Chapter 91

The library was unusually quiet, with OWLs around the corner Atlas would have thought it busier but instead, the only living breathing soul besides herself was Madam Pince, the woman at her desk, flipping through an old, leather-bound tome. It was clearly from the Restricted Section, the cover had an odd arrangement of body parts, from humans to half-breeds, depicted upon it but Atlas didn’t really look at it further after her initial glance. Madam Pince was peculiar, Atlas knew that already, she didn’t need to know just how peculiar.

She sighed and went back to her books, completing the rest of her homework silently, Minerva’s essay sat in front of her, three-quarters of the way complete, her last scrap of work, then she could go out and practice, fly and try a few risky shots. That thought had her quill scratching with triple her usual vigour, the promise of the numbing cold against her cheeks, carrying away her problems with the breeze, inciting a newfound determination. She scratched at the back of her neck, the fabric of her gloves soothing her itch of anticipation.

A figure approached her and Atlas, unaware, too caught up in her essay didn’t notice, not until another pile of books was plopped beside hers and the chair across was picked up and pulled quietly from under the table. Atlas only knew one person who did that, as to not disturb the others studying she had always said. That she being Hermione. Which was a true surprise really, after the night before they hadn’t spoken all morning, an awkward tension in the air, but now, it felt normal.

And that’s perhaps because it was, Atlas and Hermione always studied together.

“Hey, you,” Atlas tried, offering her a small smile and Hermione looked up, brown eyes shining and flickering with a sort of affection before they flickered out again, though she still smiled, genuinely.

“Hello, Atlas,” she replied softly and turned back to her books, arranging them as she always did, placing them in the orders she would use them, then she pulled out a stack of parchment, settling it on her right side neatly with her little notes book on top. Atlas watched all of this over the top of her book, noting her every motion and pause, smiling at the pages of her book and shaking her head as she turned her eyes back to the words, however, Hermione had seen her movement and quirked a brow, “what?”

“What? Oh –” Atlas looked up and shook her head again, “nothing, just — you’ve had that same routine since I met you, although…” she leant over the table and picked up the girl’s ruler, switching it over to her right side while she placed her ink well in front of her rather than on her left, “you always place your ruler on the side of your dominant hand and your inkpot in front so you don’t knock it over.”

“Why do you know that?” Hermione questioned a few silent moments later, Atlas looked up from her writing, dotting an ‘i’ absentmindedly while she took in Hermione’s question and the context of their situation.

“About the inkpot?”

“Well, yes, but why do you know my studying routine?” Hermione chuckled.

“Because we always used to study together.”

“So you watched me?”

“Merlin, don’t make me look like a creep,” Atlas groaned and Hermione smiled. “I used to get bored and my eyes would wander…it’s not weird, you’re just funny looking.”

“Funny looking?”

“Ok, that was framed terribly,” Atlas winced as Hermione continued to look at her in amusement. “Fun to look at is what I meant, which sounds like I’m objectifying you…Merlin, ok, I just like looking at you sometimes?”

“You’re digging yourself deeper and deeper.”

“Am I not complimenting you?” Atlas queried, “I’m saying you’re eyecatching, Mi.”

“Nice save,” Hermione smiled, nodding as her eyes dropped back to her books.

They sat in silence once more, their quills scratching across paper the only sound in those hours until just one remained. Atlas had finished, Minerva’s essay tucked in her bag for safekeeping while she leant her head in her arms on the table, watching Hermione as she studied. Her thoughts flickered to the night before and how they’d left it, a small grimace forming on her face at the memory. She wondered if she should say something, she could see something was bothering Hermione, even if the girl hadn’t outwardly declared her annoyance. On the other hand, would bringing it up just make it worse? Did Atlas really have any right to? After all, wasn’t she the reason for Hermione’s current frustrations?

Atlas let her gaze dip to Hermione’s fast hand, the way she curled and dotted her letters, the way the feather of her quill flourished at the end of her sentences and came to a complete stop as she came up with a way to continue her lines.

And Atlas continued to watch the quill, the scratch of the pointed tip against Hermione’s parchment prickling at her ear, she watched with a dull sheen over her eyes and when the bright golden feather atop suddenly flickered to a putrid black her stomach dropped, her heart stuttered and her breath caught in her lungs, she lunged forward, grabbing Hermione’s wrist harshly to stop her movements. Hermione gasped shortly, taking in a breath through her teeth as she glanced up at Atlas, wincing at her unrelenting hold.

“Atlas.”

“What? Oh –” Atlas snapped back, letting out a shaky breath as she swallowed, rubbing between her brows, “sorry…I — I’m sorry, I don’t know what — I don’t know why…”

“Hey, it’s ok,” Hermione eased quickly, reaching out to lay her hand atop Atlas’s, only she furrowed her brows, taking up the palm in hers and observing the glove curiously, “why are you wearing gloves?”

Atlas snatched it back, looking at Hermione with wide eyes, “My — my hands are cold.”

