Chapter 115

Each of them had their own Thestral and those that could see them, quickly found themselves seated, leaving those unaware standing around awkwardly, their gazes shifting across the floating bodies of those already situated and comfortable. Atlas needed no prompting and let herself fall to the forest floor once more, back aching from the action as she forced one foot forward and eventually fell into a strong stride over to the two Weasleys and Hermione. Their quiet conversation stopped and three sheepish faces peered at her, expressions sort of lost as they glanced around once more as if to accentuate their helplessness.

Atlas helped Ron first, finding him the second largest one to carry his gangly form and helping him to climb upon his new steed, directing his knees and hands within a wiry mane, these demonstrations she continued when helping Ginny, her chosen Thestral a little smaller and significantly thinner as she hoisted the girl up by her waist and held her there, waiting for the girl to straddle the creatures back. She let go when she did and turned to Hermione, watching as the girl kept her eyes transfixed upon the depths of the forest, back where they had just come from not ten minutes ago.

Hesitantly, Atlas reached out and took the girl’s hand. Hermione did not speak, did not stir and let Atlas gently drag her over to her own Thestral, listening and nodding when Atlas relayed to her the instructions she had given Ron and Ginny. The girl found her footing quickly and very smoothly slipped into place on the back of her steed, calm and collected upon its back and yet, despite that, Atlas lingered a moment, carding her fingers through the Thestrals mane.

“Are you truly okay?” She murmured, peering into pearlescent, boundless eyes.

“I’m okay, Atty,” Hermione confirmed, the smile in her voice genuine and Atlas nodded, swallowing as she turned.

“Be safe, they take off rather quickly,” Atlas informed before walking back to her own chosen Thestral and mounting it once more, giving the beast a few placating strokes before looking over at Harry, gaze set. There was a moment in which Harry leant down to whisper something to his mount and there were several moments that passed by soon after.

That was until, with a sweeping movement that Atlas had learnt to anticipate, the Thestral she rode extended its wings and rocketed upwards through the sky, the resistance of the air pushing Atlas back slightly so that the burn she had ached.

Once they settled in the sky, however, a sort of peace settled over her and she hugged her body to the Thestrals neck, watching as everything passed beneath her in a flash. Riding a Thestral was a quick endeavour, faster than any broom but not so fast it rivalled the Knight Bus, it settled somewhere in between and Atlas knew they’d be in London in a matter of moments, the Scottish landscape slowly morphing through darkening skies and thick fluffy clouds.

She just hoped they would not be too late.

It was strange, the sensations she felt within her, they felt somehow distant from her body, the panic, the fear, the need to reach her father should cloud her, should spur her on faster but there was a certain detachment she felt that scared her. It was as if she was not fully comprehending the situation. As if her body — her heart did not quite believe what was happening. But it was. Harry was sure of it, she was…partially sure of it. No. She was sure. Kreature can’t lie, not about Sirius anyway. Her father was in danger.

Her father was in danger and yet she felt not a lick of pure and true urgency as she sat in the clouds, her warm body growing cold against the bitter night air.

Atlas did not know how long they’d sat in the sky only that, with a sudden lurch in her gut, they had arrived at their destination, ears popping painfully as the air pressure settled and they found themselves slowly descending upon London. The lights below basked them all in golden artificial light, Atlas blinking owlishly as they reflected within her dark eyes and she looked around, finding that these streets of London looked particularly voidal.

Her Thestral landed softly and she too let her feet fall to the floor with a gentleness that produced no sound, she offered her thanks to the beast, patting its leathery wings softly before turning away and watching as the rest of her friends joined herself and Harry. She helped Hermione from her steed as soon as she landed.

“Never again,” Ron said, looking as if he might hurl as he slipped and stumbled from his Thestral. “Never, ever again…that was the worst –” he hurled, right out onto the road and Atlas looked over at him sympathetically.

“Where do we go from here, then?” Luna asked, dismounting her steed gracefully as she approached Harry cheerfully, almost skipping.

“Over here,” Harry said, thanking his own Thestral and quickly entering an old battered telephone box that called the pavement its home, it stank and looked as if it had been vandalised an innumerable number of times but Atlas did not comment and followed after him, careful to position herself so that the others would not nudge her back at a wrong move. Harry cried out urgently when nobody else followed and Atlas quickly swerved when the rest of them hastened to obey.

Hermione managed to wriggle her way over to Atlas, her front flush against Atlas who found the ceiling of the box to be rather interesting.

Harry grunted as he peered over the heads of everyone inside. “Whoever’s nearest the receiver, dial six two four four two!”

Out of the corner of her eye, Atlas watched Ron bend his arm to pluck the desired numbers, his face pulled into a grimace at the odd angle.

“Welcome to the Ministry of Magic.” Called a cool female voice, “please state your name and business.”

“Harry Potter, Atlas Magianima, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger,” Harry quickly rattled, “Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood…we’re here to save someone, unless your Ministry can do it first!”

“Thank you,” the woman said. “Visitors, please take the badges and attach them to the front of your robes.”

Atlas did not hear anything else as her attention was caught by gentle hands around her lapel, cold from the night air and carefully slow. Hermione was pinning a small badge to her clothes, eyes determined and set as the needle poked out and within its catch, Atlas didn’t even read what it said and instead let her hands rest on Hermione’s waist when the telephone box lurched and slowly descended. She told herself Hermione would need the support and wrote it off as Hermione thinking the same when she curled her arms around Atlas as well.

They fell further, the innards of the Ministry’s Atrium revealing itself to them through the glass of the beaten telephone box. Atlas peered down upon the abandoned bowels of the corrupt institution she had hated for oh so many years, withholding her deep scowl, her pungent distaste as she tore her eyes away and closed them, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth. Their box stuttered to a stop and she opened her eyes once more, stepping out when her friends tumbled through the open door.   

