not look up and her transformation did not cease, her memory stuck on the trail of blood that would now stain Umbridge’s walls and if not that, the underside of Atlas’s eyelids.

“Lead me to the weapon,” Umbridge said some moments later, and Atlas realised she had missed a large portion of their conversation, slipping in and out of consciousness as her body disobeyed her every command. She could not move, could no longer speak as her teeth remained further fixed within the iron.

“I’m not showing…them,” Hermione denied shrilly, shooting glances over at the Slytherins through the splits between her fingers.

“It is not for you to set conditions,” Umbridge spat harshly.

“Fine,” Hermione was sobbing again but there was something missing from it, something that had disappeared from the cry that made Atlas’s insides writhe just moments ago. It was false and Atlas’s heart ceased its fit, her bones settling slightly as the rage simmered to a persistent hum that tickled along her skin. Her canines remained as fangs but she could suddenly breathe, knowing Hermione’s distress was now deceitful. “Fine…let them see it, I hope they use it on you! In fact, I wish you’d invite loads and loads of people to come and see it! That — that would serve you right — oh, I’d love it if the whole school knew where it was, and how to use — use it, and then if you annoy any of them they’ll be able to sort you out!”

There was a moment in which Umbridge fell silent, something shifting in her posture as she looked around at every eager Slytherin within the room, something flashing with her eyes. She looked back at Hermione and contemplated something.

“All right, dear, let’s make it just you and me…we’ll take Potter and Black, too, shall we? In case you try anything stupid. Get up, now,” the woman ordered as Hermione complied and Harry was released.

“Professor,” Malfoy interjected eagerly as the woman approached Atlas and tugged her up by the collar of her sweaty shirt. For someone so small, her strength was horrifying. “Professor Umbridge, I think some of the Squad should come with you to look after –“

“I am a fully qualified Ministry official, Malfoy, do you really think I cannot manage three wandless teenagers alone?” Umbridge asked viciously as she pushed Atlas into Harry who caught her steady and quietly checked her over, tears in his eyes as he muttered his apologies. In response, unable to speak, she bumped her head against his, just as a wolf would nuzzle another in a sign of assurance. 

One day, he would make fun of her for it, one day he’d quip something about her being a dog, but today he remained quiet and accepted the gesture solemnly. 

“In any case,” Umbridge continued behind them, “it does not sound as though this weapon is something that schoolchildren should see. You will remain here until I return and make sure none of these –” she gestured around at Ron, Ginny, Neville and Luna “– escape.”

“All right,” Malfoy said, clearly put out.

“And you three,” Hermione shuffled to join Harry and Atlas, physically restraining her own hand with her other from reaching out for Atlas, “can go ahead of me and show me the way,” she pointed her wand at them. “Lead on.”

They found themselves within the Dark Forest, deep so that the canopy above let no light filter down to bask upon them or at the very least, light their way, Atlas would stumble, her hands still bound behind her and back in such agony she could hardly think but she managed to recognise their path, the trek Hermione had led them on, cracking branches under foot as Harry – who had been holding Atlas up right – dutifully followed with his sister in his arms. Umbridge was growing less and less enthusiastic as they continued, the prospect of finding Dumbledore’s ‘weapon’ growing more and more unappealing the darker their surroundings became.

No one had spoken, not since Harry had asked Hermione just what she was doing as the bushy-haired brunette refused to look back. Oh, how Atlas wished she would, just so she could look her over, assess the damage that wretched woman had done to Hermione’s lips, to reach out, perhaps hold her. But she was bound and Hermione was determined, so Atlas did not get her wish and she would not for the time being.

After some time Hermione finally stopped in a clearing, looking around with something that looked a lot like grim satisfaction upon her face and Harry let Atlas rest against a tree, the girl panting slightly, as he dabbed away the sweat upon her brow with his sleeve.

“How much further!?” Umbridge demanded as she stumbled into the clearing also, looking over at Hermione, the blood upon her lip long since dried but still swollen to some degree.

“We’re already here,” Hermione said, her voice quite calm, oddly cold.

“Truly? So where is it –“

An arrow sunk into the tree behind Umbridge, just above her head and the woman let out a sharp cry. Hooves thundered across the clearing and Atlas watched through half-lidded eyes as around fifty Centaurs emerged from every angle except the one they had come. Distracted and in a daze, Umbridge did not notice how Hermione retreated and joined Atlas and Harry, not sparing the boy a glance as he once again asked for some clarification as she instead reached out for Atlas, pulling her into a very quick hug before hastening to undo the buckle that had been warped by Atlas’s earlier attempt at transforming.