“Well…do you want me to warm them up for you? I know a spell or two that could help with poor circulation,” Hermione supplied, trying to ease the sudden tension in Atlas’s whole demeanour, her shoulders rigid and face pale.

“No, it’s — it’s a permanent thing…”

“How come?”

“Because I’m wearing Cedric’s old ring,” Atlas said and pulled her gloves on tighter.

“Right…” Hermione nodded slowly, looking unsure, as if she didn’t want to say anything insensitive or wrong, something that might upset Atlas, induce her into flight, “and…well, what does that have to do with your hand being permanently cold?”

“Well, because the heartstone in his ring was connected to him…” Atlas murmured, “it was warm because he was warm and now it’s cold because he’s…dead. He’s dead,” she finished and furrowed her brows tightly, her jaw tense as realisation slowly dawned upon Hermione’s face, her eyes drifting down to her necklace and then back up to Atlas who was staring into her palms resolutely. “I — I thought you knew about that.”

“No, I did, I just didn’t…” Hermione mouthed numbly. “I didn’t piece it together.”

“Right…I’m gonna go. I’ve finished, I’ll see you later, all right?” She stood, gathering her things.

“Atlas, wait,” Hermione stood as well. She grabbed her by the wrist, her grip slowly sliding to Atlas’s cold palm until she was cradling it in both of her hands, staring at the raised ring circling Atlas’s pointer finger beneath her glove.

“Hermione, please don’t ask, I don’t want to talk about it, I shouldn’t have said anything — “

“Hold on,” Hermione interrupted, flicking her wand idly so that all of her books and bits would fall neatly into her bag.

Atlas watched her silently and didn’t speak even when Hermione had begun leading her deeper into the library, down rows of bookshelves so that they came to a spot, down a long stretch of defence books, the row that held her mother’s book, where that bean bag they had sat in the year prior still remained. They fell into it, or rather, Hermione did and pulled Atlas with her, insistently but gentle, firm but with not so much strength Atlas couldn’t pull away if she wanted to.

“Ok,” Hermione smiled and looked to Atlas, that cold hand still in hers, now sandwiched between Hermione’s two much smaller but warmer ones, “tell me about him.”

“Mi, I just said I don’t want to talk about what happened –“

“I’m not asking about what happened, Atty. I just want you to tell me about him. What did he like? What were his favourite pastimes? Your favourite memory of him?” Hermione rattled, smiling still as Atlas stared at her in wonderment, unsure and a little afraid but remaining because of some persistent pull that kept her grounded and stuck to the fabric of their shared beanbag. “You don’t have to, of course, just…if you insist on not letting me help with Umbridge could you at least let me help you deal with what happened? I just want to –“

“He liked painting,” Atlas started and Hermione quickly closed her mouth, staring at the side of Atlas’s face as the girl looked off somewhere, eyes lost in some old memory, “he was terrible at it, honestly but he used to love it, he stopped when he became Quidditch Captain but I know he used to do it all the time in secret. Quidditch was his pastime but he visited me a lot before I came here and my favourite memory…? I think — I think it’s when he first told me he…that he –“

“Loved you?” Hermione finished and Atlas nodded.

“But there are others,” Atlas continued.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me.”

“What?”

“Tell me,” Hermione urged encouragingly, “tell me all of them, I want to know.”

“Why?”

“Because you loved him and you should be able to smile when you think of him, like you’re doing now,” Hermione pointed out and Atlas went a little wide-eyed, becoming aware of the small grin that had formed across her cheeks with every detail she shared. “And because I want to be able to help you in some way…because you won’t let me help in others. So, come on, tell me about him.”

“…alright, yeah.”

And she did, Atlas talked for hours, sinking further and further into the bean bag as Hermione ran her fingers through the girl’s hair, staring at her intently, hanging on to every word, her voice a soothing melody. Then her fingers would dip to her face, across her freckles and Atlas would stumble over her words, picking them up a moment later and rebuilding her sentences — all of them reduced to shambles. Hermione would smile, satisfied and go back to twirling strands of her hair with the tips of her fingers.

Listening further as she learnt more and more of the boy who had lost his life and had, in turn, taken a part of Atlas with him, Hermione did not once interrupt. The memories did not stop but Hermione found she could listen to Atlas for millennia, aeons before growing tired and Atlas seemed happy to oblige, her head rested against Hermione’s shoulder and hands gesticulating wildly in the air, demonstrating certain memories, scenes and emotions.

The sky outside had darkened a considerable amount by the time Atlas had finished, trailing off absentmindedly when she finished with Cedric giving her his ring before the Third Task, the memory bittersweet on her tongue, leaving a mildly discomforting after taste but when Hermione slipped her hand into Atlas’s gloved and cold, a finger idly stroking over the raised bump of the onyx ring, the tension in her shoulders eased and she smiled, staring at Hermione’s smaller, smoother and slender hand against her large and unrefined one.

