A Broken Inheritance

Chapter 19: A Boggart and a Banquet

Chapter 19: A Boggart and a Banquet

The Great Hall buzzed with the usual morning din—clinking cutlery, rustling pages of the Daily Prophet, and snippets of animated conversations echoing off the high stone walls. James sat with the Marauders at the Gryffindor table, his focus locked on the plate of eggs in front of him. He wasn't particularly hungry, but pushing his food around seemed like a better option than risking a glance toward the Slytherin table.

The memory of last night was still fresh, her cutting words and his own poorly thought-out responses replaying in his mind like an unwelcome song stuck on repeat. He knew she was right, of course. He had made things worse. But knowing didn't make it sting any less.

Sirius, sitting across from him, picked up on his mood almost immediately. It wasn't exactly difficult—James's emotions had a tendency to radiate outwards, subtle as a Bludger to the head.

"Well, well," Sirius began, his voice loud enough to draw Remus's attention, "what's this? Our dear Prongs actually not staring at the Slytherin table for once?"

James didn't look up, stabbing his fork into a piece of toast with more force than necessary.

Remus, ever the tactician, raised an eyebrow. His gaze flicked toward the Slytherin table, then back to James. "Did something happen last night?"

James sighed heavily, setting his fork down and leaning back in his chair. "Can't a bloke just enjoy his breakfast without it becoming a bloody spectacle?" His tone carried the faintest edge of irritation, though it was tempered by the resigned way he rubbed at his temple.

"Where's the fun in that?" Sirius quipped, leaning forward and propping his chin on his hand. His grey eyes glinted with amusement, and the smirk tugging at his lips only grew wider. "Especially when you're going out of your way to avoid looking at a certain someone. Come on, James, what gives?"

"I'm not avoiding anything," James shot back, his voice strained. He picked up his goblet of pumpkin juice and took a long sip, if only to give himself something else to do.

"You're a terrible liar," Sirius said lightly, clearly enjoying himself. "Spill. What happened?"

James hesitated, his gaze flicking briefly toward Remus, who was watching him with a much more subdued curiosity. "Nothing happened," he said finally, though his tone was defensive. "I'm just... trying to follow some advice, alright?"

Sirius's eyebrows shot up. "Advice? Whose advice?" He leaned in conspiratorially. "Don't tell me she finally got through to you."

James glared at him, but his silence was answer enough.

"Oh, she did," Sirius crowed, a laugh escaping him. "What did she say this time? Let me guess—something about how you're ruining her life?"

James scowled. "More or less. Told me off for defending her, said I was drawing too much attention and making things worse."

Sirius chuckled, clearly unbothered by the gravity of James's mood. "Sounds about right. Never stopped you before, though, has it?"

James groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Well, maybe it should've. She's got a point. The rumours are bad enough without me adding fuel to the fire."

"Hmm," Remus hummed thoughtfully, his gaze drifting toward the Slytherin table. Anastasia was sitting next to Regulus, her posture as impeccable as always, her expression unreadable as she delicately buttered a slice of toast. "She's probably right that public attention doesn't help," he said after a moment. "But I doubt she really thinks you're trying to hurt her, James."