A Broken Inheritance

Chapter 84: Slow Compromises

Chapter 84: Slow Compromises

The first week back was quieter than it should've been. The castle looked the same. Sounded the same, if you weren't listening too closely. House banners still rippled in the Great Hall. Teachers still handed out quizzes like nothing outside their classroom mattered. Peeves still hurled ink at passing first-years and cackled with glee when Filch screamed. But something had shifted. The way the walls looked at her. The way people didn't speak.

In Slytherin, they didn't ask where she'd gone over the break. They already knew. Or thought they did. There was no need for confirmation when silence served so well. Some girls kept their distance now. Not coldly. Just carefully. As though her presence carried a charge they didn't want to risk touching.

The boys were worse. They didn't leer anymore. They didn't joke. They didn't call her Gaunt like it was a dare. They called her Anastasia. They nodded as she passed, held doors open with a beat too much ceremony. Spoke like she might strike them silent if they interrupted. Rosier said nothing. Mulciber didn't meet her eyes.

Lucius was the strangest. He had barely said a word to her since that night at Malfoy Manor.

She went to class. Sat at the front. Answered questions with surgical precision. Professor Flitwick handed back her Charms quiz on Thursday with a nod of satisfaction and a muttered "perfect work as always."

She didn't feel proud. She didn't feel anything. The hours she wasn't in class, she spent in the library. Endless, circular, mechanical. The textbooks offered structure. Rules. Pages that didn't change under pressure.

Sirius had asked her once, casually, if she wanted to resume training. Control drills. Said they could test limits again. Said he could help. She told him she was busy with revision. That wasn't a lie. But it wasn't the truth either. She couldn't bear the thought of more magic right now. Not when her hands still remembered the weight of blood. Not when her ring—his ring—still hummed against her skin, soft and ceaseless.

At night, she lay in bed and traced the edge of it under her blankets. It didn't hurt anymore. That scared her. Sometimes, she watched the ceiling until morning. Other times, she'd close her eyes and pretend she was somewhere else. That she was someone else. Once, she almost believed it.

She hadn't seen James since the train station. Hadn't tried to. He hadn't reached out either. That made it easier. And harder. Because part of her wanted him to demand something. Anger. Answers. The kind of outrage she'd always known how to parry. But this— This quiet— It made her feel like she was rotting in place. Like maybe this was all she was now. Just an idle mask with steady hands and a poisoned name.

No questions. No mirror. No mercy. She didn't cry. She didn't sleep. But on the sixth night, when the silence pressed just a little too tightly to her throat, she stood. Pulled on her cloak. Slipped through the dormitory like a shadow.

There was nowhere to go, not really. Nowhere that didn't feel invaded, watched, claimed. So she climbed. Up through the staircases. Past the sleeping portraits. Past the doors that creaked in warning. Up and up, until the air thinned and the wind kissed her skin.

The astronomy tower. It was quieter than usual. The stars above were clear—so sharp she could count the spaces between them. The wind tugged at her sleeves. Her hair loosened slightly from its pin. She leaned against the cold stone and tilted her head back. For once, she didn't think. She just stood.

She wondered, vaguely, if James would show up. He always had a knack for that—arriving when she didn't want him, staying when she needed him most. She didn't expect it. Didn't deserve it. She wasn't numb anymore. Not like before. She was alone. And it felt earned.