Chapter 93

The box of mice squeaked quietly in her hold as Atlas carefully carried them to Transfiguration. They would be the subjects of the lessons in their continuation of the vanishing spell and Minerva had asked her to retrieve the little mice from her office before class started. It had taken her longer than usual to find them, the mice having been kept at the very back of Minerva’s office rather than with the other animals of its likeness but she knew her godmother wouldn’t scold her for it so she didn’t worry.

On the contrary, the only worry she had was for the safety of the little mice, though the vanishing spell would cause them no harm nor pain, there was always the possibility they might not return from wherever a subject might go when afflicted with the spell. She sighed and nudged open the door to Transfiguration lightly, eyes remaining on the mice as she carried them to the front and gently set them on her godmother’s desk with a smile.

She looked up, expecting Minerva’s quiet thanks but instead, she caught a glimpse of the pink-clad woman behind her and felt instantly overcome with a feeling of icy cold. She swallowed and tore her eyes away, forcing her eyes to Minerva’s deeply attentive ones, she had immediately caught onto her goddaughters worry and gave her an acknowledging nod, that small and reserved smile on her face that used to always soothe Atlas’s churning stomach. It seemed to have lost its effect over the years.

“Atlas, please hand out the mice for the lesson,” Minerva said softly and Atlas nodded quietly, picking up the box again and anxiously making her way down the rows of her classmates, delicately handing each of them one of their own mice. She came to Hermione and stopped a second when the girl placed her soft palm atop her hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

Atlas looked at her, their eyes locking into some quiet conversation that had Hermione smiling and Atlas offering a tentative one of her own. She moved further down the row and gave two of the final four away, Ron thanking her with a grin while Harry only smiled unsurely, nodding in appreciation. The mice remaining sniffed up at her curiously as she headed back to Minerva’s desk.

“Now, the Vanishing Spell becomes more difficult with the complexity of the animal to be Vanished,” Minerva began as Atlas chose her own, softly stroking down the mouse’s front with a delicate finger. “The snail, as an invertebrate, does not present much of a challenge; the mouse, as a mammal, offers a much greater one.” Minerva placed her hands on Atlas’s shoulders and the girl placed her mouse on the desk, readying her wand. “Atlas will now demonstrate, as she did last lesson, the desired outcome of the Transfiguration we shall go through today.”

“Hem, hem.”

Atlas froze and Minerva’s hands around her shoulders grew tense, the Transfiguration professor turning, a cold fury on her face, towards their High Inquisitor. Atlas keeping her gaze on her mouse, wand suddenly uncomfortable in her hand. She could vaguely feel the remnants of her old wand, broken, pressing against her leg in her pocket and shifted her weight to her other foot uneasily. She’d decided to keep them with her, she didn’t understand nor did she know why, she just felt it was the right thing to do.

“Yes, Professor Umbridge?”

“Do you think it is wise to entrust a demonstration to your pupil?” Umbridge smiled, her hands clasped in front of her and back suddenly straighter, as if she’d become aware of the staggering difference in height between herself and Minerva. “Should that duty not be yours to complete? After all, many, many things could go wrong. As I find it hard to believe a mere student of the fifth year would be able to accomplish such a feat.”

“Atlas is the best in the class,” a sudden voice burst and Atlas went wide-eyed, looking over at Hermione, equal parts panicked just as she was pleased. The girl was pink-cheeked, as if she hadn’t meant to speak the words with such indignation but she remained with her head held high and maintained her eye contact with their Inquisitor.

“It is as Miss Granger said,” Minerva continued, a suddenly satisfied look on her face as she grew a surprising smile and placed a hand on Atlas’s shoulder, “Atlas is more than capable of demonstrating this spell to the class and I personally find it to be more inspiring for the students. By allowing them to see that their fellow classmate is capable, it should instil some determination and hope within them. Which will lead to a higher success rate amongst them.”

“…very well.”

Umbridge’s smile had grown tight and her eyes suddenly sharper, she turned them on Atlas and the girl felt her breath catch, a pit of anxiety and self-doubt forming in her gut. What if she couldn’t do it anymore? Hermione had just stood up for her and Minerva had looked so proud, she’d make them look like fools. She could still feel Umbridge’s gaze upon her and the grip she had around her wand faltered, the wood almost slipping from her fingers.

