Chapter 129

It was Christmas early in the morning, before the birds sang their morning tune. Whittlings of wood lay scattered across Atlas’s desk. Her knife was poised; sliding up the side of a chunk of log, she turned it from left to right to observe the progress she had made. The bear’s body was finished, and now she focused on the face.

Lying in bed, Hermione remained asleep, curled up in the Christmas jumper Atlas had been given two years ago. It was something she’d far outgrown, so Hermione had nabbed it from her closet a few days after they started dating. It fit her, and Atlas wasn’t shrinking any time soon, so it became hers. Hermione shifted in her sleep, discomfort creasing her brow, and Atlas stood, setting her tools down and taking off her gloves to tuck some hair behind her girlfriend’s ear with a gentle caress.

Atlas didn’t want to wake her, not at four in the morning, so she was careful, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to Hermione’s cheek, sitting by until that crease smoothed and her breaths settled.

“Fobbo is hoping he isn’t interrupting…”

The voice startled the air from Atlas’s lungs. Her hand reflexively curled around her wand before she realised who it was. Fobbo looked up at her with his big, round eyes, his hands wringing together. Smudges of dirt were on the bindings wrapped around his feet, and his potato sack top was soiled just the same. 

“No, Fobbo, you haven’t interrupted,” Atlas whispered as she stood and approached him, she reached down to ruffle his head, his ears flapping a little as he grinned, “You’re awful dirty, Fo. You’re not supposed to go outside and I doubt Professor Sprout wants you in her greenhouse.”

“Fobbo didn’t go outside, he’s a good elf, I is,” Fobbo responded, as if offended by the idea that he had not followed orders. “Fobbo is here to tell you something.”

“It’s not Kreacher is it?” Atlas frowned. She had to admit, she had been avoiding the kitchens as much as possible in hopes of not seeing the thing, she harboured too much hatred for him to be anywhere near him, for fear of snapping and dealing with him herself. Her love for Hermione was the only thing holding her back.

“No, No, Mister Kreacher is quiet, he is…grumpy,” Fobbo said carefully before shaking his head, his ears falling again, “no, Fobbo has a note for you, he does. From Headmaster Mister Dumbledore.”

“Oh,” Atlas’s mood dropped considerably, her eyebrow twitching as she glanced back at Hermione before looking back down at Fobbo who held out a note for her, she sighed as she plucked it from his fingers.

‘Dear Atlas,

I request an audience with you this morning, please come to my office as soon as this reaches you.

Sincerely,
Professor Dumbledore’

Short and to the point. Atlas frowned, crumbling the paper into a ball as she checked the time and sighed. Quarter to five. She had a while before Hermione woke up, and hopefully she’d be back in time before the sun glimpsed over the horizon, if not, that’d mean Dumbledore had sent her off on a mission.

Before she left, Atlas wrote out a quick note and left it on Hermione’s nightstand, leaning down to kiss her brow before following Fobbo out of the room and to the Headmaster’s office. He was awfully talkative, though he went quiet when Atlas asked how he had gotten so dirty. Fobbo insisted he had not gone outside nor raided Professor Sprouts’ greenhouse, but the stains on his clothes were very clearly fresh and…smelly. Much to Atlas’s dismay, her nose could pick up hints of both dirt and magical beast dung.

Odd, but he wasn’t giving up his whereabouts, and Atlas wasn’t about to order him to tell her.

They arrived at the foot of Dumbledore’s office stairs, and Atlas thanked Fobbo for walking her there before she parted ways and climbed upwards. She knocked once and waited for a while, only to just walk in when she earned no response. It was dark inside, lit only by a singular candle upon Dumbledore’s desk, it was quiet, the turning mechanisms of the artefacts on the shelves coupled with the quiet hisses from the bowl of Liquorice Snaps on the side the only sound.

Atlas looked around, her eyes flickering gold to see clearer. She noticed a blue glow behind a tall stack of books and ventured over, peering around it to see Dumbledore standing over his pensieve.

“Professor,” Atlas said, and he held up a finger, reflexively silencing Atlas, who scowled at her own obedience. She walked closer, watching as he reached into his cabinet and placed a glowing vial on its shelf. He whisked his wand, the lights returning as his pensieve disappeared back into its containment.

