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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MAKE SURE YOU ARE ON THE RIGHT CHAPTER!! I think wattpad glitched again... sigh
Time skip, end of summer.
Alina Nightshade folds the clothes from her wardrobe and lays them neatly on the bed. Technically, there are house-elves to handle such tasks, but she doesn't trust them—or anyone else, for that matter—with her belongings.
Her clothes, her things, are hers alone, and the thought of someone else touching them sends a shiver down her spine.
In just a few days, she will be back at Hogwarts—back at school, far away from her parents and the stifling confines of her home. The last few weeks have been an endless cycle of isolation in her room, punctuated by forced appearances at parties and balls hosted in their manor. Thankfully, she's managed to avoid attending the ones held in other families' homes. Small mercies.
Her fiancé has been present at a few of those events, though their interactions are mercifully minimal. Alina avoids him as much as she can, and, fortunately, her parents never leave them alone together.
She should be thankful for their watchful presence, but the sensation of finding even a sliver of comfort in her parents feels alien, unsettling.
Shaking off the thought, Alina refocuses on the task of packing her trunk. Returning to Hogwarts is a reprieve, even if it means enduring James Potter and his insufferable friends. Anything is better than staying here.
Her OWL results came in earlier this summer: straight Outstandings, as expected. But, of course, her mother barely acknowledges the achievement. Nothing Alina does will ever change her mother's opinion of her. She pushes the bitterness aside, clinging instead to the numbness that has settled deep within her, a quiet, necessary refuge in the chaos of her life.
Today, she and her mother are supposed to go to Diagon Alley for her sixth-year supplies. It's a rare chance to escape the house, even if her mother's sharp gaze will shadow her every move.
Alina's fingers brush her long hair as she fastens the latch on her trunk. It has grown past her collarbones now, a length she finds she doesn't mind. What she does mind is why she hasn't been allowed to cut it: Èmeric. Her fiancé prefers it long, and her mother, naturally, enforces his preference.
His name sends a flicker of anger burning in her chest, but Alina snuffs it out before it can grow. She imagines poisoning him, watching the light drain from his eyes—a fantasy that has become a quiet, twisted comfort. Yet even if she acts on it, she knows she would only be handed off to another man like a pawn in a game she can't escape.
A knock on her door jolts her from her thoughts. She grabs her bag from the bed, already dressed for the day. Walking to the door, she taps beneath the lock three times before opening it.
But it isn't her mother standing there.
"Father," she greets, masking her surprise as best she can.
Her father gives a curt nod. "Your mother is busy. It seems I've been volunteered to take you today."
