Chapter 82

Sleeping Draughts never really worked on Atlas, even if she had taken three to Harry’s one, because of her demand for them as a kid they lost their effect and tonight was no different. She had hoped it would be, hoped her exhaustion would let her rest for once but no, her mind was awake, it was alive more than ever before. The loud voices did nothing to aide her, the incessant noise ringing around the hospital, all jibberish and incoherent but it was still noise, loud and grating noise.

Atlas opened her eyes, feeling a warm hand in hers, the one she had fallen asleep with mere hours ago. Hermione was stood though, not laying with her as she had been, she was stood and staring over at Molly and Bill while Minerva feuded with a familiar bowler hat, Fudge looked distressed, Snape beside him, bothered and Dumbledore, mildly annoyed. Her finger twitched and Hermione turned to look down at her, eyes widening slightly but Atlas placed her finger to her lips, sitting up tentatively so her legs hung over the lip of her bed.

“Atlas, you should try and sleep…”

“With this noise?” Atlas whispered hoarsely, “what’s going on…?”

“The Minister’s Dementor…it administered the kiss on Barty Crouch,” Hermione murmured. “They’re arguing about it now, about Voldemort, but Fudge is vehemently denying his return. It’s like arguing with a brick wall.”

Atlas froze and stared upon the far wall, finding words she would never have said, could never have even imagined echoing around her mind. But things change, people change and Atlas felt with an iron conviction that Barty deserved every ounce of pain that would befall him, every drop of misery and despair.

“See here, Dumbledore,” Fudges voice echoed and Atlas turned to it, not at all surprised to see the mad smile across his face. He was very deep in denial. “you — you can’t seriously believe that You-Know-Who, is back? Come now, come now…certainly, Crouch may have believed himself to be acting upon You-Know-Who’s orders – but to take the word of a lunatic like that, Dumbledore…”

“When Harry and Atlas touched the Triwizard Cup tonight, they were transported straight to Voldemort,” Dumbledore said steadily. “He witnessed Lord Voldemort’s rebirth. I will explain it all to you if you will step up to my office.” Dumbledore glanced around at Harry and Atlas, seeing that they were awake, but shook his head and said, “I am afraid I cannot permit you to question them tonight.”

Fudge’s curious smile lingered. He too glanced at them, then looked back at Dumbledore, and said, “You are – er – prepared to take their word on this, are you, Dumbledore?”

There was a moment’s silence, which was broken by a sudden growl, Sirius’s growl. Atlas looked over at him, finding him stood between her and Harry’s beds, his teeth bared and hackles raised, so she stood, Hermione, startling at her sudden movement, and walked over to her father, putting a hand on his head. Hermione hurried to her side, looking her over just as Sirius did, his attention snapped to his daughter. Nobody else noticed she was awake, however, and she hoped it would stay that way.

“Certainly, I believe them,” Dumbledore said. His eyes were blazing now. “I heard Crouch’s confession, and I heard Harry and Atlas’s accounts of what happened after they touched the Triwizard Cup; the three stories make sense, they explain everything that has happened since Bertha Jorkins disappeared last summer.”

Fudge still had that mad smile on his face, his eyes drifting over to Harry’s still form and then to Atlas who was glaring defiantly at him. He averted his gaze once he’d seen her, readjusting his tie as he coughed to clear his throat. “You are prepared to believe that Lord Voldemort has returned, on the word of a lunatic murderer, a girl and a boy who…well…”

“You’ve been reading Rita Skeeter, Mr Fudge,” A voice said quietly, it had been Harry, he was awake and now sat, first looking at Fudge and then over to Atlas who he smiled at briefly, Atlas stared and then smiled back, it was small and Atlas wasn’t sure he had seen it, but it was there. Ron, Molly, and Bill all jumped. None of them had realized that Harry was awake and now they had also seen Atlas was the same, standing by Hermione and the great black dog they didn’t know the origin of.

Fudge reddened slightly, but a defiant and obstinate look came over his face.

“And if I have?” he said, looking at Dumbledore. “If I have discovered that you’ve been keeping certain facts about the boy very quiet? A Parselmouth, eh? And having funny turns all over the place –“

“I assume that you are referring to the pains Harry has been experiencing in his scar?” Dumbledore said coolly.