“What?” Came Hermione’s sudden voice, words a little raspy from idleness, her breath tickled the lobe of Atlas’s ear and the girl flushed, realising their position as she leant forward and turned, looking at Hermione’s contented expression.

“I was just…looking at your hand.”

“Oh, are you looking at my writers’ bumps?”

“Well, no but…what?”

“Here, look,” Hermione held out her hand and pointed to a slightly raised portion of her middle finger, “sometimes people get them from writing so much. I have really big ones apparently, but I’d argue my parents have more prominent ones,” Atlas stared at her blankly and Hermione quickly grew embarrassed, smiling unsurely, “that was really random, I’m sorry.”

“I like it when you’re random,” Atlas muttered and then stood with a small grin, extending her hand. “Come on bumpy, we should get back.”

“What did you just call me?” Hermione said and quirked a brow, taking her hand and standing so they were mere inches apart.

“Bumpy.”.

“No, look, I accepted Mione and Mi but all these new nicknames are a no,” Hermione said, shaking her head as she stepped away and picked up her bag, the straps straining from the heavy load within.

“So bumpy is going in the bin with kitten?” Atlas frowned playfully and Hermione turned, hitting her arm lightly with one of her books before putting it back in her bag and moving to leave their secluded row, however, Atlas reached out for her, grabbing her hand and spinning her back around.

“Atlas, what –!?”

Atlas caught her in a hug, squeezing her tightly with her face buried in the girl’s shoulder, “thank you,” and after a moment, Hermione hugged back, just as tightly, her eyes closed. “I think I needed this.”

“I hoped it would help…”

“It did,” Atlas nodded and then pulled away, holding Hermione at an arms-length, “and…I know you didn’t accept it but, I really am sorry. Especially about last night, I –“

“There’s a reason I didn’t talk about it when I sat with you, Atlas.”

“Oh…right,” Atlas murmured, drawing her hands back, “well…let’s go then, I suppose you should be helping the boys with their homework right about now.”

“Christ, don’t remind me,” Hermione groaned as Atlas smiled half-heartedly, nodding as they turned out of the nook, “they’re hopeless, I’m telling you. They won’t stop pestering me about helping them as if it’s my fault they’re not paying attention in class. I mean, of course, I’m helping Harry but Ron? He has no excuse!”

“Maybe he’ll finally appreciate you?”

“That’s likely,” Hermione scoffed as she adjusted her bag on her shoulder again with an almost unnoticeable wince, Atlas regarded her a moment and then slipped to her right, taking the bag for herself, “oh, you don’t have to do that — really, Atlas, I’ll carry it.”

“You’ll live the rest of your life walking lopsided if you continue carrying such heavy loads like that,” Atlas reasoned and brushed past her, ignoring her insistence that she carry her own books and only quieting when they drifted past Madam Pince, the woman glancing up and over the top of her book, eyes fixed on Atlas. It was only as they approached the door that the woman spoke.

“Atlas, about that topic you mentioned last year,” Hermione smacked into Atlas’s back when the girl stopped and turned to the librarian.

“Which topic, Madam Pince?”

“On Obscurus,” Madam Pince explained and Atlas suddenly remembered, edging closer to the desk as she nodded, “well, I’ve searched our archives for you, as, you see, I’ve taken my own personal interest in this, it’s very rare that we do not have a book on a subject unless it pertains to incredibly dark magic. So, before I tell you what I have found, Atlas, please would you tell me your intentions? Why are you looking for this?”

“Oh…well, Professor Lupin mentioned something about it in third-year.”

“Yet you only asked me about this topic last year.”

“I had forgotten about it but Luna Lovegood, she’s a Ravenclaw a year below myself, mentioned something about it last year,” Atlas told and then looked at Madam Pince expectantly, “so…have you found anything?”

“This morning,” Madam Pince nodded and then pulled out an old looking tome, heavy and bound with a leather Atlas had never seen before, it had no title, no design to point out as to what was inside and was edged with metal corners, golden with an obscure pattern etched within them. “But…” she pulled it away when Atlas moved forward, “because of the lengths I have had to go to find this book it…caught the attention of Professor Dumbledore.”

“Seriously?” Atlas sighed.

“And, unfortunately, I was to send you to him if you were to set foot in my library,” Madam Pince admitted and Atlas frowned, “I apologies Miss Black but it’s out of my hands, I can’t go against Dumbledore’s wishes, however, he did not say I wasn’t to give you the book, so…” she motioned to it and Atlas hesitated, staring at the slab of black with corners gilded in gold.

It didn’t matter, however, as two pale hands took it for her, Hermione grabbing her wrist and pulling her along as she threw a wave over her shoulder, “thank you, Madam Pince! We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Hermione,” Atlas whispered and tossed her own smile at the bookkeeper, immediately turning to the girl when they’d exited the library’s doors. “What are you doing?”