“Come on,” Harry said quietly, sprinting down the hall. Atlas hesitated before following, remaining at the back of the group, eyes peeled and form poised as she noted no guard in sight, not a wizard nor witch wandering the halls. She thought, despite them being well into the night, at least a dozen or so employees would remain, catching up on work or at least lingering but no. There was nobody.

Before she knew it she was in another lift, a golden grille separating them and a steep death, she had not seen what number Harry had punched but by the levels steadily speeding by and the knowledge of what the weapon was, Harry had led them down deep into the belly of the Department of Mysteries. And once again, they found themselves alone. It was a different type of alone, for there was no rushing of water from the Atrium’s fountain to accompany them and no other statues, expelling their own personal streams to join it, they were well and truly alone. So far down, any further they might stumble upon the gates of hell.

With some strange sense of purpose, Harry moved as if he had been here before, frequently in fact and with the sight of a plain black door, Atlas realised why. Yes, to some extent she had known the boy dreamt of the Department of Mysteries, but she had not realised the specifics of it all. Again, she followed at the very back, some inexplicable reservation in every step as Harry continued to guide them, very rarely flickering his eyes back to his friends, gaze solely intent on the way forward. It was almost manic, how he led them, how he rattled off something about lookouts, only for the flicker of something to dim in his eyes when the group refused.

“Let’s get on with it,” Ron urged firmly and Harry frowned the slightest bit, turning and twisting the handle open to step inside.

Atlas gave their exit one last look before stepping through the threshold and into the circular room beyond, squinting through the darkness at the interior that seemed to be coloured so that nothing held any semblance of individuality, the only colour came from the splash of blue firelight that hung off the walls in equal increments, flickering with their entrance only to go steady once more almost immediately. Identical doors surrounded them, all the same height, same width, same everything.

“Someone shut the door,” Harry muttered and Atlas went a little wide-eyed.

“No wait –!” 

She was too late however as Neville had heeded Harry’s demand and trapped them within. Immediately the repercussions of their actions came to fruition and Atlas screwed her eyes shut as the lights grew brighter and the walls began to shift, spinning around so that the door they had come from was indiscernible from the rest. A faint hand curled around her arm and when the lights dimmed once more, she looked down to find Hermione peering fearfully at the doors that surrounded them.

“What was that about?” Ron whispered faintly, clearly nauseous once more. he hadn’t closed his eyes.

“I think it was to stop us knowing which door we came in through,” Ginny answered in a voice that held notes of terror.

“It’s probably a fail-safe,” Atlas declared, looking around as she hooked her arm around Hermione’s shoulder. “I’d wager only the Unspeakables know the sequence.”

“How’re we going to get back out?” Neville said, hands fidgeting awkwardly as he looked back at the door they’d come from, or rather, whatever door had taken their exits place.

“Well, that doesn’t matter now,” Harry managed, blinking quickly as he seemed to reorientate himself, “we don’t need to get  out till we’ve found Sirius –“

“I think we should take a second, Harry,” Atlas suggested, interrupting whatever the boy was saying. He rounded on her, face pulled into one of confusion, eyes sort of wide. “We don’t know where we’re going. If we go any deeper, there’s no telling what we’ll stumble across.”

“Sirius is in danger, Atlas,” Harry seethed, looking so emotionally conflicted Atlas couldn’t quite discern what was going on behind his eyes, it was as if he could not comprehend Atlas’s hesitance, therefore he was unable to settle on a feeling towards his god-sister, “he’s — he’s probably being tortured right this second and you’re suggesting we take a second?”

Atlas did not say anything, looking upon the boy, jaw taut and brows narrowed, lips a thin line and throat quite tight.

“Don’t you care if he dies?”

“Harry!” Hermione snapped, perhaps a decibel too loud but she did not seem to notice in the moment, looking up at the bespectacled boy, glaring hard. And Harry seemed to snap out of whatever clouded daze he’d been in, the fog over his eyes receding so that they once again, held that vibrant green.

“I…sorry,” Harry blinked, looking around at the others, he coughed to clear his throat, “sorry, I don’t know…I don’t know what happened there.”

For a moment, they stood in silence. Shocked still by Atlas’s hesitation and Harry’s outburst. That was until the former of the two spoke again, looking up and around at the doors that encircled them.

“Lead the way then, Harry,” Atlas prompted and the boy looked up at her, stumbling over unsaid words before biting down so audibly the click echoed throughout the chamber. He didn’t say another word as he spared the area a single glance and then plunged forward through a door.

They all followed the boy blindly with their wands raised and stepped into the next room, this one was lit similarly to the one they’d exited, though desks littered the area, all left neat, papers stacked on the edges and desk lamps still flicked on. A tank sat in the middle of the room, an enormous thing full of a deep green liquid, a swimming pool whose innards were not something to be messed with. Atlas had a feeling, a wry inkling that if she were to dip even a toe in the substance she’d lose it, that and perhaps her life. Maybe not to the liquid itself, but to what inhabited it. 

“What’re those things?” Ron whispered to the room.

“Dunno,” Harry shrugged.

“Are they fish?” Ginny asked.

“Aquavirius Maggots!” Luna answered cheerily but Atlas shook her head, “Dad said the Ministry were breeding –“

“No,” Atlas denied and pulled Hermione back when the girl went to get a closer look, “they’re brains. Let’s go…this clearly isn’t the right one.”

“She’s right,” Harry agreed, swallowing solidly at the prospect of sentient brains, separated from their owners swimming around languidly within a tank. “Let’s go back to the circular room.”

And they did, Hermione marking the door that had already been in and smiling somewhat triumphantly when the doors had been shuffled again, the cross remaining, still burning. Atlas offered the girl some quiet praise for her good idea and they all carried on through another door, the entire process growing increasingly tedious despite only having gone through the throwes of it twice.

This new room was something entirely wrong, something cold and discomforting, something that tickled at the hairs upon Atlas’s body, bit at her skin and whispered upon her ear. There was an inherent panic she felt standing within this new room, looking down the stone stairs that encircled a stone dias, an archway that stood entirely on its own, seemingly trapped in time, an ancient state of constant crumbling. She felt the air stutter in her lungs, her fingertips tingling and her heart wrenching, the broken wand that sat snug against her thigh suddenly felt hot, as did her eyes.

