No, no, nono, no, No, NO. The mantra plays through Atlas’ head as he frantically searches the empty Transfigurations classroom, ignoring McGonagall’s yelp in the hallway when he barrels past her.
Atlas had forgotten again.
He’d been so preoccupied with running over this mornings tongue-lashing (courtesy of the Gryffindor prefect) in his head that he’d forgotten the only thing that made sure he didn’t forget in Transfigurations and now it was GONE.
Just as shaky breath started to join his pounding heart, the sound of a door closing alerted him he wasn’t alone in the room anymore. Mcgonagall wasn’t due back for a while yet, was she? He turned around.
His eyes scanned the doorway, and half a second later, lowered a bit.
“Looking for this?” An irritatingly amused voice came from the tiny Slytherin in front of him as she produced his journal from the messenger bag at her side.
Anger shot through him. “Why do you have it?“ Then shock at his own voice, diluting it a bit.
“Cassidy, right?” She said, an odd accent lilting her words.
Her identity snapped into place for him. “Addams.” He gritted out. She was going to draw this out wasn’t she? He eyed her up and down, trying to discern if he could just take it from her without causing a scene.
“Why. Do. You. Have. It?” He repeated, using his size to his advantage for once.
To her credit, she didn’t back up- just craned her head back, but her voice took a slightly nervous waver. “Relax, big guy. I just saw it while packing up last class. I was going to return it in Astronomy.”
His brow furrowed, feeling his chest fill with a mixture of distrust and embarrassment. Why did he screw up every time he opened his mouth? Why should he trust anything Addams of all people says? Did she open it?
“Mhm.” She hummed, bouncing on balls of her feet a little bit. She was slowly starting to look more like a tiny classmate than a garden snake.
“No… questions or conditions.” It hardly sounded like a question anymore.
Her next words erased any question of innocence she may have earned before. “Just one.” He tensed again.
“What do you want?” His voice was hard again, something he hadn’t heard from himself in some time.
“To know what it’s for.” She said with an intentionally innocuous tone. She didnt… seem malicious, but there was a confidence steeling the comforting expression she gave.
Suddenly the option he wanted to take- telling her it was none of her business- seemed too rude, although his tongue had been sharp enough so far. “I- Oh, um…”
“Please?” She cooed, sensing his reluctance. “I just wanna know. I never get a chance to talk to you in class-“
Atlas’ face heats, and an odd look passes over Darcy’s face as the mischeif melts from it and she hands the bound journal back to him. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pried. I have no right if it’s personal-“
“It helps me remember things.” Atlas blurts, if only on the impulse to smooth the sadness and guilt off her face.
He had no idea why he cared so much. Maybe this was what Bart meant when he said Atlas trusted and gave too easily.
“Oh, that’s cool.” Darcy replied, like she didn’t understand the gravity of what he’d just told her. She probably didn’t, he supposed. “I wish I could keep track of something like that.” Genuine envy colored her tone.
He blinked. “What do you mean?” She smiled at him, obviously relieved to have relieved some of the tension. Her face was much warmer when pinched into an almost chubby smile.
“I’m always forgetting things.” She explains. “I’ve tried keeping planners and journals, but I never remember to write in them. I even forget to look at the notes I take in class!”
It wasn’t the same, but the ease and relation with which she took his journaling habit eased something in Atlas’ chest. “You should write yourself notes. That’s how I trained myself to do it.”
Her smile broadened. “That’s a good idea! Thanks, Atlas.” She used his name, starting to turn on her heel before she stopped. “And thanks for telling me about your journal. I know you didn’t have to.” She sounded touched for the first time since he’d met her.
The interaction echoed in Atlas’ head even after she left. Maybe making friends wouldn’t be as hard as he thought.
From the other side of the hall and around the other side of the open door, Bartholomew straightened his posture as the Addams girl walked away with a skip to her step. Seems he wouldn’t have to turn her books into bats after all.