“Forgive me, Atlas, I was reviewing a memory,” Dumbledore said, and Atlas’s brows furrowed, her eyes drawn to the cabinet of remembrances. She wondered what secrets lie on its shelves. “I have just recently returned from a trip I wanted to see you as soon as my time would allow. Alastor Moody tells me you fought a werebear you believe to be Miss Volkova.”

“That’s right,” Atlas said, tensing.

“I’m sorry to say your suspicions were confirmed by Remus a few days ago,” Dumbledore said as he stood in front of his desk, peering down at Atlas behind his half-moon spectacles. “He tells me an attempt was made to turn Miss Volkova in September during the blood moon, it bore no fruit until recently.”

“Well, then there must have been a trigger,” Atlas insisted, “Werewolf venom isn’t a ‘bite now, get powers later’ kind of deal,” she said leaning on Dumbledore’s desk, her fingers digging into the wood. “There’s something more, isn’t there?”

Dumbledore remained quiet for a moment, looking at Atlas intently – as if deciding whether or not he should continue, tell Atlas the truth and for once in his life, in his entire strained relationship with the girl, be upfront. “The truth. It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution. You will not like what I have to say, Atlas.”

“When have I ever?” Atlas replied and Dumbledore seemed to find some entertainment in that, his blue eyes shimmering with amusement before they hardened again.

“That is true…” He said before standing and clasping his hands together, “a test of temperament.”

The phrase struck Atlas.

‘I propose a test of temperament to the minister.’ Umbridge’s words echoed in Atlas’s head, her stomach sinking as she realised what Zasha must have endured, for Dumbledore to use those words, to dig up old festering wounds – she must’ve been tortured. Beaten.

“…what?” Atlas spoke softly, feeling suddenly sick.

“Remus cared for her where he could,” Dumbledore continued but Atlas was still stuck in her head, imagining Zasha, poor sweet Zasha hanging on to the last grasping of her sanity. “But Fenrir Greyback was…ruthless.”

“Zash…” Atlas was in shock, staring at the ground as her hands balled into fists.

“Atlas, I must ask, did you ever harm Zasha with your magic? Though without intent, I am sure, the Fear that lives in you, did you use it on her?” Dumbledore asked, as if it was imperative he must know.

“No!” Atlas snapped, thinking back to her month with Zasha, how quickly they had bonded, stuck together like glue, trauma bonding probably but no less real. She thought of how they had parted, teary-eyed, promising contact only for that to fizzle out in an instant. Would things be different now if Zasha’s uncle had not interfered with their letters? Definitely. “Why would you ask that?”

“Your power is a mystery to me Atlas, but there is one thing, that of which I am certain to be true,” Dumbledore rounded on his cabinet, pulling out of bottle of Mist, the key ingredient to Astoria’s potions. He held it up to the candlelight, watching as the seemingly opaque material became translucent. “When I offered to fix your wand, Atlas, I recognised the latent magic that had once nestled in its core. This Mist, it is the nearest, most similar material to what had once – and now – powers your wand. This Mist is in you, Atlas. Yet somehow turned into a material, a tangible ingredient to…power.” Atlas had never seen the man so…alive. “And I do not understand it…” he said softly, staring at the bottle in wonderment. “It’s inimitable.”

“What has this got to do with Zash?” Atlas asked, eyeing the bottle of Mist warily. 

“When you harmed Bella with your magic those years ago, you left traces of the power within you upon her, those scars that seemed to thrum with magic, Atlas – you gave that to her.” Dumbledore spoke, his expression calm once more, those his eyes glinted behind half-moon spectacles, “Miss Krase is a Squib, she should not be able to tame dragons and yet she does.”

“Then what about the people I intend to hurt? You’re telling me I’m going around giving Death Eaters power-ups?” Atlas said, her jaw clenched and her head pounding with confusion.

“Well, perhaps those who are best suited to power are those who have never sought it.” He spoke wisely, softly as he stood back behind his desk, “Miss Krase is a kind girl. She is good at heart, and despite her abilities, she has not plunged the Wizarding world into dragon fire. I do suppose your magic, as sentient as it seems to be, sees this in her as it sees in you.”

“It sees wrong.”

“In her?”

“In me. I enjoy hurting those who have hurt what I care for. There is hardly any good in that,” Atlas admitted, though she knew she would not be judged – and if she were, she would not care. Not when she had a girl, the loveliest girl in the world waiting for her, who knew this and still loved her all the same.

