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 taps her fingers together rhythmically—once, twice, three times—as she stares blankly at the breakfast table. It's February now, and only a few days have passed since James stubbornly insisted she join him at the Gryffindor table.
Her eyes trace the grain of the wood, each swirl and knot becoming more familiar as she fights the heavy fog of exhaustion. She was certain she'd ave a vision last night; she could feel it simmering on the edge of her mind. But it never came, leaving her restless and awake until dawn.
"You alright, Lia?" Barty asks from beside her, his voice cutting through her thoughts.
Alina straightens immediately, forcing her usual composure. "I'm fine," she replies, casting him a brief, measured glance. "Are you?"
Barty nods, his lips quirking into a small, reassuring smile. Alina exhales softly, her attention drawn to the swarm of owls swooping into the Great Hall, letters fluttering from their beaks. She's relieved when no parchment lands before her.
But one does in front of Sirius.
Alina watches his face fall as he glances at the letter, quickly shoving it into his bag as though trying to hide it from view—though it's clear his friends have already noticed. Alina looks away, forcing herself not to care. It isn't her problem. Her gaze returns to the table, each breath Barty takes becoming a new distraction.
Forty-three, forty-four, forty-five—
"Attention, students," Dumbledore's voice booms, instantly commanding silence. The headmaster stands at the golden podium, a warm smile spreading across his face. "I am delighted to announce a special event that has not graced our halls for many years: a Valentine's dance, open to all third years and above."
A ripple of excitement buzzes through the Great Hall, punctuated by scattered cheers. "The dance will be held in the Great Hall on the evening of February the fourteenth—a chance to celebrate friendship, camaraderie, and perhaps even a touch of romance—though I dare say none of you need my encouragement on that front."
Alina's stomach twists as her eyes instinctively flick to James Potter. She forces them away almost immediately, cursing herself. A dance. Of course. Just what she needs.
"A dance?" Barty mutters under his breath, glancing discreetly at Regulus.
"For fuck's sake," Regulus grumbles, rubbing his temple as though the very idea gives him a headache. They all know what it means: another opportunity for their parents to parade them like show ponies, seeking connections that serve their agendas.
Alina swallows hard, her mind already crafting the facade she'll need to wear at this ridiculous event. The perfect, poised version of herself that her family demands.
"I need to get to class," she mumbles, slinging her bag over her shoulder and standing abruptly.
Just before she leaves the Great Hall, Alina's eyes drift to the Gryffindor table, but James and his friends are nowhere to be seen. She finds her answer as soon as she steps into the corridor; they're ahead, walking slowly toward their next class.