It fell to the forest floor with a dull thud, an imperceivable sound coming from Atlas’s teeth as they slid from the metal, she quickly hid their pointed appearance from Hermione behind her lips and tilted her head to the sky to expose her neck when Hermione reached for it, cold and soft fingertips caressing the friction burns and budding bruise that was sure to follow in a few hours.

“Who are you?” Called a voice and Atlas looked down, watched as Hermione turned as well and noticed the small smile upon the girl’s face when Umbridge made an odd noise that resembled that of terror. “I asked you who you are, human.”

Ah, it was Magorian. Atlas recognised his chestnut hair and rough beard, the bow he brandished decorated in all sorts of twine. She moved in front of both Harry and Hermione protectively, knowing full well she was not in the best shape to fight and though a user of wandless magic, was not in her right mind to attempt any. If worse came to worst, she could always shift, exposing herself to Hermione.

“I am Dolores Umbridge!” Umbridge cried, high pitched and indignant as if her position being unknown to the centaurs was a very personal, very grievous offence, “Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic and Headmistress and High Inquisitor of Hogwarts!”

“You are from the Ministry of Magic?” Magorian asked as many of the Centaurs grew restless behind him, fingers ready to let arrows fly.

“That’s right!” Umbridge said in that self-important voice of hers, “so be very careful! By the laws laid down by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, any attack by half-breeds such as yourselves on a human –“

“What did you call us?” Bane called from within the semi-circle that had been growing tighter and tighter, closer and closer.

“Don’t call them that!” Hermione said furiously and Atlas turned to watch as a flicker of pain darted across her face, her bloodied lip ripping open once more with her outrage and Atlas felt her blood heat, molten lava coursing through her veins as she was reminded of the trail of blood upon Umbridge’s office wall. She took a step forward and grasped Hermione’s shoulders, pulling her around and away from the budding argument behind them that continued despite their absence. “Atlas, what are you –?”

“Lip,” Atlas said simply as she held Hermione still with one hand, holding her chin between her fingers while her other patted her pockets down, trying to find her wand only to feel her broken one, pressed against her thigh within her trousers, she momentarily tore her gaze away from Hermione, looking over at Harry who was engrossed in the verbal battle beyond. But she did not speak, she remembered he did not have his wand either and let out a gruff huff, looking back at Hermione. “Is it –?”

“It’s fine.”

“Don’t lie,” Atlas snapped, brows furrowed.

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Hermione retorted, eyes equally as narrowed, only to soften near instantly at the anger and pain she saw within Atlas’s expression, “Atlas…I’m ok.”

“She slapped you,” Atlas protested, very briefly licking the scarred split upon her own lip, “she can do all she wants to me and yet she dared to lay her filthy –“

“Atlas,” Hermione interjected and Atlas frowned, jaw growing taught and aching as it remembered how it had shifted in the office and subsequently how Umbridge had handled Hermione. Her friend. Her best friend. Her person. She let Hermione go and walked past her, gaze settled on Umbridge as she watched the woman slowly backing away from the centaurs to escape. She picked up a rock. “Atlas?”

“Filthy half-breeds!” Umbridge was shouting, screaming really as she raised her wand. “Beasts! Uncontrolled animals!”

In one swift movement, Atlas had taken the woman’s wand from her and snapped it between her fingertips, the magic within fizzling out pathetically as, straight-faced, she smacked the rock across Umbridge’s mouth and felt some sick delight when hot liquid splattered across her cheek and sleeves. She dropped it to the floor and Umbridge joined it, dazed as the Centaurs behind them grew quiet and arrows fell away from bows.

It was silent once more, neither Harry nor Hermione speaking either as Atlas crouched and grabbed Umbridge by the arm, dragging the woman through the leaves and twigs so that small cuts appeared upon her legs. 

Harry approached Hermione’s side, swallowing solidly as he thought back to a time in the forest, hunted by Professor Lupin as Atlas carved lasting scars into the man’s body, bit and scratched; Back to a time surrounded by hedges, tall hedges that could reach the sky as Atlas smashed Krum’s face into a wall of thorns, again and again; Thought back to a time in the castle, high up in ‘Moody’s’ old office where Atlas had cracked a candlestick across Barty Crouch Jr’s face and not batted a lash. He was reminded once again, that despite her kindness, her softness and loyalty, goofiness and funny nature, Atlas protected those she loved with the fierceness of an angered god.

“Here,” she said and deposited the woman at Magorian’s hooves, gaze unflinching, “we brought her as an offering. Did you know she was the one who proposed your territory was restricted? She insisted and very loudly claimed centaurs were unintelligent half-breeds who should be denied basic rights.”

