Chapter 1: A Broken Inheritance
In the shadowed corridor of the ancient Black family home, the silence was shattered by sharp, gasping screams. Although the sound had grown disturbingly familiar in the Black household, Anastasia paced around her room, frantically searching for a way to make it stop. Anastasia's room, bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, felt like a cage. The Slytherin-green drapes and meticulously arranged bookshelves seemed to mock her helplessness. She paused by the window, her fingers clutching the cold sill as if seeking solace from the outside world. Her reflection in the glass stared back at her, a mask of cold composure hiding the turmoil within.
"What did you do this time, Sirius?" she whispered to the darkness, her voice tinged with a mix of exasperation and helplessness. The cruciatus curse echoed from the cellar, followed by another tortured scream. Her fists clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms as she struggled to stay still.
As a child, her attempts to intervene had only doubled the punishment for them both. She had thrown herself into the line of fire more times than she could count, enduring the lashings and curses in a futile attempt to shield Sirius. But Sirius, stubborn and reckless, would only escalate his defiance in a desperate effort to pull back his parents' focus on himself. It had become a pointless cycle of mutual sacrifice.
Her more recents attempts were a tad more subtle, she'd interrupted their punishments with fabricated tales of urgent messages from the Ministry, concocted stories of distant relatives in peril, anything to distract their guardians. And it worked, Orion and Walburga had no reason to doubt her, seeing her only as an obedient niece, the picture of Slytherin pride who had long severed ties with their first born son. But tonight, she knew it wouldn't work. The weight of Sirius' offense must have been monumental to provoke such a relentless response. The intensity of his screams told her as much.
"Damnit, Sirius," she muttered, her voice trembling with suppressed rage and fear. "Why can't you just learn?"
Anastasia picked at the skin around her index finger anxiously until her perfectly manicured nails were sprinkled with blood. She winced but couldn't stop. Her mind replayed his voice, the sharp wit and rebellious spirit that had always set him apart, now reduced to anguished cries. She cursed him again, feeling a hot surge of anger and frustration.
A soft knock on her door broke her reverie. Anastasia turned as the door creaked open, revealing Regulus. His usually composed face was pale, his eyes wide but somber, no longer trembling with the fear of a child. She rushed to him, wrapping her arms around his slender frame protectively.
"It's going to be okay," she whispered, her voice trembling with a conviction she didn't feel. "He'll be okay, Regulus."
He pulled back slightly, looking up at her with a maturity that belied his years. "I know." He replied cooly, "I just wish Sirius would know his place and stop acting out," he continued, his voice a mixture of frustration and resentment. There was no fear, just a weary acceptance of their reality.
Anastasia's heart ached at his newfound coldness. The boy was only 14. She brushed a strand of hair from his face, her touch gentle. "I know," she replied softly. "It's not in his nature."
His gaze remained unwavering. "Then he'll never stop suffering. And all of us with him."
She flinched at his words. The boy who once cowered in fear had been replaced by someone who accepted their twisted reality. "He's family," she said softly, searching his eyes for any sign of the brother she used to know.
"Doesn't treat us like it." Regulus replied bitterly.
Suddenly, the screams ceased, as if the universe had answered Anastasia's desperate prayer. The abrupt silence was unnerving, a void where agony had been. Anastasia and Regulus exchanged wide-eyed glances, the realisation dawning on them simultaneously. Something was terribly wrong.
The house, usually so full of oppressive noise, now felt eerily still. There were no footsteps to signal Walburga's departure, no creaking of the cellar door. The silence stretched, thick and foreboding, amplifying the dread in the air.
Anastasia's heart pounded in her chest, the sudden quiet more terrifying than the screams. "Stay here," she ordered, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside. She squeezed Regulus's shoulder, hoping to impart some semblance of calm.
"But—" Regulus began, his voice trembling slightly.
"No, Regulus. Stay here," Anastasia insisted, her tone leaving no room for argument. She turned toward the door, her resolve hardening. She had to find out what had happened, what had silenced Sirius so abruptly.
