Seers Secret ✧ James Potter

~Chapter 112~

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Alina stares at the three pieces of red candy sitting on her desk. It's the next day, but the unanswered question lingers in her mind.

Why did James give her the candy?

She likes the sweets well enough—more than enough, truthfully—but still. Why?

Maybe he feels guilty. James always seems trapped in the trenches of guilt, as though he has personally offended the universe. It's almost funny.

Alina knows what guilt feels like, though she loathes feeling much of anything. Yet James... he seems to experience every emotion with an intensity that makes others look hollow by comparison.

Is it exhausting? Does it drain him?

No. She shakes the thought away. She isn't going to pity him. Not after everything. He hurt her, and despite her best efforts to act unaffected, the truth is inescapable: he did.

Her eyes flick away from the candy, forcing her attention back to the assignments spread across her desk. Class ended hours ago, dinner will begin soon, and yet Alina can't summon the energy to leave her dorm.

The assignments are already complete. She's practiced the Defense Against the Dark Arts spells they learned today so many times the movements are second nature. Some of the spells aren't even new—her tutors covered them when she was much younger.

Her gaze darkens as her thoughts drift.

The people at that meeting a few days ago... they undoubtedly know magic far beyond the classroom. Dark magic. Spells they've invented themselves.

Her fingers twitch.

If she wants to stand a chance, she needs an edge. She needs to learn the magic they will never teach in school—the magic that can destroy them.

Alina rises from her chair abruptly, the wooden legs scraping against the floor. She grabs her bag and leaves her dorm without a second thought, slipping past a few students lounging in the common room. They don't notice her, and she prefers it that way.

The dungeon is icy in the late evening, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows on the stone walls. Her brisk pace makes the flames waver as she passes, her cloak fluttering behind her.

When she reaches the staircase, the corridors grow busier. Groups of students loiter in clusters, their laughter and conversation swelling into an irritating buzz. Her headache throbs in protest.

She clenches her jaw and presses on until she reaches the library.

The noise outside fades the moment she steps inside, replaced by the soft rustling of pages and the quiet scratch of quills. The dimly lit space feels like a sanctuary, a world apart from the bustle of the castle.

Without hesitation, Alina makes her way toward the back. The light grows dimmer with every step, the air colder. Her footsteps echo softly in the stillness as she scans the shelves.

Alina knows there won't be many books on dark spells here—at most, a few vague mentions. The Restricted Section is where she needs to be, but she'll have to wait for a professor's permission to access it. That's a problem for later.

She stops between two shelves, her cold gaze sweeping over the spines of the books as she moves down the aisle. Most of their spells are likely invented, crafted by individuals who seek an edge. If Snape, for example, is into the kind of weird stuff she suspects, he might have created his own spells.

If he has, she needs counters. She needs preparation.

Her eyes methodically scan the titles as she walks, occasionally pulling a book from the shelf to add to her growing pile. After a moment, her attention catches on a book on the top shelf.

Of course.

These damn bookshelves are always too tall, and magic isn't allowed in the library. She clenches her jaw in frustration.

"Need help?"

The familiar voice makes her stiffen.

Alina turns slowly, already irritated. Behind her stands Remus Lupin, shifting nervously, an awkward smile tugging at his lips.

"Get me that book," she says, pointing without preamble.

Remus steps closer, easily retrieving the book from the top shelf. But instead of handing it to her, he holds onto it, his expression unreadable.

"I wanted to say sorry," he begins, his voice tentative. He shifts again, the movement betraying the ache in his hip. Not that Alina cares.

"You were right. I should have stopped them. I didn't because... well, they're my first real friends. I always feel like if I do something wrong—if I go against them—they'll leave. And that's on me. That's cowardice." He takes a steadying breath, his amber eyes flicking up to meet hers.

"But that doesn't excuse it," he continues. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry we hurt you. You deserved better than that."

Alina's hands tighten on the books she holds. She can't dig her nails into her palms for grounding, so she bites the inside of her cheek instead. The pain steadies her, keeps her focused.

"The bet was stupid. And I don't even think James thought of it as real by the end—"

"Give me the book," she interrupts, her voice cold and commanding, a shield forged to keep him at a distance.

Remus hesitates but eventually hands it over. His gaze lingers on her, amber eyes filled with something soft—something vulnerable.

Alina shifts the other books to make space, placing the new one on her pile. She finally meets his gaze with a sharp glare.

"We're both different," she says quietly. "Both things we don't want to be. I thought you, of all people, might have understood that."

She sees the flicker of pain in his expression, the way her words land.

And annoyingly, she cares. Just a little.

But she refuses to let it show. Instead, she gives him a curt glance, turns on her heel, and walks away, her steps measured and deliberate.

Let him sit with that.