A Broken Inheritance

Chapter 10: First Steps

"This isn't about Sirius," James said, his frustration evident now. "I don't know what you think he's said, but this has nothing to do with him."

"Doesn't it?" she challenged, crossing her arms. "What, did he paint me as some poor, tragic damsel for you to save? Is that why you're here, playing the noble Gryffindor?"

James hesitated, his jaw tightening as he tried to come up with an answer that wouldn't give too much away. He couldn't tell her the truth—not about the ball, not about what he'd seen. But he also couldn't walk away now, not when he'd already started down this path.

"I don't think you're some tragic damsel," he said finally, his tone quieter but no less firm. "And I'm not here to save you. But maybe I'm not okay with standing by while you—" He stopped himself abruptly, shaking his head. "Never mind. Forget it."

She raised an eyebrow, her suspicion deepening. "While I what?" she pressed.

"While you waste away in this bloody nightmare of a life," James muttered, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Her expression darkened, her arms tightening around herself as if to shield against the weight of his words. "You don't know anything about my life," she said coldly. "So don't pretend you do."

"I know enough," James shot back, his voice hardening. "I know you deserve better than Riddle, better than all of this."

Anastasia's laughter burst out suddenly, sharp and incredulous. "Do you even hear yourself, Potter?" she asked, shaking her head in disbelief. "You and I have never had a single positive interaction and you think you get to decide what I deserve?"

James opened his mouth to reply but found himself at a loss. She was right. They had never had a casual conversation, not in the ten years they'd know each other. He'd recall the first time they met. They were about seven or eight years old, dragged by their parents to a Ministry gala. It was before the Blacks took her in. She'd refused to play with him and the other kids, stating that her parents told her not to mingle with blood traitors. He'd never liked her from the start. Anastasia, even at her young age, already had the look of utter confidence and haughtiness that her whole family sported. It never occurred to him that she was just a kid.

James ran a hand through his hair, his frustration mounting. "I'm not deciding anything," he said, his tone strained. "I'm just saying you shouldn't have to—"

"To what?" she interrupted, her voice rising. "To follow the path set out for me? To fulfill the legacy I've been raised to uphold? You don't get it, Potter. You can't get it."

He stared at her, his hazel eyes searching her face for some crack in the armor she'd wrapped so tightly around herself. "Maybe I don't," he admitted. "But that doesn't mean I don't care."

Anastasia's irritation flared. "And do you want to explain why exactly do you care? What's it to you? I'm not Sirius. If you're in need of a new project or another stray to take in, you've got the wrong person."

"Sirius isn't a stray." James shot back, more harshly than he intended, "and I don't consider you a project," James he added, quietly. "Why is it so hard for you to believe that someone might just be nice for the sake of it? Because they care?"

"If this is about that night at yours," she said, her voice sharp and clipped, "forget about it. It won't happen again. I helped Sirius because it was the right thing to do, because we grew up together—not that it's any of your business."

"Gaunt—" James began, but she cut him off, spinning back to face him with a fire in her eyes that made him pause.

"Not because I suddenly want to rebel against my entire family, against my own legacy," she continued, her voice firm and unyielding. "So whatever it is you're planning, Potter, give it up. I won't be a part of it."

"You're not listening," he said finally, his voice quieter now but no less firm. "I'm not asking you to be a part of anything. I just... I just think you deserve... better." He winced as he repeated those last words, not knowing what else could be said.

"You have no idea what you're talking about, Potter. As I recall, you're the one who told me not so long ago that associating myself with Tom made me just as bad as him."

James took a deep breath, struggling to keep his composure. "Guess I was wrong, wouldn't be the first time. But I mean it, Anastasia. No one deserves to be treated like a possession."

Anastasia stiffened, her mask slipping for just a fraction of a second before snapping back into place. Her first name on James' lips felt bizarre and unnatural, yet, his expression felt earnest and serious. She turned sharply, her hair whipping as she turned away from him and threw her cigarette in the wind.

"Enjoy the rest of your cigarette, Potter," she said coldly, not looking back.

James stood there for a long moment, watching her retreating figure, the words he wanted to say caught in his throat. When he finally turned back to the railing, the cigarette in his hand had burned down to the filter.