There was an uproar amongst the centaurs once more, any lingering shock replaced with rage, Magorian shifted on his hooves, glancing over as Bane and Ronan separated from the crowd and each picked up an arm, hoisting Umbridge into the air so that they could carry her away. The former regarded Atlas silently before bowing his head at Magorian turning while Ronan shot Atlas a small grin, the two walking away.

“Leave this place, foal,” Magorian finally said, turning as the herd behind him followed after Bane and Ronan, “the next time you venture here, we will not be so courteous.”

“Try me,” Atlas said simply, looking up at him.

“…very well, I see you are not conscious enough to heed my words,” Magorian huffed, pawing at the dirt and though he continued to scowl, something shifted in his expression as he looked past Atlas and over to her friends, “but I will leave you with them regardless. This path,” he looked to the bloody rock, “is a slippery one, you’d best take care in where you let your foot rest, lest you fall and never return.”

“I’ll keep that suggestion in mind,” Atlas said, though Magorian could tell she was insincere and scowled deeper, turning to chase after his herd. That left the three of them alone in the clearing, alone in the silence as the hooves grew farther and farther away, alone as Atlas felt a streak of blood fall over her cheek and absentmindedly wiped it away, turning to look over at Harry and Hermione. 

“Atlas…” Hermione breathed, something that looked a little conflicted flashing over her face before she stumbled forward and wiped the blood away from her face, kissing where the repeated friction from her jumper sleeve left the skin irritated and red. 

“Explain,” was all Atlas said, looking over at Harry as the boy swallowed and seemed to remember the reason for all of this, the reason for the offence he had been caught for in the first place. 

And so he told her, all of it in an urgent tone, everything he had seen in his exam, the danger Sirius was in – her dad who was supposed to be at home – how Kreacher had confirmed the man had left his confines, how he was sure Sirius was being tortured right this very instant by Voldemort himself, and how he was certain this was all happening within the Hall of Prophecies. And when some coherent part of her brain reminded her the Hall of Prophecies wasn’t something one could venture within without specific access, Atlas told him such but he was quick to remind her of how Dumbledore had managed to get her in undetected just fine, reiterating Kreacher had confirmed his fears from the fire.

“Kreacher told us he left,” Harry said imploringly, “he can’t disobey Sirius. The Blacks’ are his sole masters.”

“And you’re sure?” Atlas said, her voice still hardened by recent events but gaze softening, growing fearful with each passing second at the prospect of her father’s confinement.

“Of course I’m sure!” Harry said, pleading now.

A crash sounded some distance away and Atlas recognised the footfalls instantly, “…we need to go, Grawp is coming.”

“How do you –?”

A thunderous roar echoed through the trees and reached the three of them in an instant and Hermione’s question fell short as understanding fell across her features, she recognised that roar and so did Harry.

They hurried back the way they had come, a thick blanket of sweat upon Atlas’s face as her back ached and screamed its discomfort. She pushed past the pain and eventually decided to take the lead, branching off down an unused path she knew would carry them to Hogwarts far quicker than the one they had taken to reach centaur territory, it was when they could see the tree line end, the light beaming upon them through the thin canopy above that Hermione raised a good question.

“We can’t do much without wands,” she said and Atlas glanced over at her and then back to her hands, Umbridge’s blood speckled up her arm, “and how are we even going to get to London in the first place?”

“Yeah, we were just wondering that,” a familiar voice called through the trees and Atlas looked up, stopping just before they could fully exit the forest. 

It was Ron and he was closely followed by all those that had been apprehended within Umbridge’s (old) office. They all looked battle-worn, scratches upon their faces and swelling across cheeks, it did nothing to dampen the triumph upon their faces, however.

“So,” Ron pushed forward and held out a wand to Harry, his wand, “have any ideas?”

“How did you get away?” Harry asked as he took it and Luna gave Atlas hers, Ginny repeating the action over by Hermione.

“Couple of Stunners, a Disarming Charm, Neville brought off a really nice little impediment Jinx,” Ron told, wiping his sweaty palms down his front as he shot Ginny’s back a proud look, “but Ginny was best, she got Malfoy – Bat Bogey Hex – it was superb, his whole face was covered in the great flapping things. Anyway, we saw you out of the window heading into the Forest and followed. What’ve you down the Umbridge?”

Harry seemed to flinch, Hermione shifting slightly as she glanced over at Atlas who was still examining her wand, the fraud that was not and would never truly replace her mothers, she tucked it away in her waistband and let her hand rest on the outline of her broken one.

