Atlas does start spending a bit more time with his housemates over the next few weeks.

Granted much of it he still spends with a book in his hand that he skims through while offering his little bits to the overall conversation. But he does also just enjoy their company a bit more freely.

Daphne takes up studying with him in the common room, the girl particularly useful in digging up theories and spells that Atlas would otherwise not have found on his own all while Mina teases him relentlessly, as he honestly should have expected, over his newfound "putting forth a social effort" as she says.

He still doesn't give Malfoy much care though, nor Crabbe and Goyle, rather he suffers their companionship for the same reason he always has. They run in the same circles and will their whole lives, and thus he is burdened with the necessity of not totally burning his bridges with any of them but still allows himself a bit of venom when they get on his nerves too badly.

Pansy is still in her throes of Malfoy fawning, even despite Atlas's newfound attitude towards social activities, and thus he sees her amongst the group but rarely alone though he doubted that would be permanent as the girl had always been fickle over her attentions.

Theodore, on the other hand, seems to have taken their nighttime adventure as some sort of invitation. The two have spent a good few nights over the last few weeks of schooling playing games of exploding snap and several matches of wizard chess. And Atlas… doesn't mind it as much as he previously believed he would, the other boy was easy company in all honesty. He joked and was loud but not in the sort of way that really bothered Atlas, he even got a few light smiles from Atlas that he boasted about when spotted.

It was enjoyable, and the weeks were made a bit more enjoyable by a few letters exchanged back and forth with Eliot who seemed to be enjoying his own return to schooling and took to explaining and dissecting his own learning in his letters to Atlas and inquiring his thoughts despite the gap in years between them for schooling.

Atlas didn't imagine anything really with Eliot, not beyond the bits of kissing over the holiday and letters exchanged. He enjoyed Eliot, and the way the boy thought on things, but it was hard to imagine further than that. If that would even be a possibility and Atlas wasn't naive enough to think it would be.

Still, it was enjoyable, and Eliot hadn't been entirely wrong to say Atlas should have more fun.

Evidently though his newfound efforts towards social interaction had also opened up others temptation to seek him out and start up conversations of their own.

"Is what the prophet says true?" Tracey Davis, one of the Slytherin girls of his year who he didn't know quite that well by way of her not running the same circles outside of Hogwarts. She kept away a bit from most of the others in their year, one of the few half-blood students sorted into Slytherin their year and evidently well aware of the views some of their peers hold by way of their families. He has though sat nearby her a few times over the last few weeks, as she does seem close with Daphne and will often come bugging the other girl while they study over some bit of news or information.

"The Prophet says a lot of things," Atlas remarks, glancing her way from where he sits in one of the armchairs by the windows of the common room. He had been enjoying a moment of solitude, though he hadn't anticipated it to last very long as Theodore had propositioned him during dinner for a game of chess before curfew so Atlas expected the dark haired boy to show up at any moment.

She pulls a copy of the paper in question from under her arm and drops it before him. He raises a brow and glances at it before his expression drops into a glower. "I don't know, I don't care to know, and I would appreciate if I wasn't asked at all."

The paper spoke on the Ministry's decision on what Sirius Black's punishment would be upon capture. A Dementors Kiss. Something Atlas has read up on here and there, and knows to be likely one of the worst things that could happen to a person.

Tracey rolled her eyes at Atlas's tone, "no need for the venom." She takes the paper, "I was just curious." She eyes him a second more, that curiosity still very evident in the clever twinkle of her dark eyes. "Is there anything you do know?" She was clearly not one to simply give up when there was nothing to be found at first try.

"Plenty," Atlas states blankly, "I'm quite knowledgable on potions, transfiguration is one of my preferred subjects of study so I pride myself on holding skill there, and recently I have been researching various undead and spectral beings, as a side interest." He leans towards her and smiles sardonically, "but on the subject of my uncle I'm afraid you'll find me a lacking source."

"Pity." She remarks sharply, a smile dazzling her lips. "I imagine anyone with a good insight would be valuable."

"Looking to make a quick galleon?"

"Looking to start my name early," she shrugs, "get rid of the Skeeters of the world and publish something more meaningful than whether Celestina Warbeck had a torrid affair with the son of a vampire." She speaks of the state of journalism with a sour pinch to her face that Atlas can't help the scoffing laugh that escapes him.

"Afraid I won't be of any help there," he tells her, "but I'm sure you'll find something to pen your name to."

"Oh I know I will," Tracey flips a bit of dark hair over her shoulder, "I simply thought the story of Sirius Black and his nephew would be an interesting one to start with."

