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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Her trunk is packed. Fully packed now. Everything she has is inside, except for the outfit she wears.
Alina stares at the trunk, her throat tightening as if a hand has wrapped around it—squeezing, squeezing, until she can't breathe.
Her mother's hand.
She forces in a breath, breaking the thought as she stacks the trunk neatly at the foot of her bed, ready for the elves to load onto the train. All she has left is her small bag.
Turning to the mirror, she examines her reflection. The outfit is acceptable—by her mother's standards, at least. A dark green sweater, delicate jewelry, a proper skirt with tights, and polished shoes.
Perfect.
She holds the thought for a moment, feeling that familiar numbness creep in. Her nails press into her palms, grounding her, before she turns away and blows out the candle on her desk.
Then, she grabs her bag, gripping it tightly as she walks to the door.
She might never see this room again.
She has memorized every inch of it over the years—the placement of her furniture, the way the light hits the walls, the small imperfections only she notices. But she doesn't look back.
She keeps walking.
The common room is nearly empty, the morning chill sharper than usual, cutting through the silence. Alina doesn't stop, doesn't take it in. She just keeps going, out of the dungeon and into the corridors, making her way toward the Great Hall.
Breakfast. Then the carriages. Then the train.
The sun glares through the high windows as she walks, casting long shadows across the stone floor. The path to the Great Hall is one she has taken countless times, and yet, this morning, it feels heavier.
By the time she reaches the entrance, the noise inside is already louder than usual—students talking over one another, savoring their last moments with friends before the break, some simply relieved that school is over.
Alina crosses the hall, heading straight for the Slytherin table.
Barty and Regulus are already there.
She slides into the seat beside Barty, across from Regulus. The usual hum of conversation feels distant, muffled. The Slytherin table is quieter than the others this morning.
Alina stares at the food in front of her but feels no hunger.
Even Barty is uncharacteristically silent.
Regulus, too, seems withdrawn, pushing food around his plate without taking a bite.
Alina's voice is barely above a whisper when she speaks. "You're going home?"
Regulus lifts his gaze, his gray eyes meeting hers. "Yes."
She studies him for a moment before parting her lips to ask another question.
