November twenty-first.
A normal enough day for most.
But for Atlas it was a day with plenty of weight behind it.
The day his father died. The day his mother was tortured beyond repair.
And the day he was born.
All in all, the other events of the day and the lasting weight that they put both on himself and his family left Atlas feeling like he'd much rather ignore that it existed at all. He would much prefer to go about the day as though it were like any other and not his birthday. He doesn't want to acknowledge it, he doesn't want to think about it, he doesn't want to deal with it.
But of course Atlas was rarely gifted what he wanted.
Mina, for all his care and enjoyment of her as someone he would willingly call friend, was the main perpetrator for making sure that the day was addressed. That it was a known fact amongst the others that it was his birthday.
Starting with breakfast when she came up quick behind him while he was in the process of reading and eating some toast and squeezed him tight while in a high sing-song voice exclaimed "happy birthday Atlas!"
Atlas was seriously regretting not going with the small thought that had crossed his mind when he'd woken of just spending the day hiding away somewhere no one would find him.
"Yes," Atlas sighs, "thank you," he says purely out of the courtesy he's been raised to extend. "Now, if that will the last of it…"
"Oh right!" Theodore now exclaims, leaning onto the table and closer to Atlas from where he sits across from him with his own bit of breakfast. "It's your birthday today, why didn't you say anything?"
"Because I don't care?" Atlas plays off, sipping at his tea and pointedly looking just at his book and not the others around him, hoping that they'll take the hint and leave it be.
"You should have said something," Daphne tells him, "I'd have gotten you a gift if you had."
"I think I'll survive without." Atlas turns the page harshly, a bit of the edge tearing. "Really, if we could just not do this whole birthday thing I'd enjoy it much more, that would truly be the most perfect gift I could be given."
"We can't do nothing," Mina remarks as she finishes settling into the seat beside him, it's now he notices the little box she has that she's pushing his way. "Here, I had my mum send it, its some cake from that bakery in London we visited on my birthday last summer."
Atlas flips it open, looking at the cupcake within with disdain. "Thank you." He forces out.
"Don't be so sour," Theodore lifts up to look at the cake himself, "if you don't want it—"
"I didn't say I didn't want it." Atlas glares, which only gets Theodore to laugh loudly. "I did say though that I don't want a fuss." He turns his glare to Mina.
"Too bad." Mina flashes a bright smile to him before turning to assemble her breakfast.
Atlas sighs, low and long before he grudgingly starts to carefully eat the cupcake. Mina, the smug girl she is, smiles the whole time.
It was going to be a long, and very likely tiring, day.
At lunch several letters arrive for Atlas. He receives a few from some family of his mothers in France, and then a letter from his grandmother. He shoves aside the ones from his more distant family, to be skimmed through later when he has little else to do, and opens the letter from his grandmother quietly.
It gave the usual minimum of merriment she allowed, a happy birthday, a small bit of pride for the things she does approve of. She informed him that his proper gifts should have been delivered directly to his dormitory today. And near the end was the reminders, reminders to make her proud, to hold up their families image while at school, and a new one for this year reminding him to keep his distance from anything to do with Sirius Black.
He was frowning by the end of his reading, and shoved it into his robes once he'd finished. Mina glanced, delicate brow raised, his way and he shook his head. She smiled, nodded, and then leaned close while holding out another box. "Happy birthday."
"You've already wished me that," he deadpans, taking the wrapped box and starting to open it.
"And I'll continue wishing it until midnight."
Atlas grunts with annoyance, shakes his head and focuses upon the gift. He frowns as he pulls out the little book and small box of cards within and turns the frown pointedly at a giggling Mina.
"Divination: The Art of Tarot Readings" He reads off the title of the book. "Really Mina?"
"I thought you'd enjoy it." She smiles brightly and teasingly in a way that forces him to seriously consider hexing her. "The art on the cards is very nice, you could appreciate that at the least."
He gently opens the little box of cards and looks over the hand-painted tarot deck. "It's decent, but you know I loathe divination."
"Yes," Mina considers, "but hey, if Trelawney sees you shuffling these cards maybe she'll stop trying to get you to see your future in the cloudy crystal balls."
"Doubtful," Atlas pulls a single card from amongst the deck, peering over it's design.