“You were staring at the book like an idiot, I was afraid Madam Pince might take it back,” Hermione said and took her bag back as they came to a fork in their paths, one leading to Gryffindor Tower while the other meandered off to Dumbledore’s office. She pressed the heavy tome into Atlas’s arms. “Dumbledore wants to see you, doesn’t he? So go on.”

“You’re not going to ask me questions?”

“I think I’ve asked you enough questions tonight,” Hermione smiled, tilting her head to the side and Atlas smiled as well, a little bit of colour flushing her cheeks.

“Yeah well…I like those questions, so they don’t count,” Atlas shrugged and Hermione rolled her eyes, pressing her palm again her chest.

“I can’t believe you’re asking me to ask you questions,” She huffed and then drew her hand back quickly, “I’ll ask when you get back tonight, now go. You don’t want to get in any more trouble.”

“I’m in trouble?”

“You asked for an archived book, Atty, and now Dumbledore’s calling you to his office,” Hermione shrugged, “you’re definitely in trouble.”

“Right,” Atlas sighed, frowning deeply.

“Hey, I doubt you’ll be in too much trouble,” Hermione reasoned, trying to soothe the girl, “now, go.”

“Ok, I’ll see you,” Atlas nodded, still unsure as she took a few steps back, whenever she went to Dumbledore she left feeling much worse than when she had arrived so she wasn’t looking forward to it.

Hermione watched her go, biting her bottom lip contemplatively before caving with a sigh. “Wait.”

Atlas stopped immediately and turned. “Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“For…what? I haven’t done anything,” Atlas muttered, looking confused as Hermione rolled her eyes.

“For talking to me, about Cedric.”

“Oh, shouldn’t I be the one thanking you, though?”

“You let me help you, so I’m grateful.”

“…aren’t you angry at me?” Atlas questioned, “I know you said there was a reason you avoided it but I feel like we left things rough last night. And well, you’re acting as if it didn’t happen, I just…I was surprised you weren’t mad.”

“I was,” Hermione refuted and Atlas furrowed her brows. “Not outwardly but yes, I was annoyed Atlas. Of course, I was annoyed, I wanted to help you and you wouldn’t let me but you let me just then, by talking about Cedric. And you looked lighter when you did.”

“But, I don’t want you to be upset about Umbridge –“

“I’m going to be upset either way because I care about you. But, I realised this morning that there’s probably something else — that there’s definitely something else you’re not telling me about her,” Hermione said and Atlas’s hard swallow, her avoidant eyes confirmed her suspicion. “And I can’t help you until you tell me.”

“Even if I did, you couldn’t do anything,” Atlas sighed. “Honestly, Hermione, if there was something you could do I would tell you, you would be the first person I went to but there’s…nothing. There’s nothing.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Could you get her sacked?” Atlas asked, genuinely and Hermione saw something in her eye. “Could you make her disappear? Would you stand up to the Ministry?” They stared at each other, quietly, standing so silently it was deafening. “Hermione, say something.”

“You’re really scared of her, aren’t you?”

“Yeah…yeah, I’m scared of her,” Atlas nodded. “I’m fucking terrified of her.”

“Atlas…could you — Atlas, why?” Hermione asked softly and Atlas went wide-eyed, shaking her head.

“I don’t think I can say…” she whispered, “I’m sorry, could you just…give me time? More time?”

“…all right,” Hermione agreed, looking unsure, concerned, not entirely willing to leave. So Atlas seemed to make the decision for her.

“I need to — I need to go. Dumbledore’s probably waiting for me,” Atlas breathed, rubbing the spot between her brows busily. “Thank you for talking to me, it helped, you — you helped.”

“and I’m glad…I’ll see you later then, Atty,” Hermione smiled and Atlas managed a small one of her own.

Hermione left first and Atlas watched her go, shaking her head and grimacing as she turned and walked away, jogging when she turned up a flight of stairs. The book was tucked firmly under her arm and frozen to the touch as it chilled her skin through the thin fabric of her shirt. She shivered and adjusted it slightly, stopping and walking when the gargoyles appeared in the distance, sat prim and proper, without indication they could move or would move, until, of course, Atlas spoke, the password robotic on her tongue.

The staircase rose as she stepped on it and soon she was nose to oak with Dumbledore’s office door, the sounds of quiet mumbling reaching her ears through the solid wood, she knocked once, waited for a response and then walked inside when he admitted her entrance. She nodded and he smiled, pale eyes flitting to the book in her hands and then back to her, that smile unwavering.

“Madam Pince sent me, am I in trouble?”

“Trouble? No, but you seem troubled,” Dumbledore replied and Atlas frowned, swallowing the rock in her throat.

“I don’t want to talk about it, least of all with you.”

“I see…well,” Dumbledore began, Atlas furrowed her brows, shifting her weight to her other foot. Waiting, “to put this quite plainly, I’ve summoned you here to tell you that there are things you must know before reading the contents of that book.”

