Seers Secret ✧ James Potter

~Chapter 124~

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James Potter POV.

James rubs his eyes and slides his glasses back into place with a sigh. He's slouched on a dark red sofa in the Gryffindor common room, enjoying a rare moment of solitude thanks to his free period. In a surprising attempt at responsibility, he has decided to work on his Charms essay.

It isn't going well.

The blank parchment mocks him from the table, a silent reminder of his scattered focus. He sets his quill down with a frustrated huff, leaning back into the worn cushions. The common room is eerily quiet, with everyone else still in class, but James's mind is far from peaceful.

It's Alina.

Two days. Two days since Hogsmeade. Two days since the charmed scarecrow attacked them in the corn maze, its stitched face twisted in an unnatural leer. The whole ordeal was absurd—terrifying, yes, but mostly baffling. Who even thinks to charm a scarecrow to attack?

The only person who comes to mind is Snape, though James grudgingly admits that he didn't see him in Hogsmeade that day. Not that it proves much—James's spatial awareness is abysmal at best.

Still, the questions linger. Was the scarecrow after Alina? After him? Or both of them?

James rubs a hand over his face, groaning softly. His head is a tangled mess of exhaustion—mental, emotional, and everything in between.

At least he explained. He told Alina that the stupid bet didn't mean anything to him, that it was idiotic from the start. But knowing that doesn't erase the guilt, the weight pressing down on his chest every time he thinks about it.

His throat tightens as the familiar wave of regret washes over him. Merlin, he hates this. Hates himself, really. There's no fixing this—nothing tangible to fix. And maybe that's the worst part of all.

James's gaze drops to his bag. The pins Alina gave him still cling to it, a quiet reminder of her. His stomach twists.

He can't do this anymore.

Shaking his head, James leans forward and starts gathering his things. The essay can wait—his next class will start soon, anyway. He stuffs his parchment and books into his bag, his movements rushed and clumsy.

Slinging the bag over his shoulder, James stands and leaves the common room, the echo of his footsteps against the stone stairway accompanying him as he hurries down.

No matter how hard he tries, he can't shake the heavy weight in his chest.

The shrill ring of the bell echoes through the corridors, signaling the end of classes. James quickens his pace—he's cutting it close, and the last thing he needs is another detention for being late.

The hum of voices grows louder as students pour out of classrooms, filling the halls with a chaotic symphony of chatter and shuffling feet. James weaves through the crowd, muttering hurried apologies whenever he bumps into someone.

Finally, he turns down a quieter hallway, one rarely used except by those who know it's a shortcut. It's practically deserted—except for her.

Alina stands at the far end, her back to him, framed by the light streaming through the tall window she's gazing out of. Her pale hair catches the sunlight, glowing like a halo, longer now than he remembers.

James hesitates for a moment, glancing over his shoulder. This hallway is always empty, a brief reprieve from the bustle of the main corridors. But she's here, alone, and something about her stillness tugs at his chest.

He continues forward, his steps echoing softly against the stone floor. She doesn't move, not even to acknowledge his approach. Her posture is rigid, her focus fixed on the castle grounds outside.

James's mind races. Is she having a vision?

"Alina?" he calls softly, stopping a few steps away. She doesn't react. Concern flares in his chest as he closes the distance, moving to stand beside her.

Her uniform is immaculate, as always. Every button of her shirt is fastened, her Slytherin tie perfectly knotted. She looks composed, but there's an unnatural stillness about her.

At last, she blinks, her gaze shifting to meet his before flickering back to the window. "James." Her voice is flat, almost distant.

James follows her line of sight, but there's nothing out of the ordinary. The castle grounds are empty, serene in the afternoon light.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice soft but edged with worry.

The second the words leave his mouth, he regrets them. She always seems to bristle at that question, like it annoys her to hear it—like it annoys her that he cares.

This time, it doesn't seem like it annoys her.

"I'm fine," Alina says, her gaze flickering back to the window for a brief moment before she turns fully toward him. Her sharp eyes focus on him, narrowing slightly as her head tilts.

"Is your back okay?" she asks, her tone cold, almost indifferent. Yet the faintest blink of her eyes betrays a flicker of something—concern, perhaps?

James blinks, caught off guard. "My back?" he echoes, his brow furrowing in confusion.

Alina lets out a soft, exasperated breath, as though explaining herself is a chore. "You landed on it hard when the scarecrow attacked us."

"Oh." James nods, piecing it together. "Yeah, it's fine. I'm fine." The words feel hollow even as he says them. Physically, his back is fine—it doesn't hurt.

But he isn't fine. Not really. Not that it matters.

Alina gives a small, almost imperceptible nod, the faintest hum of acknowledgment leaving her lips. Her expression remains blank, as unreadable as ever, save for the tiniest flicker of movement—a blink, a subtle twitch of her fingers.

James can't help but be surprised she's even asked.

She hates him. Or at least, she has every reason to. He's hurt her, betrayed her trust, and she still believed he meant every word of that stupid, idiotic bet.

"Did you have a vision?" he asks cautiously, tilting his head as he studies her.

Her face, if possible, becomes even more closed off, her features smoothing into an icy mask. "No," she says curtly, her voice colder now, her tone a clear signal to drop it.

"I have to get to class," Alina adds, stepping away before he can say another word.

James watches as she disappears down the hall, her footsteps quiet but steady, leaving him standing alone once more.

It seems that all he ever does these days is watch her walk away.