As she stepped into the dimly lit hallway, the shadows seemed to close in around her. Each step felt heavy, laden with the weight of fear and uncertainty, her heart pounding against her ribcage. She moved swiftly, her senses on high alert. The manor's oppressive grandeur felt more like a mausoleum, each echoing footfall a reminder of the horrors that lurked within its walls. Her mind raced with possibilities, each one more horrifying than the last. What if they had finally gone too far?
Approaching the cellar door, she paused, her hand hovering over the handle. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she might find on the other side. Slowly, she pushed the door open, the creak of the hinges breaking the heavy silence.
The cellar was dark, save for the faint glow of a single lantern. She descended the steps cautiously, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. The smell of damp stone and something metallic filled the air, making her stomach churn.
"Sirius?" she called out softly, her voice barely more than a whisper.
There was no response. She reached the bottom of the stairs and saw him, crumpled on the cold floor. His back was to her, his body eerily still. Panic surged through her as she rushed to his side. Her hands, trembling, reached out to touch his shoulder, flinching at the heat of his skin.
"Sirius, please," she whispered urgently, shaking his shoulder gently. When he didn't respond, she rolled him onto his back, her breath catching in her throat at the sight of his pale, bloodied face.
For a heart-stopping moment, she feared the worst. Then, to her immense relief, she saw the faint rise and fall of his chest. He was alive, but barely. His breathing was shallow, his face contorted in pain even in unconsciousness.
Seeing Sirius's nearly lifeless form, Anastasia realised with chilling clarity that there was no avoiding this. No other option but to get him out of that house. She had to save him, no matter the cost.
Without hesitation, Anastasia made a decision, her mind racing with plans. "I won't let you endure this any longer," she said, determination steeling her voice. She looked around, spotting an old, tattered blanket in the corner. She wrapped it around Sirius as best she could, trying to keep him warm. With a strength she didn't know she possessed, she helped Sirius to his feet, supporting his weight as he leaned heavily against her. "Hold on," she murmured, focusing on their destination.
As she struggled to move him, she heard footsteps from above. Her heart leapt into her throat. She glanced up, seeing the flicker of a light approaching the cellar. Desperation clawed at her as she realised she was out of time. With a surge of determination, she hoisted Sirius up, half-dragging, half-carrying him toward the stairs.
"Anastasia?" Regulus's voice called out from the top of the stairs, filled with a mixture of fear and confusion.
"Help me, Regulus," she hissed, her voice urgent. "We need to get him out of here."
Regulus appeared at the top of the stairs, his eyes widening at the sight of his brother's battered form.
"But- where?" Regulus' voice caught in his throat.
"Anywhere! Hurry before they come back." Anastasia struggled under Sirius' weight, stepping carefully towards the stairs.
Regulus took a step back, "We- we can't… What would Mother-"
"Regulus! Look at him. Do you think he'll make it through the night if we just leave him here to die?"
The brother hesitated once more but ultimately, rushed down to help, his earlier sombreness replaced by sheer determination. Together, they managed to carry Sirius up the stairs, their breaths laboured but in sync.
They made their way through the house, the fear of being caught propelling them forward. Anastasia's mind was a whirlwind of plans and worries, but for now, all that mattered was getting Sirius to safety.
As they reached the front door, Anastasia cast one last glance at the darkened hallway, a silent vow burning in her heart. She would protect Sirius, no matter the cost. And she would find a way to end this cycle of suffering, once and for all.
They finally reached the front door. Once out of the house, she would be able to apparate, Anastasia thought, just a couple more steps and Sirius would be safe. Regulus, still panting, stumbled down into the street with her under his brother's weight.
"Where are we taking him?" Regulus' voice merely a whisper.
"I'm taking him to the Potters." Anastasia replied as she put Sirius down to take out her wand. "You should stay here and make sure they don't notice that he's gone."
"Anastasia!" He replied in protest.
She interrupted him quickly, "We don't have time, Reg! Please go inside. I promise I'll take care of everything and come back. I'll be back very soon, I promise."
After a moment, Regulus nodded and took a step back, giving them the space to leave the premises. Anastasia tightened her grip on Sirius and focused her mind. The sensation of apparating was always disorienting, but she steeled herself, concentrating on the location of the Potter's home. She'd only been there once, before her parents passed, before the Potters became known blood traitors. Anastasia could only hope this memory was enough to get them there. With a crack, the world around them shifted.
