A Broken Inheritance

Chapter 1: A Broken Inheritance

His gaze remained unwavering. "Then he'll never stop suffering. And all of us with him."

She flinched at his words. The boy who once cowered in fear had been replaced by someone who accepted their twisted reality. "He's family," she said softly, searching his eyes for any sign of the brother she used to know.

"Doesn't treat us like it." Regulus replied bitterly.

Suddenly, the screams ceased, as if the universe had answered Anastasia's desperate prayer. The abrupt silence was unnerving, a void where agony had been. Anastasia and Regulus exchanged wide-eyed glances, the realisation dawning on them simultaneously. Something was terribly wrong.

The house, usually so full of oppressive noise, now felt eerily still. There were no footsteps to signal Walburga's departure, no creaking of the cellar door. The silence stretched, thick and foreboding, amplifying the dread in the air.

Anastasia's heart pounded in her chest, the sudden quiet more terrifying than the screams. "Stay here," she ordered, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside. She squeezed Regulus's shoulder, hoping to impart some semblance of calm.

"But—" Regulus began, his voice trembling slightly.

"No, Regulus. Stay here," Anastasia insisted, her tone leaving no room for argument. She turned toward the door, her resolve hardening. She had to find out what had happened, what had silenced Sirius so abruptly.

As she stepped into the dimly lit hallway, the shadows seemed to close in around her. Each step felt heavy, laden with the weight of fear and uncertainty, her heart pounding against her ribcage. She moved swiftly, her senses on high alert. The manor's oppressive grandeur felt more like a mausoleum, each echoing footfall a reminder of the horrors that lurked within its walls. Her mind raced with possibilities, each one more horrifying than the last. What if they had finally gone too far?

Approaching the cellar door, she paused, her hand hovering over the handle. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she might find on the other side. Slowly, she pushed the door open, the creak of the hinges breaking the heavy silence.

The cellar was dark, save for the faint glow of a single lantern. She descended the steps cautiously, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. The smell of damp stone and something metallic filled the air, making her stomach churn.

"Sirius?" she called out softly, her voice barely more than a whisper.

There was no response. She reached the bottom of the stairs and saw him, crumpled on the cold floor. His back was to her, his body eerily still. Panic surged through her as she rushed to his side. Her hands, trembling, reached out to touch his shoulder, flinching at the heat of his skin.

"Sirius, please," she whispered urgently, shaking his shoulder gently. When he didn't respond, she rolled him onto his back, her breath catching in her throat at the sight of his pale, bloodied face.

His skin was burning hot. A fresh wound—deep, jagged—had torn through his side, staining his shirt dark.

She pressed her fingers to his bloodied wrist, feeling for a pulse.

And for a moment—

A brief, fleeting moment—

Something shifted.

A pulse of something deep in her bones, a hum she almost heard, like magic curled beneath her fingertips, waiting.

She pulled her hand back sharply.

Seeing Sirius's nearly lifeless form, Anastasia realised with chilling clarity that there was no avoiding this. No other option but to get him out of that house. She had to save him, no matter the cost.