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 strides toward the Gryffindor common room, her arms laden with supplies. Dawn barely breaks, the pale light of nearly six in the morning casting long shadows in the deserted corridors.
She hasn't exacted her revenge yet—not properly. Though she doesn't want to harm James, she very much wants to inconvenience him. And his friends.
That familiar burn of betrayal and rage flares in her chest as she walks. James's confession lingers, gnawing at her thoughts.
In love.
Love?
She shoves the thought down, locking it away like a cursed trinket in an iron box. The very idea only fuels her determination to make his life just a bit more chaotic.
The steps of Gryffindor Tower come into view, spiraling upward in a way that seems designed to exhaust her further. Frustration simmers. By the time she reaches the landing, her resolve has crystallized—if anything, the climb only makes her more eager to wreak havoc.
The knight in the painting guarding the entrance glares at her, muttering grumpily about early risers before begrudgingly swinging open. Peter Pettigrew stands on the other side, bleary-eyed but alert enough to wave her in.
"Come on, quick," Peter whispers, his voice hushed as he steps aside.
Alina slips in, shifting the weight of her supplies for a better grip. Peter glances down at them, his brows furrowing in curiosity.
"I brewed a potion to turn Sirius's hair green," she says matter-of-factly, brushing past him.
Peter snorts, his tired face breaking into a grin. "That'll be brilliant."
"Are they all asleep?" Alina asks, glancing toward the stairs leading to the boys' dormitories.
Peter nods. "Yeah, out cold. But... we shouldn't do much to Remus. Full moon's soon."
She hums in agreement, following him up the staircase. Peter reaches the door to their room first, cracking it open carefully, the silence almost reverent.
They slip inside, the faint glow of early sunlight filtering through the curtains. The soft rhythm of steady breathing fills the space, and most of the bed curtains are drawn shut. Peter's bed stands out—messy and unmade, a clear indication of his recent departure.
Peter eases the door closed behind them, giving her a conspiratorial smile.
"You handle Sirius's shampoo," Alina whispers, pressing the green potion into his hands.
His grin widens as he takes the bottle and creeps toward the bathroom, the flicker of candlelight trailing him as he opens the door.
Left alone, Alina turns her attention to Sirius's bed. He won't know what hit him.
She approaches quietly, the soft mumble of his sleep punctuating the stillness. Kneeling near the foot of his bed, she pulls her wand from her back pocket. Her lips curl into a mischievous smirk as she points it at the base of the bed.