Something was calling for her, something was whispering for her, shouting, screaming, crying, begging, there was something through the fluttering mist within the archway, a veil of sorts. There was a familiarity to it, as if a part of her belonged somewhere through the veil – as if she had seen it before, been here before, been through it before. It irked it, it taunted her, it beckoned her.

She went to take a step closer, brows furrowed but a hand wrenched her backwards and she stumbled into Hermione’s body, the girl staring up at her, wide-eyed and fearful. She spoke but Atlas did not hear her. Not for some time.

“What are you doing?”

“What?” Atlas mumbled, her senses returning.

“I said what are you doing?” Hermione repeated again, some urgency in her voice and Atlas swallowed, blinking rapidly as the subtle ringing she had not noticed till now left her ears and her surroundings returned to her.

“I…I don’t know,” Atlas admitted, part of aching to walk through the archway but she knew the suggestion at the back of her mind would only spell trouble, she knew she’d probably meet her end, she turned to look over at Harry, eyes flitting then to Luna, the two of them just as transfixed as she had been. There was something very wrong going on, “Hey! You two!”

Luna turned but Harry did not.

“Harry!” Atlas pulled away from Hermione and lunged for the boy, dragging him back by his shoulder so he stumbled, “we need to go, snap out of it…this,” she looked up at the veil again as the boy got his bearings, “this…isn’t good — it’s wrong, don’t listen.”

“Do you hear that?”

“The screams?”

“What?” Harry looked up at her, evidently confused, “no, the song…the whispers.”

“What screams, Atlas?” Luna asked casually, it seems she too had not heard the screams as Atlas had.

“…don’t worry,” Atlas rubbed off, reaching for Luna as well and gently taking the girl’s hand, “come on, we need to go to another room this one is…” another cry settled upon Atlas’s ear, apart of her very being splitting down the middle, she grimaced and pulled away, willing for her senses to come back to her. “This one is wrong.”

Atlas found herself quite dazed when the group found themself back in the rotating room, only half listening as they all decided on another door to brave as her mind found itself stuck on the veil, the screams of it that taunted her still. She rubbed at her chest and the dull ache that settled there and did not protest when Hermione dragged her through their chosen room, one that was apparently the correct one as Harry exclaimed his success, running down the aisles of clocks and ticking turners that hung and floated in the air. Down passed desks and a glittering crystal bell jar that seemed to go through the process of ageing and de-ageing a hummingbird, set in some strange perpetual motion.

Then — without so much as a warning — Atlas was flung back into the Hall of Prophecies, the shelves still swaying as they had done those months before, name tags still itching metal and orbs still glowing, some remaining dim as they had been. The door shut behind them and Atlas glanced downwards, upon the spot she knew Arthur Weasley had once been attacked, upon the spot she could still smell lingering iron from. Though she knew that was simply her imagination, it had been long since cleaned of any remaining red, she was just paranoid and slightly frightened.

The whispers returned, not unlike the ones Atlas had heard before the veil but not entirely the same. These did not scream but they were said in the same volume, whispers so loud she almost turned to Ron to tell him to knock it off. But he was silent, as was Hermione on her other side. It was the same situation, the same scenario she had been in those months ago so she did now what she had done then. She cut those whispers out as best she could.

“Row ninety-seven,” Hermione suddenly said and Atlas looked at her. “Harry…you said that’s where you had seen Sirius.”

“Yeah…” Harry breathed, nodding as he looked up at the closest row. They were on row fifty-three.

“We need to go right, I think,” Hermione whispered, craning to confirm her suspicions, “yes…that’s fifty-four.”

“Wands at the ready,” Atlas ordered on instinct, pulling her own out as she shook her head to rid herself of the voices. “I’ll guard the back, you guys go ahead,” she suggested and the group nodded in agreement, Hermione was somewhat hesitant before ultimately agreeing and joining Harry at the front once more.

They listened and went ahead. They listened and disappeared. They listened and did not look back, all focussed on the task ahead, so they did not notice when Atlas stopped, didn’t notice when the girl lost her breath and collapsed against one of the rickety shelves, threatening to tip it over. The girl’s heart thundered in her ears, that static returning as she grimaced and looked up again, everything was blurry, so blurry she could no longer discern the numbers upon the shelf-ends. She was lost and unable to track her friends down.

She was alone. She alone save for the whispering. It called for her, louder and she turned towards it, frowning deeply, contemplating quietly before following after it, stumbling relly until her heart settled and she was able to walk only partially impaired, the numbers grew clearer and she realised she was only growing farther and farther away from ninety-seven, the row that supposed held her father, bloody and tortured and yet she could not bring herself to correct her mistake, instead she continued down her path, those whispers growing louder and louder until all at once they stopped and she was left with a sharp ringing in her ears, standing in a junction of shelves.

Unsteady breaths continued to pour past her lips, her eyes adopting their golden sheen as she looked around, confused as to why the voices had stopped and where they had come from in the first place and that’s when she heard it, that whisper again but it was no longer loud, no longer disembodied and distorted. No. Rather it was clear and coherent.

A woman spoke to her from the shelf, voice cool, aged, wise in a way that commanded attention. Atlas turned and looked upon the pearlescent orb speaking to her, reaching out almost subconsciously to take it in her palm, all of Moody’s warning’s — warning’s that she’d go mad if she were to brush even a lick of skin against one of the orbs lost on her. She touched and she took it, holding it in her palm, the tag scratching her skin as she pulled it away from the shelf. A tag that told a date and initials, a name:

December 19th 1978
F.D.M to A.S.S.M
Atlas Magianima

Her name. Her prophecy. She swallowed, looking deeply into its depths, listening as a voice crooned words to her somewhere in the back of her mind, but the sentences were broken -unfinished in some way and Atlas did not know how to read prophecies. How to listen to them in their entirety, so she hung onto every word.