“Right?” Atlas nodded slowly and sat when Dumbledore gestured to the seat in front of his desk. The book was a weight in her lap so she placed it on the polished wood before her, rubbing her cold hands up and down her legs to warm them, “what do I need to know?”

“I’m sure you’ve had many questions since the graveyard, Voldemort said things, didn’t he? Obscure and vague sentences with hidden meanings,” Dumbledore stated simply, as if it were an indisputable fact and Atlas frowned, her brows dipping with the corners of her mouth. Had Harry told Dumbledore every detail? Atlas didn’t know, she hadn’t been completely conscious that night, the night Cedric died, so he could have but Atlas wasn’t sure, Harry had been unconscious hadn’t he? “Could you repeat what he said to you?”

“How do you know?”

“Pardon?”

“How do you always know? It doesn’t make sense,” Atlas muttered and Dumbledore made an indiscernible face, the man leaning back in his chair.

“I know Tom, I taught him, I’m ashamed to say he learnt quite a bit from me,” he gave, gesturing softly with his hand and Atlas watched the movement, body stiff but eyes wandering. “And if I were him and you were my enemy, I would try to confuse you, get in your head.”

“Well he failed, he didn’t get in my head, I haven’t thought about what he said since,” Atlas snapped defiantly and then stood, going to grab the book quickly but Dumbledore stopped her, the book sliding to him with a flick of his finger.

“I asked you to repeat what he said that night, tell me every strange riddle he gave you,” Dumbledore spoke calmly, clearly with no malicious intent, yet Atlas felt threatened, her shoulders grew tense, her fists tight and her heart cramped. She sat down and Dumbledore smiled again. “Now, Atlas, would you tell me?”

“…they call me Astraea.”

“Who?”

“Voldemort…Achlys…they both call me that,” Atlas said and clenched her jaw, speaking through gritted teeth, “and it makes me panic, whenever they call me that I feel — I feel something rising in my chest, when I ran after the Monster last year, after the Yule Ball, it called me that and Luna told me she was the lady of innocence.”

“Yes, indeed she was,” Dumbledore nodded, “but she was also the lady of justice, she influenced the wizarding world in ways not many know.”

“She was 12.”

“I think you’ll find, Atlas, that most of the greats accomplished more in death than in life,” Dumbledore said and Atlas frowned, wringing her hands together in her lap, “and Achlys, do you know who she is, Atlas?”

“No…”

“She was Astraea’s sister, the lady of misery, sorrow…practically the lady of death,” Dumbledore told and Atlas grew confused, puzzle pieces that should be coming together still falling short of completion, “you do not yet understand…What else did Voldemort say to you Atlas?”

“I…” Atlas frowned and rubbed between her brows, feeling a pain forming in her head, a dull ache hounding at the back of her head, stretching down her neck. “I told him I was Atlas…Atlas Magianima Black and he — he told me I couldn’t be a Magianima if I wasn’t Astraea and that if I insisted I was Atlas, I couldn’t be a Magianima.”

“And what do you think he meant?”

“What do you think he meant?” Atlas retorted, now grimacing at the tightness of her chest and the numbness of her fingers, all of her fingers instead of that solitary one. “Why don’t you answer my question for once.”

“I do not need to,” Dumbledore smiled and pushed her the book.

That blank black book with edges of gold, cold to the touch. Atlas glanced at it then at him, before reaching forward and flipping the front page over with a quiet crack, she didn’t know what she was looking for as she read through the pages, eyes raking across every word, sentence, trying to see between the lines but it was just a regular book, detailing what an Obscurus was, with pictures and diagrams, metaphorical dissections of what it contained and known Obscurials of famous families, all of them names Atlas had never seen:

Kasandra Elenora – 11
Deloris Iola – 9
Stithulf Langley – 7
Ealdwine Wilmere – 7
Kendrick Harleye – 6
Fleta Fairburne – 8
Bathilde Waters – 9
Astraea and Achlys Magianima – 12 and 16
Lena Westleye – 11
Mildgyð Ast —

Atlas froze, her eyes halting as she went back, reading in reverse.

Astrea and Achlys Magianima

“I’m related to — ?”

“No, you aren’t,” Dumbledore instantly refuted and clasped the book shut, pulling it back over to him while Atlas watched, mouth wide and expression confused, unsure and lost. “What else did Voldemort say after that, Atlas?”

“That…” Atlas took a moment, she’d tried to forget that nightly entirely so recalling it now was starting to drill a pain in the side of her head, memories she was not looking for taking the opportunity to attack instead. She closed her eyes, wincing, “he said…” she found the memory and opened her eyes, looking at Dumbledore with a sudden defeat, “that my mum stole that name.”

“Yes, Atlas, you’re mother stole that name,” he stood and rounded on her, his hands behind his back while Atlas continued to stare ahead, her expression still confused, still lost but now with a hint of pain, some inexplicable damage, “but she made it hers, she earned it in the end.”