“You admit that he has been having these pains, then?” Fudge said quickly. “Headaches? Nightmares? Possibly – hallucinations?”

“Listen to me, Cornelius,” Dumbledore said, stepping closer to Fudge so that he stumbled. He radiated that power Atlas had grown to fear, or rather, to avoid because though she did not like the man, every time she felt it she could not help but awe at his ability. And she did not like to praise those she did not like. “Harry is as sane as you or I. That scar upon his forehead has not addled his brains. I believe it hurts him when Lord Voldemort is close by, or feeling particularly murderous.”

“You’ll forgive me, Dumbledore, but I’ve never heard of a curse scar acting as an alarm bell before…” Fudge denied in defiance.

“Look, Atlas and I saw Voldemort come back!” Harry shouted. He tried to get out of bed but Molly came forward and forced him back. “We saw the Death Eaters! I can give you their names! Lucius Malfoy –“

“Malfoy was cleared!” Fudge roared, visibly affronted. “A very old family – donations to excellent causes –“

“Macnair!” Harry continued.

“Also cleared! Now working for the Ministry!”

“Avery – Nott – Crabbe – Goyle -“

“You are merely repeating the names of those who were acquitted of being Death Eaters thirteen years ago!” Fudge said angrily. “You could have found those names in old reports of the trials! For heaven’s sake, Dumbledore – the boy was full of some crackpot story at the end of last year too – his tales are getting taller, and you’re still swallowing them – the boy can talk to snakes. Dumbledore, and you still think he’s trustworthy?”

“You fool!” Minerva cried and it was the first time she had spoken since Atlas had awoken, she was trapped behind Snape, furtively glancing at Atlas but otherwise staying put. “Cedric Diggory! Mr Crouch! These deaths were not the random work of a lunatic!”

“I see no evidence to the contrary!” Fudge shouted, now matching her anger, his face purpling. “It seems to me that you are all determined to start a panic that will destabilize everything we have worked for these last thirteen years!” He advanced on Minerva so Atlas started forward, standing in his way with her shoulders tense and glare threatening.

“I wouldn’t,” Atlas warned, voice gravelly, with no trace of the light heartedness everyone was used to, the kindness and the warmth. No, it was as if Atlas was an entirely different person, her entire form domineering and fear-inducing.

“Voldemort has returned,” Dumbledore repeated as Hermione came over and placed her hand around Atlas’s wrist, pulling her back and closer to where Minerva and Sirius now stood. Atlas did not fight but she didn’t stop glaring at Fudge either. “If you accept that fact straightaway. Fudge, and take the necessary measures, we may still be able to save the situation. The first and most essential step is to remove Azkaban from the control of the dementors -“

“Preposterous!” Fudge shouted again. “Remove the dementors? I’d be kicked out of office for suggesting it! Half of us only feel safe in our beds at night because we know the dementors are standing guard at Azkaban!”

“Are you really so naive as to think the Dementors will remain loyal to you?” Atlas called, now pulling away from Hermione and stalking towards the man, Dumbledore held up his arm so that she could not continue but did not stop her when she spoke again. “Voldemort can offer them a whole new territory of game. Meat that would satisfy their needs far better than lifeless criminals who remain with no happiness within them, Voldemort would let them feast on innocent people, all joyful and clueless. They have somebody, Achlys, she can control them, make them do her bidding, Voldemort himself said so!”

“Now listen here! You are not to speak to me like that again! You, the little monster — ” Atlas glared harder as Fudge nodded, eyes bulging with the power he thought he held. “Yes, Atlas, I could ruin you. One wrong move and I’ll tell the Daily Prophet all about your condition! After all these years have you — have you forgotten our agreement!?”

“Do it,” Atlas dared, looking at Fudge with so much hatred he seemed to falter. “Oh right, it seems you’re the one who’s forgotten our agreement,” she leant forward so that her mouth was by his ear. “Until the day I am of age you are not to tell anybody of my condition as an Animagus unless I break any other severe wizarding laws with my abilities as an Animagus, that is. And since I haven’t broken any laws as of late, if you were to tell anybody what I was, that unbreakable vow you made…will kill you.”