The card is a gentle scenery of a mountain, low clouds in shades of white and grey fill in around the mountain and above. A breeze moves about the clouds gently, and Atlas watches as the painted image of a hand lifting a sword pierces through the delicate clouds. A crown of gold carried by the blade up until the clouds cover it once more and the cycle repeats.
"That's pretty," Mina remarks, watching the small movement of the art. "What does it mean?"
Atlas shrugs, glancing at the book. "Look yourself." He sets the card down amongst the rest and returns to his lunch.
Mina, between bites of a sandwich, flips amongst the book, skimming over the words and making little humming noises as she reads. "Truth." She remarks, "a breakthrough." She glances over at Atlas and smiles, "what do you think of that?"
"You can try and get me interested in divination all you wish but it will have little fruitfulness." He takes the book from her hand and starts to put it back into the box to be brought to his room. He glances at the card, a breakthrough of truth, he frowns.
There are plenty of questions in the world that Atlas could wish for truth about. But he just shuffles the card back amongst its deck and return it to its box. "Thank you, Mina." He remarks, mostly out of courtesy. "It is a pretty deck."
"At least you can appreciate that." She laughs, and he offers a smile before getting up and walking away.
He thinks of truth, quietly in his mind, before shaking off the looming curiosity with the dismissal that divination is most often a sham with only rare moments of honesty.
"Oi! Black, hold up." Atlas glances over his shoulder as he makes his way up from the dungeons to head for Ancient Runes and spots Theodore moving his way, a rather suspicious looking parcel held in his hands almost too nonchalantly. Atlas's gaze narrows as the other boy saunters up.
"Does no-one listen when I speak?"
"It's mostly much of the same, blah-blah, something pessimistic." Theodore smiles brazenly as Atlas scowls. "It's your birthday, it's our duty as your friends, and yes we're friends sod off, to torture you."
Atlas keeps the scowl and sighs, moving to keep walking though Theodore just keeps steady pace with him, holding out the little box. "What is it?"
"See that's supposed to be the fun part of getting a gift."
"I thought whatever the gift is is the fun part."
"Depends on the gift," Theodore shrugs, "but the excitement and intrigue of not knowing what it'll be… that's the best."
"Get a lot gifts, Nott?" Atlas continues to ignore the gift still extended out to him as they walk.
"Please," Theodore exhales, "sole heir to a pureblooded family? The gifts are pouring in every birthday and Christmas. Not the same for you?"
"Plenty of gifts, hardly any I care for." Atlas dismisses.
"You just don't have the right kind of spirit." Theodore jests. "But come on, stop being a prick and open the damned gift."
Atlas lets out an overly exasperated sigh before coming to a sudden halt, Theodore takes it in stride, sliding to a stop beside him and more pointedly extending the gift his way. Atlas takes it, a bit harsh and bitterly, and starts to open it.
He's met first with the horrendously flashy cover of Witch Weekly, to which he immediately looks up with a sharp glare thrown the other boys way. Theodore looks near close to bursting with laughter, "it's got some good tips to woo the witches in it." He remarks with a suggestive raise of his brows, "not that you really need any help getting them to swoon."
"I'm now considering what best to curse you with." Atlas states deadtoned, "perhaps the babbling curse… no, I'd still have to listen to you then." He turns and starts walking, half tempted to drop the box and the horrid gift with it. Theodore, cackling slightly, keeps pace beside him. "So maybe a balding curse, you do seem fond of your hair…" he starts on listing various hexes and curses and only gets a few more in before Theodore is stopping him.
"Go on, look beyond the trashy magazine."
Atlas eyes him carefully before lifting the offending article out of the box and glancing to see what was beneath. It was a small black bound book, gold lettering adorned the front of it with the simple words "The Questions of Life and Death".
"What is this?" Atlas asks, lifting the little book.
"Some researcher bloke, used to be an Unspeakable I think but got tired of some regulations? Or just the secrecy of it… I don't know," Theodore shrugs before nodding at the book, "wrote that, basically a whole research project into life magic, and death magic. A whole bunch of mindless theory, but from the type of shit I've seen you reading before I figured it'd be right up your alley." Theodore glances at Atlas, the usual smug look of arrogance upon his face but beneath it Atlas could just see that bit of wish for approval.