“Then perhaps it knows of its sins and seeks redemption in others. Do you think that is the case? Do you surround yourself with good, Atlas, because you believe yourself to be bad?” Dumbledore asked and looked deeply into Atlas’s eyes. She swallowed, her brows twitching together as she refused to respond, her silence an answer in and of itself. “…I believe your magic had a hand in Miss Volkova’s transformation – the venom used was of a werewolf, she should have become the same and yet she became something more, Atlas, much like yourself when you underwent the Animagi ritual. Your magic never does things by halves.”

“But I have never hurt her,” Atlas insisted, “even if what you say is…is what’s actually happening I have never hurt Zasha.”

“…very well,” Dumbledore said sagely, “please, then…I implore you, should you cross Miss Volkova’s path, take caution in dwelling in the past, lest it distract you from the here and now. For now, let us part ways. You’re free to return to your dorm.”

Atlas frowned, letting her eyes linger on him for a moment longer before turning on her heel and leaving the office with haste, her hands shaking as she took the steps down two at a time, Fobbo was waiting at the bottom, his expression turning from joy to apprehension at the look upon his mistress’s face. He hurried after her as Atlas blew by him.

They spoke none. Atlas walked with single-minded strides, jogging up steps so quickly Fobbo could hardly keep up, panting softly with his hands wringing together as his ears drooped, many times he made to speak, only for a glimpse of Atlas’s face to dissuade him – that was until they made it to the Lady’s painting.

“Is the miss all right?” Fobbo asked, and Atlas startled as if she had not realised he had followed. She glanced down at him, her expression troubled. “Fobbo thinks the miss seems angered.”

“Not angered Fobbo… I am just, sad,” Atlas said softly and pinched at the furrow in her brows, “my friend did something…bad, she hurt me but I know — I know deep down that she is still good.”

“No miss! That is a bad way – a very bad way of thinking!” Fobbo suddenly blurted and Atlas’s eyes widened, a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“She was likely forced Fobbo, she –“

“No! No! A choice always belongs to the chooser, it does!” He was vehement and defensive, grasping Atlas’s hand with urgency as his wide, sad eyes, welled with tears. “Miss — Miss be cautious! Be safe and smart!”

“Fobbo, I –” Atlas cut herself off, focusing on the frantic look on the elf’s face, she decided to keep her true response to herself, reaching down and ruffling the elf’s head, “ok…I’ll be cautious, Fo.”

“Fobbo is worrying…” Fobbo sniffled as he rubbed his eyes, “that Miss Atlas will leave him.”

“I won’t leave you, Fobbo,” Atlas sighed with a soft smile as she pinched his cheek and pulled open the portrait, she stepped one foot inside, “I’ll come see you later with Hermione, we’ll eat Christmas dinner together.”

Fobbo nodded, rubbing his eyes as he snapped his fingers and disappeared, Atlas stared at where he was, a pit of unease forming in her gut at both his outburst and departure – as if he didn’t want to waste a second being seen by Atlas in such a state. She sighed and turned, entering the portrait hole. She waved and offered half-hearted Merry Christmas‘s to any who were awake and foolish enough to spend the holidays at Hogwarts. Hermione was not included amongst the fools, that was merely a matter of circumstance, of course.

She entered her dormitory, running a hand through her hair in frustration before freezing as she saw Hermione sat up in bed, hair frazzled and cheeks puffy with tears, she sniffled, bottom lip wobbling as more tears seemed to well up at the sight of Atlas. “Mi?”

“Atlas…” Hermione croaked out brokenly and Atlas approached, taking the girl’s hand and pulling her into her arms, she looked at the headboard in confusion, stroking Hermione’s back as the girl nuzzled into her neck. 

“It’s ok…it’s ok, I’m here, what happened?” Atlas whispered softly, turning her head slightly to place soft kisses against Hermione’s neck and jaw. She pulled back to look into her eyes, brushing away her tears with the pads of her thumbs.

“Just a…bad dream,” Hermione whispered, sniffling through stuttered breaths. Atlas’s brows furrowed as she leaned in to press a kiss to Hermione’s forehead, caressing her cheeks and brushing their noses together.

“About?” She asked softly as she sat back and pulled Hermione into her lap, holding her steady.

“You…”

“Oh.”

“Mhmm,” Hermione nodded and rested her head against Atlas’s chest. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Atlas asked, but Hermione shook her head.