He pushed her so that she stumbled backwards, a savage smile of triumph on her face as her eyes held a sheen of gold in the moonlight. Fudge was opening and closing his mouth as though no words could express his outrage, his blatant fear.

“The second step you must take – and at once,” Dumbledore pressed on, unperturbed by Atlas’s interruption as Fudge tried to collect himself, “is to send envoys to the giants.”

“Envoys to the giants?” Fudge shrieked, finding his tongue again. “What madness is this?”

“Extend them the hand of friendship, now, before it is too late,” Dumbledore said, “or Voldemort will persuade them, as he did before, that he alone among wizards will give them their rights and their freedom!”

“You – you cannot be serious!” Fudge gasped, shaking his head and retreating further from Dumbledore. “If the magical community got wind that I had approached the giants – people hate them, Dumbledore – end of my career — “

“You are blinded,” Dumbledore said, his voice rising now, the aura of power around him palpable, his eyes blazing once more, “by the love of the office you hold, Cornelius! You place too much importance, and you always have done, on the so-called purity of blood! You fail to recognize that it matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be! Your dementor has just destroyed the last remaining member of a pure-blood family as old as any – and see what that man chose to make of his life! I tell you now- take the steps I have suggested, and you will be remembered, in office or out, as one of the bravest and greatest Ministers of Magic we have ever known. Fail to act – and history will remember you as the man who stepped aside and allowed Voldemort a second chance to destroy the world we have tried to rebuild!”

“Insane,” Fudge whispered, still backing away. “Mad…”

And then there was silence. Atlas was flexing her fingers, wanting to reach for her wand she knew she no longer had, Poppy was standing frozen at the foot of Harry’s bed, her hands over her mouth. Molly was still standing over Harry, her hand on his shoulder to prevent him from rising. Bill, Ron and Minerva were staring at Fudge. Hermione, however, was watching Atlas.

“If your determination to shut your eyes will carry you as far as this, Cornelius,” Dumbledore said, “we have reached a parting of the ways. You must act as you see fit. And I – I shall act as I see fit.”

Dumbledore’s voice carried no hint of a threat; it sounded like a mere statement, but Fudge ruffled as though Dumbledore were advancing upon him with a wand. As though Dumbledore were declaring war.

“Now, see here, Dumbledore,” he said, waving a threatening finger. “I’ve given you free rein, always. I’ve had a lot of respect for you. I might not have agreed with some of your decisions, but I’ve kept quiet. There aren’t many who’d have let you hire werewolves, or keep Hagrid, or decide what to teach your students without reference to the Ministry. But if you’re going to work against me –“

“The only one against whom I intend to work,” Dumbledore said, “is Lord Voldemort. If you are against him, then we remain, Cornelius, on the same side.”

It seemed Fudge could think of no answer to this. He rocked backward and forward on his small feet for a moment and spun his bowler hat in his hands – Atlas wanted nothing more than to burn it to a crisp. Finally, he said, with a hint of a plea in his voice, “He can’t be back, Dumbledore, he just can’t be…”

Snape strode forward, past Dumbledore, pulling up the left sleeve of his robes as he went. He stuck out his forearm and showed it to Fudge, who recoiled and dropped his hat. Atlas eyed whatever Snape had shown the man, her eyes glazing over as her mind flickered back to that graveyard, back to the mark in the sky, the one that called the Death Eaters to Voldemorts side with a mere touch. She too, recoiled, glassy-eyed as she bumped into Hermione, the girl immediately wrapping her arms around her in concern.

“There,” Snape snapped harshly. “There. The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was an hour or so ago, when it burned black, but you can still see it. Every Death Eater had the sign burned into him by the Dark Lord. It was a means of distinguishing one another, and his means of summoning us to him. When he touched the Mark of any Death Eater, we were to Disapparate, and Apparate, instantly, at his side. This Mark has been growing clearer all year. Karkaroff’s too. Why do you think Karkaroff fled tonight? We both felt the Mark burn. We both knew he had returned. Karkaroff fears the Dark Lord’s vengeance. He betrayed too many of his fellow Death Eaters to be sure of a welcome back into the fold.”

