The Pureblood Society of Great Britain has been around for as long as there has been a wizarding community, or at least that's what they'll say. Old families of magical blood that they all date back to earlier and earlier centuries as though that proves some superiority of ability just by that simple record keeping fact. Often times these families find themselves in varying levels of wealth, most due to some ties to aristocracy back in the days before the Statute of Secrecy when they'd find their ways of pushing themselves up in society by any means necessary.
And thus, especially amongst the Sacred Twenty-Eight families, it was often necessity for the witches and wizards of this high-end society to find their ways together in varying social events for the sole purpose of mingling amongst those of like-minds and similar status.
Which meant for Atlas frequent forced events where he spends most of it wishing he were home in his little velvet chair with a cup of tea and a book.
Dressed in fine robes and with proper straight posture he was forced along by his grandmother to these events at varying pureblooded families homes with the same people he's known all his life to listen to the same roundabout conversations he's heard his whole life.
Talk of the ministry, talk of jobs and finances and prospects, talk of the way Hogwarts has failed by letting in more and more un-pure to their student body. Gossip, particularly amongst the ladies most of whom were held tight to the ancient ideals of housewives and vanity, would bound about the rooms if one listened in.
And in the darker corner, the more careful conversations were whispered. Talks of ministry crack downs on cursed and dark artifacts. Whispers of days of the past where muggleborns had hid in fear. Whispered hopes for a second coming of the Dark Lord, a revived movement to make the wizarding world pure again.
Atlas, while prone to listening to all manners of whispers and talk out of base curiosity, much preferred to get through the events as quick as possible. It was easy enough now, as one of the younger generation he was assessed upon arrival, questioned to garner how well he holds up to the pureblood expectations, and then promptly left to his own devices so long as he behaved.
The Malfoy Christmas party is one of such events that occur on the annual basis. Pureblooded families, those worthy of invitation at least, make their way to the centuries old Malfoy Manor and dine on exquisitely crafted food and sip expensive wines and drinks.
Atlas figures the only real good thing about these events is the fact that it is near guaranteed that someone of the younger generation will find a way to swipe a bit of wine or champagne or on lucky occasions fire whiskey that they will so generously share with the rest of the bored youth.
It's well routine now that Atlas, after being showed about by his grandmother, slips off to the large drawing room on the second floor of the Manor. It was the room most often chosen by the younger generation for their messing about during parties like these, close enough to the main event that they can be found, but far enough away that they can ignore the adults with ease.
Atlas enters and immediately hears, "Atlas!" He glances to spot Mina flinging herself up from the couch she had been sitting upon with Daphne. She rushes towards him, a glass of something that looks most likely to be champagne in her grasp before she laces her arm into his and pulls him along.
"You look as miserable as always, Black." Theodore muses with a tilted smile, he's laid out upon a chair near the others, an arm thrown over the back and his one leg dangling over the armrest. He sips at his own drink.
"And you look as indolent as always, Nott." Atlas replies as Mina pulls him down upon the long couch.
"You're one to talk, Black," Malfoy's voice calls over from where he stands with Crabbe and Goyle, "like you aren't so lazy you miss half your classes."
"And yet my marks still rest higher than yours." Atlas retorts with little break, a brow raised in delicate challenge. Malfoy glowers and Atlas glances away with little care, surveying the room and spotting the usual sort about.
Save for a tall lean boy stood against a bookshelf talking leisurely with Pansy, a champagne glass languidly in one hand. He rakes a hand carelessly through his dark hair, leaving it disheveled in the sort of way that one does with at least the base knowledge that it'll look good regardless. Atlas sips at the drink Daphne has passed him, and studies the new boy a second longer.
Pansy notices him about then, interrupting his look, and smiles with a wave. "Atlas," she pushes away from the shelves where she leans, "this is my cousin."
The other boy, who looked perhaps a year or two older than the rest of them, glances Atlas's way and gives a smile. Warm and welcoming in a friendly way, "Eliot Beauvilliers, pleasure to meet you." The french turn of his accent lilts his voice in a pleasant sort of way.
"Atlas Black." He returns in shortness, likely less welcoming but Atlas was hardly warm in the way this boy seemed to radiate.
"Ah," Eliot smiles further, nodding with some recognition. "The Black family, very well known amongst all."
