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 stares at the... cell?Is it a cell? She isn't sure. It looks like a prison cell, but the details blur at the edges, unreal.
A vision.
Her breath catches as she turns, her gaze sweeping over the shadowy walls. Then she notices it—no, him. Someone is lying on the ground.
Her focus drops to the figure sprawled across the cold stone floor.
Barty.
She recognizes him immediately, though he looks older—marked by years she hasn't yet lived. His face has aged, but his eyes... those eyes are unmistakable.
Moonlight pours through the bars of the cell, casting pale streaks on the stone. Barty sits hunched by the wall, knees pulled tight to his chest. His face is a mask of emptiness, his gaze fixed blankly on the opposite wall.
Alina kneels slowly, her breath shaky. His clothes are tattered, hanging off his frame as though they belong to someone else entirely. His hollow cheeks and sunken eyes tell her he hasn't eaten a decent meal in years.
"Barty?" she whispers, the name escaping her lips before she can stop herself. It doesn't matter—he can't hear her, can't see her.
Her gaze shifts to his arm, his sleeve pushed up just enough to reveal the tattoo etched into his skin.
A skull.
Snakes.
The Dark Mark.
Her stomach twists as she snaps her eyes back to his face. His hands twitch, his lips move soundlessly before faint murmurs begin to escape.
He is a Death Eater. He has joined them. But why?
And in this vision of the future... is she dead? Has her plan with the poison succeeded, or has she been forced into the life she so desperately wants to avoid? If she is alive, why isn't she here for him?
Barty's hands tremble as his muttering grows louder. His gaze drifts from the wall to the window, where the stars glimmer in the night sky.
"Regulus..." he murmurs, the name spilling from his lips like a prayer. His eyes fix on the brightest star, its cold light reflecting in his hollow gaze.
The Regulus star.
Then comes the whisper—a low, dreadful sound. Moonlight dims as something passes in front of the bars.
A Dementor.
Alina's heart plummets. She doesn't want to see this. She doesn't want to feel this.