She —
Atlas —
A child who holds up the sky —
Born with a glass heart too full —
A sickly predisposition —
A flower that shall wilt before it blooms —
A reward too much from a debt repaid —
A child who shall crumble —
Too much — too soon —
Too much — too soon —
A shadow —
A SHADOW —

A shadow fell across Atlas’s body, the warm orb growing cold as Atlas pulled out her wand and spun only to be pushed onto her back forcing a harsh cry from her throat. She looked up through teary eyes, failing to catch her breath and found a figure above her, looming and smoking, mist pouring from its body in waves and forcing a fit of inexplicable rage over Atlas’s very being.

“You — !”

The wand between Atlas’s fingers fell into the open and darkened palm of Achlys and once again, just like she had done that night in the graveyard, the length of wood snapped into two. Atlas felt that this was becoming a running theme, something Achlys took enjoyment from or something because why couldn’t she have just disarmed her and left it at that?

“I’m going to fucking –“

Again she was cut off as the smoke lunged forward and enveloped her, part of it wafting into her mouth and down to her lungs so suddenly it left Atlas gasping for air, the ball slipping from her hand and rolling across the floor with a high pitch coo. She turned over and onto her front, coughing up smoke as Achlys retrieved the orb from the floor, white eyes peering over the similarly coloured object before turning back to Atlas, watching, waiting.

And when Atlas looked up again, she was forced to witness the very moment the orb slipped from smoke and crashed, splintering into glistening pieces on the floor. The prophecy and its secrets sprawled across the floor never to be read, never to be comprehended, never to be ever understood. 

“Atlas.”

The call of her name made her freeze. She had not been referred to as Atlas by Achlys before, not without prompting at least and so she withheld her biting remarks, her simmering rage as she watched and heard the last fizzles of the prophecy vanish before her very eyes. For a moment, it looked as if that was all Achlys had to say, all she had come here to do, to taunt her, attack her, destroy her prophecy and call her name but then she moved again and Atlas noticed the outline of something within the smoke, a mouth opening and closing. Contemplating. But nothing came and she was quiet.

A silence that was broken by approaching footsteps, heels clicking with every step as two figures emerged from behind Achlys. Atlas’s eyes grew wide as the pictures she had only seen within a newspaper, as faces she’d only perceived as a mixture of ink and magic revealed themselves to her. Edha and Kushaal Sinha-Shikari. How could Atlas forget? How could she be so foolish as to not remember the new members of Voldemort’s ranks? She had been so occupied with everything she’d failed to consider them ever appearing before her.

They were family after all.

“Visha.”

Visha? 

The shadow seemed to jerk at the name, turning somewhat towards the intruders and realisation fell upon Atlas’s face.

Visha. 

Achlys was Visha. The body was Visha and — and occasionally the spirit was Achlys but right now, right now both in body and mind this was Visha. Visha, the woman in her mother’s book, someone that had once aided her mother and Newt Scamander in a series of experiments. Someone Amaya had no doubt considered a friend. Visha who had been there that night. Visha who was the monster. The monster who killed her mother. The monster that had given her her scars.

Atlas had not noticed the blood that fell from her cheek, down from her scar, but at this realisation, it seemed to burn a trail and permanently mar her skin.

“Disperse the smoke this instant,” Edha ordered, her voice sharp as Kushaal simply smiled at her side, hands in his pockets. “It’s unsightly.”

And Atlas watched as the smoke dissipated and that surge of rage vanished from her veins. She watched with wide eyes as human skin poked through, wearing an outfit that matched the siblings but was dissimilar only slightly in accessories, where Edha had gold chains, Visha had leather, where Kushaal had gloves, Visha had cloth.

She watched as Visha turned to her and froze, muscles seizing and the fight leaving her.

“…mum?”

But that was not right. That could not be right. Her mother was dead and it had been at Visha’s hand, so why? Why was her mother looking at her with such sharp eyes? Such cold and unforgiving eyes? Such disinterest? Such emptiness? Atlas could not help the tears in her own because this person, this person who looked so much like her mother had — had killed her mother? They looked so similar. So identical they could be related. But Dumbledore had told her she was not related to Achlys…

Realisation.

Dumbledore had told her she was not related to Achlys. Not related to Achlys. Achlys.

But this was Visha.

“Amaya’s spawn?” Kushaal spoke with interest, moving closer and crouching before Atlas’s felled form. He was grinning, something wide that stretched from ear to ear, “my, my…she looks just like her…” he turned to look up at Visha who had not moved her gaze an inch, “means she looks like you Vish!”

“What…?” Atlas muttered weakly.

“You said she had another precious person, right?” Kushaal continued, “the…Granger girl? Let’s get her too.”

Hermione. He wanted to get Hermione. He wanted to take her.

“Enough,” Edha said and scowled. “Grab her and we shall leave, we need not concern ourselves with what those Eaters do with the other children.”

Other children. The others. Hermione. Atlas propelled her foot forward, the sole of her shoe colliding with Kushaal’s nose as she clambered to her feet, stumbling a second before resuming her run. She left a groaning and grumbling man in her wake, Visha and Edha making no move to chase after her but she did not stop to consider them, forcing her legs to carry her, and propel her forward. She cursed how thin the aisles were, cursed how large her Animagus was otherwise she would not have thought twice about shifting, but if she did her mobility would plummet.

This was no time to think about what had just transpired but she could not stop her train of thought, she could not stop thinking about her mother, thinking about Visha, someone identical to Amaya. Her twin? Was her aunt responsible for the death of her mother? Did her mother die at the hands of her own sister? It was overwhelming. It was too much. Mind clouded by Visha. 

Visha. Visha. Visha.

“You should respect your elders,” Atlas almost collided with a sudden form. Kushaal had caught up to her, face contorted around a broken nose into something that looked ugly, unsightly, crazed and manic. He didn’t even utter a word, simply swiped his hand through the air and Atlas was flung into a nearby shelf, the air knocked for her lungs as her back collided with cold metal. She whimpered on her hands and knees, arms weak as they held her up, trying to will her to stand but the pain was crippling. “Were you never taught –” he sent a swift kick across her face, “– manners!?”