“I — uh…” Atlas swallowed, blinking rapidly as the mouse grew blurry, staring up at her curiously, sniffing and rubbing its hands down its snout.

“Well, are you going to continue with the demonstration? Or was I in fact right to doubt you?” Umbridge called and Atlas frowned, Minerva, going rigid beside her.

“Professor Umbridge, please refrain from speaking in such a manner to my students,” she said and there was almost a bite to her tone, a snap in her voice. Minerva was losing her temper. “It’s simply unprofessional to put down a pupil.”

“Excuse me?”

“You are excused, professor, if you insist on disrupting my class.”

Professor Umbridge looked as though she had just been slapped in the face. She did not speak, but straightened the parchment on her clipboard and began scribbling furiously. And, looking supremely unconcerned, Minerva turned back to Atlas, rubbing a discrete hand up and down her arm.

“Now, Atlas, why don’t you continue with your demonstration? I understand it’s been quite some time since you last performed such a complex piece of magic, however, I know you are capable,” she inclined so that only Atlas could hear the rest, “do not mind the old toad croaking in the corner.”

The comment earned a small quirk to the corner of Atlas’s mouth and she looked up at her godmother, smiling slightly as a little shine returned to her eyes. She nodded slowly and turned back to the mouse, raising her wand.

“Evanesco.”

It vanished, leaving not a trace behind and Minerva took a step back, looking deeply pleased as scattered applause sounded from the class. Atlas let out a breath, tucking her wand in her holster silently as she moved to take her seat, becoming suddenly aware of her shaking arm only when she pulled out her quill and ink. She glanced at it and sighed, holding it under the desk while Minerva continued with the lesson.

“Are you all right?”

Atlas startled and turned to Hermione. “Er — yeah, fine. Thank you, by the way, for defending me.”

“Oh, well, I didn’t really mean to say it, it just sort of popped out before I could help myself,” Hermione flushed and Atlas smiled slightly.

“Yeah just, next time, try not to. Especially if we’re in Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Atlas whispered and Hermione nodded hesitantly, turning back to her notebook while Atlas merely turned back to the front, gnawing on the inside of her cheek. She sighed and inclined toward Hermione. “But, I really am thankful…in honesty, I think under different circumstances I would have bloated with pride.”

Hermione chuckled into her hand, trying her best to keep it unseen, “yeah,” she nodded, turning to Atlas with a bright smile that had the girl’s heart stuttering a few beats, her eyes widening slightly, “I can see that.”

Attempts at the Vanishing spell continued all around her while Atlas made a few idle notes in her book, occasionally leaning over to give Hermione some pointers and tilting her head backwards to do the same for Ron. She caught glimpse of Harry struggling further back and chewed her lip, turning to her book and scribbling down some neat instructions before discretely flicking them over and onto Harry’s desk. He startled and looked around wildly but Atlas had already ducked her head down, attention on her notes. 

Of course, he’d find out she gave him the pointers, her handwriting was incredibly recognisable but she didn’t want him to look at her, at least, not in the eye. She still felt a pang of painful guilt nipping at her heart whenever his eyes met hers, if only because she knew, later that night, they’d reflect nothing but pain. Just as hers did whenever that quill cleaved at her skin. 

She leant her head in her palm at the thought, rubbing tentatively at the budding headache forming at the very forefront of her mind. Her knee bounced irritably and the rest of Transfiguration slowly turned into something brutal, torturous, especially when she could feel every time Umbridge so much as glanced in her direction.

When the bell rang she was the first to leave, entering the lunch hall on her lonesome and shaking her head when she noticed Hermione moving over to her with Harry and Ron in tow. She didn’t think she could stomach seeing Harry from afar any longer let alone having him across from her again. Hermione had frowned but obliged, redirecting the boys further up and away. The churning did not cease however and Atlas found it especially hard to stomach her food, leaving the hall with most of her plate left untouched.

Care of Magical Creatures was her final lesson of the day, the final lesson before Harry would go off to detention and Atlas found herself thoroughly distracted through the entirety of it. Umbridge was overseeing this lesson as well and even as the returning Bowtruckles climbed and clambered over Atlas, placing crowns of old twine and flowers atop her head she didn’t speak, tried to keep herself unseen, hidden by the trees. 