“No…I don’t,” she said, almost pleadingly, and Atlas seemed conflicted, wanting to know just what Hermione had endured but also respecting the girl’s desire to move on. She resolved to only push further if it happened again. Hermione leaned in, looking at Atlas softly, and said, “I love you.”

“I –” Atlas felt her throat constrict, the words there, wanting to emerge as they clawed at her innards. She grimaced, her brows furrowing as she simply cupped Hermione’s face tenderly and pulled her into a soft, delicate kiss, hoping to convey her feelings through her actions. Hermione kissed back, her hands against Atlas’s chest as her fingers dug into her shirt, clutching at her desperately. 

“It’s ok, you’ll say it when you’re ready…”

“You’re too good to me,” Atlas sighed against her lips, stroking down her hair and kissing her brow. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up.”

“I read the note,” Hermione whispered as she closed her eyes and leaned against her. “What did he want?”

“He wanted to know if I had ever harmed Zasha with ‘that’ part of my magic,” Atlas said as she pushed Hermione’s jumper slightly off of her shoulder to pepper soft kisses to the purple tendrils scarring Hermione’s neck.

“Why?” Hermione asked, leaning a little to allow Atlas full reign only for her to pull back, her thumb brushing against Hermione’s neck as she looked into her eyes, “Atlas?”

“He thinks I…give people power when I hurt them. Those I don’t intend to hurt,” Atlas muttered. At Hermione’s quizzical look, all puffy-eyed and downturned, she continued, “He said about Bella…that she’s a Squib, and yet she has authority over magical beasts…” Her eyes flickered back to the faint purple scar on Hermione’s shoulder and neck. “You said a skulk of foxes was terrorising your neighbourhood during the term…didn’t you?”

“Yes…they seemed very fond of me,” Hermione confirmed as she wiped the remnants of her tears away and shifted closer in Atlas’s lap, her knees bracketing Atlas’s thighs more comfortably. “I have noticed my spellcraft seems stronger…and when I went and saw Hagrid with the boys, Buckbeak came up to me – I didn’t need to bow or anything.”

“Dumbledore thinks due to my influence…Somehow, I triggered something in Zasha. It would be the reason she became a werebear and not a regular lycanthrope,” Atlas said and sighed as she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against Hermione’s chest. “The more I learn about this…thing inside of me, the less I really understand.”

“I’m sure you will,” Hermione assured her and sniffled once more before dismounting Atlas’s lap and walking over to her trunk – Atlas immediately missed the warmth. “Come on…it’s Christmas, why don’t we open our gifts?”

“But we only have each other’s.”

“Isn’t that enough?” Hermione replied softly, and Atlas smiled, nodding as she crossed her legs. 

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

“Here,” Hermione tossed Atlas a small box which she caught deftly, “you’re really hard to buy for. I didn’t know what I could get for a girl who has the funds to buy whatever she wants.”

“Fair enough,” Atlas huffed in amusement as she popped the cap open and titled the contents into her palm, a black ceramic malformed blob with what looked like maybe some ears and two gold blotches, perhaps eyes, stared up at her, she looked at it quizzically, a laugh bubbling in her throat.

“It’s supposed to be you…or erm…Frog,” Hermione said, her cheeks growing pink, and Atlas allowed a little snicker past her lips, cradling the trinket carefully in her palm, “do you like it?”

“It’s so…beautiful…” she chuckled and Hermione gave her a look, rolling her eyes, “no, no, seriously, it’s so majestic.”

“You’re the worst, I made that for you,” Hermione proclaimed, and Atlas laughed a little harder, setting it carefully down on her desk and walking over to Hermione, she leaned down to kiss her firmly on the mouth, holding her waist to tug her close, through chuckles of amusement.

“It’s perfect,” Atlas whispered into her mouth and kissed her again, longer, deeper, her eyes clenched closed. Hermione broke it first, patting Atlas’s shoulder when the girl leaned in again, trying to chase her mouth. “What?”

“You’re so needy,” Hermione chuckled and squeezed Atlas’s cheeks, looking at her lovingly. “What did you get me?”

At that, Atlas looked sheepish, frowning as she dropped her forehead against Hermione’s shoulder. She pressed placating kisses to her skin, already trying to soothe the irritation her news would cause. “It exploded.”

“Explo — Atlas, what did you get me!?” Hermione shouted, her eyes widening as she gripped Atlas’s shoulders to push her upright and look into those dim golden eyes flickering with embarrassment. Atlas turned them on Hermione and attempted the best disarming face she could possibly muster – Hermione, however, was practically immune.