“Hermione led us to the centaurs,” Atlas told simply, “a genius move. And I smashed a rock across her face,” she hummed, looking over at Ron whose eyes seemed to widen an increment, “and let the centaurs have her in exchange for our safe passage back here.”

“You are terrifying,” Ron breathed, glancing over at Hermione, “the both of you…”

“Deserved,” Ginny nodded, her arms crossed but though sort of gratified by her words, Atlas wondered if the girl would keep that sentiment if she had seen it happen, “she was an abusive cow, pulling that stunt with the Cruciatus Curse and all of the stuff she did before? Absolutely deserved,” well, Atlas decided maybe she would still hold the sentiment if this was her outlook.

“I’m not saying it wasn’t,” Ron said quickly, frowning grimly, “she definitely deserved it, I just…” he looked at the blood on Atlas’s sleeve and glanced at the light red Hermione had missed upon Atlas’s cheek. “The concept is sort of terrifying.”

Atlas could not blame him, the boy had never personally seen her especially violent. Not like Harry nor Hermione had.

“I hope she has fun,” Luna said cheerily, paired with her dishevelled appearance, it was a little unsettling.

“Nevermind all of that,” Ron spoke again, brushing off his mild fear as he turned to Harry, “Harry, what did you find out in the fire? Has You-Know-Who got Sirius or –?”

“Yes,” Harry said surely as he winced and Atlas suspected his scar had given a painful throb, “and I’m sure Sirius is still alive, but I can’t see how we’re going to get there to help him.”

“Well, we’ll have to fly, won’t we?” Luna said matter-of-factly. Atlas glanced over at her once before turning and walking over to Hermione, her wand ready.

“Here,” she muttered as a discussion was held behind them, grasping Hermione’s chin in her hand, “Episkey.“

The wound upon her lip stitched itself together, leaving only the remnants of dried blood behind, a sight that sturred an uneasiness in Atlas’s gut. She watched silently as Hermione wet her lips and wiped it away with her unstained sleeve, the other lightly pink with the blood she had previously wiped from Atlas’s cheek.

“You can tell me, you know….” Atlas whispered a second later, dropping her hand from Hermione’s chin and observing the girl’s expression as it turned to one of confusion, “as in…you can tell me if you’re uncomfortable…after what I did.”

“Atlas,” Hermione sighed, grasping the hand that was hanging in the air between them and holding it tightly between her two palms, “you seem to forget all of the things I’ve done, I’m not exactly squeaky clean myself.”

“What do you — ?”

“I trapped Skeeter in an unbreakable jar, Atlas,” Hermione interjected, “do you have any idea what would have happened to her had she tried to change back from her beetle form?”

Atlas’s eyes widened with realisation.

“…Ron was right, you are terrifying,” Atlas murmured, “brilliant…but absolutely terrifying.”

“It’s not something I’m exactly…proud of,” Hermione admitted, pulling away as she looked over at the group, brows furrowing at the quiet disagreement going on. Harry seemed unwilling to bring along the others outside of Ron, himself and the two of them. She looked back up at Atlas, deciding she’d let them figure it out themselves. “Oftentimes I find myself doing…rash and — and slightly illegal things for those I care about.”

“Never thought I’d see the day Hermione Granger admitted to illicit activities,” Atlas mused quietly to herself and smiled slightly when Hermione hit her arm half-heartedly. “You’re a little unhinged, aren’t you?”

“You smashed a rock across Umbridge’s face and gave her to the centaurs,” Hermione pointed out and Atlas’s expression darkened, a little fang pointing out over her bottom lip that Hermione took note of but didn’t comment on.

“She hit you,” she pointed out and Hermione hummed, pulling her gaze from Atlas’s mouth and to her eyes. There was a thrill of delight she felt at the idea of Atlas protecting her so heavily that she didn’t exactly want to unpack at the moment.

“Let’s regroup with the others.”

Atlas said nothing but followed when Hermione led the way back to the little gathering, catching the end of a conversation.

“Because, in case you hadn’t noticed, Atlas and Hermione are covered in blood,” Ginny said cooly just as Atlas noticed a few emerging Thestrals, poking their heads through trees in intrigue and, with the context of everything, Atlas immediately caught onto what they had been discussing, “and we know Hagrid lure Thestrals with raw meat.”

“Look, here come more now,” Luna pointed out and a majority of the group looked in the wrong direction, “you two must really smell.”

“Thanks, Luna,” Atlas muttered as she reached out to stroke down the length of a particularly adventurous Thestral’s muzzle. They would be using steads of death to get to London.

How exhilarating.