Liar Closed

Atlas was motionless as he sat in the rigid wooden chair that Opeila had shown him. His breathing became shallow and his eyes became blurry as the last few minutes replayed itself in his head, resembling a twisted loop. He made an effort to control his thoughts and stay in the here and now, but the horror of what had transpired was overwhelming. "A cut hand and blood," he thought to himself as his gut churned at the metallic scent that still clung to his nose. "...so much blood," he continued to say. The sickening smell persisted no matter how deeply he inhaled and exhaled.

With his elbows pressing on his knees, he leaned forward and attempted to divert his attention from the tragedy occurred. Aamon Athanatos. He had hardly known the youngster nor the last name at all, however it seemed his last name had some weight it carried. For the boy who was born in the muggle world, it was weird and looking at the boy who bled profusely from a horrific injury, made Atlas's skin crawl.

Dark magic was nothing new to Atlas. He'd heard whispers about it in the common room and read about it in books, and even seen a few dubious spells cast by older students attempting to look smarter than their peers. But the last name Athanatos and Dark Arts seemed to be intertwined or rather married to one another. Was the Athanatos family skilled in that field, were they sinister as Atlas thinks?

His hands were still shaking. Opeila's firm yet gentle voice tried to nudge him back from the brink of fear, but it wasn't until she had carefully steered him away from Aamon that he realized. The young prefect leaned back in the chair with his head tilting toward the ceiling. His heart was racing and he could feel the cold sweat clinging to the back of his neck and the way his pulse thudded in his temples. He tried to focus on the feel of the cool air and the faint creak of the hospital wing’s windows as the wind pressed against them. Anything to distract himself from the weight of the situation. But every sound seemed distant, muffled, like he was underwater, sinking deeper into the dark.

In an attempt to stabilize himself, he balled his hands into fists. "You are Atlas Anderson, the Slytherin Prefect and it was expected of you to maintain control and respond coolly and precisely in circumstances such as these. That was anticipated of you, yet you failed. You handled rowdy first-years, broken up fights in the hallways and even caught a couple of students who were attempting to leave the castle after curfew. However, this? This wasn't part of your job description. What does it mean to be Prefect, Atlas?," he had a monologuing with himself.

The young boy's thoughts kept going back to when he first noticed the other boy's wound. The boy's blood was pouring through the bandages and the blatant fallacy of it was, it appeared unreal but it was real. He had experienced the flood of panic and powerlessness firsthand. This was not how he was supposed to feel especially since he was prefect. Not as a role model for other students. But who said role models ought to be perfect (?)

But, he couldn’t help it.

What if Nurse Sabo hadn't shown up? The idea got stuck on his consciousness that he ended up trying to recall the first-aid instructions he learnt at his previous muggle school and tried to halt the bleeding. But, the anxiety and doubt had nearly immobilized him. Atlas felt the panic tighten its hold around his throat as Aamon began to lapse into madness and babble incoherently.

Earlier Finnegan had concernedly asked Atlas if he was okay, but Atlas had been too preoccupied with his own thoughts to answer. He wished he was, now that he was seated. He wasn't feeling well but how could he admit that? How could he explain to someone he didn't even know that he felt paralyzed by fear?

The responsibilities felt like a crushing force cast upon him. He was a prefect. He should have done more but he should have kept his head on focus mode and should have been able to help Aamon before things got this bad.

As the minutes ticked by, Atlas remained in the chair, unmoving. He could hear the nurse working on Aamon, the occasional murmur from Opeila as she tried to keep things calm, but it all felt so far away. Detached.

He was supposed to be in control, but for the first time, Atlas Anderson felt completely powerless.

@Opeila Winters @Aamon Athanatos @Finnegan Connor
@Avis Marlong
@Dusana Sabo

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@Aamon Athanatos @Avis Marlong @Atlas Anderson @Finnegan Connor @Opeila Winters

Dusana had only been at the school since last November. Nearly a year in the time line. And still, she was always befuddled at how students could come to her with such gruesome injuries. Her first ball earlier this year had ended with two major injuries, one that she couldn't cure due to the magic found within the instrument of cause- the simple wand. It was this instrument that was in her hand now as she watched the wound continue to bleed, even with her rewrapping the bandages. What had caused the injury? A severed hand within the first month of school? Such a strange event that was definitely going in her patient files for later.