"And why would that be interesting?"

"It can be fascinating to see the ways history and families reflect upon each other." She says all serious under a tilted smile. "And the Noble House of Black is one of the most reflective families from what I've heard."

"Oh?"

"Your father, died a failed death eater, your uncle went to prison for You-Know-Who. When at the start, from what I've heard, your father was the pure-blood fanatic and your uncle the blood-traitor rebel. Interesting to say the least, a fascinating story many would love to read, and others would love to write."

"Sadly it's not anyones to tell," Atlas glares, and she shrugs.

"Fair enough, I suppose." She smiles, "any thoughts though, on the punishment of choice?"

"None," He blankly supplies, but she leans further and stares hard pushing for more. "They can do as they like. I don't even know the man."

"I have a feeling you know him more than others, even if you've never met him, and perhaps you'll even happen upon him someday." She smiles, "learn the story for yourself."

He shakes his head and leans away from her, back against the comfortable leather of the armchair. "Doubtful. And not something I plan on seeking, regardless of your belief that it'd be a fascinating story."

She stands, tucking the Prophet securely under her arm. "Well if the unlikely does happen and you wish to share it—"

"I doubt it will be with you."

"Pity." She remarks again, glancing over his shoulder and waving to some other student. "But I suppose that's fair." Atlas watches her walk off, joining Daphne where the blonde girl stands waiting at the exit of the common room.

He watched after them a second, but his view was quickly blocked by the appearance of Theodore with a chess set. "I think I've a sound strategy now." He sits in the chair opposite Atlas and pulls a table between them, setting the set down and waving his wand to set it up.

Atlas glances to the boy in the chair, "Five galleons on it?"

"Hell," Theodore smiles wickedly, "I'll bet ten."

"And you'll lose them all." Atlas glances at the board. He enjoyed this part of social interaction, but the Tracey Davis type interactions were less comfortable. Chosen over unchosen he supposes, but he can give the girl a few credits. She was bold, and determined. The latter which leant well to her sorting evidently.

And she wasn't entirely wrong that the story of Sirius Black was one that compelled at least him to learn more, even if he had been honest in his lack of intention of never seeking it out.

Hogsmeade is covered in a solid layer of snow when they visit next, and Atlas keeps a handy grasp upon his wand in the possibility of snow finding aim in his direction.

He's proven right in his paranoia after he exits the bookshop to a ball of white colliding with his head. He shakes his dark hair out while immediately looking in the direction of where it came from. A pair of Gryffindors are bolting away, whether he was the target or just unfortunately caught in the crossfire of the two fourth years game he doesn't much care as he flicks his wand in their direction bringing forth a thin rope that twined between the pairs inside legs tying them together and landing them in a pile of snow outside Madam Puddifoots.

Magic was allowed in the small wizarding village, as would be expected for a place that is frequented by students regularly. But that doesn't change teachers reactions to hexed students. And so when Professor McGonagall turns in alarm in the direction of the two downed students Atlas ducks through one of the thin alleys between buildings, making his way away from the main busy street of the village and hiking a bit out into the snow away from where he can just barely hear the professor fussing over the two hexed kids and their bound legs.

Previously untread snow crunches beneath Atlas's feet as he winds his way around the wizarding village. He doesn't pay much mind to the way he goes, just wandering further and farther from the bustle of the village and the potential of detention from McGonagall.

Eventually he finds his way to the infamous locale of the village that he'd not cared much to visit on any previous weekend.

Crooked and almost wilted looking the Shrieking Shack stood a ways down a overgrown and over-snowed path. It was a rather talked about locale of the village, a spectacle almost that many students would take sheepish looks at while others occasionally took up dares to get as close as they could to the supposed darkly haunted home with violent ghosts within.

Atlas had never really cared much for the fear of it. He glances at it now, stood out in the white snow landscape and tries to figure what could linger within to strike up such fears that all avoid it. He settles down on a bit of log, brushing away a patch of snow and waving his wand to dry the wood as he sits and pulls out the nearly empty pack of cigarettes Eliot had passed on to him before he'd boarded the train back to Hogwarts.

Sitting there for some time, blowing bits of smoke out into the cold icy air, he watches the haunted house as the hours pass. Occasionally a group of students wander by the little gate leading to the path up to the house, looking on themselves shoving and laughing together at whatever scary tales they tell while examining the old building.

Atlas is just figuring he's far too cold to keep sitting out here and that it's time to head for the warmth of the castle when he spots two familiar figures walking down to the gate of the shack. A shock of identifiable red hair and beside that a mass of curls kept slightly down by a knit hat for the cold weather. Hermione and Weasley stop by the fence, both looking out towards the shack though they were stood a bit awkwardly so Atlas could only figure that the two were still in a bit of the row about Weasley's rat that Hermione had told him about.