Atlas cried out, breaths shuddering as she expelled them and held her dislocated jaw. She managed to hold a breath and with one swift movement reorientated the bone, sending a searing agony through her face.

“Somebody ought to teach you,” Kushaal declared, adjusting his gloves and Atlas peered up at him, willing everything in her body to just stand, to fight back or to at least run. Her chest heaved and her vision was riddled with black spots, she was surprised she remained conscious. “As a loving cousin, I shall take up that –“

“Stupefy!” Caught off guard Kushaal received the hit fully to the chest and flew backwards just as Atlas had done moments ago, crashing against prophecies that did not, unfortunately, pull the man down into the dregs of insanity. 

With this Atlas made to stand, stumbling to her feet and continuing her escape, sparing a single glance backwards as she noticed Kushaal steadily regaining his wits. The chase was quick to renew and a battle of lights raged between the aisles, prophecies shattering and metal shelves warping. Voices echoed all around them with every explosion of glass, disorienting them both but not hindering their movements.

Neither of them stopped for breath, and neither of them gave up on their chase. But Atlas grew weaker, and soon enough she would grow slower and then she’d find herself captured. She threw herself beneath a jet of purple fire and scrambled to her feet, the pain in her back an echo that reverberated through her skull but did not overpower her absolute need to run. At some point — at some time Kushaal’s original manic laughter had been replaced by screams of frustrations, roars of rage that shook Atlas’s very bones.

The power of this wandless caster was not to be trifled with and all at once Atlas was both dismayed and relieved she had been the one on the man’s radar, if it had been any of the others she feared they’d be captured by now. Worse yet, dead. 

Something sharp cut through the muscle in Atlas’s arm and she cried out, crashing into a shelf before propelling herself forward again but her momentarily misstep had given Kushaal a big enough window to catch up with her, the man breathing down her neck as he reached out and grabbed the collar of her shirt, yanking her to the floor. The sudden motion and collision pulled Atlas’s breath from her throat and left her gasping.

Kushaal raised his fist and brought it swiftly across her face, not a lick of magic in the attack as he clasped his hands together and brought them down on Atlas’s nose, cracking the bone there instantly. Water blurred Atlas’s vision as she fought back, bucking her hips to give her just enough room to flip them over, the two of them some form of exhaustion as they fought on the floor, tooth and nail.

“After I’ve got you,” Kushaal said, swaying slightly after he’d managed to fling Atlas’s off of him, “I’ll get that mudblood too and the Dark Lord can finally do what he had intended.”

There was a moment in which something sick passed over Atlas’s face, a twisted idea that clouded her vision and any reason she might have held some few hours ago. She stood, lunged forward, wrapped her hand around the man’s throat and squeezed, the tips of her nails growing sharper as she pointed a shaky finger at the man’s eyes. They fell to the floor again and he held her in a similar fashion, though both of his hands had wrapped around her throat, squeezing so tightly Atlas was unable to speak. But she did not need to, not for this.

The severing charm was something she knew well.

The word echoed throughout her head. Again and again, as her weak state left it less lethal but with the number of times she would repeat it, that would not matter. 

Diffindo. Diffindo. Diffindo. Diffindo. Diffindo —

Each time a flicker of light shot from Atlas’s finger and Kushaal cried out, his screams grotesque and horrifying as the balls of his eyes were turned to mush, the skin around them carved in hideous fashion. And even when the pressure around Atlas’s throat lessened, she did not stop, not for a while, only when the pulse beneath her fingertips grew so faint it bordered missing did she let go and stand, swaying on her feet, wiping away the blood that had accumulated upon her palms down her front.

There was a clatter to her left and Atlas turned to see Edha at the end of the aisle, looking upon her brother’s unmoving form and then at Atlas before flinging herself to her knees by the bleeding body. Atlas swallowed, panting quietly, blinking slowly.

“You,” Atlas’s voice was hoarse, gravelly and she struggled greatly as her eyes burned and her canines ached. Edha looked up at her, her hand atop her brother’s chest. “Stay — stay away from — from…mine.”

“Amaya’s spawn,” Edha spat, rising slightly only to falter, her gaze flickering to the man’s body, she laughed a derisive sound and grinned maliciously as she glared up at her, “stay away from yours? I think you’ll find there’s nothing left.”

Atlas frowned, taking a step back.

“Run all you want. You’ll be too late,” Edha crooned and her amusement grew when a distant crash echoed through the hall. Atlas looked up and around, panic settling in her gut as she turned, sparing Edha one final look before sprinting towards the sounds of panicked shouting growing louder and louder in the distance.

She can’t be late. She won’t be late. She won’t.

Death Eaters congregated ahead but Atlas did not see any of her friends on the run from them so she avoided their detection, slipping by and ahead until muffled shouts and explosions of something pulled her attention to the door they had entered from. She practically crashed through it, the blood that riddled every inch of her body decorating the sleek black of the door as it crumbled to the floor with a Death Eater whose head resembled that of a baby’s.

“We’ve got him!” Someone called ahead, “in an office off –!”

“Silencio!” That was Hermione’s voice. Hermione was ahead and fighting.

“Petrificus Totalus!” There was Harry too! She hadn’t been too late. She wasn’t too late.

She rounded on the office, eyes wide and frenzied, parts of her hair slick with blood and clothes completely dishevelled – ripped in some parts. The scene that welcomed her was surely that of a battlefield, broken desks and scattered papers littered the floor, scorch marks from spells etched into the very essence of every surface, clocks sat shattered, some in a constant state of repairing themselves only to crumble in an instant. Harry was standing with his wand raised, a few cuts on his face and Hermione was the same, streaks from old tears staining her face and Atlas could just make out the top of Neville’s head, peeking out from underneath a desk.