The Minister stared upon it fearfully, shaking his head and mouthing words he did not yet speak. There was a wall over him, in front of him and Atlas knew then, he had not taken a word of anything Snape had said after laying his eyes upon the mark of death. “I don’t know what you and your staff are playing at, Dumbledore,” he whispered, looking up at the man, “but I have heard enough. I have no more to add. I will be in touch with you tomorrow, Dumbledore, to discuss the running of this school. I must return to the Ministry.”

He had almost reached the door when he paused. He turned around, strode back down the dormitory, and stopped at Harry’s bed first, “Your winnings,” he said shortly, taking a large bag of gold out of his pocket and dropping it onto Harry’s bedside table. He then went over to Atlas, and pulled out another bag, leaving it to fall to the floor at her feet, a sure look of disdain on his face. “One thousand Galleons. Each. There should have been a presentation ceremony, but under the circumstances…”

“You — !” He crammed his bowler hat onto his head and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him, leaving Atlas fuming, staring at the pile by her feet. Hermione bent down and picked it up, looking at it a moment before turning her gaze up at Atlas and setting it down on a bedside table far away from her gaze.

“Come on,” Hermione urged gently, holding her hand out and wiggling her fingers. Atlas stared and then took it, letting Hermione pull her over to Harry’s bed where everyone had settled. Ron pulled her a chair and she sat beside Harry, the boy staring at the side of her face, silently, as if slowly contemplating words he would say when they were together alone.

“There is work to be done,” Dumbledore suddenly declared. “Molly…am I right in thinking that I can count on you and Arthur?”

“Of course you can,” Molly said. She was white to the lips, but she looked resolute. “We know what Fudge is. It’s Arthur’s fondness for Muggles that has held him back at the Ministry all these years. Fudge thinks he lacks proper wizarding pride.”

“Then I need to send a message to Arthur,” Dumbledore said. “All those that we can persuade of the truth must be notified immediately, and he is well placed to contact those at the Ministry who are not as shortsighted as Cornelius.”

“I’ll go to Dad,” Bill declared, standing up. “I’ll go now.”

“Excellent,” Dumbledore nodded. “Tell him what has happened. Tell him I will be in direct contact with him shortly. He will need to be discreet, however. If Fudge thinks I am interfering at the Ministry –“

“Leave it to me,” Bill said. He clapped a hand on Atlas’s shoulder, ruffled Harry’s hair, kissed his mother on the cheek, pulled on his cloak, and strode quickly from the room.

“Minerva,” said Dumbledore, turning to the lady. She was staring at Atlas, “I want to see Hagrid in my office as soon as possible. Also – if she will consent to come – Madame Maxime.”

Professor McGonagall nodded and left without a word, only a lingering glance she left on Atlas.

“Poppy,” Dumbledore continued, “would you be very kind and go down to Professor Moody’s office, where I think you will find a house-elf called Winky, she will be unconscious due to a considerable amount of stress? Do what you can for her, and take her back to the kitchens. I think Dobby will look after her for us.”

“Very – very well,” Poppy said, looking startled, and she too left. Dumbledore made sure that the door was closed, and that Madam Pomfrey’s footsteps had died away, before he spoke again.

“And now,” he said, “it is time for two of our number to recognize each other for what they are. Sirius…if you could resume your usual form.”

The great black dog looked up at Dumbledore, then, in an instant, turned back into a man, walking over to Atlas and placing a soft kiss on her forehead, she leaned into it and smiled. However, she was snapped from her daze when Molly let out a harsh scream and lept away from the bed.

“Sirius Black!” she shrieked, pointing at him.

“Mum, shut up!” Ron yelled. “It’s okay!”

Snape had not yelled or jumped backward, but the look on his face was one of mingled fury and horror. “Him!” he snarled, staring at Sirius, whose face showed equal dislike. “What is he doing here?”

“He is here at my invitation,” Dumbledore said, looking between them, “as are you, Severus. I trust you both. It is time for you to lay aside your old differences and trust each other. I will settle, however, in the short term,” he continued with a bite of impatience in his voice, “for a lack of open hostility. You will shake hands. You are on the same side now. Time is short, and unless the few of us who know the truth do not stand united, there is no hope for any of us.”