A light jab pierced the skin of her jaw and Atlas winced, startling as she turned her gaze to the Bowtruckle that had pricked her, it looked back, eyes as blank as its expression before it clambered back up to her head and hung over her forehead so that even when Atlas looked straight ahead, she could still see the little twig in her sights. She wiped away the little speck of blood trickling down her face and frowned, reaching up to pick the offender from her head.

“What was that for?”

The Bowtruckle seemed to consider her a moment before tapping its crown and Atlas suddenly understood, plucking the present they had made her from her head. “It’s very nice, thank you.” That seemed to satisfy the little creature as it clapped its wooden hands together and hopped down from her hand, landing on her bag to slip inside, “oh, hold on…” she took him out and furrowed her brows, “are you the sneaky little bugger from last time?”

It looked at her, blinked slowly and tried to free itself from her fingers, dropping back into her bag where it sat, getting comfortable. Atlas frowned, reaching in to remove him but he swiped her, burying himself deeper.

“Fine, but you’re going back to your Branch next time,” Atlas muttered and stood, putting the flower and twine crown back on her head. The lesson was coming to a close it seemed and Atlas had finished her second drawing of a much different Bowtruckle just in time, handing it to Professor Grubbly-Plank who, again, praised her for her artistry. 

Atlas could not accept the compliment with quite as much vocality as she did last time, as Umbridge was stood just beside the professor, smiling at Atlas with her small and too sharp teeth on full display. It disturbed Atlas greatly and she ran her tongue over her own pointy canines instinctively, turning with a quiet thank you and retreating to the castle for the day.

What she hadn’t expected was for a group of girls to quickly follow after her, giggling conspiratorially as Atlas suddenly felt the gift the Bowtruckles had given her lift from her hair, she turned, entirely unamused and almost bumped straight into Milicent Bulstrode, the girl stood with her arms crossed and glaring. Atlas stared down on her, scowling with just as much animosity while she addressed the girl that had stolen her present.

“Pansy, give it back.”

“Why? Your twig friends can just make you another,” Pansy grinned, spinning the circlet in her hands as she then placed it on her own head, “flowers don’t suit you anyway.”

“They don’t suit you either, in fact, their beauty just highlights what you’re lacking,” Atlas said cooly, now turning to her, entirely indifferent to the glare Milicent kept on her. “Which is everything.”

“Well, that’s not very nice,” Pansy pouted, tossing the crown to Tracy as Atlas took a step towards it in alarm, her eyes following as it arced in the air and landed clumsily in the Slytherins palm. “You hurt my feelings.”

“Like I give a shit,” Atlas glowered, eyes narrowing and growing suspicious all the same. Pansy was acting incredibly different, she would usually back off, flush with embarrassment but now, it was as if she had been fueled with some false confidence from somewhere. “Why are you bothering me so much? I’ve seen your disturbing mug more in the past few days than I have in both third and fourth year combined.”

“Personal interest,” Pansy shrugged and Atlas faltered a moment when she heard the distinct snapping of a twig over by Tracy, her eyes drifted over to the girl, finding that she had indeed, cracked a few of the twines holding the crown together. The girl raised her hand to her mouth in mock surprise and chucked the circlet over to Daphne, where she appraised it quietly, placing it on her own head and posing to Tracy. “Oh, and because you really can’t do anything against me this year and…probably for the foreseeable future.”

“Oh yeah, why is that?” Atlas spat and followed Pansy’s thumb as she motioned over her shoulder, catching the pink form of Umbridge making her way up the bank behind a swarm of students.

“Because I have the High Inquisitor in my corner, babe.”

“…fuck you,” Atlas managed, barely concealing the shake of her words. Pansy smirked and held her hand out to Daphne expectantly, the girl taking the crown off of her head and eyeing the palm silently. Atlas watched as well, glancing up to Daphne’s contemplative face, her brows rising when the girl instead turned and held the flower crown out for her.

“Daphne…” Pansy muttered lowly as Atlas slowly took it, thumbing over the damage idly as she kept her eyes on the scene.

“It’s just some weeds, Pans, keeping it would be stupid,” Daphne shrugged, “if Magianima wants to keep it let her, it’ll die anyway without some sort of invigoration charm. Now, can we go inside? I’m hungry and so is Milicent, look at her, she’s wasting away,” she whined.

“Fine,” Pansy scoffed and grinned at Atlas, “this isn’t over, Atty. We’ll see you soon.”