“What do you mean?” Atlas’s voice cracked.

“The Magianima’s were the Ancient Guard, the first attempt at a curtain between our world and the Muggle world,” he waved his wand so that a scene of frozen light depicted every word he told, a scene of two children that Atlas could not take her eyes off of, “but their house fell to ruin when their daughters died at the hands of their unexpected manifestations, their parasites, taking their Ancient Magic along with them, blood magic that could not be replicated. When they died so did their name, eventually becoming forgotten to time.”

“So how did my mum make the name hers? How did she come across it? Why?” Atlas rattled off, standing as well.

“I do not know the specifics, Atlas,” Dumbledore said, shaking his head softly as he watched his own magical creation above him, the two figures, the sisters, reflecting in his glasses. “But I know she restored honour to the name and, in turn, gained a power from it but what power…” he looked at Atlas, watching as the girl continued to stare at the pair of figures in the air, “I do not know…”

“That — none of that explains why Voldemort and…and Achlys, if that’s even her actual name, call me Astraea, is it just because of my name? Because I’m a — a fake Magianima? But what about Achlys, if that’s the case…” Atlas went a little wide-eyed, turning to Dumbledore, “am I related to her? Is she a Magianima too?”

“Well –“

“Is Achlys related to me? Is she related to my mother?”

“Atlas –“

“Am I related to the monster who murdered my mother, Dumbledore!?”

Silence. A tense pause as Atlas heaved, struggling to grasp with everything this meant, everything this could potentially mean. Dumbledore caught a floating glass orb from the air and placed it back on his desk, eyeing the tips of Atlas’s fingers knowingly. The numbness ceased immediately and somewhere in the background an object smashed.

“I think it’s time you stop interrupting me,” He said cooly, a definite tone to his voice that made the suggestion sound more like an order but Atlas did not flinch, staring at the man, shoulders rising and settling with every uneven exhalation, while he looked down on her, calm and serene, unperturbed.

“Just tell me, am I related to her?”

“…no,” he shook his head, “you are not related to…Achlys,” he handed her the book and Atlas took it, clenching it tight within her hand and hugging it to her side. “Now, on to more describing matters.”

“You mean the book wasn’t the only reason you summoned me here?” Atlas questioned, glaring slightly as Dumbledore took his seat again, the man rearranging certain things on his desk, specifically, a newspaper, the Daily Prophet. Atlas hadn’t touched one since the beginning of the summer, she’d scowled at the idea when Moody suggested she kept up to date with all the latest slander she and Harry received.

“It wasn’t, no,” Dumbledore smiled again, “First, I wish to return these to you,” he pulled open his drawer and plucked two instantly recognisable twigs of wood from within, placing them delicately on his desk. Atlas felt something, somewhere inside of her, ache at the image as she reached out and carefully cradled her old wand in her palm, it was silent, withered and entirely unresponsive, a mundane stick with only the intricate patterns to suggest it was once otherwise.

“You couldn’t fix it then?”

“Unfortunately not, the core was inimitable, not something that is able of replication, I’m deeply sorry Atlas. I did everything I could,” Dumbledore said and Atlas closed her eyes, placing the remains of her wand in her pocket.

“I’m sure you did.” Was what she whispered back. “Was there anything else?”

“A final two things, then you may leave. Sturgis Podmore has been captured and sent to Azkaban.”

“Who?” Atlas’s voice cracked with her exhaustion.

“He was a member of the Order.”

Atlas thought for a moment, “the one who looks like his head has been thatched? He was supposed to come see us off, wasn’t he? At the Express but he never showed.”

“Correct. Yes, and he has been taken into custody for being in a place he shouldn’t have been, it will have been all over the Daily Prophet but I notice you don’t seem to read it very often,” Dumbledore said and Atlas frowned, the tension in her jaw almost painful, “so, I thought to tell you, in case Harry, Mr Weasley and young Miss Granger think to ask you if you know what truly happened that night.”

“And what did happen?”

“I thought you did not wish to know any of the Order’s business?” Dumbledore smiled, his eyes gleaming with something unsaid.

“Are you trying to lure me into your group, Dumbledore?” Atlas muttered, quirking a brow with an irritated sort of grimace, “I didn’t want to know anyway, I don’t need to know. Just…what’s the final thing?”

“Very well, very well, I thought to tell you another thing, something that might make the task I have given you to protect Harry that much harder,” Atlas nodded for him to continue and Dumbledore became suddenly serious, “Professor Umbridge has been appointed Hogwarts’s first-ever High Inquisitor.”

“First ever what?”

“The Inquisitor will have powers to inspect her fellow educators and make sure that they are suitable,” Dumbledore told and Atlas felt her stomach plummet, her eyes going wide as the book almost slipped from her fingers. The air grew unexpectedly heavy, the weight of it suffocating but only one seemed to buckle under the pressure, Fawkes and he retreated, flying to his perch many paces away. Dumbledore remained still and Atlas shouldered the crushing weight she had released with frightening ease.