“So…ok, well, I asked Bella to get me a Dragon pellet fragment –  I was going to wrap it up in a stabilising charm when it got here, but I think maybe Filch thought it was something dark-arts-related and tried to dispose of it.” Atlas explained, silently cursing Filch for his interference. 

“You got me…undigested parts of a dragon’s food?” Hermione said, though she looked amused as she tilted her head to the side. Atlas flushed and shook her head, grasping Hermione’s hands and bringing them to her mouth to kiss.

“Dragon pellets are rare! A Dragon’s stomach can digest pretty much anything, so having stuff left over to regurgitate is super uncommon,” Atlas explained as Hermione silently watched her fumble through her words fondly. “It’s like Phoenix flint. But not used as often because it tends to explode…but it wouldn’t have because I was going to stabalise it.”

“And I’d like this?”

“Yes, it’s very pretty but understated; it looks dull at first, but in the moonlight, it’s golden, almost like a crystal, and its internal patterns look like licks of fire,” Atlas said and Hermione nodded slowly, smiling, “I know you wouldn’t wear flashy jewellry all of the time so I thought it would’ve been perfect.”

“Wear?”

“I was going to turn it into a ring,” Atlas said and intertwined their fingers, looking at Hermione with eyes full of devotion. She kissed the back of her hand again, this time a little longer, “you know…as a teaser.”

“Shut up,” Hermione said and rolled her eyes as Atlas grinned and chuckled, “You’re incorrigable.”

“I know,” Atlas said and then sighed as she kissed Hermione’s eyebrow. “I’m sorry, I don’t have anything to give you.”

“You get me priceless books every other weekend, I’m fine with what I have,” Hermione huffed and pinched Atlas’s cheek, she nodded to the door, tilting her head to the side whilst Atlas was too busy locked in a trance of simply staring at this gorgeous girl she got to call hers. “Are we going down for breakfast?”

Atlas hummed in confirmation, nodding slowly as she grabbed her ceramic wolf off the side and plunged it into her pocket. She sat down and waited patiently as Hermione stripped out of her pyjamas, watching her every move and tilting her head to the side in interest – Atlas’s eyes had caught the long lick of purple curling up Hermione’s spine, ending halfway up her neck, and felt her hands twitch with an urge to reach out and pull her closer.

So she did. Before she could put on a T-shirt, both hands curled around Hermione’s waist and pulled her backwards, close enough to press kisses up the purple scar. Atlas trailed them up her spine and stood to follow them up to the back of her neck. Hermione gathered her hair to one side, bowing her head to allow greater access, much to Atlas’s appreciation as her grip tightened, digging slightly into her sides.

“You like them now?”

“A part of me does, yeah…” Atlas confirmed, her eyes flickering as she let her teeth graze the soft marked skin.

“Are you hungry?”

“Yes.”

“For breakfast?” Hermione smiled, turning to look at Atlas in the corner of her eye, knowing.

“Less so, but sure,” Atlas acquiesced and let go when Hermione pulled on her t-shirt, and Atlas huffed, a part of her disappointed by Hermione’s restraint. She pinched Hermione’s thigh and grabbed her wand, placing it in the holster around her thigh. “Seems you don’t share the sentiment.”

“Idiot,” Hermione said and walked ahead.

They ended up in the Great Hall, two of about 18 other students out of the entire school to be in Hogwarts over the Holidays, especially for Christmas day. Atlas ate her eggs, shoveling food into her mouth as Hermione read the new Daily Prophet, their thighs pressed together beneath the table, feet tapping the others occasionally, playfully. After some time and Atlas’s second plate, Hermione seemed to freeze up a little, and Atlas turned to read the Prophet over her shoulder, reading the Headline.

Atlas Magianima brutally attacked! Just one of many cases this Christmas!

Atlas took the Prophet from Hermione’s hands and tossed it onto the table, cupping her chin to kiss her cheek. “Don’t read that.”

“Right…” Hermione’s hands had a subtle shake to them as Atlas frowned and sighed. She stood and pulled Hermione up with her, wiping her mouth on a tissue, she threw it onto the table too and cleared her throat.

“Let’s go for a walk,” she said, kissing Hermione’s knuckles as they left the hall and found themselves wandering around the castle. Atlas was still forbidden from going outside, though she longed to be out in the snow with Hermione, perhaps skate out on the lake with her, kiss her under the canopy of the snow laden trees, take her on a run along the stones. For now, the gallery walls that encompassed them would have to do, teasing her with pictures of nature and flora.