There was movement in the corner of Atlas’s eye and she turned to see a Death Eater – one she could not recognise through his mask – raise his wand and move to swipe something in Hermione’s direction, a silent spell she did not know the effects of. In an instant she shoved her body into the man, watching as the purple jet narrowly missed Hermione and instead sunk into the wall behind her. It left behind fire. Purple fire. She recognised the spell and her insides turned, her body moving without much thought as she straddled the Death Eater and pulled off his mask.

Ah. Antonin Dolohov. A man soon to be unrecognisable. She punched him once, then twice, knuckles aching and skin splitting, the rings on her fingers leaving deep gouges in his cheeks, he tried to fight her off as Kushaal had, meaty hands reaching for her neck but he seemed to rethink it, instead, he desperately tried to push the girl off but she had latched her legs around him and rooted them both to the floor. With every hit, the man grew more and more unrecognisable and soon every thump turned into a sickening squelch. Atlas clasped her fingers together, locking them with one another and raised them high in the air, bringing them down one final time upon the man’s face, indistinguishable from the blood that surrounded him.

She fell forward then, planting her hands over the man’s shoulders as she panted, blinked and shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts, clear her head of everything. And after a moment, Atlas forced herself to her feet, in such agony she felt numb, or perhaps she was, she looked to her hands, covered in blood and saw the black peeking between droplets. No wonder she could not feel the warmth of the liquid.

“Atlas!” Harry cried out and the girl turned, looking over at the boy who looked both relieved and horrified. Atlas could not respond to him, however, as she soon found a small body hurtling itself into her arms and a smell that was so clearly Hermione met her broken nose. She hugged the girl tight in her arms, burying her bloodied face in the girl’s shoulder, uncaring of the pain it caused.

“Where were you?” Hermione asked, her voice muffled as she pulled away, looking the girl over. She noticed how Atlas’s scars had reopened on her face, noticed her broken nose and the scratches up her arms, she noticed how the friction burn from the muzzle Atlas had been forced into earlier burned brighter than before. “Achlys?”

“…Visha,” Atlas told, the name broken on her tongue as Atlas struggled to talk.

“Visha?”

“Mum’s…sister. Monster…killed — killed mum,” Atlas managed, the weight of it all crashing down on her as tears poured over her cheeks. She was exhausted. She wanted to go home. 

“A sister?” Hermione asked, lips parted and brows pulled down. “Your mum was killed by her sister?”

“Twin…” Atlas added painfully. “She…she look — looked like…mum.”

Hermione understood instantly the turmoil this caused within Atlas as she watched her crumble ever so slightly, her own face pulling into one of distress as she witnessed the strongest girl she knew slowly splintering apart. There was a commotion back where Atlas had appeared from and the four of them turned to look through the open door, Neville had now clambered out from his hiding spot to join them in the wide now open space thanks to the destruction of almost every piece of furniture within.

“We need to get out of here,” Harry said, glancing once at Dolohov before settling his eyes on Atlas, “Sirius…Sirius wasn’t here,” he told with a look of utter despair and Atlas felt something lift from her shoulders, a relief that she was not heartless for being so cold and uncaring when her father’s life had potentially hung in the balance. But there was something else, something ugly that almost bubbled to the surface because why did Harry never listen? Why had he not listened when he was warned Voldemort could potentially turn his visions against him?

She remained silent and Harry took that as an answer in and of itself.

“There’s no one else in the hallway,” Neville said, breaking the siblings from their staring. He had, at some point, moved over to the door and peeked out to survey the area. “The baby head isn’t here either.”

Atlas remembered the body she had crushed when she’d broken down the door. Yeah, he wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon. Her hands shook as she clenched them and her heart pounded viciously in her chest, visions of mushy eyes tainting the underside of her eyelids. Had she killed him? Had she killed Kushaal? She opened them and looked upon Dolohov, his unmoving body oozing and she found the prospect of becoming a murderer was not a frightening one.

Not if it meant her friends were safe. Kushaal had threatened to take Hermione and Dolohov had gone a step further and made an attempt on her life in front of Atlas.

She found, all of sudden, that she did not regret it. In fact, she’d do it all again. Gladly.

“We should find the others,” Hermione said and gently tugged at Atlas’s arm, pulling her away from the body and over to the door, Harry following behind and Neville lingering to pair with Harry at the back. “We were separated.”

“What…what –?”

“It was a trap,” Harry told, his voice sort of odd and stunted, Atlas looked over at him, thankful he understood what she’d attempted to say with a single word. “Lucius ambushed us with some Death Eaters, they wanted a prophecy…” he held out an orb Atlas had not noticed before, “this orb.”

A prophecy. Atlas had had one too. Should she tell them?

“Me…too,” Atlas offered, pointing at herself and then to the orb, “separated to look.”

“Where is it?” Harry asked and Atlas considered him a moment before mimicking the movement of smashing an imaginary orb, “you smashed it,” she shook her head and pointed to her scars, “Achlys did?”

Atlas made a face.

“Visha,” Hermione corrected. “Come on…we can talk about this when we escape.”

They all hummed their agreement, even Neville who didn’t quite understand who Achlys – or rather – Visha was and they quickly and quietly made their way through the offices and hall of suspended clocks, finding the door they had come through those mere few minutes ago. For Atlas, however, she felt she’d been there for days fighting for her life. The doors shuffled themselves again and Atlas noticed the marks Hermione had made had long since disappeared leaving them all identical once more.

“Which way do we go?” Neville asked and before they could decide the door to their right sprung open and three people fell out of it.

“Ron!” Harry croaked, lunging toward them. “Ginny! Are you all –?”

“Harry,” Ron giggled, seizing the front of Harry’s robes, “there you are –” his eyes were unfocused, “–you look funny, Harry…you’re all messed up…”

“Ginny?” Harry called fearfully, not once tearing his eyes away from the boy in front of him as he surveyed Ron’s condition, “what happened?”

But Ginny did not respond and Atlas quickly understood why, she was panting and holding her ankle. It looked cleanly broken.