The cold, dark streets of Grimmauld Place dissolved into the the well-tended gardens of Potter Manor. They landed in a heap on the front lawn, Sirius's weight nearly dragging them both down. Anastasia's determination was the only thing keeping her upright. "Close enough," she gritted through her teeth, helping him to his feet. "Come on. Just a little further."
Sirius was still unconscious, his body leaning heavily against Anastasia as she half-carried, half-dragged him towards the door. His appearance was ghastly, his clothes torn and bloodied, his face pale and drawn with pain.
The front door swung open before they reached it, and James Potter stood in the doorway, his eyes widening in shock and then narrowing in suspicion. "What did you do to him, Gaunt?" he demanded, stepping forward, his wand at the ready. "What the hell did you do?" he demanded, his gaze darting from Sirius's battered form to Anastasia's strained face.
"Get your wand out of my face, Potter," Anastasia said, her voice edged with fatigue. "I didn't do this to him. I got him out."
James's eyes narrowed, his distrust evident. "Why should I believe you?" he challenged, his posture tense, ready for confrontation.
Before Anastasia could respond, the elder Potters appeared behind James, their expressions shifting from shock to concern at the sight before them. "James, stop this at once," Mrs. Potter chided, her gaze softening as she took in the scene. "Can't you see she's helped Sirius?"
"But she's-" James protested, though his resolve was weakening as he saw the evident pain Sirius was in and the genuine worry in Anastasia's eyes.
"Enough, James," Mr. Potter intervened, his voice firm yet gentle. "Now is not the time for petty grudges. Help them inside."
James stepped aside, but his glare remained fixed on Anastasia, his suspicion evident. She tried to ignore it, focusing instead on getting Sirius inside. Euphemia and Fleamont moved with urgency, guiding them upstairs to a bedroom.
As Euphemia began to treat Sirius's wounds, a sudden scream tore through the room. Anastasia jolted, her eyes wide with panic. She rushed to Sirius's side, her hands trembling. "What happened?! Is he— is he okay?"
Euphemia's calm, practiced hands never faltered as she applied a healing salve to a particularly deep gash. "He'll be fine," she assured her. "He's in a lot of pain, but it's nothing we can't handle."
Anastasia's hands hovered over Sirius, unable to touch him but unable to move away. James watched her closely, his eyes narrowing as he observed her shaking hands reaching for Sirius.
"Why are you so worried, Gaunt?" he asked, his tone hostile. "What's your angle here?"
Anastasia snapped her gaze to him, her expression hardening. "Do I need an angle to be worried about my family." she retorted, her voice cold. "In any case, I don't need to explain myself to you."
James took a step closer, his glare intensifying. "I don't trust you. Never have, never will."
"Good," Anastasia shot back, her own eyes blazing with anger. "I don't need your trust. I just need to make sure he's okay."
"Enough, both of you," Euphemia interjected, her tone firm. She turned to James. "James, guide Anastasia to the bathroom. She needs to clean up."
Anastasia shook her head. "No, I'm not leaving him."
"Dear, Sirius is in good hands," Euphemia insisted gently. "He needs some space to heal right now. And also, I'd like you to stop tracking blood all over my house," she added with a small smile.
Anastasia hesitated, torn between staying with Sirius and respecting Euphemia's request. Finally, she nodded, her movements stiff and reluctant.
"Fine," she muttered, casting one last worried glance at Sirius before following James out of the room.
As they walked down the hallway, James remained silent, his hostility palpable. Anastasia could feel his suspicion like a physical weight, but she refused to justify herself or offer any explanations.
Reaching the bathroom, James opened the door and stepped back, his eyes never leaving her. "Clean up," he said curtly. "Then we need to talk."
Anastasia paused in the doorway, her expression defiant. "As I said, I don't owe you any explanations, Potter."
James's jaw tightened. "Maybe not. But if you want to stay here, you're going to have to give me a reason not to throw you out."
She met his gaze with equal intensity. "I'm here because Sirius needed help. That's all you need to know. I'll be out of here as soon as he's stable."
