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 her nearly packed trunk, the end of the year looming over her. Almost everything is neatly tucked away, except for the last few things she can't pack until the day of.
She stands motionless, blinking at it. That familiar numbness settles over her mind, creeping in like a fog. She tries to lean into it, to let it swallow her whole.
Forget everything. Be numb. Feel nothing.
And yet, she can't stop herself from thinking about them.
Peter. Lily. Mary. Marlene...
James.
Each name pulls her back, unraveling the numbness thread by thread.
A frustrated sigh escapes her lips as she clenches her fists, nails pressing into the familiar scars on her palms. She reaches forward and shuts the trunk with a decisive thud, the sound cutting through the silence of the dorm.
In two days, they will be leaving.
She steps back, turning toward her shoes, slipping them on with quick, practiced movements. The day has nearly faded, school already finished. Not that there's much left to do.
Without another thought, she crosses the room, opens the door, and slips through the painting.
Her gaze lands on the sofa immediately.
Barty.
He's alone in the common room, slouched in his usual way, but his eyes snap up the moment she steps out.
"Lia."
His voice breaks the heavy quiet of the Slytherin common room.
"Hello, Barty." Alina keeps her tone steady, detached.
There's something thick between them. Tense. Unspoken.
She knows he feels guilty. He always does.
Barty holds her gaze for a moment. "Are you sure you have to go home?" he asks, voice barely above a whisper.
Alina blinks. "You know I have to."
She takes a few slow steps closer to the sofas.
Barty exhales, nodding. Of course, he knows. They all do. Going home is never good. But if they ask, you have to go.
Or else summer will be ten times worse.
Alina straightens her posture, forcing herself to be composed. "I'll see you later."
The words feel hollow.
She turns, moving toward the exit.
"Lia?"
She doesn't look back.
Maybe because she feels like she's failing them. Failing at the one thing she's supposed to be good at.
