Atlas Alexander Argall was a hatstall.
That was how he defined himself: versatile, with the type of fluidity necessary to blend into any scene. And that's exactly what he did. He was nowhere near extraordinary, and the closest he'd ever come to defining himself amongst a sea of other students was learning how to play the piano at a rather young age. And even that wasn't much of an accomplishment, as it seemed that almost every other Ravenclaw student had done just the same.
The Sorting Hat had taken an unusually long time to place Atlas in the right House. It had floundered at the beginning, especially, not being able to scope out any bold traits that would have landed him in any of the four Houses. He was cunning, but not extremely ambitious, he was hard-working, but not overly friendly, he had a twinge of courage, but was rarely ever brazen enough to use it.
And so, the Hat took note of his above-average intellect and slightly off-beat nature and placed him in Ravenclaw. He had no complaints, he was proud to represent the good 'ole blue and bronze whenever he could. But, as far as Ravenclaws went, he wasn't overly smart or strange, and he, like he always had, blended into the background.
That is, until Robin, Carol and Thomas took him by the collar and plopped him right in the center of their calamitous shenanigans.
Robin and Carol Brighton were twins, Gryffindors and, despite what some people thought upon glancing at their names, boys. Both had incredibly messy brown hair and impossibly ocean-blue eyes. The only way to distinguish one from the other, if you hadn't known them long enough, was that Carol had a small birth mark under his left eye, which he had a habit of scratching at if he was bored or nervous. While both gentlemen tended to be raucous jokesters, Robin was definitely the louder of the two, usually depending on his slightly gentler brother to calm him down when he got riled up.
Thomas Beech, on the other hand, was only just less quiet than a mouse. He had dark hair and eyes, and could almost always be seen with an amused smile on his face. Thomas was extremely loyal to the twins (no matter what trouble they tended to get themselves in), so it was no surprise that he was a Hufflepuff, where loyalty and good morals were valued above test scores or bloodlines.
It was during their second year at Hogwarts that the Troublesome Trio became a quartet, taking in Atlas as if he were a stray puppy. At the time, they were trying to get a band started. Partially because of an affinity for music, but mostly because they thought it would look cool.
Unfortunately, none of them had anticipated actually having to write music or lyrics. That's where Atlas came in. As long as he wasn't speaking them, Atlas had a way with words that was utterly unprecedented, and the fact that he could write music for any instrument, not just the piano, was a major plus. The original trio hadn't intended for him to become a facet of their image, but they quickly grew accustomed to him being around; the way his blond hair fell over his face when he was concentrating (giving them the opportunity to strike him with an onslaught of paper balls while he couldn't see), the gesture of him taking off his glasses to rub at his sky-blue eyes when he was frustrated (giving them yet another opportunity: to swipe his spectacles from him and, ultimately, get him laughing to the point where he was no longer so exasperated), and the fact that he'd long ago learned that correcting their grammatical errors was only going to get him a chorus of chuckling and a joking punch to the arm. He'd grown accustomed to them just as they had to him, and soon there were no longer memories of a time when the Quartet didn't exist.
And, for once in his life, Atlas couldn't blend in if he tried. He was always spotted in a crowd, now, as a friend of the twins' (who had created quite the humorous reputation for themselves, as it would appear. Some professors, mostly the elders, even went as far as to compare them to another iconic duo. But why they said so in worried whispers was a mystery) and not as 'just another Ravenclaw.' He'd even begun making a sort of name for himself. Albeit, it wasn't near as interesting as being known for glorious pranks and jokes, his professors had begun singling his schoolwork out as extremely impressive due to his writing skills. He couldn't have been happier with the way things were going.
Until the day he was pricked by a fiery, Irish rose. After that, things would never, could never be the same for him, or the rest of the Quartet, for that matter. Because if there's one thing you remember as much as your own first love, it's the first love of your best friend.