The dim glow of the streetlamps barely cut through the thick fog settling over Knockturn Alley. You had no business being here—at least, not alone. Every instinct told you to turn back, but it was too late.

A slow, measured voice cut through the silence. “Lost, are we?”

You turned sharply. A man leaned against the wall, half-hidden in the shadows. Evan Rosier. His wand twirled lazily between his fingers, his sharp eyes assessing you with something between amusement and calculation.

“I don’t recognize you,” he mused, stepping forward. His smirk was casual, but there was an edge to it, something dangerous lurking just beneath the surface. “Which means you’re either incredibly brave… or incredibly stupid.”