Atlas is standing, ready to make his own trek back to the castle, as the two down by the fence are joined by three familiar figures and Atlas pauses to watch tentatively.

Even from the distance he stands he can tell the tension in Weasley and Hermione's frames as Malfoy evidently taunts the pair, Crabbe and Goyle stood flanking on either side of him as the big lumps of muscle they were.

Truly, Atlas believed, they wouldn't be terrible beaters if they only had a bit more strategy to their thoughts.

He watches cautiously, wand rolling between his fingers as he studies the interaction from a far but it seems little intervention is necessary as soon enough a ball of snow collides with the side of Malfoy's head, the blonde boy turning quick in the direction to see who had thrown it.

But no one is anywhere to be seen. Atlas looks himself, a slightly better vantage point and yet not a soul to be seen in the space where someone would have to be to have thrown that snowball. It tickles that bit of curiosity in him and makes him stay where he is, watching as more snow is thrown at his three housemates and they are pushed and shoved about before they are sent running and slipping through the snow back in the direction of the village, Weasley and Hermione bursting into laughter as it occurs.

Atlas lingers still, and with a bit of interested intrigue watches as Potter appears from nowhere, a shimmering underside of an invisibility cloak visible where he drops it to the ground for a moment.

It clicks a bit of curiosity into satisfaction, Atlas supposes, it answers one way for how Potter manages to get into so much trouble unseen over the years. Atlas glances over the three a moment longer before deciding he had little else left to see or do here, leaving the three Gryffindors laughing down at the gate to the Shrieking Shack and making his way finally back up to the castle alone.

The owlery was not a location Atlas preferred, it smelled overwhelmingly of the birds and while he didn't dislike owls he also wasn't a fan of smelling lots of them in one location. Never mind the alway present possibility of ending up with something foul upon ones clothes when braving the location. But it was also a necessary endeavor as one did have to send letters from there, and he made his way up the tall tower to the home of all the students and schools owls.

He as quick to spot his own owl in the space, a loft in a windowsill with plentiful room about her as she always seemed to prefer in a strange similarity to himself. Calypso chirped lightly upon noticing him, and immediately upon his stepping within reach nipped at him until he pulled the bit of bacon he'd brought up from breakfast.

"Alright you, that's enough." He snaps, though he scratches just the lightest bit in the spot she likes before starting to ready his letters for her.

She'd been a gift from his grandmother upon his eleventh birthday, as much a sign he was preparing for heading off to Hogwarts as the letter that had arrived that same day. Finely bred, and likely more costly than most other owls in the schools owlery, his grandmother had stated clearly that she was the finest to be had and that was all that a Black could ever accept.

Never mind that she seemed to have turned out as ornery as Atlas was.

He's just giving her the last bit of bacon when another enters the owlery. Glancing over his shoulder Atlas sees Potter pause a moment, looking his way with the well used to caution of a Gryffindor and a Slytherin crossing paths, before he turns and heads towards his own snowy white owl sat off on her own a ways away.

Atlas studies Potter a second, thinking of the cloak in his possession with curiosity. He's snapped from it by Calypso biting his scarf and pulling harshly. He tuts at the thing disapprovingly though she just gives him a look that says she's very much not impressed by him in the slightest.

He sighs, and sends her off before she can draw blood with her next bite.

Before he leaves himself though he figures he can inquire a little bit and feed that curiosity he holds

"Now, I understand how you got to the village unseen," Potter jumps a little, clearly startled by the fact that he was speaking to him. "But what I can't quite figure is how you got there in the first place, I mean I figure going unnoticed is only one part of the struggle. But with the snow especially, the teachers aren't all completely daft and someones bound to notice footprints with no feet making them."

Potter blinks, wide eyed as the owl beside him, and stutters out a bit "I uh… I don't…" His brow scrunches in a bit of confusion while shaking his head and Atlas almost laughs at the boy who lived and killed the darkest wizard of their age stuttering about like a fool.

"I will applaud the terror you put Malfoy and his goons through though, Crabbe didn't sleep all night, kept thinking the ghost of the shack was going to get him." He smiles, low and sly and Potter blinks again as the little bit of understanding dawns.

"You were there?"

"Near enough to see." Atlas shrugs.

"Why didn't you do anything?" Potter asks, "I mean they're your housemates."

