A Broken Inheritance

Chapter 65: Lessons in Control

He didn't respond, but his expression had shifted. Slightly more alert.

When James Potter's name was called, the energy in the room shifted. He stood, casual, half-grinning, spinning his wand between his fingers as he stepped onto the platform. His opponent, a Ravenclaw girl named Ellis, looked focused but wary. Anastasia hadn't seen him in a week.

Not since he'd appeared in her bedroom like a storm wrapped in Gryffindor righteousness, spouting about Dumbledore's suicidal resistance project and walking out without waiting for an answer. And then—nothing. He hadn't come back. No cocky remarks. No questions disguised as accusations. No passing glances across the common area during Slug Club gatherings.

She wasn't used to the quiet.

James was all ease. He bowed low, offered her a smile, and as soon as the duel began, he became something else entirely.

He moved like he was born for it. Fluid, strategic, with a sort of unbothered grace that made every spell look effortless. James didn't hesitate, he shot off a disarming charm with just enough force to test her reflexes, not overwhelm. Ellis met it with a tight Protego and countered with a jabbing hex Anastasia recognised as a modified Stinging Jinx.

James dodged, sidestepped, spun low and flicked his wand upward with the kind of casual precision that only came from relentless practice. The room had quieted, eyes narrowing, postures straightening. His spells weren't flashy, but they had weight. He moved like someone with purpose now. Like someone who had something to prove.

Someone who had been training.

Lucius leaned over slightly. "Well, well. Potter's grown teeth."

Anastasia didn't answer, but her eyes stayed locked on the platform. James won with clean, efficient control, a non-verbal binding spell that tripped Ellis's footing just long enough to disarm her. He caught her wand midair, handed it back with an easy grin, and bowed again.

Only Gryffindors clapped. Loudly.

Sirius whooped something from the back, undoubtedly profane, and James smirked like he'd just won a personal bet. Then, as if tugged by an unseen thread, his eyes found her.

Anastasia didn't look away, her expression didn't shift.

She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.

"Gaunt," Flitwick called. "And McKinnon, you're up."

Lucius turned his head lazily toward her. "Do try not to maim anyone."

Anastasia stood. Scattered applause. All slytherin. She stepped onto the platform, each movement measured, deliberate. Marlene was already there, wand in hand, chin tilted high. Her eyes were fire.

They bowed. The tension hit like a wall. It was meant to be a simple spar, but Marlene was already raising her wand before the count began. Flitwick started them.

The first spell came fast, a Confringo, barely muted. Anastasia deflected without thinking, stepping lightly to the side. Second spell, Expulso. She turned it. Then came Incarcerous, Petrificus Totalus, and another hex she didn't recognise that whistled past her ribs. Marlene wasn't holding back. Marlene's eyes burned with something too fierce for a classroom.

This is personal, Anastasia thought, her grip tightening. This wasn't practice. This was provocation. Fine.

She moved differently now, faster. Her wand sliced downward, catching Marlene's next curse and hurling it sideways. They danced in and out of each other's reach, two shadows flickering under torchlight. She returned fire. Her spells were controlled, elegant. Not weak, but there was a difference between calculated efficiency and the kind of anger Marlene was hurling like stones. It crescendoed slowly, like the build of a storm. Marlene's fury rose, and Anastasia matched her, spell for spell, unflinching. Every block was smoother, every turn cleaner.