A Broken Inheritance

Chapter 2: Moves and Countermoves

Tom Riddle had always been a figure of dark allure and enigmatic power in Anastasia's life, his presence casting a long shadow over her from a young age. As a child, Anastasia had been captivated by his confidence and charisma, attributes that set him apart from everyone else in the Slytherin common room. His sharp jawline and piercing eyes seemed to hold the promise of secrets and power, drawing her in like a moth to a flame. She remembered watching him from a distance, admiring the way he commanded respect and wielded his influence effortlessly.

He was four years her senior, and in those early years, he had treated her with a mix of indifference and occasional, almost calculated kindness. Those rare moments when he acknowledged her had sent her heart racing, his attention a potent and intoxicating thing. Yet, even as a young girl, she had sensed the danger lurking beneath his polished exterior. His cruelty was whispered about in hushed tones, and she had witnessed the cold, calculated way he dealt with those who opposed him.

As she grew older, her perception of Tom Riddle evolved. The childish infatuation morphed into a more complex and conflicted feeling. She could no longer ignore the darkness that clung to him, the ruthlessness with which he pursued his goals. His obsession with blood purity and power became more pronounced, and she began to see the full extent of his ambition. He was no longer just the charismatic older student she admired; he was a man capable of greatness, cruelty and manipulation.

Why was he here?

"Ah, there she is," Orion Black said, rising from his seat. His voice carried a forced joviality, but there was steel beneath it, a reminder of his authority. "Anastasia, join us."

She stepped into the room, her mask of composure slipping into place as easily as breathing. Her emerald-green dress, chosen for this "family discussion," now felt too conspicuous, as though she had unknowingly dressed for an ambush. She inclined her head, her voice steady. "Good evening, Uncle."

Orion gestured to the seat beside Tom. "Come, sit. We've been waiting."

Her steps were measured as she crossed the room, each one calculated to mask the sudden unease curling in her stomach. She had not seen Tom Riddle since her fifth year, and his presence now felt like the sharp edge of a dagger held too close. She took the seat, her movements fluid, careful not to brush against him.

"Tom," she said coolly, inclining her head toward him. "I wasn't expecting the pleasure of your company tonight."

"Anastasia," his voice as silken as she remembered. "Always a pleasure."

Her smile was faint, brittle. "What brings you here?"

Before he could answer, Orion spoke, his voice carrying a tone of satisfaction that immediately set her on edge. "Ah, we thought it time to reintroduce old acquaintances. And to discuss matters of mutual importance."

Anastasia inclined her head, her expression unreadable, though her sharp mind was already piecing the puzzle together. She glanced back at Tom, whose gaze was still fixed on her, piercing and unyielding. His presence here wasn't a casual visit, nor was this dinner simply about family matters.

"Of course," she said lightly, taking her seat opposite him. "How thoughtful of you, Uncle Orion."

Walburga, seated at the other end of the table, gave her a look that was both warning and expectant. Anastasia met it with the faintest hint of a smile, a silent challenge. She was used to being a pawn in their schemes. She had no illusions about her role in this family.

Tom resumed his seat, his movements graceful, deliberate. "I was pleased to accept the invitation," he said, his gaze lingering on her. "After all, it's been some time since we last saw one another. Too long, wouldn't you agree?"