Chapter 67

Every time Atlas so much as set a toe in Moody’s office she was overcome with something evil, something malevolent and concealed and today was no different, in fact, today was perhaps worse. As Atlas manoeuvred herself into the room, entirely hesitant and tense, she moved toward the screaming chest and sat in the chair beside it, finding an odd comfort coming from somewhere within. It was entirely ironic really, the one thing that should scare her the most out of everything in Moody’s old office was the only thing that gave her any relief. Totally demented, just like Moody.

She watched silently, wringing her hands together as Moody unclasped his claw-ended prosthetic and rested it on a stand in front of his Foe-glass, maintaining the image of someone non-existent and background, just so she could prolong the silence that bit longer. She really hated talking to Moody recently, there was just something about him, of course, there always had been but now, he seemed on edge, more so than usual and that was really saying something when describing a man who blew up his house because of a runny tap. It was strange, awkward and through Atlas wanted to get it over with, she found herself stalling the conversation’s beginning. 

A sudden bang came from the window and Atlas flinched, turning to see Kalo just outside, a letter in his beak and an urgency in his stare. Atlas glanced down to the paper, recognising the distinct crumples and stains adorning its surface. It was from Sirius, no doubt about it and unlucky for her, Moody had noticed the birds presence.

“That your bird?”

“Yes, sir,” Atlas nodded as the man whisked his wand and allowed the owl entry. Kalo eyed him cautiously before hopping inside, landing in her lap and dropping the parchment in her hands, only, he stopped to stay, not moving an inch to venture back to the owlery or her dorm as he usually would after a delivery. Atlas was comforted by this, however, and didn’t shoo him away, thankful for the company in Moody’s presence. 

“That’s no owl.”

“I know,” Atlas muttered an affirmative, glancing over to him and watching as his false eye looked Kalo over, wildly and searching. “Though I don’t know what he is, either. He was my mothers, surely you met him.”

“…My memory isn’t what it used to be,” Moody grunted after a moment, turning back to his leg and tweaking it a few turns while Atlas tucked the letter into her pocket, reasoning she would read it later, when she was away from the prying false-eye of Alastor Moody. Kalo, however, wasn’t having it and nipped at her hand, slapping her trouser pocket with his wing imploringly, urging her to read right then and there.

“Fine, alright, yeh daft bird,” Atlas muttered, taking the letter out and glancing at Moody nervously, she brushed her thumb against its front unsurely before carefully prying it open, eyes drifting down the contents of the page.

‘Atlas, my star,

As you’ve probably deduced, I will be meeting you during your Hogsmeade trip, in fact, if you would meet me in that cave we met regularly in last year, that would be perfect. Now, don’t worry, I’ll be careful pumpkin, I assure you. Would you, however, please bring me as much food as you can carry, I’m afraid I haven’t come across any elk or other fine foods in my adventures and quite like the idea of a nice peach crumble. 

There are many things I wish to speak with you about, one of these things being the Kelpie of your most recent tournament. I’ll speak with you more about it when we meet, face-to-face, this is not something that should be communicated through a letter. In the meantime, remain ever vigilant my dear, your dear old dad will do everything in his power to see you safe and sound, so don’t you worry, ok? 

Dad will always be here for you. I love you, pumpkin, my little star, to the farthest galaxy and back.

Sirius.’

Atlas slowly folded the letter with a small smile and tucked it safely in her pocket, suddenly excited for tomorrow and the day trip to Hogsmeade that came with it. She’d get to see her dad again, she’d get to talk to him, perhaps in length, she could get answers and not to mention hugs to make up for their lost time. The prospect of sitting alone with Moody in his office suddenly seemed a lot less grim and Atlas found herself content, watching Moody with a lot less terror as he took a mighty swig from his hip-flask.

That quickly took a downward turn when he turned back to look at her, however, that weird motion he did with his tongue to his top lip unsettling Atlas in ways she couldn’t explain and the cool piercing gaze he had on her entirely too intimate and personal, like he was looking into the depths of her soul through the window of her eye. 