"As they should be," Atlas recites with little real meaning. He'd been raised to believe his family was one of the greats, but he hardly put any stock into it in truth. They were all just one in the same, at the end of the day.
"Don't mind him, Eliot," Theodore calls out, "he's always been of a sour disposition." Theodore winks Atlas's way and Atlas rolls his eyes at the other boy.
"What a shame," Eliot remarks, "life is much better when enjoyed carelessly." Eliot's gaze lingers upon Atlas studying with a bit intense sort of consideration, the tilt to his mouth playful.
Mina laughs, leaning her head against Atlas's shoulder. "Atlas has never done anything carelessly."
"I don't think he's made for it," Daphne adds.
"Too much a stick up his ass." Malfoy puts in, sneering Atlas's way.
Rolling his eyes before looking Malfoy's way, "perhaps," he sips his drink, shrugging. "But perhaps if you had acted with a bit more care, Malfoy, you wouldn't have suffered that terrible incident with the hippogriff."
Malfoy scowls, "that thing was a beast."
"I don't recall hearing Potter having any difficulty." Atlas retorts, just to poke at blond boy a bit. And it works, as most things regarding the infamous boy-who-lived did especially when putting him up against Malfoy.
"Potter," Malfoy spits the name with deep distaste, "is as much of a beast, growing up amongst muggles the way he did. And like calls to like."
Crabbe and Goyle snicker, and Atlas just sighs glancing away and leaving it well enough at that.
Mina seizes the lull to switch conversation about to gifts they had all received that morning. And Atlas listens quietly as they all go about talking through the evening. The conversations ebbing and flowing, and Atlas just sitting sipping at his drink and occasionally putting forth a comment of his own.
He does glance several times the way of Pansy's cousin. Eliot being much more present in the conversation, laughing along with the others and offering his own opinions and commentary. His laugh is bright, and his spirit seems entirely unburdened in a way that makes Atlas take note of the serene way he holds himself.
It drew the eye, more so than Atlas felt like admitting.
The day before New Years Eve aurors and ministry workers come by Grimmauld Place once again. Though they make no effort to say so, they also make no effort to hide the clear fact that the visit is based in some sort of distrust. Perhaps based in some misguided belief that just because Sirius Black was his grandmothers son that she'd feel some compulsion to hide him away, as though she wouldn't curse him on the spot if she saw him.
Or worse, if Atlas were honest.
But this visit, tedious and a bit insulting if asking Walburga Black, was just the thing Atlas didn't need. It put his grandmother in a foul mood. Short words all the day after and the next, sharpness with ever bit of her as she hurries him along so they are not late to the Greengrass's home for the New Years soiree.
It puts Atlas in a similarly foul mood. Though granted it took very little to do that, perhaps something inherited from his grandmother if thought on it. But his grandmother's fussing over him made him want nothing more than to run off from the party entirely the second he arrived. The centering of Sirius in her mind had made her overly observant of him and any possible faults to be found.
The second he can slip away is like the first breath after being held under water. And he slips past the room where the other kids are hanging about in favor of a small balcony that he can step out onto and enjoy some piece in the cold darkness off night, the only light being that of the stars and the lanterns strung about the Greengrass's garden.
He's out long enough that he can see the party goers begin to trickle out into said garden in preparation for the fireworks upon midnight. He leans relaxed upon the railing and breathes in the cool air, the smell of snow present though it hasn't begun falling yet.
"You know you are missing a rather interesting game of truth or dare." A voice, lilted and sweet, informs him from behind. "The Malfoy boy made the sorry decision of dare and had to lick the frozen bit of statue out in the garden."
Atlas smirks, giving a nod of his head in acknowledgment that that would have been a quite enjoyable sight to laugh at. "I'm not much in party mood I'm afraid." He offers with little emotion to his tone.
"Shame," Eliot steps up beside him, shaking his head before glancing out over the scenery. "To spend an evening like this in solitude with a miserable mood."
"Yes well," Atlas swallows, "not all of us are the peppy French."
Eliot chuckles, and Atlas glances over to see the older boy smiling his way. His eyes were soft, but looked they held a startling amount of intellect behind them. Shrewd, almost. Like someone who sees a lot more than they let on. "Yes well, I have been told I am one of the exceptionally peppy."
