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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A flash of water. Alina stands in the dim, shadowy cave, the sound of rushing water echoing around her.
She recognizes this vision—a familiar, haunting one that plagues her dreams more often than she cares to admit.
She looks down at the rocky island below, watching as the boy with black hair pants, his chest heaving with exhaustion. His face is drained of color, eyes wide with fear and desperation.
Regulus.
The water roars louder, growing closer, ready to consume him.
Alina jolts upright in her bed, heart racing as if it's trying to burst through her ribcage. She scrambles out of the tangled sheets, her feet hitting the cold floor.
She's fine. It was just a vision.
She clenches her fists, nails digging painfully into her palms, grounding herself back into reality. The clock on her wall shows it isn't too early, at least.
Alina takes a shuddering breath, her eyes scanning her darkened dorm room, trying to tether herself back to the present. The remnants of the vision linger, heavy and unsettling.
She moves quickly, pulling herself together—hair left loose, uniform slipped on with the precision of someone trying to outrun their own thoughts.
She slips on her rings, feeling their familiar weight as she slings her bag over her shoulder.
Pausing by the door, Alina inhales deeply, letting her expression go blank before she slips out, sneaking through the hidden exit behind a painting.
The common room is busy that morning, with a few older Slytherins scattered around, she makes it look as through she has just walked down the girls dormitory stairs.
She feels their gazes, colder than usual, prickling at her skin.
Alina's brow furrows slightly. Why are they staring at her like that? As if they know something she doesn't? She catches the eye of one, holding their gaze with a defiant glare before tearing her eyes away.
It's probably nothing.
The castle halls are unusually quiet, most students already in the Great Hall for breakfast. Alina's footsteps echo, sharp and rhythmic against the stone floor, as she makes her way to the Slytherin table. She slips into her usual seat at the far end, but her eyes drift elsewhere—to the Gryffindor table.
To James Potter.
He looks unbothered, smiling at something one of his friends has said, laughter lighting up his face. No signs of pain.
A wave of relief washes over Alina, but she quickly shoves the feeling aside, flicking her eyes down to the table. She can't afford to feel anything—not now. She needs a distraction, something else to focus on.