Uncomfortable, Atlas shifted, pushing her arm against Kalo’s chest to urge him to mount it so she could place him on her shoulder, where his soft chitters would ease her back to her contented mood, to the mood she had been in mere seconds ago after reading her dad’s letter. It worked, barely but she soon found herself no longer grimacing with discomfort.

“What is it you wanted, Professor?”

“It’s about your task, Atlas,” Moody turned with a slight grunt, reaching with great difficulty for a brand-new looking Daily Prophet. 

Its cover clearly depicted Atlas and Krum stood side-by-side and Atlas recognised the photo as the one used in the initial article about the four champions as a group, only it had been altered and cropped somehow so it looked like they both genuinely despised each other. It may have been like that for a time but when the image was initially taken, Krum and Atlas were on good terms, great even, so clearly that paper was going to be shining a negative on something to do with either one of them. Which meant, she definitely wouldn’t be reading it, she couldn’t be bothered with the drama of Skeeter. 

“That Skeeter woman took the story on the Kelpie and ran with it.” — he tossed it into the fire beside him — “But that’s not what I want to talk about. Atlas, what do you think happened out there?”

“What do I think?” Atlas echoed and when Moody continued to stare at her, unwaveringly, she sought an answer. “I think the trial was…tampered with.”

“You do, do you?” Moody questioned, “And what gave you that idea?”

“Hermione was telling me all about the precautions put in place and if the things she says Dumbledore did, did actually happen, I find it hard to believe a Kelpie slipped past him,” Atlas said and Moody eyed her critically, a low grumbled rumbling from his throat as, though his real eye remained fixed on her, his fake one looked her over severely. Again, it was like he was looking straight into her soul.

“That so? Who do you think done it?”

“What?”

“You think the trials were tampered with, who do you think tampered with them?”

“I…” Atlas could only think of the monster. “A monster.”

“The one that killed Amaya?”

“Yeah.”

“I heard it’s been floating about,” Moody said, now looking to the window with an untrusting and uneasy gaze. “Peculiar. Very strange. Shouldn’t be here.”

“Professor?”

“You got people you can trust?” Moody questioned, now turning back to her. “That Diggory boy, he says you’re close. That true?”

“Yeah.”

When had Moody spoken to Cedric?

“How close?”

Atlas swallowed, furrowing her brows as she spoke, “I’d probably do anything for him…professor, why all the questions?”

“Just trying to get to know my old partner’s daughter,” Moody dismissed and then leant forward, both eyes moving in sync for once as they examined her face, her eyes to her ears, hair all the way down to her chin. Just examining, again, searching. “You look like her…that’s dangerous you know. There are many out there who would jump at the chance to curse you if they ever saw your face…”

“Right…thanks for that, Professor…” Atlas nodded uncomfortably.

“Just warning you, remain vigilant. Dunno who you can trust these days,” He finally backed away and Atlas suddenly felt the weight she had against her chest disappear allowing easier breathing as she let out a shaky sigh of relief. She reached up to stroke Kalo as he’d ruffled his feathers in a way that was so voluminous, he looked like a ball of fluff, attempting to ease his nerves as well as her own. “Take a look at the magazine I have on my desk.”

“Sir?” Atlas muttered questioningly but when he didn’t answer, she instead leant forward and plucked it from his desk, straightening it out in front of her and gazing upon the moving picture depicting a curly-haired witch who was smiling toothily and pointing at a large sponge cake with her wand. Her eyes drifted down its contents and she steadily frowned, processing what it read.

‘Love Pentagon Of The Triwizard Champions

It seems love is in the air at Hogwarts and with it, suffering and ultimate betrayal, writes Rita Skeeter. There is turmoil between the Champions of this years tournaments but not in a way you might think. A love pentagon has struck the Champions and this is no doubt down to the meddling of a 15-year-old Gryffindor girl, Hermione Granger. Deprived of love since the tragic demise of his parents, 14-year-old Harry Potter thought he had found solace in his steady girlfriend at Hogwarts, Muggle-born Hermione Granger. Little did he know that he would shortly be suffering yet another emotional blow in a life already littered with personal loss.