“Ginny,” Atlas breathed, crouching in front of her when the girl slid down the wall and held at her injury. Behind her, Luna explained everything that had happened but she couldn’t bring herself to really listen, concerned for the girl in front of her. “Mione, can I — can I have your…wand?”

Not skipping a beat Hermione readily handed her wand to her, joining her in front of the ginger girl who was whining quietly just under her breath.

“Osseo emendo…” Atlas whispered, her voice harsh as she held Ginny’s hand, the girl let out a sharp cry, her bones slowly repairing, shards coming back together as one underneath the girl’s skin, writhing and pressing against the thin layer to resume their position. The spell was far from painless and Atlas reached out, holding the girl to her shoulder as she sobbed, “I know…I know,” she croaked, throat aching with every word, “I’m sorry…I’m sorry, Gin.”

“I’m…I’m okay,” Ginny said, her breath hot against Atlas as she pulled away and let her head thud against the wall behind her, tears decorating her cheeks, “where’d you learn that one?”

“Poppy,” Atlas offered quietly and turned to Hermione, handing her back her wand.

“Shit, Atlas,” Ginny groaned, reaching out for the girl’s bloody hands, “who’d you kill?”

What had clearly been intended as a joke had the three girls in a cold and heavy silence. “Maybe Dolohov,” Atlas offered, “and maybe Kushaal.”

“Kushaal?” Hermione questioned, eyes slightly wide, she no doubt remembered the name. “The wandless –“

“He’s — he’s my cousin,” Atlas managed, swallowing against the burn that lingered around her throat, “or…or was — maybe.”

“What?” Hermione and Ginny said at once.

“It’s…a lot,” Atlas said grimacing again as that familiar fatigue returned to her, Hermione took notice and softened, reaching out to hold the girl steady.

“It’s okay,” she assured and stood, helping Ginny stand also as the girl limped from the lingering pain. Atlas was the last to straighten, her eyes flitting to the doors that had since rearranged upon Luna, Ginny and Ron’s arrival. She did not know which one led to the siblings anymore, nor did she know where Visha had disappeared to. Yet she knew they were not done with her yet. And the thought unsettled her.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Harry called firmly and the girls turned to him, “Luna, can you help Ginny?”

“Yes,” Luna said, tucking her wand behind her ear but Ginny was already hobbling over to him.

“I’m ok, Atlas healed it,” she declared but still seemed to wince. “I can do it myself.”

Still, Luna lingered and so did Harry who seemed to hesitantly nod before choosing a door to walk through. Neville hauled Ron’s arm over his shoulder and followed, heaving him over to the door. They were within a few feet of the thing when another door far on the other side of the circular room burst open and three Death Eaters sped in, led by Bellatrix Lestrange.

“There they are!” The woman shrieked and some light ignited within her eye when she looked at Atlas. “Astraea!”

Atlas very nearly snapped, the thin wire that was holding her together almost crumbling but before she could move, before she could potentially end another life that night, Hermione pulled her into the next room and a door separated Atlas from Bellatrix, tugging her from whatever homicidal rage she’d almost slipped into. And it was sealed, that door and almost every other as every abled body with a wand went around blocking any entrances to the brain room they could, all hurried and frenzied.

Left wandless, Atlas had no choice but to stay with Neville and Ron, unable to perform the needed charm with a simple word. She’d dedicated most of her wandless study to offence and defence, not reinforcement or healing, hence why she had needed Hermione’s wand to heal Ginny’s ankle. A weakness that could be exploited. A weakness she intended to cul.

Yet, despite their efforts, Atlas watched as the door, unmarked by the others was flung from its hinges and a dozen Death Eaters poured into the room, spells flying instantly. Atlas lunged forward and flipped over a table, grabbing Ron as the boy babbled uselessly and moved to stumble out of cover. She peered over the lip of wood, trying to spot the others and found Hermione and Ginny together by the tank in the centre, Harry and Luna by another door they had yet to block off.

“Neville!” Atlas called and the boy yelped at the sharpness of her voice. “On — on my mark, go to Harry.”

“What!?”

“Trust me!” Atlas’s voice crackled and Neville seemed to take a moment before nodding firmly, rising to his feet but remaining crouched, ready to run at a moment’s notice, “now!”

The boy sprinted from cover and Atlas followed, dragging Ron behind her and pushing him into Neville ahead so the pair joined Harry and Luna behind their cover, she doubled back to reach Hermione and Ginny, gaze urgent as she beckoned the girls to follow, jets of red and green flying over their heads, bouncing off of the tank and sinking into desks — Atlas said nothing as she dragged them over to Harry, the boy catching on and pushing through the leftover door behind him, falling into its depths.

Atlas had no time to consider her movements, plunging in after him and rolling to a stop atop steep steps. They’d found themselves in the cold room again, the stone dias in the middle displaying that archway, the one that called out to Atlas with shrill screams.

Above them the Death Eaters followed, laughing with one another as they soon found themselves surrounded. Under her breath, Atlas cursed, eyes roaming as she pulled Hermione and Ginny behind her protectively, the group of them settling atop the dias, bunched together.

“Potter, your race is run,” a voice drawled and Atlas recognised it as Lucius Malfoy, her mouth pulling into a scowl, “now hand me the prophecy like a good boy.”

“Let — let the others go and I’ll give it to you!” Harry shouted desperately and several words of protest echoed from the group.

“Harry don’t,” Atlas managed, words horribly constrained, “they’ll kill us anyway!”

“You are not in a position to bargain, Potter,” Lucius said, grinning as those that surrounded him laughed. “Or do you really think — are you so naive as to think a bunch of schoolchildren can defeat us?”

“Don’t,” Atlas warned again, this time in a whisper as the Death Eaters grew nearer, she could see in the corner of her eye how Harry’s fingers twitched around the orb, red hot and slick with sweat. She watched as he inched it forward and Lucius propelled himself forward, “Harry don’t –“

“Shut it, dog!” Bellatrix called, raising her wand, “Angorgio Clausus!“

Not again. 