“And you’re letting her?” Atlas whispered, her voice feeble.

“It’s out of my hands now.”

“She’s — you know how much power that gives her!? None of the teachers will stand up to her now! The students will suffer — do you not care?! You’re sat up here doing nothing! You’re just letting her walk all over you!” Atlas argued, throwing her hands up in the air while Dumbledore remained silent, surveying her quietly.

“Is that not what you’re doing? Minerva has told me –“

“I’m doing that to protect Harry! Because you told me to and because I want to protect my brother! To protect my friends from what she did to me,” Atlas snapped, pointing her finger at the man, “so don’t you dare turn this on me!”

“You’re right, I apologise, Atlas,” Dumbledore conceded and bowed his head, leaving Atlas to stare at him, a mix of fury and terror on her face. “And I apologise for putting this task on you, I know you despise Umbridge after what she did to you in your younger years.”

“You see…I don’t think you are sorry,” Atlas breathed, shaking her head continuously, “I really don’t because if you were, you would have tried to contest her placement here, you would have asked one of your many many loyal friends to take up the post, and don’t tell me you didn’t have any. You’re Albus Dumbledore. So, no, I don’t think you’re sorry,” and then she turned, moving to the door and exiting soundlessly, leaving Dumbledore alone with the stillness of his office.

It was beyond curfew by the time Atlas made it back to Gryffindor Tower, The Lady sat upright in her frame, apparently waiting for her entry and when she came closer, the woman tried to speak but Atlas merely shook her head, thoroughly drained from the night, her body sluggish, the last dregs of her energy spent carrying that heavy tome under her arm. The Lady seemed to frown, appearing offended but her eye carried some sincere worry and she closed herself carefully behind Atlas when the girl didn’t reach back to pull her closed.

Inside, Atlas stopped and sighed, falling against the wall, shoulder to wood as her head fell into her open palm and her temples pounded, she would have spiralled further, perhaps fallen to her knees and cried if it weren’t for the hushed voices of the Common Room, whispering over the crackle of the fire. She looked up, noticing the three familiar heads of hair inclined over the fireplace and shook her head, moving to just leave, to go up to bed and fall into a never-ending sleep, one she would not wake from. Hopefully.

“Now, before I go,” Atlas froze at her father’s voice and turned slowly to look over her shoulder. “You said Atlas was in some sort of…funk lately? I was just thinking when’s your next Hogsmeade weekend?” Her breathing stuttered, her eyes going wide at the implications of her dad’s words. That was all she needed, her dad going back to Azkaban after getting caught in Hogsmeade. “Maybe I could come and cheer her up? We could also spend some time together –“

“No!” Harry and Hermione seemed to shout together.

“Well, how about you go ask Atlas about the idea?” Sirius sounded put-out, displeased. “I’m sure she’d welcome the thought.”

“She wouldn’t want you to come either,” Harry said and Atlas stared at him, the back of his head, the air returning to her lungs, “it’s too risky, she’s all about protection right now so she’d probably berate you for even suggesting it!”

“All right! All right!” Sirius relented and Atlas nodded, a breath coming freely from her nose as she turned to go to bed, “just an idea, I thought you might like to get together.”

“I would and so would Atlas but I just don’t want you chucked back in Azkaban!” Harry reasoned.

There was a pause and Atlas’s foot stopped on her next step, her ears straining to catch her father’s response.

“You’re less like your father than I thought,” there was a hint of disapproval to his voice and it had Atlas turning from the stairs and walking back into the Common Room. “The risk would’ve been what made it fun for James.”

“Look –“

“It’s not Harry’s job to fill in the space James left behind, dad,” Atlas’s voice cracked a little as she glared, Sirius’s log and ash face turning up in surprise. Everyone shifted to look up at her, Ron and Hermione looking between her and Harry while he just stared, tongue-tied, his words failing him. “And he was right, I don’t want you coming here either, or do you not care that much you’re willing to take the risk of not seeing your daughter grow up even more?”

“Atlas, honey, that’s not what I — I didn’t intend…” Sirius tried but Atlas scowled.

“Get your head out of the flame before someone sees you,” She snapped, the frustration palpable in her voice, the exhaustion and fatigue reflecting in her eyes. Something cracked somewhere within her and she grabbed a stray glass of water from the centre table, holding it over the flame in a white fisted grip, intent on pouring it over the blaze but, instead, her dad’s lingering face stoaked the fires of her brewing rage, sending a twitch to her hand so that the glass shattered in her hold.

The fireplace was extinguished at once and Atlas opened her hand again, looking upon the few shards that had pierced through the hide of her gloves and dyed the brown a darker colour, one that clearly told of the blood seeping beneath. She swore, taking a few steps back and glancing at Harry, his expression was unreadable and not something Atlas wanted to dissect at the moment so she left, grabbing the heavy tome she had discarded before hurrying to the girls’ dormitories.

