Chapter 62

Another firm knock – the seventh in ten minutes – sounded against Hagrid’s cabin door, Atlas staring at the worn wood despondently as she waited for the man’s reply but, just as it had been the past few times she had tried to talk to him, he didn’t respond and Atlas was left to stare, standing in the snowfall with a firm frown on her face. She waited another moment, kicking up a clump of powdery snow with the thick toe of her hide boots and watching as it splattered against the man’s hut walls. 

In a way, Atlas was angry at Hagrid. Angry the man would ever consider she would hate him because of something she already knew, angry he would even entertain the idea that Atlas Black of all people, would hate him because of his heritage – because his mother happened to be a giant. She’d had to go through public humiliation since she was a child because of who her father was and the fact Hagrid was ignoring her because he no doubt felt ashamed was an insult.

“Hagrid! Open this bloody door!” Atlas hounded, banging on the door this time. She could hear Fang scratching the other side, whining and whimpering. “Hagrid! I already knew! I’ve known forever Hagrid! I don’t hate you! You must know this!”

She sighed, thumping her head against the wooden frame and pounding it one last time before turning away, head in her hands as she grumbled under her breath, kicking through spheres of snow. They looked to be the beginnings of a snowman but Atlas didn’t care, they weren’t animated yet so she didn’t feel too bad about destroying them. She threw her weight around, spinning around with a huff and glaring at the cabin window. Honestly, she had half a mind to shift and go barrelling into the back door, knowing full-well he had barricaded it for that very reason.

Wouldn’t stop her though. Nothing stopped Atlas from doing what she wanted. Excepted when it had something to do with the girl she very much liked. That thought just made her despair, even further. Shouting to the high heavens, she fell atop the snowy floor, eyes closed and nostrils flaring as she rolled around like a mad dog seeing snow for the very first time. Thinking of mad dogs reminded her of Sirius however and that really was just the icing on the cake, the bloody cherry on top.

“‘Aving fun?”

“No!” Atlas wailed, looking up at Fleur, disgruntled and frustrated. “Everything is shit.”

“‘Ello to you as well, Atlas.”

“Right, hello Fleur…” She grumbled, sitting up. Fleur regarded the spot next to her silently before sitting down in the snow, tucking her skirt as she did. She seemed to shiver when her behind made contact with the cold but Atlas didn’t notice, staring into the forest with a rather hollow expression. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Ah, well…after ze ball, I came down wiz a terrible cold,” Fleur frowned but then flushed. “Davies ‘ad me in the bushes, it was quite zrilling! Being up to no good as ze teachers prowled ze outsides.”

“Glad you had fun, Fleur. Truly and hey…sorry about the — the kiss,” Atlas sighed, rubbing at the back of her neck.

“Zere is no need, without it, I fear the night might not ‘ave gone so well for me. Zough I ‘eard zere were complications between you and ‘Ermione?” Fleur murmured, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I ‘ope it was not irreparable. You are on good terms now, right?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” Atlas mumbled. “Are you going to Hogsmeade?”

“No, I am trying to make some ‘eadway on ze golden egg,” Fleur admitted, retracting her hand. “I am just taking a break.”

It was the first time they’d spoken on anything to do with the tasks in a while and Atlas found herself momentarily taken aback, wondering if she should pursue the topic also. She herself hadn’t made any progress at all, of course, it was no fault of her own. After she’d taken that recovery break she’d come back only to be thrust into something else. Preparations for the Yule Ball. Most of her time leading up to the event had been taken doing dance classes and then she’d been hospitalised straight after, so Atlas thought it was fair she’d wanted to take a step back. 

“I hope our dance sessions didn’t jeopardise any of that.”

“Nonsense! I do not ‘ave ze same lessons as you, so I ‘ad more time to work ze egg out.”

“Oh, I’m glad,” Atlas smiled tightly and then crumbled again, rubbing her eyes tiredly. Fleur noticed, her lips pulling into a thin line as she surveyed her childhood friend. 

She had never really seen Atlas like this, when they were kids it was all just light-hearted fun and the time they spent together had been fleeting, perhaps a month and a half at most so it didn’t offer any in-depth conversations that allowed them to get to know each other in that way. Perhaps the only thing Fleur knew of Atlas’s background was what she had read in the news and learnt while rooming together, which was still very little. 