"How'd you come across it?" Atlas figures if he'd seen it himself at the bookshop in Hogsmeade he'd have gotten it, it was as Theodore stated exactly up his alley.
"The researcher bloke came about our place over the summer, mingled about cause he and my dad were friends when the guy worked at the ministry. Snagged a copy of it sometime in August." Theodore shrugs again.
Atlas hums in contemplation, looking over the book before nodding with a bit of approval. "Thank you." He tucks the book carefully into his robes before tossing the magazine at Theodore, who catches it with a slight fumble and a wide smile. "But I would have preferred if you'd ignored my birthday."
"Spoil-sport." Theodore laughs as Atlas starts walk off. "Happy birthday Atlas!" He shouts out overly loud as Atlas ducks into his classroom, though before he gets entirely within he is sure to hold out his middle finger just for the other boy to see.
Hermione has proven a not terrible table partner.
She doesn't talk during lessons, rather seems like if Atlas had tried to talk she'd be the one cross. Her focus for the whole of their lessons seems to be on taking as many notes as accurately possible.
Atlas on the other hand listens with his arms lazily crossed and occasionally flips through the textbook when the professor indicates a page to be examined. On rare moments where he feels like writing something down he delicately scrawls it on whatever relevant page it is needed.
The first time he does it Hermione's quill stops in its track and she stares at the ink in the book with what looks to be absolute horror. And Atlas had wondered if the next class she'd be back to sitting beside Corner.
But instead Atlas continued finds Hermione has settled into the spot beside him for the next couple classes, evidently his tendency to write in books aside she doesn't mind him as a table partner.
She also doesn't talk much to him in general, the two silently agreeing on thin cordial silence. He is still working his way through the transfiguration books, taking his time to compare the theories and see if some do work together as she'd suggested. So they do not talk much, and Atlas is grateful for that and looking forward to it today.
Of course it doesn't work out that way. As the second she's settled beside him she glances his way and he can see it in her eyes what she's about to say.
"Don't." He remarks sharp, sighing with the exasperation that comes from nearing the end of his birthday and having dealt with Mina's constant wishing of merriment and the other Slytherins willingness to feed into it when noticed.
"I—" Hermione blinks, puzzled for a moment before she purses her lips. She steadies herself, eyes narrowed before trying a smile and saying, "I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday."
"Hardly happy." He rolls his eyes her way, studying her as her brow furrows. "I prefer to not celebrate."
"Oh," Hermione frowns, "your friends…"
"Are overly-enthusiastic and enjoy torturing me," he smirks, "which you should be unsurprised by, we're all Slytherins after all, torture is our favorite passtime as far as you're concerned."
Hermione's frown deepens and her gaze narrows. "You really are in a sour mood."
"Like I said," he remarks blankly, "hardly a happy birthday. Though to be fair, they never are."
She pauses, clearly processing the bit information she can gleam from him through her mind. Analyzing it he imagines, and studying it the way she studies her textbooks and notes. Finally, she delicately questions, "why is that?"
He ponders her a second and in a bit of bitterness out of the day rather than anything towards her he speaks. "I was born premature, by a few months actually, as a result of my mother being subject to a curse." Hermione pales, "and only earlier that morning, or the evening before we don't really know exact timing, my father died. How exactly… no one knows. But as you can I'm sure infer just by those bits of information, this is hardly a day to be happy about."
"I'm sorry." Hermione sputters out after a few seconds of silence. "I— I didn't know."
"It's not exactly information I parade about," he studies her, thinking a second before adding, "nor is it information your sort would know readily."
"My sort?" Her frown returns, and he just shrugs.
The matter of his birth, the shame of his father and the tragicness of his mother was well enough known by his sort. Theodore knew it, his father having been a Death Eater the same as Atlas's, Draco was aware for similar reasons. And well, even if not all the children of the Sacred Twenty Eight were the children of Death Eaters, the Pureblood society was rife with gossip and thus things rarely stayed unheard.
But outside the dark corners of former Death Eaters and the overlapped Pureblooded society how Regulus Black came to death was not well circulated information. Certainly not the sort a muggleborn would be privy to.
