A Broken Inheritance

Chapter 13: The Restricted Section

Chapter 13: The Restricted Section

The quiet weeks following her return to Hogwarts felt like a reprieve Anastasia hadn't realised she needed. The days slid into a rhythm: classes, quiet meals, evenings spent in the library or the Slytherin common room. The oppressive weight of Tom's presence had eased, and without his watchful gaze, she found herself breathing easier. For the first time in weeks, she didn't have to measure every word, calculate every gesture, or anticipate the sharp sting of his possessive temper.

Yet the relief was tainted.

Anastasia wasn't naïve enough to believe her problems had dissolved simply because she'd returned to the castle. Hogwarts was a temporary shelter, a place that allowed her to collect herself before she'd inevitably be drawn back into the labyrinth of Tom's expectations, her family's demands, and the dark tide rising within the wizarding world.

Her thoughts drifted, as they so often did now, to Regulus. She watched him from a distance during meals, his guarded expression mirroring her own. His presence in the common room was a constant, always tucked into a corner with his books or engaged in quiet conversation with their housemates. At first glance, he seemed fine—better than fine, even. He was composed, diligent, the perfect young Black.

But Anastasia knew better.

Regulus was walking a knife's edge, teetering between the expectations of their family and the quiet yearning for something more, something else. His deference to their parents, to their ideals, wasn't a matter of belief—it was survival. Anastasia could see it in the tension in his shoulders, the flickers of unease in his eyes when Bellatrix spoke too fervently of the Dark Lord's growing power.

Even if he didn't receive the Dark Mark now, she knew it was only a matter of time. Their family would push, and Regulus wouldn't resist. He never resisted. It wasn't in his nature to defy openly; he'd bend, and in bending, he would break.

That thought haunted her.

Anastasia sat at the edge of the Black Lake one evening, the chill of the autumn air biting at her skin. The water lapped gently against the shore, its surface reflecting the darkening sky above. She hugged her knees to her chest, her robes pooling around her as she stared out at the endless expanse.

What will I do?

The question gnawed at her, relentless and unanswerable. If Regulus was marked, it wouldn't be the end of it. The Dark Mark wasn't just a symbol; it was a brand, a claim, a promise of servitude. And once it was there, the path forward was carved in stone.

She couldn't let that happen.

Her mind turned over the possibilities, each more desperate than the last. Could she stop it outright? Talk Tom out of involving Regulus? She scoffed bitterly at the thought. Tom listened to her when it suited him, but she was fooling herself if she thought she held real sway over his decisions.

And if it was too late? If the Mark was already burned into Regulus's arm? The thought made her stomach twist, her fingers digging into the fabric of her robes. Reversing it—undoing it—was even more dangerous. She'd heard whispers in the darkest corners of the library, read fragments in books that weren't meant for students' eyes. Removing the Mark was near-impossible, the cost often greater than the price of taking it in the first place.

But I have to try, she thought fiercely.

The alternative was unthinkable. She couldn't sit by and watch Regulus become another puppet, another pawn for their family's ambitions or Tom's insatiable hunger for power.

Her hands clenched into fists as she sat there, the cool wind brushing against her face. The mask she wore—the one of icy composure and calculated grace—felt heavier than usual. She'd spent so long hiding behind it, pretending nothing could touch her, that she could control every aspect of her life. But now, the cracks were starting to show, and she hated it.