Emotionally, Fleur only knew Atlas wasn’t great with love and that she hadn’t been given much affection growing up due to her god-mothers exigent occupation as a professor, which was how they had befriended one another. However, that was the extent of her knowledge of the younger girl and, now, seeing her so worn and tired, it pained her in a way she could have never prepared for. Atlas reminded Fleur of Gabrielle. Reminded her of her little sister and Fleur couldn’t bear the thought of Gabrielle looking so defeated. That same sentiment was held for Atlas.

“I could ‘elp you,” Fleur found herself saying but Atlas only shook her head, smiling softly as she pushed herself to her feet and brushed herself down. “Seriously, Atlas I could. You are looking tired, zis is no good!”

“Nah, wouldn’t want you getting into trouble for little old me. I’ve got this cygne.”

“No, Ma Petite Louve, I cannot stand to see you like zis! You are my little sister!”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Fleur. I really do,” Atlas said, turning to her and pulling her into a hug. Fleur stood still, shocked, her arms hanging limply at her sides before she slowly reciprocated and worried her lip in an effort to stop how it trembled. “But, I’m telling you, I’ve got this.”

“You do not.”

Atlas withheld her sigh. “I’m gonna go down to Hogsmeade, I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“…of course,” Fleur nodded, pulling away. She curtseyed on habit before returning to the Beauxbatons carriage beyond the pumpkin patch, the sharp slam of the door closing, ringing across the snow-laden plains. Atlas’s smile turned back to a frown as she rubbed between her eyes, shot a final glance to Hagrid’s cabin and then began her trek down to Hogsmeade village.  

A chill ran through her and she tugged on her letterman jacket, burying her nose in the scarf Hermione had gifted her on her birthday. The memory made Atlas silently reminisce, remembering how nervous Hermione had been to approach her those months ago, unsure – like many others – on how Atlas would react to a present on a day she so passionately dreaded. She thought back to how she’d cringed when she’d initially seen the red wrapping paper and then how the look on Hermione’s face had made her sigh and smile.

Just as she did now. Her breath came out in a cloud of glistening white, a funny side-effect of a leftover Christmas cookie she had eaten that morning with Fobbo, Dobby and a sobbing Winky. It earned a small chuckled, a small chuckle that was soon caught in her throat, her blood running cold. She slowly turned her gaze to the treeline, just past a bunch of giggling third years building a snowman, past a blissfully unaware couple whispering to each other lovingly, past the innocence of the scene.

There stood a suit of armour, with eyes of the purest white, glowing so brightly it was a wonder nobody else had seen it. Seen them. The eyes of the one that had given her her drink at the Ball. The eyes of the one she had so foolishly forgotten in her angered state that night those weeks ago. The eyes of her monster. A sharp sting went across her face and a tickling sensation slithered downwards from her cheek, breaking free from its main current to dye the frozen floor beneath her with a severe spatter of colour.

All of a sudden she was running, the figure turning as she sprinted after it, bursting through the half-built snowman, jumping over the show of love and separating herself from the innocence as she pushed into the green. The leaves and branches whipped at her form in a brutal show of resistance, small cuts forming across her hands as she used them to take the brunt of natures attacks. She continued desperately until she found a clearing, spinning around and listening for any tell-tale clank of armour but she found none, instead, in the corner of her eye, she caught the glinting of metal and the vague wisps of black smoke left behind, tainting and infecting it.

“Astraea!”

Atlas spun around, looking toward the voice that had called out the name. A name so familiar yet so unacquainted. Lost in some jumbled translation. She found nothing, no matter where she looked, nowhere high nor low contained the origins of the sorrowful and melodious voice. Twigs snapped behind her and she spun again, though this time, it was not fruitless.

There stood, atop a shadowed mound, the monster she so furiously feared. It stared at her, unmoving even as she pulled out her wand, watching as, Atlas, without hesitation, sent a spell flying in its direction. The monster’s body simply moved around it, forming a hole at the centre of itself and reshaping once more. Atlas faltered then, the grip around her wand stuttering as she fumbled a moment, mouth dry but eyes pouring in waves of anger and grief.

“Who are you!?”

“Astraea,” It said simply. But it was not an answer, it was a beckon. It was calling Atlas, Astraea.

“I’m Atlas,” she didn’t know why she felt the sudden need to introduce herself to this beast, but Atlas couldn’t have helped but tell the thing her name. “Not — not Astraea.” It was strange, with Pettigrew she had been consumed by unbridled rage, hatred for his cowardice but with this thing, this monster, this figure, she could not help but feel a deep-rooted sympathy. A sense of sadness and sorrow, as if feeling what this monster was feeling and it humanised the beast, set grief in Atlas’s heart. She hated it. 

