A Broken Inheritance

Chapter 10: First Steps

She shot him a sharp glare. "Help yourself, Potter."

"Thanks, I will," he quipped, lighting the cigarette with a small flick of his wand. He took a slow drag, exhaling as he said, "Sirius smokes these."

Her fingers tightened slightly on the railing, but she kept her expression indifferent. "How observant of you."

"Just surprising," he added, leaning against the rail now, the cigarette balanced between his fingers. "Thought you were too... dignified for this sort of thing."

"Dignified?" She tilted her head, the faintest edge of a smirk curling her lips. "Careful, Potter. That almost sounded like a compliment."

"Don't get used to it," he replied quickly, though his tone was more light than biting. He hesitated, as if searching for a way to continue, then cleared his throat. "So," he said, leaning slightly closer, "does Riddle know about this little habit of yours?"

Her expression hardened instantly, her smirk vanishing as she turned her gaze sharply on him. "I don't see how that's any of your business."

James smirked, clearly unbothered by her hostility. "Just curious. I mean, the guy doesn't exactly scream 'laid back.' Seems like he'd have a few things to say about his perfect fiancée sneaking off to puff on muggle cigarettes."

Anastasia let out a dry laugh. "That's funny. Hilarious, even, that you think I owe you any kind of explanation."

James shrugged, taking another drag. "Fair enough. Still, it's interesting. Bet he'd be furious if he knew. Or maybe he doesn't mind? Maybe you're more... independent than I gave you credit for."

Her eyes flashed dangerously. "What are you playing at, Potter?"

"Nothing," he said lightly, though the glint in his eyes betrayed him. "Just making conversation."

"And why do you care?" she shot back, her voice sharpening. "What is this, Potter? Some half-baked attempt to dig for information? Wanna know what he's up to? Think I'll tell you? What do you take me for?"

James's jaw tightened, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "This isn't about him," he snapped. "I couldn't give a damn what Riddle's up to."

"Oh really?" she retorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Then by all means, enlighten me. What is this about, Potter?"

James exhaled sharply, his hazel eyes meeting hers with something that almost looked like... concern. "It's about you, Gaunt. You deserve better."

For a moment, she simply stared at him. Then, without warning, she burst into laughter—sharp and disbelieving, her head tilting back as she let the sound ring out into the wind. It wasn't her usual mocking chuckle, but something louder, more visceral, like she couldn't contain the sheer absurdity of his words.

"You—" she managed between laughs, wiping at her eyes. "You think I deserve better? Oh, Potter, you've outdone yourself this time."

James frowned, his expression hardening as he watched her. The laughter didn't falter, not until she looked at him again and saw the seriousness etched into his face. Her laughter trailed off, replaced by a wary silence as she studied him more closely.

"Wait," she said slowly, her brows knitting together. "You're serious."

"I am," he replied, his voice steady, though his gaze flickered briefly, as if he didn't quite know how to navigate this conversation.

Her wariness shifted into something sharper, defensive. She straightened, her eyes narrowing. "Whatever Sirius has told you," she said coldly, "Whatever sob story he's spun, forget about it. I don't need your pity, Potter."