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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Alina detests her thoughts. Sleep eludes her again, her mind too restless to find peace. When she finally drifted off, it isn't rest that greeted her but a dream.
Not a vision—at least, she hopes it isn't a vision.
It's James. His hair wind-tousled, as though he's just come from Quidditch practice, with that grin of his—a real one, all teeth and mischief. He leans closer, and—
No.
Alina shakes the memory away, refusing to let it linger. That's why she's skipping breakfast, already outside and pushing open the door to the courtyard.
The morning is warm, the remnants of summer still clinging to the air. The grass is a vivid green, flowers stubbornly blooming as if they, too, refuse to acknowledge the changing season. A soft breeze stirs the quiet courtyard, rustling her hair as the sun blazes overhead.
It's awful. Too bright. Too calm.
Her emotions are a tempest—wild, consuming, chaotic. The serenity of the courtyard only makes the storm inside her chest rage harder.
Adjusting her bag, she walks deeper into the courtyard, her footsteps the only sound in the emptiness. Everyone else is at breakfast, she supposes.
Alina's thoughts drift, unbidden, to Èmeric—and with them comes a surge of rage. It's terrible, consuming.
It isn't just the looming shadow of being forced to marry him—though that alone is enough to set her blood boiling. Or perhaps she won't be. Not if she finds a way out. But for now, the arrangement stands, and the thought makes her stomach twist.
What truly unsettles her, though, is James. She still has feelings for him.
Even after everything. Even after the betrayal, after the way he's hurt her. She despises how much space he still occupies in her heart. But no matter how hard she tries to deny it, the truth remains: she still likes him.
Alina has never felt this deeply for anyone before. She doesn't even know if it's love or something else entirely. All she knows is the way her chest aches at the thought of him, the way his name alone sends a storm of conflicting emotions—attraction and hurt—whirling through her.
Are they the same? Or has she simply never been taught the difference?
The breeze picks up again, snapping her back to reality. Voices echo faintly from inside the castle—the first classes of the day must be starting.
She exhales sharply, squaring her shoulders before turning back toward the doors. She's lingered here long enough.
The halls are bustling now, sunlight streaming through the windows as students mill about, rushing to their classes. Alina weaves her way through the crowd, her mind already groaning at the thought of herbology.