She hated how she hurt for the monster.

“You — you were there…” A sense of deja vu struck her, reminding her of that night in the Shrieking Shack. The accusations she had thrown at Peter. “You were there when my mum died.”

“Astraea.”

“I’m Atlas! My name is Atlas Magianima Black and you killed my mother! Why are you here!? And why can’t I — why can’t I hit you!?” Atlas cried, tears falling from her eyes, stinging the opening of her scar as she tried, in vain, to, again, attack the being of mist before her. Her wand would not work, no matter how many hexes and curses she uttered, how many motions she flicked. For the first time in her life, her wand was failing her.

“Astraea.”

“Stop calling me that! That’s not my name!”

“Astraea.”

“Stop it!” The name echoed throughout her mind and Atlas crumbled to the floor, head between her knees and pressed into the snow as – with great struggle – she cupped her hands over her ears. She had no idea why the simple name was affecting her so greatly, why it spurred so much grief and panic within her, why her ears rang out with static, why the birds in the treetops cawed so hauntingly, why she could hear everything. Everything.

“Atlas.”

It stopped and Atlas gasped for breath, eyes bursting open as she flung herself to her behind and looked to where the figure had been. It was gone and instead, the scene surrounding her was…chaos. Trees uprooted, some splintered violently, some clean-cut, the snow surrounding had vanished with the mist, animals had fled to their homes – places of sanctuary – and the air was void, no cold, no warmth, it was numb. Or was that Atlas?

“No…” Atlas grit her teeth, shaking her head in denial as she rubbed furiously at her eyes. She looked to the side of her, reaching to pick up her discarded wand with obvious hesitance before stumbling to her feet, spinning around with her face, crestfallen. The damage spread further than she had thought, smoking and disgorging columns of pale mist from every object surrounding, tainting the air with something magically unnatural. Her wand seemed to sing in her hand, humming at the overwhelming presence of the magical element.

But Atlas did not share that sentiment, instead, Atlas ran. Why she had even run after the monster, she couldn’t comprehend. She was unprepared yet she’d stormed headfirst into a duel and now she was running with her tail tucked between her legs. With more questions than answers once again. Why was her life one big ever-expanding puzzle? When would her life make sense? Those were questions she’d had since she was a child.

The snow rode up in clumps as she stopped, panting and bent over, holding herself up with her hands clasped harshly around her knees. She wheezed, grimaced and swallowed through gritted teeth, throwing her head back and running a hand down her face, trying to process what she had just experienced. Tears silently fell from her eyes as she gathered herself, the occupants of the Forbidden Forest, birds, deer, vole and the odd magical beast, all mingling around her, unaware of the devastation she had caused just beyond their homes. Unaware of how she had crushed and warped the habitats of those like them.

Atlas dropped against a tree, sliding down it, face in her knees and hands over her head. She couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe what had just happened. She’d come face-to-face with her monster and had just left feeling that hatred she had always held for it slowly morph into a deep solemn sadness. The anger had dissipated and in its place, grief. It was exactly the same as when she’d seen Sirius that day in the Shrieking Shack and it confused her. It scared her.

This thing killed her mother, she was sure of it, she had seen it, lived it. Yet all she could feel towards it now was fear and mourning. There was still anger and hatred, she knew, but it was overshadowed and she barely felt it at that moment. It didn’t make sense and Atlas felt lost, the answers she’d once known, the sureness she’d once had was swiped from beneath her in a single encounter and left Atlas unsteady, insecure and uncertain.

She took in another deep shuddering breath, sniffling as her gaze snapped upward, finding none other than Luna Lovegood, stood with a bloody slab of steak in hand with a pair of Thestrals stood just behind her. One of the mounts of darkness, the foal, snapped its beak at Luna’s hand, urging for her to drop the grim-looking treat. Luna responded in kind, simply dropping it to the floor as she moved forward.

“Don’t,” Atlas warned, still looking hesitant and scared. “I’m not…I’m not safe to be around.”

“That’s fine,” Luna smiled, continuing so she ended up sitting beside her. Atlas tensed, clenching her fists. “I saw it.”

“What?”

“The Mist.”

“You did?” Atlas croaked.

“It’s very frightening…” Luna nodded. “I felt very…sad when I saw it. Even the Thestrals didn’t like it. The sprites fled as soon as I happened upon the scene, they say the Mist’s magical imprint is dark.”