Miss Granger, a plain but ambitious girl, seems to have a taste for famous wizards that Harry alone cannot satisfy. Since the arrival at Hogwarts of Viktor Krum, Bulgarian Seeker and hero of the last World Quidditch Cup, Miss Granger has been toying with not only their affections but the daughter of notorious Sirius Black, Atlas Magianima Black, our other Hogwarts Champion. However, as previously written, Atlas Black is already romantically involved with Fleur Delacour, the Beaxubaton Champion, though it seems Miss Black holds no value for fidelity and has often been reported as ‘intimately affectionate’ with the Muggle-born by many reliable sources.

“She’s really possessive, flirts with loads of people all of the time but it’s different with Granger,” says Pansy Parkinson, a pretty and vivacious fourth-year student, “really, loads of us think Atlas is obsessed with her. At first, we thought it was because of Harry and Hermione’s relationship, they’re god-siblings, you know? So it made sense she obsessed over the both of them but now we think it’s because Atlas is madly in love with Granger. Though it might not be any fault of her own…”

When asked to expand on this, Miss Parkinson was happy to oblige.

“Hermione’s really ugly, but she’d be well up to making a Love Potion, she’s quite brainy. I think that’s how she’s doing it.”

This theory would be further accentuated by Viktor Krum, who is openly smitten with the devious Miss Granger and has already invited her to visit him in Bulgaria over the summer holidays, and insists that he has “never felt this way about any other girl.”‘

So much for avoiding the drama.

“Krum…invited Hermione to Bulgaria?” Atlas mumbled, her stomach sinking. Moody looked over at her, fastening the clasp that enforced his clawed prosthetic to what remained of his marred and scarred leg. “Love potions? Obsessing? I don’t…”

“How does this make you feel, Atlas?” Moody’s voice interrupted and Atlas looked over at him, releasing the vice grip she had around the paper so it fell to the floor, crumpled and mangled. She looked to her hands, finding them paw-like and clawed, however, Moody seemed to take the transformation in his stride, unbothered, keeping his eyes on her. Dumbledore had probably told him about her condition as an Animagus so it was fine, well, it would have been fine if the transformation wasn’t accidental. She really needed to get that under control.

“I–“

“It looks like you’re angry, your magic is getting more unstable,” and there was that look again, the look that bore into her soul. Could he see it? Could he see the inner turmoil of her magic? Bubbling and threatening to breach the surface that was her body, her skin, her arms to her fingers. “That drink at the Yule Ball did a number on you and the stressful situations the tasks are putting you through are weakening your hold even further. Now, all it takes is an article for you to lose control, maybe not fully but you were so worked up by it you shifted partially. It’s curious.”

“Sir?”

“Why your abilities as an Animagus resemble that of a Metamorphagus…you can partially shift but only into one thing. Curious — but that’s not our concern, that should not be your concern. What your concern should be is how you’re going to deal with your magic,” Moody said and then stood, Atlas doing the same on reflex while Kalo hooted at the sudden motion, jumping to glide over to the windowsill. He stayed but watched from a distance, waiting to see if anything bad would happen to his owner before he flew back to the dorms for some well-earned rest.

“It’s always my concern.”

“Good…it’s good to remain vigilant. Stress and harm are attracted to Magianimas like Goblins to Galleons.”

“Right sir, yes sir,” Atlas nodded and before either one of them could speak again, the trunk behind her shook, screaming louder than it had ever done before. She looked to it, Moody doing the same with a hint of something frenzied, something mad as he then hobbled over to it, kicking it hard with his metal foot and cursed obscenities in its general direction. It went still, very still before starting up again but this time it sounded tired and pleading and the more Atlas listened, the more she heard. It, fleetingly, sounded a lot like Moody.

Another kick, this time with such a force behind it Atlas saw a crack form in the wood. She startled, glancing to Moody who had his teeth gritted, eyes blown mad and his hand curled tight around his walking staff.