Her nurse assistant rushed back to her at that point, torniquet and blood replenishing potion in their hands. She gestured for the house elf to stay put. She glanced at the other students around her. The girl who had hold of the hand had left it in Dusana's care (vague since Avis did not mention) and slipped out of the room. The girl had been welcome to take a free bed in the room. She had clearly been here for some reason of her own. Dusana blindly, somewhere in the compartments of her mind, made a note to check on the girl later. Or send a note for her to come back to the Hospital Wing at a calmer time. But right now wasn't to save that girl. Only the boy bleeding on her floors. To the others still here crowding her, she gestured at beds.

"As I said, it would be best for you to take to a bed."

It wasn't a request now, but a command. She'd need space to think, to do her job and the scene wasn't sunshine and rainbows for children to look at. The paleness of one of the boys already told her that shock was setting in. She closed her eyes and sighed, counting to five. She lowered her voice, her tone gentler now.

"Miss Winters, please take the your friend to a bed. Help him with his shock and let me know if you need any help. The nursing assistants-" other than the one with her, "-are floating around."

Hopefully everything would be fine. She had magic at her disposal. Opeila would listen. The other boy, who she now recognised as already having been in the Hospital Wing had the common sense to return to his own bed.

Wrapping the torniquet around the boys arm she tightened it enough that she knew the blood would be slowed. It was then that Dusana unwrapped the bandages to look at the wound. Her assistant had had the foresight to grab gloves with the other equipment and Dusana put them on before inspecting the wound. It baffled her. Such a clean cut. There were no bite or scratch marks around the wound, which meant that an animal or a jaunt in the Forbidden Forest hadn't been it. But perhaps from a knife...No. That couldn't be it. It wasn't big enough for that surely... A cleaver? Or magic perhaps? But no student she knew off would be capable of such magic. The thought slithered into her brain like an insistent worm. What about the adults? They were all knowledgeable and capable of feats of magic. She knew more than most, her own knowledge of curses neatly tucked away. A cold sweat trickled down her back. Good god and hells fire. She would have to keep this close. Take this to the Headmaster once the boy was healed.

Grabbing the bandages, she cleaned the open wrist of the boy before grabbing the hand to reattach it. Thank goodness for magic and saving lives. She waved her wand, muttering the incantation to reattach the muscles, bones and nerves to the boys body. She hadn't done it nearly enough in her studies in her time prior to Hogwarts, and it was a little laughable to her that she was somehow getting practice at a school for children, but here she was. The hand reattached, she unbound the torniquet and grasped the blood replenishing potion that her assistant handed her.

"Drink this," she extended the unstoppered vial to Aamon. "Once you drink this, rest. I'll get everything sorted out."

She meant getting details from the other students. The boys name for one. His house. He wouldn't be going to any class today. Perhaps tomorrow either seeing how he fared later in the day. She made the wand movement for the Siphoning Spell, pronouncing the incantation Tergeo and watched as the sheets and bed linen were made clean of any of the blood that may have gotten on it. Placing her hand in her dressing gown pocket, she picked up the old bandages and placed them into a ball to dispose of them.

"My assistant will watch over you now. I know this has been traumatic," that was an understatement, "but everything is fine now. Your hand is alright. I've reattached it. Sleep. If you need anything, I'll be here to help."

She hoped the boy would rest. He clearly hadn't been throughout the night. She sighed now that the imminent danger had passed. Stepping away, she walked over to the side of the Wing where a closed bin lid was. She placed the bloodied contents in her hands into the bin along with her gloves, and then turned to the other students in the room. Now to deal with them.

Feel free to time skip now that Aamon has been healed and not on the brink of dying. I have been vague in the magic that reattached his hand due to not exactly having a spell that does that. It is stated in the books that limbs can be reattached, just not how that exactly goes about.

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Opeila - you would likely recall a Finn but it would be very vague because that was his first name. Most kids call adults they do not have a relationship with Mr. insert surname.