“Don’t call me that,” Atlas snapped as Pansy walked away, Tracy giggling behind her as Daphne and Milicent followed after the two, talking idly to each other. Atlas stood there, even as a few of the other students passed and stared at her broken crown, frowning. She noticed how the little Bowtruckle that had made her bag its temporary home stuck its head out to look up at her, its beady eyes dropping to the crown. “Sorry…your present broke.”

It made some vague noise and snatched it from her hands, dragging it into her bag and zipping the zipper shut behind it. Atlas blinked a few moments in surprise, her lips parting to speak but before a word could fall from her tongue the bag was open again and the crown was tossed at her, fixed and just as pretty as it had initially been. The Bowtruckle stared up at her expectantly and Atlas placed it on her head, smiling slightly.

“Thanks.”

“Nice crown, Atty.”

Atlas tensed immediately, smile wiped from her face as she failed to register who had spoken and turned with a scowl, “don’t call me that.”

“…oh, I — all right…” Hermione murmured softly, looking confused and especially hurt. Atlas went wide-eyed, her heart jumping to her throat. “I thought you liked –“

“I do, I do. I do like it, Mi, I just didn’t realise it was you,” Atlas eased, grasping the girl’s shoulders, “sorry, I’m sorry, I was just on edge, I didn’t register your voice quick enough.”

“What happened, are you all right?” 

“Just Pansy starting stuff, she called me Atty,” Atlas sighed, rubbing between her brows with a grimace. 

“That cow…” Hermione scowled. “If I didn’t have a reputation to uphold as prefect, I’d –“

“Let’s be glad you do have a reputation to uphold then,” Atlas interrupted and guided the girl into the courtyard, swerving past all of the students heading for the Great Hall, the scents of dinner weaving through the air. They found their seats and sat, Hermione still grumbling under her breath while Atlas dragged different dishes to her plate, idly placating the girls inexplicable anger.

She only stopped when something greater drew her attention, specifically the sudden appearance of both Ron and Harry across from them. They each got on with their dinners, without so much as a glance upward while Hermione grew quickly anxious, noticing how rigid Atlas had gone beside her. The girl flexed her fingers around the handle of her fork a few times before returning to her meal with a definite tightness to her movements her jaw constantly tense and expression a painful grimace, it was clear she was uneasy.

Yet, neither Harry nor Ron noticed, too busy talking between themselves about a Quidditch match. However, there was also an unsureness to Harry’s movements and Hermione noticed that he too was unsure within the situation, wary and avoidant of the large cloud that hung over them. So his cluelessness of Atlas’s state could have been down to his own all-consuming thoughts of doubt and insecurity.

It was only when the puddings disappeared did Atlas snap from her mechanical movements, her spoon almost slipping from her grasp when a small pocket alarm chimed upon Harry’s wrist and he moved to stand, looking worried, scared in a way.

“It’s almost five, I’ll see you later, all right?”

“Ok,” Hermione nodded, smiling. Atlas furrowed her brows and looked at the table.

“Yeah, see you later mate. Have fun with old toad face,” Ron grinned and Harry laughed stiffly, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. He didn’t move to leave straight away, however, lingering a second and shifting from foot to foot, awkwardly glancing in Atlas’s direction.

He coughed and Atlas looked up at him, “See you, Atlas.”

“…yeah,” Atlas nodded, thoughts and words screaming so loudly in her head the quietness of her voice shocked even herself. Harry nodded solidly, turned and she watched him go, restraining herself from shouting after him as best she could. “Wait,” But of course, she couldn’t hold out and he turned so quickly a shrill shriek came from the soles of his shoes, but he didn’t seem to notice, eyes attentively set on Atlas as the girl stood, stewing over her words and leaning over the table. “Don’t…don’t satisfy Umbridge, ok? Don’t make a sound. She’ll just make you stay longer.”

“Er — all right…yeah, ok,” Harry muttered, stumbling over his words as he stared at her, baffled by her caution but not questioning it, instead, he turned again, exiting the Great Hall, leaving Atlas and both Ron and Hermione to themselves.

“What was that about?” Ron questioned but Atlas didn’t answer, instead, she stood and slung her bag over her shoulder. “Atlas?”

“I need to do some homework, I’ll be in the Common Room,” Atlas rushed.