“Sir?”

“Let’s get you to Potions,” Moody growled, walking right past her. Atlas watched him go, her gaze momentarily flickering to the Witch Weekly before she sighed solemnly and ran a hand through her hair. Looks like her Summer plans with Hermione were ruined.

“Go home, Kalo,” she murmured and the Owl took flight, leaving her alone to follow Moody down to the dungeons. 

The walk was silent, deathly so, as if not a soul was about, as if Moody himself didn’t have one, in fact, Atlas idly thought there was more life in the wandering ghosts than the man in front of her, he was certainly less exuberant than he had been, seemingly worrying, cautious. Again, more so than usual, it was off-putting.

“Sir? Might I ask you a question?” Atlas suddenly asked, remembering a conversation she had had with Hermione in the library.

“Depends? What’s it about?”

“Uh, nothing really just…I was wondering if you know anyone by the name of Visha?”

Something shifted in the air.

“Visha?” Moody’s voice had changed slightly, so it was softer and less gruff. It was sort of young, with a slight edge but it certainly wasn’t Moody’s voice. Atlas watched the back of his head curiously. “Can’t say I have. No.”

He was lying and Atlas hadn’t a clue why. Why was he lying?

They moved down the stairs in tandem until they came to Snape’s door, the sounds of chatter just beyond, blighting Atlas from her questioning gaze. Moody pushed open the door, holding it so that she could walk inside, her eyes downcast and eyebrows furrowed. No words were exchanged between neither Snape nor Moody but there was a conversation there, somewhere in their glances, the way they eyed each other like a predator to prey. Though which professor took which title, Atlas didn’t know, however, the hint of unease in Snape’s expression had him leaning more toward prey.

“Just dropping off Miss Magianima,” Moody told gruffly, nodding a farewell to Atlas as he then left the room. Surprisingly, Snape didn’t say anything and Atlas actually managed to find her seat without getting berated, noticing how Ron was sat next to Crabbe, Hermione alone at their usual table while Harry was at the front, sat in front of Snape. She pulled the chair out beside Hermione.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey, Mi,” Atlas caught sight of the magazine sat atop the chair she was about to sit and stopped. “So,” — she smiled  — “Looking forward to the summer?”

“Of course,” Hermione smiled curiously, “you know I’ve been looking forward to it.”

“Yeah, though you should bundle up, Bulgaria is super cold. If it’s anything like Durmstrang anyway, you know I almost lost a few toes up there when I went?”

“Wait, what?”

“Don’t worry though, I didn’t actually, I still have all ten,” Atlas shrugged, glancing up at Hermione only to see her looking genuinely bewildered.

“What are you talking about?”

“You know, Krum’s invited you to Bulgaria, I might not like the bloke but he’s your boyfriend right? So you should go see him this Summer –“

“I thought I was spending the Summer with you…?” Hermione murmured, looking a little disappointed. Atlas went a little wide-eyed. “Did you forget?”

“Oh — er — no I didn’t forget but what about Krum?”

“I already promised you.”

“Right but like, don’t feel as if you’ve got to uphold that for my sake.”

“Atlas I want to spend my Summer with you, is that really so hard to believe?”

“Oh, you do?” Atlas mumbled, looking genuinely surprised. Hermione just stared at her silently.

“Atty, do you struggle with self-worth?”

“I — what?”

There was a sudden knock on the dungeon door and without waiting it was open a second later, an agitated Karkaroff strolling inside, twirling his goatee around a singular boney finger while everyone watched him advance on Snape’s desk. Atlas was pulled into her seat by Hermione, dragging her out of the way of Karkaroff’s wild and careless steps, but the girl remained to stare, straining her ears so she could pick up on even the slightest bit of conversation. It was urgent, spoken and exchanged with clear fear, laden, between their minced words.

“We need to talk,” Karkaroff said through gritted teeth, eyes sweeping over the class and settling on Atlas who stared straight back, idly listening to Hermione’s instructions in her right while her left worked diligently to decipher the words coming from their unmoving mouths. He snapped his gaze from her violently, turning back to look at Snape, his eyes now pleading.