But she did not go to her own, no, instead she headed for the fourth years’, knocking hurriedly on the door she knew to be Ginny’s and stepping hastily inside when the girl blearily welcomed her in. She collapsed in Ginny’s desk chair, her head in her unharmed hand while Ginny quietly apologised to her dazed dormmate and told her to go back to sleep.

“What happened?” Ginny asked quietly, sitting beside her a few moments later, when Fay Dunbar’s breathing had evened out and the room returned to stillness.

“I…” Atlas couldn’t talk, her arm was shaking again and the motioned jogged her injured hand as she cradled it in her spasming palm. She took in a sharp breath through her teeth and grimaced shaking her head. Ginny frowned, looking at the injury with clear concern.

Then, a knock, a lot softer than Atlas’s had been and because of that, she knew, immediately who it was. Ginny stood to answer but Atlas lunged out to grab her wrist, shaking her head pleadingly, the redhead regarded her silently a moment and then carefully pulled away, advancing on the door and opening it to a crack.

“Hermione?”

“Hey, Ginny, is Atlas in here?”

“Er…no, why?” Ginny asked and Atlas sighed, turning her head a little when she heard Hermione give her a half-hearted chuckle, probably accompanied by a tight smile and furrowed brows.

“Don’t worry, I’ll go and ask Katie, then Angelina if she’s not there, sorry for waking you,” Hermione apologised and left, leaving Ginny to close the door and slowly turn to Atlas, staring at her, unimpressed.

“What did you do?” she moved forward, pulling open her desk draws and taking out a wooden box of supplies, one Atlas immediately recognised.

“They were talking to Snuffles in the fire…he said something uncalled for and I got angry, I shattered a glass in my hand,” Atlas muttered, telling her the truth but not the whole truth as Ginny pulled Atlas’s glass ridden palm towards her, “can you do it with the gloves on?”

“I’ll need to take the larger shards out with them on yes, but after, I’ll have to have them off,” Ginny said and Atlas frowned, turning away as Ginny pulled out a pair of tweezers and began pulling out the larger more noticeable pieces of glass, placing them on a stray piece of parchment. “Why are you avoiding Hermione?”

“I don’t want to talk to her right now.”

“Alright. So, why have been avoiding Harry then? Outside of everything that just happened?” Ginny continued and noticing Atlas’s hesitance, she sighed, “it’s either you tell me or I force it out of Ron at breakfast.”

“Look, you already know, don’t you? I took the punishment from Umbridge for Harry and he got upset,” Atlas shrugged, watching as Ginny plucked the last few pieces from her palm and furrowing her brows when she gently pulled the glove from her hand and set it on her desk.

“Why?”

“Because…” Ginny had stopped now so Atlas met her eye, she wouldn’t tell anyone if she asked, so she gave, desperate to let a little weight fall from her shoulders, “Dumbledore has told me to protect Harry from Umbridge this year, it’s my first task as part of the Order.”

“You don’t want to be part of the Order.”

“I know.”

“So why are you doing it?” Ginny dabbed at the seeping wounds with a piece of cloth, she looked up when Atlas didn’t respond, “because you’d protect him either way?”

“Yeah.”

“Atlas…why are you so scared of Umbridge?” She pressed and noticed the way Atlas twitched, the way her throat bobbed with a hard swallow, she sighed and went back to cleaning the cuts of her hand, unscrewing the cap from her supply of wound-sealant and scooping a thick clump onto her finger, pasting over the open injuries quietly.

“…did Hermione say something to you?”

“What?” Ginny questioned and Atlas looked at her.

“Did Hermione tell you I was scared of her?”

“No, I worked it out for myself. I think a few others know as well, like Parvati and I think Katie,” Ginny supplied and then frowned, “besides, you know Hermione would never tell someone about something you told her in confidence.”

“I know, I know…” Atlas breathed, dropping her head into her other hand and clenching her eyes shut, tight, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Ginny. I want to talk about it but…every time I go to, I feel like a little kid again.”

“You’d talk about Lucius and he was at the trial.”

“How do you know that?”

“Hermione might not say anything to anyone but Ron is loose-lipped,” Ginny shrugged and Atlas sighed. “If it makes you feel better he only let it slip because he was worried about you, he thought your moods had something to do with the trial when you were 12.”

“It does…it — it has everything to do with the trial,” Atlas murmured.

“So why doesn’t Lucius bother you?”

“Because he didn’t…he wasn’t physically involved with the trial,” Atlas said and Ginny furrowed her brows, putting all of her medical supplies back in her little bag while Atlas played with the fabric of her bandage.

“What do you mean physically?”

“I can’t…no more, please Ginny. No more.”

“All right…do you — do you want to stay here for the night?” Ginny asked hesitantly and Atlas looked at her with a smile.

“Yes please.”

“All right, I’ll make a pillow wall.”

“Am I that gross to sleep next to?”

“Hmmm, yeah.”