A Broken Inheritance

Chapter 30: Falling Asleep

Chapter 30: Falling Asleep

Anastasia's nightmares had returned with relentless force, undoing any progress she'd made with Remus's Muggle medication. She'd found no reprieve; every night she lay awake, haunted until the early hours, and every morning she dragged herself to class feeling brittle and unbalanced.

A chill wind swept across the Quidditch pitch, ruffling the grass and pressing against Anastasia Gaunt's already weary frame. Flying practice wasn't exactly her idea of a good time these days—she'd been unable to sleep properly for a week, and the bruised circles under her eyes were evidence enough. But Slytherins had mandatory practice sessions to keep up appearances, so there she was, perched on her broom, leaning forward in an effort to keep herself steady.

As she propelled herself in the air for a routine lap around the pitch, the world began to spin. Her eyelids felt glued together by fatigue, and her vision wavered. A faint buzzing filled her ears, blocking out the distant shouts of her teammates. By the time she tried to tighten her grip on the broom handle, it was already too late—her fingers slipped, and she tipped sideways, plummeting toward the ground.

A shocked cry rippled through the students. Most of them froze, too startled to act, but one figure on a broom was already diving—James Potter. James, who had been practicing dives at the other end of the pitch, saw her falter and fall. He cut through the air like a bolt of lightning, adrenaline spiking as he willed his broom to go faster. Just before Anastasia hit the grass, he managed to slow her fall—though the impact still jarred them both. She crumpled, unconscious, her face ashen.

"Move! Out of the way!" James barked at the surrounding crowd. The Quidditch referee and a few onlookers rushed over, but James already had Anastasia in his arms, cradling her limp form against his chest. Without hesitation, he sprinted toward the castle, heart thundering. He could feel her shallow breaths against his arm, which did little to calm his own panic.

Madam Pomfrey ushered James into the infirmary the moment he burst through the doors, breathless and frantic. She directed him to lay Anastasia on one of the beds, then set about her work, waving her wand with brisk efficiency. Once satisfied that Anastasia was in no immediate danger, she gestured James to step aside.

"She's exhausted," Madam Pomfrey muttered. Madam Pomfrey straightened up, her face serious. "Severely. It's a wonder she's been functioning at all. I'll need to keep her here for observation and rest. And you," she said, turning her sharp gaze on him, "need to let her rest. You should take a seat, Mr. Potter, catch your breath."

But James merely nodded absently, too preoccupied with the pale figure on the bed. As the nurse bustled away to fetch potions, James dropped into the chair beside Anastasia, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. A heavy knot of dread sat in his chest—he'd been watching her from afar, noticing how worn down she looked, but he never imagined it would come to this.

Despite Madam Pomfrey's stern instructions for no visitors, James couldn't bring himself to leave Anastasia alone. Seated quietly beside her bed, he watched over her, a silent guardian against the darkness that seemed to cling to her even in sleep. The dim light of the infirmary cast shadows across her face, accentuating the exhaustion that had carved deep lines of worry and sleeplessness into her features.

As time passed, Anastasia's restlessness grew. It started with a slight whimpering, a soft sound of distress that tugged at James's heart. But soon, her movements became more erratic, her face contorting in anguish as if she were fighting an invisible foe. Then, without warning, she let out a scream—a sound so raw and filled with pain that it echoed off the stone walls, leaving a haunting silence in its wake.

Anastasia woke in a haze of terror, the echo of her own scream still ringing in her ears. Her breathing was laboured and ragged, her cheeks damp with tears. She clung to the solid warmth in front of her before she even registered it was James. He was calling her name, voice tight with concern.