“Oh, we’ll come with you,” Hermione jumped, looking over at Ron urgently while the boy hurried to grab his bag. Atlas waited, shuffling from foot to foot with her eyes trained on the ground, occasionally flitting to her hand, she gnawed on her bottom lip again, brows furrowed as she fought the itch to burst into Umbridge’s office, to free Harry from his inevitable punishment. She shook her head, grimacing. “Atlas?”

“What? Sorry,” She mumbled, looking at Hermione as she smiled and reached up, readjusting the crown upon Atlas’s head.

“Flowers suit you,” she whispered and Atlas glanced up at the hands atop her head and then down to Hermione, swallowing solidly and turning just as firmly. “Atty? Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” was Atlas’s strained reply. Hermione and Ron exchanged doubtful looks, “let’s just go.”

Both of them followed and they arrived in the Commons a few moments later, their homework pieces sprawled across the centre table while others mingled about them, doing their own odd pieces in the armchairs or tables pressed against the walls. They all slowly dispersed, however, turning in for the night at random intervals so that the full house trickled to a sparsely occupied one, shifting, then, to an almost deserted and lonesome room. Only, Atlas, Ron and Hermione inhabited the space.

They talked quietly amongst themselves, Crookshanks joining sometime later and poking around inside Atlas’s bag, she hadn’t noticed why until the cat retrieved his head from the depths of her books and quills with a little stick on his nose. Atlas’s rogue Bowtruckle. She went a little wide-eyed when she saw it, reaching out to grab the little thing which, inevitably, caught the attention of her study group.

“Er, mate –“

“You kidnapped a Bowtruckle!?” Hermione gasped as Atlas sighed.

“No, it’s a stowaway,” She explained as it settled on her shoulder, swinging its legs idly. “It wouldn’t leave and tried to attack me whenever I tried to get it out of my bag.”

“Brilliant, I need to finish my drawing!” Ron beamed and held out his hand, “give it here, lemme have it.”

“Ron!” Hermione scolded.

“What?”

“I don’t think this one likes to be manhandled,” Atlas said, trying to redirect Hermione’s disapproving glare from Ron. Unfortunately, that meant it turned on her. “Look, I’m sending it back next lesson.”

“It’s no good to keep so many creatures, Atlas,” Hermione muttered, shaking her head. “You could get in trouble.”

“I thought you adored all of my little friends…”

“I — I do but, I mean, Frog, she’s hardly little,” Hermione said pointedly and Atlas frowned.

“Yeah well…she’s kept away, isn’t she?” She whispered.

“You’re right, actually. I haven’t seen her in quite some time,” Hermione nodded. Atlas shuffled uncomfortably, fiddling with her quill. “What’s wrong? Are you worried about her? Should — should we be worried?”

“No,” Atlas huffed and itched the back of her head in agitation. It was a sore topic, one Atlas hadn’t given much thought to in a while. She hadn’t wanted to, after all, Atlas hadn’t shifted fully since the graveyard — “shit…” she hissed, clutching the sudden tightness of her chest.

“Atlas? Are you all right mate?” Ron asked, setting down his quill while Hermione rushed to her side.

“Yeah…yeah, I’m fine.”

“That hasn’t happened in a while…” Hermione observed, worried as she placed her own hand around the one Atlas had clutched to her heart. 

“It’s a lot less frequent than last year but it has happened, just not when I was around you guys,” Atlas admitted, “sometimes it spikes when I’m stressed and instead of my heart tightening I just get really nauseous, which, I feel, is the normal response to a dizzying topic,” she smiled, grimacing slightly a few moments later. “I’m ok though, I’m ok.”

“You’re not…” Hermione frowned, “does Madam Pomfrey know about this?”

“Yeah, a lot of the teachers do, they just know it has something to do with my magic. Dumbledore says my body can’t handle the amount of power I have, which makes me prone to outbursts and less able to control my magic if my emotions get the better of me, which in turn sets off my heart, knocking me from my emotional state. It’s, I suppose, an emergency shut down procedure,” Atlas explained, “I think…I don’t know, perhaps I’ve told you this before, everything is such a blur these days,” she whispered quietly, rubbing at the headache forming in her head. 

“Hey, it’s all right,” Hermione smiled, taking her hand back to run through the few strands of hair Atlas had kept untied. “Anyway…” she pulled away again, much sharper this time before Atlas could lean into her touch, “what’s the time? Harry should be back soon.”