"It was a dark time," He finally remarks, "and has marked my birthdate with a dark shadow." He frowns, and pulls at his textbook. "So I prefer to not celebrate it."
Hermione studies him a few long moments later. Her gaze settling through him as she takes in whatever it is she sees. And he wonders what exactly it is she sees…
"Still," Hermione clears her throat, "happy birthday. Hopefully," she speaks carefully, like one walks across a thinly frozen lake so as not to break the ice, "the shadow will lessen as the years go on."
He glances her way, and can only see the genuine intent he'd expect of a Gryffindor. But it's Hermione, and she has that sharp bit of steel he's seen when she gets worked up about a bit of information. He frowns, and glances away.
He hears her hope, and finds himself unable to truly share in it.
Atlas skips dinner entirely.
He has had his fill on the birthday wishes and gifts and beyond. His only wish for the day was that it would be over.
So rather than making his way to the Great Hall he finds his way down to the Black Lake. Sitting on a stretch of grass watching the dark waters ebb and flow as the sun settles lower. A wash of pinks and purples tinting the glassy waters and throwing the world into sunset shades.
Atlas eventually lays back on the grass as the time passes, looking up as the stars slowly start to burst their way into view. Tiny little blots of light pinpricking the expanse of space, and Atlas watches constellations form their way across the inky black sky.
He can name most of them, all of them really. Whether that was a result of his schooling or a result of being from a family whose greatest passion was naming its members after celestial bodies, he wasn't entirely sure. Perhaps a mix of both.
As the stars make themselves visible he searches for his namesake. The sun has set entirely when he finally sees it. Set into the Taurus constellation he gazes at the star he'd taken the name of. Named for a titan who held up the Earth, how fitting Atlas sometimes felt.
His gaze drifts across the sky and falls across another familiar star. One he's looked at far too much, though he'd never admit it.
Regulus sits brightly in the constellation Leo, the brightest of the stars making it up. He lingers on it, and thinks of something he rarely allows himself to.
It was a great unknown, how his father died. There few facts to be known about it.
He'd died either the evening of the 20th of November or sometime in the early morning of the 21st.
He'd betrayed the Dark Lord somehow, though not even the Death Eaters were aware of how exactly he'd done so if their torturing of Atlas's mother was any indication.
And he'd left nothing for Atlas. Nothing but a shadow of his failures and the pressure to do better than him.
Atlas forces his eyes away from the star of his father.
He's startled from his stargazing by the sound of brush being disturbed. He shoots up and glances about, pulling his wand as he does. He can see no sign of the cause in the darkness that has come over the castle grounds.
"Lumos." He whispers, holding it out and finally catches sight of what caused the disturbance.
A dark shape lingers a few yards away. Atlas stands, looks harder until he can make it out. A black dog, fur mangy and stance low watches him with what seems like almost equal intensity. Bright grey eyes meeting his with a strange bit of intelligence behind them, looking almost as though it was searching Atlas for something.
Atlas takes a step forward, gambling for a closer look against the fact that the dog looked not in the best of shape and thus as likely to attack him as not. But the second he does the dog lowers further, its quiet enough in the late evening for Atlas to hear the low ravel of the dogs growl. It wasn't a threat, more a warning, from what Atlas could wager.
Atlas wand raised further in an equal show of defense, and the dog eyed it with more of that same strange level of intelligence. Another short and low growl escaped it before it turned and raced off.
Atlas watches in the low light of the night until it disappears into the thick foliage of the Forbidden Forest. He stares after it with a strange feeling in his gut before pushing it off.
If he leaves now he might manage returning to the dorm before his housemates. He can shutter off his bed and put a sticking charm to keep it shut from any annoyances. Perhaps start on the book Theodore had gifted him.
He glances to the forest one last moment, eyes scanning over the darkness amongst the trees for a sign of the dog but finds none. He shakes his head, turning and starting up to the castle.
His head tilts up as he walks, scanning for a last bit of stargazing before he enters the castle proper. And his eyes drift over a bit of constellation that he prefers to ignore, especially in recent times, looking to the brightest star for which his infamous uncle was named.
And he spots it, Sirius lingering brightly over Hogwarts.
Hi thank you again for reading! Please let me know your thoughts they always make me happy to read!