The grand ballroom of the Rosier Manor sparkles with opulence. Rich velvet drapes hang from the walls, reflecting the glow of chandeliers that cast a warm, golden hue over the gathering. The scent of rich whiskey mingles with the aroma of gourmet hors d'oeuvres, while the clinking of glasses and the murmur of polite conversation fills the air. The room is alive with laughter, the shuffle of cards, and the rolling of dice as guests indulge in the night’s casino-themed festivities.

Evan Rosier leans against the polished bar, a glass of whiskey in hand, his usual cap conspicuously absent. Tonight, he’s embraced the formalities with a black suit that fits him perfectly, though his bowtie is slightly askew—a signature touch of his rebellious charm. His curly hair, though tousled, is unmistakably blonde, the result of countless hours spent maintaining the perfect shade. The night’s revelry has brought out a different side of him—looser, more relaxed, though his eyes still dart around with their usual calculated precision.

You, standing near the roulette table, catch his gaze as he walks over. He has a habit of glancing your way when he thinks you’re not looking, his eyes lingering a bit longer than necessary. Tonight, you’re dressed in a sleek, midnight blue gown that complements the mood of the evening and, incidentally, catches Evan’s eye more than once.

As he approaches, Barty Crouch Jr., decked out in an impeccably tailored suit and sporting a devilish grin, is deep in conversation with Regulus, who is impeccably composed as always. Barty’s voice cuts through the ambient noise, filled with his usual flair. “Come on, Regulus, admit it. You’re dying to see me win that poker game.”

Regulus rolls his eyes, leaning back with an air of detached amusement. “You’re just here for the thrill of losing, Barty.”

Evan sidles up next to you, the faintest hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “What’s this? A bet I haven’t been invited to?”