Atlas talked about everything and nothing, anything to get Hermione’s mind off of the attack. She had noticed recently how Hermione would clam up, freeze whenever that night was mentioned, how she’d linger when Poppy checked on her wounds, how she’d shake when she applied that healing salve to Atlas’s injuries each night. It made Atlas’s chest ache with both guilt and concern. 

“Minnie said she doesn’t think people know we’re dating,” Atlas said after a moment of getting nothing in return, talking to Hermione only to be given odd hums and nods in response. At this, however, Hermione looked up at her, confused, head tilted and brows furrowed, “I know, right? I thought we were obvious.”

“Well, we don’t act much different aside from the kissing, I suppose,” Hermione smiled, chuckling softly and Atlas melted at the sound, her heart warming as Hermione finally responded.

“Shall we see how long it takes them?” Atlas grinned mischievously, and Hermione rolled her eyes but nodded, squeezing Atlas’s hand. “Ginny is going to be pissed…maybe I should tell Molly, though…now that Minnie and Poppy know and your parents know — she’d be excited.”

At the sudden idea, the thought of telling those she viewed with a familial sort of care, she thought of Sirius, of Amaya, her parents, her brows twitched inwards and she sighed, longing for the reality in which she would bring Hermione home one summer, show her off to her mum and dad. But that wasn’t possible. And it filled her with a hollow sort of ache.

She felt a small tug on her hand and glanced down at Hermione, wondering what she was tugging her for when she looked to her side and saw a door, tall and old – she looked around, realising they were in the hall leading to the Room of Requirement and furrowed her brows, they hadn’t been pacing, hadn’t passed the wall more than once so why had a door appeared? And for what reason?

Atlas put herself in front of Hermione, and the two of them walked forward, Atlas reaching out and pushing open the creaking door. It was dark inside, voidal – and as the two of them passed the threshold, the door slammed shut behind them, and a blinding light engulfed them. Atlas pulled Hermione into her arms, shielding her from whatever may happen, only to suddenly hear the chirping of birds. Slowly, tentatively, she opened her eyes and found herself in a clearing.

Hermione gasped softly, looking around at the pocket dimension, grasping Atlas’s arm tightly. Atlas swallowed down the dryness in her throat as she looked around. Magical creatures of all kinds raced through the meadows, she could see darker creatures, Thestrals lingering over in the trees, Kneazles and Nifflers playing in the grass, Fwoopers crowding the skies, flying alongside Jobberknolls and…snidgets? Could this be the place Hagrid had mentioned? The one Atlas had searched for a small handful of times?

“Atlas…” Hermione whispered, and Atlas turned to see a dozen Graphorn grazing down the hill by the shore of a sandy beach. This place had it all: territories and environments fit for each creature, a perfectly maintained pocket world within Hogwarts. How long had these magnificent beasts been here? Atlas grinned and took Hermione’s hand tighter in her own, guiding her through the grass to crest a look-out tower, shoddily made and worn down but sturdy enough. “Poppy will kill you if she finds out you went outside.”

“I didn’t,” Atlas grinned and Hermione huffed amusedly, turning away to take in the glorious view of each habitat, sectioned off perfectly, not too small and not large for what resided inside. It was astounding, even to Atlas who grew up in a realm of magic, how something this ever expanding could exist through a door within Hogwarts.

“This was never mentioned in Hogwarts: A History,” Hermione whispered, and Atlas laughed, kissing Hermione softly. “What was that for?”

“You’re such a nerd,” Atlas murmured and sat down on the edge of the wall, looking out at the world before them. Hermione rolled her eyes and sat down beside her, resting her head against her shoulder. “Hagrid told me about this place.”

“Why haven’t you ever mentioned it before?”

“I tried to find it but I couldn’t…so I thought maybe he was just exaggerating again or something,” Atlas shrugged as they spotted a mighty Thunderbird in the distance. “He’s going to be so jealous…a Thunderbird in the UK? Hermione, this place is…”

“Amazing,” Hermione finished, and Atlas nodded. She followed the Thunderbird’s flight with her eyes, watching as it dipped and wavered every so often. She squinted her eyes to try and get a closer look, only for it to dip behind some trees. She turned and looked at the other creatures, noticing each of them seemed to sport a type of prosthetic, all different and varying. A Kneazle with a fake tail, a Fwooper with an artificial wing, Thestrals with metallic legs and a Graphorn with synthetic horns.