Very slowly – but still glaring at each other as though each wished the other nothing but ill – Sirius and Snape moved toward each other and shook hands. They let go extremely quickly and Sirius retreated back to his daughter and godsons sides, protective as he had been while as his Animagus. Atlas did not miss the short smile he sent to Hermione, however, and wondered what it was about.

“That will do,” Dumbledore nodded, stepping between them once more. “Now I have work for each of you. Fudge’s attitude, though not unexpected, changes everything. Sirius, I need you to set off at once. You are to alert Remus Lupin, Arabella Figg, Mundungus Fletcher – the old crowd. Lie low at Lupin’s for a while; I will contact you there.”

“But –” Harry began just as Atlas furrowed her brows, standing from her chair in defiance. She wanted her dad to stay, she did not want to say goodbye again, she wanted everybody she cared for to stay with her, so they could not be taken.

“You’ll see me very soon. Harry, Atlas,” Sirius assured, turning to them. “I promise you. But I must do what I can, you understand, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Yeah…of course I do.”

“Atlas?”

“I…no, you just got back, you — ” Atlas clenched her jaw, looking to her shaking hand, resenting how it would not stop moving, not now that she was afraid. So she tried to push her fear aside, just so that it would stop. ” — promise you’ll be ok?”

“I promise, little one,” Sirius kissed her briefly on the cheek, pulled her into a hug and then did the same to Harry. Then he was gone, transformed again into the black dog, and ran the length of the room to the door, whose handle he turned with a paw.

“Severus,” Dumbledore said, turning to Snape, “you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready…if you are prepared…”

“I am,” Snape nodded. He looked slightly paler than usual, and his cold, black eyes glittered strangely. Atlas knew from this, that Snape was about to set off and do the one thing, the one reason Dumbledore had collected him, the reason why Dumbledore had saved him from imprisonment and offered him a job at Hogwarts.

“Then good luck,” Dumbledore said and watched as Snape left after Sirius.

It was several minutes before Dumbledore spoke again.

“Atlas…” he began and the girl looked at him. “You are to be under Alastor Moody’s care this summer,” she sat up, looked over at Hermione who was wide-eyed and then back to Dumbledore. “I am aware you might have other plans but this decision was made at the beginning of the school year, the real Alastor Moody had agreed to it already.”

“No.”

“It is not up to you, anymore,” Dumbledore refused, shaking his head as Atlas blinked away her tears. She went to speak, went to voice her concerns but Dumbledore seemed to already know. Of course, he knew. “Do not worry, things will be put in place to protect the other person Barty Crouch Junior mentioned, tonight. You have my word, Atlas. I will not let any harm befall them.”

“Dumbledore, I won’t go with him. I need to…I need to stay with –“

“You wish to protect them? How will you protect them if you cannot harm him?” Dumbledore said cooly and Atlas lost her voice. “Rest assured they will be protected. Now, I must go downstairs,” he said finally. “I must see the Diggory’s. Harry, Atlas – take the rest of your potion. I will see all of you later.”

Harry slumped back into his pillows when Dumbledore disappeared but Atlas, instead, stood and walked over to where her pile of winnings — her pile of unwanted gold lay. She picked it up, weighed it in her hand, feeling every eye in that infirmary on the back of her head and then she turned, walking over to Molly and pulling her hand forward, dropping the pouch in her hand with a heavy clunk.

“Atlas, dear –“

“I don’t want it…” She whispered with only a hint of emotion in her voice, a hint of desperation. She wanted to rid her hands of that money, blood money, money that symbolised conventional triumph when in reality, Atlas had lost. She had lost her brother. “Take it…I don’t want it. I don’t deserve it.”

Molly stared at her a moment, smiled softly and shook her head, handing it back to her and cupping Atlas’s shaking hand with her two. Then, when she pulled away, Atlas stared down at the rejected gold and slowly withdrew her hand, clutching the bag tight as she turned, silently, without saying a goodnight and went back to her bed, setting it down, carefully, on her bedside table.