"They're also massive pricks," Atlas shrugs nonchalantly, Potters brow scrunching further as though confused over Atlas's insulting of his own housemates. "Plus it was funny, and it was hardly like they were in any real danger that required intervention."

Potter just stares at him a moment longer, brow furrowed and thought evidently racing in his mind. "Are you going to tell a professor?" He shifts on his feet, nerves clear to Atlas that he would be caught out on his illicit Hogsmeade escapades, though there is a small bit of challenge in the glint of his green eyes as though he's ready to try to fight Atlas out of doing so.

Atlas just shrugs, smirking and walking towards Potter a bit. "Don't see any benefit to doing so really." He smiles, just the smallest bit, "though again I am curious how you got to Hogsmeade in the first place."

Potter presses his lips together, evidently weighing his options at the clear waving of potential blackmail. Atlas doesn't really have an intention of selling the other boy out, as he said it gave no real benefit to him to do so. He was just curious, and if Potter called his bluff he'd honestly probably just be impressed.

After a few moments of clear contemplation Potter sighs just a bit and says, "there's a passage, behind the one eyed witch statue in the third-floor corridor. Leads right to Honeydukes cellar." It's all he gives Atlas, and from the way he stands clearly all he will. Atlas figures theres more to it than that, both in how to passage is used and how Potter found it in the first place, but Atlas didn't care much to push and was much too tired of the smell of the owlery to spend much more time poking at Potter to see how he'd react.

"Interesting." Is all Atlas responds to Potter, leaving the bespectacled boy stood by his snowy-white owl looking his way with scrunched up brows as Atlas left him alone in the owlery.

"That pass was rubbish!" Theodore shouts amidst cheers and others shouting upon the stands as they watch the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw match come March.

"It was caught wasn't it?" Atlas muses with a smirk, the other boy rolling his eyes and shoving at Atlas.

"Still a rubbish show of skill." He says, loudly though Atlas very much doubts any of the players could even hear over everything.

Atlas sat upon the Slytherin section of the stands between Theodore and Mina. Daphne sits behind them all, leaning forward often with her arms resting over Theodores shoulders and studying the match closely though Atlas imagines its more for analytical reasons than any actual investment in the sport. Beside her Pansy and Millicent exchange sugar quills while Blaise Zabini traces the various chasers about the pitch. Malfoy and his two ever-present goons were suspiciously missing from the match.

Scanning the pitch he saw Potter diving, Cho Chang close on his tail before pulled up having evidently faked his spotting with the dive. But Atlas notes the quick movement of Potter indicating that he has actually spotted it now as his new broom shoots off quickly in the direction of the Ravenclaw end of the pitch. Cho had realized as well, and many feet below Potter was heading in the same direction until she halted with a scream and pointing down at something.

Atlas followed where she was pointing, many others were stood up in the stands to look for themselves, and spotted three tall, black hooded figures looking much like dementors below. Atlas might have believed them real, if it weren't for the fact they were hardly floating and he could just barely recall Malfoy snickering over some plan to Crabbe and Goyle at breakfast after he'd returned from checking out the Firebolt Potter had brought along.

"Expecto Patronum!" Atlas glances up as Potter shouts out a spell he hadn't heard before, silver-white magic erupts from the end of Potters wand in the direction of the dementors and without much hesitation Potter moves on, chasing towards the snitch lightning quick and within seconds Atlas watched glint of gold disappear in Potters outstretched hand.

Another curious impression from Potter, Atlas watches the bit of patrons disappear finally before looking back to Potter as he headed towards the ground. He never figured the boy to be the particularly skilled, not bad but he'd never really garnered Atlas's attention as far as skill goes, but that was certainly an impressive spell to so easily have whipped out as he did.

The whistle sounded, and Atlas's view of Potter's descent towards the ground was lost as red and gold surrounded him as by way of his teammates celebrating his capture.

He returned his gaze down to where the 'dementors' had been, and spots Malfoy along with his two usual goons and the addition of the Slytherin team captain, Marcus Flint. They all were piled near each other, ripping off the hoods and robes they'd dressed themselves up in, while Professor McGonagall loomed over them and seemed from what Atlas could tell to be giving them a stern lecturing.

"Idiots." Atlas rolls his eyes and Theodore just laughs beside him.

"If it had worked it'd been brilliant."

"Nothing Malfoy ever does can or will be classified as brilliant, working or not." Atlas shakes his head and the group of them all make their way down from the stands, heading back towards the castle.

Sudden shaking of his shoulder wakes him early the following morning.

"Whoever that is betters stop or they will be hit with the first curse I can think of." He mutters trying to bury his face back into his pillow.

