Alina Nightshade doesn't think much about James Potter. Only that he seems rather keen on being annoying.
James Potter thinks Alina Nightshade is a mystery all wrapped up in a very pretty girl. And he is keen on trying to be her friend.
James Potte...
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Alina builds the wall around her mind up and down so many times that it has become almost second nature.
She sits at dinner, the Great Hall buzzing with the few students who haven't gone home for the holidays. In just a few days, the rest of them will return from the break.
She isn't looking forward to seeing James Potter again.
"Lia," Barty's voice pulls her back to reality as he taps the table beside her, the vibration cutting through her thoughts.
She turns to him with a sharp gaze. "What?"
"Are you alright?" he asks, concern creasing his brows.
"I'm fine," Alina replies with a curt nod, then adds, "Are you?"
Barty's eyes narrow briefly before he gives a small smile and a nod, turning his attention back to his plate. There's something off about him.
Regulus was supposed to stay at the castle for the entire winter break, but just a day ago, he was unexpectedly summoned home. Barty is clearly worried about the boy.
Not that she'd admit it, but Alina is concerned too.
Sirius also went back to Grimmauld Place, their parents having demanded his presence over the holidays, even though they had originally told Regulus he could stay. But then, everything changed.
Alina stares at her plate, her mind automatically reinforcing the walls she put up to keep everything out.
~~~
Alina isn't in her bed anymore. She's... somewhere else.
An office?
It seems like one, though the room is too dark for her to make out much detail. She knows what this is: a vision.
Her eyes narrow as she takes a cautious step forward. To her relief, she can move freely. The heavy curtains are drawn across the windows, but thin slivers of light escape through the bottom, reflecting off the polished wooden floor.
A soft mutter echoes in the darkness, followed by the sudden flicker of candles coming to life around the room.
The light reveals a man sitting at a large desk. His posture is rigidly perfect as he reads from a book lying open before him. The desk, a deep brown with a reddish hue, gleams under the candlelight.
The walls around him are a rich green, accented with intricate black detailing near the baseboards. The setting is elegant, almost regal.
But it's the man that holds her attention. His skin is pale, his jawline sharp. Dark brown hair frames his face, and his eyes—so dark they're nearly black—are focused intently on the text before him.
Who is this?
A vague sense of recognition stirs within her as she observes him from her place in the corner of the room. His energy feels... familiar. She's seen that face before, she's certain of it.
