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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It's early—earlier than breakfast, earlier than the first whispers of students stirring in their beds. Alina rises with purpose.
The stack of books she procured the night before looms on her desk, tall and foreboding. A cloth she summoned lies beneath them to keep the dust from staining the dark wood. The flickering candlelight bathes the room in a dim glow, its dancing flames casting restless shadows on the stone walls.
Alina reaches for the first book, setting it gently before her. The spine creaks in protest as she opens it, brittle pages revealing secrets long forgotten. This one focuses on the Dark Arts. She can only hope it contains what she needs. Most spells are likely outdated, abandoned over centuries. Fewer still are worth the risk of learning.
She devours the text front to back, fingers skimming over faded words, taking meticulous notes in her elegant handwriting. Most of the book meanders through dark magic theory, detailing how intention can twist even harmless charms into something far more sinister. Intent is everything, the author writes—a chilling sentiment, but one Alina knows to be true.
Of the spells listed, only one intrigues her: a variation of Incarcerous that binds its victim to a single spot. All it requires is a few pieces of string, tied carefully, and a whispered incantation. Simple, but effective.
The rest of the book is little more than idle theory, and Alina closes it with a faint sigh. She moves on to the next, her quill scratching against parchment as the hour creep by unnoticed.
Three books later, her notes are a mess of ink-streaked scribbles, but her efforts have yielded two promising results. The first is the string-binding spell. The second...
Alina pauses, head tilting slightly as her eyes flicker over the current page. It isn't exactly a spell—no words, no wand movements. Just the sheer, brute force of magic. A way to stop someone from breathing.
Her quill hovers over the parchment before pressing down, leaving a clean line of ink as she jots the discovery into her notes.
Interesting. Maybe she'll test it on Snape.
Satisfied for now, she slips a bookmark between the brittle pages to mark her place. Yet, her curiosity refuses to be stilled. Alina absentmindedly flips through the book, the delicate rustle of paper the only sound in her silent dormitory.
The aged parchment crackles softly beneath her fingers. Her gaze sharpens as a particular heading catches her attention.
Astral Projection.
The words stand stark against the stained page. Alina stills, her narrowed eyes scanning the text as she spreads the book open further.
She's heard of astral projection before, though never in full detail.