"Come on, you lazy ass!" Theodore's voice, laced with bubbling excitement informs Atlas just who he'll be hexing.

Atlas sighs, rolling over and procuring his wand from the beside table. "Yes?" He angrily inquires.

Theodores face was lit up with a bright smile, the excitement evident in his voice even more palpable on his face. "Sirius Black broke into the Gryffindor dormitories."

Atlas sits up fully now, a frown forming on his face. "How? Sir Cadogan is a farce of a portrait, and one of the worst choices to guard the Gryffindor tower, but even he's not so stupid as to let in a wanted criminal."

Theodore's face brightened with even more excitement at apparently whatever this next bit of information would be, "apparently Longbottom lost a list of the passwords. Your uncle must have found it and used it to get in."

"Potter dead then?" Atlas asks, not really thinking that'd be the case considering but figuring it was worth asking seeing as that was what everyone believed Sirius's goal was.

"Nah," Theodore shrugs, "apparently Weasley's bed was the one shredded by your knife wielding uncle."

"How barbaric," Atlas shakes his head, and glances at Theodore. "Well, thank you for sharing this bit of gossip with me." He rolls his wand between his fingers a second before flicking it the other boys way, "flipendo." Theodore flies back and lands against his own bed with loud grunt of pain. "And that was for waking me up early."

"Asshole," Theodore calls loudly after Atlas as he heads to shower for the day.

Leaving the common room for breakfast he can see the aftermath of the night before clear enough. Several of the professors are making use of the Saturday morning with prefects and head students in tow to add to search the castle even further than they had done in the late hours of the night after the incident had occurred in the Gryffindor dormitory.

Sitting at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall Atlas looks in the direction of the Gryffindors. He can spot Potter easily enough, a swath of other students about him and his dorm mates all chattering wildly. Weasley seemed to be taking hold of most of the conversation and even from where Atlas sits he can overhear the red-haired boy exclaiming his recollection of seeing Sirius Black with a knife cutting down his curtains.

"Just saw Filch with a load of boards," Daphne remarks as she sits down, Tracey Greengrass beside her though the other girl seems far more invested in eavesdropping on the Gryffindors conversation that greeting any of the others at the table.

"It's a bit ridiculous," Atlas sighs, grabbing a piece of toast and setting to spreading butter over it. "I mean he got out of Azkaban, got into Hogwarts, do they really think a few boards will keep him out."

"Perhaps that is your uncles greatest weakness," Theodore jokes, "a few bits of plywood and he's screwed."

Atlas rolls his eyes as the other boy chuckles, the annoyance at Atlas's spell use on him in the morning far forgotten as he reaches over for some bit of fruit on the table. "Not to mention there is no guarantee he's not still within the castle anyways."

"They searched it all though, so he has to be gone." Mina says.

"Not necessarily," Tracey spoke, now glancing at the others there. "Old castle like this has plenty of secret hiding spots. He spent seven years here himself, might be he knows some of them." She gave him a look like she expected him to know whether or not his uncle was aware of some secrets of the castle that would hide him away but all Atlas gave her was a hum of acknowledgment while taking a bite of his toast.

He felt like he was by this point in the year well used to and accustomed to brushing off the other students assumptions that he would know all there was to know about his uncle. So he was more than ready for the next several days of being pestered over, and really he didn't much care at this point beyond the slight annoyance over it.

But the mention of secret hiding spots brought to mind Potters little passage to Hogsmeade. Atlas doubted it was the only one in the castle, and Tracey herself was right. His uncle had spent plentiful years here, enough time to at least learn a few tricks if he'd cared to do so. So perhaps it was a passage like the one Potter used that brought his uncle within.

Professor Lupin walked past the entrance to the Great Hall with Professor McGonagall beside him, the two in quiet and quick conversation as they walk.

Atlas wonders if Lupin, who had been Sirius's friend during those years, would know just what passages to close up. Though it begged the question of why it wouldn't already be shuttered if Lupin had known of possible entrances the escaped convict could use.

So for just a moment Atlas wondered further if Lupin had even elected to share that knowledge or not.

It stirred that curiosity, over how much of the story was really missing with all these different points of view for it. He glances at Tracey, now in some other bit of more private conversation with Daphne, and remembers her comments months ago on the interest that would be held for the 'true' story of Sirius Black, of Atlas's family in recent generations as a whole really, and he figures again that she wasn't totally wrong there.

It's a curious story, one he feels a slight pull to figure out himself, but he forces that away and lets Theodore draw him into mindless conversation for once to smother away that spark of curiosity drawing his mind.

Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know your thoughts, I love seeing comments and it always makes my day!