“Do they?” Atlas sniffled again, wiping her eyes and running a shaky hand through her hair.

“What is the Mist, Atlas? You seem very shaken. Is it a bad thing?”

“Very,” Atlas confirmed. “It was the thing that killed my mum.”

“Oh. It is very bad.”

“Yeah…but I’m conflicted, Luna.”

“How come?”

“Because I wasn’t angry…nor did I want to…avenge my mum. Instead, I felt pity, I was sorrowful. I wanted to talk to it,” Atlas told, eyeing the Thestrals as they rolled around in the snow, darkening it in patches of grey. Luna watched as well, still listening to the girl beside her. “It called me Astraea.”

“She was the lady of innocence.”

“What?”

“My dad told me about her once. She died when she was 12,” Luna said and Atlas glanced over at her, wiping her puffy eyes once more as she then buried her chin in her crossed arms.

“How come?”

“Well, she was one of the first recorded Obscurial, her sister was one too, my dad said it killed her, well, them in the end.”

“An…Obscurial?” Atlas straightened. “Is it…is it related to an Obscurus?”

“Yes, actually,” Luna smiled. “An Obscurus is what’s inside an Obscurial.”

“And…and what is an Obscurus?” Atlas continued, remembering how Uncle Remus had mentioned her mother was fascinated by the topic and how…how her Boggart had reminded him of one. “Do you — do you know?”

“No, my dad didn’t know much,” Luna confessed. “They’re very obscure things, only very important people know much about them. Books on them were stripped from stores when Grindelwald was defeated, don’t you know? He was really interested in them, you see.”

“Grindelwald? Isn’t that…?” Atlas stopped, shaking her head. “Do you think the Mist is an Obscurus?”

“I don’t think so,” Luna said, shaking her head. “It’s too calm. I don’t know what an Obscurus is but I know they can’t live without a host.”

“A host?”

“The Obscurial. But even then, when an Obscurial lets its Obscurus take over they’re ravenous. So I don’t think that stationary Mist was an Obscurus,” Luna shrugged faintly. “It did look like one though, my mum used to have drawings of them in her room. Someone burned her research when she died though, I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“I could have gotten you answers.”

“Luna…” Atlas sighed, reaching out to pat her head. “It’s ok,” she muttered, looking out through the trees. “Considering I just stumbled across my greatest fear, I’m feeling strangely content. This…distracted me.”

“I’m glad. It’s strange how we continue to meet in the forest though. I rarely see you around school, you know? But in the forest, we stumble across each other quite often. I, personally, think it’s the Sprites.”

“You do, do you?” Atlas smiled tiredly. “Luna…why do you think the Mist made us upset? Looking past what the…Sprites said.”

“I think it’s like a Dementor. But instead of dread and darkness, it makes us feel…perhaps what it feels.”

“What it feels?”

“Maybe it’s sad.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” Luna smiled, airy looking as she let a Thestral nuzzle against her cheek. “But sometimes creatures are misunderstood, right?”

“Luna, it killed my mum.”

“It didn’t kill you though.”

“I know…I know that. I’ve pondered why all my life but still, there’s nothing more to understand is there? It killed my mum, what more do I need to know to understand it’s anything but a killer? I saw it with my own two eyes, I saw its misted form, bright white eyes and claws. Heard its voice talking to my mother and saw how it mutilated her body.”

“And then?”

“What?”

“Then what?”

“I…I always wake up before then. It’s not something I like to relive,” Atlas said shortly and then stood brushing herself down. “I need to find Minerva, let her know what I saw so security can be tightened around the forest.”

“Alright,” Luna smiled cheerily, standing up as well. “I’ll see you around, doggy.”

“Sure, just…be careful,” Atlas glanced around, fear twisting at her stomach, “it could still be out here.”

“The Thestrals will warn me.”

“Stay safe Luna…it’s…no matter what you say, it’s not friendly,” Atlas found herself tracing her scars. “No matter what’s beneath the mist, it’s still a monster.”

“I’ll keep an eye out.”

“See you…and thanks…for the chat.”

“I found it enjoyable. Though you didn’t get to go to Hogsmeade, my apologies.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Ok, bye then Atlas!”

“Yeah…” Atlas peered through the shadows the trees cast across the grounds. “Bye.”

Something was stirring, it was brewing, bubbling, halfway across the world or within herself, Atlas couldn’t be sure. Nor was she convinced it couldn’t be both. This was just the start and Atlas wasn’t so sure she wanted to see what awaited her at the end.