James stared at her for a moment longer before nodding sharply. "Just clean up. We'll talk after."
Anastasia entered the bathroom and closed the door, leaning against it for a moment as she took a deep breath. Her reflection in the mirror showed a face smeared with blood and grime, eyes shadowed with exhaustion and worry.
Turning on the tap, she began to wash away the blood, her mind racing. She didn't know what would happen next, but she knew one thing for certain: she would do whatever it took to protect Sirius, even if it meant facing James's suspicion and hostility head-on.
When Anastasia finally emerged from the bathroom, she hurriedly went back to Sirius' side only to find Fleamont Potter tending to Sirius by himself. As she quietly approached the sleeping boy, Mr. Potter placed a comforting hand on Anastasia's shoulder. "Thank you for bringing him here," he said, his voice warm with gratitude. "It's clear you care for him deeply."
Anastasia nodded, unable to find her voice, her eyes never leaving Sirius's face. The room was filled with a tense silence, broken only by Sirius's shallow breaths.
A couple of hours later, James emerged from a long discussion with his mother about their plan to rescue Sirius from his deranged family. The plan was still taking shape, but their determination to protect Sirius was unwavering. James made his way to the room where Sirius was resting, his mind still racing with thoughts and worries.
Opening the door quietly, he was startled to find Anastasia still in the same spot he had left her hours ago. She sat by Sirius's bedside, her hair still damp and spots of blood staining her forehead and arms. She stared at Sirius with an intensity that seemed to border on desperation, as if willing him to wake up.
James stood in the doorway for a moment, observing her. This behaviour was incredibly odd and out of character, he thought. After all, Sirius had endured neglect and abuse for years, and Anastasia had never shown an ounce of concern. At school, she sided with the Slytherin bullies and sneered at him whenever she got the chance. Where had this sudden change of heart come from?
Finally, James walked over to Sirius and gently changed the wet towel on his forehead. "What happened?" he demanded, his voice cold and unyielding.
Anastasia barely registered his presence, her eyes still fixed on Sirius. After a long pause, she replied, "What always happens."
James clenched his jaw. "And why are you only helping him now?" he muttered, suspicion lacing his words.
At that, Anastasia finally looked up at him, her eyes filled with the usual disdain she reserved for him and his friends. Her lips twisted into a humourless laugh. "Even if I explained it to you, you wouldn't understand."
James's eyes narrowed. "And what's that supposed to mean?"
Anastasia's gaze hardened. "It means, Potter, that your sheltered, perfect little life leaves you blind to the complexities others may face. You wouldn't understand the decisions I've had to make."
James felt a surge of anger. "Don't pretend you're some kind of martyr, Gaunt. You've been cruel to him for years."
Anastasia stood up, her posture rigid with suppressed fury. "I'm not here to explain myself to you."
James took a step closer, his face inches from hers. "Then why are you here? Why now, after all these years of standing by while he suffered?"
Anastasia's eyes flashed with a mix of anger and pain. "Because I had no choice!" she snapped, the words slipping out before she could stop them. She took a deep breath, regaining her composure. "But that's none of your concern, Potter. Sirius is safe now. That's what matters."
James stared at her, trying to read her inscrutable expression. He couldn't understand her motives, but for now, he had to trust that she was sincere in wanting to help. He turned back to Sirius, his voice softer. "We're going to make sure he's safe from now on."
Anastasia nodded curtly, her mask firmly back in place. "Good," she said. "That's all I ask."
As James turned to leave, he cast one last look at Anastasia. He still didn't trust her, but he couldn't deny that she had saved Sirius. Whatever her reasons, he would keep a close eye on her. He wouldn't let his guard down, not for a second.
Anastasia resumed her vigil by Sirius's bedside, her mind a whirl of emotions she couldn't afford to show. She had done what she had to do, and she didn't need James Potter's understanding or approval. She would protect Sirius in her own way, just as she always had, whether anyone knew it or not.
James studied Anastasia in silence, his eyes narrowing as he saw something unexpected in her expression—fear and tenderness. It was a crack in her usually icy demeanour, and it only served to irritate him further. Who was she to pretend she cared now, after everything?
