Black and Potter | H. Potter

68 ⋆*⋆:⋆ a lingering ghost.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:✧*⋆.*:･ﾟ✧.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ☾

| A LINGERING GHOST |
songs: Atlas pov: heathens by twenty one pilots. Ara's pov: making the bed by olivia rodrigo.

TW: implied abuse, descriptions of blood, and themes of grief.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:✧*⋆.*:･ﾟ✧.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ☾

Department of Mysteries, June 18th 1996

Fear was an all-consuming feeling and more often than not, people lost their battle against it. Perhaps not because they were not brave but due to how the terror took over their senses, clouding their vision and muffling their ears, robbing them of any awareness of their own body.

Atlas was losing the battle.

He could feel the sweat clinging to his hairline, the occasional jolts his body gave due to the anxiety that overtook him, the incessant shake of his hands and his laboured breathing, his mouth exhaling puffs of air that seemed unable to stay in his lungs.

He couldn't bear to look behind him from where he was hiding behind a shelf, the mere image of him made him want to flee to the farthest corner of the earth. Atlas knew he was a disappointment, that was the only certainty he had in the moment, in the span of his life, he'd managed to let down every single person that came in contact with him.

His dad wouldn't be hiding behind a shelf.

His sister would've marched out to start fighting.

And yet here he was, clutching his wand in a death grip but unable to use it.

Atlas knew he was talented with magic, call him arrogant but he had been one of the best wizards at Beauxbatons, he was an extraordinary dueler.

But he was frozen on the spot. Because he'd been raised for it, he'd been moulded to think that he'd never win, not against these people. The Auclairs had left a permanent mark on him, and not only physically. They'd grilled their beliefs and manipulation into his mind ever since he could remember.

And while the fear they'd instilled in him still existed, they didn't expect the rest to disappear. They hadn't expected him to love his sister or his dad but he had, he did.

For as long as he had memory, Atlas had been a victim to their manipulation; as an isolated child, it didn't take much effort to sway him and make him believe whatever they'd whispered in his ear.

But then he'd seen, he'd opened his eyes, and he'd realised his entire life had been a lie.

His parents hadn't abandoned him because they didn't want him, he'd been taken. Ava and Sirius Black weren't hateful parents who had wanted to get rid of their son, they'd grieved him painfully, and they'd loved him fiercely. They would've burned down the entire world for him.

Ara Black wasn't the snake the Auclairs had made her out to be, she wasn't cruel, she wasn't "the girl that took his place", she wasn't the enemy he'd believed she was before he met her. Quite the opposite, she was loving, she was protective, she'd fought tooth and nail to get him a place in their family. His sister was everything he'd ever wanted, Ara was someone who stood by your side, ready to have your back whenever you needed it. Atlas had needed it for most of his life.

The oldest was supposed to protect the youngest and Atlas was aware of the fact that he'd been doing a terrible job. His sister was fiercer, braver, and definitely more aggressive. What did that make him?