“They’re…rescued,” Atlas murmured, her eyes widening as she stood and quickly took the steps two at a time down and out of the ruins. Hermione ran after her, looking confused as Atlas dropped to a knee and beckoned a Niffler over to her, its beak partially wooden. It noticed her and immediately bounded over to her, jumping into her arms and rolling around in her lap.

“Friendly,” Hermione said softly as she crouched down in the grass too and scratched the Niffler’s round tummy. “And full of gold it seems.”

“Fake Galleons,” Atlas said as she snuck one out of his pouch and flipped it between her fingers, “like the ones you made for the DA. Exactly like them.” She gave it back to the little critter and rubbed his chin, taking the chance to look at his mended beak. “They have a lot of trust in humans for creatures that have been locked up in a pocket dimension; you’d think they’d be cautious.”

“Magical beasts love you, Atlas,” Hermione pointed out, and Atlas frowned, nodding.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right, but Hermione, who’s treating them?” She asked. Hermione’s brows furrowed as she looked around, eyeing each injured and tended animal. The cogs in her head turned; Atlas could sense it as she looked down at the Niffler, who looked up at her curiously.

“Did the Room of Requirement link us to a rehabilitation park?” Hermione wondered aloud, and Atlas nodded. It could be plausible. Instead of this being a pocket dimension, the door really could have simply taken them halfway across the world, but if that were the case, it posed a major security risk, and she didn’t think the room itself could go against its place of residence, potentially putting itself at risk.

The Niffler suddenly sat up right and ran away, glistening gold falling out of its pouch as it disappeared in the long grass. Atlas frowned, glancing over to where it had so fearfully looked before running away only to find herself staring into the glinting eyes of a Nundu. Her throat clasped closed, and she reached for Hermione fearfully, tugging on her wrist as the mighty creature jumped from its rock with feline grace and approached them.

“Hermione…Hermione, we need to leave,” Atlas whispered desperately and stood, pulling Hermione with her. 

As the shadow cast by the ruins disappeared the further back Atlas walked, highlighting her face, the faster the Nundu began to run, it’s tail high in the air as it approached, Atlas’s heart raced, jumping to her throat as she shifted and took the back of Hermione’s jumper into her jaws, picking her up and throwing her onto her back as she ran towards the exit, Hermione’s fingers clutched to her fur tightly as Atlas barrelled through the door and slammed it shut behind herself. She set Hermione down against the wall, her jumper covered in wolf slobber as Atlas shifted back, panting.

The door disappeared.

“What was that?” Hermione asked, her eyes wide as she pulled her jumper off over her head with a grimace and stood.

“A Nundu, they have toxic breath capable of decimating entire towns,” Atlas said, swallowing harshly.

“It looked happy.”

“What?” Atlas huffed.

“Its tail was up; cats do that when they’re happy,” Hermione said, and Atlas baulked at her. “I’m a cat person.”

“That was a Nundu, Hermione, not a regular cat,” Atlas said and shook her head. “I thought you liked dogs too.”

“I love one dog, Atlas, and you don’t really count,” Hermione said and Atlas shook her head, laughing as she leaned back against the wall and stared over at where the door had been, her brows twitching in thought, wondering what that was. Had it just been a fluke? Atlas had been longing to go outside with Hermione. Was that what the door had picked up on?

“That was…something.” Atlas reached out and touched the wall, furrowing her brows as she began to pace in front of it, thinking of the outside again, thinking of being in the wilderness with Hermione, but nothing happened.

“You want to go back?” Hermione said and shook her head. “Absolutely not. Whilst I think that Nundu was being friendly, you are not to be running around so much. Not with your injuries.”

“I’m just trying to open it again,” Atlas said and sighed as she tried again, to no avail. What had she been thinking about when it showed up? 

“Come on, we can come back another time, ok? I need to check your sides,” Hermione said, and Atlas made to protest, only to turn and see Hermione’s imploring expression, a subtle crease to her brow that communicated her worry. Great, she had been trying to take Hermione’s mind off of her wounds, and now she was back to worrying.

“Ok,” Atlas nodded and followed Hermione away, shooting a curious glance back at the wall. Something within her clenched hard around her heart, and she let out a harsh breath, shaking it off, focussing for now on calming Hermione’s distress.