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's sharp eyes sweep across the expansive,shadowed room. Only a few candles flicker faintly, their dim light barely pushing back the darkness.
A vision.
She takes a tentative step forward, her breath catching as she realizes she can move freely. The room feels achingly familiar, and as she steps further out of the shadows near the wall, recognition dawns. This is the dining room at Malfoy Manor. She has been here before.
The long, dark wooden table dominates the center of the room, its surface barren except for a single spot at the head. Her gaze zeroes in on it.
Tom Riddle sits there.
His hands are clasped under his chin, his sharp features fixed in an icy glare at the empty space before him.
The Dark Lord.
He makes the chair seem like a throne—regal, commanding, otherworldly. Yet, to Alina, there is something ordinary about him. She can tell he has labored to craft an image that appears untouchable, removed from the mundane. Perhaps it works on the purebloods.
But from where she stands, each careful step bringing her closer, the illusion falters. She notices the small tears in his robes, the fraying edges, and stitches that have begun to unravel. It's as ifhe is trying to force the garments into grandeur, to appear wealthier, more powerful than he truly is.
If he had real power,she thinks, he wouldn't need to try so hard.
Alina's lips press into a thin line as her cold, piercing gaze locks on him. Slowly, he rises from his seat at the head of the table, his posture unnervingly perfect, his expression an unreadable mask of calm.
Without a word, he turns and begins to leave, his footsteps echoing faintly in the silence. The last thing she sees is his back disappearing through the doorway.
A strangled cry rips from her throat as she jolts awake, the cold stone floor biting into her feet as she stumbles to stand. Her chest heaves as she blinks into the darkness of her dormitory, quickly lighting the room with a wave of her hand.
The chill clings to her skin, unrelenting. She forces herself to breathe, to slow her racing heart. Be calm. Be fine.
Her eyes flick to the clock. An hour before breakfast. Her hands clench into fists, nails digging into her palms as she anchors herself back to reality. Slowly, she makes her way to the bathroom.
The hot water stings as it cascades over her skin, but she welcomes the discomfort. It grounds her, pulling her back into the present. Thirty minutes later, she feels more like herself, drying off and dressing in half of her school uniform despite the weekend. Saturday.
She plans to spend the day studying in the library. It's a Hogsmeade weekend, but she'll go tomorrow.
Sliding a headband into her dark hair and slipping on her shoes, Alina grabs her bag from the desk and slips out of the dorm.