Atlas reeled backwards at the sudden attack, the muzzle fixing firmly upon her face as she dropped to her knees and tried in vain to unbuckle the leather strap from around her already aching throat. It burned white hot, the pain causing her to choke against the metal in her mouth. There was a commotion around her that she did not notice, trying still to pull the contraption from her face, she could not do magic with it on, wandless nor wordless and with this realisation she quickly turned, intent on finding at least one of her friends capable of helping her but they were gone, no, not gone, fighting, duelling Death Eaters, sometimes two to one. Ginny had two on her, Neville and Luna three between them while Hermione stood trying to protect not just herself but Ron’s form from two of her own Death Eaters.

Harry was off fighting with…was that her dad? Yes, she looked around, the Order had come.

A sharp cry came from her left and she turned to see Hermione, unarmed and on her back, struggling to breathe as one of the two Death Eaters bore down on her, pressed so tightly against her windpipe her face was growing purple.

That sensation from Umbridge’s office came back to her, the aching in her bones, in her teeth, the blood that trickled from her nails to join the dried bits that had yet to flake off. There was a heat that ran through her, boiling and bubbling as she grew hot, dizzy and her entire being alight with agony. The metal creaked between her teeth as her jaw popped, her hands grew and her legs snapped out of place. She held her head between her hands as the pain pierced through her, her heart beating wildly in its cage, skin tickling and numbness overwhelming her. She could not breathe, the leather against her throat made sure of that and yet she did not stop and she did not lose the grasp she had on her consciousness.

And then, all at once something within her burst, the muzzle fell from her face and landed in a mangled heap, the mouthpiece contorted oddly. Heat wafted from Atlas’s form in overwhelming waves, black smoke bellowing from her open maw as she propelled herself forward and snapped her jaws around the attacker’s shoulder, his entire arm lost within her mouth as she yanked him off of Hermione and across the room. He landed with a crunch, unconscious within a heap and Atlas advanced on the other, lurching forward when the Death Eater raised their wand to engulf the entirety of his upper body, a sticky substance coating her tongue before she threw him against the rock and let go when he went still.

Her shoulders heaved, her heckles were raised and her back burned as the cold air latched onto her open wound, the burn, the words Illegal Animagi clear and red against bitch black fur. She’d shifted and yet the action felt different, the outcome more than what it once had been. She was not exactly solid, parts of her were smokey and transparent. 

“Atlas…”

Somewhere, someone called her name and she turned, looking down upon Hermione who still seemed to struggle for breath. The girl stared up at her silently, awestruck eyes taking in every aspect of the wolf before her, swallowing solidly and as much as she wished to, Atlas could not linger there, other Death Eaters were coming and if she did not do something, they would be hurt, her friends would be hurt, her family, her father, Hermione.

The wolf turned, bounding over to the two Ginny still valiantly fought, knocking them over in an instant where they met a much less gruesome and much less final end before hurrying over to Neville and Luna, the latter greeting her cheerily as if this were just another casual meeting. As if they had stumbled across each other in the Forbidden Forest once more. There was a mini crunch that came from the Death Eater Atlas had grabbed from Luna’s small figure, one that she chose to ignore as she dropped the body and swallowed down something metallic.

“Help Harry and Sirius, Atlas!” Neville shouted, having caught on rather quickly just who the hulking beast really was and at the boy’s words Atlas turned to watch as Sirius and Harry duelled side by side, attacking Lucius and a pair of unseen Death Eaters at his side.

She made to join them, her movements holding clear intent to them as she moved to pounce and landed on one of the unknown Death Eaters, their arm in her mouth as she pulled and flung the body through the air in a high arc so it landed somewhere near Remus and an unconscious Tonks.

“Atlas!” Sirius was ecstatic to see her, pride in his voice as he laughed joyfully, “atta girl!”

She moved onto the other masked villain, red dripping from her maw onto the stone dias before she lunged forward and took the body between her teeth, shaking her head about so that specks of blood fell upon all those who stood too close.

“Atlas!” This time her father sounded fearful, an urgency to his voice which cracked with her name. She looked up, dropping the body and received another much larger and mistier one to her face. It was Achlys. No. Visha and she was bigger, much larger than Atlas had ever seen. She rivalled her in size.

Visha. Visha. Visha.

The name reverberated around in Atlas’s head as she snarled, fangs bared and clawed at the smoke — but it was just that. Smoke. Atlas could not land a single hit while Visha seemingly could, punching and clawing at Atlas’s hide, her claws sinking into her fur, opening slightly, the wounds Remus had left on her those couple of years ago. Atlas howled in pain, using her hind legs to push Visha off of her and into the air as she scrambled backwards to her paws, whimpering slightly through gritted teeth.

Satisfied, it seemed, Visha shrank and turned, the mist falling away to reveal her face, the one so similar to Atlas’s mother and looked over at Sirius, the man pausing, hesitating slightly as his eyes grew wide and his wand faltered from between his fingers. Harry had just apprehended Lucius when he noticed, a few meters too far to stop what happened next.

“‘Maya?” Atlas heard her father whisper as she struggled to her feet, all four legs quivering beneath her. She tried to move forward, panic clutching — seizing her heart when she saw Bellatrix manifest upon a rock in her peripheral, her wand raised and a Stunner falling from her lips as a jet of red flew through the air almost in slow motion before hitting the man squarely in the chest.

And she was forced to watch as he fell, his body keeled forward as he was propelled backwards and through the archway, his body gone in an instant not falling through — carrying on to the other side. No. He was gone and Atlas had watched the light drain from his eyes. No. No. He was well and truly gone. Not a trace of him was left behind.

And with him, Atlas felt herself slip, her body remaining upright as something else took the wheel. As something else wrought chaos throughout this realm. The dias cracked and the ceiling splintered, the walls tumbling down as something guttural and raw ripped past Atlas’s maw.

A hand reached for her in her peripheral.

“Atlas!”

The room collapsed and caved in upon itself.