A Broken Inheritance

Chapter 27: September 76', 7th Year

Chapter 27: September 76', 7th Year

A low, gray sky hung over the Hogwarts grounds the day James and Sirius arrived back from summer break. The wind whistled through the castle's turrets, carrying a biting chill that announced autumn's early arrival. They stepped off the carriage near the grand entrance, trunks thumping behind them, feeling that usual flicker of excitement at the sight of Hogwarts—only this year, the thrill was muted by the memory of how many students wouldn't return.

Sirius tucked his hands into his cloak pockets. "Feels weird to be back," he muttered, half under his breath. James only nodded. His gaze had already started sweeping over the small clusters of students gathering on the courtyard's cobblestones: the usual mix of old friends reunited and first-years craning necks at the imposing castle towers.

Then the crowd parted. Tom Riddle stood at the bottom of the stone steps, a dark silhouette against Hogwarts' massive oak doors. Anastasia was with him. For a moment, neither James nor Sirius moved. They just watched, hearts thudding, as Tom's hand pressed lightly at Anastasia's back, guiding her toward the entrance.

Even from a distance, it was plain to see how pale she'd grown—ghostly, almost. The once-poised gleam in her eyes had been replaced by a listless emptiness. Her robes hung a bit loose around her shoulders, her arms folded protectively across her chest, as though trying to hide how thin she'd become. Every step looked measured, cautious, like each movement might earn her a reprimand.

Sirius inhaled sharply. "Merlin, she—she looks..."

James's jaw clenched. "Like she's been living in a nightmare," he finished for him.

A ripple of hush seemed to follow Tom Riddle as they crossed the courtyard. Most of the returning students, either intimidated or unsure, drifted away from him. Tom, for his part, appeared utterly composed—impeccable robes, a regal tilt to his head, his dark hair catching stray droplets of drizzle from the overcast sky. Now and again, he leaned in to say something to Anastasia, too quiet for anyone else to catch. She would nod—an almost imperceptible tilt of her head—and that was all.

James could feel a surge of anger in his chest. All summer, he'd wrestled with the question of whether Anastasia was truly beyond help. Seeing her like this hammered home just how carefully Tom must have been pulling the strings. Sirius took a step forward, but James hooked an arm across his chest, stopping him.

"Steady on," James said under his breath. "He'll notice."

Tom's eyes flicked in their direction all the same. A knowing look, too slight to be called a smile, curved at the edge of his mouth. There was no warmth in it. Then, dismissing them as beneath his concern, he turned back to Anastasia. He murmured something, and the corner of her lip trembled in response—whether from fear or exhaustion, James couldn't tell.

They stopped at the base of the steps. Tom lifted his wand in a casual gesture, conjuring a faint ward around them so that prying ears couldn't intrude. From behind that shimmering barrier, they watched his head incline toward her in a way that, at first glance, could have passed as tenderness. She swallowed, lowering her eyes, giving him a subdued nod.

Sirius was tense beside James, practically vibrating with the urge to intervene. He couldn't look away from his cousin, whose face was so guarded it was like staring at a statue. The contrast was stark from the summertime memory of lush green lawns and bright, open skies at the Potter Manor. Here, beneath the castle's looming walls and the chill in the air, was a more brutal reality—a cage for Anastasia, even if it was disguised by the familiarity of Hogwarts.

With a final murmur, Tom ended the muffling ward. He lifted a hand toward Anastasia's cheek—she flinched, so subtly it was easy to miss—but his fingertips only skimmed the air before pulling back. Then, with an imperious nod, he released her.

Anastasia turned, and for a split second her gaze caught Sirius's. If there was a flash of recognition in her eyes, it was drowned beneath a distant, hollow weariness. Then, as though snapping to attention, she averted her face, moving stiffly up the steps into Hogwarts. Tom watched her go, his expression unreadable—satisfied, perhaps, or simply calculating his next move.

"You see that?" James hissed through gritted teeth, unable to keep quiet any longer.

Sirius made a low, rough sound that might have been agreement or despair. "She's worse than the last time we saw her," he managed. "He's...done something to her. I just—I—"

James put a hand on Sirius's shoulder, squeezing. He knew exactly how it felt: the storm of guilt, anger, and helplessness roiling in his best friend's chest. They'd spent the entire summer wanting to help, only to be told by everyone who cared about them—parents, teachers, Order members—that it was too dangerous, that Riddle was untouchable, that they were just kids.

Tom, seemingly oblivious to their turmoil or simply uncaring, turned on his heel. He swept back across the courtyard, students making a wide berth around him. By the time he reached the wrought-iron gates, he vanished with an almost effortless Disapparation—an unsettling reminder that he could come and go whenever he pleased.

James felt a muscle in his jaw jump. "We can't let this continue," he said under his breath, but the words sounded hollow even to his own ears. Hogwarts was supposed to be a sanctuary. Seeing Anastasia in that broken state at its very doorstep felt like a violation of everything the school represented.

Sirius nodded, swallowing hard. "We have to figure something out. We have to. She's my cousin, James."

"I know," James said, voice grim. "And no matter how she might pretend otherwise, she needs help."

They stood there a moment longer, the chill wind tugging at their robes, as the last of the straggling students hurried inside. Overhead, the sky churned with steel-gray clouds, casting the courtyard in a bleak half-light that matched their mood. The promise of another school year hung ominously around them, laced with dread and quiet vows—because they both knew one thing for certain: doing nothing was no longer an option.

Finally, with stiff shoulders and heavy hearts, they turned and followed the crowd inside, where the Great Hall's warmth and light waited. But just like Anastasia, Hogwarts felt changed—its halls a little darker, its corners a little more foreboding. And in the echo of the stone corridors, James and Sirius could almost hear the unspoken question haunting each of them:

How much longer before Riddle's shadow engulfed them all?