Hermione followed her, sitting down next to her when Atlas had slumped upon her bed. She then reached out, slowly, testing whether or not Atlas would want to be left or comforted and when Atlas leant into her, she smiled and rest her head atop Atlas’s, massaging her fingers through the girl’s hair. And when Atlas broke down into silent tears at her touch, she did not say anything, she only continued to hold her close until she was ready.

“Voldemort…” Atlas’s voice cracked as she tried to talk silently, only wanting Hermione to hear in this moment, “he kept patting my head…stroking my hair — his nails, they would scratch into my skin and I…I couldn’t get away,” Hermione froze, her fingers halting but Atlas raised her own hand atop Hermione’s. “I like it when you do it.”

“Ok…” Hermione nodded and resumed.

There was a silence that remained between them, as Ron and Molly idly talked to Harry in the background, the boy sleepy from the rest of his potion. Atlas had not yet taken hers.

“…we were going to go to Romania, next year, Halloween. That’s why Ced pulled me away before the trial…he told me Bella was taking us. We were going to see the dragons…hang out in that spot Bella told me about last year…” Atlas muttered quietly, the hand in which Cedric’s ring remained now clenched, her knuckles white. “Now he’s gone…and we won’t see the dragons together.”

Hermione didn’t know what to say, so she remained silent, pulling Atlas further into her as she continued to silently cry.

“It’s my fault…”

“No, it’s not.”

“I knew there was something off about Moody — I felt it, whenever Cedric mentioned he would be working with him for the trial — I didn’t do anything, I didn’t report him. If I had just…told my dad, he would have told Dumbledore and none of this would have happened,” Atlas now turned so her face was fully pressed to Hermione’s shoulder, both of her arms now around the girl. “He…his last words, he just — he thanked me for being his little sister, Hermione and I never told him I saw him as a brother. He…he died thinking I didn’t –“

“Cedric knew, Atlas, he knew. He knew you saw him as a big brother,” Hermione whispered. “Everybody knew how much you cared for each other.”

“But I never told him…I never — he told me he loved me and I couldn’t even — I still can’t even say it…shit, what is wrong with me?” Atlas breathed, feeling a sort of disbelief and anger.

“Nothing, Atlas. It’s ok, you didn’t have to say it for Cedric to have known.”

“But he would have liked to hear it, he would have been so happy,” Atlas sobbed. “Just like you…just like, that night, you said you’d like it if I said it back and he was the same.”

“Atlas I…if Cedric was anything like me then…just know he was content in knowing that you loved him. I am…I’m content in knowing that you love me, as your person, your best friend and he was content in knowing you loved him as your big brother.”

“But…”

“Atlas…” Hermione said slowly and pulled away, standing so that she was in front of her cupping the girl’s cheeks and wiping away her tears with the pads of her thumbs. “Let go…it’s all right, he knew and that’s ok, it’s enough. You’ll drive yourself mad with the guilt.”

Atlas looked up at her and then let her head fall against Hermione’s stomach. “Where’s your necklace.”

“My necklace?” Hermione repeated gently, settling her hands in Atlas’s hair again.

“Yeah…”

“Here, I always wear it, why?” Hermione questioned.

“Give it to me…” Atlas mumbled and Hermione complied without a word, placing it in Atlas’s cold palm, against the ice-cold ring she would forever wear. Atlas held it, closed her hand around the little figure of Crookshanks and the Quill grip that was attached to it and revelled in the warmth, feeling more tears in her eyes at the overwhelming relief she felt from it.

She tried not to imagine how cold it might have felt if Junior had successfully persuaded Hermione to join him earlier that morning before Atlas had interrupted them. Tried not to think of Hermione and Cedric, knelt in the grass at the mercy of Voldemort, nor did she want to think about what Hermione might have said in her last words. She did not think about it because she swore then, that it would never come to that, no matter what, she would not lose Hermione.

“It’s warm…”

“Yeah, it is.”

“You’re warm,” Atlas whispered and then looked up at Hermione. Hermione stared back at her curiously, brushing a strand of hair from her face as Atlas handed her the necklace back, hesitantly but satisfied.

“I am…what’s special about that?”

“Everything.”