A Broken Inheritance

Chapter 4: A Newfound Fixation

"And you think you understand him?" James challenged. "You've treated him like dirt for years. Spare me the act."

She folded her arms, her posture regal and unyielding. "I don't need to justify myself to you. Sirius knows where I stand. If he hasn't shared that with you, perhaps that's because it's none of your business."

James stared at her, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. "You're impossible."

"And yet, here you are," she said, her voice mockingly sweet. "Obsessing over what I do and who I meet. If I didn't know better, Potter, I'd say you were fascinated."

He bristled, his cheeks reddening slightly. "Fascinated? Don't flatter yourself."

"I don't need to," she replied smoothly, her lips curving into a faint, smile. "You're doing it for me."

James stared at her, words caught in his throat. For all his bravado, Anastasia's composure left him floundering. She was infuriating—sharp-tongued, unrelenting, and utterly immune to his attempts to unnerve her.

Finally, she turned back to the stars, dismissing him without another glance. "Run along, Potter. I'm sure there's someone, somewhere, who might actually appreciate your presence."

James clenched his teeth, before smiling. "Right back at you." He exhaled sharply and pinned on his heel, heading back toward the staircase. As he descended, the weight of her words—and his own—settled heavily in his chest. Whatever Anastasia Gaunt was hiding, he was determined to uncover it.

Above, Anastasia remained still, her composure unbroken. But as the sound of his footsteps faded, her hands tightened imperceptibly on the cold stone ledge.

As Anastasia descended the stairs of the Astronomy Tower, her heart pounded with a mixture of anger and frustration. She had played the part of the ice queen to perfection, but inside, she felt the weight of her situation pressing down on her. She couldn't afford to let anyone see her cracks, least of all James Potter.

As the end of the term approached, James continued to observe Anastasia, determined to find some crack in the facade she had perfected. Day after day, she remained the picture of icy composure, her expressions carefully controlled and her interactions with others distant and calculated. For weeks, he had watched her, but she never slipped—until one morning at breakfast.

The Great Hall was alive with the clatter of cutlery and the hum of morning chatter. Students huddled over plates of eggs and toast, their voices filling the high-ceilinged space as the enchanted sky overhead showed the pale light of a crisp spring morning. At the Gryffindor table, James Potter sat in his usual spot, idly stirring his porridge as his eyes strayed—once again—to the Slytherin table.

Anastasia Gaunt sat where she always did, surrounded by her housemates, her posture impeccable, her movements precise. She was talking quietly with Lucius Malfoy, her expression impassive, her hands delicate as she poured herself tea. As always, she was unreadable—except for one brief moment when a large, gray owl swooped down and dropped a letter onto her plate.

James perked up, his gaze sharpening as she unfolded the letter and began to read. At first, her face betrayed nothing, but as her dark eyes scanned the parchment, something changed. Her lips tightened, her brow furrowed ever so slightly, and for a brief moment—barely a heartbeat—fear flashed across her face. Then anger, sharp and raw, and something else James couldn't quite place. Anxiety? Fear?

And just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone. She folded the letter with careful precision, set it beside her teacup, and resumed her conversation with Malfoy as if nothing had happened.