A Broken Inheritance

Chapter 52: A Truth, However Small

Chapter 52: A Truth, However Small

The water ran red.

Anastasia scrubbed at her hands, watching as the last remnants of James's blood swirled down the sink, disappearing into nothing.

Her breathing was uneven, too quick, but she forced herself to slow it down.

Inhale. Exhale.

What had she done?

No, why had she done it?

It had taken everything in her not to press her palm against his skin, not to let herself feel it properly, not to give in to the quiet, insistent pull curling in her veins.

And James. James had noticed.

Of course he had.

Too bloody observant for his own good.

She gripped the edge of the sink, forcing herself to meet her own reflection in the mirror.

The image that stared back was almost wrong.

Slightly warped, too sharp at the edges, unfamiliar in her own face.

She blinked.

The tap still ran. The air still felt thick. Her fingers still itched.

She turned it off.

Taking one last breath, she stepped back into the dormitory.

The room was warm—too warm after the cold sterility of the bathroom. The candlelight flickered against the stone walls, against the bedposts, against James, who had put his shirt back on, the fabric loose over the fresh bandages.

Without a word, he handed her a towel.

Her fingers brushed against his as she took it, and for a moment, she felt the lingering heat of him. His magic, his blood, his pulse underneath the surface that recognised her and that she recognised in return.

She stepped back.

Sirius, still sprawled on his bed, looked up, stretching.

"So..." he started, voice light but eyes sharp. "Should we discuss the elephant in the room?"

"Which one?" Anastasia replied, forcing herself to sound indifferent as she took a seat on James's bed, pulling out a cigarette from the tin on his nightstand.

"Hey—those are mine," Sirius quipped, sitting up.

She ignored him, lighting it with a flick of her wand.

Sirius tsked. "Anyway, do you want to talk about how you've been ignoring us for weeks? Or maybe about the fact that you blew up the Great Hall yesterday?"

Anastasia exhaled smoke, tilting her head back slightly. "I didn't blow up the Great Hall," she muttered. "And I don't want to talk about either."

James sat down beside her, his arms resting over his knees, watching her carefully. "No, but you did... something."

She shrugged. "It was nothing."

Sirius snorted. "Right. Nothing is definitely what I'd call launching half the bloody hall into the air with just one look."

She didn't answer.

James leaned closer, voice quieter now. "Ana, what did you do?"

She inhaled sharply, dragging from the cigarette, holding it in her lungs before exhaling slowly.

"It won't happen again."

James's jaw tensed. "That's not an answer."

"It's the only one you're getting."