A Broken Inheritance

Chapter 1: A Broken Inheritance

They landed in a heap on the damp grass, Sirius' dead weight nearly dragging her down with him.

She staggered, adjusting her grip, breathless but steady.

"Close enough," she muttered through gritted teeth, tightening her hold on him. His body was limp, head lolling against her shoulder. "Come on. Just a little further."

Sirius was still unconscious, his body leaning heavily against Anastasia as she half-carried, half-dragged him towards the door. His appearance was ghastly, his clothes torn and bloodied, his face pale and drawn with pain.

Anastasia's fingers pressed against his wrist, feeling for the sluggish, faint beat beneath his skin. The warmth of his blood soaked into her palms, sticky and fresh, and something curled tight in her stomach.

She ignored it.

The front door swung open before they reached it, and James Potter stood in the doorway, his eyes widening in shock and then narrowing in suspicion. "What did you do to him, Gaunt?" he demanded, stepping forward, his wand at the ready. "What the hell did you do?" he demanded, his gaze darting from Sirius's battered form to Anastasia's strained face.

"Get your wand out of my face, Potter," Anastasia said, her voice edged with fatigue. "I didn't do this to him. I got him out."

James's eyes narrowed, his distrust evident. "Why should I believe you?" he challenged, his posture tense, ready for confrontation.

Before Anastasia could respond, the elder Potters appeared behind James, their expressions shifting from shock to concern at the sight before them. "James, stop this at once," Mrs. Potter chided, her gaze softening as she took in the scene. "Can't you see she's helped Sirius?"

"But she's-" James protested, though his resolve was weakening as he saw the evident pain Sirius was in and the genuine worry in Anastasia's eyes.

"Enough, James," Mr. Potter intervened, his voice firm yet gentle. "Now is not the time for petty grudges. Help them inside."

James stepped aside, but his glare remained fixed on Anastasia, his suspicion evident. She tried to ignore it, focusing instead on getting Sirius inside. Euphemia and Fleamont moved with urgency, guiding them upstairs to a bedroom.

As Euphemia began to treat Sirius's wounds, a sudden scream tore through the room. Anastasia jolted, her eyes wide with panic. She rushed to Sirius's side, her hands trembling. "What happened?! Is he— is he okay?"

Euphemia's calm, practiced hands never faltered as she applied a healing salve to a particularly deep gash. "He'll be fine," she assured her. "He's in a lot of pain, but it's nothing we can't handle."

Anastasia's hands trembled as she hovered beside the bed, unable to touch him, unable to help.

Her breath came sharp and unsteady, a pressure building beneath her skin.

James noticed.

He was watching her too closely, eyes narrowing as he took in the subtle shake of her fingers, the way they curled uselessly at her sides.

"Why are you so worried, Gaunt?" he asked, his tone hostile. "What's your angle here?"

Anastasia snapped her gaze to him, her expression hardening. "Do I need an angle to be worried about my family?" she retorted, her voice cold.

"Family?" James scoffed. "Funny, considering how you lot treat him."

She clenched her jaw, her pulse thudding hard in her throat.

"I don't need to explain myself to you."

James took a step closer, eyes burning with hostility. "I don't trust you. Never have, never will."