MAGIANIMA // Hermione Granger

A Sleeve of Tissues (Nightmare)

Torches lit their way, encased in cages and flickering, dancing as three forms hurried by, Atlas's hand ran along the rough stone walls as they descended, her other in her godmother's hold, pale white from how the woman squeezed, urgent, afraid as they plunged deeper and deeper. Upon hitting the final step, the tight stairwell bled into a larger corridor. The level wore its age on its sleeve, cracks, cobwebs and filth decorating every inch of the way. The doors they passed were heavy, wooden, iron bolts hammered into each one.

There were no paintings, no windows, the only light coming from the primitive torches that pointed the way, it was void of anything homely, anything that might make a person feel at ease. In fact, it seemed to be designed to do the exact opposite. Made to set a feeling of utmost despair to settle in the offenders gut as they were marched to trial, to Courtroom Ten. Reserved for trials regarding the most monstrous of crimes.

But Atlas still did not understand what she had done to be deemed a monster, what she had done to deserve her time behind bars, within a cell of Azkaban. Her legs moved dazedly as she stared blankly upon the ground. The screams of the grown and trapped souls of Azkaban still haunted her, their whimpers and screams echoing behind her eyes as she walked. With each step, the corridor she had left behind faded to mist and the scene in front of her cleared, the blurry screen coming undone.

"This is lunacy, Albus!" Minerva's voice rang out and Atlas looked up at her, eyes so disoriented she had to squint to make out her godmother's face. She was angry, afraid, visage contorted with rage. "She has just returned from Azkaban! She is a child, this is too much! To think they'd call her to Courtroom Ten!"

"I understand your anger, Minerva but there is nothing we can do," Dumbledore had replied, his hands clasped around his front, looking quite calm, eerily so. "They are afraid. What Atlas has accomplished is no mere feat."

"She is afraid! She is barely 12!" Minerva implored and glanced briefly at Atlas, the girl staring back, eyes void, "she doesn't understand the weight of what she's done. It's unjust to have her tried as an adult!"

"There is nothing --"

"You are Chief Warlock, a Supreme Mugwump! There must be something you can do!"

"I am sorry, Minerva," Dumbledore murmured as they came to a stop, the barrier between themselves and the courtroom, a dark door, thick with grim and adorned in an immense iron lock. "This is where your journey ends, you must return to the school, or wait for us elsewhere."

"Albus," Minerva said, eyes wide, "You cannot seriously expect for me to leave Atlas to those dogs? I am her guardian, she reserves the right to my company!"

"The Wizengamot has declared that only I may bear witness to the trial. It's a secret matter, after all, Minerva," Dumbledore declared and Minerva remained silent for a moment, mouth opening and closing, shock, horror and unbridled rage upon her face. "I will let you say your goodbyes, though you will see each other soon."

"You --" Minerva stopped, taking a moment before turning to Atlas, crouching and taking the little girls hands in her own. "Atlas, my dear...this is where we part."

"Minnie..." Atlas whispered, voice quiet, small as she kept her eyes on their conjoined hands. "I don't want to go back to the tower."

"You won't, my little darling. You won't," Minerva tucked one of Atlas's loose hairs behind her ear and smiled wobbly when she looked to the girls top button, finding her tie messy, ruffled and undone. "Oh look at you, you can't go in there looking like that," she whispered with a small laugh, sniffling as she undid the tie and fixed it all over again. "There we go, my dear."