Atlas hums, glancing away before he stares for too long. Watching as his grandmother walks along the garden path with Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy, sipping wine and tilting her head in consideration over whatever bit of conversation has been spoken.
"I imagine you would have a more worthwhile time down there," Atlas remarks, "fireworks will start soon."
Eliot shrugs, "this has a perfect view from what I can see." Atlas glances and Eliot is smiling his way still. "Besides, you seem much more interesting company." Atlas raises a brow, urging the boy to elaborate. "Why are you in a foul mood, if I may inquire?"
Atlas considers brushing the other boy off but figures it too much effort, and Eliot seems not one easily dissuaded. "I'm sure, as you have already expressed your awareness of my family, that you are aware of my uncle."
"Ah," Eliot clicks his tongue and nods, "yes the escapee." He shakes his head, "We heard of that feat in France, quite the thing."
"Quite the bother." Atlas grouses.
Eliot leans upon the balcony and nods in consideration. "Perhaps, but I think these sorts of things should be looked at critically." He pulls out a small box from the pockets of his dress robes. "Do you mind?" He inquires, pulling a thin cigarette from he box. Atlas shrugs and the other boy lights it, a puff of smoke mingling with the cool air and drifting up to the stars.
"I think," Atlas remarks. "It's fairly simple."
"Perhaps." Eliot shrugs, "but perhaps not. Many things appear simple, say a boy lingering upon a balcony with a sad face on New Years."
"And what is not simple about that?" Atlas asks.
Eliot smirks, and holds out the cigarette in offering. Atlas takes it delicately, and puts it to his lips, taking in the burn down his throat and only coughing a bit before passing it back. "Depends on how well you know the boy I think." Eliot remarks. "People are never simple, Atlas, it all depends on how much of the picture you have."
Silence hangs for a moment, Atlas unsure of what rebuttal he could have. Because if he were honest, Eliot wasn't entirely wrong. People were not simple, even if one wished them to be. He had little clue really about his uncle, on the why and how and what. He barely even knew the who.
All he had of the picture of Sirius Black was a blasted off tapestry and the hateful words of his grandmother.
He's evidently quiet for far too long because Eliot, who Atlas is now realizing is close enough that he can smell the smoke on his breath, hums and remarks. "But enough, you are in a bad mood and talking of what caused it may help sometimes but that is far too deep a dive for a beautiful night like this."
"All the more reason for you to seek pleasanter company before midnight."
Eliot laughs, "I think I have found the company I enjoy." He passes the cigarette back to Atlas, who takes the draw easier than before, and remarks "besides, if I can make your own evening better than I will have done my duty."
"And who gave you that duty?" He was wondered for a second if he'd need to hex someone, likely Mina.
But Eliot smiled, wide and bright as snow in the dead of night with a full moon. "Myself, I see someone not enjoying life the way it should be enjoyed I feel a duty to help them."
"Not everyone is built for optimism."
"No," Eliot nods, pursing his lips. "But everyone is capable of it. And life is such bore without a bit of fun, so why deprive oneself of it?"
Atlas glances away, feeling a bit off kilter for a moment.
When he looks back, Eliot is taking a last draw of the cigarette. He's lit with the stars and smoke plumes out as he blows. He looks back at Atlas, eyes flicking over Atlas in study as well before leaning further.
Atlas doesn't even realize until Eliots lips touch his, a soft tentative thing. Gentle in the way that Eliot is lighthearted. And then it's like his mind pauses for a whole moment, and Eliot lingers until Atlas responds. Slow and accepting, cautious as he is in all things, and Eliot takes the small bit of acquiescence, leaning further. Pressing more.
He tastes of smoke, of champagne, of something sweet.
When it ends, to the cheers down below in the garden and the bright explosions of colors above, Atlas breathes out, his breath a puff of white floating up to mingle with the expanse of stars and fireworks.
Eliot, still as relaxed as ever, smiles and says in a voice as light as the air "happy new year, Atlas, I do hope you find some more fun ahead of you."
Thank you so much for reading! Quick update because technically this was going to be part of the last chapter but it worked out better to split it up. Anyways, thank you again for reading and the lovely comments left they always make me so happy!