A Broken Inheritance

Chapter 44: Chasing Ghosts

And she let them say it.

She didn't turn her head, didn't slow her steps, didn't let the words settle into her bones.

She simply didn't care.

But James did.

James noticed.

Every time it happened, every time he caught the sneering whispers, the muttered curses, the way people seemed to act as though she were something to be avoided, he felt his blood boil.

He had opened his mouth once—ready to snap at whoever had let the words fall from their tongue—but Sirius had grabbed his sleeve, shaking his head. Not now.

So James clenched his jaw.

He let it go.

And he waited.

Because she would come.

She always did.

For weeks, he had left his window unlocked, waiting for the sound of soft footsteps, for the quiet creak, for the familiar weight of her presence in the dark.

But she never came.

And as the days stretched on, as he watched her slip further and further away, he began to wonder if she ever would again.

He had tried to talk to her—tried to catch her—but she moved too quickly, too deliberately, always vanishing before he had the chance.

She was never alone. Or she never lingered.

She hadn't looked their way in weeks. And now, it felt like she never would again.

***

It was time, James decided. He had had enough.

For weeks, he had watched Anastasia drift further and further away, moving like a shadow through the castle, slipping between the cracks of her own existence. He'd tried to be patient, tried to let her come to them in her own time, but it was clear now—she wasn't going to.

And he wasn't just going to stand by and watch her disappear.

If she wouldn't come to him, then fine. He would go to her.

Pulling out the Marauder's Map, he flicked it open with practiced ease, eyes scanning the shifting dots.

Her name hovered near the library, tucked away in an empty corridor just off the main hall. Alone.

James didn't hesitate.

He moved fast, weaving through students as they milled about between classes, heading directly for the quiet hallways that led to the library. His steps were quick but controlled, his breath even, heart steady.

There was no point in calling after her—she would just ignore him, keep walking, disappear like she always did. He needed to corner her, force her to talk, get her away from the noise and the whispers and the places she could run to.

So when he saw her—head down, walking at the same careful pace she always did now, as if existing at all was exhausting—he didn't think.

He acted.

James yanked Anastasia into a narrow broom closet, the door shutting behind them with a quiet click. She let out a startled breath, her back hitting the inside of the cramped storage closet, dust kicking up around them from the stacks of forgotten parchment and broken furniture.

For a brief second, she just stared at him, wide-eyed, caught off guard.

For a moment, there was only silence.