A Broken Inheritance

Chapter 15: For What It's Worth

James froze, his breath catching as her weight settled against him. He didn't dare move, his hand hovering uncertainly near her shoulder. For a moment, he simply let her be, his own heartbeat steadying in time with her breaths.

They stayed there in silence, the only sounds their combined breaths and the distant hum of the castle. James stayed kneeling there, the library's stillness wrapping around them like a cocoon. The guilt twisted deeper in his chest. He knew he'd done the right thing by getting her out of trouble, but the way he'd gone about it—pinning her against the shelf, silencing her with his hand—had clearly triggered something awful.

I'm an idiot, he thought bitterly, his eyes flicking toward the discarded books on the floor.

For now, though, he pushed the self-recriminations aside. What mattered was her, here, now.

They stayed in silence, her breathing slowing against him, as the weight of the moment settled over them both.

After a while, Anastasia's grip on James' shirt loosened, her breathing gradually returning to normal. Her face remained buried in his chest as he gently patted her back, his touch comforting. He kept whispering reassurances, telling her she was safe, that no one was going to hurt her.

Anastasia took a deep breath, her senses filled with James's scent—a mix of grass, fresh rain, and cedarwood. The smell surprised her, oddly grounding her, as if she were standing in an open field under a wide sky instead of pinned by the weight of her panic. It smelled like freedom, or what she imagined freedom might smell like.

The thought left her almost disoriented, and with sudden clarity, she realised just how close they were. Her head shot up, and she pulled away quickly, her face heating with embarrassment.

James's hand fell back to his side as he watched her retreat, his brow furrowing slightly. "Hey, it's alright," he said gently, but Anastasia was already moving to stand.

She swayed slightly as she rose, the blood rushing from her head. James reached out instinctively, his hands steadying her by her arms. The touch was gentle, but she still flinched, though she didn't pull away entirely. His hazel eyes locked on hers, and she couldn't meet them, couldn't face the soft understanding in his gaze.

Her throat felt tight. What was she supposed to say after that? After completely unraveling in front of him? For the second time. She thought bitterly of the walls she'd worked so hard to build, walls James Potter had managed to scale in a matter of minutes. Her first instinct was to leave, to walk away without a word, but before she could move, James broke the silence.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out, his voice shaky and uncertain. Anastasia blinked, caught off guard by the sudden flood of words.

"I'm sorry I startled you," he continued, his tone rushed and anxious. "And I know—believe me, I know—you didn't need my help, or want it for that matter. I—uh—I crossed a line, again, and I'm sorry for that too. I keep stepping in when I don't need to. And it's not because I think you're weak or anything, because obviously, you're not. You're, like, the least weak person I've ever met."

His words tumbled out faster, almost tripping over each other. "I just... I don't know. I guess I did it because I couldn't help it. Because I care—about you. And I know what you're going to say—'why do you care, Potter? We're not friends. I hate you.'" He made a face, as if mimicking her tone. "I know. I know. But I just... do. I care. And it's stupid, and I've been trying really hard not to care because, believe me, it's been downright humiliating these past few months—me running around trying to be, I don't know, helpful? To you of all people."

James ran a hand through his hair, his face flushing red as he realised just how much he'd said. His eyes widened slightly, panic creeping in. "Bloody hell," he muttered under his breath, glancing at her blank stare. "That was... a lot. Uh. Sorry. Again."

He looked into Anastasia's blank stare, his heart pounding with anxiety. After a moment of awkward silence, Anastasia huffed a small laugh.

"You're quite strange, Potter," she said, a hint of amusement in her voice.

James laughed awkwardly, still blushing. "Right. Strange. That's me. Look, um... I should go. Probably best if I just, uh... stop talking." He scratched the back of his neck. "And, for the record, I won't tell a soul about this. I hope you believe me."

Anastasia studied him, her dark eyes steady. Finally, she nodded slightly. "I know," she said simply, her voice matter-of-fact.

The words, small and plain as they were, warmed something in James's chest. "Good," he replied softly, his lips quirking into a faint smile. He took a step back, nodding toward the door. "Well, I'll see you around."

He turned to leave, but before he could take more than a few steps, Anastasia's voice stopped him.

"For what it's worth," she said quietly, "I don't hate you."

James froze mid-step, his breath catching. Slowly, he turned back to face her, his expression a mixture of surprise and tentative hope.

"Thank you," Anastasia added, her voice barely above a whisper. "For hiding me from Filch. I... appreciate it."

She didn't give him a chance to respond. She stepped past him, her movements brisk but not rushed, leaving the library without another word.

James watched her go, his heart thudding in his chest. A small, incredulous smile tugged at his lips as he let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

"Yeah," he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. "Like I'm going to keep my distance now."