“Not now,” Snape muttered, but Karkaroff wasn’t having it.

“But I want to talk now, while you can’t slip off, Severus. You’ve been avoiding me,” Karkaroff hissed as Atlas turned to look at Hermione, nodding at the words she said and grounding up the dead beetles presented to her.

There was a long bit of silence and Atlas almost thought she’d gone deaf again, only, the spitting of a spell gone wrong over by Neville and Seamus told her otherwise and instead, she realised Snape and Karkaroff had locked into an intense staring competition, gazes fueled on one side by desperation while the other, fury and unbridled rage. To those on the outside, it looked like a simple feud but Atlas could see something else, something imploring. Could Harry’s suspicion of Snape hold some sort of truth? Karkaroff was an Ex-Death Eater, yet the two of them were on a first-name basis and acted as old acquaintances. It was suspicious.

And now, suddenly Karkaroff was rolling up his left-hand sleeve, tilting it in a way Atlas couldn’t see what he had shown but by Snape’s reaction, it wasn’t anything good and the Potions Master quickly grew pale in the face, his fast hands coming up to harshly pull Karkaroff’s sleeves back down. 

“Put it away!” Almost everyone turned to watch the exchange, Snape’s cool eyes sweeping the classroom when they did, it was enough to send their heads back down and their noses back into their instruction manuals. “Get out of my classroom, Karkaroff.”

“You can’t avoid this, Severus. You know what this means,” Karkaroff spat lowly, turning and stalking toward the exit. Not before stopping, though, his gaze drifting down to settle on Atlas who looked back up at him. “Magianima.”

“Karkaroff…” He leant forward, placing a harsh hand on her shoulder and stopping only when his mouth was by her ear so she felt his hot, disgusting breath upon her skin. She saw Hermione’s hand dart to her arm, pulling her ever so slightly away, Karkaroff, however, was unfortunately persistent and pulled her closer.

“You made a fool of my student.”

“I saved his life.”

“No, you ruined it. A serial killers daughter helping a world-class Quidditch Player. Do you think that’s good for his image? Getting saved by someone like you? Some little monster,” Karkaroff bit harshly and Atlas clenched her jaw, feeling her anger spike. “You keep your lady friend away from him too, he doesn’t need to associate with any Blood Traitors and filthy Mudbloods.”

“Watch it,” Atlas warned, her chair giving a little from where she restrained herself from standing. Karkaroff stared down her silently, just stared before he sneered almost in triumph at getting the reaction he did before he let go, his hand coming away with a slight crack as he then turned, looked at Snape once more and then left the room, door slamming behind him. “Prick…fucking prick.”

“Just forget it, Atlas,” Hermione whispered. “He’s trying to get a rise out of you.”

“Yeah well it’s working,” Atlas gritted, taking in a breath. “Prick, prick, prick.”

“Atty,” Hermione scolded amusedly and Atlas peered over at her, managing a half-smile to match Hermione’s. “Now, work, we don’t want to give Snape another reason to pick at you.”

“Christ, he’d pick at me even if I was perfect…” Atlas huffed and Hermione quirked a brow, the corner of her mouth doing the same.

“If you were perfect?”

“What?”

“Nevermind, you really are thick aren’t you?” Hermione smiled, shaking her head as Atlas blinked, looking as if she were a kicked puppy. “You’re using Christ now, I notice.”

“Oh don’t, Harry’s already pointed it out. I can’t believe your Muggle version of Merlin has rubbed off on me,” Atlas grumbled. “I sound so…non-magical.”

“Well, non-magical is the definition of Muggle, so it would make sense.”

“I dunno, I know a Muggle-born who’s pretty magical…”

“Oh? Who might that be?” Hermione grinned, leaning against her palm and staring at the profile of Atlas’s face, the girl turned to stare back, however, that stupid smirk on her face as she then winked, her tongue between her teeth.

“I’ll give you a hint, I’m looking at her.”