A Broken Inheritance

Chapter 19: A Boggart and a Banquet

"Of course not," Sirius interjected, his tone casual but sharp enough to cut. "She knows he's not trying to hurt her. She just doesn't know what to do with him. All chivalry and no subtlety—it's probably baffling for her."

James groaned again, dropping his head into his hands. "Why are we still talking about this?"

"Because it's fascinating," Sirius quipped, leaning back in his seat with a satisfied grin. "Watching James Potter, Gryffindor golden boy, flounder over someone who isn't the least bit impressed by his charm? It's a once-in-a-lifetime event. Absolutely reckless and I can't look away."

"I'm not floundering," James snapped, though his reddening ears betrayed him.

"Sure you're not," Remus said dryly, his lips twitching in amusement as he reached for his tea.

Remus gave Sirius a look, though his lips twitched with amusement. "Maybe give him a break, Padfoot. He's clearly... struggling."

"I'm fine," James said quickly, lifting his head to glare at both of them.

Sirius leaned back, stretching his arms over his head with exaggerated nonchalance. "You say that, but you're still not looking at her."

James's shoulders stiffened, his grip tightening on his goblet. He didn't rise to the bait, but Sirius's grin only widened.

"Go on," Sirius urged. "Just a quick glance. We all know you want to."

James ignored him, but the temptation was too strong. Despite himself, his gaze flickered toward the Slytherin table—and at that exact moment, Anastasia's dark eyes lifted, meeting his.

The moment was brief, barely a second before she returned to her meal as if nothing had happened, but it was enough to send James's heart into an uncontrollable flutter.

"You're doing it again," Sirius said, deadpan.

James forced himself to look back at his plate, but the heat rising to his ears betrayed him.

"You're hopeless," Sirius added with a laugh. "Absolutely hopeless."

***

As breakfast came to a close and the students began to disperse, heading off to their first classes of the day, James found himself both grateful for and exasperated by his friends' relentless humor.

The Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom hummed with nervous energy as students lined up, one by one, to face the boggart. The air was thick with anticipation and an undercurrent of dread. Most of the class treated it like a game, laughing awkwardly when the boggart turned into spiders, snakes, or the occasional absurd phobia.

But Anastasia Gaunt was not laughing.

She stood toward the back of the line, her arms crossed and her expression blank. Her dark eyes, however, flicked repeatedly to the wardrobe at the front of the class, where the boggart lurked, waiting for its next victim. Her mind raced, though she gave no outward sign of it.

If it's him... she thought, swallowing hard. If he steps out of that wardrobe, I'm done.

Anastasia clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms as she tried to steady her breathing. She told herself over and over that she could do this. That she had to. But no matter how many times she repeated it, the dread pooled heavier in her stomach.

"Gaunt," Professor Jordan called, her voice crisp as she gestured for Anastasia to step forward.

The classroom fell quieter, several pairs of eyes darting toward her. She hated the way her name commanded attention, how her every move seemed scrutinised, especially now.