“What?” Atlas startled and leant away, inclining towards the table instead and scrambling to gather her things, “I should go then. It was nice studying with you two again, tell Harry I said goodnight or something, I’ll see you…some other time.”

“You’re going?” Ron questioned, brows furrowed, “if it’s because things are still rough between you and Harry, don’t worry about it, he’s gonna apologise, told me so himself.”

“Yeah, you two could finally start talking again,” Hermione grinned enthusiastically as Atlas looked between them, eventually shaking her head as unfinished sentences and words, excuses and apologies started flying from her mouth. A line of sweat had settled on her brow and she’d grown quite pale, jittery as if she wanted to be anywhere but there.

The portrait opened not a moment later and Atlas flinched, swallowing solidly at his footsteps, Harry’s footsteps, at his breathing, uneven, a little haggard and littered with notes of pain, small whines of discomfort. She turned, hands shaking, bawled in fists around her haphazardly stacked homework before she released them, her whitened knuckles flushing with colour upon loosening. They collided with the table and fell apart, her pile falling to ruin and knocking over a well of ink.

But she hadn’t noticed, instead, her gaze, her whole attention was set on Harry, her hairs on end, ever fibre and muscle tense, her shoulders rigid, taut with fear and uncertainty. Then he looked up at her, the pain falling from his face and instead, turning angered, in a way that was distressed. He took a moment — they took a moment, staring at each other in the Common Room, the static the only sound upon Atlas’s ears, that agonising silence that might as well have been the screams of the damned.

He moved forward and Atlas took a few heavy steps back, stumbling, uneasy. Someone usually so certain, firm and sure with every step becoming a mess, a puddle of despair and shame as she looked upon her godbrother, the turmoil of anger and pain in his eyes while the firelight behind her lit the glass of his frames with a flame that accentuated his feelings, his state of mind.

“Take off your glove…”

“Harry…”

“Take off your glove, Atlas!” He cried, tears of frustration forming in beads, tipping over the bottom lid of his eye and cascading down his ashen cheeks, all of this highlighted by the fire.

“What’s going on?” Ron asked, looking confused, concerned, worried as his gaze flickered from friend to friend.

“Why should Atlas take off her glove, Harry?” Hermione asked slowly, looking at him and then at Atlas, the girl looked scared, fearful as she hid her hands, shrinking in on herself. It felt wrong, it looked wrong, Atlas had every right to be afraid, just as anyone else did, it was human but this — it was something different entirely. “Harry?”

“She didn’t just make us do lines,” Harry breathed, his gaze never leaving Atlas as the girl went wide-eyed.

“Harry, don’t –“

“Why shouldn’t I!? She tortured you!”

“Harry,” Atlas pleaded insistently, “please, she told us not to tell.”

“And you’re going to listen!?” Harry snapped.

“Tortured…Harry, mate, what — what are you talking about?” Ron pressed while Hermione looked at Atlas, distressed, terrified.

Harry stared at Atlas, long and hard as the girl shook her head, mouthing words of pleading, desperation in her eyes and upon her face. But his mind was set, too clouded with rage at Umbridge, holding some saddened anger upon Atlas for not telling them the truth, for not telling them what Umbridge really did to her. 

“Umbridge makes us do lines with a special quill that engraves the words into the back of your hand,” he said firmly, not blinking nor looking away once as Atlas’s face dropped, her eyes flickering over to Hermione, panicked. “It’s agony.”

“Hermione, I –“

“Take off your glove,” Hermione ordered, her voice quite steady, cool and so commanding, so harsh Atlas flinched again, shaking her head soundlessly, frantically, “take it off Atlas.”

“N-no…” Atlas refused, “Umbridge told me not to.”

“Atlas please,” her voice had grown softer, despondent in a way as she held out her hand, palm up and splayed flat in front of her, “just show me, we already know. Please, I just —  I need to see what she did.”

“You’ll get upset.”

“Of course, I will,” Hermione sighed, closing her eyes as she then opened them and looked over at Harry, flitting her gaze to Ron also. “I think all three of us will but that’s because we care about you. So, don’t hide an injury from us, Atlas,” she finished. Atlas looked at Hermione, then between the boys and finally sat down, eyes to the floor, unrelenting as she stared upon the inked carpet.

