A Broken Inheritance

Chapter 52: A Truth, However Small

Sirius groaned, running a hand through his hair before throwing it up in exasperation. "Brilliant strategy, Prongs. Just pretend everything's fine? Again?"

James barely spared him a glance, his focus pinned on Anastasia.

Sirius scoffed, shaking his head. "You do realise this is mental, right? We can't just brush all of this away. It's unhealthy."

"Unhealthy?" Anastasia muttered, eyeing the empty space on James' bed.

"Yeah," Sirius shot back. "Feels like Grimmauld Place all over again. Everyone pretending the walls aren't caving in."

Anastasia flinched.

But she wasn't looking at him.

She was looking at James.

At the way he had said 'Yeah, I did' just a moment ago. Like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like it was a fact. Like she wasn't impossible, wasn't difficult, wasn't something to be handled.

She sat back down.

"I..." She hesitated, her voice foreign even to her own ears. "I know I've been... evasive. Truth is, I couldn't face you. Any of you."

No one spoke.

James just watched her, waiting.

Her throat felt tight. "I'm sorry I made you worry about me. I just needed to be alone."

Sirius let out a low laugh, though there was no humour in it—only something brittle and tired. "You always do that," he said, not unkindly. "Disappear. Like it'll fix something."

She didn't respond.

Because what was she supposed to say? That it was the only thing she knew how to do? That solitude had always felt safer than closeness? That silence didn't ask questions the way James' eyes did?

She wanted to tell them they didn't understand, that there was no other choice, that they had no idea what it had been like—

But then the truth pressed against her ribs, pushing, clawing, demanding to be let out.

Her fingers twitched.

She had to give them something.

A truth, however small.

She swallowed. "I..."

The words lodged in her throat. Stuck. Almost choking her.

Because there was too much she wasn't saying.

Her magic.

The deaths.

The way she had stood there, watching, the way she had let it all happen, let herself be led by something she swore she would never let own her.

The way she had given herself to Tom.

The way she had kissed him softly.

The way she had played the part, let herself be consumed by the game, let him touch her—

And suddenly—

She could feel it again.

Tom's grip around her throat. His breath against her cheek. The weight of him.

It suffocated her.

She felt bile rise, her stomach twisting violently, nausea curling its fingers around her ribs.

James noticed.

She knew it the second his hand came to rest on her arm, warm, grounding.

"It's alright," he murmured. "You don't need to say anything."