She sensed his glare and turned her sharp gaze to him. "What now?"
"I don't believe you're here just because you care about him," James said, his tone accusatory.
"That's fine. I don't particularly care what you think," she replied coolly.
James bristled. "All these years, I've been Sirius's family. Not you lot."
Anastasia stayed silent, her face unreadable, before quietly stating "Don't worry, I'll be out of your life as soon as he wakes up."
This startled James. "Wait… You— you're going back?!"
Anastasia met his gaze, her eyes hard. "What? Want me to stay, Potter?"
James's disbelief turned to anger. "You're willing to go back to the people who did this to Sirius?!"
Anastasia's expression didn't waver. "Where else would I go?."
James clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. "How can you stand there and act like this is normal? How can you go back to them after what they did?"
Her eyes flashed with a brief, unreadable emotion before she schooled her features into indifference. "You wouldn't understand. Not everyone has the luxury of running away."
James's anger surged. "Running away? You think he's running away? He would surely die if he stayed one more moment in that wretched house! This is self protection, no- it's self preservation!"
"Why do you think I brought him here?" Anastasia shot back. "This isn't about me or you and your hero complex, Potter. This is about Sirius being safe and getting better. I'll be fine."
"What makes you think you're safe in this house, uh?" James sighed. "If they could do this to their own son, what makes you think they won't do this to you?"
Anastasia let out a low chuckle. He was right, she wasn't untouchable, she knew that. She knew because it had already happened. She'd known all too well what the consequences for disobedience were in their house. But she was safer than Sirius. "Because I'm smarter than Sirius is."
James glared at her, frustration and confusion warring within him. "Why do you always have to be so damn cold? Why can't you just—"
"Just what?" Anastasia interrupted, her voice low and dangerous. "Just explain myself to you? Justify my existence to the great James Potter?"
James was taken aback by the intensity in her voice. He had always seen her as detached, even cruel, but now he was beginning to realize there was much more beneath the surface. "I just want to understand," he said quietly.
Anastasia's eyes softened for a fleeting moment, then hardened again. "No, you don't. You want to judge. And that's fine. But I don't need your understanding or your approval. I did what I had to do, and I'll keep doing it. Your opinion is irrelevant."
James shook his head, his anger giving way to a deep sense of frustration. "You're impossible, Gaunt."
"Good," she replied, her voice icy once more. "Then we understand each other."
They stood in tense silence for a moment longer, the air thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. Finally, James turned away, his mind churning with thoughts he couldn't fully grasp.
As he left the room, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Anastasia Gaunt than he had ever realised. But for now, he had to focus on Sirius. Anastasia's secrets would have to remain her own, just as his would.
Anastasia watched over Sirius until his breathing evened out, and the tension in his body eased. Satisfied that he was out of immediate danger, she stood and quietly left the room. She found Mrs. Potter in the kitchen, preparing a pot of tea.
"Mrs. Potter," Anastasia began, her voice steady, "I need to speak with you."
Euphemia looked up, her warm eyes filled with concern. "Yes, dear?"
"I'll be leaving now. I'm entrusting Sirius to your care."
Euphemia frowned, setting down the teapot. "Are you sure you want to go back, Anastasia? You're welcome to stay here. You don't have to return to that house."
James, standing in the doorway, bristled at this offer. "Mum, you can't be serious. She's—"
"James," Euphemia said sharply, silencing him. She turned back to Anastasia, her expression softening. "You have a safe haven here, Anastasia. Please, consider staying."
Anastasia shook her head. "I appreciate the offer, Mrs. Potter, truly. But I have to go back. It's... complicated. But please, take care of Sirius."
Euphemia sighed, clearly unhappy but respecting her decision. "Very well. But remember, our door is always open to you."
Anastasia nodded, a rare flicker of gratitude crossing her face. "Thank you."
She turned to leave, but James's voice stopped her. "You sure you won't regret it, Gaunt? Why go back?"
Anastasia looked at him, her expression unreadable. "Because it's what I have to do. Goodbye, Potter." She walked out the door and Disapparated with a soft pop.