“What did she make you write, Harry?” Atlas asked after a moment and the boy flinched, watching quietly as Atlas slowly pried off her gloves, hesitant and shaking.

“…I must not tell lies,” he offered, his voice a lot calmer, quieter than it had been. “You?”

Atlas dropped her glove into her lap and began unwrapping the thin bandage she had applied beneath for the cuts from the glass she had crushed. Every moment was second-guessed, she seemed to stop every time a layer came undone, arm shaking, palm quivering and her fingers growing weak. Then, when everything was gone, when not a fabric of cloth or a string of twine obscured any part of her hand from view, she stared at it, grimacing as she slowly raised it to her friends. The back of her hand was still in ruin, the skin in considerable disrepair.

“Toujours Pur…” she uttered silently.

“I don’t…I don’t understand, why did she make you write French?” Harry asked, careful to not sound rude.

“It’s the Noble House of Black’s family motto mate,” Ron breathed, looking disturbed and entirely understanding of Atlas’s clear distress. “It means Always Pure.”

“Always Pure?”

“It’s a homage to the purity of the Blacks bloodline,” Hermione told, reaching forward and taking up Atlas’s hand in hers. The girl looked away uncomfortably, “it’s a motto against half-bloods like you, Harry but…specifically muggle-borns like…me.”

Atlas snatched her hand away and stood, avoiding every eye in the room, “I don’t agree with it.”

“We know you don’t, mate,” Ron eased. “Umbridge wouldn’t have made you write it otherwise…that foul git.”

“She’s vile,” Hermione snapped, a shakiness to her voice, “this needs to be reported.”

“Hermione’s right, the woman’s tortured you Atlas and she’s doing the same to Harry,” Ron agreed, “with any luck if we report it now Harry could be exempt from the rest of his detentions.”

“Report it to who?” Harry questioned.

“We can’t tell anyone else,” Atlas said before anyone could reply, shaking her head firmly, “Umbridge told me not to, who knows what she’d do if she found out we reported her, she’s High Inquisitor now.”

“She’s right,” Harry muttered, “how long do you think it’d take for her to pass a rule that anyone who questions her methods is sacked?”

“We can’t let her get away with this!” Hermione shouted, standing as she scowled. “We — we have to do something!”

“What? If we speak up against her we’ll just get detention,” Harry sighed and at Atlas sudden look of panic he turned to her, “which won’t happen…we just have to ignore it.”

“But — but, you were all for going against her!” Hermione yelled, glaring at the boy while he glared back.

“That was until I experienced for myself the reason why Atlas has been so desperately trying to warn us about her!” Harry shouted back, “which we should have listened to anyway!”

“We?!” Hermione huffed incredulously, “I listened, I wasn’t happy about it, Atlas knows that but I listened and I didn’t get my hand cleaved open but look where that’s gotten you! Both of you! We need to complain, we need to — we need to do something!”

“We can’t,” Atlas said this time and Hermione looked at her, entire form puffing up with some sort of frustration, anger as tears brimmed at her eyes. Atlas noticed and went a little wide-eyed, standing instantly, “Hermione –“

“I’m going to bed!”

“Mione, please!” She disappeared up the staircase and Atlas watched her go, arm outstretched.

“Atlas,” Harry called soothingly and the girl turned to him, shoulders sagging as her face dropped from distress to one of defeat. “I’m sorry.”

“I just…I want you all to be safe but how — how can we be safe when she’s here?” Atlas practically sobbed and fell into her godbrothers arms, his familiar smell of pine and old broomstick wax running through her like a bolt of lightning. “I realised…yesterday, I realised, no matter what I did, how tightly I conformed, Umbridge would always find a way to hurt me. And…fuck, it’s the same for you, it’s the same for Hermione and you, Ron. She’ll come after you no matter how many times I throw myself in front of you and I just…I don’t want you to get hurt, I never wanted you to experience that hurt because I can’t — I can’t do this again, yet, in the process, I think I’ve hurt you all quite a bit.”

“It’s not like I didn’t hurt you,” Harry whispered, breathing her in and hugging tight, “I was such an arse, I’m really surprised you didn’t hit me…” he chuckled but Atlas remained silent, just holding him close. “Atlas…I’m sorry, I just — all I thought about was me after our first Defense Against the Dark Arts class. I shouldn’t have called on you like that…I know Cedric’s — I know what happened at the end of last year was bound to affect you differently but I was just so angry. I’m still so angry, Atlas.”

