A Broken Inheritance

Chapter 19: A Boggart and a Banquet

She moved slowly to the front of the room, her steps measured. Her heart pounded in her chest, but her face remained perfectly composed. She had mastered this façade long ago, and she wasn't about to let it slip now.

The wardrobe creaked ominously as she approached. Her breath hitched as her feet carried her closer, every instinct screaming at her to stop.

She reached for her wand, gripping it tightly as her gaze locked on the wardrobe's handle. She knew—she knew—what was waiting on the other side. The thought of Tom Riddle stepping out, his cold, calculating eyes sweeping over the room, was enough to make her blood run cold.

She was just a few steps away when the handle turned. The door creaked open, and the shadow of a figure began to emerge.

Anastasia froze, her wand trembling slightly in her hand. She knew the shape even before it was fully formed—the sharp angles, the immaculate robes, the too-familiar presence.

No, she thought, panic surging.

But before the boggart could fully take shape, James Potter's shoulder collided with hers, throwing her off balance as he stumbled in front of her.

"Sorry!" he blurted, his voice loud and unconvincing as he caught himself. He planted himself squarely between her and the wardrobe, his wand raised.

The boggart immediately shifted, its form flickering, twisting. The faint silhouette dissolved, replaced by something darker, something far more personal.

James froze as the boggart solidified into himself, standing there with blood-streaked hands, his eyes hollow and his face pale. The illusion sneered at him, whispering in a voice that chilled the room.

"You did this," it hissed, the words dripping with accusation. "It's your fault."

James's breath hitched, his wand faltering for a moment before he gritted his teeth.

"Riddikulus!" he barked, his voice tight.

The boggart twisted again, the illusion shattering into something absurd— the blood turning into an extension of his sleeves, extending his robes, making him trip over himself. The class erupted into laughter, the tension breaking.

James exhaled shakily, stepping back as Professor Jordan gestured for the next student to come forward.

"Good work, Potter," the professor said, though her tone was brisk as she moved on.

James turned, his face pale and drawn, but Anastasia was already stepping away, her expression carefully neutral. He watched her go, his chest tightening with something he couldn't quite name.

As the class ended and student dispersed, the hallway outside the classroom was quieted down, the sound of footsteps and chatter muffled by the thick stone walls. Anastasia walked briskly, her posture stiff, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts.

"Gaunt!" James's voice called after her, his footsteps quick as he caught up.

She didn't stop, though she slowed slightly, allowing him to fall into step beside her.

"I don't need you to step in for me," she said abruptly, her voice low but sharp. She didn't look at him, her gaze fixed straight ahead.

James shoved his hands into his pockets, his own voice tight with lingering frustration. "What are you talking about? 'Was just gonna apologise for losing my balance. Clumsy me."

"Right," she said flatly, her tone making it clear she didn't believe him.

"I mean it," James continued, his tone softer now, "I'm sorry I bumped into you. It was an accident."