Anchored by his strong grip, Minerva was too weak - hadn't fed enough before she had left earlier that evening to shove away a werewolf. She was still crouched, the dog barking madly around them and Minerva looked around like a hunted mouse - trying to find escape.
Then her fangs came down and slid over her upper teeth, obvious as her mouth was open while she breathed in and out in panic.
She did what she could only think to do. Closed her eyes and apparated.
Atlas hadn't let go and when she opened her eyes, his hand was still death-grip tight on her arm and they stood in the dark room that she kept at the Leaky.
Heavy drapes and windows charmed black to keep out the light. Minerva sighed. She was safe. "You can let go now," she told Atlas, still trying to get him to release his grip.