“Sometimes I’m the same…but mainly I’m tired,” Atlas murmured, pulling away, she turned and looked at Ron, the boy watching them awkwardly, “what about you, Ronald?”

“Er — mainly, I’m confused…and worried,” he offered tentatively and Harry chuckled shaking his head while Atlas dragged him into the hug. They stayed like that for a moment, basking in each others company before Atlas pulled away, swaying slightly as she straightened herself.

“I’m really sorry, Harry,” she sighed and the boy shook his head, moving forward to place a kiss on her cheek.

“Don’t be, really, I was the worst. You were just trying to protect me and though I still think we should all try and protect each other, regardless of if Umbridge is going to keep trying to hurt us, you did what any one of us would have done in your situation,” Harry offered. 

“Right…yeah,” Atlas frowned, “look, I’m going to go up to bed…check on Hermione.”

“Yeah, Hermione,” Ron grimaced, “I think she’s…I think she really wants to hurt Umbridge. Seriously, did you see her face? She was really upset.”

“Of course she was, like she said she cares about Atlas.”

“And you,” Atlas added but Harry made a face.

“You’re more important Atlas, I got a few scratches on my hand, you look like Umbridge has taken a dagger and purged your skin,” Harry said, “she cares about me but she loves you.”

“I’m sure she…lo — looks at you the same,” Atlas fumbled.

“Sure but…never mind, the point is Hermione is going to be plotting something.”

“Right…” Atlas muttered nervously, grabbing her own bag and taking the sleeping Bowtruckle from within her hair to tuck him inside, she would have forgotten about him if she hadn’t felt a sharp needle press into the side of her face. “I should go.”

“You’re right, night Atlas,” Harry smiled and Atlas mirrored it, nodding goodbye and wishing her own goodnights to the boys as she left and made her way up to her dorm room, the door was ajar when she got there and she took a moment before stepping inside.

Hermione was a bundle of blankets in the middle of her bed, soft whimpers and sobs echoing through the room coming to a complete halt when a floorboard creaked under Atlas’s weight. Atlas continued, however, gently dropping her bag to the floor and greeting her animal friends quietly, absentmindedly as she grew closer and took off her uniform. She did not bother in grabbing her pyjamas and lowered herself onto Hermione’s bed as soon as she got close enough.

“Mi?” she whispered softly, “please don’t do anything stupid.”

“She hurt you!” Hermione had shot up and spun around, glaring at Atlas as the girl leaned backwards, staring at her in shock. “She hurt you and you — you expect me not to do anything!?”

“Hermione, please, you’ll just get yourself hurt.”

“I’ll drag her down with me,” Hermione promised and Atlas could tell there was not a single mistruth to her words, she meant every one, every syllable down to the letters. It was all said with absolute certainty. “I’ll dig up everything, every dirty little secret of hers, I have connections, favours I can call in. I can ruin her if you’d just let me –“

“She can ruin you and do so much more while you’re scrambling for things against her,” Atlas interrupted carefully. “She’s a meticulous woman, Mi, she covers her tracks.”

“But the proof is engraved on your hand!” Hermione practically cried, taking up Atlas palm and looking upon the words. “Atlas, we can’t — I can’t let her get away with this.”

“But you must, just for now,” Atlas pressed and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Hermione’s cheek. “Please.”

“Atty…”

“Mi,” Atlas returned and tilted her head to the side, smiling sadly, “come on, let’s go to sleep yeah?”

“I don’t think I can,” Hermione refuted.

“Just listen to my breathing, whenever I can’t sleep, I listen to yours,” Atlas whispered and pulled the two of them further under the sheets, wrapping her free hand around Hermione while the other remained in the girl’s palm, revelling in her soft fingertips brushing against her still irritated skin. What Atlas hadn’t expected was for Hermione to raise her other hand to her side, her palms caressing the claw marks that marred the area. She knew it was foolish not to push her away because Hermione was smart, Hermione would know no ordinary wolf could have given her such marks, Hermione would see the similarities between herself and Frog and she would connect them. She would figure it out.

Yet, in that moment, in the warmth beneath the covers and the comfortable silence of the night, after everything that had transpired in the weeks passing, Atlas could not bring herself to care. The thought of Hermione finding out she was an Animagus suddenly became an outcome she didn’t heavily despise.